Wishful Thinking

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The city doesn't change, even with the constant noise. From its rusty garbage bins to the flowers on a windowsill, it grows on her. There is clearly plenty of room for improvement, but this city is her home.

No, it's the closest thing to home.

Isabelle leans on a tree as beads of sweat runs down her face. Her long, dark hair catches light in the sunset. She dusts herself off, her hands caked with flour and her brown apron untied. The sound of a young child talking to their parents makes her giggle to herself.

A story about a tiger and a butterfly, meeting in a different life as humans and falling in love. Delightful.

She walks around, hearing the conversation between two shop owners, ready to close for the day. The sound of metal roll-ups, jingling keys and polite farewells.

A few more hours, and she'd be facing her parents' disappointed faces once more.

There's more to life than money, but they don't understand that. They don't appreciate things unless they can make a profit or brag about it. Despicable behavior.

All she wants to do is pursue her passion, and anything else comes second. Some friends give her strange looks, calling her some sheltered rich girl. But what do they understand? They're too busy worrying about their next paycheck to think about the future.

Oh, if only they knew what came with a life of luxury. Being rich isn't all it's jacked up to be.

She closes her eyes, allowing the breeze to caress her skin. Isabelle wraps her arms around herself. That confusing excitement sits in her chest, recalling last nights' events. Mister tall and handsome with his chocolate eyes and oh so smooth voice.

He still hadn't sent a text. Shouldn't the man make the first move? Isabelle doesn't want to come off too strong and scare him off.

She checks her messages, her finger hovering over his number. Isabelle nibbles her cheek. As the streetlights turn on, she hurries back into the shop.

Would he ask her out?

She'd love to visit the amusement park. Isabelle touches her lips, grinning from ear to ear.

Lost in her little daydream, she glides from shelf to shelf. Humming a love song with no words, the subtle sweetness of the bakery adds to her excitement. Powdered sugar and warm dough, ready to take home.

She cleans up leftover crumbs, flakes and clears the shelves. There's barely any leftovers, and their policy is to only sell bread baked on the same day. Otherwise, what's left can be taken home. Ian, a co-worker greets her as she walks in. He has a smear of pink on the side of his lips. About time he made a move.

If that isn't cupcake frosting, he just had a sensual make out session with someone. Her lips curl into a grin and he whistles innocently.

Isabelle does a little dance and slaps his arm playfully.

Finally, he's getting some action.

She's trying to match him with someone, and after a year of testing her patience it's happening. Their wedding will be simply spectacular!

Pink bouquets, white doves and an extravagant cake. Isabelle can picture it already. She'll be too busy drinking wine in a lovely bridesmaid dress with their friends talking up a storm. The sound of piano music with a ballad singer and the church bells.

A refined surprise party.

The opening of a door brings her back to reality. A woman in office attire leans on the door frame, a wide grin on her face. In her hand is a colorful ID card and some small keychains. Her sleek bob is held in place by red hairpins, noticeable on her jet black hair. She holds out a paper bag, wiggling her ID in the air.

A pair of devious, downturned eyes greet her.

"I just lied to a guard. Am I badass or what?"

The woman sets the paper bag on the counter, a smile on her red lips. A silver pin on her collar read C in cursive. Isabelle stares at her with wide eyes, her mouth agape. Ian exchanges a look with Isabelle.

"She's your friend. If anyone asks I don't know her." He said.

Can't she stay out of trouble for a day?

Chloe Adamson. There is never a dull moment with her around. She doesn't attract trouble but causes them on purpose, thinking it's a game.

"Chloe. You didn't!" Isabelle said. She's got terrible taste in humor. How could she explain to Madam Lucia if police came over? Her parents are already annoyed with her, if she gets arrested it's all over. Social standing, reputation and a chance of changing things.

Gone with the wind, just like that.

She puts her phone on the counter. An image of her friend in orange and behind bars makes Isabelle frown. Her friend merely laughs. She won't be laughing behind bars, that's for sure.

"I'm sorry, but I can't stay long. I only came by to drop off a snack for you." She said. Didn't she just get here? With faded eyeliner and tired eyes, Chloe's smile looks strained, if not suspicious.

Isabelle pouts and takes out a basket with two pieces of bread, leftovers from today. Her dark haired friend wiggles her eyebrows and takes one.

She works in a bakery. Isabelle can easily make herself some food. What did Chloe actually come here for, really? Suspicious.

"What about me?" Ian said. He pokes his head out from the corner. Isabelle breaks a chocolate bar in half, giving him some. He narrows his eyes but eats quietly.

The sweet taste of caramel and creamy nougat melts in her mouth. She can almost forget all her worries.

"I made my first batch today. Do you like it?" Isabelle nibbles her lip. Chloe takes a small bite and her eyes light up.

"This is delicious!"

Isabelle sighs in relief, and hands the rest over, to which she digs into immediately. To be able to witness someone enjoy what she made right before her eyes, Isabelle can't describe it in words.

What she is sure of; she doesn't want to stop.

It isn't a backhanded comment, it's genuine feedback. Isabelle tried to ask her parents but all they wanted to know was how much it cost and how many she sells a day. They even tried to commercialize it! Geez.

It's no longer good once a machine makes it. Human hands can make intricate pieces of art that machines cannot hope to imitate. Her parents wouldn't understand, their passion is about making money and that's it.

Chloe's phone rings. She catches a glimpse of the lockscreen, a picture of her bestfriend with a man on the screen. She giggles, devouring the last piece of bread before giving Isabelle a wink.

The three talk among themselves for a while. The owner, Madam Lucia, checks in on her staff and the store before leaving.

Ian pulls down the rollers and runs off, saying he has urgent business. Yes, a date. She looks at her friend.

Isabelle ought to ask for advice, but her love life is nonexistent at this point. But how? She can't just ask her what it's like to kiss. Knowing Chloe, she'd laugh and tease her for it.

After cleaning up, Isabelle locks the main entrance. She leaves using the back door, placing a small plastic bowl with canned tuna at the side.

That cat didn't like bread, maybe fish would do the trick?

There's a black cat that goes dumpster diving at this hour. After many failed attempts to befriend it and nearly getting bitten, Isabelle came to the decision to drop off food from a distance instead. It's beautiful cat, too well-groomed to be a stray.

One thing that makes it stand out is its pensive green eyes. Why doesn't the owner put a collar?

Isabelle looks around, no sight of the feisty little friend of hers. He isn't dropping by today.

She shrugs and rubs her arms. Is it always this cold?

There's something about walking around at night that makes her feel calm.

How the moon hangs in the sky, feeling her sole of her shoes rub against the concrete with each step. Sometimes, she passes by the occasional couple stealing kisses in a dimly lit corner. She shoves her hands in the side pockets of her dress. That'll be her, someday. But for now, she'll just pretend not to see that.

Sometimes, she'd dance along to music while walking around. It's dangerous to do that at night, especially because she's a woman, but she'll take her chances. Other times, she'd daydream. But tonight, Isabelle merely wants to exist in the moment.

The sound of shattering glass pierces through her peace, making her freeze in place. Can she take back what she said? She immediately presses her back against the nearby brick wall, her heartbeat in her throat. The dampness of the wall soaks into her clothing.

A voice from the corner bellows words she doesn't understand and silence follows. She sighs, eager to just get away.

Some stupid drunk is probably talking to themselves again, making a mess.

A loud gunshot makes her ears ring. She drops to her knees, clutching her chest. Isabelle feels her heartbeat as her limbs feel numb, the world turning into a blur. Without a thought, she carefully peeks around the corner. Isabelle grimaces, feeling her insides churn at the sight. A man is on the ground in a pool of red. He moves his arm, calling out weakly.

Isabelle covers her mouth. Every fiber of her being is telling her to run. But running away from someone dying, right before her eyes, doesn't sit well with her at all.

She spots a retreating figure ahead. A white hat? Her legs tremble. Don't move. No, she has to.

She's all he's got, now.

The strong smell of iron is repulsive. She clenches her fists and fights the urge to gag as tears form in her eyes. Before she can think, she places his head on top of her rolled up jacket. It'll be a makeshift pillow for now. She applies pressure on his shoulder with her bare hand. Isabelle thought to save the questions for later and help him first.

Please, please don't die. Not in front of her. Isabelle talks on the phone, her voice shaky and hollow.

What if there are more people after him?

The wound continues to seep, staining the cuff of her sleeves. The man tries to speak, only to choke on blood. The gurgling sound of struggle pulls on her skin. Isabelle bites her lip and looks away. He can't die like this.

What if that man comes back? Will he shoot her too?

She gives his hand a light squeeze to which he returned. Whomever he is, she'll stay until help arrives. She lowers her head, offering a silent plea to the skies above.

His breathing becomes faint. She carefully removes the flap of his jacket, finding a gaping hole where flesh should've been. She rips the hem of her dress and applies pressure on the hole. This isn't the most sanitary, but there isn't any other option.

The man put his hand on her wrist, cold. A siren in the distance comes closer. He closes his eyes and his hand goes limp.

No!

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Isabelle hugs her knees. The hour she spends waiting feels like minutes. What is she doing. allowing herself to get caught up in what could be the end of her life. What if that man is actually a criminal? She closes her eyes, the smell of iron as strong as ever on her clothes.

Too rattled to relax.

The cold, eerie aura of the hospital makes her fear skyrocket. She feels a shift of weight and looks up, seeing a young woman beside her in blue scrubs. This lady had better not be a ghost. Isabelle has had enough scary events as of the moment.

Would the nurse ask her to leave? She couldn't say she cared about the stranger. She doesn't even know his name, for crying out loud. Hopefully they wouldn't ask. It'd be odd, since she offered her blood for him.

"You'll scare everyone away."

The nurse rubs Isabelle's back. She scoffs in reply. Like that matters. Spots of musty-looking brown all over her hands and dress, accompanied by untidy hair. She put her legs down. A perfect look for a costume party. Maybe the stains won't wash off her blue dress. Why did something always happen when she wears her favorite clothes? She sighed.

She used her emergency card to pay for everything. It's something she uses to get limited edition brand items since a normal card wouldn't be able to afford it. Her parents frown at her spending habits, but this time she saved a life.

Isabelle hopes she saved a life, at least. But what about the rest? Is she condemning someone else by saving another?

"Gets me some privacy, on the bright side." Isabelle comments, earning a smile from the nurse. The nurse gives her a pack of tissues. She gratefully takes them, helping herself. Silent tears rolled down her face as the nurse comforts her without any words. After a few minutes, the woman in scrubs opens topic and grabs them some coffee.

Isabelle holds the cup in her hands, staring at the brown liquid as medical staff went back and forth. It's the cheap, instant kind. Would it be better to leave? He'd be fine, now.

"He's awake." The nurse said, eyeing the two people showing off their badge to the receptionist. Isabelle widens her eyes as her chest blossoms with fear. The police were here.

Would they accuse her of attempted murder? Could she be framed?

Isabelle did have her hands all over the victim, but one notable thing was she saw a suspect run away. She has no proof to back up these claims. Thanks to the nurse, she found his room. She stares at the door, unsure of what to do. Here goes nothing.

The first thing Isabelle sees is the tired smile of a middle aged man, reclining on the bed. His entire left arm and shoulder are wrapped in fresh bandages, as his face is covered in small cuts and bruises. Aside the bandages, he looks calm. How odd. Is this a daily occurrence?

"I thought I had died and saw an angel."

She cracks a small smile. Now isn't the time for jokes, old man. The sight makes her eyes sting. She closes the door quietly and takes a seat. Did the staff think he's rich? They seem to have went out of their way, giving him this spacious, luxurious room.

"I'm glad you're alright." Isabelle said. Despite the wrinkles on his face, he seems young. The glint in his eyes reminds her of a fox, looking around for something to play with. In other words, playfully curious. He looks awfully cheerful for someone who nearly died.

No, did he have a death wish? Did she mess up?

"Samuel Joseph Valdez. I'm sorry we met like this, Miss..?" He leans in slowly and offers his good hand. Isabelle gives a weak shake. The sight of his battered skin made her feel terrible. She feigns a stoic expression.

Getting on the bad side of someone targeted is not the way to go. Could he be a con artist? A thief?

"Isabelle Maeve Cross."

The more she looks at him, the more sorry she feels. She rubs her wrists consciously, spots of brown and black all over her sleeves. She can't just open her mouth and ask what he was doing. Isabelle must respect his privacy. Her parents has drilled such an attitude into her too well.

If she asked too much, would she end up disappearing?

Wait, that isn't a bad thing.

Her head snaps up. It's past midnight now. Mother must be worried. She hurriedly types a message to her mother explaining she'd stay with Chloe for the night. Isabelle sends a message to her friend, promising to explain later.

Samuel runs his fingers through his stubble. Oh? Three knocks on the door. Hearing this, Isabelle and Samuel give each other a look. He didn't mention expecting anyone. She grabs the TV remote, ready to whack it on the intruder. Not the best weapon of choice, but she'd have to improvise.

What the hell is a block of plastic going to do? She chucks it to the side.

"Hello? Mister Valdez? We'd like to ask some questions."

Valdez? The family that owns one of the biggest banks in the country? The police? She imagines herself behind bars in a tasteless orange uniform. She imagines the harsh words of friends and family. Isabelle rubs her hands.

Looks like Chloe won't be alone in jail, after all.

"Act natural." Samuel said. Isabelle takes a deep breath. Seriously? This man had faith in those kind of men? This day just gets stranger.

"The most natural thing would be to panic in this kind of situation. So I can panic." She blurts. Would they check the bathroom? No! They'd get suspicious.

"It's a normal day." Samuel watches Isabelle pace back and forth as she talks, mumbling to herself.

Is normal barely escaping death? Isabelle could feel the headlines already, taking a mugshot with red eyes and messy hair. She can already hear the judge slamming down his gavel announcing her guilty as charged.

Yes, perfectly normal. Nearly died but going out for coffee later.

"Mister Valdez?"

The knocks became louder. She jumps at the sound. She had to get out and fast. But how? Samuel rubs his temples, his lips in a straight line.

"I look like a zombie gone wrong!" Isabelle breathes out, her hands on her head. The sound of footsteps are as clear as day. She makes a beeline for her things. She can make a narrow escape through the window and flings the curtains aside. At the sight of grills, her face fell.

Great, now what? She unscrew them?

"Get it together." He said.

Isabelle opens her mouth to retort but the door opens. One man in a uniform walked in and showed off his badge before closing the door. The man took off his hat. Isabelle holds her breath as she stares at him. The enchanting pale glow he has, a perfect pair with his dark hair. He's okay-looking, for a police officer.

What's next, he's a vampire out to kill them? Just shoot her in the foot already. Isabelle must've hit her head and lost her mind. Goodness gracious.

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