Disclosure
There was a knock at the door. Of course, my heart stopped and for a moment I stood panicked in the kitchen of the apartment, unable to answer or even to breathe. I was here only for a few minutes to collect some things while the sun was still up - was it possible .?
"Want me to get that?" Shawn called from her room. She sounded like she'd been crying.
"No, I got it," I replied, somehow finding my voice. I opened the door hesitantly, with the chain still on, to see a most unexpected visitor. Trying to hide my impatience, I shut the door just enough to remove the chain. "Nice to see you again, Detective."
Detective Olivia Benson put on a forced smile and nodded. "Sorry to bother you here, but I'd really like to talk to you just for a minute."
"Listen," I said, my frustration now thinly veiled. "I appreciate your stopping by, but you can tell John that I'm just fine."
Seeming genuinely surprised at my reaction, she replied: "I'm here on my own time, Miss Jones, just to see how you're doing." I was intrigued, so I opened the door wider so she could come in. "Nice flowers," she said to the vase there by the door. "From your family?"
I almost laughed at that. "No. They don't know. They'd take this as a sign and want me to come back home."
"And where's that?" she asked.
"Detroit," I said, hearing Shawn tossing stuff around her room. "Motown. Ah - Can we do this in the other room?"
"Sure," she replied, and I led her past the shut door to my bedroom and into my studio. It was littered with the paintings I had done since arriving in New York, cityscapes and neighborhood bodegas, swirls of color rife with cheer. I had put the few human subjects I'd done out of sight, mostly for my own protection. "Did you do these?" I nodded, pulling out an extra chair for myself. "Which are the most recent?"
"None of them are really recent. I haven't been able to paint much since ."
"Since the attack," she finished with gentle understanding.
"Since John broke up with me," I corrected. If she wanted to know how I'd been, I would tell her. "The attack was . horrible. Unimaginably so. Not a random crime, perhaps, but if it hadn't been me it would have been someone else. Are you a religious woman?" I asked.
Her eyes twitched away for an instant. "No."
"I am, and I hope that whoever did this finds God and finds peace, and I hope he does it from inside a cell so he can never hurt another woman the way he hurt me." Here I paused, planning carefully what I said next. "I feel strange telling you this. I know John thinks of you as a friend."
A smile flickered across her lips as if she found that comment flattering. "It's okay. I won't tell him a word."
Still, I wondered if I were doing the right thing to talk about him. I considered stopping right then, assuring her that everything was fine, and then seeing her out. Instead, my mouth continued speaking against my will. "One night we were walking home from dinner and this man came up to us with a gun, asking for our valuables. John just flashed his badge at him and he ran away. I'd never had my life threatened like that before, but John just put his arm around me and said: 'Don't you know I'd never let anything bad happen to you?' Then he broke up with me for no reason at all, and the man who raped me knew that that made me more vulnerable. And he should have been there with me that night to protect me. And he should be here now checking up on me."
"Munch is a practical man," she said, which is true, especially when he's at work. "I'm sure he thought he had reasons, even if they were no more real to us than his black helicopters and global organizations."
I could feel myself starting to choke up at hearing another person speak kindly of him. I fought it down and my mouth again went on without me, saying words I had not yet spoken out loud. "And even though I hate him, I love him more than anything despite it all. Odi et Amo - I hate and I love. I think that's Horace." I paused to catch my breath, but the words just kept coming. "I haven't even told him I was pregnant, that that man killed our baby." Olivia looked shocked: even her detective's cool couldn't hide that. "Haven't you seen my medical records? Or the tests results from my bedsheets?"
"All that is confidential. They only have to hand over DNA results," she said. "Are you sure it was John's?"
"I shouldn't have brought this up," I said, feeling that sense of panic rising in my throat again. "It was wrong of my to involve you."
"It's okay. Honestly. I won't tell him," she whispered, suddenly now just a fellow woman, and no longer behind her badge. "I won't say a word."
~*~*~*~*
"Are you sure I can't give you a ride over to where you're staying?" Olivia asked as I walked her to the door.
"I'll call a cab. Shawn'll see that I'm okay," I told her. "Thanks for stopping by."
She nodded. "I stand by my promises," she offered. There was nothing more for me to say, just to smile and shut the door behind her, wondering what the hell I had just done.
There was a knock at the door. Of course, my heart stopped and for a moment I stood panicked in the kitchen of the apartment, unable to answer or even to breathe. I was here only for a few minutes to collect some things while the sun was still up - was it possible .?
"Want me to get that?" Shawn called from her room. She sounded like she'd been crying.
"No, I got it," I replied, somehow finding my voice. I opened the door hesitantly, with the chain still on, to see a most unexpected visitor. Trying to hide my impatience, I shut the door just enough to remove the chain. "Nice to see you again, Detective."
Detective Olivia Benson put on a forced smile and nodded. "Sorry to bother you here, but I'd really like to talk to you just for a minute."
"Listen," I said, my frustration now thinly veiled. "I appreciate your stopping by, but you can tell John that I'm just fine."
Seeming genuinely surprised at my reaction, she replied: "I'm here on my own time, Miss Jones, just to see how you're doing." I was intrigued, so I opened the door wider so she could come in. "Nice flowers," she said to the vase there by the door. "From your family?"
I almost laughed at that. "No. They don't know. They'd take this as a sign and want me to come back home."
"And where's that?" she asked.
"Detroit," I said, hearing Shawn tossing stuff around her room. "Motown. Ah - Can we do this in the other room?"
"Sure," she replied, and I led her past the shut door to my bedroom and into my studio. It was littered with the paintings I had done since arriving in New York, cityscapes and neighborhood bodegas, swirls of color rife with cheer. I had put the few human subjects I'd done out of sight, mostly for my own protection. "Did you do these?" I nodded, pulling out an extra chair for myself. "Which are the most recent?"
"None of them are really recent. I haven't been able to paint much since ."
"Since the attack," she finished with gentle understanding.
"Since John broke up with me," I corrected. If she wanted to know how I'd been, I would tell her. "The attack was . horrible. Unimaginably so. Not a random crime, perhaps, but if it hadn't been me it would have been someone else. Are you a religious woman?" I asked.
Her eyes twitched away for an instant. "No."
"I am, and I hope that whoever did this finds God and finds peace, and I hope he does it from inside a cell so he can never hurt another woman the way he hurt me." Here I paused, planning carefully what I said next. "I feel strange telling you this. I know John thinks of you as a friend."
A smile flickered across her lips as if she found that comment flattering. "It's okay. I won't tell him a word."
Still, I wondered if I were doing the right thing to talk about him. I considered stopping right then, assuring her that everything was fine, and then seeing her out. Instead, my mouth continued speaking against my will. "One night we were walking home from dinner and this man came up to us with a gun, asking for our valuables. John just flashed his badge at him and he ran away. I'd never had my life threatened like that before, but John just put his arm around me and said: 'Don't you know I'd never let anything bad happen to you?' Then he broke up with me for no reason at all, and the man who raped me knew that that made me more vulnerable. And he should have been there with me that night to protect me. And he should be here now checking up on me."
"Munch is a practical man," she said, which is true, especially when he's at work. "I'm sure he thought he had reasons, even if they were no more real to us than his black helicopters and global organizations."
I could feel myself starting to choke up at hearing another person speak kindly of him. I fought it down and my mouth again went on without me, saying words I had not yet spoken out loud. "And even though I hate him, I love him more than anything despite it all. Odi et Amo - I hate and I love. I think that's Horace." I paused to catch my breath, but the words just kept coming. "I haven't even told him I was pregnant, that that man killed our baby." Olivia looked shocked: even her detective's cool couldn't hide that. "Haven't you seen my medical records? Or the tests results from my bedsheets?"
"All that is confidential. They only have to hand over DNA results," she said. "Are you sure it was John's?"
"I shouldn't have brought this up," I said, feeling that sense of panic rising in my throat again. "It was wrong of my to involve you."
"It's okay. Honestly. I won't tell him," she whispered, suddenly now just a fellow woman, and no longer behind her badge. "I won't say a word."
~*~*~*~*
"Are you sure I can't give you a ride over to where you're staying?" Olivia asked as I walked her to the door.
"I'll call a cab. Shawn'll see that I'm okay," I told her. "Thanks for stopping by."
She nodded. "I stand by my promises," she offered. There was nothing more for me to say, just to smile and shut the door behind her, wondering what the hell I had just done.