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Birmingham, 1917
"Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday dear Bella. Happy birthday to you!" The group sang to the birthday girl, as she sat before her cake.
"Make a wish! Make a wish!" Will excitedly shouted.
Isabella closed her eyes and made her wish, before blowing out the candles on the cake. All the candles got blown out, meaning her wish had to come true. "What did you wish for?"
Just one day of peace. Just a couple hours of happiness.
"If I tell you, it won't come true, Will." Isabella lowly said, adorning a smile.
Arthur Sr. had up and left the family again only a couple days earlier. And while Isabella had been through hell the years he had been here, some twisted part of her mind missed him.
She had celebrated when aunt Pol had told her that he had disappeared, she had gone out with Nic and gotten drunk in the yard, dancing the night away. But after she woke up from a nightmare of the 'swizzled doctor incident', she couldn't help but feel a little sad.
Her father had after all only wanted the best for her. He thought the institutionalization would help her, he hadn't meant to hurt her. He only wanted her to have a place in heaven. He thought the doctor could further help her secure her place in heaven, there was nothing wrong with that. Even while Isabella didn't believe in God, or heaven, or hell, he did, and she couldn't fault him for wanting to save her from burning for eternity. He had to love her, he was her father, it was his job to want the best for her, right?
"I'll cut the cake, I'll be right back." Sage announced as she grabbed the cake and knife from in-front of Isabella. "I don't trust any of you with a knife."
"What? I'm awesome with a knife." Adam complained.
"That's rude." Isabella muttered. "I'm great with knives."
"The fact that you've both been drinking whisky like its water all day, doesn't help assure me of your knife abilities." Sage said as she started cutting the cake.
"So have you! You just took a shot before we sang." Adam pointed out.
"And you and Bella thought it would be a great idea to see who could chug five shots the fastest."
"Whatever." Adam muttered as Isabella rolled her eyes. She couldn't talk without, at least, being tipsy. The pain she experienced in her throat, especially while talking, had never fully disappeared. And if she talked loudly for long periods of time, she would end up coughing up blood. The pain would bring forth memories of being strapped to the table, it would bring back memories of the pain, the anguish.
