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Standstill
She's not Bella. She's Isa.
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now
Isa likes her coffee sweet, and she likes to watch the black coffee turn a delicious caramel color as she pours the cream in.
She has the same routine every morning.
She wakes up at five in the morning. She runs on the treadmill for exactly an hour, not a minute more or less. She showers. She makes herself coffee with a splash of cream and oatmeal with brown sugar, topped off with fresh fruit.
She arrives at work by seven thirty every morning. She works at the library, and she loves it. She loves the calm and quiet of the library. She loves the routine of it. The books are familiar to her, a kind of familiar she easily understands and remembers, and the books expect nothing of her. The people that come in, sometimes asking her for help, other times simply requiring her to accept their library card and let them take out books, are easy to please. They know nothing of her and want to know nothing of her.
She likes that the best. She's tired of disappointing people with expectations she doesn't know how to meet.
She works until ten fifteen in the morning, when she takes a fifteen minute break and has her second cup of coffee for the day. At twelve, she takes her lunch break, and while she eats a chicken sandwich in the library kitchen in the back, she calls her father to say hello. He no longer asks what she remembers, and she's grateful for that.
The afternoon is slow, but she doesn't mind. She immerses herself in cataloguing, and when the day is especially slow, she reads to pass the time. At three thirty, her work day is done. The library remains open, but there are others to look after it. Isa goes home. Her apartment is small and neat and she loves it.
She prepares herself a nice dinner, one with a fresh salad and a dish from a recipe book she occasionally reads at the library. She eats while she watches the news, and by seven thirty, she sits in her bed, reading for two or three hours. She really does love her books.
Before she goes to bed, she calls her father again.
Sometimes there is a sigh in his voice, but he is always kind, so she pretends not to notice the sigh because she does have some sympathy for him. The poor man seems unable to accept how she wishes to live her life, but he clearly loves her, and for that she remains on affectionate terms with him.
Her life is not an exciting one, but excitement is of little importance to Isa.
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A/N: Thanks for reading!