27 - PRESENCE

"Last time I saw you, you were worried you might not be able to get yourself back together after your ordeal," said George Huang, sitting across from me, legs crossed, hands resting on his knee. Cragen had arranged for him to be in charge of my mandatory counseling sessions, which was good because I didn't have to tell my whole life to someone new, but at the same time, I couldn't talk specifically about the main thing I was going through at the moment. "How do you feel now?"

How indeed? He wanted to know how I felt about my ordeal, as he put it, but it seemed like something from a past life. I could barely remember being that broken; it was hard to find an answer to his question. "Better…" was what I ended up settling for. "Lucky for me, I was wrong."

"Wrong about what?" he asked.

"We're not in love anymore," I explained, trying to look through the small holes but not really seeing anything in the darkness. "We did everything we could to save our marriage, but we just don't think it makes sense to stay together if that's not what's really in our hearts."

I hadn't planned to confess my sins, I didn't even think there were any sins to confess. Did I? I sat there contemplating that question. If I didn't think so, what was I doing there?

"And what's really in your heart, Elliot?" the priest asked softly, but right to the point.

"Not being able to get myself back together, and how I was supposed to do it," I clarified. "I thought a lot about the things that Eric said to me while he held me captive. The truth is we had a lot in common."

After weeks, the feeling of Eric's hands wrapped around my neck came back to me crystal-clear, but was quickly replaced by the feeling of Elliot's arms around my naked torso – more recent, more lifelike.

"I fell in love with someone else," I admitted. "To be honest, I think I've had these feelings for a while now… I was fighting them in order to keep my family together." I paused, listening for a reaction, but the priest emitted no sound; he seemed to be waiting for me to explain further, so I did, to him and myself. I hoped that, by the time I was done talking, I would know what I had gone there for, what exactly I was asking him to do for me. "I felt guilty for a long time, but father… It's… The way I feel about her… There are no words, it's just something that makes me feel… Closer to God, not farther from Him. The way I feel when I'm with her is… I think that's how God wants us all to feel. I just keep wondering... How could that be wrong, father?"

"But after a while… I just had to let go of it," I said. "I thought so much about it all, trying to make sense of it, trying to understand what happened to me by understanding him… But I realized I was just dragging what happened along with me, or rather, staying behind with it, paralyzed, still stuck in that beach house. By obsessing about it I was… I was making it last longer. And it's over. He's dead. It's all in the past now."

"Do you think it's wrong?" the priest countered. The son of a bitch – sorry, damn it! – gave me a question when all I wanted was an answer; that's what I was there for. To get an answer, an explanation as to why leaving my wife for Olivia was supposed to be wrong when it felt anything but.

"That's what the bible says…" I reasoned. "But everything in me says it isn't. She makes me a better man… And I think I'm good for her too."

But what if God didn't agree with me? How could I know if He did?

"I'm glad to hear that, Liv," Huang cheered me on. "Realizing that there's nothing you can do about it now is a really important step in your recovery. You can't ignore what happened, but reliving it over and over again in your head doesn't lead anywhere."

"At first I had dreams," I told him. "Very vivid dreams, like I was back there again. But it's been weeks now..."

"And in your opinion, what's making them go away?" he had an almost smile on his lips, that face he made when he was intrigued by the suspect or patient he was interviewing. It was kind of funny to be his subject. "Is there something... or someone... that's been helping you?"

Yes, there was. I bit my lip. "I've been…" I let my eyes wander all around the room as I looked for the best way to explain it without actually telling him what was going on. "I've been accepting... help. I've been letting myself be taken care of."

"Do you think God will forsake me, father?" I asked, barely louder than a whisper, a thought that I'd been afraid to voice even to myself, but which escaped from my mouth right then and there.

"Do you think He will?" The priest returned; he was all about asking questions and giving no answers. "Have you forsaken Him?"

I saw it as he tried to conceal it, but Huang couldn't hide his surprise completely; and then I saw it when he understood it, even though I'd said nothing and tried so hard not to give anything away. "Elliot," he whispered through his smile, as if by doing so we could both pretend he hadn't acknowledged it.

"No, never," I rushed to say; that was exactly the problem. I needed to reconcile going against the vows I'd made before Him, I needed to know that He understood why I'd done that, why I thought it was the best for everyone. "My faith in Him is the same it's always been."

I nodded, divided between feeling frustrated for having been busted so easily and glad that I didn't have to make an effort to hide it anymore. I had a feeling Huang wasn't going to ask for any details, which was a relief in itself, so I added an explanation that didn't explain much at all, but sounded definitive enough. "He's been there for me and I… I'm not playing tough this time."

"In that case, I believe it's safe to say His faith in you remains the same as well," the priest said soothingly, and even though it initially might not have sounded like the answer I was looking for, ultimately it was all I needed to know.

Time's up, he said, then kissed her, and it was as though time had stopped, stayed still for a while, then restarted, at a different frequency, a different beat, complying with new rules. Olivia pulled Elliot by the hand back into the bedroom, walking ahead of him, and then felt him pull at her arm to stop her, letting her bounce back into his bare chest as he surrounded her with both arms, pulling at her bathrobe's belt, loosening its grip around her, his hands slipping into the opening to frame her stomach, her ribs, the tips of his fingers brushing past her wet bra. A sense of urgency made him rush to pull the robe off of her shoulders and arms, moving to unclasp her bra next, and when she felt the tension undone around her, he went back to normal speed, smoothing his hands against the skin of her back, sliding slowly around her until each of his hands cupped one of her breasts from below, her bra falling off of her shoulders and arms on its own as her arms relaxed.

Olivia closed her eyes and gave in to the sensation of his strong, warm hands around her sensitive skin, undoing the coldness the wet bra had maintained against her. His fingers massaged her nipples slowly, and she felt every single hair on her body go up in response to his warm breath and three-day stubble against the back of her neck, trailing kisses from there to her ear, down the side of her throat, along her shoulder. He pressed her against him, rubbing her ass with his erection, rock-hard under the cold, wet fabric of his pants, taking her back to that night at the bar when he'd held her like this, a completely different mood; it seemed like so long ago.

"Turn around for me," he said hoarsely into her ear, his hands slowly sliding off of her, the pitch of his voice striking a chord directly into her core.

She turned and watched it as he raked his eyes over her body, taking in every detail, his hands hovering around her, like he needed to look first, before he could touch, but she was impatient; she grabbed his arms, sliding down to his hands, and brought them back onto her body. He dug his fingers around her waist, pulling her to him, his lips crashing onto hers. As he deepened the kiss, he also held her tighter, feeling it as every cell in their skins connected. He slid his hands down her back and over her ass, coming down to pull her thighs up and lift her off the ground. She wrapped herself around him, and when he pulled away to watch where he was going during those last few steps towards the bed, she moved to kiss his shoulder, his collarbone, pausing at his neck to breathe in a large intake of his scent, predicting this would become a habit, this sensorial reassurance that he was really there, that he was really hers.

Elliot threw her on the bed and was about to crawl on top of her when he noticed his wet jeans were still on. He undid his belt and Olivia sat back up to help him take the pants off, the dampness making it stick to his skin, heavier to pull down, but she did, bowing down to remove it from where it pooled around his feet and taking the opportunity to come slowly back up with her hands snaking around his legs, squeezing at the muscles in his thighs, then sliding up to cup his ass while she trailed kisses up along the inner side of his thigh, feeling it twitch with surprise, her lips curling into a smile just as she was letting them skim along his hardness through his underwear, listening to his breath as it became labored, her hands on the small of his back, her mouth kissing him softly just below his belly button.

She pulled away a little as she gripped the hem of his underwear and pulled it down at once, helping him step out of it, but before she could touch him again, he snatched her arms and pushed her down onto the bed, finally crawling on top of her, craving for her skin, kissing it, biting it, licking it as his hands traveled south, one of them slipping into her panties, in too much of a rush to take them off, but patiently enough to start slowly, just his middle finger sliding softly between her folds, just massaging her at first, up and down, feeling it as her clit engorged and the wetness started pooling near her entrance; he moved his finger towards it then slid it in, testing the waters, and as they flowed, he added another finger, changing the angle of his hand to reach deeper and allow his thumb to take over the sliding motion his middle finger had abandoned. She started to writhe beneath him, and he enjoyed swallowing her moans as he kissed her again.

His fingers found a soft spot inside her, a ridge on her anterior wall, beneath her clit, and he settled on a pinching and sliding motion with his thumb from outside, his index and middle finger from inside; it seemed to send her into a trance state, and he knew from the way she stilled entirely that she just wanted that to never change, never stop, until eventually she started growing impatient, her moans coming out anguished, and Elliot enjoyed trying to decide if she was begging him to stop or continue. Before he could figure it out, she came, moaning his name, digging her nails into his back. She pulled him closer, a hand holding him by the back of his neck.

"What the hell was that," was the whispered compliment she gave him before drawing him to a kiss, an eager one, a mixture of hungry with satisfied, and when he thought she was going to slow down, following the relaxation brought on by her orgasm, she sprawled both hands on his chest and pushed him up, maneuvering him until he was lying on his back and she was on top of him – apparently, she was craving control tonight, and he wouldn't miss finding out what that was like for the world. Elliot felt rewarded, like she was validating his promises, committing to believing his feelings for her.

Olivia took her time, covering every inch of his chest and stomach with her mouth and hands, then carefully sat on top of his crotch, rubbing herself against him, her thin underwear the only thing in between, damp, and she wasn't sure if still from the shower or if it was now from the wetness coming out of her. She crawled down his body, leaving slow, open-mouthed kisses on her trail until she reached his hardness; she leaned in, willing to take it slow. She ran her tongue along his shaft a few times, hearing him groan in response, then wrapped her lips around the tip of his cock, making him involuntarily jerk up, further into her mouth, then freeze, intent on letting her control the pace from now on, but she didn't seem to mind the interference, she actually encouraged it, reaching for his hand and leading it down towards her head.

She slid up and down slowly, each time taking him further inside, and he had a really hard time lying still as he waited for her slow, torturing movements with his fingers tangled in her hair as he tried to keep his hand still, failing a couple of times, pulling lightly at the wet strands in reaction to her attention; he felt her chuckle once, just when he was starting to near her throat, the vibration of her vocal chords almost sending him over the edge. By the time she increased the pace, her lips now reaching the base of his cock as the head hit the back of her throat, he was no longer able to help himself, gently coaxing her up and down with his hand as he thrusted up further into her mouth, and it took everything in him to finally use his other hand to pull her off of him instead of thrusting just a few more times. He pulled her up and kissed her demandingly, his tongue exploring the walls that had just been wrapped around him. When she pulled away to catch her breath, he spoke.

"I'm gonna need to let you finish that sometime."

She smiled mischievously, making him that much more eager. "Next time," she promised, causing a chill down her own spine by acknowledging that there would be a next time, that there would be countless next times, that she finally believed it.

He cupped her ass with both hands, tugging at her underwear. "Why the hell are these still on?"

Olivia got up on her knees and pulled her panties down, slowly, serious, putting on a show for him, and he couldn't help licking his lips when she came into view. When the undergarment was finally off, thrown on the floor, she slowly straddled him once again, enjoying it as she watched him wait for it, impatiently. She moved her hips down and he jerked his up to speed up the process, but she just slithered against him, letting her folds lick him up and down.

"You're killing me," he grumbled, and instead of changing the movement of her hips, she only slowed it down, that smile on her face, enjoying it way too much. "Olivia," he called, serious, his voice gravelly.

"Be patient," she whispered, leaning in to kiss him on the lips and letting her nipples brush against his chest.

"Can't," he protested against her mouth. He grabbed at her hips forcefully, the unspoken threat to take control. "Come on."

She laughed, drunk with power, but complied. She positioned him at her entrance and slid down, letting him fill her up, slowly, their moans coming out in unison. Olivia took her time moving up and down, then forwards and backwards, alternating with circular motions, increasing the pace slowly, and as she did, he he clutched at her hips, watching her breasts sway as she rode him, sliding up one of his hands to touch them, unable to resist. She increased her speed, and so did the volume of her moans as she felt him hitting her at angles he hadn't yet hit her before.

Elliot had considered turning her to change positions after a while, but he was so in awe with the view that he just let her go on, watching it as she approached climax again slowly and doing his best to keep his at bay. Still moving, more frantically now, she leaned in to kiss him, and for the last few thrusts, he helped her by rocking upwards, meeting her halfway and increasing the impact, which was enough to drive her over the edge as she came with a loud moan; once she was done, she kept moving for his sake, but he took control of her hips and, to her surprise, held them in place. The next moment, he sat up and surrounded her with his arms, maintaining the intimate connection but pausing all movement.

"You decided to be patient all of a sudden?" she panted, smiling with her eyes closed, still coming down from her high. She opened her eyes when she felt his hands framing her face to see that he was staring at her, very serious.

Elliot leaned in and kissed her, unhurriedly, like time had stopped again at his request, like he controlled it, and as he languidly ran his tongue along hers, Olivia contemplated how she'd mistakenly thought it was impossible to find him sexier than she already did from the way he walked, talked, that alpha male quality he naturally reeked of, no doubt aided by the incisiveness that exuded from his body not only in the way it looked, so obviously strong and powerful, but in how every move he made was a promise that he was a force to be reckoned with, an unstoppable storm once provoked; in that moment she found him even sexier, as he kissed her so carefully, a mixture of tenderness and provocation.

"I bet I can make you come again," he whispered, holding her tight for a moment, just breathing her in.

"You're going for the hat trick?" she pulled away to look at him, raising an eyebrow.

"Haven't you noticed?" he said, that seriousness on his features. "We can do anything. With you and me, anything's possible."

The intensity in his eyes and the certainty with which he said that did things to her, and so did his hands on her, steering her to stand on all fours as he got behind her, holding her first, clearing her hair away to kiss the back of her neck, then laying down the weight of his torso on her back, coaxing her to lay her head down and prop her ass further up towards him. He held her wrists with one hand to lead her arms further away until they were stretched out above her head on the pillow, and she felt herself shiver in anticipation when she felt his other hand seizing her hip, putting her where he needed her.

"My turn to try something new," he warned in her ear, just a whisper, his groan coming out loud when he finally slammed back into her.

Elliot filled her up again, with vigorous thrusts, and in addition to the different angle, with added pressure towards her posterior wall this time, there was something about taking him from behind that was almost enough to drive her over the edge a third time like he wanted. Olivia realized that was probably one of the first few times she had ever allowed anyone to do that, probably because it made her so vulnerable, forcing her to relinquish control completely, and what was all of this between them if not relinquishing control completely? She knew then that she trusted him enough to let him take control away from her, in and out of bed. He set a fast pace, not giving her much time to adjust, and it worked perfectly, quickly sending her tumbling closer to the peak.

Maybe it was the fact that she wasn't facing him, maybe it was the added muffling of the pillow, or maybe it was just how every step they took in this new terrain seemed to drive her further away from any feelings of self-consciousness or worry, but her moans quickly increased in volume and pitch until she was practically wailing, and now he grunted along, close too, making her wonder if they were going to come together, such a rare moment of pure synchrony between two people, and as she came, harder than both previous times, perhaps harder than ever, hearing him reach his own climax with a growl that somewhat resembled her name, she remembered the words he'd just said to her, smiling through it all at the fact that the son of a bitch had just proven to her that they were true: anything was possible.

Time's up. And it was. Elliot could clearly see, as Olivia took him by the hand back into her bedroom, that they were walking into a different era in their lives, a different moment. It was as if a weight had been lifted from both of their shoulders, and everything that came after that seemed lighter, brighter. He used to think there wasn't much else to learn about Olivia Benson, but this new light was only starting to be shed onto a myriad of details he didn't yet know, and it showed him he would never be done getting to know her, and that he wouldn't want to anyway.

She was suddenly safe with him, not safe as in safe in the field, that practical, life-or-death kind of trust, but safe to be herself, to show vulnerability, to trust him with her life when there was no death involved. He noticed it in the way she looked at him, in the way she smiled, in the way she moaned his name, tying it to requests on how to be touched, or when, or how urgently. As her protective layers peeled off one by one, something new was revealed, a new way to hold him close to her with a contented sigh, a new tone to her voice to speak to different parts of him and make sure she got what she wanted, as if she knew all the secret codes and passwords he didn't even know he had, showing him that there was a lot to learn about himself too; besides getting to know her, he was getting to know the man he could be beside her.

"I can't believe you're here," she whispered into the darkness that night after the rain, just thinking aloud, maybe convinced he was asleep, her fingers gripping at him with the strength of her incredulity.

"You better get used to it," he smiled, kissing her forehead and feeling her melt into him, another layer shed, the glass shattering on the floor.

He found himself in awe at the smallest things, the different cadences to her voice depending on what she was talking about, the way he would catch her gazing at him sometimes. The little routines they started to create together, the infamous trips to the grocery store, him cooking and teaching her how to make simple meals, watching it as she paid no attention to the instructions, undecided as to whether he was annoyed by it or not until she did something that rendered everything else pointless, like hugging him from behind and resting her head on his back, clenching her arms around his waist in a silent gesture that told him she was glad he was there, that she cherished his presence.

The little inside jokes that emerged as the weeks passed, only making sense in the context of their exclusive little world, the way his hand fit perfectly to the bend of her waist as it rested there through the night, the bantering that came from intimacy, the little fights that involved no real resentment and warranted punishments that seemed more like rewards, how movies would play, forgotten, because they were so lost in one another, how conversations would go on for hours like they hadn't known each other for a decade. The way he watched her feeling more and more at home with him there, like he really lived there, like he really belonged there.

"I was thinking," he said one evening right after eating dinner as they sat on the couch, tangled in each other, absentmindedly watching TV. "Maybe I should take you on a real date sometime."

She turned her head towards him, very serious. "You trying to get into my pants?"

All of a sudden, being together at home was now second nature to Elliot and Olivia, just as it had always been in the squadroom. They already knew each other's habits and personalities going in, so now they only needed to learn how their dynamic adapted to a different setting, how everything they already knew about each other applied to those versions of them wearing sweatshirts, with messy hair, no make-up, unshaven, walking barefoot and making grocery lists, looking for misplaced keys and receiving takeout. It was a natural adaptation, and as usual, they were able to communicate without words, moving at the same speed, coordinating even as they learned how to navigate this new life together, leveraging favorite foods, mood tendencies and world views while memorizing taste in music, childhood stories, favorite sleeping positions.

Elliot took such pride in making her happy. Every smile was just the fuel he needed to keep working on it, chasing the next reward, aiming at the wrinkle on her nose when she laughed, the warmth that filled his heart when he knew he was the cause for it. He could barely remember when sex used to be about taking what he needed, now it was all about giving her what she wanted, making her feel good, finding new ways to do it, uncovering the roadmap to her body, cataloguing every kind of touch she liked, disliked, went nuts from. He quickly learned her timing, the stimuli she needed to go over the edge, so he could almost control when and how she would come, and how many times, and she would mostly let him, just enjoying the ride. Except when she took control – that was a whole different story.

That was when she would reveal that other side of her, the fierceness he'd already seen at work, the decisiveness with which she ran her life and with which she easily ran him, making him feel things he'd never felt before, getting him hooked on the softness of her skin, the tenderness of her touch, the ability of her ministrations, breathing more life into him than he knew was possible, her power over him and his love for her growing by the minute in large increments.

Something unrelated started to nag at him after a while, though. Elliot was still adjusting to not being married anymore, but he had pretty much moved into Olivia's place, and because they weren't back at work yet, it all felt temporary, detached, as if they were living in a parallel reality, in which he didn't need to think about the practical arrangements he would need to make now. They were focused on living in the moment, and the moment was incredible, but he felt guilty whenever he thought about his kids, left on the outside of that private world.

He had gone to the house a couple times to see Eli, Dickie and Lizzie, had managed to schedule a lunch with Maureen and Kathleen once and even been able to set a Sunday dinner with everyone. Spending time with his children reminded him that there were papers to sign, things to decide and that he needed some kind of definition in terms of a frequency to see his children. He noticed the difference in Eli's growth between visits, and it killed him that he wasn't as present in their lives as before, absent as the job already made him by default.

Olivia was supportive, encouraging him to see them, call them, but he knew he needed to define some sort of stability in his life in order to include his children in it and make sure they included him in theirs. He also knew that doing so would involve ending this time off of sorts they were taking, and while he knew there was a very good reason for their leave of absence, they had turned it into such a happy time as they began this new relationship that it almost made him feel guilty for not being back at work yet, for not yet having found a place of his own, for not having defined a new routine with his kids.

He'd felt that guilt since the first time he'd gone out to Queens to eat dinner at the house, but he'd found relief when he'd come back to Olivia's place and figured it still felt like home too, when he'd found her asleep on her side of that bed that had previously been entirely hers, his place next to her still there, waiting for him. He'd felt absolution when he had stripped down to his boxers and joined her, making a point to wake her up only slightly to let her know he was there, with her, enveloping her in his body the way he already knew she liked to be cuddled, her sleepy voice barely putting the words together to ask him how the kids were.

But one night, the guilt had already eaten away at him too much to be ignored. "Liv?" he started, lying in bed, wondering if she noticed the strain in the muscles underneath her as she had just snuggled into the perfect position to rest against his chest. "I uh… I wanted to talk to you about something."

Elliot noticed her tense up immediately, and regretted his hesitant tone; he didn't mean to scare her. He hoped he wouldn't scare her.

"Is everything all right?" she asked cautiously, like someone who's not sure they really want an answer.

"Yes, everything's fine," he rushed to clarify. "I just… It's just that I… I should start looking for a place."

Olivia sighed loudly, her weight gradually sinking back into him, like she had briefly not trusted him to sustain it, as though they were adrift and she was momentarily forced to fend for herself at sea without anything to help her stay afloat. A heavy silence hung in the air for a moment, but she relaxed, little by little, clearly relieved, obviously disappointed.

"Yeah, I know," she said softly, looking away, as though trying to sound more aloof than she felt, and he could almost see the thoughts rushing in her head as she ran through a catalogue of scenarios, trying to figure out what she had done to finally burst their little honeymoon/vacation bubble, shatter their little imaginary world, make him want to go back to the real reality.

"I'd stay here like this forever," he added, pulling away to make sure she would lift her head to look at him, read it in his eyes. "I just… I just need a place my children can go to, and stay at."

Relief; she didn't even try to conceal it this time as it washed over her. "Of course," she shook her head quickly, an apology, she hadn't thought of that.

And then, like magic, the awkwardness that had hovered in the air for those quick moments just vanished, like fog making way for the brightest sunshine. Olivia smiled, lifted herself up on her elbow and kissed him.

"I'll help you look," she promised, sinking back into his chest, taking an unceremonious whiff at his neck, a tell he already knew by now as something she did to ground herself to him, to the present moment.

"I think you should," he replied, playful. "You need to like it, 'cause you'll be staying there a lot."

He noticed it, the trail of goosebumps left by the chill up her spine when he said stuff like that, hinting at the future, their future, together. It made him cautious initially, made him measure his words, trying not to scare her off; now, he almost made a point to do it, to really say those things, because she no longer shut down or pulled away, now she embraced the chills and smiled wholeheartedly, her cheeks blushed, her eyes overflowing with joy. She was still scared, but she felt safe now, as if she were riding a rollercoaster, aware of the existing danger of falling but confident enough to scream with her hands in the air because she knew she wouldn't.

So now he liked to say those things, to give her that thrill, to show her how real this was, to show himself. To remind them both what he knew deep in his heart: that for them, together, anything was possible.

Let go. Those two words, playing in her head like a mantra, slowing her heartbeat, evening her breathing. Letting go of everything else. Easy as that.

Letting go made her heart warmer, her body more relaxed, the sentences shorter in her head, it removed the over from thinking. It was so powerful, and yet, so easily forgotten.

Letting go made the dreams go away. Her subconscious could no longer bring those hurtful memories to the present once she had labeled them as past, gone. Letting go calmed her anxiety, silenced its screaming about the horrors future could bring, because letting go of the past and the future opened her up to the present, and the present was so broad, so extensive, it was all-encompassing. Once allowed, the present took everything, leaving no room for the past and the future.

That was the power of letting go, this knowledge that none of the pain she had ever endured was happening in the present, and even when she experienced pain in the present, it was never as hurtful as imagined pain, or remembered pain. Maybe it wasn't even as bad as living in fear of experiencing pain again.

So letting go was the best she could do for herself. It was an act of self-love, to choose not to let something hurt her anymore. The past had made her who she was, her pain had molded her, and none of which she had ever gone through had been easily overcome, but she knew now that, during recovery, there came a moment, it always did, when moving on depended solely on that choice: letting go.

It wasn't easily done. Pain could, at times, seem like her only friend, like her identity, like herself, and for someone who had been alone her whole life, she couldn't let go of herself, of her identity, of her only friend. But in reality, pain was her captor, her torturer, and it only had the power she invested in it, the conviction with which she had believed for so long that her captor was her keeper, her insurance of survival, like a twisted, self-inflicted version of Stockholm Syndrome.

Pain never went quietly. It fought, kicked, screamed, reasoned, threatened. It tried to tell her that letting go of it would make her feel empty, but emptiness itself was forgotten when she experienced the relief of letting go of the past and the future. Those memories and fears were too heavy to carry along any further. It was a relief to find out that memories and fears weren't keeping her alive, that she could be alive despite anything, without anything, that she could just be.

Upon such an understanding, time lost its weight. If only the present matters, pain that happened yesterday or a lifetime ago have the same weight and are just as easily dropped in the name of staying in the present. Being present in the present. Letting go of everything else.

She knew it was impossible to be present in the present the whole time. The past and the future could even be useful, and they were instruments needed every single day, the knowledge from previous experiences leveraged whenever it was relevant, the decisions that still needed to be made even though they aimed at hypothetical futures, even knowing future could not be controlled or predicted, no matter how much planning went into it.

What she had learned about letting go wasn't that the past should be forgotten and the future should be ignored, not that memories didn't matter or that consequences didn't exist. What she had learned about letting go was that no amount of dwelling into painful memories could prevent the occurrence of future painful moments, and that trying to come up with a plan to avoid future pain by hurting from past pain only resulted in bringing pain into the present, chosen pain, pain that was not the antidote or the vaccine to any other pain. There was no such thing as making antibodies for pain.

There was, however, letting go. There was seeing pain for what it was, no longer mistaking it for herself, for a friend, for self-love or self-defense. Self-love was choosing not to hurt if that was possible, and it usually was. It was surprising to find out that most of the pain she felt was not happening in the present, that if she took a moment to think about it, to identify the source of her suffering, it was rarely something she was experiencing that very second, even as the tears fell profusely.

Self-love was letting go of every label she had ever given herself, every memory she had elected as a little piece of who she was, every fear that had dictated how she lived her life. Self-love was finding out none of that was who she was. Self-love was knowing that she was enough, even if stripped of all knowledge, all memories and all fears, knowing that she wasn't defined by her job, by her family, by who she loved, who loved her. Who didn't. That she didn't need to be defined, that she didn't need to be anybody, anything. She just needed to be. Letting go of herself, or what she had always judged to be herself, was the greatest proof of self-love she could have ever given or received.

If she was enough and nothing defined her, then it didn't matter that she had just been rescued from a kidnapping, that she had been sexually assaulted a year ago, that she'd had no family but a half-brother she never saw and a mother who had drunk herself to death right before her eyes while she had tried to take care of them both. It didn't matter that her father was a rapist who had hurt and ultimately killed her mother. It didn't matter that she had fallen in love with her married partner, pined for him in silence for years and slept alone after watching him go home to his family every night for thousands of nights.

If none of that was who she was, suddenly being herself was a lot less heavy. It opened her up to the novelties that only the present could bring: how she was there now, safe and comfortable, having turned out alright despite who her parents had been and survived the most difficult situations she'd ever been through, how her partner was no longer married, how now she knew he loved her back, how he'd made it a habit to spoon her into sleep every night. By letting go of everything that didn't define her, she found out what that really felt like, her presence, her full dedication to herself, to every moment of her life, and it filled her completely. It left no room for fear of loss, because she knew now that, if she was there for herself, loss didn't equal emptiness, and pain didn't equal death.

By knowing she could live despite anything, she realized she didn't need anything. By knowing she could live without him, she finally allowed herself to live with him. Finally set free from the memory of pain and the fear of loss, she was able to accept each moment as it came, together or apart, dedicating her whole attention to it, her whole presence.