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@bellarourke
Sociopathy is seeing life as single player filled with NPCs, unaware that the world is actually multiplayer.
H. ARSLAN.
Haley didn’t know exactly why she had accepted going out with her parents. The cold war had never ended between them, perhaps it was their lack of Leyla that made them urge to have the company of their other children but it wasn’t the same, neither for them nor for Haley. They ate in silence, Haley constantly checking her phone and allowing her fiancé to know that she was alright but at some point she’d have to find a way out of that situation, while her parents would say anything — mostly negative comments about her - to disrupt silence from being welcomed in their environment.
Thankfully time passed by and soon they had to leave. A fake smile had been worn from the moment she placed her eyes on her parents to the moment they left, and then, she felt as if a weight had left her shoulders before her attention moved to the blonde woman directing a few words at her. “More like a nightmare.” She stated, not even sure if she was talking about Haley anyway. It was one of those days that she definitely needed a drink and a massage. Anything that would make her relax. Asking for the menu once against for the waiter, so she’d get something to drink, her attention followed back to the woman. “Could I humor you with how amazing I am and my parents don’t give a shit about it? Because if I can, then join me,” she pointed at the empty chair in front of her so they could share a table.
Bella noticed the silence beside her restaurant roommates almost immediately. It wasn’t tense, from what Bella could tell. It just seemed so... Still around the family of three. Normally, the parents would talk about their appointment with the family doctor, how they went grocery shopping and how the grapes have gone up in price and are now ridiculously expensive, how your mother gushings on and on about how your big sister is going to be the star of the family. Bella practically grunts with annoyance, lip curling at the corner. In the same thought, that was a huge give away that the family of three weren’t close. Whenever someone did speak, it was the parents, insulting their daughter in some passive and sly way. It was a little impressive to Bella, if she was going to honest. The journalist would look at the three from the corner of her eye every now and then. Fake and tight smilse giving away everything. She almost wanted to yell at the group and tell them to get over themselves. Now, Bella understanding the feeling of being ignored by a parent, though fleeting... She tries to not think about it much, despit the topic constantly come up, there's a piece of her that blatanty allows her to glare at the elder couple's back as they leave their child at the dinner table alone
People really need to learn how to be more subtle. How does anyone expect Bella to mind her own business when no one understands how to be not-so obvious? There was no way she was able to go about her night at her own table after that interaction - if you could even call it that. That's why she just had to lean over and ask business or pleasure? When the brunette gave Bella her attention, she was sincerly surprised she was even giving Bella the time of day. And she was absolutely going to take full advantage of this. “Alright then," The woman nods, sliding out of her booth, taking her dinner plate with her and taking a new spot directly in front of Haley, where her parents once sat. "Let’s hear it. Just how amazing are you?” Bella leans forward with semi-natural anticipation. "Skip the bit about your parents. I don't give a shit about them." Bella grins, giving the stranger a playful wink.
“You’re authentically you.”
― Black Mirror - San Junipero (2016) dir. Owen Harris
@bellarourke + @beckanderson
F. WESTBROOK.
Finley hated journalists. In fact that wasn’t a strong enough word, he despised them. The irony was not lost on him that without them he wouldn’t be who he was today, no one would know his name, no one would have cared that once upon a time he had been the new beau of Carmen De Santos. No one would have followed him around and take pictures of his life, but that didn’t matter to him. He still hated them. He wanted to be adored and admired by his fans, not by the vultures that were looking to tare him down at any opportunity they could get, and lately that had been a lot of them. If there was one he liked more than most it was Bella Rouke, he had no idea how she did half of what she did, and god did he wish he could figure it out - he hadn’t even been able to get into his systems and he could get into anything. Still the like he felt for her was really more along the lines of admiration as someone who had goals and would stop at nothing to achieve them. As an actor though? Well he could throw her under the bus and he wouldn’t even blink as she was hit. How he had ended up sat next to her at the restaurant was a mystery to him, and he’d tried to pay little mind to her dealings, it wasn’t like she was going to get anything out of him tonight, he was dining alone.
He could feel her gaze on him though, long before her words followed and it took him a beat of time to decide if he was going to give her the pleasure of answering. No doubt the two of them would end up in some sort of - conversation - if he did and he wasn’t sure he was ready to put himself in that situation. He was already working so hard on rebuilding the imagine he had destroyed with one rehab stay. “On the record or off?” He countered as he finally inclined his head in her direction.
Fame and all of it’s aspect Bella desperatly loathed. Hollywood, award seasons, the false sense of community - not that Bella was ever part of any community to begin with, but ugh! If she had the chance, she would love to decline being part of whatever Finley wanted to be part of. Well, actually, she has. Numerous times over the last few years as she's made more and more of a name for herself. People have wanted her on shows, on podcasts, on the news, for someones blog. Fame is the worst thing in the world, you don't do anything! What was important is the kind of stuff you do, and even then, in Bella's heated opinion, 'famous people' rarely make the correct decision. And the thing that disappointed Bella the was most, in her own very well thoughtout opinion, that he was so much smarter than that world. He didn’t need it. But, oh well. She would never tell him this. He was arrogant enough and he was an adult, he was fully capable to figuring out his own shit.
On or off the record, on or off the record, on or off the record. Why did people always ask her this question? As if Anything they told her would somehow end up in the local papers in big, bold headlines, as if it fucking mattered to other people? And the general public calls her a narcissist! Christ, if people could look past their tiny little lives sometimes. Her nose crinkles. “Off, of course,” Bella tells Finley as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “An actor with a drug addicition isn’t terribly important to me. Nor is it news worth my time.” Bella tells Finley with brutal honesty. Teaching one person at a time, she supposes...
Clarice Lispector, The Hour of the Star
S. MOORE.
It had been a long shift at the hospital, something Sam was used to by now. Working long hours was an escape from having to focus on anything else in his life. Sam liked it that way, preferred it actually. After his last round, Sam mumbled goodbyes to his co-workers and headed for his car. A tiredness he knew all too well came over him; yet, the drive for energy in the form of food stirred from deep in his stomach. Deciding to stop in one the more well-known Italian eatery may have not been the best choice for the male, however it was exactly what he was craving. Still wearing the green scrubs, Sam settled into a bar stool and placed his normal order of Gnocchetti e Crema with the bartender. His hazel hues glanced around as he waited for his meal, taking in the people around him just enjoying their lives. Sam always found himself wishing for more of the carefree vibes people always seemed to had. While he rarely stressed about work, it was just every other aspect of life that Sam constantly worried or stressed over.
After the steamy plate of potato dumplings in their spinach-tomato creamy goodness, the people and noise around him seemed to fade away. The tastes took his worries away, something Sam loved about food. The closeness of the female voice caused his focus to shift back to reality, not wanting to be rude if someone was speaking to him. A small, friendly smile came onto his face. “Mostly pleasure. Despite the noise. Best gnocchi in town here.” He explained and gestured towards his plate of food, his eyes not leaving the stranger’s. “And what about you, miss? Business or pleasure?”
Ah, well isn’t he an absolute cutie. Good hair, nice features, gentle voice, friendly tone. If Bella had the emotional range, she would have most likely fallen in love tonight. But, Bella didn’t have that emotional range. Therapists and doctors have told her that over time, eventually, her impulses and being able to expand emotionally was going to became easier as she got older. She didn’t believe that for a second and it’s good thing she didn’t get her hopes up because in this very moment, Bella just sees another person who has weaknesses and she wants to know what they are. Maybe. If their interesting enough.Ugh. She hopes he's interesting because Bella is about ten minutes away from doing a line or two of coke against the pretty marbel counter of the woman's washroom. The aesthetics were weirdly comforting.
"Ahh," The woman sounds, feigning interest when all she wants yell is ' who the fuck cares about the gnocchi!? ' - He was just trying to make conversation, though. So, Bella inhales deeply before answering. "A little bit of both." She actually didn't know if that was the truth or not. Bella lifts an index finger, rethinking her answer. "I was her on business, and now..." The journalist gestures a hand around as if she would snatch the answer she's looking for out of thin air. Bella rolls her eyes. "And now I'm eating while trying to not think about hanging myself from the pretty chandelier." The too much of an honest answer slips past her lips before she could really give any thought to it. But, that's normally house Bella's brain worked. If the stranger didn't like it, it was him who was going to have to handle it. Bella waits patiently for his reaction with content smile on glossed lips.
I. REYNOLDS.
Oh. So they were similar in some regards then - at least when it come to violent intrusive thoughts. And that spark of wanting to cause chaos, of wanting to hurt certain people, lit her eyes until they were just a shade lighter of blue. Filled with emotions that she normally hid from others, that she still struggled with being ashamed of. She normally wouldn’t be so open but Isabel surprised even herself sometimes. Truthfully, life wasn’t something to be thought out for her - she just flowed wherever things led her for the most part. It was the only way she knew how to really live and ignore that ache that sat heavy in her chest - the one that led to thoughts of being dead.
Her nose crinkled up into disgust at the thought of a dog’s gaze being akin to a man’s. Yes, she was familiar with gazes like that being thrown to her. What she wasn’t happy about was being compared to the same. Still, she shrugged it off and carried on. A secretive little grin formed on her lips and she casted her eyes to the side, shaking her head just so. She wasn’t holding anything back - the woman was wrong. She was fighting every day and hadn’t held anything back since the day her parents were taken from her, since her home was destroyed. People thought she was so complacent, so calm, so steady, so happy, so sweet. But they didn’t know the girl who went toe to toe with a predator in her own house, how she planned his death, how she fought against him and sent him to prison forever, how she brought down a ring of people just like him.
But they weren’t supposed to know. She was supposed to tell a story of her happy little life so that they could still see her as what she wanted to be presented as. So that the illusion of Dr. Isabel Reynolds wouldn’t be broken; so that she could still be seen as capable and worthy of admiration. She got the to choose who she let underneath that veneer, who got to see the inside parts of her and know what really happened. It was so funny to Isabel that all their questions could be answered with a quick google search into her past. The journalists at the trial for her uncle had seen to that and yet very few people actually choose to use her name against her like that. An inside joke that she never shared - just like how she was careful to tell people her name. Protective of it, protective of her life and her secrets.
“Where would you like to start?” But it’s not said in a self deprecating way or a way that hints at feeling sorry for herself. An amused smirk hangs onto every word that falls from her lips and her eyes are bright blue as they glance back at the woman. “I’ve had a hell of a time.” And there’s a twist of all the secrets - big and small - that she keeps just beneath the surface in that sentence. Her voice sounds a little bit like a seduction, like flirting with danger. Like a dare. “You don’t even know my name yet.” Leaning forward, adjusting herself with grace as her elbows fall onto the table and her hand rises, pushing her blonde hair up and out of her face, letting it fall through her fingers like silk, Isabel takes a moment to look at the woman. To admire her, to settle her gaze on her in a way that speaks volumes whilst saying nothing out loud. “And wouldn’t that just kill you,” her words are a dance, a practiced ease as they settle over the ears to entrance, to linger, to incite a response and to build tension (and there is tension - it settles low in her stomach and makes her heart do a weird little squeeze), “to not know everything.” It’s not a question.
Isabel has been watching for as long as she has so she knows things too.
Her normally cool and emotionless face breaks into a wide grin at the words from the woman and she laughs. Like bells, it rings out into the courtyard full of empty tables and store fronts, up into the atmosphere. “Yeah, I know.” Shaking her head fondly at the woman, her talented hands come up to rub at her eyes somewhat tiredly, the gesture speaking for her. “I fucking know.” Nodding, smile hanging onto the words, she rolls her eyes in fond exasperation at herself, as if to say ‘what the fuck can I do?’ Because she had taught herself how to be gentle, how to love people, how to see the good in them, how to fucking save them. “It’s not a good skill to have for a trauma surgeon.” Another little tick in the woman’s favor, a little fact about herself that says a lot about who she is. “Not for me, at least.” But for them? She didn’t give up on people and she didn’t believe in God. She didn’t believe in the right time to die - she believed in medicine, in science, in facts and - above all else - in herself. In herself. In her education, in her skills, in her ability and the fight that a person can have. And she saves more people than she loses and that’s why she’s vital to the lives of others - especially when they need help.
Where would you like to start?
Hmm. This gave Bella a lot of opportunity. She could say anything or nothing. She could allow for the woman in front of her to decide. Top teeth skim ger bottom lip in thought. Large hazel eyes show that her mind is elsewhere, figuring out all of the possibilities. Bella didn’t want to be disappointed. To be all worked up to find out that this person, was well, ... just another person. I’ve had a hell of a time, the woman tells Bella. The journalist knows what she’s doing. She can see through it. Trying to reel Bella in. Bella loves secrets. She takes joy in knowing what other people don’t. She likes finding the hidden, dirty gold. She likes knowing the imperfections of others. In a weird way, it helps her feel part of the world she never thought she would be able to fit in. Bella remembers very clearly the look on her own mother’s features when her youngest daughter was diagnosed. Bella knew she was different and she didn’t mind being treated differently by others. She could handle them. When it came to her own family, her own mother who looked like she could turn into a serial killer if she had a bad day, well... That was something Bella lived with, too. She didn’t like it. But, she lived with it.
“You can tell me whatever you like. It’s your story. You can make the decisions on what you want to elaborate on and don’t.” Bella was always known to be a little pushy. A little too commanding. Mostly at work, but that’s because no one does work like she does, and that’s why she prefered to work alone. She also hated listening to people talking. “Your name isn’t important to me.” Bella tells the other honestly. Her head tilts to one side, slightly amused by the woman and how she chooses to try and seduce her. It was working, just a little bit. Bella wanted more, though. More than seduction, but the thing was, Bella doesn’t even know what she was looking for. Not right this moment. She just knows that once she gets it - and she eventually will - she’ll know it. “No, that isn’t it.” Bella says factly, shaking her head. "You can try and guess again, if you'd like." The objective wasn’t to know everything. It was to win. Knowing everything was just a perk. “I can easily get your name elsewhere, if I cared that much. Judging by how comfortable you are, I’d say you’re a regular here. I could ask the barista for your name.”
The woman laughs, and Bella simply blinks in surprise. It’s very rare her words are able to gauge a laugh from someone. Her words make people uncomfortable, upset, mad. Her words make people cautious of her. Her words make people tell her to ‘piss off’, a lot of the time. Yet, this woman decides to laugh. Whether at her words or at herself, she still decides to laugh. She wasn’t like the rest, though, wasn’t she? She was different somehow, and that’s the only reason why Bella decided to keep this conversation going, despite her interest constantly peaking and dropping at various moments. “You care. A lot. Almost too much. Probably too much.” Bella says, mostly for her own mental note. And here Bella is on the opposite end of the spectrum, unable to care at all. No matter how much medication her family doctor puts her on.
Oh, a trauma surgeon. Bella knows she didn’t earn this peice of information herself, so she doesn’t see it as a victory. Instead, Bella focuses on the fact that this woman most likely has depression and anxiety issues. But, before getting attached to dying paitents, Bella makes the note that this woman was probably just plain sad before her profession. And not sad in a way that a person didn’t do anything with their lives. Not the type of sad who only used just a little bit of their brain each day, never working the muscle. Never leaving up to their full potential. Just honest sadness. “Why put yourself through that? A trauma surgeon giving herself her own trauma.”
M. ROURKE.
@bellarourke.
The news of her youngest sister being back in town isn’t what shocked Maia, it was that she had already been stomping Newport ground for a whole week, and Maia only found out now. Even though her relationship with her sisters hadn’t been the best, there was no doubt about it that Maia truly loved and cared for her siblings. She had a lousy way of showing it, and she liked to blame majority of that on their mother. The fact that she left Newport the first chance she got and never returned also didn’t help fix the thick wall that had developed in between the bond she once had with the fellow Rourke girls. A reunion was long overdue, and Maia couldn’t help but feel bittersweet about it. Even their times in New York, the two would visit each other, but not as much as Maia wanted to. She pushed the thoughts aside as she finally reached her house. Nursing a bottle of red wine in one hand, Maia used the other to place a few knocks against the wooden door before stepping back. “So, I gotta find out through my friends and dad that you’re back in town?” she half joked, flashing her a lopsided smile as the door swung open and revealed her baby sister that wasn’t such a baby anymore. “Welcome home.” she added, lifting up to reveal the bottle of wine.
She was sitting at the huge, shining black instrument that looked like the sky on a cool summer night, coaxing deep, soothing melodies from it that were calming for her. She seemed lost as her fingers flew over the keys like swallows darting in a pond for fish. Her shoulders were tense though, the heavy-handedness was apparent by the thick, dark sounds of the piano’s song being played. There were few things Bella truly enjoyed in this world. Playing the piano was one of those things for a number of reasons. The main one being Bella mostly uses her left hemisphere majorly during her research and analysis on her investigations. Playing an instrument results in her entire brain working in tandem, thus leading to her getting better perspectives not only on the functionality of the left side but also engaging the right side completely. More so, playing the piano was meditative for Bella. It's therapeutic. It makes her feel extremely calm and composed. And with a job that involves dealing with murders and the such on a daily basis, playing the violin seems apt to completely zen out.
Hearing the few knocks at the door caused the music to stop abrubptly, the last few notes fading off into silence. Leaning back, hazel eyes staring down the front door, wondering who could be on the other side. And there only a few options. Guinness, her five month old Irish wolfhound, barked excitedly and got up from his spot underneath the piano before galloping towards the door. That was a good sign, at least. Swinging the door open, Bella was honestly surprised to see Maia at her front steps. So much so that her brows even raised an inch or two. “Better than the police letting you know about my arrival, no?” Bella asks, blinking at her sister with a sort of anticipation despite feeling rather... Off, about this whole interaction already. The journalist stares at Maia for a long moment before hazel orbs flicker to the bottle of wine. "Ugh, God. Don't welcome me back. Makes it sound like I'm staying forever." She says, opening the door wider for her to come in. "I guess it could be worse." How, Bella? How could it possibly be worse? You're father is dying... Yeah, well. He could already be dead and where would the fun be in that? Giving a sharp whistle, Guinness sniffs at Maia's feet before padding off elsewhere. "What are you doing here?" Bella asks casually while grabbing two wine glasses from a cabinet.
‘ waltz of the flowers ’ by tchaikovsky.
DATE: NOVEMBER 12TH, 2019. TIME: 9:09 PM. LOCATION: IL FARRO, CORONA DEL MAR.
The restaurant was full. Hazel orbs looked around at the busy tables. An old couple eating side by side, one glass of wine each, studiously bent over their meals. A group of young women in their late thirties collapsing with helpless giggles. Outside, businessmen in their boring grey suits take a break from their meal to light up cigars. Tourists at a table closer to the middle of the floor run their fingers over the menu slowly, trying to decipher the list of foods and drinks. A family and their teenage children. The noise level was high. It was good though. In spite of the many over-stimulating sounds, it was exactly what Bella and the casually dressed CIA agent needed to exchange a bit of information here and there. Basically, Bella quickly realized, it was a check up on the journalist to see how she was fairing. - And really, to make sure she was 'behaving', what whatever the hell that meant.
The agent was long gone by now, and yet, Bella stayed behind to watch others continue about their evening, completely blind as to what was going on around them. She wondered what it was like to live in their dull, dull lives of instagram feeds and caring about coworkers who talk shit behind your back. Dull, dull, dull. Without any forethought, Bella moves her body to show she was speaking directly to the person on her left. “Humour me, would you." It was more of a request, if anything. "Business or pleasure?” She asks very casually while taking a bite of her Chicken Carbonara , not taking into account if the other person would be ticked off with her intrusion.
NEWPORT STARTERS.
power move: put the fbi agent watching you through a series of endurance tests. stay awake for 72 hours. put obscene images over your webcam. chew gum really loudly next to your mic. they may have wiretaps but by god they won’t have peace
Dust floated lazily in the air causing Bella's nose to scrunch from the thick, mildewy smell, and every step put more of it in to the air. Row after row of neatly lined up books with their spines facing outward, colour coded with dots. While hazel eyes moving over the titles of the fiction section arranged in alphabetical order, Bella realize how long it's been since she's stepped into a library. A few young adult books stood out of her that made her cringe, thinking how could she ever had read what she did when she was a teen. The children's section had adorably low shelves and floor cushions, comfortable leather arm chairs. There were tables for quiet study, muffled stillness for college and university students, probably. There's not even a handful of people in the community library, doing whatever research they needed to be doing. The librarian sits at his help desk, scrolling on the computer lamely. She hated that she had to do this, but Bella knew that if she needed to get anywhere with this drug bust, she needed to do some things she didn't want to do. This was one of those things. She couldn't always find herself at a fun as hell strip club, asking the dancers questions and bothing the big boss. Bella was here to date back to any other previous drug busts in this city that had similiar prospects since the police force wasn't about to give her just anything. She needed to compile her own facts and research since she wasn't able to fully rely on the local police. Well, could you ever? The journalist snickered at the thought.
Hidden away, towards the back of the library, going through the city records, Bella knew when she was being followed or when someone was watching her. Fortunatly, she's been in a number of situations to not dismiss the certain feeling in the pit of her stomach. This instance, of course, was a lot less worrying, than say, being followed in Afghanistan, which has happened... So, at first, Bella didn't worry about it. Though, the longer it continued, the more Bella became more vexed than anything. “I can feel you watching me.” Bella tells the other person with a monotoned voice, but, there is a hint of annoyance. She didnt need this right now. Slowly, she looks over to her wide and accusing, hazel eyes. The person hides in the shadows and the journalist sighs heavily. “Is that going to become a problem, or is there something I can help you with?”
CHARLOTTE BAKER.
@harryjoshhair: 60s vibes today for @jodiemcomer styled by @elizabethsaltzman make up by @ninapark hair by me using @harryjoshprotools ps -swipe to see the end of the video (x)
i am extremely analytical and everything needs to be explained… hate living in the unknown bitch i have to know everything or i will fall into a coma
I. REYNOLDS.
She smirked, amused at the hostility that came from the woman. It wasn’t often that she found someone who didn’t immediately like her, who didn’t take comfort from her. It was incredibly freeing to not have to be so… So what? So kind? So generous? She was still those things; had taught herself through the mind numbing violent thoughts of her condition, of her upbringing at Hawthorne Estate. Her thoughts turned inward for a moment, a crinkle appearing in her brow as she tried to pinpoint exactly why she felt this conversation was so freeing. She supposed that it was because the woman didn’t expect anything from her. Not to be kind, not to be mean, not to be anything.
Caught slightly off guard by the question, not expecting her to be so perceptive, to be so… different, Isabel didn’t immediately smile upon hearing it like she would have with anyone else. She allowed that happy veneer to slip just so and took her time answering. “Not when a woman compliments me, no.” And that was the simple answer. “When a man does it I think about pushing him into oncoming traffic or hurling him through a window; hurting him.” Smiling somewhat apologetically but finding amusement at the violent images playing out in her head, Isabel took a deep breath and shrugged. “It’s a conditioned response.” From trauma. Just another thing that she’s had to teach herself out of. “I’ve always felt the need to be seen as a woman to another woman - to be admired, desired. But I’d rather be invisible to a man’s gaze.” Keeping her eyes locked on the woman, blue eyes trekking across her face, admiring and looking, Isabel shook her head faintly. “No, I don’t think it will.” She wasn’t like most people, after all. “And if it does, I’ll find something else to like.” Because she wasn’t the type to give up on people, because she took the time to look, put the energy into searching and loving.
Bella didn’t realize she wanted to break through any sort of facade until this very moment. Normally, the journalist could care less about someone faking a smile or a laugh or their whole goddamn personality. That was their prerogative, and a simple aspect of someone’s life that didn’t get Bella anywhere. She didn't like conversations that didn't get her anywhere. She didn't like conversations were she couldn't make things interesting for herself. Such as hitting a nerve or figuring out some organized gossip about someone that no one else knows. God, she loved that. Being able to hold onto a piece of information for whenever she thought it was necessary to bring to light. Bella strived off of the risk and the strategy all at the same time. This was a little different. Bella didn't know this woman. Bella knew absolutely nothing about her, nor was she planning on getting to know her or learn anything about her. To Bella, she was just another pretty blonde with good style who turned out to be a good conversationalist. But just now, Bella was finding out there was more. And this feeling of wanting to know allowed her to continue on instead of abruptly getting up from her seat and leaving the space all together. Slyly, a ghost of an approving smile plays on the journalist lips. Bella wasn't going to say anything at first, but the apologetic smile the woman gives makes Bella rethink this. She has nothing to apologize for, in Bella's eyes. Besides, sharing similarities helps people open up. "I picture pushing him off of his expensive yacht when he doesn't know how to swim. Sometimes, I give him those kiddie floating devices, you know? The one's the slip on the arms? But, of course, they don't do anything." Interesting words from the woman before her. She listens, which is something most find very hard to achieve when it comes to Bella. Her attention span, and caring factorm for that matter, is rather short. People really only have so much time to keep her attention. "I gathered that much." Bella replies drly. "Like when a dog salivates from the smell of a bone naturally, without any conditioning." Bella leans back, pressing her spine agaisnt the back of her seat as she seaches the woman's features carefully, studying. "Like fear. Fight or flight... Sounds like you're holding back some fight in you." She tilts her head to one side, eyes narrowing. "What have you endured?" Bella knows she could be overstepping, but that's practically her job. Besides, if the woman doesn't want to answer, she won't. If she wants to leave, she will. But, no one just pictures hurting other people for no Goddamn reason. Bella would know. The journalist doesn't touch on any of the other stuff that the woman has said, not deeming it terribly important. Espically when Bella many people feel liking being invisible. Hell, Bella wished she was sometimes. She wished she was off on another planet all together, practically non-existent. She does store this fact about the woman somewhere in her mind, though. Thinking it's just important enough to remember. Haze eyes roll dramatically at the woman’s determination. “You’re setting yourself up for disappointment. What you see is what you get.” That was a bit false. The only other thing Bella was good at expressing was irritability and anger. But, those were negative feelings. No one liked seeing those. And most of the time, all Bella was is a negtive feeling. “You know, it’s not healthy to get attached so easily.”
J. D. BEAUVOIR.
Today was an unusual day for the blonde. It happened to be one of those moments where she woke up with a gut feeling, knowing something was well off and something was bound to happen, but putting her nose on what it would be was unpredicted. Mentally preparing for anything was a challenge in itself. She’d just have to allow the tides of the moment to proceed her way. Anything proceeding in her direction must be handled with care. Whilst, there was a long day ahead of her due to meeting with new clients, the gut-wrenching feeling had to be subdued in an attempt to give everyone her undivided attention. Yet, that was a difficulty. Her conscious danced elsewhere. Was her grandmother hurt? Did something happen to one of her friends? Was her paranoia getting the worst of her? Was her mother going to appear at her office, sitting in the modernized waiting room to have a quality moment with her daughter? What was going to happen? As her mind danced for the majority of the day, a text message light up her phone from Maia, relief instantly settling over her whilst seafoam hues reading if she could drop by and check on her father. Without any hesitation, the blonde agreed and would be there right after her last meeting which would be over at five o’clock.
If her best friend needed her to drop by, without any other questions or reason, it was in her duty to do so. Ever since the females were young, her relationship with The Rourke Family had been substantial considering the lack of normalized family in her own household. Christian, her step-father, had been there in times of desperation when Jolie had needed it the most. When a singular moment had brought the pairing closer together, the bond between step-father and step-daughter continued to flourish even with the distance. There was a phone call exchange once a week. Typically lasting for thirty minutes, often an hour if the week had been eventful. The conversations consisted of Jolie informing Christian over her interests, the friendship she was establishing, what she was learning in school, and how she desired to become a Speech Pathologist by achieving her Bachelors’s in Communication Science and Disorder but completing her education with getting a Masters in Speech Pathology Language, which was what her specialty was currently in. This was the entirety of the conversations. Every once in a while, the blonde questioned about her mother and step-sister but never allowed that topic of the conversation to proceed further than a couple of minutes. The point was - she had Christian, but she also was grateful for the dynamic Jolie had established with the Rourke Family after all of these years.
Once the remaining minutes of her appointment with her client dwindled down, the blonde walked them out of her office politely, reminding them to make an appointment with Nancy, her receptionist, because the progress in their sessions has been phenomenal and this had been the path Jolie wanted to progress on. The blonde made sure to gather her belongings - laptop, cell phone, and purse which contained her laptop, before closing her office door behind and signing off with a friendly goodbye to Nancy, who offered to close up due to her recent plans to stop by the Rourke residency. Due to the dense traffic exiting from Balboa Island, a typical drive to visit the elder Rourke man took an extra ten minutes. Eventually, when she did arrive, the likelihood of her invitation to drop by was slim to informed. Wandering around to the back, where she knew the best option of entering in happened to be through the kitchen, wandering aimlessly and in her own element, only to be startled by a voice in her general direction. Wiping her head like strands of her platinum locks fell from her shoulder to her back, vaulted brows furrowed tucked together, catching a glance of Bella. Due to the similarities of Jolie and the Rourke daughters, people often mistook the set of four as sisters. At this precise moment, it seemed Bella was mistaking Jolie for the figure of Maia. Not like it wasn’t the first time. Surely, it wouldn’t be the last time.
After the startling moment of Bella’s voice, entering the residency with her normal state of comfortability, the blonde hands occupied a bouquet of flowers and a bottle of Prosecco, gently setting them down on the counter. Seafoam hues eventually met with Bella, a gentle tilt of her head. “Well, not the first time I heard someone tell me I looked like your sister,” she concurred through a raising sensation upon her mouth corners. All of them could pass by as sisters. If they ever wanted to challenge and complicate someone’s day. “I had a gut feeling this morning. I thought I was going to hear something horrible. But everything settled once Maia sent me a text and asked to drop by.” Explaining the reasoning for Jolie’s appearance at the home currently. Would Maia show up? Or would this be a no-show? After Maia and Jolie’s last conversation, one she kept in the privacy of her own place, the odds could’ve been slim to none but wasn’t her place to exchange words. A delicate up-pull of her shoulders indicated a non-verbal response to Bella on whether she’d have to be alone with Benjamin. Only to have Bella extend the invitation toward her general direction. Must’ve good ideal planning on her behalf because there happened to be no other plan set in stone. “Fine by me,” she agreed easily. Jolie was never one to decline from an invitation. There was a purpose she was here. It wasn’t just to drop in and dip out later. If she was asked to come over, then she would make use of time in Rourke’s childhood home. “Believe it or not… your sister found me on a good day with no evening plans. My receptionist was nice enough to close up so I could come over.” The blonde explained, now maneuvering around the kitchen to take care of the bundle of Red Roses, finding a vase to occupy their residence till they withered. A little touch of color never killed. “Tea, yes,” she retaliated, arranging the dozen of roses. “When did you get back to Newport?”
Round eyes flicker to the bottle of wine and flowers that Jolie decided to bring over. She blinks in thought, then her eyes narrowed. She never thinks about bringing things over. Always a waste of money, things never lasted. It was such a simple gesture and yet Benjamin loved it. “Simple things for simple people, I suppose,” Bella mutters under her breath, out of the blue. “Hear something horrible? Like, hearing the Rourke family house burn down?” Bella asks half-assed, gesturing to the very crisp meatloaf. “I don’t think that would be horrible news, but I’m just one person.” She knows her incredibly dry tone is probably coming off as sarcasm to Jolie. But God would she love to see this place burn. She was sick of it. Out of date, mold in the foundation. For Bella, it gave off a weird sense of fake peacefulness that rang in her ears. Smiling portraits, silly creations the Rourke children made when they were in their younger years. “Sentiment,” Bella says to herself, leaving her place and grabbing the bottle of wine by the neck, then moves to a drawer to take out a corkscrew. “It’s always been his….” The cork comes out with a loud POP! Bella didn’t flinch. With the cork still attached the screw, Bella waves it around dramatically in thought before completely talking with herself, not really caring if Jolie chimed in or not, “What’s the word I’m looking for?” Ruination. Downfall. Chemical defect. “His thing.” Bella bits her tongue for her family. And only her family. “So, wait, -- - My sister invited you over and... Didn’t show up herself? Shit. And people call me the rude one.” Bella looks to Jolie with amusment in her eyes, lips twitching from laughter. “Ahh -- - I arrived week ago.” Bella answers Jolie while pouring the blonde her tea into a clean mug and passes it over.
‘ You know your voice travels, dear. ’
“Good.” Bella quips quickly. ‘ This house has thin walls. ’ Says Benjamin, scooting his way into the kitchen, shooing his youngest child out of his way just as Bella finished pouring the wine into three glasses. “Easier to burn down.” Bella’s round eyes look over to Benjamin, waiting to see the reaction. All she got was the role of her older man’s eyes. A doormat. Really. My father is a doormat. That’s it? I threaten to set fire to this house and all I get is an eye roll? Bella shakes her head and turns away to resist the urge of ‘accidentally’ tipping over the flowers Jolie has placed in a vase. Of course, Bella takes her wine glass and tea mug with her back to the dining table, leaving Jolie and Benjamin in the kitchen.
Setting herself back into a creaky chair, the journalist starts her research again. Clicking through page and pages of articles and blogs for anything she finds interesting. public-radio icon accused of harassing female colleagues, police contracts that shield officers from scrutiny and disciple, refugee children in Sweden who are suffering from a mysterious disease, a crazy number of murders in Nebraska in which law enforcement place a string of people they considered socially deviant, despite the lack of evidence against them. Her heartbeat thumped against her chest as she sends email after email. Bella was on a roll tonight and nothing was going to stop -
‘ Bella Sophia Eden Rourke, would you get off that damned computer off the kitchen counter. ’
Slender fingers freeze over the keyboard midsentence, hers flicker over to her father who has taken a seat on the opposite side of her, looking at his youngest daughter with a pointed look. Bella’s jaw clenches and unclenches. Her hunched form straight up and looks at Bella was an even gaze, even though she feels completely ticked that she was interrupted. Her eyes now move her own fork, to her father’s hand, back to her face. Then, very slowly, Bella closes the laptop. “Anything for you, pap.” Bella gives a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. Not even close. Now that the computer was out of the way, Bella could see that Benjamin had food on his plate. Bella gets out of her chair to make her way back into the kitchen. She wasn’t even hungry. She could go for a smoke, though.