She felt… useless.
Penny and Gordon were off doing her job: playing hunter, searching for the man that had, it felt, torn out her heart. This left her with Scott and Virgil. Babysitting them.
It wasn't fair.
And if she was honest with herself, they were cold and resentful; perhaps it was in her mind, but it felt as if they blamed her, and why shouldn't they? She'd been sleeping with the man that had betrayed them. She wondered if they thought she was in on it, if it was just a matter of time until she tried something. She had no idea if it was true, it could all be in her head, but it didn't matter. If it was true, she had no idea how to convince them otherwise. Convince them that she was heartbroken.
She didn't blame them if they felt that way. Couldn't, really.
She should have acted when he had started to pull back from her; the man was in introvert, he needed his space and time alone. Sometimes he would tell her it was too much and retreat for a time, but this was different.
She should have acted when he started to get evasive, secretive; he'd pushed her away, snapping and telling her it was nothing. She assumed he had a puzzle he couldn't solve. He got irritable when he couldn't win something.
She hadn't done either, though. She'd failed.
Her job was meant to be security—she was meant to investigate every risk, let nothing out of the ordinary lie. If it seemed wrong, she was supposed to tear it apart to find out what it was.
She hadn't, though, she'd made excuse after excuse for him.
She'd failed, and they'd paid.
She couldn't blame them if they hated her.
She hated herself.
She'd make it right, though… somehow.