Work Text:
Miranda could still remember the feeling of DI Sinclair’s hands on her body. The suffocating claustrophobia when he cornered her in the office, or sat too close to her in the canteen. The mix of helplessness and burning rage inside her as her colleagues just stood by and let it happen.
It was years ago now. Wandsworth. She’d suppressed the memories a long time ago, locked it all away in a dark corner of her mind. In truth, she’d thought she was over it. Thought she was free of Jasper Sinclair. But then Frank Bottomley had turned up, telling Max about the past she’d tried desperately to block out. A past neither man had any right to talk about.
Frank didn’t even know the whole story. Somehow, that was worse.
She’d left in a hurry. Sick to her stomach, desperate for some space. It was claustrophobic again, everything pressing in on her as she struggled to breathe.
The memories came back to her in flashes that seemed to stop time. A whispering breeze against her skin sent icy terror spearing through her heart. The smell of vanilla had a silent scream clawing its way up her throat. A twisting, hopeless fear rotted her insides.
It was years ago now, that much was true. But if she was honest, part of her had never really managed to escape. Part of her was still stuck there, with Sinclair’s hot breath on her neck and his cold hands slipping under her waistband.
It didn’t matter how much distance she put between herself and Wandsworth. It didn’t matter how much time had passed. It didn’t matter what she did. She just couldn’t get away from it. Away from the humiliation of what he’d done to her.
Away from the moment where she’d frozen up, and he’d taken it as a yes.