An- This is based upon a real story. Don't worry, not mine. But I did know her, and I really just kind of got carried away I guess. This is dedicated to Layla Adams, who gave me the idea. Sorry this is really short, but I feel like it really works in this format. Thanks! Hope you enjoyed.
~Snaptobiume

Maura Isles had taken so many hits, and would take so many more. To everyone else, she looked as though there was nothing wrong, nothing out of the ordinary.

I knew better.

Jane Rizzoli always knew better.

I knew the change in her when she started dating him. I think his name was Mark... no, Mitch. Mike! That's the bastard's name. Yea, its Mike. I'm positive. In the beginning, it was all like it was perfect. The whole deal was sickening actually. Everything was "Mike this" or "Mike that." Alright, I kind of understand how people must have felt when she spoke about me that much. But too damn bad, that's me. Its different.

She's mine.

But he changed that. All of it. She became distant, and I was lucky if I knew what the Hell was going on anymore. I longed to tell her that I could be better than him, that if she gave me the chance, I could be the one to love her, the one that she needed. You see, Maura does need someone. Its not that clingy, pain in the ass need though. Its like... A support. She needs emotional support, because despite her brain, her self esteem has a tendency to be lacking slightly. And she takes hits to it easily.

So that has been me. The one to pick up the pieces when she starts to crumble. The one dropping hints that he is not good enough for her, that I could be better. I swear to God, there was something off about him that I hated right from the start.

I should have told her earlier. But I didn't. I told myself he would never hurt her. The whole my- best- friend- is- a- cop deal. And I suppose, technically, he didn't. But I blame him completely.

I know you are probably confused as Hell right now. I understand. Frost is making me keep this journal so I don't start shooting every male being in sight. But I mean, really. I am so pissed right now. And I kind of have a really good reason.

You see, Maura Isles slit her wrist.

Even better; I did not find out until two months later.

That is not the kind of shit you keep from your best friend, even if she has a gun. I don't give a crap. It is just not done. And to find out... Well, I suppose I'll just display the entire event as I heard it.

She was arguing with him. It hadn't happened at all early in the relationship, so she had supposed that it would come around at some point. No two people had that truly perfect relationship after all. But she hadn't expected to argue as... frequently as they did.

"Do you know what the Hell you do to me?" Only in the literate sense. She had never been much good at emotions; normally she had discussed them with Jane. But she and Jane were becoming so distant now. She really shied away from calling the detective unless it was really an emergency. "You put me on hold, for a dead person or a... a butch detective!" His voice had risen, and she shied away from it. At one point in her life, Maura would have argued back, but not now. He was stronger than she was. He was right more often.

"I'm sorry." And she was. She knew she was.

"That does not cut it, Maura! You expect to say I'm sorry, and it to all be forgotten like it never happened!" He ran a hand through his hair, his face red. "You make me feel like shit, and its all your damn fault!"

"I'm sorry, I-" he stormed from the room, and she waited, shaking her head. Finally, at one point, she slid into the bathroom, planning to wash her tears away. "What have I done?" The doctor whispered to her reflection, repeating the words to herself. She had been hurting him all this time, making him feel low... and she had never realized. How could she bear to look herself in the mirror? This was her fault, it was all her fault.

Maura slid her hand into the cabinet, withdrawing it a moment later. She deserved to be hurt too, didn't she? She believed so. And she was brilliant, right? She never truly felt the cut. Didn't analyze how deep the edge had bitten into porcelain skin. Didn't snap out of a daze to think enough about what she was doing until her legs had started shaking, her vision hazing over. The bleeding not stopping.

You see, he found her there after. Not a damn moment too soon actually. And he rushed her to the emergency room, where they stitched it and did whatever. I know she would have died if he hadn't been there to find her.

But dammit, it should have been me!

I should have been there, with her. Not him. It never would have happened if I had been there, rather than that jackass. But she never said a damn word to me. And now, whatever his name is wants her to move to France with him.

I'm going to go take Frost with me and shoot some shit.

I can't handle this. I love her.

And she should have told me.