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Robin reaches for her. She slides a tentative hand towards her, palm up, knuckles skimming over Nancy’s thigh, the tips of her fingers twitching ever so slightly.
Nancy stares. And stares.
She wants to tell Robin, don’t offer your hand to me. If I hold it now, I might never let go.
She wants to tell herself, religion has taught you to be merciful. So be that. Let her go. Don’t take her hand when you might rip it clean off.
or: Robin is Nancy’s safe place.