A/N: Uhm...hi? Don't kill me, please? I apologize for the lengthy wait and I hope you're still out there reading and interested. Things have been hectic for me, plus i've had the worst case of writer's block. Literally the worst. I've rewritten this chapter, deleted it. Cried over it. Wanted to stab it... it's just been a time with it.

I hope you enjoy, nonetheless.

She's safe here. Wherever here is.

It's safe here, at this moment because she's not alone. She's tucked into Elliot's arms as his fingers dance down her bare side. In her ear he softly hums the words to Jack & Diane.

Olivia giggles as his fingers skit across her abdomen, causing her to wiggle in his embrace, her legs kicking out playfully. She turns in his arms so they're face to face; brown eyes bright.

"Who knew you were a humming bird?" She whispers, the corners of her mouth curl into an uninhibited grin. A genuine smile that stretches across her face and down to her soul. Genuine smiles are commonplace in his presence; the faint ache in her cheeks from smiling so wide is welcomed.

Elliot returns her smile with one of his own before dipping his head to press his lips to her neck. He gently sucks on her already heat slick skin, his hands finding her hips and gripping them tight. He brings her close, parting her legs with an over sized thigh.

She knows what he's getting at with his not so subtle hints, and she's more than willing to oblige. Slowly, but surely, she starts to reciprocate. Her head tilts back to grant him better access to her neck and her left leg hitches over his right hip. This is a still so new to her. The sensations, the touching, but she enjoys it. She likes getting lost in him; lost in how he makes her feel.

As if she can fly if she so chooses. As if she's made of magic and not malice.

"Liv, I love you..." he whispers into her ear, dragging his mouth up her throat before coming to hover above her lips, poised for a chaste kiss.

The blush creeps up her neck, her cheeks turning red. She wraps her arms around Elliot's neck. "Ditto..."

They're kissing and touching; soft and slow sensual caresses. Elliot's hands are slipping between her thighs teasingly when the door to the room of a house that belongs to people she doesn't know, bursts open.

Serena appears in the doorway, red eyed and her chignon unraveling. The sulfurous stench of vodka follows behind her.

Olivia immediately freezes, her body tensing beneath Elliot's. Hurriedly she sits up, pushing him away and grabbing the thin sheet tangled around her waist, bringing it to her body. This is bad - even worse than the other day when they'd been caught post-coitus. Serena's imagination didn't have to fill in the blanks here, it's obvious as to what they were doing.

"Mom, I can explain…" what she's going to explain, she doesn't know. It's not like she can quite say that this dalliance isn't exactly that. She's been caught - literally - with her pants down.

But Serena says nothing, she strolls into the room, an alcohol induced sway in her steps, and plops down onto the foot of the bed. She glances expectantly at her daughter, pursing her lips and shaking her head disappointingly.

Serena's reaction - or rather lack thereof - throws Olivia for a loop.

This isn't the unadulterated rage and anger Olivia's expected, but a strange serene calm dwarfed in vodka. She'd almost much rather have the explosive anger than this. At least with anger she knows how to react.

"Mom we…"

"We?" Serena asks, her head swivels from side to side as she takes in the room's occupancy.

Olivia does the same, turning to her left hand side to see that Elliot's vanished. She doesn't even remember him leaving. Sheet clutched to her chest, she calls out, "El?"

Shrill, humorless laughter rips from Serena's throat. Her thin body shakes, shoulders slumping forward and she laughs as if she's never heard anything funnier in her entire 40 years. When she finally catches her breath, slapping her thigh with a dainty hand, she speaks, "He's gone. Are you surprised?"

Yes.

But that's not what she says. She doesn't say anything, too uncertain and terrified to walk the minefield that is her mother. Her fingers curl into the thin sheet and she shrinks back, pressing her shoulders into the headboard.

"Or are you still under the impression that he loves you? So naïve."

Olivia bristles, a defensiveness combating her sense of self preservation. Elliot did love her. He did. He told her he did. More than once. So it had to be true. "That's not - he does love me. He -"

Serena cuts her off, the corners of her mouth curling into a devious smile. "He is gone, Olivia. Look around. He left you. Left with his dick still wet. You're barely in a bra and already have men unhooking it. I knew you were going to be a slut."

A slap in the mouth or a kick in the teeth would have hurt less. Olivia's stomach lurches forward, the contents inside it threatening to spill at her mother's brutal vulgarity and ability to sour the one thing Olivia feels she has to hold onto at the moment: Elliot's love.

"Stop." She pleads, fighting to push back the tears that prick her eyelids, causing them to burn. "Please stop. He's not like that. I'm not like that."

"All men are like that, Olivia. ALL men. They take whatever they want. Like your father did. He took what he wanted from me and left me you. You're just like him." Serena snickers menacingly, head bobbing from side to side in a disapproving manner.

"I'm not."

You're just like him.

"I'm not."

You're just like him.

"I'm not."

Olivia clasps her hands over her ears, her heart twisting as she brings her knees to her chest. She has to bite her cheek to keep the sob lodged in her throat from escaping. Olivia feared nothing more than becoming like her father, the rapist; the unknown demon that haunted her every waking moment; ominously controlling her life.

"You are. You're just like him. Like father, like daughter." Serena deadpans, eyes blazing with malice.

Hot tears spring to Olivia's eyes, and she turns her head away, hands balling into fists. "Stop it, mom."

"You know, Olivia, that night he - your father - raped me, I laid on the cement wishing he'd kill me. I wanted him to stick the knife he had in his hand into my throat. I remember how I thought that if he just did it, if he just stuck the knife in I'd never have to tell anyone. But he didn't kill me. No. He gave me you . . . and you finished the job." Serena's fingers trail up to the congealed blood that rests at the apex of her widow's peak. "Look at me, Olivia. Look what you did. Look what he started and you finished!"

But Olivia can't look, she refuses to; instead she keeps her eyes tightly shut. Her bottom lip trembles, and she forces her hands harder against her ears.

"You killed me, Olivia. For what? A boy who will never love you. Never care about you. Not like me. I am your mother. DAMN IT, OLIVIA, I SAID LOOK AT ME. LOOK AT WHAT YOU'VE DONE!"

Olivia still can't look. At least not until Serena's bony digits reach out, seizing Olivia's chin and hard, nails digging into her daughter's flesh. The smell of vodka and rusting iron waifs from her and Olivia tries her hardest to pull out of her mother's grasp.

"Look at me, Olivia. You want to take your clothes off and act like a woman in that way, you can at least look at what you've done. Look at the blood on your hands - look at me. LOOK AT ME, OLIVIA. LOOK!"

No matter how much she jerks her head, no matter how hard she tries to pull out of her mother's ironclad grasp, she cannot free herself from Serena's hold.

"LOOK, OLIVIA. LOOK, OLIVIA. OLIVIA, OLIVIA, OLIVIA!"

She's sputtering and coughing; choking on her own tears, hands over her ears when Elliot shakes her awake. He's seated next to her on the oversized bed, fear marring his features, his thick brows sandwiched together in the middle of his face.

"Liv, hey, Liv." He whispers gently, the normal timber and brass replaced with softness and worry. "It's okay. It was just a dream. A bad dream, baby."

A bad dream, the words echo in Olivia's head as she fights to find footing in reality. She can still feel her mother's nails digging into her chin, hear her mother's venomous, and hate filled words. It's all too vivid and too fresh in her mind.

"Deep breaths. In through your nose, out through your mouth. You can do it…"

Olivia nods, sobs slowly subsiding. Serena's words start to fade and she opens her eyes, one at a time.

Everything's okay. It's okay. It's okay. It'sokayIt'sokayit'skay.

Red and yellow spots dance in front of her eyes and Elliot's face comes into focus. Hesitantly he reaches up to brush her frizzy brown tresses from her face, tucking the flyaway hair behind her ears.

"You okay there?" He questions, blue eyes on edge, searching her face for an answer.

Olivia's chest falls and rises, heart leaden, eyes fearful. The dream had been far too vivid, too real, and haunting.

Elliot's lips press to her temple in a chaste kiss, sending chills creeping down her spine. The sweet gesture plays in stark contrast to the cruelty of dream Serena. Olivia breathes in, her bottom lip quivering. "She was here, El. Yelling at me. Saying these things. These awful things -" she stops, recalling the vicious taunts her subconscious had conjured up in her mother's voice.

You're just like him. I knew you were going to be a slut. Like father, like daughter. He gave me you . . . and you finished the job.

Like father, like daughter. Like father, like daughter. Likefatherlikedaughter.

Remembering her mother's words causes a sudden and dizzying bout of nausea to overtake Olivia. She kicks off the seashell patterned bedspread, clamoring to her feet and out of Elliot's arms, running full speed for the bathroom. The ground beneath her feet lurches forward, the room spinning as she barely makes it down the hall and to the bathroom. She slams the door shut, not cognizant to the fact that Elliot is hot on her heels and she's just slammed the door in his face. Falling to her knees, Olivia grips the porcelain bowl with shaky fingers and what little resides in her stomach retches up with vengeance. Her throat and lips burn as the bile acid spills from her mouth.

You're just like him. Like him. Your father. You're him, Olivia. You hurt people. You hurt your mom. All she did was love you and you hurt her.

Her stomach lurches forward and she heaves, again and again, creating a sickening rhythm; a beat to which the words in her head are recited to.

You're - heave - just - heave - like - heave - him. You - heave - hurt - heave- people - heave. You - heave - hurt - heave - your - heave- mom - heave.

This continues until she's all but gasping at air, her throat jerking violently as nothing but yellowish liquid and saliva falls from her lips. Her stomach violently quivers and her head throbs.

A soft knock followed by a muffled "Olivia..." comes from the other side of the door. It's Elliot.

Olivia falls to her bottom, using her shaky hands to keep her propped up. She can hear the worry in his voice and knows that on the other side of the door his terrified for her. And she hates herself for getting him involved in the disaster that is her life.

"I'm fine, El. I'm okay…"

"Like hell you are. I'm coming in, Liv."

"NO! Don't." She shouts, listening as the door handle turns. Her voice is high pitched and panicked. Even though she's thrown up on him, bathed in front of him, and made love to him - she doesn't want him to see her like this. Especially since she's yet to take inventory of her own body and injuries. She scrambles to the door, fingers grasping the chamber lock, but not turning it.

She doesn't want to shut him out, but will if he insists.

"Please, Liv…"

Forehead pressed to the wood, Olivia stifles the quiet sobs threatening to rip loose from her lips. She forces the waiver from her voice before responding. "No, I'll be out in a minute. Please, just - just leave me alone right now."

Olivia awaits his protests, his insistence and innate over-protectiveness, but is instead greeted by the sound of his retreating footsteps.

/

Almost a half hour passes by before Olivia manages to make it to her feet. Unsteady still. Her thoughts are cloudy, filled with a chaotic amalgamation of images and sounds; her own screams, bone against granite, blood under her finger nails, and wailing sobs.

She flushes the toilet and slowly makes her way to the sink, fearful of what she will find. Yesterday her wounds had been brand new, bright, and fresh; not yet settled and indented into her skin; not yet finding purchase with the rest of the reminders of her mother's cruelty.

Today, she knows, will be a different story. Reds will have turned to deep purples, scratches will have started to scab over, and hopefully the gash in her lip wasn't as bad as it had been the day prior.

She doesn't look at her reflection immediately as she comes to stand in front of the sink. Instead she sets to work washing her hands. The blood - Serena's blood - is long gone, but she can still feel it. Under her nail, caked to her skin. It's there. Furiously she scrubs, just as she'd done the night before. Once satisfied, she leans forward, rinsing out her mouth that tastes like she's been eating sand. The acid still clings to her taste buds and, although she knows it's wrong, she finds herself - eyes closed - pulling open the mirror that hides the medicine cabinet. She needs something stronger than water to get rid of the taste that clings to her mouth.

She runs on autopilot, mind blank, as she spots the tube of Colgate and goes to work. Her left index finger serves as a makeshift toothbrush.

Then she sets to work on washing her face - busying herself with anything and everything that will prolong the inevitable grimace that's sure to cross her face once she looks into the mirror.

The warm water and soft soap stings as she hunches over the sink. Beneath her fingers her flesh is sore, aggravated, and bruised. She winces at a particularly painful spot, just below her right eye before accepting her fate. With a deep breath in, she turns off the water and stands tall.

Her eyes meet her reflection and she almost crumbles to the ground. The bruise beneath her right eye has ballooned across her cheek, in both directions. It's a sickly deep purple, puffy and swollen. There's also a bruise forming across her chin, courtesy - no doubt - of one of her mother's many rings. Her top lip is split, just to the left of her philtrum. All in all, she looks like hell. And that's not even counting the countless scratches on her arms and her legs - or the fingerprint shaped bruises that litter her bare thighs, peeking out from beneath the hem of Elliot's shirt.

She tears her eyes away from the mirror, no longer able to stare at her own reflection; proof of her stroll through hell the day prior. A day she wishes was a blur - a regretful nightmare she has the misfortune of remembering all too vividly.

"Please tell me you didn't fuck in my parents' bedroom."

It's the first thing Olivia hears when she finally gathers enough courage leave the sanctuary of the bathroom. She's cleaned up as much as she could, and even put on a pair of shorts Elliot had (unbeknownst to her at the time) retrieved from her bedroom at the beach house. She almost feels somewhat human again, though she direly wishes for her mostly barren makeup bag.

The voice speaking is a familiar one - one that she's heard before, and then it dawns on her. She thinks back to the framed picture of the mixed race couple on the wall in the bedroom she'd slept in; Monique.

"Jesus fucking Christ, is that all you think about?" Elliot retorts, and the words cause a slight smile to crinkle across Olivia's face. The floor creaks beneath her feet and she stands with her back pressed against the hallway wall, listening.

"Look, I don't know what kind of Romeo and Juliet stuff you two have going on other than what's making its way through the grapevine. I'd just rather not have to explain to my parents when they get here next month why their sheets are stained."

Olivia wrinkles her nose at the crude image, fighting the urge to roll her eyes.

"What the hell. For the love of - you know me better than that, Monique. You know I wouldn't..."

"I thought I did until Old lady Sampson started screaming that you'd kidnapped a girl yesterday to anyone who'd listen. What even happened yesterday? Apparently you dragged her – I'm guessing Olivia – down the street, kicking and screaming? Which was probably about twenty or so minutes before the ambulance arrived. What in the hell…"

An ambulance? Olivia cranes her neck to listen closer, her ears perking up. An ambulance showing up meant that maybe, just maybe, she hadn't done the unspeakable. That Serena wasn't, wasn't...but she has little time to revel in her knew found information. Her mind immediately rockets back around to the kidnapping accusation.

Kidnapped?

"Old lady Sampson can mind her business, I didn't -"

"I know – believe me I know. I don't know what you did to that girl, but she's like in love with you. Yuck by the way."

"Thanks, Niq. Glad to know I'm so unlovable."

"Eh, not that much, but sorry to say when I look at you, I still think about the boy who stuffed his pants full of worms and ate grass."

Olivia smiles at Monique's confession, a sharp tug lulling in the bottom of her stomach at the thought that these two had been friends for so long. She'd never had friends like that. Serena never let her get that close to anyone, ever.

"Look, worms or not," Elliot continues and Olivia knows he's rolling his eyes. "I just want to protect her. She acts tough, but she's not. Yesterday probably wasn't the first time her mom beat the shit out of her. Olivia told me that her mom hits her, but I didn't think it was…it was like this. I mean, when Joe hits me, I hit him back."

Tears swell in Olivia's eyes, but she refuses to let them slip down her cheeks. She thinks of that night, a few weeks back, when Elliot had snuck into her room; bruised and bloodied from an altercation with Joe.

"Well, it looks like she hit her mom back, too…"

"Look, I don't know what happened. I had to settle my mom down when she got back from your aunt's and by the time I got down to Olivia's, she was sitting on the floor crying. That bitch of a mother of hers was passed out on the floor; there was blood coming from somewhere and I panicked. I got her out of there before something else could happen…"

"So kinda did kidnap her?"

"No, stop. I…look, I'm just glad the fucking bitch isn't dead okay? If…"

Twice now he's called her mother a bitch and although Olivia knows that he's right, it still grates her nerves. Serena might be been a bitch, but she is still her mother. Her feet have a mind of their own as Olivia finds herself being propelled down the hall way, and into the living room.

She finds Elliot sitting in the over sized rocking chair, his elbows resting on his knees. He looks tired and she knows she's to blame for the extra age that's seemed to set into his face in the last month. Across from him on the couch sits Monique, her brown curls piled on top of her hair and her legs folded underneath her. Her mouth drops open at the sight of Olivia, who flinches slightly at the other girl's reaction.

It causes her to stop in her tracks for a moment, leaving her hyper aware of the fact that she looks like something out of the Evil Dead. She forgets why she's emerged from the seclusion of a stranger's bathroom and suddenly wants to retreat for dear life.

"Liv," Elliot says softly. He's looking at her with those piercing blue eyes and she juts her bottom lip out. "You hungry, I can make you something to eat, I - "

"Don't call her that!" The words finally fall out of Olivia's mouth in clumps, clamoring into the open air with a thud as she zeros her attention in on Elliot.

"Call who what?" Elliot asks, his thick brows burrowing together in the middle of his forehead.

"My mom. She's not. She's not a bitch. She's my mom!" Olivia grows defensively, knowing that Elliot was right about the title he'd adorned her mother with, but at the same time feeling a protective surge propel her forward. Serena is damn near the only family she had.

The room goes silent for a few minutes, none of its three occupants speaking. Olivia stays standing in the middle of the room and she keeps her gaze pointed in Elliot's general direction.

Monique breaks the silence first. Olivia watches as she gets to her feet, straightening her tank top as she does.

"Well, I've got a few things I've got to grab from the store, so I'll leave you two to…" the words fade from her lips and she throws a somber smile in Olivia's direction. "I'll bring you guys back dinner later." Monique says as she heads towards the side door, but stops before she exits. "Olivia..."she pauses, as if thinking her words through. "El's not gonna let anything happen to you." And then she's gone, the aluminum door banging closed behind her.

Elliot gets to his feet, and Olivia shuffles on hers – torn between wanting to yell at him and launch herself into his arms.

"Don't call my mother a bitch." She grates out, choosing words instead of blind, misguided fury.

"Liv…"

"No, don't. You don't know what she's gone through to raise me! To take care of me when I'm the worst thing that's ever happen to her. You don't get to judge her. You don't!" She says with far more anger than she intends.

But Elliot doesn't get angry, he doesn't yell back. He slowly approaches her, his fingers wrapping around her wrists as he guides her into his arms.

Olivia lets him, her stomach trying not to do somersaults as his touch.

"Hey, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have… I shouldn't have said that, okay. And you're not the worst thing to happen to her…"

She doesn't believe him, not in the slightest; she IS the worst thing that's ever happen to her Serena. Nonetheless, Olivia still finds herself crumbling into his embrace.