A/N The other side of the coin...

He hurt me...again.

How could I have allowed it to happen, again?

Did all that pain, really teach me nothing?

I sit here in shock, but not really shocked in the slightest.

It has been leading up to this really, and much as I try to deny the truth of it, I just can't. There really was no other way this was ever going to end.

I even said those words...to a couple of people...before...

But somehow even though the words left my lips, their meaning hadn't really hit home. How is it possible to truly know something, and yet be oblivious to it?

But this is different.

I always promised myself that if he ever hurt me again, I'd do things differently.

I thought that meant that I'd keep my mouth shut. That I'd hide what happened, to save myself the pain that was nearly worse than what precipitated it all...

I knew that was what I would do.

Not in the way that someone knows they would fight an attacker with everything they had, or run to save themselves...because even when you know what you have done before, you still don't know what you would do if...

I knew that I would stay quiet.

I would tell no one.

I would self medicate and self treat any ...intimate injuries, and allow a doctor to treat the regular ones, with the story of being "mugged".

Never would I allow my life to be pulled apart again.

Never would I be naive enough to believe in any sort of 'justice'...not again.

And yet...

Here I sit...

Looking at the clock ticking away, as my life is frozen.

They've been very nice to me.

I wonder is it only because I look injured?

If I didn't have a mark on me, would I somehow be less worthy?

As we walked in, I avoided even catching my reflection in a window; all too aware that even in it's low-resolution form, the image, my image, would be enough to drive home the reality of my situation.

He's a big guy...He has hurt me before. I mean literally, cuts, bruises, a twisted wrist, bent back fingers... the full body ache that came with being thrown across a room, that went much deeper than the handful of bruises that sprang up from the collision, that could kindly be called my landing. Hell, I was so sick after he drugged me, it was nearly worse than all the other 'injuries' ...why did I try to fight him again?

I knew I could never win...

But that's what stopped him...

Not soon enough though.

It has to have been the sound of him slamming me against the floor, or hitting me that drew attention? Because I didn't cry out when he...

I didn't want anyone to find me then, to see...that.

I can't ever go back...not when the story is more than just imaginings of what went on, that was bad enough, but now...no!

I've been toying with the idea of leaving anyway, why is it such a huge gaping loss now, that I have to?

I tried to cover myself up as he was pulled off me...I don't think there was time for my partial nakedness to be noticed...but there was no doubt about what was going on...

Why, as I sit here considering it, do I wish that maybe even for a moment, I had the option of passing it off as consensual?

Why do I care more about how I'm spoken about...than nearly anything else?

If 'that man' hadn't pulled him off me, and tried to help me...if 'that man' hadn't all but carried me here, would I be here? And is it too late to leave?

I gave my name as I was checked in...well, actually 'that man' gave my name...I couldn't find my voice...funny for someone who just never shuts up, I couldn't find a word, not even my name...

But if I left now, would this ever show on any records?

I don't want this...

I don't want to be prodded and poked...and more importantly, I don't want to be judged and interrogated, to have my life put under a microscope...

I don't want this...

But maybe I need it?

Maybe I have a concussion? I can't keep a thought straight...I'm flitting from one thing to the next...unable to finish one train of thought...or maybe unwilling...?

If I tried to leave now, I'm sure I'd have to leave the way I came in...and I'm sure 'that man' is still out there... despite my pleas for him to leave...'that man' said he wasn't going anywhere...

I don't know how to describe the look on 'that man's' face...shock, maybe anger, something akin to disgust, mixed with stomach churning sickness...

In other circumstances, I may have described 'that man' as a friend...well, as close to a friend as I am capable of, these days...but now...I can't even bear 'that man's' name...'that man' saved me from god knows what but...I can't even stomach to look him in the eye, for fear of what I will see...

For ever more, if we look at each other, that will be all we will see...

'That man', will forever be my living, breathing, reminder of...what happened. All that went before, between us, has been scrubbed from the annals of history, and this...is all that will endure.

I'm sure I saw blood on his face after he was pulled off me...did 'that man' hit him? Or was it my blood?

Does it matter?

I don't want to do this...

As footsteps approach the door I'm cowering behind, the thought repeats, I don't want to do this...

As predicted the only barrier between me, and the world beyond it, opens, slowly, as if the hand controlling it is deliberately trying to minimize its impact...

The white coat starts to introduce herself, all business like, but strangely, not lacking in compassion, like she does this all the time but isn't jaded...

Her movements are carefully calculated to be gentle and slow, like she knows how on edge I am...

She continues to talk, but my mind has wandered away...

I don't want this...

I don't want to be 'examined', I don't want to be on trial for what he did...I'm sure he's meant to be the one on trial, but last time, it was all too clear that I was every bit as much on trial as he was...and that was only an internal investigation, imagine when people are allowed to sit and watch me be torn apart by his defense...when even that is not private...

The white coat rests a gentle hand on my arm; right beside my wrist...she couldn't have touched me anywhere less private... and still I leap off what passes for a bed...

I don't want this...

I'm vaguely aware of being curled up, as far from foreign hands as I can get, without moving, ...the pain stops me from that, as the white coat backs off...

I didn't want what he did either...

If I don't do this, could he hurt me again? Or could he hurt someone else?

It has haunted me for so long that he could have hurt someone else...Pats even said he had...but was it the truth, or a clever ploy to make me consider the possibility,... not that one was needed?

Never would I press charges against him, no matter what he did...but yet I'm here...

A woman with a badge makes her way into the room as unobtrusively as she can, "My name is Lieutenant Olivia Benson, I'm sorry this has happened to you...My partner is talking to the man who brought you in here...Can you tell me about the assault?"

For someone who never shuts up, today I'm doing an incredible impression of a silent 1920's Charlie Chaplin, complete with exaggerated facial expressions and ridiculous overreactions...

The badge lady makes careful, direct eye contact with me...she is completely silent, in contrast to everyone else, who had tried to show their support and somehow comfort me, with idle chatter and careful glances when they thought I wasn't looking...

She doesn't move or speak until my gaze finally meets hers and I hold her eye.

"If you're not ready to talk about it yet...we can come back to that?"

I just nod slightly.

"You look like you need medical attention, can we help you?"

"I didn't want this..." I croak out, surprising even myself...

She just nods sadly, like she has seen this too many times, and each time it hurts her no less...

I don't want this...

I always knew I wouldn't press charges against him, if he hurt me again...

But again, there is no secret to protect,...even that choice has been taken from me again...all that is left to me, is to fight... even though this fight will leave marks every bit as real as the ones that mar my skin now...

I don't want this, but I will do it...

Words fail me again, as I just nod softly, and she seems to understand, she gestures to the white coat that returns with a BP cuff in hand, as I reluctantly, but resolutely, hold out my arm.

A/N A nightmare mixed with the idea of how it must feel to have to be the victim that Liv sees before her everyday.