Disclaimer: I do not own SVU characters, nor do I own the show.
Olivia's point of view.
Freedom. To taste it is a given joy. So many people across the world have yet to experience it. They are bound by chains of religion and social suppression. Where women are treated as slaves. Forced to cook, to clean, nurture to the children, while the man leaves for work every morning. They are forced to live the lives of a meek house wife, who cannot even talk to another outside of the household without the husband's permission. Yet even with this happening in foreign lands we neglect to see that it happens here in America as well. That freedom can be stripped away in some small groups of hidden societies. We fail to see that what angers most, also happens on our own turf and home soil.
I grew up on a large plantation down in Alabama. The land was run and owned by the religion that my family had followed for centuries upon centuries. The people call it the Mojave. They worship God, but have their own Bible. A man is required to have, at minimum, ten wives at one time. They can have as many as they please. Another rule is once a girl gets her first menstrual cycle, she is to be wed on the day the flow stops. This is considered a sign to the Mojave that the girl is ready to bare children. She will be wed to one of the older men of the Mojave religion. Whether he lives on that plantation she lives on, or in another Mojave plantation some where in the United States. Women that belong to the Mojave are treated as cattle. There to simply reproduce, and look after the house and children. They are bound by this silly non-sense. These strict rules that grip them so tightly. Some manage to escape, yet others are pushed into living the full term of their life here.
My name is Olivia. I'm eighteen years old. I am forced to live here in this place. Most do not object to this life style…well most that follow this 'religion'. I am not like most that are here. Each night I wonder before settling into bed for sleep what would life be like outside this prison like life. What did freedom feel like? My parents try to get me to marry Father Ruadan. Each time I put up a fight, and go weeks without coming out of my room. I will be damned if I marry someone not only twice my age, but someone I do not love. I give them lame excuses, excuses that I fear will not last much longer. Those excuses range from I have not reached that stage of womanhood, to I am in love with another. Sooner or later they will see through the illusion, and see the lies. I know in the back of my mind I will be severely punished, but this does not matter to me. I will continue to be rebellious until the day they finally open their eyes.
Hazel eyes stared up towards the white ceiling. Sounds of wooden floor boards could be heard creaking under the pressure of Mother Aminthos's feet as she checked all the childrens' rooms. The light from the fire of the kerosene lantern she carried could be seen under my door as she walked past my room. It was obvious she was not pleased with the expectation that mostly my door would be locked, sealed tight from the world outside. Her feet heavy as they collided with a thud against the old flooring. I turned my exhausted attention towards the tender sounds of the crickets chirping outside of my bed room window. Eyelids fluttered shut like heavy curtains as I wondered how much longer my body could take the abuse I was pushing it through. I'd go days without eating, without drinking. My mother, my biological mother, had given up on hopes of me breaking lose from this stubborn streak.
This is the living hell I am forced to submit to. I drown in a sea of loathing, a loathing of these psychotic whack jobs who choose to believe in their own religion. Mojave, to most, is a cult and is not defined of a religion. Yet in this darkness and despair, there was one beam of white light that cut straight through the ebony world around me. That light is Alex Cabot. Every time I lay my sight upon her, my heart flutters and begins to beat erotically. Butterflies glide and churn in the pits of my stomach, lifting me to a high that cannot be achieved any other way. What are these strange emotions that all melt into one within my soul, and heart? Mind caught in a whirl of my world spinning around me. Could I truly love Alex? No, it's forbidden.
As I laid there staring once more at my ceiling, I began to drift off into a place where only dreams come true. A place where my mind is free, and can think and do whatever it pleases. ISleep./I Lids closed gradually over the hazel pools inset in my skull. My heart doing a steady tap dance in the confines of my chest. As my mind lifted from the depths of this hell, I could hear my own breathing. My last thoughts were of Alex, and those cerulean eyes, and the whispering of mint riding on her breaths.