It had been days since the shooting, but Isabella hadn’t left her apartment. Harley hadn’t forbidden it, but it was pretty clear from context clues that she wanted Isabella to stay indoors. Away from Edward. And Isabella hadn’t argued. She’d filled her time with reading, of course, and never let her phone out of her sight, texting Eddie to see how he was at various intervals. She checked up on her friends too, but her phone was her only form of communication with him, so she always made him the priority.
Three days after the shooting, she’d realised they’d run out of cinnamon tea. Harley was out, stealing medication, and Isabella wasn’t going to take it without tea. She thought even taking it at all was ridiculous, but Harls had said it would calm her down, and she did feel very stressed pretty much all the time. Perhaps it would be good for her. It didn’t mean she was crazy.
So, after three days inside, Isabella had left her apartment, and headed to the nearest convenience store. And now she was standing in the aisle, staring at the boxes of tea. I could go, she thought to herself. She could go to see him right then. Harley wouldn’t know. It wouldn’t take long. She could just walk from here, to Oswald’s home, and knock on the door, and check on him.
But then, as if they were deliberately interrupting her thoughts, she heard someone approach her, and she didn’t turn to look at them, but addressed them in a warm, friendly, voice: “Cinnamon or earl gray? Which would you choose? I can never decide.”
