Hi all! I'm throwing this out here to see what you think. I have a pretty good idea about it but I wanna see if you'd be interested in reading? Lemme know?
'Defective Jane Rizzoli'
Another card dropped through her door, the moniker emblazoned across its face stabbing her clean through the heart. It had been exactly two weeks to the day since she'd put a bullet through herself and Bobby Marino, she had survived, or at least that's what everyone kept saying. True, she stood in her apartment, walking, talking, and breathing; and yet she felt no more alive than Marino was.
On that warm Boston afternoon Detective Jane Rizzoli had died, what was left behind was flesh, blood, uncertainty, fear and vulnerability. A simple, mortal woman. Just Jane.
She tossed the mail onto the ever increasing stack by the door and ambled slowly back to the sofa, her focus returned to the laptop balanced carefully on some cushions.
Jane flicked back and forth between sites, searching for anything to occupy her mind while not really looking. She had been home for all of 5 days, and in those days, she'd managed to avoid everyone. Including Maura.
The part of Detective Rizzoli that clung valiantly to life wanted to call the doctor, to have her come over and Google mouth at her until she felt human again, felt like more than the hollow shell she had become. But no matter how many times she picked up the phone, she could never quite dial the number.
Maura had called; of course, her voice often filled the apartment as it had so many times before. Jane often reached out with shaking hands, her fingers brushing the handset before the terror grasped her heart in its black fist and squeezed for all it was worth. She would pull her hand back, hugging herself fiercely and sob.
Bursting into life, Jane felt the new but ever increasing sting of panic as the telephone rang again. She made no effort to silence it, no interest in checking the caller ID, instead, she clamped her hands over her ears and prayed that it would just go away. By the time the machine cut in, she was sobbing uncontrollably, tears streaming, unchecked down her face as she fought to control her breathing, fast, shallow hints that, combined, couldn't be considered a true inhalation.
"Detective Rizzoli, this is Norma from Doctor Hannigan's office. We need to schedule an appointment. If you could call and tell us when you could come in…."
With the words echoing around the room, Jane Rizzoli's panic attack took a firm grasp and threw the brunette headfirst into oblivion.
Passed out from the lack of oxygen, she slept deeply.