Olivia Benson, age 5 ½
December 25, 1973
Olivia woke up, looking around her room in a disoriented state. She knew it was Christmas, but it didn't feel like it was supposed to be. Of course, she really had no idea of what Christmas was really supposed to be like, but she knew it wasn't how she lived it.
Looking outside, little Olivia saw that it was still dark, but she knew she wouldn't be able to sleep. Reaching for her tattered teddy bear, "Oscar," she slipped out of bed and tiptoed to the living room. There, on the couch, was her mother, passed out after a binge last night of alcohol and assorted pills. Olivia scrunched her face in disgust at how her mother chose to live her life, and walked into the restroom. She climbed on the sink and stared at herself in the mirror. Covering her face were many bruises, blisters and cuts from her and her mother's "many" disagreements. She knew her mother didn't love her...many kids at school didn't come to school in old clothes covered in "punishments." So, if her mother didn't love her, then why did she have her?
Shrugging her shoulders, she climbed off the counter, but when she did, she knocked a glass bottle of hydrogen peroxide off, shattering it. Olivia's eyes went wide as she looked around the corner. Thankfully, her mother was still asleep. She began to pick up the pieces, throwing them away, but accidentally cut her foot. She bit her lip, hard, trying to hold back the scream that threatened to leave her throat. She took a deep breath and soon it was gone, but now her blood covered the floor. She shook her head as she threw the glass bottle away and wiped up the blood. She then sat on the toilet seat and applied pressure to the stinging cut with bits of toilet paper, since they were almost out. It was enough that they didn't have band-aids, but no toilet paper? Olivia couldn't fathom how children at her school, the same ones who made fun of her, would react to not having toilet paper, but for her it was normal. Her mother spent all her money on booze, therefore she never had enough for the basic essentials that any family needed...even though Olivia didn't see her mother and herself as a "family." They were just two people who lived together and just so happened to be related to one another. That was all...nothing more.
When the cut was finally dry, Olivia threw the toilet paper away, but hid it, and the glass bottle, underneath empty alcohol bottles that were in the trash, being careful not to wake her mother up. She knew she'd get a whooping later...she always did, but she wanted to hold that off as long as she possibly could.
Tiptoeing back to her small bedroom, Olivia shut the door and perched on her bed, underneath the covers. It was becoming unbearably cold. Silently, she prayed to God...if he'd get her out of this mess, she'd never hurt anybody. She'd be good for the rest of her life, and she'd help people, especially kids, not live the way she was living now. "Please God," she silently prayed, wiping away a tear as she folded her hands. "I promise I'll be good, just please...get me outta here." She was afraid that if God didn't get her out of this mess that was supposed to be her life, that she would soon get out, but not in a safe way, and not in a way that she'd ever be able to help anyone, ever again.
This was just something that I came up with while sitting here on this cold, happy Christmas morning. Please review and tell me if I should continue, because I do have some good plans for this story ;)
Merry Christmas everyone!
Missy
