He was still on me. Or at least that's what it felt like as I went in and out of consciousness.

Why was he here? In my house? How could I be so stupid? I've only been a SVU detective for like 18 years. I should know. I should have known, he'd come after me. I should have had my guard up.

I slowly gaze around the room, as it slowly becomes easier to focus. Where the hell is he? Maybe he left? God, I hope so.

I slowly try to lift myself into a seated position. Shit, my head hurts.

I don't see him or hear him. Maybe he did leave. I try to stand, but my right leg collapses under me. I guess I'll crawl, I think to myself as I make my way behind the counter. Nothing. I decide then to crawl to the bathroom and then the bedroom. Still nothing.

He could come back though. Oh my God. He could be back any second, and I can barely move. Not enough anyway to safely get out of the apartment.

I need help. Shit.

I have never asked for help in my life. Not when Serena was beating me as a child. And not when that creep Richard was stalking me. And not after I was attacked as an undercover in a women's prison. No, not ever.

Who could I call though?

Anyone of the boys would help me. No question about that. But it would change how they saw me. No question about that either.

Instead of being seen as one of them; partner in crime, a poker buddy on Saturday night, I will be seen as their little sister, someone they have to protect, rather then someone who has their back in a tight spot.

And not Alex. Not after the way they ended things. Besides, if the man came back when it was just she and Alex, they would both end up as victims. Unless Alex gave him one of her trademark ice queen looks.

Ha! That's funny.

Oh my damn. My ribs must be broken, cos it hurts like hell to laugh. I got to get out of here. Out of MY apartment. Damn, I'm not even safe in my own house.

Who else?

Amanda.

Shit. I don't even think I've ever talked to her about anything else besides a case. I really don't think this is a great way to start a friendship. I don't want to her to see me like this.

Broken.

But I hardly have much of a choice in the matter.

I pick up my cell, to dial the number.

Here goes nothing.

The phone is ringing.

"Hello? Olivia? …Is something wrong…?"

"…..Uh Amanda? I kind of need you …I'm in my apartment. Can you come?"

"Oh …ok, yea sure I'll be right there."

"Amanda?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't tell anyone at the squad, that you're coming over here."

I hear a pause on the line and then, she asks; "Olivia, …what happened?"

"I've been raped."