"Oh, Livvy," said the man, licking his lips. "I missed you. Or do you not like being called that anymore?"
"I never did," whispered Olivia, trying not to fall apart.
"All right, Olivia," said the man, amused.
"W-what do you want?" she stuttered.
"Why don't you sit down and we'll have a talk?"
"I don't want to talk!" she growled. "I want you to get out of my apartment."
"What? You gonna call the police? Oh, wait, I forgot. You are the police."
"Leave me alone!" she shrieked.
"I bet this'll be so much better than it was when you were fourteen," he commented.
"No," she murmured. "No, no, no, no, no."
"We could do this the easy way or we could do this the hard way."
"Out!" she ordered.
But then she was in his arms, struggling against him as he carried her to the bedroom. She tried to scream, but he put his hand over her mouth. She tried to bite down on his fingers but he laughed and smacked her across the face.
He dropped her on her bed and Olivia looked up at him, pure terror etched across her face. This was worse than it had been when she was fourteen.
"Are you gonna strip or do I need to make you?" he asked.
She cringed. "Don't touch me!"
He grabbed her shirt and tore it off. Then he moved on to her pants. Soon, she was laying on the bed, helpless, her clothes lying on the bed next to her. She shivered, from cold and from fear.
"Please," whispered Olivia weakly.
Her attacker laughed. "I want you to beg."
She was torn between pride and self-preservation. "I won't!"
She felt the cold blade of his knife against her throat. "You will do as I say. You know you want it. Ask me. Beg me."
"Please . . ."
He slid the knife over her throat, nicking her skin. "Tell me you want it."
"I want it," repeated Olivia hollowly.
"That's right," approved the man. "You do. Should I give it to you?"
She began to cry, silent tears streaming down her cheeks. He slapped her again. "Stop sniveling, bitch! Tell me you want it."
"I want it."
"Say it like you mean it."
"I want it!" she shrieked helplessly. "Give it to me!" All she wanted was for it to be over.
He was touching her, stroking her hair, her body, all the way down. She closed her eyes and prayed, even though her belief in God had never been well-defined. And then he was inside her, pushing, hurting her. The pain was just as great as it had been twenty years ago and she tried in vain to go somewhere else in her mind. She was floating, above herself, watching this happen to some random stranger, just as she had when she was fourteen. It wasn't happening again; things like this didn't happen to the grown-up Olivia. This was something she'd left behind.
Finally, it was over. He stood up and said, "That was sweet, baby."
Olivia took a deep breath and tried to swallow her sobs. She didn't say anything.
Suddenly, he was on her, hitting her again and again. "Bitch!" he shouted. "Slut! Whore!"
Olivia knew enough to stay silent.
By the time he was finished, her face was swollen and bruised. Her body was full of angry red welts and dark bruises. Her eye was starting to blacken. But he was gone, and that was the important thing.
She picked herself up and tried to put her clothes back on, but she collapsed back on the bed in desperation and burst into a fresh round of tears. How could she have let this happen to her? It had been bad enough when she was fourteen, but back then, she had only been a child. She hadn't asked for any of it, hadn't been able to prevent it. But now here she was, a grown woman, and she'd let it happen again.
With shaky hands, she started to dial Elliot's number. On the first ring, though, she hung up. She couldn't tell him about this. First of all, she didn't want to worry him, and secondly, she was too embarrassed. Though she knew in her heart that this wasn't her fault, she couldn't help the sense of shame that started in the pit of her stomach and devoured her whole.
Instead, she took a long shower, trying in vain to wash off the evidence that she had been raped. Maybe in the morning she would wake up to find it had all been a bad dream.