#threads: isla.

“god, why are you so shrill right now?” set down her glass to massage her temple. “please relax. you’re acting insane.”

continued.

isla was no fool. she was cunning and methodical — and not to mention, cynical. she didn’t believe for a second that odette’s motivations were genuine, at least not when it came to their newfound closeness. still, that didn’t mean the blonde didn’t fascinate her. “yes. very unusual.” dark eyes watched the other carefully, taking in the wariness in her expression. “most people around here are a little scared of me, you know.” 

“i didn’t ask for this, you know.” isla’s tone was clipped, her jaw clenched so that her lips barely moved as she spoke. she plucked her purse from the plush leather booth and began to fish for her phone to call their driver. “and just because you resent being stuck with me doesn’t mean you can take it out on me in public. you’re embarrassing us both.” 

it was 12am on a saturday, and the party was just kicking into gear. most of the guests had consumed just enough alcohol now to lose their inhibitions, shedding clothes along with them and getting progressively more obnoxious. isla, despite her love of attention, was tired of the scrum already, wading through it to grab her friend’s hand and tug, leading her upstairs to an empty suite with a balcony. she revealed the bottle of dom perignon she’d been clutching under her arm with a waggle of her brows, grinning at samantha. “stole it from the cellar. we’ll have to drink straight from the bottle, i couldn’t carry glasses, too.” 

“stop. just don’t.” isla’s eyes were cold, hands landing on their shoulders to push them against the wall, none too gently. “just shut up.” she pressed her lips against theirs, silencing the words she was so frightened of hearing. // @rosecoloureds​

isla was aware she could be an overbearing friend. she’d fallen out with her best friend from high school for that precise reason, and she’d tried to work on it, but it seemed old habits died hard. still, overall at least, she thought she was doing a decent job in her friendship with carolyn. she didn’t tell her what to wear, even if what the other girl put on looked like something you would wear to woodstock and not a college party full of rich kids. she didn’t tell her she should wear something slightly more refined, like the top and skirt isla was wearing. she didn’t try to control her at all, really, but when carolyn looked to be on the verge of hooking up with a tall guy in a gucci belt isla just had to intervene. the thing was, it wasn’t because she thought the guy was trashy or anything (okay, he kind of was, but whatever), it was because isla was so pathetically infatuated with her friend that she couldn’t stand the idea of her being with anyone else. not after months of pining after her, never saying anything but always wondering if carolyn felt the same way. and on top of all that, isla was drunk. “can you not do this?” she cried, tugging carolyn by the arm into an empty room. “he’s so gross! why don’t you just stay with me?”

isla and clara. islaandclara. their names were rarely heard separately, being so… well, inseparable. it had been that way since they were kids, going from playing on the floor of each other’s bedrooms while their parents held fancy parties to sneaking away from said parties to drink stolen bottles of champagne and gossip about everyone in attendance. they might technically be adults now, but around clara, isla felt like a teenager again, wild and carefree. that night, they giggled with excitement as they stole through the grounds of isla’s parent’s summer home, making their way down the winding pathways to a little garden with an alcove where they liked to sit. there was relative privacy there, enough that they could shriek with hysterical laughter and no one would come to reprimand them. “did you see my aunt’s fur coat? looked like she skinned it herself,” isla quipped, sitting down and placing the bottle between her knees to keep it steady while she went at it with a bottle opener. “whoo!” she let out a whoop as the cork popped, foam spraying into the air and onto clara’s dress. “shit, i’m sorry!”