isabella [h.s.]

eleven

** She's just like candy, she's so sweet
But you know that it ain't real cherry**

HARRY

I never thought about what it'd be like to have a different roommate.

Although Ronnie could be messy sometimes and I swear he tended to do things purposefully to piss me off, I enjoyed living with him. So I suppose I never had a reason to imagine living with someone else. In an ideal world, I guess the perfect roommate would be quiet and keep themselves to themselves, and maybe even cook or clean the apartment without even being asked to, which is something Ronnie definitely never did. But of course, those idealistic expectations vanished as soon as Isabella strolled through the door in her six inch heels with her neon pink suitcase. So, you can imagine my surprise when I walk into the kitchen at nine in the morning to find Isabella dancing to 90s R&B hits, dressed in a baggy vintage Aaliyah shirt, and relentlessly scrubbing the dirty cooker with a wet cloth.

Once she hears me approaching, she throws a glance over her shoulder. "Oh, hey," she greets me, having to raise her voice a little over the music so I'm able to hear her.

"Hey," I reply, still a little surprised to see her awake so early in the morning, but even more surprised to find that she's cleaning. I don't mean to generalise, but she certainly doesn't seem the type of person to get up early to do a bit of a spring cleaning. "You do realise it's nine in the morning, right? Aren't you usually still asleep at this time?"

"Yeah," she replies, flicking back some of her dark brown hair over her shoulder. "But I couldn't sleep last night. And when I can't sleep, I get up and clean." She pauses, peering at the oven to check if it's clean enough, which it clearly isn't because she resumes scrubbing it a few seconds later. "It makes me feel better."

I nod slowly in understanding, rummaging through the fruit bowl in search for anything edible. I'm definitely not in the position to judge other people's coping mechanisms, especially when mine tend to be drinking gallons of coffee as stress relief, or simply pretending that the stressful things aren't happening. I think I must be a strong believer in the phrase 'ignorance is bliss'. "Why couldn't you sleep?" I ask her, finding one of the only ripe bananas in the bowl and deciding it will have to suffice as breakfast.

"I don't know," she shrugs. "Sometimes when I get back from work, I'm still full of all the adrenaline from dancing all night. Makes it a little hard to fall asleep." I just nod again, finding myself watching her clean for a while before she steps back and looks at the cooker again, seeming pleased with her work. She finally turns to face me, watching me gather up some papers from the kitchen table, slipping them into my satchel before slinging it over my shoulder. "You're heading to work?"

"Yeah," I reply, quickly checking the time on my phone before slipping that into my pocket too. "I'm running a little late actually...."

"Oh, well, before you go, can I ask you a favour?" I halt my walk over to the front door and glance over at her, arching an eyebrow as I await her next words. "I have a hair appointment across town, but the train line I take is undergoing maintenance, so it would take like, twice as long to get there. And my hair lady can't change the time for me because her bookings are packed tight and-"

I let out a sigh, cutting off her unnecessary rambling. "What's the favour?"

"Can you drive me to my hair appointment at around one o'clock?" she asks, shooting me a sweet smile for added encouragement.

I pause, acting like I'm about to say no just to tease her little, before I nod and say, "Sure. Meet me at the precinct at 12:45, I should be on lunch by then."