If there are words for this I don't have them.
x
:::::
The last remaining fibres on the rope around Elliot's wrists snap off and he exhales with relief. The shard he'd pulled from Olivia's back, now the instrument granting his release.
His fingers are chafed, nicked and bleeding but he wastes no time feeling frantically through the inside of the car for the release lever, but his fingers hit nothing. He moves up, he can feel the latch connected to the trunk and his fingers dig in but there is no shifting it from the inside.
All that time spent releasing his hands for nothing. He loses it then, twisting across tiny shards of glass, letting them puncture the skin of his thighs, forearms and torso.
Then it's three solid kicks against the latch, his bare feet striking the small piece of metal once, twice, three times.
:::::
"I'll let him go first."
Her fingers are numb to the touch now and she wonders if the blood loss is causing her to slip into a state of shock. She's thirsty as hell and she knows there is a lone bottle perched on the bedside table, taunting her. Her whole body feels physically drained, depleted and she knows she will need medical assistance within the hour if she is going to survive this.
Lewis is still looming by her bedside, his eyes flitting between hers in an effort to capture the desired reaction to his threat.
"You'd like that wouldn't you," he whispers slowly and she can't even remember what he is referring to. When her eyes slip closed, it's his boot pressing against the floorboards and his knee perched on the side of the mattress that causes the rickety bed to creak beneath his weight.
"Don't deny it," he whispers but she doesn't know what he's talking about. She just needs water. Air. Sustenance. Something.
"All those nights you used to imagine him.. between your legs," he rasps, his hand starting to move over her body and she remembers now.
The conversation. The threat. Elliot.
Her eyes slip closed and she recoils the moment she feels his fingers trail down the planes of her bare stomach.
"Don't," she pleads, but it's not his touch she's refusing it's his words. Elliot. She refuses to let him into this moment. This night. This fight. She doesn't want him here. Mentally or physically. She needs to have separation when this happens, because she knows it's going to happen.
Cats only have so many lives.
She needs Elliot to stay tied and bound in the depths of that trunk, then maybe she'll have a chance of piecing herself back together in the aftermath. He cannot witness this. He cannot participate in this. He cannot be connected to the horrors that she knows Lewis is determined to make her endure tonight.
"You're gonna thank me," he breathes out and she feels the ragged, stale breath exhale against her clammy skin and the stagnant bile in her stomach begins to churn once more. Her eyes are still closed and she can barely find the energy to open them again. Fuck you Lewis, she thinks. Fuck. You. His hand is sliding down her stomach now, stopping just short of her panty line. "You'll see," he tells her pressing his fingers deep into her abdomen, his breath a lot closer than before.
It's moments then, until the last remaining fluid leaves her body and spills openly down her cheeks.
:::::
The trunk door lock had been stubborn but he'd managed to break it open with half a dozen solid thuds. He'd seen the cabin, the dim lighting emanating from the front room, his only source of light. He'd moved around the back, trying desperately to navigate through the rocks, trees - plant life without making too much of a stir. And now, poised at the backdoor of the abandoned cabin he takes a deep breath before he moves through the threshold. His heart is thudding in his chest at the eerie silence he is met with as he makes his way towards the open bedroom.
When he reaches the threshold he stops short and there is nothing he could have done to prepare him for the image.
He sees her battered body. Her eyes closed, flat on her back, hands bound above her head, trails of blood down her neck, her chest - dirt, grime, sweat, bruises and blood staining her once cream underwear. He knows the sheer image of her near lifeless form will haunt him forever and if she's no longer breathing, so help him God.
He scans the room briefly before he makes his way over to her bed side, his eyes prick with emotion as his heart thumps wildly in the depths of his chest. He doesn't want to know. He doesn't want confirmation that she's dead, or dying or barely fucking breathing.
He reaches out slowly, his hands shaking as two fingers slide uneasily across her throat until he locates her pulse point and when he pushes down firmly her eyes snap open immediately and she coughs at the unexpected pressure.
Elliot exhales sharply, backing up a little trying to get a grip on the intensity of the situation. "Thank God," he breathes out, shaking the excess energy out of his hands. "Thank God," he tells himself. "You're ok."
"Water," she chokes out, her eyes motioning the bottle just inches away.
Elliot grasps the bottle, crunching the plastic as he unscrews the lid. He knows she can't move upward so he holds it tentatively above her mouth, doing his best not to let it spill. He gets a decent amount in her mouth but his hand is trembling so badly there's nothing he can do to prevent it from spilling messily down her cheeks.
All of a sudden she starts to choke, the gag reflex sending the water back up and she's turning to the side choking and sputtering before he moves the bottle away.
"Jesus, I'm sorry," he moves to her aid and it looks like she's about to regurgitate the water but somehow manages to clear the passageway and catch her breath.
"Where.." she begins, struggling for breath, water still lodged in her throat, "..is he?" She manages in between residual coughs, but it's his confused expression looking down at her that causes the panic to seep into her expression because he was going to ask her the same question.
"He went to the car Elliot." Her eyes start to water, her fingers curling over within the cuffs, her biceps straining against the pressure, desperate for release.
Then it's the distant crunch of boots against pebbles that start to filter into his ears and they lock eyes for one frozen second.
He launches forward immediately then, grasping the metal bar between her arms and he yanks - once, twice, the whole bed scraping against the hardwood floors, steal iron screeching against wood but the bar housing her cuffs barely budges.
"Go," Olivia rasps beneath him in a wild panic. "Now Elliot. Go!"
He sees the desperation in her eyes beneath him but he can't move. He hears the footsteps steadily getting closer but it's for better or fucking worse he thinks. He is not leaving her here. Not like this, not with this animal. But she is pleading with her eyes, a desperation he's never quite witnessed before and it's a hard thump that he feels as she launches her foot firmly into his thigh.
Fuck. His hands slip from the bar and he falls forcibly backwards, a table behind him only just breaking his fall. He looks at her in shock and disbelief as she arches backwards in what appears to be immense pain that she's just caused herself.
"I swear to God Elliot," she rasps through the throbbing pain. "You have to leave now!"
He can't read her. He can't decipher this misplaced desperation, but he hears the footsteps and the screech of the squeaky door and it's instantaneous. He bolts towards the open back door but at the last minute changes gears and moves inside the bedroom cupboard, slipping inside the rickety slats and pulling them quietly closed until he's quickly out of view.
He sees the outline of a man enter just as they close and he holds his breath as he watches the scene play out before him.
"Where is he?" the man seethes visibly livid, eyeing her intently, a pistol clasped in his right hand. He would have heard her yelling, the bed screeching against wood so she doesn't even play coy.
"Gone," she breathes out almost in triumph. "To find the nearest phone, it's over Lewis."
Lewis.
He hears the scoff, before he steps closer to her bedside and Elliot swallows.
"It's over when I say it's over," he rasps before moving the barrel of the gun up to her temple and clicking it over. "Now tell your boyfriend to come out, come out wherever he is."
Elliot's heart begins to thud in his ribcage, the sight of the gun near her temple an all too familiar image. He moves forward, moments from pushing the door open when her words stop him.
"I told you Lewis," she whispers, "it's just you and me now."
Elliot hears the slightest hint of seduction in her tone and he swallows back the shock at the familiarity she seems to have with this man. A pang of fear starts thudding in his chest as her undercover voice jogs a plethora of striking near misses. Stuckey. Bushido. Harris.
The fear within her voice however doesn't escape him and it's her complete and utter desperation that renders him frozen.
She's off her game.
"Just you and me huh," he mirrors her breathy tone, letting his pistol drop downward until it's raking over her chest, across her cleavage, down her stomach and Elliot's fingers curl over in fury as he watches Lewis scrape the weapon over her hipbone before he moves it firmly between her legs, wedging them open before he pushing the barrel up against her underwear.
Elliot looks away, unable to process just what he is witnessing, unwilling to let this image of her into his mind. He swallows back the bile and when he hears her heightened sounds of discomfort his heart shatters at this complete and utter powerlessness.
"You think he'll come out if I start fucking you with this 35?" The grim words send tremors through Elliot's body and the last ounce of restraint breaks within him. He moves forward but it's as if Lewis has sensed him because he's turning already, pointing the cocked gun in the direction of the cupboard, a gunshot ripping through the slits before he knows what hits him.
The bullet pierces his shoulder and he tries to muffle the cry, holding his shoulder, attempting not to fall downward but it's too late, he's slipping - falling into the contents of the cupboard until he crashes to the ground. The cupboard door spills open and he tries to focus on his composure and not the pain but all his senses are screaming and it feels like his bicep is on fire.
"Up," he hears from above and just when he manages to get his head around the idea of moving he feels the metal thump down against the back of his scull.
"Agh," he moans into the floorboard.
"Get up!" he hears again, this time more pressing and he does his best to get his bearings through the intensity of the blow. He begins to stand up, grasping the wall for stability, trying to swallow down the flood of nausea that's just overthrown him.
He is shuffled towards the bed, until his knees hit the mattress and he falls forward. He tries to break his fall with his good arm but it's not enough, he needs both and the pain is insurmountable when he braces his weight on them.
"Get onto the bed," Lewis urges him from behind and he takes a few sharp breaths before he crawls onto the mattress. His eyes don't make it to Olivia's, instead they follow Lewis as he rounds to the other side and he watches as he digs his hand in his pocket and retrieves a small key. He then witnesses Lewis unlocking Olivia's cuffs, all the while still grasping the pistol, aiming it right at his head. Elliot's eyes finally move to Olivia's profile but she is refusing to look in his direction.
"One move, and I shoot him through his scull.. you got that?" he rasps down at her.
Elliot's heart is hammering in his chest as Lewis gestures for Elliot to move closer and when he does Lewis releases one of her hands from the cuff and then motions for him to replace it with his.
"Since you practically shredded my rope you'll have to share," he rasps bitterly.
Elliot holds out his wounded arm, knowing it's going to hurt like hell to be ceased but knows he needs to keep his good arm free.
"Nice try," Lewis comments, immediately motioning for the other hand.
Elliot exhales sharply, his eyes flicking back to Olivia's but her attention remains fixated on the ceiling. He moves closer still, until his right wrist slips into the bracelet and the metal clicks firmly around his wrist. He lies back against the mattress then, letting his wounded arm rest against the softness, allowing the tension to release as the blood continues to trickle out the wound.
He moves his ceased hand only slightly but it's enough to feel her limp fingertips swipe against his in the process. His eyes prick with moisture because he barely feels any signs of life from the woman beside him and if it weren't for the measured rise and fall of her chest he sees in his peripheral, he would assume the worst.
"Right," Lewis exhales. "Minor setback," he mumbles to himself as he sifts around in his bag.
"I'll be right back."
:::::
Moments dissipate before Olivia hears his voice.
"Liv," he whispers through the silence the minute the front screen door slams to a shut.
Her heart is hammering in her chest because things feel incredibly real now. Elliot isn't out in the woods running to safety. There is no ill-perceived security of the trunk. No dark cocoon to hide in. She is unabashedly on display, bright lights, halogens, cuts, bruises, scars, tears and all. There is no longer anywhere to hide and she is the only one who knows what is coming.
"You ok?" he asks her.
Her stomach turns and a wave of nausea hits and her eyes slip closed.
Is she ok? The absurdity of the question hits her ten fold.
There is pain all over, debilitating, excruciating pain, metallic bile in her throat, blood loss, dehydration, bruises on her stomach that emanate much deeper than skin surface. And there is unfathomable, mind numbing pain in her heart right now. Heavy, thick, unresolved, anger and betrayal rising to the surface in these weak final moments of physical debilitation.
How can she be ok when the silent congestion in her throat is welling to an insurmountable point? She needs to unleash it and now or it will imbed itself into her system stiffening into the depths, into her cells, so deep that her body will have no choice but to rapidly decline. If she doesn't she will choke on it, it will drown her, it will take her last breath.
Her system is already shutting down, and if this is it. If this is the pinnacle moment where she surrenders indefinitely, this is the one thing she cannot take with her.
"Screw you Elliot," she whispers in a shaky breath, her eyes still pinched closed, her voice barely audible, shaking when she says it, barely comprehendible. "God I hate you," her voice cracks, moments of disbelief coming to surface competing with the thud in her heart that she actually uttered the words she wanted to say to him many moons ago when he gave up on her.
Hate, that strong, heavy, grim word reserved for the dark and depraved, not the light and the love – and that emphasis she had assigned to that word, profound, unmistakable, the implications of it registering, the seriousness of what this hate had been doing to her body for so many years, her honesty radiating from that four-letter word.
He gave up on her. He fucking gave up on her. And she will always hate him for it.
There is dead silence, uncertainty from Elliot's side, if he had heard her, or if he didn't – it doesn't matter. It's irrelevant. The words had been expelled, seven little words creating a feeling of imminent relief was just the pinnacle of what could be scratched, untapped.
Seven words, what if there were more? More words, more relief.
She tries again, "I just.. hate you…I fuck-ing hate you, do you understand me?" she gets more out between breaths, creating more space in the depths of her lungs – big words this time, heavy weighted words and she's overcome with the newfound lightness that the extraction now offers, over a dozen words now, leaving, relieving – more – she needs to say more. Twenty, forty, hundred of words, she needs to create space, more lightness in her chest, more room for the breath to enter, for life to be lived, for love to be experienced and light to shine within.
"Olivia.." she hears his voice tremble beside her cutting off her thoughts, and she can hear the thick onslaught of emotion that's filling his own throat. She doesn't care. It doesn't touch her sides. She's too overcome with her own pain now. There is no room to empathize with any of his. He drained her cup a long time ago. It's bullshit anyway. He left her. He could never love her like she did. There it is - love. That word, an admission to herself that she had denied for so long. Counteracting hate. It has no place here anymore.
Her eyes are still pinched closed and there is welling beneath her lids, bursting, violent, trickling pools that she knows will spill openly down the sides of her face, into her ears, her hair line, down her neck the moment she opens her eyes. He will see it all, all of her pent up emotion, all of the anguish he has caused her over the years. She kept her feelings from him for twelve years - more since his absence.
No more. She thinks. No. More.
All of those years she didn't live her life because she was a part of his. He should have left her a long time ago. Before Gitano, before Oregon, before he was a carrot, before he told her he'd give her a kidney. All those nights she would catch him staring - heavy, truth-laden words imbedded in his irises but never once fell from his lips.
'I can't be looking over my shoulder making sure you're ok.'
She hates him.
'I need to know you can do your job and not wait for me to come to the rescue.'
She fucking hates him.
"Olivia please," he tries again.
"Go to hell Elliot," she snaps more intently, violent memories from decades past rising to the surface in this heavy, weighted moment. This isn't his time to speak. This isn't his last chance, his last breath. She feels a deep pain in her lower back, slicing into her. Her verbal outburst, too much for her body to take. She needs to release these words softer, more controlled. From a place of intention not reaction. She takes a quiet breath, before she starts to speak, controlled, robotically – as evenly as she can muster.
"This needs to end," she sucks in a breath, liquid pooling at her nostrils, in the back of her throat and she's whispering now because it's all she can manage. "I can't have you in my life anymore, you've already taken up too much of it, you need to leave now, break the cuffs, break the bed, break your fucking thumb for all I care, do whatever you have to do, but just go. You've already hurt me more than you'll ever know."
"Please stop Olivia," he begs, "stop talking-"
Olivia scoffs. "Why Elliot? You can't handle it? The truth? The honesty? What?" she is breaking now, physically unfolding, tears spilling, her nose running, her blood soaked back dripping profusely into the mattress beneath her.
'You turned out ok.'
The old memory slams into her chest suddenly and her heart is practically choking. She is crying now, sobbing at the overwhelming sensation. She breathes out heavily, tears spilling profusely. "I can't believe this is happening. You need to go. I can't do this. You can't be here."
"Goddamn it stop," he yells. Turning then, unable to help himself, he needs to face her for this, as painful as his wound will be, he turns with it, shifting to his side his teeth digging into his lower lip to stifle the pain.
"I hate y-" His hand moves out and silences her mouth, her crass words getting muffled by his palm, blood and tears lining his fingers.
"Stop," he rasps again, she can feel the anger radiating from his irises, while hers remain transfixed on the ceiling. When she swallows back the fury he slowly lets his hand slip off her mouth and she can breathe again.
"You're only hurting yourself," he breathes out a little softer. "Liv please-"
Her heart practically stops at his words.
You're only hurting yourself.
She has to steady her breath to take the reality of that statement in.
Meaning she isn't hurting him. He feels nothing. He never has. This is all her. She's done this to herself. She drank her own poison, she made her own bed. She's responsible for it all. Her eyes flick to his and her heat infused glare slams into him.
"Don't call me that anymore," she narrows her eyes at him. "And don't touch me." The words flow from her like venom to prey now and she sees him swallow.
She watches the unfamiliarity rattle him and she can feel him searching for any traces of the partner he'd left behind. She'd let in on it in the trunk, her need for him, her essence was still tangible then but she feels him searching for that now, desperate to see something flicker in her eyes that will remind him of the connection that once bound them as two.
But she has nothing for him now and all she can give him is that same vacant, hollow stare that she gave Lewis because it's all she has left.
"What has he done to you," he whispers in disbelief.
His words should cause a wave of fury to flood through her. She should scream, scoff - snatch her eye contact violently away but all she does is blink through narrowed eyes and let the bitter words fall from her lips.
"Far less than you."
She sees it hit him square in the chest as if he's been physically wounded. He blinks a couple of times as he registers her words, until the blank stare she's projecting begins to mirror in his. Nothing exists between them now, she's just severed the last remaining energetic chord between them. She sees his lower lip start to move, almost as if he's going to speak but she doesn't want to hear what he has to say so she beats him to it.
"He's going to force you to rape me."
The words come out in a detached fashion and she lets the reality of that statement hang between. He blinks in response, she sees the awareness register and a sick part of her gets off on delivering this information because she has nothing left now but her spite.
"You should have left when I told you to," she shakes her head.
"Stop it," Elliot cuts her off. "Stop. Talking-"
She feels him launch then, grasping the bar between them once more and yanking, once, twice – the whole bed shaking under his strength, and she can see him biting back the pain from his bullet wound. He is yelling now, through the pain, through her words, through the fate she's just sealed for them.
"Fuckk-" he yells, yanking violently at his cuffed hand, causing hers to smash against metal, the clasp pinching her skin. She launches her free hand then, slamming it forcibly against his chest in response and he grabs her wrist, tugging it towards him refusing to let her retract it.
"Listen to me," he digs his nails into her wrist. "It's not going to come to that ok, do you understand me? We're walking out of here alive and the sooner my partner shows up the sooner we're going to survive this."
She narrows her eyes at him, before she speaks slowly, "Oh now you want your partner back Elliot?" she scoffs because it's almost laughable. "Are you fucking kidding me.. don't you dare-"
He tugs her arm then and she winces.
"You wanna hate me Liv, then fine." He yells. "You want to pretend like none of it matters now. Then fine. Wade through that denial all you like. You think all of this has been easy for me? Do you think you're the only one in pain? You think you haven't crossed my mind every Goddamned day?" he drags her body a little closer and she twists in his hold, arching against the pain.
"You had twelve years, twelve fucking years and you didn't say a goddamned thing so don't you dare push this all on me. What did you want me to do? You knew how I felt and don't for a second pretend that you didn't. You've always known Olivia. So you want to blame me for all of this, then go right ahead - if it helps you sleep at night then fucking lie to yourself-"
"One phone call Elliot, that's all I asked for-" she yells back at him through gritted teeth.
"Why?" he cuts her off loudly. "So we could have it out like this? Jesus Olivia. You know why I left," he rasps down at her. "You know it wasn't about Jenna. Did I really have to spell it out for you? Did you really want me to make it any worse than it had to be? You want to hear those words now Liv? Will that make things easier? Do you want to hear how many nights I didn't sleep? Still to this day Olivia, there's a gun pointed at my head and my family isn't my last thought before that trigger is pulled - it's you Olivia. For Christ sake, it's always you."
"Don't," Olivia sucks in a breath, swallowing down the intensity of the words that had just spilled from his lips. She blocks it out, closing her eyes in response. "I don't care anymore Elliot. Don't you understand that? None of it matters."
"All of it matters," He whispers, the volume of his voice dropping suddenly as his lips fall to her forehead, trying to hold himself off her and failing, "And you care - you care just like I care and it's screwed up but you would have hated me if I said something, I know you Olivia, I know how you'd react. One of us had to walk away eventually. You had the right idea leaving for Oregon, only you made the mistake of coming back."
She closes her eyes, the tears spilling profusely from her then and her wrist goes limp in his grasp, no longer fighting his hold. She's physically and mentally spent. Her throat is constricted and the pain from all the movement is now catching up with her body. She knows he's waiting for her to say something, to make all of this ok but she refuses to respond because his words might as well be referring to a past life now. It's all irrelevant. The course of events have sealed a far worse fate for them now and everything else is just broken proclamations and 'what ifs'.
"I'm sorry that you're here," Olivia breathes out slowly, through measured breaths.
Because she is. She truly is.
"I'm sorry that you have to go through this because of me," she sucks in a breath trying to fight back the tears when she says it, because it's going to take all all the strength in her to get it out. "Just please," she tries her voice shaky, barely able to utter the words, "please just make it quick ok," she whispers trembling, her fingers curling over the hold he has on her. "Ok El," she lets out a sob that ends up wracking through her body. "Just make it quick."
Elliot slips his hand off her wrists then until he is cradling her cheek, letting his face fall against her forehead. "Olivia," he whispers over and over. She feels his breath on her face, life, warmth, cascading over cheeks and nose, making her blindly aware of just how much has drained from her body. "I'm going to get us out of here ok, I promise you that," he whispers against her cheek before he lets his forehead rest against hers. "We're walking out of here and when it's over, we'll talk. Ok Liv, I promise you. We'll talk about it all."
She squeezes her eyes together as more tears spill, the warmth of his words and body a welcoming temporary mask for the horrors she knows she's about to endure. A part of her clings to the fabric of the promise that he assures her he'll keep, but it's that knowing in the depths of her chest that she can't seem to shift because she knows deep down that Elliot's promise to her is nothing but a hopeful lie.
"It doesn't matter," she repeats once more as her heartbeat starts to slip into a lethargic, dwindling lull.
And like a mantra that's been imbedded in her soul since the moment Elliot left her, she whispers the only thing she's been certain of since.
Nothing matters.
TBC
