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little bit of poison in me

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Dana slams her opponent into the mat with an off-kilter manoeuvre. Emma lingers on the outside of the ring, savouring the effect she has on her once-friend just by inhabiting the same space. A small dark smile curls onto her lips when Dana wins, for once: and she wins alone, wins on her own merit.

Emma slips into the ring and thrusts herself into Dana's arms. She clings to her body, firm with years of training, the contours of which she knows so well. She holds herself upright against Dana's resistance, against a spluttering rejection.

There's lipstick on Dana's teeth and an edge to her breathing. She looks at Emma with a mix of disgust and wonder. Does she see in Emma's eyes the reason why she acts like a shadow? Does she know about the pieces of Emma she still holds, pieces that Emma will do anything to recover? Or does she only see Emma swallow the urge to kiss her on live television?

She tightens her midnight-black gloves and touches Dana's shoulder. A look passes between them; an uncertain acceptance of the gesture by Dana, a slight tilt of the head as Emma revels in her act of vanity.

Emma licks her lips as she walks away.

Dana is her success story -- was her success story.

And by the time she's finished here, Dana will be hers once again.