sometimes they stay still

chapter three

you haven't been able to bring yourself to eat since then but it doesn't really matter now because they know. they all know, you can see it in their faces, you can see it in the way they hold themselves and you can hear it in the way they speak to you

the men don't know how to act. they shuffle awkwardly and avoid looking at you, eyes glued to the floor. and the women treat you like you're a whole new species- they're simultaneously disgusted, intrigued and bone-achingly jealous. they want to be you, but they want to be three blocks away from you in case the crazy is contagious.

but what none of them have done is reported you to your boss. maybe some have gone to human resources, maybe some have had a talk with cavanaugh- but if they'd bothered to do their research they'd know that you report to no one in this building and you are invincible

you don't know why you were so scared it would come out.

if you could think clearly, maybe you'd miss the little chats you had with the interns, and maybe you'd hate that feeling of being utterly alone in a sea of people-

but as it stands you haven't eaten anything for two days and when you blink fireworks go off behind your eyes and it's taking everything you have to concentrate on your autopsies and if you'd had to have a conversation you think you might have just

given out

sank in from the inside like an overcooked baked alaska and crumpled to the floor and never ever have gotten up again.

'…took some personal…' '…didn't even know she had another brother…' '….few weeks, she said-'

no one tells you anything but jane can't be that good at avoiding you, and angela's not at the café either

it takes far more effort than it should to stamp down on the little bean of worry that is putting down roots in the pit of your stomach, especially so soon after 'the incident'

-which is what you've chosen to call it because mental breakdown sounds too raw too real-

and to punish yourself for caring about jane when jane didn't (didn't call didn't come left me left me leftme)

you make yourself a feast of ice cream and toast and banana and jam and icing, and set it on your kitchen counter where you can see it as you spent the night forcing yourself to do one more crunch until you finally slip

away.

one week and you're forcing yourself to chew one apple a day and it feels like you're trying to swallow some sort of quick-drying concrete mix

you've wished all your life to be the type who just doesn't eat

but now that you're there, you see that it's just as bad as puking. because puking is for those who feel too much

and starving is for those who don't feel at all.

susie sticks her head around the doorframe and tells you that she's off on her lunch break and it suddenly hits you how much time is freed up when you stop eating.

you think about what large chunks of your day stretch out in front of you and feel free and unencumbered by expectations and food and responsibilities and people

and for a moment you're dizzy with possibilities instead of hunger

but then you are hit by a wave of gut pains and as you bring your knees to your chest and force back the tears you realise just how futile those thoughts are. because whatever you do, you'd do alone.

another wave of gut pain hits but this time you're forcing back the memory of jane's laugh ringing out as she grabbed your hand and pulled you out of your office for the very first time.

you end up at the gym. exercise means sweat and sweat is the fat crying, whispers the teenaged you perched on your shoulder as you stare at the blob that used to be maura isles in the boston pd gym mirror

sweat is the fat melting and escaping and along with it all the pain and the hurt and the indelible memories of jane that you're beginning to think are tattooed on your eyelids.

you haven't eaten a full meal in a fortnight. you're half caffeine half multivitamins and maybe a little bit salad but somehow you're bigger and puffier and more bloated than you've ever been before

people still look at you but now they mock.

'getting skinnier and skinnier, she is'

and you watch your calves as you walk away, watch the slabs of fat under your skin ripple and slap against each other as you walk

you just want them to stoptalkingstoplookingatme

if you're not skinny then all of this was for nothing. you lost susie and angela and everyone (janejanejanejanejane your brain hisses even though you know you'd lost her before this even started)

it won't be in vain.

week three. still fat.

you've been down at the gym every day after work, ignoring the raised eyebrows when you walk into the room-

ignoring the lack of people on the machines next to you-

and only concentrating on sweating hard enough to purge all the fat and all the hate from your body.

four hours a night seems to be doing the trick. you end up so exhausted that you stumble into bed and fall into a greyscale dreamless sleep, far away from the technicolour scenes of jane's eyes fluttering shut next to you in this same bed that used to haunt you

but one night the basement where the gym is has a sign on the door forbidding entry. you try to read it but the words keep swimming in front of your eyes

-four days, two apples, and more coffee than the rest of your department drank in a day and this is both the weakest yet the strongest you've felt in so long-

and you don't really care why it's closed

you drift back to the locker room, head whirling with ways to get your four hours in- you don't care if you have to do crunches on the stone kitchen floor until your spine bruises- anything to escape jane's eyes-

and no sooner does that thought enter your fuzzy head than you find your locker blocked by a familiar body. you'd know that smell anywhere you dream of that smell and those arms and for a moment you press your eyes shut tightly and imagine that this is the moment just before jane gathers you into a hug-

'maura.'

even your pathetically slow heart starts to beat a little faster and you feel a rush of adrenaline like a bucket of cold water poured down your back janejanejanejanejane

you don't dare look up at her. goingtopassoutgoingtopassout

'hello.'

your voice is small and hoarse from lack of use. and even you can barely hear it and if you had the energy you'd wince at the lack of confidence in it

but instead you edge a bit closer to the block of lockers so you can support yourself. because of course she catches you at your weakest moment.

that's her specialty, whispers teenage maura, kicking her baguette-thin legs in the air carelessly from her spot on your shoulder. finding you when you're vulnerable and lifting you up to dizzying heights then- oh! look, jane's dropped you and you're hurtling down-

you shut your eyes tightly in an attempt to shut her out.

'you okay?'

you look up, heart in your mouth. dark eyes are studying your face with an all-too-familiar quiet intensity and oh god the urge to throw your arms around her neck and sob into her t-shirt as she runs those warm strong hands up and down your back and tells you you're going to be okay is so overwhelming you can't breathe

but you don't. you exhale shakily, and meet her eyes dead on.

'i'm fine.'

another moment of silent study follows, only to be broken by jane snorting softly.

'yeah. i'm sure.'

and once again, you're left behind by jane as she pushes herself away from the locker block and stalks out of the changing room.