Life for Isabelle Green is perfect. Except for whatever it is that lurks in the dark when the lights go out.
~~~
Note: This is NOT a paranormal story. No jump-scares, no purple veiny hands and no skeletal figures. Just a lil thrill and romance~
Rất tiếc! Hình ảnh này không tuân theo hướng dẫn nội dung. Để tiếp tục đăng tải, vui lòng xóa hoặc tải lên một hình ảnh khác.
While I am not necessarily a morning person, Isabelle is in a league of her own.
Waking up at eight in the morning, I was unamused to find myself on the floor again, this time sans the blanket. Instead, the blanket now serves as an extra layer of bedsheet for Isabelle. I don't think I'll ever understand how Isabelle managed to do that. Then again, her nocturnal adventures can be quite deadly, as she has made a distinct effort to prove.
And now, after using Isabelle's bedroom toilet (I'm sure she'll never find out) to brush my teeth and get rid of the digested output of the shit I had shamelessly gobbled up yesterday (not the shit shit, the food shit), I am now a man on a mission as I shake an aggressive Isabelle to wake her, all the while pretending I have not already been slapped in the face twice and stabbed in the ribs by her foot.
From my peripheral vision, I identify an incoming attack and duck to dodge the blind punch she almost delivers to redecorate my handsome face. I'm sure Lina would have been heartbroken.
Scowling, I do the most reasonable thing I can think of. I scream at the top of my lungs, "Don't you know there's a part of me that longs to go? Into the unknown! Into the unknooowwwn! Into the unknoooooooooowwwwwwn! Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh-"
"Shut up!" Isabelle cries at the same time her lethal weapon collides into my face. I topple over the armchair behind me and fall on the ground with the armchair on top of me like a lost lover. I mean, I did sleep withyou once, but get your shit together, bud.
"Zico, you piece of gunk!" Isabelle screams.
"Isabelle, you brat!" I retort, detaching the heavy armchair from myself.
"Did you really have to ensure your horrendous singing is the first thing I hear in the morning?" she yawns cutely.
I scoff. "Be grateful I didn't push you out of the bed instead."
Isabelle gasps. "That's the cruellest thing to do to someone who's sleeping!" she says. "I swear to the Marvel God, if you do that to me, I will wake up every night just to throw you out of the bed."
I roll my eyes. "You already did."
"Huh?"
"Nevermind," I mutter. "How are you feeling?"
"My head hurts," she answers.
"Probably because of all the crying yesterday." Even her eyes are swollen and judging from her voice, she obviously has a sore throat. My poor Isabelle.
"Or your lovely singing voice," she counters.
"Hey!" I feign offence. She giggles, the sound music to my ears.
The brat seems to have turned me into quite the poet.
