Chapter 3 –  Never Let Them See You Bleed

Serena's parents were staying at the Waldorf-Astoria and had tried to convince her to remain with them, but Serena had insisted that returning to a normal routine would be best.  Numbing the pain would only work for so long.  Something like pride and sadness had flashed through her father's eyes when she had proclaimed her intent to go back to work, but he had couched it in a solemn, "Your mother and I love you, Serena.  We'll be here as long as you need us."

Her mother had walked down to the lobby with her and hugged her again before letting her get in a cab. 

Then it was back to her apartment, where the doorman had exclaimed loudly over her bruised face and promised her whatever she needed.  She caught some of her more curious neighbors watching her through their peepholes.  She couldn't blame them; she was the proverbial car wreck.  It was just human nature.

In the bathroom, she opened up the hot water all the way and scrubbed with a loofah until her skin was red. 

She had read a transcript of a rape victim's interview while preparing for Cabot's left over case.  She had tried to see what that woman saw to psych herself up for the trial.  But the feelings she had imagined had just been words to her: pain, humiliation, fear, anger.  She had been indignant, yes, outraged even, but unable to really comprehend the ramifications of the crime.

She understood now, no matter how much she denied it.  It felt like a part of him was imprinted on her.  If she looked in the mirror, she was afraid she wouldn't see her own face.  She felt dirty all over; even the feel of her own hands made her jumpy.  This was no way to live.

Makeup seemed like a cheap way to avoid the truth.  No amount of concealer would hide the massive bruise on the left side of her face.  She put on light lip gloss and eye shadow, trying to look natural.

Serena stood in her bedroom for a long time, just staring into her closet.  Her wardrobe looked ridiculous now.  How should a rape survivor dress?  She grimaced and pulled on a pair of slacks and a turtleneck sweater.  She probably could have waltzed through her office wearing sackcloth and she still would have been treated with kid gloves.  She grabbed her coat and scarf, scooped up her briefcase, and went downstairs, hoping to God she could find a plausible reason to avoid the doorman. 

When she walked through the front doors of the DA's office, she could feel eyes on her from every corner.  News spread quickly in this building, and it was already nine in the morning.  Ten hours was plenty of time for word to go around.  Poor Serena Southerlyn, made a victim by the kind of person she prosecuted for a living.  The elevator ride was hell.

Still, the last thing she expected when she walked into her office was to hear Jack McCoy grunt, "What the hell are you doing here?"

She turned around to see her boss standing in the door, dressed in a fresh suit and tie.  He wasn't quite scowling at her, his expressive eyebrows somewhere between bemused and frustrated.

"You have a pink slip in your pocket for me, Jack?  Otherwise, it's still a weekday."  She set her satchel on her desk with rather more force than usual, the solid thunk serving to enforce her point.

"For God's sake, Serena, at least take one day off," argued Jack.  "It hasn't even been twenty-four hours."

"You don't need to remind me," she snapped before she could catch herself.  Jack looked visibly chastised and Serena had to take a silent breath for composure.  "I can't be by myself right now.  This is where I feel the safest," she explained when she was calmer.

He looked like he wanted to argue, at which point Serena would have gladly punched him in the face, but he nodded curtly.  "I'd like a brief on LaCroix by the end of the day," he told her, and left it at that.