Be Good Mrs. B | Spies, Lies & Butterflies Book #2

10. valid emotions

"Which hurts worst – the betrayal or the abandon?"

I averted my gaze from away from a patient-looking Dr. Oka, pretending to be contemplative.

I was counting the minutes until I could leave his beguilingly cozy office. I liked him well enough, but I couldn't afford his little inquisitions, especially not if they interfered with my getting back into the field.

"The betrayal."

I'd never let on how grieved I'd been by Nathan's absence.

The two of us had gone from spending all of our professional and personal time together to less than nothing.

I was in a purgatory of desolation.

I had trained and refined techniques in managing an array of crises, but a crisis of the warring heart was another matter altogether; even McCain's death had felt less tumultuous of a transition than Nathan's abandonment.

Early in my career, McCain was ruthless in reminding me that we could be gone tout de suite – if I had any gleeful naïveté about working as an operative, McCain was always there to squash it. He was hard on me, coaching me in toeing the line between danger and practicality. He had been the one to help me establish my emotional parameters – any chance he got, McCain reiterated that we could be dead in an instant. He was careful, tactical, and honest to a fault.

Like a slow-release poison, Nathan had been the one to introduce me to the idea of hope – of fledgling love and commitment. Like lighter fluid, Nathan had incited my abandonment of protocol.

Betrayal in our line of work was commonplace; it came with the territory. The jettisoning of our relationship – of me – was the real kicker. Had he felt he had no other plausible option but to slash me? Had he spent months meticulously mapping how he'd leave me high and dry?

The lack of a "why" was the most grievous.

In my sleep, I choked on the void, the empty, the cavernous black hole of not knowing. The lack of closure sometimes forbade me from sleeping. The fact that Nathan could do it in the first place – that he could marry me and determine to neutralize me all in a day's hard work.

The betrayal was my fault. The betrayal was the repercussion of my lack of due diligence. The betrayal was the fruit of what McCain had warned me about after I'd spent that first night with Nathan.

The abandon, on the other hand, was something I'd never quite felt before. Abandon was the promise of forever and the duration of a fleeting moment; it was being left alone in the dark after promising to stand in the light.

"That he could masquerade as one thing and turn out another. It all feels... disappointing, to say the least."

I peeked furtively at Dr. Oka, curious if he believed me behind his excellent psychologistic poker face.

He nodded thoughtfully, "I can understand feeling disappointed."

His head tilted, "Are you angry with yourself – for believing his farce?"

Anger would be an understatement.

"I wouldn't say angry, no. I've felt frustrated. I think anyone in my position would be susceptible to feelings of frustration, though."

Dr. Oka's signature contemplative nodding commenced, "You're one of the organization's best agents, Annabelle. Since your initiation, you've performed at the top of your class."

I withheld an eye roll. Dr. Oka was, indubitably, about to make some annoying point.

He persisted, "I think anger would be a very valid emotion to crop up following recent events."