I S A B E L L A
Never in my thirty-two years of being alive, have I ever felt so damn humiliated. To make matters far worse, the one person that I least expected to make me feel this way...made me feel the way I'm feeling at this very moment.
Why do I, Isabella Dillan, who is always hard-headed and nonchalant, feel the way I feel now?
Well, because of my cockiness, I turned down one of the most esteemed photographers.
...Maybe esteemed seems too farfetched, rather, one of the greatest photographers?
I discovered that Luciel wasn't just 'talented' in photography but was more of an expert at it. Allistor sent me a link of her instagram and I ended up scrolling through her posts for more than an hour. Reading the comments of her posts, proved that. People praised her for her astonishing talent she had, especially at such a young age. Some people were eager to know where she was from and wanted her to take pictures of them. I also discovered that she does sculpting and was still in fact a student. Basically, she wasn't just talented in photography but also studying sculpture. She rarely posted about her sculpting, but the ones she posted looked just as amazing. It wasn't anything extravagant but was something that made you stop and stare.
"Do you see now why I called you an idiot?"
Was the message Allistor sent me.
Realization hit me and I agreed that I was in fact an absolute idiot. My pride got the better of me making me groan in frustration. I wasn't particularly interested in the whole photography setup, but seeing how eager people were of wanting her to take pictures of them made me eager too. The fact that she reached out to me was a rather large opportunity, and the only thing I can now hope is that she does
actually contact me.
I looked at my cat only too see her relaxing in her litter box.
I groan with disgust and stare back to the TV that has now lost my interest.
It's been a couple days since the wedding and Allistor making me feel like absolute shit. I've been relaxing at home under the guise of 'me' time, but in actual fact I desperately wanted to beat the ever-living-shit out of myself. I started having doubts about Luciel reaching out to me.
Maybe I was too hard on her?
Maybe she just changed her mind?
But, why would she ask my number if she wasn't going to contact me?
Damn it!
I continued staring at the TV and watched at the credits play, indicating that the movie has ended. I couldn't bother changing the channel and felt myself doze off.
Bzzz
Bzzz
I felt the vibration of my phone in my hoodie's pocket. I took it out and swiped right without bothering to look at the screen.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Isabella. It's Luciel."
When I heard her name, sleep left my eyes and I was wide awake. I jumped up from my slouched position and sat up straight.
"Luciel, hi!" I say, more like yell, causing me to slap myself on the forehead.
"Wow, you sound...excited?" She replies.
'Excited' isn't close to how I'm feeling at this moment.
"Well, I wasn't expecting you to call so you caught me by suprise." I state.
I was waiting for you to call and watched my cellphone like a damn hawk these past few days. But, my pride got the best of me and made me give a more 'plausible' answer.
"I see. Anyway, how have you been?" She questioned.
"Not too bad I guess, how about you?" I incline.
"On my nerves. Honestly I wasn't sure if I should contact your or not. You were pretty straight forward when I reached out too you at the wedding." She said followed by a sigh.
Wow...
She's one of the very few people to make me feel guilty.
"Yeah, about that, I'm really sorry. I realized I was a little too harsh." I reply.
"No, it's totally understandable. I would've had the same reaction." She commented.
"I see..."
"I'm probably taking a fat chance even though you turned me down, but I was going to send some of my work as a way of convincing you-"
"Actually, I may or may not have seen your work on instagram. A friend of mine told me that you were really good and I went through some of your posts, I'll admit I was suprised." I state.
"Really? And? Have you reconsidered?" She asked with eagerness etched into her voice.
"Yes, but, I have a proposal..." I trail off.
"Which is?"
"Well, Allistor–the one who told me about your instagram–actually asked you to take on a little job at his niece's birthday party...which you declined. So, I was wondering, if you cou-"
"I'll do it. I'm assuming, in order to take pictures of you, you want me too take on the job your friend offered, right?" She asked.
"Yeah, but you don't need to feel obligated to actually do it if you don't want too. As I've said, it's a proposal. I just want Allistor to stop annoying me about it, really." I said with a sigh.
"It's fine. The only reason why I declined was because I just found it too much of a hassle. I'm doing photography for pocket money, I'm still a student. I get alot of offers daily so I'll see if I can squeeze in another one." She replies with a chuckle.
"I understand. I'll send Allistor your number." I tell her.
"Of course, but when will you be available?"
Her question caught me off guard but I quickly brought myself back together and took a deep breath in and out.
"I'll be available for the next week. But seeing as though you already have your hands full, I highly doubt you'd be able to-"
"Wednesday. Is Wednesday fine?"
"Y-yeah, sure. Wednesday is totally fine." I muttered in response.
"Great, I'll see you then. Bye, Isabella."
The beeping of the phone could be heard, indicating the call ended. I took it away from my ear and placed it down next to me. I slumped back down on the couch with confusion.
Didn't she say she was busy?
How is it going to be possible for her to make time on Wednesday when she clearly said she gets offers daily?
Not only that, but she's still a student and is studying sculpting so she must have her hands full with assignments.
That being said, I decided to send Allistor Luciel's number. He started praising me and said he'll treat me to a coffee. If I didn't know him for a long time, I'd be swayed by his kind gesture. In reality, the asshole is actually praising me for 'using my head'.
I wasn't sure what to do for the rest of the day and decided to treat myself to a warm bath with some scented candles and a platter of cut up fruit. There was no particular reason for me to go too such far lengths other than the fact that I enjoyed the feeling of tranquility. After I finished up, I got dressed into a plain white jersey and black jeans. I was too lazy to do anything with my hair so I left it as is; slightly damp with curls forming on the ends. With a good amount of deoderant, I then put on my sneakers, grabbed my car keys and phone and was out by the door.
Upon arriving at my destination, I felt myself not wanting to get out the car. The familiar garden with the neatly trimmed roses and other flowers I didn't know the name of, was looking at their best as if they knew I was coming. It was almost as if they were mocking me...
"Fuck, I'm going crazy."
With a sigh, I eventually left my car (even though I really didn't want to).
I stopped in front of the white picket fence and glanced at the flowers once more, specifically the crimson red roses.
There was a time that I loved roses. Not just for the variety of colours they gave off, but the pristine look they had. As a child, whenever I watched rom-coms with my parents, the man would always give the woman a bouquet of beautiful red roses wrapped neatly with a ribbon. But, I also wondered why give such a flower? It looked appealing but the stem was covered with thorns, so why would you give something to your partner that might hurt them? I came to the conclusion that adults were just simple-minded. I also found it quite funny. Reason for this was because of how flowers easily die if they aren't well maintained. And I highly doubt that everyone has green fingers or has the time and patience to look after them.
"Isabella."
My head whips up and I see my mother standing on the porch with her hands neatly folded in front of her. As always, her long black hair with grey streaks was put in a tight bun, no strand out of place. Unlike myself, she puts effort into her choice of clothing. She stood tall with her head held high, wearing a long sleeved grey dress and black slip-ons. My mother was the perfect example of how I would like if I reached her age. Although I highly doubt that my face would be as rigid as hers, hopefully.
"Aren't you going to come in?" She asked.
I've known this woman for all my life, yet whenever she speaks I can't quite figure out what exactly is going through her mind. Even now, I can't tell if she's annoyed or if she's happy to see me. Hell, I highly doubt she is. I can't even remember the last time I saw a genuine smile on her expressionless face. And I'm not talking about the smile you give when greeting someone, I mean a genuine smile giving off vibrancy.
I don't reply and make my way in. I wrap my arms around her in a hug, I feel her tense up in our embrace but shove it off.
My mother, she hasn't always been this 'cold'. She would always spoil me with affection and praises, but, that was before I reached adulthood. Of course, I didn't think much of it and simply took it as her preparing me for the real world.
After a few awkward seconds, we eventually went inside.
I followed her into the kitchen and seat myself on one of the chairs that surrounded an oakwood table. She makes her way to the kettle and starts preparing tea, even though she knows I absolutely hate it. But I don't say anything and simply watch her in silence.
"So, what brings you here?" She asks.
This woman has absolutely no filter. I realized after some time that I get my attitude from her and also how annoying it actually is.
"No particular reason, I just wanted to show face." I replied.
"It didn't seem like you wanted to 'show face' when you stood still at the front gate. If I didn't call you, I bet you would've turned around." She hinted.
"I was simply admiring your garden. It suprises me everytime I visit, not a single dead leaf to be seen." I comment.
"Of course it would, you barely visit." She says as she places down a mug in front of me and seats herself down on the chair next to me.
I gave a sigh to her response and start fiddling with the string of the teabag.
"Lesley phoned me the other day, he said he'll be visiting soon." She states.
"Ok." I reply.
"He'll be here for a few months." She cotinues.
"That's nice." I say.
"He said he wanted to figure out if he could work here again. Mentioned that he misses his family and living in a different country is not his thing, he's thinking of settling down."
"Good for him."
"Isabella-"
"Mom, no." I cut her off.
I knew exactly where this conversation was going and I just wasn't having it.
"Isabella, Lesley loves you. He always has, eversince the two of you were still young. He's the perfect match for you and is successful. He has his priorities, makes time for his family even though he is most likely dead tired, has the-"
"In all things that is holy, can you please stop? We've had this conversation so many times and the more we have it, the more we're going to end up at each other's necks. Lesley is going to find the woman of his dreams, and unfortunately that woman is just not me."
"You're going on as if I'm not successful, but in actual fact, I'm making more than him. Lesley made the decision of running off to a different country because of how pressured he felt here. And guess what the reason was? His family." I end off.
Lesley and I were supposed to be bestfriends. We grew up together and have known each other eversince we were in diapers. But, the older we got, instead of growing closer we turned to hate each other's guts more with every passing day that we had to look at the other's face. Our parents took it as the 'storm before the calm' and not the 'calm before the storm'.
"At some point he is going to need to settle down." My mom argued.
"That's a decision he needs to make. And if he does decide to settle down, he can choose with who, and when he wants to. There's no point in rushing him. Oh, and Lesley doesn't love me. In actual fact, he despises me." I reply.
As if on cue, I hear my phone buzzing on the table. I glance at the screen and see Luciel's number shining.
My mother stands up and leaves the kitchen.
With a sigh, I answer my phone.
"Luciel? What'sup?" I perk up.
"Sorry for being a bother, but I just wanted to know if it would be okay if you come over to mine on Wednesday?" She replies.
"It's a-okay, you're not a bother, are you reffering to the photoshoot?" I question.
"Yeah, I cleaned and all. Of course, we can do it elsewhere if you have a particular place in mind. But I wanted to prepare my studio beforehand if we're doing it here." She inclines.
"Sure, we can do it at your studio." I say with a chuckle.
"Great, see you on Wednesday."
"Sure, bye."
Well, at least I have one good thing to look forward to.
I spent a few more hours at my mom's even though she most likely wanted me out of her house by how much I annoyed her. Her facial expression remained the same, what gave it away was her body language. She was fidgeting all over and looked for all types of excuses that could make me want to leave. I took the initiative when I finally had enough and left.
As I've said, this woman is going to be the cause of my grey hair.