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    Broken

    Two things woke Jane Rizzoli on that Tuesday morning, the one that ripped her from her slumber was the undeniable fact that she had kissed her best friend, the most fleeting of contact really and yet one she feared had changed everything.
     it was a fact of her life now and one that was starting to haunt her. In her conscious moments, she could taste Maura’s skin, the gentle coat of sweat mixed with the warm and spicy lip gloss she always wore. In her unconscious moments, not that she had found many of those that night, her mind toyed with her, played the ‘what if’ game. What if you’d deepened the kiss; in her dream she’d pulled Maura closer, squeezing out all the air between them until there was nothing but the crush of their bodies, her hands settling on Maura’s waist as she tentatively brushed her tongue along the doctors top lip, a ginger request for entrance. What if Maura had allowed it, her own hands exploring the well-defined landscape of Jane’s back, well-manicured nails digging into the thin fabric of her top as they dragged down her back?

    What if she didn’t? More than once, Jane had awoken in the night, her heart hammering wildly in her chest, tipping her towards panic.
     it was this that ripped her from sleep. Brushing long strands of hair from her eyes, Jane was suddenly aware of a second hammering, one that matched the frantic beat of her heart. Only this one came from the front door rather than her chest. Getting slowly to her feet, the successes of the previous day fell like snow, unnoticed, as the familiar taste of bile burnt the back of her throat.

    The hall from her bedroom to the door seemed impossibly long and yet her feet continued to carry her forward, seemingly unaware of the meltdown happening above.

    “Who is it?” she called, amazed by how normal she sounded when she could feel her entire body giving up on her.

    “UPS ma’am.” A gentle voice replied from behind the thick wood. “Your neighbour said you’d take in a parcel.” Jane scrunched up her face and reached for the chain, watching her fingers shake and fumble with the simple metal. Pulling her hand back, she slapped herself viciously on the cheeks, the sting clearing her mind just enough for her to pull the door open and sign for the box. If the young man stood before her had been surprised by the dishevelled woman, her grey tank half ridden up, exposing both her simple black panties and angry bullet scar, he had enough sense not to stare.

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