isabella [h.s.]

twenty

**And there's no place for love
no, there's no place for love, love, love
in the Hamptons**

HARRY

I let out a small sigh as I read the text from Isabella that just popped up on my phone, even though I already knew what it was going to say before I even looked at it. Ever since the altercation at the strip club last week, I've been trying to get her to come and make a statement at the precinct so charges can be filed against the man who assaulted her, but she's been resistant to the idea to say the least. At first, she kept saying she'd do it soon, probably to shut me up, but after a few days she started questioning whether it's really necessary, because she doubts anything will come of it anyway.

We've had many disagreements over it, during which Isabella throws all these statistics at me about how the police and the justice system don't take violence against women seriously, and how rare it is for the men who carry out the violence to be given more than a warning. Sadly, what she's saying is true and I understand her concerns, but even still, I want her to make a statement. However, I'm quickly coming to realise that Isabella is one of those stubborn as fuck types, and she definitely won't do anything unless she wants to. It's both impressive and frustrating.

It's almost seven by the time I decide to call it a night and head home, my growing fatigue seeping into the small yawns I let out as I sling my bag over my shoulder and make my way down to the kitchen to grab my leftover food from the fridge. I stroll past the countless dark offices and desk cubicles, finding something oddly comforting about being one of the last few people here, despite the fact that I probably shouldn't seeing as this building is very old and therefore probably haunted. I've yet to experience any paranormal experiences yet though, so I guess that's something. Maybe the ghosts haunting this place were detectives too, so if that's the case, they're probably just as exhausted as I am.

Due to these thoughts still running through my mind, I almost physically jump when I push open the kitchen door to find Nancy stood there, her lips twitching into both a puzzled and amused smile at my startled reaction. "Oh, hi, Harry!" she greets me happily. "Sorry, did I scare you? I didn't mean to!"

"No, it's ok," I assure her. "I'm just....tired." Nancy nods in understanding, which is really the staple reaction for any detective when you express your tiredness to them. Detectives are prideful by nature and reject any kind of pity, but it's universally acknowledged between us that it's a difficult, exhaustive job.

"Me too," she replies, and the discussion of our fatigue causes me to let out another yawn as I dodge past her to head over to the small fridge. "I've been working on a cold case of a missing child from five years ago, so it's been quite a heavy day."

"I can imagine," I reply with an empathetic sigh, rummaging around the fridge shelves for the leftovers I placed in it earlier. When I finally find it towards the back, I slip the tupperware into my bag before closing the fridge door and straightening up again, finding Nancy still staring at me.