AN: Hello earthlings! I used to be SoccerChic0, but I was locked out of my account somehow, so I lost all of my stories. YAY. I'll be getting a fresh start on things. I plan to do mainly one-shots because I, like that Jimmy Neutron evil scientist Professor Neb-something-something, would never finish a long and extensive project. Sooo without further adieu, let's get started, shall we?
Disclaimer: They're on my Christmas wish list, but I've heard rumors that Dick Wolf isn't actually Santa. Poop.
"Oh, I don't have to pay for someone to listen to my problems."
Amanda stood up and pushed her way past Olivia without a second glance as the detective stood frozen, hunched over her co-worker's desk. An audible sigh slipped past her lips. "Wow…"
Olivia pushed herself away from Amanda's desk, shaking her head in sad disbelief. She headed straight for the women's room to clear her head before heading home. Once the door had swung close she leaned over the nearest sink and yanked on the faucet, releasing a jet stream of cold water that shot off of the basin and sprayed onto her clothes. She stumbled back into the stall doors as memories invaded her thoughts.
"C'mon, Sweetheart." Lewis cooed, a sadistic grin on his face as he shoved Olivia's head under the full sink. Needles of icy water pricked Olivia's skin, sending spikes of pain straight to her skull as the liquid stung the fresh wound on her temple. Olivia hissed in pain, expelling the breath she was holding. The frost rushed into her lungs, and she panicked, flailing against Lewis' firm grip to escape the watery prison. Or grave. "No no no, beautiful," he barked in laughter. He leaned down above the water next to her ear. "You're not clean yet. You're still the dirty bitch I found in your apartment. I'm gonna make sure you behave this time." He yanked her out of the water by her hair, and Olivia heaved in a heavy breath of air, coughing out the water still trapped in her lungs. She spit a few streams of water his way; in her weakened state, they lost their trajectory and fell short of his cocky grin, which only grew more smug at her poor attempt of defiance. As she shakily took a second shallow breath, Lewis grabbed her face, squeezing her lips together. Water dribbled down her chin, mixing with the blood from her split lip. He yanked her head around to face him, looking hungrily into her droopy eyes. "Now to wash out that dirty mouth of yours." And without time to prepare, she went under again.
Olivia hunched over her knees and coughed, choking on air as she was sucked back into that horrifying moment in the bathroom. If only that could have been the most horrifying thing that happened in there. Her hands shook with the shocky after-effects. She'd save that for trial. Until then, she could pretend that hadn't happened.
Once her breathing evened out, she slowly raised her head to look in the mirror. As if in a trance, she stumbled over to her reflection, pressing her fingers to the glass. Puffy, tired eyes extinguished of their flame stared back hauntingly at her. She lightly traced the fading scar on her forehead with her fingers as she stared into her own eyes much like Lewis had stared into hers. With longing. Except she wasn't longing for someone to break or cry or beg or plead for their life. No. She was longing for someone to change. Her.
She stepped over to the next water basin, where pieces of duct tape haphazardly held together the shards of glass that now made up the mirror. She peeled off a sliver near the bottom that threatened to fall and held it in her palm. It was just like her. Broken. Falling. Trying to pull itself together and seem whole to those that looked at it. But really, who was it fooling? Who was she fooling? It was weak and dependent, hanging on by a thread; it required someone to pay extra money to fix it. Amanda's stinging words flashed through her mind: "I don't have to pay for someone to listen to my problems."
Olivia fingered her 'Fearlessness' necklace Dr. Lindstrom had given her, tears welling in her brown eyes as she realized the irony resting above her heart, a token of paradox that was once her defining symbol. Is this how they see me? She wondered. A walking lie? A person of weakness, a victim, pretending to hold some position of authority so she can ignore the truth? She gave a sad, almost inaudible laugh, recalling the looks of awe and disbelief on the faces of her coworkers and the unis on scene when she emerged from the warehouse. "The whole department's calling you a hero, Liv…" Really. Wouldn't want to make them eat their own words, now would I? She was a survivor. She was moving on. She was happy. She had Brian, a man who she loved and who supported her through all the hell they'd experienced. But even survivors can't always move forward. And she was running in the opposite direction. Amanda voiced her doubts for her. She was certain now.
Olivia yanked the necklace from her neck, tossing it into the trash bin. She hadn't picked up all of her pieces yet. Until then, she didn't deserve to wear an item of false pride. She shouldered her way out of the restroom and headed back to her desk, where she quickly busied herself with some last-minute paperwork, shaking off whatever feelings that had been threatening to suffocate her and trying to put on a mask of professionalism. Words jumped out at her as she filed documents from their latest cases: "he…undressed her…bruises…..lacerations…cuts and burns…..defensive wounds…..signs of sexual assault..." The words were so harshly plain, like reading off a grocery list. She sniffed. That's the hell trial was going to be. All of the pain downplayed to a simple list of injuries and DNA. She would seem pathetic. Who am I kidding? I AM pathetic.
Feeling an onslaught of hidden feelings threatening to bubble up to the surface, Olivia quickly shut the folder and stood up, yanking her coat from the back of her chair on her way to the exit. She didn't want to be seen like this. She had a reputation to uphold. She couldn't let that slip because of one bad altercation. Until she could prove herself to her coworkers, her friends, her partner, her boyfriend…she'd be fine picking up the pieces by herself.
Olivia shut the door behind her, stepping into the steamy air where clam chowder was cooking. Brian turned around from his post behind the stove when she stepped into the kitchen, greeting her with a splattered smock and ladle in hand.
"Wow, nothing's burning," she quipped. She stepped into his open arms, ignoring the grease he was getting on her blouse. She rested her head on his chest and closed her eyes, letting a smile tip the corners of her mouth.
"Yeah, surprised myself too," he chuckled, holding her in his arms. "How was work?"
The word pushed her out of his arms as her thoughts came rushing back at her. She forced a tight smile on her face. "Fine." She quickly dodged any possible conversation. She'd voice her concerns with her therapist later. If she would even continue sessions. "I'm gonna go get changed. Don't burn the place down while I'm gone," she called out, already headed into the bedroom.
Brian sighed, turning back to the browning clam chowder. He pretended not to have noticed her red-rimmed eyes or that the piece of jewelry she never went without was gone. He didn't dare bring it up. She needed to feel normal again; he understood that. He'd be there for her when she felt ready to open up to him. He just didn't know how long that would be.
But he did know one thing: he loved her. And he'd always be there to help her pick up the pieces. No matter how jagged they were.