Isabella

By Caleb Bedford

Keith is a literature student in college. Isabella is an art student. When Keith meets Isabella, his world is forever changed. But he'll never see it coming.

What follows is a thrilling but dark tale of love, loss, life, and death, and an intriguing psychological exploration of the effects of grief on the human mind.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Caleb Bedford
• Release date: Mar 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005661373

Caleb Bedford

Caleb is a twenty-eight-year-old, full-time college student living in the Jackson-Metro area of Mississippi. When he is not writing, he enjoys playing music, reading, and annoying his dog, Belle (though to be fair it goes both ways).

Book preview

ISABELLA

A NOVEL

CALEB

BEDFORD

This is a work of FICTION. Names, character, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance

to actual events or locales or persons, living

or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2021 by Caleb Bedford

All Rights Reserved.

First Edition, 2021

TRIGGER WARNING

This book deals with some dark themes, including suicide. If this is something you struggle with, please call:

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline

1-800-273-8255

24/7 Free and Confidential Support

Dying is a wild night and a new road.

-Emily Dickinson-

OF LOVE

AND LOSS

PART ONE

I first saw Isabella on the first day of my Junior year of college, when she walked in ten minutes late. I was already dozing off, drowsy from the monotone voice of the professor droning on and on about campus policy—the same policy I had heard in every class for four previous semesters—when the door opened and she walked in.  I immediately snapped to attention. She was beautiful. She wore a t-shirt and jean shorts, her brown hair pulled back in a lazy ponytail, as if she could not be bothered to have pulled it tight. She walked across the front of the classroom, with a glorious indifference to the silence and stares that followed her every step. Confidence fueled her walk.

She was almost to me before I realized she was heading for the seat beside me. I had been holding my breath, and I forced my lungs back into action. I caught the scent of her perfume, faint, but pleasant, as she sat down. I risked a glance and a friendly half-smile, which she returned. From that moment, I was smitten, and I did not even know her name.

I did not hear another word the professor said for the rest of the class period. I was too busy trying lines in my head, hoping to find something clever to say to her after class. By the time class was over, I had decided I would just introduce myself. She was out the door before I could say a word.

I had lived on campus my first two years at the university, but for my third I moved into an apartment less than a mile away. It had the convenience of being close, like a dorm, but also the freedom that came with not being subject to campus law. I would be twenty-one soon, and although I did not have much interest in drinking, I wanted to be able to openly keep beer in my refrigerator should I choose to do so.

Apartments were expensive, and I had to have a roommate. My initial plan was to have a roommate who was a fellow student, but that proved to be more difficult than I expected, and I was forced to find one elsewhere. I ended up finding Jeremy through a friend at work.

Jeremy was an interesting fellow. He spent most of his time playing video games, binging shows online, and drinking any alcohol he could get his hands on. Perhaps he was not the ideal roommate, but he mostly stayed out of the way, so it worked pretty well.

I had been looking forward to seeing Isabella in class again the next time it met, but she did not show. I was a little bummed out, but there was still plenty of time left in the semester, so I was not too worried about it. I absolutely had to get to know her, but if it took a couple weeks it was not a big deal. Good things took time.

Fortunately, I did not wait long. I saw her later that day walking across campus as I was headed to my apartment. I had to increase my pace a bit to cross her path at the right moment, but I managed to time it perfectly—too perfectly. She was looking at something on her phone and not paying attention, and when I crossed in front of her, looking to give her a smile or a quick hey, I was too close and accidentally bumped her.

I did not knock her down, thankfully—that might have been difficult to recover from—but I did knock her phone from her hands.

Sorry! I said, quickly bending down to pick the phone up and bumping heads with her in the process. It was not going well. Sorry, I said again, rubbing my forehead. You okay?

Yeah, she said. She was rubbing her head, too.

How’s the phone? I asked.

It’s fine. She knocked on the back of the case it was in. That’s what this is for. The case had clearly seen some abuse.

Keith, I said, extending my hand.

What? she said, looking up from her phone.

My name is Keith, I repeated, arm still extended. Suddenly a handshake felt dumb, but I was committed.

Oh. Isabella, she said, taking my hand. I smiled. She smiled. You’re in my Lit class, right?

Yeah, I said, before it crossed my mind to play it cool. Pretty sure. That was better.

A brief moment of silence followed.

Do you want to get a coffee sometime? I blurted. It’s on me!

I had not planned on asking her out. 

Sure, she said. Why not?

∙∙∙

We decided to meet for coffee on Saturday, which gave me two days to mentally prepare. I wanted to avoid awkward silence if possible.

When Saturday came, we met at a coffee shop that was more or less halfway between campus and my apartment.

Because I was nervous, I arrived a few minutes early. It was either that or pace around my bedroom, and that would have only made me more nervous. At least this way I could get a table, which is sometimes difficult to do this close to campus.

She was late, a trend that seemed to be emerging, which almost sent me into a panic thinking she had changed her mind.

Hey! I said as she walked up to the table. I thought about giving her a hug, but just stood there awkwardly instead. Not an excellent start.

Hey, she said.

I was just about to order, I lied. It did not come out as smooth as I wanted it to.

Okay, she said. What do you normally get?

Depends, I said. The truth was that I very rarely got coffee, and if I did, it was usually a desperate attempt to wake up or stay conscious.

Depends on what? she asked.

Oh, the weather, I said, waving an arm toward the door. My mood, how much sleep I got..

Interesting.

I guess, I said. What do you normally get?

Caramel Frappe, she said. Most of the time.

I can’t do that sweet stuff, I said.

"It’s not that sweet," she replied.

I just prefer my coffee to have more coffee in it, I jeered, smiling to let her know I was joking. I detected a hint of a smile.

Then we were up at the counter. We ordered, and waited on her frappe and my black coffee.

I don’t know how you drink that, she told me as we walked to the table.

It’s an acquired taste, I admitted.

Like whiskey? she asked.

Sure, I said. Like whiskey. I had never had whiskey. You like whiskey? I asked.

I usually mix it with soda, she replied. I never quite acquired the taste, but it gets the job done.

I’ve never been drunk, I said, a bit embarrassed.

Really? She seemed genuinely surprised.

I’m only twenty, I said.

So am I, she replied.

Oh. I’m just not that interested in drinking, I guess. I paused. I probably will drink more for my birthday though.

When’s your birthday?

September thirteenth.

A Friday the thirteenth birthday for your twenty-first? There was a gleam in her eyes that was not there a moment before. That sounds awesome.

You should come! I offered a bit too quickly. I mean, if you want to, of course.

Yeah. Sounds fun! she said. Just let me know what time.

Of course.

We spent the rest of the time in the coffee shop talking about everything. I learned that she was an art major and I told her I was a literature major. I seemed to be more interested in art than she was in literature, but that was okay. She showed me some pictures of some paintings she had done, and I was impressed. She had talent. We also