𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐍 (𝟏)

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟑

Isadora Flores was like a bundle of Sunshine.

She radiated a certain amount of cheer, and it spread to everyone around her like a disease with the infecting denominator being just a glimpse of her smile.

It was sweet and flushed. Everything about her screamed sweet. She smelled sweet, hell, her voice even sounded sweet to me.

The girl smelled like fucking chocolate and coconut.

Isadora liked to invade my personal space on purpose; Just by brushing her shoulder against mine, or touching my hand when she was pointing something out on my drawing, Or sitting extra close to me when she got tired. She was someone who didn't understand the definition of personal space.

And I didn't use to notice it that much. Only recently, I notice immediately when her body so much as brushes against mine. And it came with a weird feeling in my gut, like a fluttering sensation or some bullshit.

My body was bullshitting me.

And I've told her countless of times before that she was too close or something, and each time she just smiled sheepishly at me, scooted farther away and flushed a light pink on her cheeks. I don't know how I've let her get so comfortable in my personal bubble, but somehow she has.

And sometimes I'm comfortable with her in it too.

I listen thoroughly as she spews things that happened today; the excitement in her voice as she began to tell me had me listening so clearly.

"And then, out of nowhere, a piece of chicken flies through the air and smacks Joey right in the eye!" She snickers before continuing. "I swear I watched that thing fly right in front of me in slow motion."

She gasps softly, a hand slamming onto her mouth before she reaches and taps my arm enthusiastically. "And guess what happened after that." She gnaws on her bottom lip, practically jumping with caged excitement.

I peer up at her face, a smirk threatening the corner of my mouth. "What?" I muse.

"The chicken had pepper in it, and it got right in his eye." Laughing, she smacked my shoulder. "You had to hear him, He was screaming bloody murder!"

I sighed, the memory of his high pitched squeal echoing in my mind. "Everyone heard him." I grumble. She sighs, and it's wistful. "Yeah.. It really hurt my ears honestly."

I hum in response, rubbing my thumb against the light grey line, with light enough pressure, until the led smudged, creating a shadow to shade the knuckles of the hand to match the five other fingers I had shaded earlier.

The hand was large and drawn in the middle of the paper. The hand was upright, balancing a cigarette between the index and middle finger, the nails drawn short. And I could see the faded lines and imprints from where I occasionally messed up, or didn't like the placement. It was so visible to my eyes, and it was like a harsh reminder of my mistakes.