Isla Holbrooke wakes up everyday knowing she's different. She accepts it, she embraces it, but she's not sure she quite understands it. Her scars are mental, not there to be seen but to be felt.
So when her friend signs her up for a matchmaking ser...
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• 2 and a half years later •
My roommate Jessica is particularly fond of perfection.
Looking at her wrinkle-free, ironed blouse, her straight blonde hair and her immaculately kept nails, you would think obviously. But then there are other things she's specific about.
Like my breakfast for example.
She comes into the kitchen, glances at me, stares at the food on the table and gives me a long, hard look.
"You're having a sandwich for breakfast?" She dead-pans in her thick, accented voice. "With 7up?"
I nod once, go back to finishing my sandwich.
"May I ask why?" She blinks.
"Because," I say, swallowing. "I hate coffee and I was too lazy to make myself chocolate milk."
She waits, drums her fingernails on the counter. I can tell she's thinking of a reply, but her words are empty.
"Well I guess your employer never has to worry about the 'creative' part of your job." She finally says.
She goes back to her room, pulls out her luggage bag. It's huge, black and really ugly. Also, it's really expensive, but I don't see the point of that.
She puts on her glasses and starts tapping on her phone. I bet she's issuing her boarding pass online, getting the last of her flight details.
Jessica's going to Birmingham. She does that a lot. Born and raised in the UK, she came here for college, and eventually stayed when she got a job offer in a marketing company.
But she misses her parents. A lot. Also, she's loaded, so travelling back to Birmingham thrice a year isn't really a problem for her.
"Have a safe flight." I call out with a mouth full of chicken and pesto.
"Thank you." She replies. "I'll be gone for three weeks in total, and if you wouldn't mind feeding Pasha..."
A black tabby meows from under the table, having heard his name. He starts scratching the chair, then fixes his bright green eyes on me.
"Of course," I tell Jessica. I pick up Pasha and he meows in delight.
"Well, I'll get going then," she sighs. She leaves her bag by the doorway and comes over to me, giving me a quick hug.
She gives Pasha a peck above his head, then turns around and gets her luggage. Before I can ask her whether she wants to borrow my car, she's gone.
A few minutes later, I get up and fix Pasha some breakfast too. Jessica bought enough cat food at the supermarket yesterday to feed ten cats, much less one, so I think we'll be alright.
