I wrote this in one sitting and barely proof read it. If anyone is interested in being a beta reader for me, please let me know. Excuse any typos / errors.
This is a delicate subject matter and I'm attempting to handle it with the respect it deserves. It's going to be a bumpy ride for sure. I will rely on your reviews / feedback to let me know if I'm going in the right direction.
It was the voice echoing around the darkened room that lured her from the depths of sleep. Maura woke slowly; struggling to pull herself from the heavy quicksand that was her dream. She fought valiantly; kicking the covers that were twisted around her lower half until she stuck.
Mercifully, she woke up before panic could set in. Once she realized that the voice only existed in her dream, she sighed softly and forced herself to relax. Once her breathing calmed she felt her muscles soften and she was no longer imprisoned by the blankets.
Not usually an indecisive person, Maura had always found that a good decision made itself. She opted to shuffle this voice into the back of her brain and concentrate on the quietness of her bedroom and the peace it provided. She was safe here and well-protected in her haven of solitude by the one she loved most dear. She had never had a breach of security thus far; other than the voice from the past (and the memories associated with it) that crept through her dreams from time to time. Besides her gun-toting girlfriend and extensive (and expensive) security alarm she insisted on having installed around her home, she had the extra security of the yappy little Jo Friday who was currently calmly curled up behind her legs.
The quiet presence of Jane sitting in the chair in the corner of the room, silently sipping her coffee and reading the paper, eased Maura's discomfort further. Lit only by the dim table lamp, the detective's mahogany hair was vibrant and unruly; much like the detective was herself. Maura loved to bury her face in Jane's long curls, imagining that the tall woman was the source of all things safe and good.
"Morning," Jane's voice broke the silence of the room and Maura was grateful for it.
"Hi," Maura responded quietly. She sat up; yawning demurely before immediately starting her stretches. Jane regarded her fondly, a small and soft smile gracing the detective's lips.
"You okay? It looked like you were having a hell of a dream. I wasn't sure if I should wake you or not." Jane's long fingers teased the edges of her newspaper.
"It's fine; I'm fine," Maura said as much to herself as to the detective. "Anything good?" she asked, nodding toward the paper before rolling her head back and forth to relieve the tension that her nightly dreams always filled her with.
The brunette detective shrugged. "Not really. Same shit, different day."
Maura snorted softly as she closed her eyes and resumed her stretching. Jane interrupted her by rising from her chair and crossing over to the bed, leaning down to kiss her softly.
Maura, still caught in the haze of her upsetting dream, couldn't help but flinch ever so slightly. She felt Jane's gaze; her brown eyes amiss with confusion.
"You sure you're okay?" The detective asked gently as her eyes searched Maura's face. Maura suddenly felt exposed and vulnerable, and the rawness of Jane's inquiring gaze made her angry.
"I said I'm fine," She instantly regretted the harshness of her tone. "I'm sorry, Jane. I didn't mean to snap at you. I'm not quite awake yet and you caught me off-guard."
Jane ran a tentative hand through Maura's mussed curls. "Didn't mean to startle you. You up for breakfast?" Folding the paper, she gently swatted her girlfriend's arm when Maura failed to answer. "C'mon, let's go out. I'm starving."
Nodding emotionlessly, Maura was pleased to find that by concentrating on the day at hand the last traces of her discomfort gradually faded away. She gracefully rose from bed and began to start on her morning routine. She needed to speak to Jane about the dreams; needed her to understand how she was feeling.
It had been precisely seventy-five days and six hours after she promised herself to come clean to Jane (and had failed to do so); and Maura had practically admitted defeat. Maybe it's wasn't wrong to keep it a secret; she tried to convince herself. "It's not her business, really." Maura spoke out loud to her empty office. Internally, she knew that wasn't the case. How many times had Jane told her that she was her business now? That everything that upset her or concerned her, concerned Jane?
This secret was a deeply-embedded splinter, one that she had kept hidden for years. Try as she might, no amount of poking or prodding had been able to raise it completely from the depths of her memory to face the light of day. Sure, pieces would break off here and there, leaving jagged and rough edges that would catch her by surprise. Sometimes, if she turned suddenly or had a flash of memory she'd feel the sharp pain; the intensity of it almost taking her breath away. If she held still, tried to clear her mind, and focused on something else she could usually make it retreat back down to the murky depths of her memories past. Other times, the wound seemed so fresh and raw that she was surprised to be able to function normally at all.
"Just say it; tell her," Maura spoke angrily. The anger is what surprised her the most; uncontrollable, it surged through her like a red hot laser desperate to burn anyone in its path. The anger was a dangerous combination of combustible unpredictability and was ready to bubble over at any minute complete with a faulty fuse. Any little thing could light it at any time, and Maura was finding it more and more difficult to keep it contained.
Years ago; after it first happened, she was angry at herself. The hatred it created within herself was something that never fully went away. As she aged the inner turmoil turned into an irrational anger that had grown and continued to consume the dwindling rational parts of herself like an untamed wildfire.
She knew that Jane deserved an explanation of why sometimes she became so angry when the teenage bagger at the grocery store let his prepubescent gaze linger a mere second too long on her breasts, resulting in Maura snatching the items from his sweaty palms and chastising him for not being efficient or qualified to do his job. Maura understood why it would confuse Jane thoroughly when the very next week she would treat the same boy with an encouraging smile and 'job well done' pat on the back.
She wasn't crazy; although there were times where she doubted herself. She was unpredictable both in her actions and emotions; much like an abused animal. She never knew if she would react with fear, indifference, or aggression. The uncertainty of her reaction to a situation made her fear the reaction itself even more.
Maura had never intended to mimic a robot; however, her efficiency and high intelligence combined with her complete control over her emotions had long earned her the comparison. She had always worked so diligently to maintain this beautifully-crafted façade of a marble interior; flawless and seamless. To the casual observer, her parents, any friends, she was perfection personified with everything under control.
For so long she had been able to take all of her haunted memories filed in a small little compartment in her mind; it was locked away and covered by years of repression and falsified truths. She had buried it so deeply she thought it would be impossible for it to be unearthed.
Jane had uncovered it; unwittingly so. Every intimate touch left Maura a little more unguarded; each familiar glance excavated the compartment a little more. The closer she became to Jane, the closer the compartment came to the surface.
It was the devil's bargain; she had realized months ago that to continue her relationship with the detective would be the end of her perfected façade. It would have been so easy to push Jane away and return to the safety of herself; but oh how she would miss the elegant fingers that touched her so deeply inside, the sly smile that was only for her, and the comforting strength of her mere presence.
Like it or not; the dam containing everything she had kept under pressure for years had chosen now to fail. Maura wasn't certain why it was so; certainly there could be no 'lifespan' of a self-constructed dam. Regardless of the circumstances, the smokescreen she had so carefully created and cultivated for years was indeed crumbling. Sometimes only in bits and pieces; where little dusts of memory would unsettle her as they shifted from their rightful hidden place. Other times, large weight-bearing supports would crash down with no warning, leaving her jittery and angry for days.
Maura knew she didn't have long before the last ramparts under her control gave way; allowing the contents of her sordid past to come spilling out , drowning all in its path.
It clearly was Jane's fault; it was no surprise to Maura to reach the conclusion that the closer she was to Jane, the less control she had over herself. In her previous relationships, Maura made herself distant; both emotionally and physically. While by nature she was a sexual person, she employed a strict fantasy-life where any time she was physical she resorted to playing a role or a character; even if it was restricted to her mind only. Her partners never seemed to know or care that she was incapable of being in the present with them. She very rarely became serious with any of her dates and hardly had what she could consider a 'serious' relationship.
She could never let it get to that level; before Jane. Once the tall detective entered into her life, Maura knew her battle within herself had been lost. Jane could unearth raw emotion in her with nothing more than a sympathetic smile and gentle touch. She trusted Jane more than she had ever trusted anyone else; including herself. She knew Jane would never leave her and knew that she owned it to Jane to be open and honest with her.
But how could she? How could she tell Jane about how she was held down against her will as the voice on top of her whispered filthy things in her ear? She knew how Jane would react to hearing how the first few times Maura fought him with all of her might, but it never mattered. Jane wouldn't be able to hear how she was overpowered again and again. It would destroy her; send her on a path of unattainable revenge, and ruin any further intimacy between the two of them. Jane had been through enough herself; courtesy of Hoyt. Maura didn't have the scars that Jane had; at least not the visible ones. What would Jane think of her, when the very thing that Jane hated more than anything, was weakness?
Jane fought valiantly against weakness like it was her worst enemy. How many times had Maura listened to her gripe about a "weak" homicide victim who had chosen to stay with their abuser and subsequently ended up murdered by their abusive spouse? Jane hated anything she perceived as weakness; and it was not limited the overpaid and underachieving outfielder for the Red Sox, to the cheap construction of her Ikea bookshelf, or the local coffee shop who consistently wouldn't brew her coffee strong enough.
Weakness was not something that Jane understood or tolerated.
The disguise Maura had so carefully created and coated over herself like carefully applied layers of foundation over an acne-ridden face; this open wound she so carefully guarded was now exposed. The more of herself she opened up to Jane, the quicker the layers fell off, leaving areas of her raw and visible.
How much longer could she avoid telling Jane what she needed to tell her before she ruined the only real relationship she had ever had? She hated herself when she was with Jane; hated the dishonesty she felt when her anger took control and bubbled up to the surface like a flow of hot lava. She hated the hurt look on Jane's face when she snapped at her for no reason and lost her temper, hated the hatred she felt toward her own cowardice. How long until Jane, who thrived on honesty and strength, couldn't be strong for both of them anymore? The caring detective deserved a better partner; one who was as strong as she was.
"It might be for the best," Maura uttered out loud before awkwardly dropping her head to her hands. If she came clean with Jane, she would surely leave her. What person in their right mind would want the kind of damaged goods Maura was peddling?
Alone, Maura could carefully reconstruct the dam; adding layer upon layer of brick and mortared false-memories until anything painful was walled back up inside where it belonged. It would be so much easier, in so many aspects, to return to her anti-social persona. She had never had a close friend before Jane and she was certain she could maintain an appropriate amount of satisfaction if she spent the rest of her life concentrating on her professional life; taking a lover here and there if she felt the need.
She would miss Jane's hands the most. Long and elegant, she had the hands of a classical pianist. The scars, clearly evident on both sides, only added to the intrigue. They exemplified the perfect contrast between beauty and ugliness, and Maura always had to suppress a sensual shudder when the whites of the scars stood out when Jane was clenched in either anger or passion. Her strong hands were adept at finding the perfect pressure point to relieve a nagging muscle, gently push a stray lock of hair back into place, and adeptly squeeze the trigger on a gun at the required time, and for as many times as were required.
Maura flinched when she imagined those hands caressing someone else. Jane could have anyone she desired; man or woman. She allowed her imagination to run rampant for a few seconds more and then deftly reeled it back under her control like an adept fisherman before her stomach threatened to void its contents.
Sighing, Maura stood up and calmly shifted all of her parts and pieces neatly back into place. Only once she was assured that her façade was indeed intact did she leave her office. It was time to go home. She would go upstairs and find Jane and smile at her warmly. Once they were in the car she would accept Jane's gentle kiss and they would hold hands on the way home. Maura would continue to live the lie as long as possible until she was strong enough to do the right thing and let Jane go.
Was a lie truly a lie, if you wanted to be honest about what you were lying about?
They met in the hallway; Maura unable to keep the smile from her face as the tall detective practically swaggered over to her.
"Hey."
"Hello," Maura responded as she demurely took Jane's proffered arm. "I was just on my way upstairs."
"Ah. When you didn't answer my texts I thought I'd come check up on you. Figured you might be arms deep in some dead guy."
"Jane," Maura chided good-naturedly, "show some respect."
Using her free hand she rummaged through her purse in search of her phone. "I'm sorry I missed your texts; I've been at my desk for the past hour but obviously failed to hear my phone chime. I must have been more distracted than I thought."
"It's okay," Jane soothed. "I figured something was up. I'm glad to hear it was just some harmless daydreaming instead of you going and getting yourself in trouble." The detective smiled to show she was kidding.
"If only," Maura muttered softly. She didn't miss Jane's barely perceptible sharp intake of air.
"Maur," Jane said her name reverently as she stopped walking. Looking down at the smaller woman she offered her an encouraging smile; her chocolate eyes searching those of the woman she loved so dearly. "I keep asking you if you're okay and you keep telling me you're fine. But are you? Fine, I mean?"
"Yes and no," Maura answered honestly. "I mean, I've been truthful with you. I'm fine in the sense that I'm functioning normally at work, my health is good, and you make me very happy."
"Okaaaaaaay," Jane drawled. "Why do I feel like there's a huge but in there somewhere. So spill it. What's the but?"
Maura narrowed her eyes. "I don't understand, Jane."
The detective smiled warmly; but Maura could clearly see the anxiousness in her eyes. "You said yes and no. What's the no?"
The smaller woman shook her head stiffly. "I think, ah," she grimaced uncomfortably. "Jane, can we possibly have this conversation somewhere else? I'm very uncomfortable right now."
"Of course," the detective answered graciously. She resumed holding Maura's arm and began to walk toward the elevator again. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry and I know it's lousy timing."
"No, it's fine," Maura stammered nervously, "you have every reason to ask and I hate myself for making you ask. I promise we'll talk."
The tension between them was palpable and it unnerved Maura to the point where she was unsure if her legs would steady her all the way to the car. She was practically trembling all over and it was only Jane's strength that allowed her to continue upright. Mostly, she was angry at herself for putting Jane through more anxiety. The detective had been through more than her fair share of unrest in her life already and certainly didn't need any contributions from Maura's own inner turmoil.
As they got into the car, Jane spoke again; her husky voice unusually unnerved. "I miss you. I miss us. It's been…" the detective struggled with her words; glancing down at her twitching hands that nervously began to toy with the end of her blazer, "difficult." She cleared her throat. "I miss how we used to be. You just haven't been yourself lately." Her dark eyes returned to those of her partner, noticing the obvious discomfort lurking underneath the surface.
Maura felt herself be studied and tried to remain impassive. She couldn't blame Jane for her actions, if the situation was reversed; Maura was certain she'd be frantically trying to 'fix' things and would focus on diagnosing Jane. Still, it was a vulnerable feeling and she was relieved when after several minutes of quiet contemplation, Jane merely shrugged.
"You'll tell me when you're ready," The detective said calmly.
Maura both envied and feared Jane's confidence and trust in her. She wished she had it herself.
They drove home in silence; once home Jane set about taking Jo for a walk while Maura worked in the garden. It was here; surrounded by her flowers that she felt solace. The quiet sanctity of the sun-kissed petals and greenery calmed her nerves and allowed her to feel part of something beautifully grand. She didn't feel as suffocated or overwhelmed as she'd been feeling.
She had an autopsy today; a teenager who made the mistake of diving into a rocky lake in far too shallow water. He had hit his head underwater and fell unconscious; the murky water concealing his prone form. His friends hadn't reacted quickly; thinking he was playing a joke on them. He drowned without anyone ever attempting CPR.
Staring down at his blue-tinged body, Maura felt such sadness. Lucky for him, the significant blow to the head that rendered him unconscious spared him from the terrible death that accompanied drowning.
The feeling of drowning was one that Maura was well familiar with; while she had not had a near-drowning experience, she was able to understand the described physical symptoms as she experienced them herself many times. It always started off with such an intense pressure on her chest that it left her unable to take in a full breath. Her eyes became blurry; unable to see the surface her hands would clench at her sides as if she was frantically trying to bring herself back up into the daylight.
It was possible for her to feel as if she was drowning while standing on dry land. It was so overwhelming to be without breath; especially when her body forbade it, as if the breath itself she desired was the enemy.
She rubbed her nose with the back of her garden glove and continued weeding. The itch on her nose wasn't sated and in frustration she took her gloves off and scratched it again; her elegantly manicured nails providing the itch relief she needed.
Her warm breath tickled her palm. Suddenly, behind the crumbling mortar of her psyche flashed an image of herself with a shadowy figure holding her down. She was too young to understand why this was happening, but old enough to understand without certainty what was going to happen. The shadow's hand was so strong and held firmly over her mouth. She couldn't breathe. His knuckles were prominent, the back of his hand hairy. Try as she might, air eluded her. As she sunk further into the bed, pushed down into oblivion by his weight, she imagined she was a mermaid.
Not human, not fish. Drowning in the sea of disbelief, floating peacefully on a bed made from her salty tears, she closed her eyes and rode out the currant. The only hope was that she'd be pushed out to the eternal sea; where the pain would dissolve like the foam on the beach and she'd finally be free. She would be able to breathe again.
Each time it happened she'd swim further and further away. As time passed and the visits continued, she was so far gone into the deep depths of her mind she didn't know where the surface even was anymore.
Other girls talked about dances, dresses, and the enigma of their first kiss. Maura didn't understand them. Instead, she focused on the perfection of line, shape, and mathematics. She cherished how beautiful the control of science was, how predictable it all could be. For every action, there was an equal and opposite reaction.
Sometimes, a part of her would break off and float down to the sea below, much farther down than Maura had ventured. Much like the wreckage from a nautical disaster, it would sit there on the bottom with the silt and the sand until it eventually didn't resemble its original form any longer. Only when it was covered with barnacles and coral would the fish dare to inhabit it.
If it disrupted the bottom enough to stir the surface, Maura would delve into the depths to retrieve it; carefully bringing it back up to the surface to attempt to restore it and place it carefully from which it came. Only then would she feel she was 'fixable'; or at least certain triggers of hers could be rewired in her brain. The first time she had attempted a deep dive retrieval was terrifying; but necessary.
Jane had said something to her; something filthy while they had made love. It was unexpected and completely unintentional to be upsetting; but as soon as the statement graced the detective's lips Maura was forced to dive, hands outstretched, to retrieve the buried memory and bring it back to the surface to be changed into a better one.
"I'm gonna ruin you for anyone else. You'll only want me," the detective had panted in her ear; her long fingers buried inside of Maura pumped steadily.
He had said that to her once. Almost word for word. In that moment; Maura was terrified. In this moment with Jane she was more aroused than she had ever been. Maura kept her eyes open and focused on Jane's; unwilling to sink into the murky depths with the past. Jane's eyes were warm and inviting and filled with adoration. They held her prisoner while the gentle caress of her free hand gently traced Maura's face. It was as if Jane's very touch polished the tarnished memory; every thrust of her fingers combined with the gentle traces on Maura's face caused the past hurt to bobble harmlessly at the surface.
Without knowing what she was doing or how she was doing it, Jane had done an admirable job of trying to retrieve the damaged pieces of her soul. Maura knew that her own trips to the depths below had become less and less frequent as she had gotten older; it was safe to say she felt her soul was a veritable junkyard. Jane's love had valiantly encouraged her to regain her wholeness; but regardless of her delicate handling, some pieces were so rusted beyond repair that they couldn't come willingly back up to the surface and would break in transit.
When this happened it was the worst of all. How could she make Jane understand why she reacted to things the way she did? How could she explain to the Rizzoli family why she didn't want to open her birthday presents in front of them?
That regardless of how she had tried to restore this piece; it wasn't to be. She had to open her gifts at her twelfth birthday party with him sitting there, right behind her. When she opened a beautiful dress her mother had bought her and held it up to her he had smiled. That smile; the one that he gave her right before he unzipped his pants and pushed her head down, her hair held securely in this large hands. Maura dropped the dress as if it was on fire.
After countless other birthdays and countless other encouragements to open her presents at the party, Maura had carefully attempted to retrieve that memory time and time again; struggled without success to remove all negative thoughts from it. And for years, she had gone on, trying to avoid the situation. She normally spent her birthday alone, so it hadn't been an issue.
Jane came with a family; a loud and boisterous one at that. They loved celebrating and loved gifts; a dangerous situation for Maura. Shortly after she and Jane moved in together, Angela insisted on having a small housewarming party. Jane enjoyed opening their gifts with Maura making dutiful notes to send out thank you notes later.
All was well until Angela presented them each with a large box; a silly grin on her face. Maura politely protested; but Jane elbowed her with a gentle "C'mon, it'll make her happy."
She tried to control the tremble in her hands as she delicately removed the wrapping. Shaking; she opened the lid just as Jane opened hers and held it up to the watching crowd with a sarcastic eye roll. Angela had given her and Jane matching bathrobes. They were long and fluffy, and in no way risqué. However, she didn't miss the waggle of eyebrows between Frost and Korsak. Her knuckles were white around the pink robe in the attempt to continue breathing.
She murmured her thank-you, clutched Jane's shoulder as she excused herself and retreated to the bathroom; alone.
Maura shook her head to return to the present day and her weeding. The unpredictability of her emotional triggers was the salt in the wound; the run in the stocking; and the flaw in the stitching. Maura hadn't a clue when something would affect her, and how severely. And the unknown was what she feared the most; the unknown of how it would affect her relationship with Jane and with her own sanity.