Isabel

It occured to Isabel that she had unfortunately, inconveniently, fallen in love. She could not pinpoint the precise moment that she had realised this fact, perhaps it was the rainy morning when he had left her at almost midday to sink into the sheets hoping that it was the beginning, or the first time she cried because he didn't come out when he said he would. Maybe it was even as far back as the first time she saw him after their long Summer seperation and became suddenly overwhelmed by the perplexing desire to kiss him. Whatever the origin of these feelings, however, their nature was certain. Somehow the void, or indeed the fine line, between sister-like love and falling into love had been bridged, and Isabel found her heart to be in the process of being ruthlessly torn apart by her best friend.

She was sure that there was no intenton on his part to torment her, although he must have been aware of the potential result of allowing himself to fall into bed with her at opportune moments. He had stated so many a time, and she had no reason to believe to the contrary and Isabel was convinced, with fairly good reason, that he was even more unaware as he was of her feelings, of his own. It was not, however, that she had been able to conceal her own feelings from so a good a friend. Indeed, she felt that it was fitting that he should be made acutely aware of her own internal breakages were something, not in order to inspire guilt, but in the knowledge that had any other man been the breaker, she would have been equally eager to open her hurts to him, and also in the vague hope that the reason for his lack of reciprication was a lack confidence in her romantic regard for him.