A/N: SVU does not belong to me, none of the characters belong to me. This story does, and so do the characters who I have created. This story is different from my usual stories, the way I'm writing this will become apparent. There will be E/O – I hope you enjoy this, and please review, as always they keep me motivated, and I love reading them and hearing what you think.
Let me take you back five years. Let me take you on a journey of love, lust and betrayal. Five years ago, my life really began. I was a normal teenager, I went to school, had friends, went on dates. I was normal. My dad died when I was three, he was a military man. My hero. My mom was a whore. A drunken, lying whore. The days she was lucid were few and far between.
My story begins on January tenth, two thousand and seven.
It was a bright day, the clouds were thin and wispy; they drifted over the cities skyscrapers lightly. Reminded me of my vacation to Italy. The sun beamed down on me as I walked the twelve blocks home from school. Jason and Lee had parted my side as their streets appeared. I remember putting the key in the lock to my front door and twisting it. I heard the clunk as the door unlocked. I knew not to stay downstairs as the last of mom's clients would still be here. Well, day clients that is.
I walked up the stairs and into my room, slung my bag down and crossed my fingers as I booted up my Windows 97. It started. I gave it ten minutes to settle and prepare itself for use whilst I did the small amount of Math homework I had.
Time passed, the small amount of Math tumbled into a time wasting couple of hours, and soon it was eight minutes passed seven. I decided it was safe to go downstairs on the hunt for food. I rifled through the refrigerator like a lion on the hunt for prey. I picked mold off of two slices of bread, spread peanut butter, then the minuscule amount of jelly.
My mom appeared in the kitchen. Her teeth were rotting, her cheeks had sunken in and were grey. Meth was her latest adventure. She stood wearing nothing but the grey baby doll she'd bought years ago, the lace was ripped and almost blackened with use. Her stockings were torn with ladders climbing up the legs and her toes yellowing.
"You're high." I said.
"Don't judge me! What I do, I do for us. To keep food on the table. I might as well enjoy it."
The meth gave her 'out of this world' orgasms. What she meant was, she's going to get high, fuck a load of men and gave their egos a massive boost when she screamed at the top of her lungs.
"Why don't you use dad's life insurance money?" I asked. She stumbled for words, I wasn't sure if it was the drugs or if she was dumbfounded, I guessed both.
"That's your college money!"
Good answer, "Have you got life insurance?"
"Of course I have." she retorted.
"I take it they don't know you're a cracked up whore?" I asked rhetorically.
She glared at me, I cracked a smile, I swear she was about to swing for me when a John knocked at the door.
"Get upstairs."
"Already gone." I replied.
I finished my sandwich, threw the crusts in the trash can and began my quest into the deep dark world of Line of Duty, Masters edition. Less than ten minutes into the battle, the 'Oh God's' 'Don't stops' and high pitched "Yes's' broke my concentration.
Methgasm.
My mom didn't stop for almost two hours. I heard a few 'Fucks' and a 'Harder' or two. I heard the John grunt as he came. A minute later, the shower started. Ten minutes after that, he was gone. She was still riding the Meth train, a buzzing followed by loud moans meant only one thing. Vibrator.
Two more men came and went, probably home to their wives.
My good old 97 kicked the bucket that night. I fell asleep, drifted off against the sounds of my mom and her vibrator. Woke up the next day, went to school. It wasn't unusual for me not to see my mom in the mornings, sleeping off her whoregasm. After a night on Meth, I was lucky to see her at all. That was until she was ready to drag her sagging ass out of bed and actually do something with her day.
So I went to school, came home, repeated my whole night before, only this time, I didn't see or hear my mom. I guess the Meth well was dry tonight.
The next morning, I woke up. Nothing had changed from the two nights ago. The jelly jar was still in the trash, the trash can was full and was stinking.
"Mom." I called out. Silence. "MOM!" I shouted louder this time. "The trash stinks. What is wrong with you?" I sighed, "Stupid whore." I said under my breath.
I took the trash out, tried finding some clean socks in the mountain of dirty, soiled clothes. "I'm taking the laundry out, you chucking in the bed sheets or not?"
No answer, I swear to God she was ignoring me. Clearly exhausted after her low night last night. Tired of waiting for her reply I swung open the door to her whore hunt, and there she was. A picture of pure relief rolled over me. She was dead. So beautiful in death. A beauty I could not describe, her face was white, not a single colour touched her face. Just the pin prick blue eyes that looked at me, looked through me. She was cold to touch, like snow white, her black hair, pale face. She was a fairytale of deathly beauty.
I called nine-one-one, they sent the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. She had glossy chocolate brown hair that sat just below her shoulders, and the most amazing melting eyes. Her name was Olivia Benson. She came with a jackass partner. I could tell by the look in his eyes that he thought I'd done it. Like I'd kill that whore. In all fairness, through her shit clientele, she did get money. Even though most of it she spent on Meth, she did provide the cash for food.
He asked me all sorts of questions, where was I? What time? So on and so forth, but I couldn't answer, because I didn't know when she'd died. For all I knew she could have been dead for two days, or two minutes before I walked in.
"Sweetheart, come with us, I'll take you to the station, take your statement and find you somewhere to stay for the night."
Olivia smiled at me, her eyes twinkled with a motherly concern I had never seen before, but it still tingled down my spine, and I still knew what it was. She put her gentle warm hand on my shoulder and lead me out of hell and into the warmth of her Crown Vic. She took a drive a few blocks to what she called, 'The House'. The one-six was a brown walled, cold looking room. Desks sat a metre and a half apart, solid desks sat with paper piled high. This was another case they didn't need. She took me into a small room, took my statement and prepared a bed in the crib. I sat drinking Cola. She asked me why I seemed cold, why my mom's death didn't bother me.
I told her it did, but she was a whore, a drunken whore.
"It's not that I don't care, it's just that, I've taken care of myself for years. She brings home different men every night, the last year, she had a list. The men on the list came to my house, there were loads during the day when I was at school. Then more when I got home. I stayed out of the way. I don't know how many men there were."
"Do you remember the last time you saw your mother?" the detective asked me.
"A couple days ago," I told her, "Her latest obsession was Meth, she'd ride the roller coaster, it's how she got through sleeping with all those men."
Olivia looked at me as if I were her son who had just suffered the biggest loss of my life. The truth is, I gained. It was the best day of my life, because I was in love. Olivia Benson, one true love of my heart.
From that day on, I devoted my life to Olivia Benson. I followed her everywhere, took photos, sent her flowers on the odd occasion. I even put roses on her mother's grave. I did everything I could. I watched from a distance, then he went and changed everything.
Stole Olivia from me, right from under my feet. So I fought back. No longer did I watch from a distance. I knew how to get Olivia back in my life.
My name is Luke Maynard. Cell block C. Sing Sing Prison. If you've read the papers you'll refer to me as the New York Choker. But you can call me NYC.
A/N: Can you befriend a serial killer? If he killed because he loved, could you open your mind and understand? Follow Luke into the past five years, and see if it's really possible to befriend a killer. Please review, this is the first story I've written in the first person, and the first story I've written it from the point of view of the bad guy. I'm looking forward to knowing what you think.
Beth xo