Amanda Rollins struggled to get to the 1-6 precinct. Her left ankle hurt which caused her to limp heavily, bruises, cuts and marks covered her face, neck and body. Her big sunglasses covered most of the injuries, a thick scarf concealed the hand prints on her neck. She had debated with herself all morning if she should report the attack or not but finally her internal voice had convinced her that going to the police was the right thing to do. She was lucky she was off work for a whole week, otherwise she would have to come up with some story as to why she looked so hideous and... broken. She hoped that by the time she was due back, most of her marks would have faded and it would be easier to cover up with make up.
The elevator let out a ping noise as the doors opened. Her stomach clenched and she immediately started to have second thoughts about this as she doors opened and she stepped out into a very busy hallway. People rushing left and right, loud voices, a Hispanic man mopping up, what looked like vomit, from the floor and phones ringing and beeping constantly.
She stopped in the middle of it, trying to calm her inner turmoil, before she slowly limped down the corridor. Her whole body hurt from the punches and blows, especially her ribs and her privates. She still hadn't showered since it had happened, exactly seven hours and thirty six minutes ago and she felt dirty, as if she could still smell him, taste him and feel him on her body. It sent a shiver down her spine and she trembled as the flashbacks played before her eyes over and over.
A hand was suddenly placed on her shoulder and she immediately went into fight or flight mode. She flinched at the contact and took a step back. "Sorry," an older man with grey hair, thick rimmed glasses and skinny frame stood before her. "You look a bit lost. Can I help you with something? I'm detective Munch and you are?"
His tone was friendly and she instantly relaxed slightly. "Um," she stuttered, "I'm not... I mean, I don't... um, I'm here to report an assault." finally the words came out and the first step to justice and recovery had been taken.
Munch gestured with his arm to follow him as he led her into the bullpen. He pointed towards a closed door. "Why don't you sit down in that room while I get one of my colleagues. Can I get you anything while you're waiting? Tea, coffee, water?" he kindly offered the blonde who kept her head down as she shook it. "Okay, I'll be right back." he began to walk away but turned, "I never caught your name?"
The blonde swallowed and nervously looked around, not wanting people to hear who she was. "Amanda Rollins." she said just loud enough for the grey haired man to hear.
Munch frowned, finding the name very familiar. "Rollins? As in the two Michelin star restaurant? That Rollins?" he questioned, his curiosity getting the better of him.
Amanda made herself as small as possible, just wishing that this could be over. "Um, yeah. That's the one." she mumbled and shoved her hands in her pockets. The detective just nodded, left and went in search of one of his coworkers.
"Liv, we got a vic. Or at least I think she's the vic, she didn't say but the bruises are speaking for themselves."
Detectiv Olivia Benson looked up from her paperwork that she had been doing for the past two hours. The desk in her office was covered with stacks of files, reports and documents that all needed attention and signatures. The brunette sighed and nodded. "Okay, did she say anything yet?" she questioned as she stood up, making her way around the desk and over to Munch.
"Just her name and that she wanted to report an assault." he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned in closer so his boss could hear over his whispers. "It's Amanda Rollins."
Liv frowned in confusion. "Should that ring a bell? Has she been here before?" Olivia was trying to remember if she had had a previous vic with that name but she came up empty.
Munch just raised his eyebrows. "Really?" he stated, slightly annoyed. "You clearly don't get out much do you? It's Rollins, as in Amanda Rollins, the one and only master chef and the owner of the two Michelin star restaurant The Rising Tide. You can't get a table in there unless you're famous or filthy rich. That Rollins."
Olivia just nodded, not affected by the information she just received. A victim is a victim, famous or not. "Thanks, John, I've got it from here. I'll let you know if I need you." she walked away but could still hear him talking.
"She's blonde and pretty. Looks like your type. Maybe I should tag along as a chaperone?" he suggested, amused by himself.
Everyone in the squad knew about Liv's sexual orientation. She was always open about it and didn't see the point in hiding it or try to cover it up. She had previously dated a blonde for about a year when she realised that she was being cheated on. It took her a while to get back to where she was before but with the help of her squad she slowly but surely recovered. "You can always John. You can always dream." she gave him a grin as she proceeded down the hall.
She took a deep breath to collect herself before opening the door. What she saw made her heart ache for the stranger sitting by the table, fidgeting with the hem of her coat. Even with the big sunglasses Liv could still make out multiple bruises and cuts, the scarf was wrapped so tightly around her throat that Liv knew she was hiding something underneath and her whole posture was hunched and showed nothing but defeat, pain and fear.
"Hi, I'm detective Olivia Benson." she sat down opposite from the skittish blonde and offered her a soft smile. "My colleague told me your name and who you are." she cocked her head to the side. "Can I please take a look and see what's behind those glasses?" her tone was mild and soothing. The victim voice, she had been told that people called it.
Amanda hesitated but sighed as she figured that Olivia would find out sooner of later anyway. Shaky hands reached up and carefully removed the tinted glasses, avoiding eye contact with the brunette. Olivia had to hold in a gasp as she took in the damage on the, otherwise no doubt, beautiful face. One eye was almost swelled shut, her lip was busted, a big gash above her eyebrow and numerous smaller cuts and scrapes covered most of her pale features. "And the scarf?" she urged gently.
Amanda just reluctantly pulled it down slightly and revealed a large angry red hand print around her throat. "Who did this to you, honey?" the endearment slipped but she thought nothing of it.
She waited patiently for Amanda to answer. She saw the blonde swallow with difficulty and squimed in her chair. God, she was in so much pain. Finally opened her mouth, forcing herself to say it out loud. "My father. Frank Jr Rollins." the blonde felt unusually calm after admitting it. It was like she was numb and didn't care about what had happened to her. Not one single tear made it's way down her cheeks, not a quiver from her bottom lip and not a single sign of physical distress. Olivia knew better. This happened all the time. Some victims just shut down as if they're in shock, denial or unaware of what has happened. Nonetheless, it didn't make the attack less real.
Olivia silently nodded. When the abuser was a family member it usually made the whole case more difficult, especially for the victim who would usually feel torn between loyalty to other family members and battling about the right thing to do.
"Did he rape you?" Olivia knew the answer but had to ask anyway. It all had to go down in her report file.
"Yes." came the dry apathetic reply.