Strings Attached

CHAPTER TWENTY

All of my muscles were stiff and it was time for me to get ready for work, but I refused to leave Isabelle's side until she woke up and I could assess the damage. It didn't take long for her eyes to open and when they did, they were still swollen from crying. There were thin rings under her eyelashes and she appeared to be dazed and tired. That didn't take away from my surprise at her unexpected behavior. Despite the horrible experience from the previous night, she remained calm in my embrace, seeming so incredibly acceptant of this fucked-up situation. There were no tears and she wasn't trembling or pleading with me. The beautiful brown-eyed angel gave no reaction whatsoever. She seemed lost and indifferent; almost like something died inside of her last night and made her sink even further into the dark abyss. I stared into her apathetic eyes and I didn't know what to say to her. The guilt was eating me alive, but I had no words to express the magnitude of my regret. A mixture of heavy emotions was tearing me apart and I had to create some space between us so I could think about what I was going to do now because it was clear to me that something had to be done. In all of my confusion, I was certain of one thing and I had sworn to myself silently that I would never ever allow the last night's episode to repeat itself again no matter what. As I repeated the oath in my mind, I laid a light kiss on the top of her head, but she didn't stir.

Gently, I rearranged her body onto her side of the bed and I got up to take a shower and get dressed. When I returned to the room, I was still buttoning up my shirt and I saw Isabelle sitting on the bed with her legs drawn to her chest and her head resting on her knees. She just sat there, motionless, refusing to look at me. I paused, yearning to touch her in her pain and loneliness, but I didn't dare to do it. I couldn't risk causing more damage so—even though it tore me apart—I walked away and left her all alone in that space that was bound to give her a whole new set of nightmares.

Since it was my parent's anniversary tonight, I had opted to work from home to ensure we'd make it there on time. Skipping my usual routine, I went straight to my office without breakfast. I started up my laptop and straight away clicked on the file that contained the plans for the Las Vegas project. To everyone's great satisfaction, all the extra hours I'd put into work in the past week and a half had paid off and resulted in the completion of the final calculations which meant we could finally move on to the realization of the casino complex. The meetings with the client had been moved to this weekend and in two days I had to go to Las Vegas where the final negotiations would take place. Emily had informed me that I'd be there in the time of their company's fundraiser for cancer. It was self-explanatory I'd have to attend the event as a sign of good will and courtesy. All that was left for me to do was to set up a summary of the points I had to go through at the meeting. But instead of getting on with work, I found myself staring blankly at the screen for minutes—too distracted by the images of Isabelle's panic attack that caused such pressure in my chest I was unable to focus on anything else. Suddenly, something broke down inside of me and I opened the internet search engine and typed in that word. It was the word that had been in the back of my mind and at the tip of my tongue for weeks, but I'd never dared to say it...not even in my thoughts.

Rape.

The moment I entered it and watched as the dozens of articles emerged on the screen, I started shaking, but I made myself go through with it. With strange undivided interest, I read about the act and what it meant, searching for a reason to deem what had happened on our wedding night as something less vile and finding not one single argument to call it anything else. The more I read, the more I became confronted with the reality of what I'd done. A few articles said that it wasn't about sexual gratification, but about power. And it was true to some extent. That night I wanted to assert power and control and Isabelle had paid for it. I wanted to let out steam and satisfy my rage and in the process of doing so I had broken the wings of an angel. The definition left me shaken, but nothing could prepare me for the moment when I read about the consequences and the pain it caused to the victims. No one should ever have to go through that kind of suffering. Then, somewhere among those descriptions, I recognized Isabelle. Among other things, there was a mention of the triggers that caused flashbacks of the traumatic experience. I remembered how Isabelle mentioned my cologne that night when she had that terrible nightmare and now I understood what she meant. That scent triggered the memory of what happened in her mind and made her relive the fear over and over again. I closed my eyes and took in a deep breath, but there was no relief. My throat was constricted and my eyes were burning with tears that refused to come out to the surface.