Summary: A new case takes Olivia through the ringer.

Disclaimer: I do not own L&O: SVU in any way. However, Mr. Wolf, I do have this shiny nickel...

AN: Ok, I'm not entirely sure where I'm going with this. I generally don't like posting a story in segments, but my muse is flat-lining. I'm using this project to try and give the old girl a jump start. It came to me last night. Can't really say how often I will update, but I might have another chapter up today. Let me know what you think.

WARNING: This chapter contains pretty detailed descriptions of self-harm. If you could be triggered, or don't want to read about it, please turn away now.

*

She sat in the corner, back pressed against the cold tub. Wearing nothing more than a t-shirt and underwear, the linoleum leached heat from her exposed legs, making her shiver slightly. The disposable razor lay broken in her lap, the freed blade clasped between her fingers.

She had long since become an expert in dismantling the cheap plastic.

Memories of him on top of her flooded her mind. Grunting and heaving. You're hurting me, dad. Usually she could stay quiet, it was better that way. But he had been growing more violent, more demanding. When she could stand no more and cried out or begged, it just got worse.

And no one ever believed her. Her dad was too wonderful a man to do something so horrendous. She was just a troubled youth trying to sow chaos and ruin a respectable man's reputation. An attention-seeking slut. It had been a long time since she had bothered trying.

Now the blade was her only comfort. He couldn't hurt her nearly as well as she hurt herself. The layers of scars on her forearms were a testament to her capabilities. The pain from her self-inflicted wounds drowned out the pain of his wounds, distracted her mind from the emotional turmoil he left behind. Watching the blood drip from the cuts was like watching the fear, anger, and sadness dripping from her body. It left her numb, and even that lack of emotion was a delicious alternative to feeling anything else.

Usually she was tidy, not wanting to anger him by leaving a mess. She'd made it a habit of cutting over the toilet so she could just flush all the blood away when she was done. But this time, he had gone further than he ever had before. The bruises were already forming, and she wondered if he hadn't broken one of her ribs. She didn't care about cleaning up, so she stayed seated on the floor.

As always, the first cut was preceded by apprehension. She always felt ambivalent until her body got into the rhythm, and then she could hardly get herself to stop. A quick cut. She watched the skin gape, and several moments passed before the blood welled up, dripping down to her elbow and soaking into the fabric where it contacted with her stomach. The sight was intoxicating, and line after line appeared, freeing more of the liquid from her body.

She watched it soak into her clothes and puddle on the floor in fascination. Her tensions eased, and she quickly lost count of the wounds. Maybe she had had it all wrong before. Messy was the way to go, it was more purifying to feel her handiwork.

All thoughts of being relaxed vanished as she heard the front door crash in to a loud chorus of "Police!" She dropped the razor in panic, unsure of what to do. They couldn't see her like this, covered in her own blood drawn by her own hand. Not knowing what else to do, she stayed where she was. The bathroom door was locked, as was customary. Maybe they'd leave her alone.

Yeah, right...

Footsteps echoed throughout the house. She heard doors open, and her dad screaming out obscenities. Tears ran down her cheeks as she waited for the turmoil to end. Someone stopped in front of the bathroom, and she watched the handle jiggle.

"Door's locked," she heard a male voice say. She couldn't help but sob in response. "Sara Holden? It's ok, we're the police."

Sara didn't reply, hoping they would give up. Praying they would give up. She froze in place, as if holding still would deter them. The man moved away, and she heard murmuring as he spoke with someone else. Then someone approached the door again.

"Sara?" This time the voice was female. "My name is Olivia, I'm a detective. Can you say something, so I know you're ok?"

Sara had visions of the door busting down if she stayed silent, and the mere thought had her jumping slightly. "I'm ok."

"That's good, honey. Can I come in?"

"No!" Sara replied immediately. She was shaking, and this time it had nothing to do with temperature.

She heard the sound of something sliding down the wall, followed by a soft bump. Olivia had sat down for the long haul. "Ok, Sara, I'm going to tell you exactly what's happening out here. A neighbor called us, told us your dad was hurting you. You're safe now, honey. We're here to help."

"Why?"

"It's our job to protect people who need it."

"No one ever believed me before." Sara's anger was rising, remembering all the times she had been rebuffed.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry nobody believed you. But we're here now, let us put it right. Can you let me in now, Sara?"

Oh, God. She was panicking once again. Sara stuttered as she threw out the first excuse she could come up with. "I'm not decent."

Olivia's voice was still as patient as ever. "It's ok. The other cops aren't over here, no one else will see."

And really, how long could she stay in a bathroom? As much as she dreaded it, she couldn't hold out forever. So Sara stood, wincing as her arm throbbed from the action of pushing herself up. Bloody handprints framed the pool of blood on the floor. She paused in front of the door.

"Please don't freak out," Sara said.

"It's ok. Just unlock the door for me."

Sucking in a breath, she turned the lock. She stepped back as the door slowly opened. The woman had several inches on her, but then Sara had never been very tall. Olivia's eyes immediately went to the blood and ended her musing.

"It's-it's not as bad as it looks!" Sara assured. The bleeding had mostly stopped, drying blood clinging to her arm like sap.

Olivia moved behind her, pulling the towel off of the bar and pressing the fabric against her arm. "Are you cut anywhere else?"

"No." Her face reddened in shame and embarrassment as this woman tended to her wounds. Sara lowered her head, trying to swipe away the fresh tears before they were noticed.

But they were noticed, and Olivia's hand reached under her chin and lifted her face. "Hey, hey, it's ok, honey. It's going to be ok." Olivia pulled Sara close until the girl was crying against her shoulder, then she picked up her voice to address the cops outside. "Elliot, call a bus."

"Bus?" Sara wondered.

"An ambulance. Those cuts are pretty deep."

Sara pulled back, not sure what to do with the concern. "You don't have to. I'm fine."

"It's my job to make sure you're ok, Sara. I'll stay with you the whole time if you want."

She nodded, the emotional rollercoaster of the day draining her.

*

AN 2: So, should I continue?