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Isabel attends a student band's gig at her uni with her friend Mary. It started as an innocent girls night out but Isabel didn't know she'd fall head over heels for the drummer.
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Roger had passed out at Isabel's flat that night to help nurse her hangover the next morning. He woke up before her (he himself had a headache but it wasn't horrible like ones he'd had in the past) and poked his head around her bedroom door. She was still sound asleep and didn't even stir when he switched on the telly. Or when the phone rang. He knew she wasn't waking up to answer it so he picked it up.
"Hello, Austin-Torres residence," Roger said down the line, "Um no, she's not here right now, can I take a message-yep, bye," he scribbled it down on a post it note and stuck it on the fridge. He looked around the flat. He didn't want to help himself to anything so decided to just have a look around.
There was a large jar in the kitchen half full with money and was labelled 'Vegas'. The fridge was full of magnets and some little doodles on post-it notes. The record collection was large. He strolled over and had a flip through. There were loads of Elvis vinyls (It took up most of the collection) the rest was a variety of Mick Jagger, Led Zeppelin, The Who, Neil Young, The Monkees, Jimi Hendrix, The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Billie Holiday and loads of singles (Mostly Bowie singles).
There were lots of flower pots dotted around the flat full of white lilies and pale blue peonies. Candles sat on shelves and the fireplace, they were burnt out but the scent of vanilla and lavender still clung to the air. Textbooks were scattered around and messy notebooks full of scribbled hand writing. A pillow was on the arm chair in the shape of The Rolling Stones tongue which Roger smirked out. He definitely sensed some kind of obsession.
After his little snoop, Roger sat back on the sofa and flicked the telly back on.
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Isabel staggered out of her bedroom at 4 o'clock. She was wearing a large shirt and some sweatpants. Her makeup was smudged and hair messy. Thick, dark bags shadowed her eyes and overall she looked like shit. "Morning," Roger said, startling her a little.
"Loud. Too loud," she mumbled, holding her hand to her head. Roger snickered. She stumbled to the kitchen and started buttering up a sandwich. "Ugh, I have to go to work in an hour," she moaned, looking at the clock.
"You've literally been in a coma since yesterday, your not going to work," Roger said, joining her in the kitchen. She opened her mouth to retort but the phone rang.
"Is this what death feels like?" she said, slapping her hands over her ears and putting her head down on the island.
Roger laughed and picked it up again, "Hello?— oh no she isn't coming in today she's still sick, yep see you," Isabel glanced at him, "That was your boss, wondering if you were coming in, I said no,"
