Room 406, Sunday morning

Isabel sat on her bed writing an email to her parents explaining why she wasn't going home for the holidays. Doing it by email felt like cheating, but at least her mom wouldn't be able to make her feel guilty like she would have if they talked on the phone.

As she typed, she sipped at a peppermint mocha. There's a second mocha and a box of assorted pastries from J,GoB sitting on the desk, (next to a print out of a newspaper article she's trying not to think about) all part of the lure she'd mentioned when she left a message last night.

Occasionally Isabel would glance at the open doorway expectantly.

[The mocha is for chasingsnitches but anyone else is welcome to stop by for a doughnut. Occasional SP due to RL.]