A/N: This is my first AO fic, so bear with me, please! That, and I really, really, really appreciate reviews or messages, whether you like my story or not. I put a lot of effort into everything I do, and I'd really like to know what people think.
Alex realized that she was giggling uncontrollably. She couldn't remember the last time she'd gotten this drunk and slowly realized why. One martini and the elegant and refined Alexandra Cabot was reduced to nothing short of a blubbering idiot. Alex glanced down at her watch and was amused, albeit alarmed, to find that she suddenly couldn't tell time. She turned around, searching for her date. Trevor was nowhere to be found. The loathe of Alex's life, Trevor Langan, had just won his first major case after making partner at one of New York's most prestigious law firms. As much as Alex had wanted to say no when he'd called to ask her to join him at the party being thrown by his firm, Trevor had sounded so excited that even she couldn't ruin his big night. By this time, though, Alex regretted agreeing to join him and wanted nothing more than to leave.
"There's my beautiful blonde," Trevor said as he appeared behind Alex, sliding his hand around her waist.
"I'm hardly YOURS," Alex corrected as she turned to face him, surprised by how tall he was. She blinked repeatedly as she tried to focus, only mildly surprised to find that she was almost unable to. Alex tried to pull away as Trevor's grip on her tightened.
"Alex, you're in no shape to drive home like this," he said mildly.
"Whoever said I was driving? I don't even own a car! I'll…" Alex stammered, unsure where she had been headed with the thought.
"You're not walking, and I don't even trust you to take a cab. I'll take you home myself," Trevor interrupted before Alex could compose her thoughts. She did realize that she was in no shape to venture home on her own, and reluctantly agreed to let Trevor take her home.
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"Trevor, my apartment is the other way…" Alex trailed off as the car inched along in the ever-present downtown Manhattan traffic. Trevor said nothing, his eyes dead-set on the road in front of him. Alex's dread and fear only heightened when, after driving for a few minutes, Trevor maneuvered the car into an alley.
Suddenly Alex's head became clearer. "Let me out, NOW," she said, her voice steely. As she fumbled with the door handle, out of the corner of her eye Alex could see Trevor slide his hand up the driver's side door control panel, and then she heard the locks click.
"Word around the water cooler is that everyone's favorite ADA is a dyke," Trevor hissed. Alex recoiled as though she'd been slapped.
"I came to your defense though," he continued as he moved on top of her. "Besides, one night with me will have your mind changed anyway."
"NO!" Alex screamed as his face inched closer and closer to hers. His fingers moved toward the zipper of her dress. She fought back as his mouth covered her own. Alex bit down as Trevor's tongue parted her lips; he slapped her, undeterred. The coppery, sickening taste of blood permeated Alex's senses, though she was unsure whose it was. Alex could feel Trevor's hand sliding up her thigh, and panic overwhelmed her. She screamed, begging and pleading for him to stop, while she clawed at his face and tried to push his body off of her own.
Alex quickly realized that her resistance only made things worse, though her body remained stiff as she continued to whisper "no" as tears rolled down her face.
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As soon as it was over, Alex grabbed her coat and purse and started running. She hadn't gotten far when her foot slipped out of her stiletto, leaving her sprawled on the sidewalk, with the contents of her black silk clutch scattered on the stained concrete. Alex's palms and knees were scraped and bleeding as she picked up her wallet. She searched frantically for her cell phone, only giving up when she saw someone towards her on the sidewalk.
Alex choked back tears as she stood up and continued running. It was well past midnight, and the fluorescent lights of a 24-hour pharmacy spilled out onto the sidewalk ahead. She pulled the doors open, her palms leaving smears of blood on the door handles, and was hit by a wall of warm air. Immediately to her left was the customer service desk, which was manned solely by a young woman completely engrossed in a magazine.
"Excuse me?" Alex began. "I need to use your phone."
The girl looked up. "Sorry chica," she said, "no can do. But we got phone cards and there's a payphone a couple blocks down."
Alex flipped her wallet open to reveal her city ID. "Assistant District Attorney Alexandra Cabot, Manhattan Special Victims Unit. I need to use your phone." A look of shock appeared on the young woman's face as she handed over the phone.
Alex stared down, wracking her brain for who she should call. She couldn't call 911, it would only attract unnecessary attention. She wiped her palms on her coat and dialed the only number that she remembered, the only one that made sense.
"Detective Benson? It's ADA Cabot. I'm sorry to wake you, but…" Alex bit her lip before continuing. "You're the only one I can trust, Olivia. I need your help. I…I was raped."