"We have to get you to a hospital," Olivia urged while Elliot pulled out his walkie-talkie, "You have extensive injuries, and they need to be looked at."

The girl snorted, "No thanks," she put her shirt back on, "I don't want medical care." She put her sweatshirt on and pulled the hood over her head, rotating her shoulders so that she was swimming in the giant grey garment.

"Imogen, please. Have you seen your back?" Elliot put the walkie-talkie down. They couldn't take her to the hospital without her consent, as her injuries were not life threatening. And they were well aware that Imogen's father would never give permission for her to be taken to the hospital, "We're just trying to help."

Imogen shook her head, "I washed it," she smiled grimly, "I have experience treating my own wounds. I've never gotten an infection yet." She abruptly turned and walked into the living room, "I can't do anything about the scars though. Except hope they're pretty," it was the gallows humor they sometimes encountered from intelligent, world-weary victims of chronic abuse, but Olivia still found it jarring. She wanted nothing more than to hold the girl close, but she could see that Imogen was already ashamed of her outburst.

"Can you tell us who did this to you?" They followed her, sitting on the chairs they had used just the day before.

"Do you know that if you close your eyes, or rather, if one closes one's eyes," she shrugged, "you can pull pain with your mind from one place to another?" She looked up at them, "Spreading pain throughout your whole body makes it easier to bear."

Olivia leaned forwards, "Can you tell us when this started?"

"Oh, for as long as I can remember," she smiled, "do you want something to drink?"

Elliot was the first to speak, "Sure," he smiled politely as she left, "She's regretting it," he commented, "she's regretting letting us know that something was wrong. It's best to back off and just ask her general questions about her life, see if she brings us back to the abuse." He straightened up when Imogen came back in the room holding two cups of water, "Thank you."

"Sorry, but we don't have anything else in the house," she handed one to each detective and curled up in the chair opposite to them.

"So Imogen, tell us about yourself," Olivia decided to try the course Elliot had suggested. He was usually right about such things. She assumed it was because he had five kids. Victims may have usually been more comfortable with Olivia, but it was Elliot who was more comfortable around then.

"Like what?"

"What do you like to do? What kinds of things are you interested in?" Imogen shrugged, but Olivia continued, "We heard from your principal that you're very intelligent." No need to tell her that they'd been talking to Ophelia.

"You spoke to my principal?" Imogen screeched, "How could you do that?" She put her head in her hands as her shoulders shook.

"You've won all kinds of awards too," Olivia continued as though she hadn't heard Imogen's outburst, "Do you know which college you want to go to? I'm sure you're going to have your pick."

Imogen lifted her head slightly and shrugged, "My dad wants me to stay in the city and go to Hudson, but I don't want that," as she brushed her hair away from her forehead, Olivia was struck by the girl's soft movements, the quiet way in which she did everything, as though she were afraid to cause any sort of problem.

"Where do you want to go?"

"Stanford," she laughed, "or Oxford."

"Far."

She shifted uncomfortably, "Yeah, well, I want to get away," she looked at her fingers, "Do you ever want to walk?"

Elliot broke in, "I walk every day."

Her voice rose slightly in irritation, "I didn't mean that."

"What did you mean?" Olivia glared at her partner, warning him to keep his mouth shut. Imogen wasn't yet comfortable enough around him for any of his questions.

"I mean, walk forever. Just keep walking for the rest of your life. I don't know. Or drive. Sometimes, when," she paused, "when this is happening," she gestured to her bruises, "I imagine that I'm driving down an empty highway, listening to music, and that for once, I'm all alone, and I'm happy. It's just a dream because I don't know how to drive. My dad never let me learn. He says that since we live in the city and have a driver, there's no point. He doesn't want me to leave him. My mom, she goes to all sorts of spas and things out in the west, because she has these terrible headaches and back pain and stuff. She's been sick for years, and they make her feel better. And she says that when you're alone in the desert, under the stars, you can believe that you're going to live forever. She doesn't know," Imogen said fiercely, balling her hands into fists, "I made sure of that. It would kill her if she ever knew. Sometimes," she continued, "I feel as though I'm the mother and she's the child, even though I'm so little. In size, I mean. Not that I'm young. You know, sometimes I think I might as well be a million years old, for how young I feel. He's so good for her. He takes care of her and lets her go to all those spas and buy everything she wants. He never raises his voice or hurts her or anything," tears welled up in her eyes and she roughly brushed them away, "If I tell you what happened, do you promise that you won't arrest my mom? I swear she's not a bad parent; she loves me so much. The only reason I've put up with it is for her."

"If your mother is honestly innocent, than she has nothing to fear. Detective Stabler and I are not in the habit of arresting people who haven't committed crimes." Olivia grimly replied.

Imogen took a deep breath, "I don't know when it started. I mean, when I was little, it was just kind of touching and stuff. Hugging, kissing. I got used to sitting on his lap and feeling him," she winced and her face turned red, "under me. He was always really strict and punished me a lot. He used to spank me, make me take off my underwear and lie on his lap. I don't know," she blushed and squirmed, "I'm sorry, it's difficult to talk about it. I don't know what to say."

"Would it help if we asked you questions?" Olivia inquired, "And you could respond to them."

"Yeah."

"When did it first become overtly sexual?"

"When I was six, maybe seven. That's when he started putting his hands under my clothes. I used to…I used to ask him to stop, but he told me that was what all daddies did with their daughters, and that I should be happy to do this for my daddy, who was so nice to me and my mom. So I let him. He said I couldn't tell my mom because it was something special, and she wouldn't understand. And then he told me that I had to do something else for him. He made me…" she put her head down in shame, "give him head. He would put honey on it so I wouldn't gag, but I hated it," she'd started to tear up, brushing them from her eyes, "I would cry the whole time, until he started hitting me with his belt. Then I learned to keep quiet."

"How often would he hit you?"

"Probably every few days. He liked to spank me more then. He would make me get the spoon from the kitchen and ask him to punish me for being a bad girl. I knew…I knew it wasn't right, but I had to. My mom loves him, and she'd be devastated if they broke up. He started whipping me until I bled. I used to bandage myself up and go to school with blood seeping down my back. He would watch me when I bathed, make me wash him," she shifted uncomfortably, her cheeks flushed pink, "I was so stupid; I thought it was going to get better. And he never used to hurt me like this. I could always put up with the pain for my mom. You know, my real dad, my biological one, he lives out in California, and he never even sends her the child support she's entitled to. He ditched her when I was a baby and I haven't seen him since I was four. She needs someone to love her. And he does. He loves her so much. If I didn't think it was for the best, I wouldn't have kept quiet for so long. And he hasn't done anything to me that sent me to the hospital."

Olivia had to bite her lip to stop herself from screaming. The way Imogen so quietly defended herself as if she was the one who had done something wrong was making the detective sick to her stomach. The girl was folded up in her chair, eyes red but chin resolute. It was clear how much she adored her mother and how hard she had tried to make her mother's life as easy as possible. As much as Olivia understood Imogen's reasoning and motives, she also knew that Imogen had burdened her mother with even more guilt. To have her husband abuse her daughter was one thing, but to know that her daughter had deliberately hidden it to protect her was the sort of blow that could bring any woman to her knees. "When did he start raping you?"

Imogen tightened up, "When I was nine. He…it hurt so much the first time that I passed out. He said it was a sign that we had to keep going, keep practicing. Eventually the needle gave because the camel could not. Maya Angelou," she explained, "I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings. Eventually I got used to it and it stopped hurting so much. I guess you can kind of get used to anything after a while." She buried her head in her arms.