03

                                    

                                          
Isabella
Getting out the car, my idiocy comes to attention―because I entered a car with a man I've barely met, and during the soundless ride, it occurred to me that my decision is irreversible; the choice of returning home is no longer in my possession after that weighty call with Jasper.
But the thought becomes a background as a house made of light grey brick and an asphalt roof comes into view. Hedges line the interior of a metal gate which we pass through on a gravel pavement. Each side of the path has its own array of nature on an expanse of grass ranging from a large birchwood tree surrounded by flower buds to vines that crawl all over a fountain.
Andreas slows his pace in front of me, noticing my interest in the scenery and allowing me a few extra seconds to admire. We step up to the white timber of a porch, and he opens the door, guiding me in first. The house's interior corresponds to what I had in mind after wandering through the serene front yard. Slinking in, I'm met with gold and white coloring―a sprawl of modern prosperity in physical form.
On a far-right side, two chaises with gilded legs present themselves by a wall of books and border a silky, lush rug. Small indistinguishable sculptures sit upon the empty shelves, and I catch a stuttering floor lamp in the corner. But I take my attention away from the striking vision of it and towards the main living area where I instantly disregard a wall of fascinating paintings.  
Because it occupies a U-shaped leather couch, and on it sits a group of three who crowd around a table with knocked over cups and empty bottles of beer. The tang of a cigarette permeates the air with a bitter scent, and the pale-skinned guy holding it between two spindly fingers glimpses I and Andreas, sweeps away a thicket of frizzy blond hair from his face, and takes a puff while he waits for his other two friends to acknowledge us. He's leaning forward on his knees, expression blank, idly watching the smoke rise upwards and over an amber glass chandelier.
A woman with light brown skin shoots up from the lap of a dude with a military-cut. Her waves of hair bounce with the motion, arm thrown in the air cheerfully to lift a beer.
"Andreas!" Just as she brings it below the gold-framing of the couch, a smirk approaches her face and her eyes dart between me and Andreas. "Now who is this? I think our proprietor has found a Miss Someone."
She elbows the military-cut guy in the shoulder, and he turns around instantly with an open-mouthed smile. "Oh, yes! Fuck. It looks like he has."
"Settle down, guys," Andreas says as he leads us around the couch. "You're going to frighten Isabella away. You don't want her leaving on the first day."
I smile at them all in greeting.
"Ugh, finally," the woman shouts. "It was about time we had new company in this house." She jumps up, takes my arm, and pulls me to accompany her on the soft white leather of her seat. "I've been waiting too long for Andreas to bring a girl here. Do you know how hard it is to live in a house full of boys?"
I can't help but laugh at her outgoing spirit. "Trust me, I'd know," I tell her. "I've lived with very unhygienic male cousins before."
"Hey, not all of us are like that." The military-cut guy points at Andreas who's now leaning beside a sandy brick wall carved for a fireplace. "He does the cleaning in this house. Doesn't he, Aya?"
The woman―Aya―stares at him bitterly.
"I have to remind both you and Blake to flush the toilet after a piss, so shut it." She turns back to me, placing a shoulder atop the back rest, dark eyes curious. "So, was it slow and rough, or was he too impatient?"