Dried and Dying Roses (BWWM)

Eight: Hotels

"My name is Max," He told Isa as he poured her glass of wine, smiling all the while, "And yours?"

After taking a more controlled sip, Isa answered with a sigh, "Isa," She smiled, playing with the stem, "Isa Ford."

"Well Miss Ford," Max the bartender grinned, leaning across the bar towards her, "You seem like a very, very nice lady."

Isa's smile vanished, and the happy smile that had once graced her lips was replaced with a hurt, blank look.

Just like Adrian said. Everyone would always see her as nice.

She came crashing back down to Earth at the innocent compliment, tears welling in her eyes as she slammed her money down to the bar, pursing her lips, "T-Thank you," She sobbed, stumbling out of the bar, leaving Max the Bartender confused as to what just happened.

Isa ended up on a curb, in the hotel parking lot, leaning against her car as she cried, resting her head against the bumper. She felt as if from that one thing the bartender said, that she was already living up to Adrian's unauthenticated prophecy. She hated it. Long after her tears had dried, hours later, Isa was still sobbing.

Her throat was killing her, she felt like she had been swallowing sand for hours on end. Everything Isa lived for, she felt was wrong.

Her moorings, once built on bedrock, were now built on sand; weak, crumbling, wet and dirty sand.

After the first passerby gave her a uncomfortable look before jogging past her as if she were unstable, Isa climbed into her car, where she could cry in...peace in her cold car.

Her teeth were crashing against each other violently as she shivered inside her vehicle, face dried from the saltiness of tears that were no longer aqueous. Isa felt as if she had lost her being, all because some man she knew nothing about but his name gave her a compliment, said she was nice of all things.

Isa lifted her cold hands, feeling her dry, cold face, her swollen eyes, parched throat, and so tired that she was no longer feeling the effects of fatigue. She had been sitting in her car for over twelve hours.

"What is going on with me?" She whispered, sitting with her head resting against the vat door for a few more minutes before finally climbing out, the cold seeping into her lion house shoes not chilling her more than she already was.

By the time she made it up to her hotel room, Isa felt as if she were about to pass out, so she made herself some coffee, ordered room service, and turned on the TV, watching the news as she sipped on the hot beverage. She had wasted half of her day sitting in the car, so she decided, the other half was destined to be wasted by sitting bundled up in front of a TV that she wasn't watching, that way she could sulk and simmer in her own confusion. Human contact was what Isa was not ready for after those few sentences that preluded Adrian's departure had left her so up in arms.

Isa's phone rang, and she picked it up, cutting the ringing short, and ending the call from her mother.

Having the time to rehydrate, the second that Isa saw the home screen on her phone, her favorite picture at the museum sent her on her next rampage, tears blurring her vision and more importantly, her judgment. Grabbing all of her things, Isa called the front desk after she had packed, arranging her payment to be made the moment she exited the elevator, and the receptionist was ready for her, eyeing Isa as she bounced in place impatiently until the transaction was complete, before thanking her quickly and flying to her car.

"Come on, come on," Isa chanted through daily traffic, sighing every time the traffic moved. Isa hated rush hour.

The moment she got home, Isa burst into her room, pulling everything from her walls, the copy she had bought of her favorite painting falling to the floor with a thud, followed by her blood red comforter and sheets, along with any dark, or abstractly dark picture, painting, or sculpture, all of them crashing to the ground, and the more perishable crashing and shattering on contact.