Ok heres chapter 5. Sorry for making Ruth such a bitch...but this man is good at his job. R&R and try to enjoy x

"What I am to you is not real
What I am to you you do not need
What I am to you is not what you mean to me"

Damien Rice

Harry turned the key in her door. He knew he shouldn't be here, not with out her, it was disrespectful.

Respect? After what he had done she didn't deserve respect.

He slammed the door behind him as he entered the darkness of her hall. He reached out and flicked the lamp on. Light spread through the room. It didn't feel the same any more. It used to feel warm, inviting, enveloping. It used to draw him in, the homeliness filling, the Ruthness comforting. Now the sights and smell made him sick. The picture of them on her side turned his stomach. They were smiling at each other, gazing happily into the others eyes. He pushed it making it topple off the dresser, smashing on the floor. The shards of glass now ran across their faces, separating them like she had. He was surprised at how comforting he found this. It felt like a tiny sip of revenge.

He walked in to her kitchen, the glass crunching under his feet as he went. On her fridge there was another picture of them, this one of her gazing over at him during a house party a few months ago, and a receipt from their first dinner date. Another wave of anger coursed through him and he ripped them down, crumpling them as he formed a fist, and then threw them across the room. He crumbled as it hit the wall. Slumping down into a hard, wooden chair he stared at the ball. How could she do it? He loved her more than anything and thought she felt the same for him. The prospect of a weekend without her had all but killed him. He had worried she would get lost, would be lonely after the party. Stupid, stupid worries.

Her words still rang in his ears, repeating themselves over and over. The shake in her voice, the vulnerable tone, the heavy words. When she had announced she had been seeing some one else, his heart had skipped a beat. That was usually a sign of happiness and love. It was still a sign of love, but of love lost. He hadn't known what to do so he hung up, he didn't want to hear her voice anymore. A voice he usually relished in hearing. He didn't want to know the details. How long? Who with? Did she love him? He still wanted the answers just not now. He couldn't handle that many revelations in one night.

He got up again and made his way into her living room. He had tidied it before he left that morning, placing all the books back on the shelves in the right order just how she liked, straightened the throw on the settee and plumed the cushions on his favourite chair. He had wanted it to be nice for when she got home. He felt the anger rising again and threw the cushions on the floor; she didn't deserve to come back to a nice house, a tidy house. He picked up the few leather bound books that had made their way from his book case to hers and bode his chair farewell.

He took the stairs two at a time not wanting to stay a minute longer in her house than he needed. He found they draw she had started to use as his for when he stayed and emptied it on the bed. He folded what he needed in to a small pile and discarded what he didn't. He took the aftershave and toothbrush off her dressing table and added that to the pile.

He sat down slowly on the bed realising that she could have been here with him. That thought killed him a little bit more than any other had so far. The fact she had probably been sharing this bed with more than him. He could feel his hands shaking, the anger ran deep through his body, but instead of materialising in violence again he could feel tears burning the back of his eyes. One blink and they came pouring down. No one had hurt him like this before; never had a woman caused him to cry. His wife had cheated but he had deserved that, he had been cheating on her too, and it was a loveless relationship anyway. He had believed with all his heart that Ruth loved him, that she respected him and would be there for the rest of his life. His hand went involuntarily to his coat pocket and pulled out the small velvet box he had been carrying round for the last week. When Ruth had announced she would be spending a weekend away he had realised just how much he loved her. The prospect of 2 days without her had been more than he could comprehend, so in an effort to fill the hole she would be leaving he had decided to propose. He had planned everything; she would be returning on Sunday night, he was to surprise her by letting himself in to cook a meal. He would woo her like he had on their first date, talk of the same things, drink the same wine and cook the same meal. That first night had been so perfect. He wanted to be perfect for her because she was perfect for him.

He cursed himself for being so stupid, how had he been so blind?

He wiped away his tears and scooped up the pile of his things. He made hi way back downstairs slower than before. He realised this would be the last time he was in this house. Part of him was sad at that thought, he had spent so many happy times here, but all those memories now appeared to him tainted. He took one last look in each room, the kitchen with the scrunched up ball, the living room scattered with pillows and the hall covered in shards of glass. He flicked off the lamp again and went to open the door. There was a red flashing coming down the hall. It was the answer phone he realised; inconsequential to him now, anyone who rang her didn't have any connection to him any more. There was something stopping him though, something in the back of his mind that made him turn back to down the hall. He walked slowly to the machine and pressed the play button. He didn't know why. It whirred to life, a few clicks resounded from its speaker and the message began to play.

"Harry," it was her "If you're listening to this, I'm sorry I really am, I know you won't forgive me after this" Too right he thought "but I need your help." His help? She would need help but not his after he finished with her. "I'm at a hotel called the Mason, in Oxford," not the one he had told her the party was at, he noted "with a man" he braced himself "called John Phillips, at least I think that's his name. I've been seeing him on and off for a few weeks," he didn't want to hear any more, that was enough information as he wanted, the other question he didn't want to now the answer to. "Anyway I've just found a file in his things. It's all about me, me and you he's been ordered to... to…"A file? Only people in their line of work took files away for dirty weekends.

He reached for his mobile.

"Adam?... I need to see you. …Yes now, can I come over?... I'll be there in ten minutes."

Harry hung up then pressed the eject button to take the tape. He dropped his pile of belongings and hurried out of the door.

She might have broken his heart, but the pieces still loved her. If she was in trouble he had to help.