Chapter 12
Be my friend
Hold me
Wrap me up. - Sia, Breathe Me
Interlude
Sometimes we just need somebody. Somebody to hold us, to tell us sweet lies when the truth fails to be a comfort. Sometimes we need to tell us that everybody gets a happy ending and that all the villains get what they deserve. That good things always happen to good people and that the beautiful ones of the world never get hurt.
Sometimes we just need a good lie so we can sleep at night.
So we can live with ourselves and the things that we've done.
And when it comes down to it, what's a job really, if it means losing your humanity, losing your connection to people?
Do you win alone or lose together?
End Interlude
Rafael Barba never claimed to be a philosopher. It's not in his nature. He's educated but his wisdom is practical, not theoretical. He deals with concrete realities, not abstract theories. (At least not for the most part, sometimes he's forced to speculate.) What smarts he has doesn't come from primarily books but from learning to survive the cruelty of the world, of other children. He can charm both sides of the aisle, speak out of both sides of his mouth.
It was in the barrio that he learned his greatest lessons. About life, about love, about survival.
And the things people face alone when they've got nothing but their demons to keep them company at night.
Rafael frowns, deep in thought. He was concerned about Olivia; she was looking shaky earlier. It had been disappointing to her that the motion hadn't gone their way. Barba doesn't think she was suspicious at all - she's the most rational person he knows - but he could see how this may seem like a bad omen.
Certainly not an auspicious beginning.
And it didn't help that Lewis made sure she knew that he could still get to her. No, he hadn't missed their little moment of eye contact. People didn't call Barba 'the Shark' for no reason. Lewis, like Barba, could smell blood in the water…and fear. It had been rolling off her in waves but Barba had pretended he hadn't noticed it. (He's been doing a lot of pretending.)
Lewis didn't bother pretending. He moved in for the kill.
Because he knew exactly how to get under her skin. Would Olivia be able to hold him off? He tries to fend off the faint beginning of fear and doubt creeping into his mind. He's playing them both. Don't let him.
He looks thoughtfully at his cell phone, scrolls through his contacts and finds her name. Liv. He's not really sure when he changed it. Perhaps after that evening in his office? When they had crossed from partners and colleagues to almost friends. Perhaps he should talk to her. There's nothing wrong with that, after all.
There comes a time where sometimes distractions can be salvation.
His fingers hover over the button that would connect him to her.
I've been around this world
Yet I see no end
All shall fade to black again and again
This storm that's broken me
My only friend
-Black Label Society - In This River
The whiskey tastes so good, so smooth sliding down her throat. Like the feel of silk against her skin, the liquid caresses and soothes. Poetic nonsense, yes, but so very true. She holds the glass and turns it around in her fingers, staring hard at the dark amber, as if trying to coax secrets out of it like she would with a suspected perp.
She lifts it to her mouth and takes another large swallow. It burns a little as it did in the beginning but the sting is less now and it gets easier and easier for her to drink more and more. At first she's been sneaking a little from the hidden flask, then a little bit more here and there to get her through the day.
But only when nobody's around. No one to see her give in. No one to see her show weakness.
Are you sure this is a wise thing for you to do, Olivia? This isn't going to address the root of the problem.
Phantom Lindstrom is back again.
Why can't you just leave me alone? she asks him.
Because I don't think you want me to do that, Olivia. Why do you think you can hear me in your head? Why do you think I am still here?
It's certainly not because I need you. she says nastily.
Phantom Lindstrom is just as calm and unflappable as his real-life counterpart.
I don't think you really want to be going down this remember your mother?
Leave her the fuck out of this. Benson snaps.
How can I when you still carry her ghost with you in that flask?
She puts her head in her hands, resisting the urge to smash the flask against any hard surface.
I can't do this.
You give yourself too little credit, Olivia. It's no weakness to say you're not okay, to admit that you need help.
It'snot okay!She tells him. I admit that I'm not okay, they take my badge, I lose my job, everything I've worked for.
Olivia, try not to catastrophize. I'm not telling you go into your captain and spill your issues. What I am saying is that it is normal and natural not to be strong all the time. You've told survivors that yourself. What makes you feel that your case should be any different than theirs? Why can't you allow yourself to do what you tell them to do?
Because I am supposed to be the one that can take care of myself, the one in charge, the strong one. I am not a victim.
You are not a victim, you are a survivor. One who has been through terrible, traumatic things. You need to learn how to forgive yourself, how to be less hard on yourself. Healing has no set time, people who tell you that are lying. Don't make the mistake that you need to recover sooner than anyone else simply because of what you do for a living. You're not a superwoman, Olivia. You're a human being. Let yourself be one.
She raises the glass to her mouth because, goddammit, she's still going to have this drink even though she can feel goddamned Lindstrom still hovering there in her head, patient, non-judgmental.
Is this the answer?
She's seen what alcohol had done to her mother. Had turned her from a sweet, loving, kind woman to a virtually unrecognizable shadow of the woman Serena Benson once had been. It hadn't totally been Serena's fault; life had not been kind to her and in many ways she had been absolutely incapable of handling the trauma of her rape.
The woman she had been at the end of her life had made Benson more determined never to become her. Yet here she was, on her second glass of whiskey during the day. Here she was, sneaking sips from "work flasks." Drinking more and more. A sense of shame overwhelmed her. How could she so easily forget that youthful promise to herself, never to end up like her mother?
It's been said that the sum of a person isn't just their DNA. But it's also been said that blood will out. Is that what's happening here? Olivia wondered. Are all the sins hidden in her DNA just making their way to the forefront?
She can't push the alcohol away. It seems to be one of the only things that could help her forget.
Forget she was still broken. (Is this how her mother had felt?)
She can't judge her now.
You're not broken, Olivia. You're healing. There's a difference.
