isabella [h.s.]

twenty three

**Money don't fix lonely,
if it did, you'd owe me
I just wanted you to wanna hold me,
you don't own me**

HARRY

If someone told me a week ago while I was sat in my sweaty office at the precinct fanning myself with one of my folders that in a few days time, I'd be spending my day on a yacht in the Hamptons, I'd probably laugh in their face, or scoff, or both. I suppose it's pretty lucky for me that Brody was too busy with his so-called work emergency to join us on the boat trip, because it meant that I got offered his place instead. Not very lucky for Isabella though, because she still seems rather pissed off about it. From the moment we stepped on this yacht, she's had the music blasting at full volume and the drinks pouring faster than you can throw them back. I joined in with the partying festivities for a while, but then I excused myself up to top deck to finally do some work. Aside from the rather gruesome nature of reading over details of homicides, it's actually not that depressing when surrounded by miles of ocean and the sight of the orange sun slowly dipping below it.

However, the calm and quiet environment I was working in is soon broken by the sound of someone stumbling up the steps, who I soon realise is Isabella from her laughter as she drunkenly struggles to climb up to the top deck. Eventually, after some more quiet giggles, she emerges, a smile on her face and an almost empty bottle of beer clasped in her right hand. I swear I remember her saying something about beer being gross, but maybe she's too drunk to care about the taste now. It definitely seems like she's reached that point of intoxication, because she can barely walk in a straight line as she makes her way over to me, clumsily throwing herself down on the plush white leather couch and almost spilling the rest of her beer in the process.

"Heyyy," she greets me happily, the alcohol in her system making her voice higher, and louder, than usual. Despite her dilated pupils, another indication that she's pretty drunk, her brown eyes are bright and glimmering gold under the fading sunlight. Her skin is a little browner due to another day spent in the sun and her shoulders are tainted with a hint of redness, but her attempts to combat the sunburn are evident in the scent of sun cream mixed with her usual fruity perfume. She's wearing a pair of denim shorts with her bikini top, which is plain white and, thankfully, a lot less revealing than the leopard-print one she was wearing yesterday, which was just a nip-slip waiting to happen. I do have to admit I prefer the leopard-print one, but I also understand that's probably something I should keep to myself.

Pushing those thoughts out of my mind, I greet her back with a simple "Hey,", grabbing some of the papers on the couch that she almost just sat on. "Sounds like you were all having fun down there."

"Yeah, we were," she nods in agreement, tilting the top of the beer bottle towards me. "You should've stayed down there with us, party-pooper."

"I have work to do, remember?" I say, gesturing to the papers and folders spread out around me.

"Boring," she sings, rolling her eyes and snatching one of the papers from my lap. She attempts to read it through her drunken gaze, her eyes squinting with the effort. "See, I was right. This is boring as fuck."

I shake my head at her, laughing softly as I grab the paper back from her hands. "As if you can read it. I doubt you can even see straight right now, you're that drunk."

"Hey! I am not that drunk," she protests with a pout, which of course, is the telltale sign that she is. "I'm like....a little, teensy bit tipsy," she says, holding her fingers a few centimetres apart to illustrate it, and then giggling afterwards as if it's the funniest thing ever.