Author's comments: At least she's honest.
Trouble
Chapter 11
Part 1.
"I know this probably a violation of some ethics rule or something, but can I get a hug?" she had asked as soon as she walked in.
"Of course," he had said, moving in to encircle her with his arms before waiting for her to finish the sentence.
Clutching onto him like he was a child's favorite doll, she thought how Dr. Lindstrom was the last refuge for her. Even though he wasn't quite old enough to be her father, she had grown to care about him, and he had become somewhat of a replacement father figure for the one she never had.
After he pulled away, she had reluctantly gone and sat down in the chair across from him. She didn't want to talk at first, just wanted to bask in his protective presence. She felt safe here, and she couldn't say that about any place else.
But he had coaxed her to talk, and she ended up retelling the details of her rape, Russian roulette game, and subsequent rescue. She said it all without crying, as if reciting multiplication facts, her words coming in fits and starts, interrupted by long distracted pauses.
"I'm so sorry this happened to you." His voice contained a delicateness that she was familiar with at this point, but it soothed her nerves in a way nothing else could.
"And so, for the past few days, it's been rough. Even worse than last time," she admitted. His attentive eyes showed he was listening, the creases in his forehead deepening with concern. "I can't eat. And I've barely slept for several days. Nights are the worst." She got quiet for a moment, recalling the one bright point of her post-Lewis life. "Mornings are the best. As soon as daylight hits my face, and I wake up with Elliot next to me, I feel safe for a few minutes." She looked down at her hands. "But pretty soon I start to feel that walls-closing-in feeling again, and I get jittery, like I just can't stay in my skin one more second. I start to pace, and I have to get out of the house, but then every sound is like a hammer straight to my spinal cord."
"So what are you doing to cope?"
She gazed distantly at a painting on his wall. "Drinking."
He shifted in his chair, wrapping his hands over one knee. "And how is that working for you?"
She fiddled with her fingers. "Not well. I've been really belligerent with Elliot, and he's the one person who's been there supporting me this whole time."
Dr. Lindstrom tilted his head to the side. "Why do you think you're getting angry at him?"
She put one hand over her mouth, and then pulled it away and said, "After Brian and I split, I was all alone. I went through all this crap by myself. In fact, I've been alone most of my life." Now a few tears began to spill down her face. "Elliot was the only man in my life for twelve years, and then he just went away."
"You've had an absent father all your life, and now that pattern seems to be repeating. It's bringing up lifelong wounds."
She nodded through the tears. "You're right. Nobody's ever there for me, so it's hard to trust that anybody's going to stay."
"I bet that makes it hard to get close."
"Yeah," she whispered.
He shifted again, this time reaching for a pen and a prescription pad. "Alcohol's only going to make things worse. I'm going to give you a script for anti-anxiety medication, and some anti-depressants."
As he scribbled his signature, she said, "I think going back to work might help."
He looked up from his notepad. "Do you really think that's wise, with as much anxiety as you're feeling? It's only been a week and a half."
She pursed her lips together. "It's the only place I can get my mind off things."
Sitting back in his chair, he frowned. "I don't advise it, Olivia. Your symptoms are too severe right now. The last thing you need is to be in the line of danger again."
Breaths came out of her in hot huffs like a bull snorting. "Now you sound like Elliot. But I have the final say in my life."
He puckered his lips, contemplating an appropriate response. "That may be so, but I can always make a recommendation to your superior officer that you not be approved for active duty."
Crossing her arms and legs simultaneously, she said, "And I can always find a new therapist."
She met his emphatic gaze with eyes of steel, and he said, "Why all the hostility, Olivia? I'm just trying to look out for your best interests. Isn't that what you said you wanted?"
She stood now, preparing to storm out the door, unable to face a confrontation with the person who was supposed to be her bastion of safety. "I'm so tired of people trying to control me in the name of protecting me."
As she turned toward the door, he stood too, catching up to her and lightly grasping her arm to stop her. She stopped without turning to face him. "You do whatever you want, Olivia. I just don't want to see you get hurt."
Hot tears burning her cheeks, she turned to see that his eyes showed no signs of anger, only soft compassion. Without having to ask, she leaned into him, and he sheltered her with his arms once more.
Part 2.
Elliot walked her home and waited patiently while she silently contemplated her session, with all its implications. The afternoon had been chilly, and he removed her jacket for her as soon as they arrived. As they made their way to the table to eat their dinner of Chinese take-out, she said, "Elliot."
He froze while taking a container out of a white paper bag and said, "What?"
Their eyes met. "I just wanted to say, I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"You know what," she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I've been a real asshole lately."
"No you haven't," he said, keeping his gaze on her while blindly removing the rest of the food from the bag. Then he shrugged, looking down to find the plastic silverware. "Well—maybe a little."
They both grinned. After finishing his preparations at the table, he turned to her, coming in close enough to rest a hand on her arm. "It's okay, Liv. It's understandable that you're a little jumpy after what happened."
She shook her head. "But I shouldn't be drinking so much. And I shouldn't take it out on you. I'm sorry."
Reaching up to brush the same errant strand of hair behind her ear, he said, "Apology accepted."
As she began to speak, she felt herself drawn into his solid presence like a magnet. "I just want you to know," she said softly. "I don't know how I could have made it through this without you, El. Thank you for staying with me."
His eyes scanned her face and her hair, and she felt as if he was inspecting her for signs of flaws. Apparently unable to find any, he rested his gaze back on hers, saying, "I wouldn't have it any other way."
His eyes said so much, and in them she saw understanding, compassion, and a sparkle of something else—admiration? Somehow their faces were only inches apart now and, the space between them filled with electric magnetism, bringing them closer together. His lips looked delicious, supple and soft for such a hard man, and she wanted to taste them. As if reading her mind, he leaned forward and brought them against hers, and she closed her eyes to savor the skin against skin.
Returning the kiss without hesitation, she drew her mouth closed against his and then opened it once again. Everything else in the world dropped away—all thoughts of the past and the scary things in her life were somewhere else while his mouth pressed against hers, deepening their kiss. Her heart, which had run cold over the last few weeks, lit up like Times Square on New Year's Eve.
His hands caressed her back during the embrace, and now she wrapped her arms tightly around him, bringing his body close against hers. Their mouths still connected, lips and tongues exploring one another, she pressed hard against him, finally pulling away for air as she whispered in his ear, "Elliot." She swallowed, catching her breath as she said, "I've wanted to do that for a long time. You have no idea—"
"I think I do." He locked his gaze on her face again, keeping one arm wrapped around her as he stroked her hair with his free hand. "Because I've wanted it too." Shaking his head, he said, "And man, was it worth the wait."