Hey people. This is my first fanfiction, so be nice, okay? Oh, yeah, and the POV is gonna be weird- first it starts off as Casey's POV written in present tense (sorry if it drives you insane), then it switches to second person switching between people and it's written in everybody's favorite- past tense. And there's no romance as of yet, but alot of CO friendship. And maybe some EC (friendship) as well. If romance does develop, I'm just letting you know that its gonna be CO.
Warning: Has some self-harming. It's not a major theme, but it's there. May trigger.
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: doink doink owns these guys, although I did hire Casey and sue for the rights.
Summary: If only I could ask for help. Then maybe I could move on.
2011 note: please read chapter 12, the author's note, first, it's important
Prologue
Another wave of despair washes over me as I remember stumbling on the courthouse steps in high heels and spraining my ankle. I couldn't ride my bike home. And my apartment's elevator wasn't working. I couldn't walk up seven flights of stairs- although I did yearn for the pain. Physical pain took my mind off other things. But I knew to deprive myself of the pleasure was surely a good thing. I wasn't sure how it was, but it just had to be.
Instantly, I wish to go to the nearest bar, unbutton my blouse, hike up my skirt, and toy with some kid's feelings until he brought me home with him. I would drink and drink and drink until I was drunk enough not to respond with fear when he would touch me. I knew myself well enough to know this was necessary- otherwise, sex would be an impossibility. Even meaningless, one night stands I used to make the nights go by without nightmares. The nights I spent alone were far worse. I was very strict with myself- go to bed at 2 am, get up at 6, and never sleep without my softball bat next to me, hidden by the blanket. I recognize the signs in the morning that said I had yet another nightmare, but thank god for how little sleep I get and fake confidence I achieve, for they keep my memory safe and I remember nothing.
No. I will not go to another bar and I will not have another worthless night of sex. I am tired tonight and want to sleep. Somehow, my usual coffee-fueled days and my adrenaline-sponsored movements aren't working right now. I'm not going to a hotel- my wallet has almost no cash. And, perhaps I am glad for my sprained ankle- I had another relapse yesterday, and felt the burning and nausea as I stood next to my couch. I didn't want to go through that ever again, but knew if I returned tonight, I would- however, maybe by staying away, those feelings will disappear. As if life could be so simple.
Sighing and giving in, I scroll through my phone contacts, searching- Sighing and giving in, I scroll through my phone contacts, searching- in another situation, she might have laughed at the fact that all her friends were her detectives, save for her few contacts from law school who had kept in touch.
The Manhattan Special Victims Unit. Those are my detectives. They investigate rapes, domestic abuse, child kidnappings- the cases no other cops want to go near. And I, Casey Novak, am their Assistant District Attorney. I get their warrants and prosecute their cases, and that used to be enough for me. Not anymore, though. I used to be happy knowing I was doing some good in the world, but now, no matter how much good she does, it won't kill the evil memories that are always lurking in the back of her head.
I sigh again. These self-decrepitating rants of mine have gotten more and more common. Thinking about that isn't good. I should just focus on where I'm going to go tonight- so I do just that. I return to scrolling through my contacts, but my despair grows with each number I scroll past.
No, not Captain Cragen. We aren't close enough. Not Detective John Munch. He was- well, Munch. We're friends, but I somehow can't picture myself staying with him- and he might suspect that something's wrong. Not Detective Odafin 'Fin' Tutuola. He is working late tonight. Melinda Warner, our medical examiner, doesn't even live in Manhattan. George Huang, FBI agent/behavioral analysis…no, that won't work either. He's a shrink and, if I came, he would put on his shrink mask and interrogate me until he found what happened. Detective Elliot Stabler is tempting, but he has a wife and kids- I'm not going to intrude on that.
Detective Olivia Benson- one of my only female friends and the detective I am closest with. I search for a reason not to go to her but, unable to find one, decide to just head to her apartment.
I wonder, am I choosing her truly out of convenience, or because I know she will understand? Perhaps because I believe she will get the truth out of me, even is she has to drive it kicking and screaming? I do not want to talk about it, I do not want anyone to know, but I know it's the only way to deal with it.
I have been running away from what happened, I know. But I can only run so far, and I can never run fast enough. Sooner or later, I have to face what's chasing me.
So I hail a taxi and numbly give him the address, noting my soaking wet hair and clothes without feeling discomfort. My teeth are chattering and I realize I am shivering. Hmm. The pouring rain did not bother me, although I had to keep shoving my wet red hair out of my eyes so I can see. That is annoying. Strange how I can feel annoyance, after everything that had happened. One would think it would not bother me anymore.
"Ma'am- fare's 12 bucks even. Ma'am."
I jump, then shove all the contents of my wallet at him and go to Olivia's apartment building. A voice, unbidden in my head, says Now. You tell her now. You're not dealing with this.
And then, the sullen voice I side with most often retorts back, Shut up. I'm dealing with it just fine. Leave me alone. Biting my lip, I knock nervously on her door- one, two, three times. Maybe she didn't hear. I'm about to try again when the detective opens her door, then blinks in surprise. "Casey? What are you doing here?"
Should I tell her the reason I gave myself, or the real reason I know I'm here? "Um, my building's elevator broke down, and I'm on the seventh floor..." Reason I gave myself, then. I resist the urge to slap myself, knowing full well that I need to talk, and yet not knowing how. Every moment I put it off made it less likely I ever would.
It took Olivia a second to get it. "Oh, right, your ankle- of course you can stay here. Come on in- oh, Casey, you're freezing! Get in here!" Olivia pulls me inside and wraps a firm arm around my shoulder, and this I can handle- she's a woman. She can't hurt me... right? "Come on, Case, we've gotta get you warmed up. And you're soaking wet! What happened to you?"
So much, Olivia, so so much has happened to me. But I don't know how to tell you. "I, uh, had to catch a cab. It was raining." The detective hands me a cup of coffee and shakes her head disapprovingly, and I am instantly worried- have I done something wrong?
"That's the only reason to own a car in this city, Case- otherwise you get stuck in our terrible weather," she says playfully, and I smile, relieved. "Here, I'll get you some spare clothes. You've gotta be cold in those." I admit, in the warmth of her apartment, I am beginning to shiver violently, although this may not be from the temperature. But I am cold.
I drink the coffee and feel the tears on my cheeks. Thank god for the rain. Olivia would not know. Still, this infuriates me, for some part of me wants her to know, but I still do not want to appear weak. I don't want her to see me as some crying victim. It makes me proud, just a little, to see how the others of SVU look at me- as a friend, as part of the family. Not as a victim. I like that. It allows me to ignore the past, continue the denial, if only for part of the day.
"Here you go, Casey. They might be a little small, since you're tall as hell, but they'll do."
Nodding, I accept the clothes and mumble, "Thanks." She shows me where the bathroom is and I go to change, peeling off my wet, cold clothes, but before I have the chance to get dressed I catch sight of myself in the mirror.
My red hair is long and damp, trailing on down to my waist, my green eyes red from crying. I note the dark circles under them, so bad that if I tilt my head the right way, it looks as if I have a black eye. My tall body is very thin, and not in an attractive way. It used to be. I used to be strong. My muscles used to be visible, one only had to look at me to know I could hold my own.
Now, however, my body is tiny, no strength visible under my deathly pale skin. My lacy black bra and panties are slightly too big for me, since I've lost weight, but I don't want to buy anymore clothes. I just don't see the point in anything anymore.
I examine my reflection critically, then stare into my eyes and whisper, "I hate you." I turn my back and look over my shoulder, examining the scars on my leg. They are hideous. I hesitantly raise my finger to trace them, running it along the two letters, then abruptly twist and hurl a random bottle at the mirror. The resounding smash does not bother me. Neither does the cracks now spread across the glass or the little cuts the broken bottle shards sliced through my skin. One of the cracks obscures the scars, and this satisfies me- I do not like them.
"Casey? Everything okay in there?"
I realize Olivia is pounding on the door in alarm and I sigh, regretting my mistake. "Yeah," I call. "Just dropped something of yours. Sorry, I know I'm clumsy, I'll replace it."
She says something else, but I don't know what. Sighing, I look away and pick up the clothes Olivia gave me, smiling slightly at the pale green shirt. I like wearing green. It matches my hair and eyes. She was right; the jeans are a little too small, but I don't care. The shirt is big enough to make up the difference. Walking back into her living I room with my wet clothes over my arm, I say, "Thanks, Liv. You're a lifesaver."
"It's no problem. What broke?"
"Um… your mirror. And a bottle of something. Sorry."
She frowns, always the detective, already trying to figure out what I had done. "Casey, how exactly did that happen?"
Damn. "You know me. I'm really clumsy." Well, this half-assed excuse would be obliterated the moment she took a look at the damage, but I'll pay for it. It's not like I use money for anything nowadays. Maybe she'll forget about it.
Olivia shrugs and drops the subject, but I know it'll be a matter for discussion later. "Anyway, you warm yet?" I nod again, smiling at her gratefully. "Good. Now, its 12:30- I'm sure we could both use some sleep. You take the bed, I'll get the couch."
I protest, frowning and shaking my head unhappily. "No, Liv, I don't want to intrude- it's your place, really, I-"
"Nonsense, Casey, you're the one with the sprained ankle. Sleeping on the couch won't help."
I hesitate, then sigh once more and give up. "Fine. But we're sharing the bed," I say firmly. "I'm not gonna make you sleep on the couch in your own apartment." Dread fills me as I realize what I have just done- weaponless, I'm about to do the unthinkable- get six hours of sleep. I will remember the nightmare. I have fought so hard ever since that night to prevent this. I don't want to remember it. But I am so exhausted I know I will fall asleep, and without my bat, there is nothing in my hand to comfort me, to remind me that I am safe. I don't want to do this.
"Casey? Are you all right?"
I look down and realize my hands are shaking. Hiding them behind my back, I nod fiercely and lie. "Yeah, fine- guess I'm still a little cold." Olivia nods sympathetically and turns out the light. I am terrified, but my body is under too much strain from the hell I've put it through and, exhausted, I fall into a nervous sleep.
Coming up next: Olivia finds out Casey's secret. Mine is I am a hooker and feedback is my sex. Please review?
