Consequences

Part 56

Doug knew he was going to have to do a lot more than apologise. She looked hurt. Even though she had kept her tone bland, he could see in her eyes that she was hurt by his defection, but knew from the expression in the last few moments that his conclusion had hurt a lot more. Believing she was capable of stringing him a long had obviously hurt Isabelle.

Isabelle said nothing. What was there to say? The man clearly did not know her if he thought she was capable of doing that to him. Doing that to anyone.

"How can you remain so calm?" Doug queried after a second, sensing that she was about to turn and leave and not knowing how to prevent her from making her escape. "I'd be furious." He added quietly.

"I am." Isabelle told him.

They made and held eye contact. Hers told him she was furious.

For a brief second she pinched her lips between her teeth as she debated with herself whether to say anymore. With her decision made she looked him straight in the eye. It was time to tell this man just how much he had hurt her. Time to show him just how much his defection had hurt. "You have no idea how happy I was to see you when you walked into that corridor at the police station and headed toward me." Her eyes smarted as she strove to hold back the tears.

Every time she thought about this and his response she ended up in tears. It was an amalgamation of things, the fact that someone cared enough to look out for her, that someone valued her enough to get out of bed in the middle of the night to come for her, tied in with the fact that he had believed the worst of her. Not listened, not wanted to listen. That elation at seeing him come for her had turned rapidly into a raw wound when given his reaction she realized he really did not know her at all.

"Stupid really. Given the circumstances." A watery smile followed by a quick breath as she tried to gather some composure to continue. With her focus on staving off her tears she kept her eyes averted and did not see Doug's reaction to her tears. Isabelle murmured, "When we were being driven in to the police station, I thought about contacting you." She closed her eyes for a second, then opened them and looked straight at him, "Because I knew, you see. I knew you."

"What do you mean? You knew me?" He felt a lump in his throat as he found dealing with her tears hard.

"I knew that you'd taken care of your brother when you were kids, got into a fight to protect him. I knew you set up the business to give him a focus. I knew you'd taken care of your employees, got into a relationship to secure their pensions." She smiled sadly before adding, "If you care about someone or something, you look out for them. No questions, no half measures. They can rely on you one hundred percent." Once again she fought off the tears. "So I knew, that if the police contacted you, and you came, that would mean that you cared about me." Isabelle struggled for composure, as reflecting on the circumstances and what transpired felt as raw as it did on the day she experienced it. "I believed that."

Tears began to stream down her cheeks. She used the heels of her hands to dash them away. Doug felt his heart squeeze. Literally squeeze tight as he watched the tears flow and felt inadequately prepared to help. Doug stepped forward to take her in his arms. Instinctively Isabelle stepped away. Self protection was late in arriving, but she had over the last couple of months begun to put herself first.

Isabelle looked up, tears streaming down her cheeks, and whispered hoarsely through her tears, "I was so happy when you came to the station. I took that was proof. Proof that you cared." She licked her lips and said softly as if just saying the words caused pain, "Which was stupid really. More than stupid. Because I'd forgotten our engagement was a sham."

"Isabelle." His heart clenched, he reached for her again.

She stepped away, locked her arms around herself and kept him at a distance. She was not going to allow him to hold her, to touch her, to comfort her, not when she knew it would lead to nothing.