0012 — Isa
1146 Words
I laced up my white trainers. Knotted them twice so they wouldn’t slip.
Every time someone criticized my appearance, they acted like they were doing me a favor. Funny how those favors always left me feeling inadequate.
Eventually, I started making the changes. If everyone was so committed to treating me like a fixer-upper, who was I to stand in their way?
I pinned my hair into a neat bun. A few soft strands slipped free around my face. Normally, I would've fixed them. Today, I couldn't find the energy to care.
Made it to work on time. As always.Greeted Mr Fort the way I always did.
The curtains were still drawn. I opened them to let in some sunlight before checking his chart. Afterwards I began my routine.
Started with his teeth. Soft brush, tiny circles. Suctioned after every few swipes so nothing slipped down his throat.
“Open for me, okay? Just a little more.”
My voice came out quiet. Like if I asked nicely, his jaw would listen.
It didn’t but I kept talking anyway. It was easier than the silence.
I sighed.
The room settled into silence again. Sunlight spilled through the window and stretched across his face. It softened the sharp edges, warming his pale skin with a golden glow.
I liked that.
Lately, Mr. Bryan looked too pale for my comfort.
As if he'd been fading a little more each day.
I sat beside him for a while, carefully brushing stray strands of hair from his forehead.
"Houses are expensive, Mr. Bryan.” A small laugh escaped me. “That's today's depressing observation.”
I folded my arms, leaned back as a smile crept up on my face, “I'd really like a place of my own someday. Nothing fancy. Just... mine. Somewhere nobody can tell me what to wear or who to marry or what life choices I'm making wrong.”
My eyes drifted back to his face. "You know. Normal stuff..."
“I wish I could do something big with my life too.”
The words came out quieter.
“Not important. Big.”
I bit my lip.
The dream felt fragile whenever I said it out loud. Like speaking about it gave reality permission to crush it.
“Music.”
I stared at the floor.
“That's the stupid one.”
A lump formed in my throat.
“You know what Kesley did once? To be honest, I don't usually talk about her. People don't normally bring their childhood nightmares into casual conversation.. but...when I was twelve, she broke my guitar."
The memory surfaced with painful clarity.
"She snapped it in half and... threw the pieces in the trash. Said I sounded awful. Said I wasn't music. I was... noise. She told me I'd never be a singer.”
My eyes stung. I rubbed them with the heel of my hand.
“Can you believe that?” A shaky laugh escaped me. “Twelve years old and getting a professional performance review.”
I looked back at Mr. Bryan. His expression hadn't changed. Calm. Peaceful. Listening. Or at least letting me pretend he was.
“She's so mean.” I sniffed. "Honestly, if Disney ever runs out of villains, they should give her a call. She'd nail the audition.”
I laughed and wiped at my tears. The memory still hurt. Maybe it always would. But at least I could laugh about it now.
That had to count for something
For years, thinking about that guitar had felt like touching a bruise. One poke and all the hurt came rushing back. Now it was... different. Not gone.
Just... I don't know....
I stayed in the silence for a while longer.
No talking.
No rambling stories.
No complaints about Kesley or impossible dreams or expensive houses.
Just me and Mr. Bryan.
The room felt calm.
His chest rose and fell steadily beneath the blanket, each breath slow and even.
I watched the sunlight creep across his face and wondered what he would say if he could wake up for five minutes.
Probably tell me to shut up.
A laugh tugged at my lips.
I don't know how long passed before something made me glance toward the doorway.
My heart nearly stopped.
Edmund stood there. One shoulder resting against the frame, looking far too comfortable for a man who had apparently been eavesdropping on my emotional breakdown.
Last night we’d had a “minor disagreement.” He’d basically threatened me into dropping all questions about Elgin Fort.
What I hadn’t expected was for him to shove his tongue down my mouth… and for me to spend the entire night replaying it while brushing my teeth raw like a guilt-ridden nun trying to exorcise the devil’s kiss.
Until I confirm whether we share blood or not, you need to stay away from me, Edmund Fort.
I adjusted my uniform, pursed my lips, and sent a silent prayer to whatever cruel god was laughing at me right now.
He stepped into the room anyway, unhurried and completely at ease.
The air shifted the moment he did—heavier, tighter, harder to breathe.
“We need to talk about last night.”
I busied myself folding the same towel for the third time, refusing to meet his eyes. "There’s nothing to talk about. It was a mistake. A momentary lapse in judgment. Probably caused by temporary insanity and whatever was in that scotch.”
He took another step closer. Too close.
“Isa.”
Don’t say my name like that. Don’t.
I stood up abruptly, putting the bed between us, “Stay away from me, Edmund. Please. Until I figure some things out… just… stay away.”
He watched me for a long moment, eyes intense. “And if I don’t want to?”
Then we’re both going straight to hell.
My eyes flicked desperately to Mr. Bryan. Right. Professional. Look at your patient, Isa. Do your actual job instead of sprinting down this pathetic escape route.
“As you can see, I’m working, Mr. Edmund,” I said sharply. “Some of us actually have jobs to do on a Saturday.”
“Bryan’s asleep,” he shot back.
“His eyes are open,” I snapped, “and we were having a great conversation before you interrupted.”
Edmund’s jaw tightened. “Bryan prefers music in the morning.”
“I was telling him a story.”
“How about I tell you a story?” he countered, stepping closer.
I finally turned to face him fully, towel still clutched in my fist. “How about...how about you leave me the hell alone right now? I’m busy.”
His dark eyes narrowed instantly, "You’ve been dodging me since last night, Isa. You don’t get to kiss me like that and then pretend I don’t exist the next day.”
- Writer
