Hey everyone, happy saturday :) Here's something I wrote, title off a song called 'Young Men Dead' by the Black Angels. I was listening to it and that one line just popped out at me. I like writing about aftermath & repercussions, and this is a perfect example of it... sorry if i might have become a bit predictable! Anyways, I hope you enjoy this kinda angsty bit. I was in a bit of a dark mood...
Disclaimer: Don't own it. Whatevs. JJ's doing pretty darn good from where i sit :)
How Can You Live If You're Too Afraid to Die?
"How can you live if you're too afraid to die?"
It played over and over in her mind like a broken record in that raspy voice that chilled her to the bones. The voice of evil, for there was no other way to describe him. Knees pulled tightly to her chest and arms wrapped tightly around to hold them in place, Olivia quivered in the corner of her office. She had been held captive by evil, and only now, hours later, had the shock of the encounter finally sunk in. She had been surrounded by people moving, talking, providing distractions. But now she was alone, and only when she was alone did all her fears come rushing back to disturb her mind, her body, her very being.
Another wave of nausea washed through her body and Olivia gulped uneasily. The nausea made her feel hot all over, but the chills that wracked her body every minute or so countered her need to remove even one piece of clothing. She gritted her teeth. The bouts of nausea were becoming more frequent, the chills more severe. The instant that her mind was off the pain, thousands of 'what if' questions began to pop up in her head.
What if the Bureau had never come to my rescue?
What if I was still there now?
What if I had died?
Olivia forcefully blocked out the thoughts, else she knew that she would go crazy from the stress of it all. Not to mention that gruesome, horrific images that those 'what if' scenarios might have created, had they come to pass, flashed through her mind's eye and made her cringe….
She really had to stop thinking about it. Everything. She just had to stop thinking and then she would be ok. Her mind would be able to rest and, with it, her body that ached and screamed at her in various places. Her wrists, where the leather thongs had bound them tightly, were red and throbbing from being hoisted above her head and attached to a hanging chain where she'd hung a foot or so above the dirty concrete floor. Her knuckles, elbows and knees were all bruised and cut from punching and kicking at anything she could. Olivia rolled up her sweat-soaked sleeves and pants with shaky hands to find rainbows of blue, purple, yellow, pink and orange forming and spreading rapidly outwards like a blight on her pale skin. She fumbled to pull down her pants and blouse sleeves quick enough. The pants were dirty, scraped up and sporting a few off-colored patches where the material had thinned over the course of the day and, in some places, completely worn through. Her sleeves were nothing less that a mess – dirty, frayed and ripped at the cuffs, and missing all the buttons. Making a face at the inflamed red wrists that had taken the place of her own, Olivia yanked down the sleeves as far as the material would allow without falling apart to cover as much of her skin as she could.
A labored breath escaped her lips and Olivia clued in to her bruised, and quite possibly cracked, ribs. A hiss of pain was trying to push itself free of her lungs, but she wouldn't allow it. This was what she got for refusing medical treatment, or any treatment of any kind from anyone, for that matter. She'd barely had a conversation with someone that had lasted longer than twenty seconds – staying detached from everyone was, in her opinion, the best way to handle things. Running on adrenaline for several hours straight, and then another two in the hectic goings-on after she was saved had numbed all her injuries… until now. Stopping and sitting meant letting everything come crashing down on her, both the mental and physical components. She couldn't decide which was more painful at the moment: The injuries, or the memories of sweat, tears, torture, and pure untainted fear.
Cold sweat of the day number thirty-something formed on her back and chest and Olivia began to shiver uncontrollably. She had never been so scared in her entire life as she had been in that God forsaken warehouse. Her captor was adept at instilling fear in his prisoners, using more words that devices to torture victims. It was the one thing Olivia could feel remotely thankful for; the fact that he didn't physically hurt her too much – honestly, she'd expected worse in that department. But it was the words, the way he spoke them, which had invoked a fear like she'd never known, and didn't want to ever experience again. Many horrible things had been spoken that made her very skin crawl, but the worst was when he had approached her from behind and breathed throatily in her ear, "How can you live if you're too afraid to die? How do you do it, little Livvy? How do you wake up in the morning and go about your day, knowing that death is right around the corner? It scares you, doesn't it Livvy? Death scares you, so you'll never beg for it. So we have a little more time to talk now, don't we?"
Stop it stop it stop it stop it…
Olivia's mind was under too much stress. The memory was too traumatic, it needed to be buried and, eventually, with time, forgotten. But Olivia wasn't going to kid herself – there was a difference between stuffing it into a box in the darkest corner of her mind and throwing it out all together. There was little hope that she would ever be able to truly forget. It was one of those memories that would come back to her every night, as she lay alone in the darkness. It would do just that, no matter how many chains she shackled around it, no matter how many barriers and enforcements she used to shield herself.
Breathing had become a strenuous task and Olivia felt suffocated. The room was suddenly stuffy and hot, her clothes felt like they were tightening on her skin, constricting her. Her pulse skyrocketed and an overpowering urge to scream and run as far as she could and further still overcame her completely, but she fought it with all her remaining willpower.
One sane thought crossed her mind. This must be what it feels like to go mad… poor Walter, I can't imagine enduring this for seventeen years…
After a few minutes, the bloody battlefield that was Olivia's mind was silent. She almost cried with relief. But the silence was only momentary, and the visions soon returned in full force. Still huddled in her little corner, Olivia let her head loll back against the wall and just let them come. She gave up trying to protect herself. It was useless at this point to try and fail yet again to shield herself. So she succumbed to the power that her fear had used to take her mind and body hostage with no struggle whatsoever. It was almost easier this way, without time as a factor anymore. The hours meant nothing as they whizzed past her. She could sink into the darkness and let it overpower her, with no regard for the outside world that lay beyond her semi-closed eyelids. Nothing else seemed to matter. Nothing ever would.
X
Peter opened the door to the lab and the first thing he did was look around. Olivia wasn't anywhere in sight. Where was she? Peter swore under his breath and dropped the bags of groceries and the random items he'd grabbed for Olivia at the drugstore onto the floor with a little more force that was necessary. There was a coke, still chilled, that he'd picked out among other things that were for the purpose of cheering her up and taking her mind off the giant elephant in the room that Peter refused to think about and chose to blatantly ignore even when he was alone, which wasn't often. He'd been keeping tabs on Olivia for the past couple hours since she'd gotten back, while still respecting her unspoken wishes to be alone. He knew that she never was alone, and made sure of it for every moment of those two hours. But then he had to grab the groceries, and while out, he'd gotten the idea to grab her a few extra goodies. That had taken longer than expected, and now Peter was kicking himself for taking a full forty-five minutes to run his errands. He'd told her that he'd be back, right? He'd told her to stay in the lab, because he knew that people would be coming in and out for the rest of the day.
Peter swore again at the empty room. Then he remembered her office and made a beeline for it. He opened the door and swore loudly. Olivia sat slouched in the far corner, looking like death. Her clothes were somehow dirtier than they'd been when he'd left, her bruises and cuts looked bad, already larger and more painful over the course of less than an hour. But the worst was her eyes. They were half open but completely blank. He couldn't see his Olivia in them. There was no sparkle. No life. Just empty windows. He raced over to her side and crouched by her, feeling sick. Just seeing her like this…
"Olivia!" he slapped her cheek lightly, taking her face in his hands. She seemed unfazed by his actions and he resisted the urge to shake her. "Olivia! Can you hear me? Wake up, damn it!" Peter pulled her to his chest, rocking back and forth. She was like a rag doll in his arms. He grew more worried. "C'mon, Olivia, c'mon!" Peter set her back down and checked her eyes again. There was a hint of life in them now – some of the dullness was gone. Hope lit up his features like a Christmas tree and Peter took her face in his hands again. "Olivia, honey, can you hear me?"
He spoke very slowly and clearly to make sure that she could hear him. A small moan escaped her lips and Olivia's body shuddered as if it were coming back to life after a long sleep.
"Hey, hey, hey, shhhhh," Peter chided her gently; his voice much quieter and less frantic than it had been a moment ago. Scooping her up gingerly, he pulled Olivia into his lap and held her head in the crook of his arm, sitting cross-legged so that they could both could rest comfortably.
Olivia's eyes closed and then slowly fluttered open. For one second, she looked wholly like his Olivia once again. She smiled groggily and whispered his name softly. "Peter…?"
Her smile was infectious and Peter returned it only too gladly. "Hey, sweetheart, what happened?" Peter didn't care that he was using pet names like sweetheart and honey. He would use them until kingdom come if need be. "What do you remember?"
A puzzled look crossed her face before the shadow came back, the same one that she'd been wearing when he'd first seen her chained up by her hands in that fucking warehouse. She just shook her head and gulped.
Peter stroked her pale cheek and sighed. "Why ever did I let you out of my sight for even forty-five minutes? I can't leave you by yourself for even a moment, can I?" He tried to smile but the attempt fell flat when Olivia shook her head to show that she agreed with his statement. She looked so small, just ling there, telling him that she couldn't be alone. It made Peter want to punch a wall. And then that guy in the warehouse. Maybe even use the guy to hit the wall once or twice.
Shaking his head of the thought, Peter gently touched two fingers to her cheek. "Olivia, you need to get medical attention. You're hurt, and then you need to go home and rest."
A switch must have flipped in Olivia's mind and his words must have been the trigger, for she sat up in Peter's lap and shook her head frantically, eyes wide with fear.
Peter sighed again. "Ok, I can treat you for your cuts and bruises, but you still need to rest."
"Not alone."
Peter did a double take. She'd finally spoken, but the voice he'd heard was nothing like his Olivia. It was a pained voice, one that knew too much and had seen too much. One that was smothered in the dull stupor she was struggling to remove herself from.
"Not alone… I won't leave you this time Olivia. I won't go for even a minute."
"Ok."
Peter gave her a small smile. "Good. Now where do you keep the first aid kit in here?"
Olivia nodded to the bottom drawer of her desk and Peter gently eased her up and propped her unstable form against the wall. The med kit wasn't the fanciest, but it would be enough to patch her up.
"Come on, let's get you home and get you cleaned up so I can treat you. And how about some new clothes?"
She gave him the smallest smile but Peter could see how much effort it took her to perform that one small gesture. There was so much pain behind her eyes; Peter couldn't even begin to understand what she'd been through, but he intended to help her as much as he possibly could, and then some.
More on the way no matter what, but reviews really do help the process along and boost my happy-o-meter :D And usually when i'm happy, i write even MORE, now how about that? ;)
