Emotional Distress
"These wounds won't seem to heal...there's just too much that time cannot erase"
"I keep thinking I'll find Kathleen like this. Besides, what this guy did to her..." he trailed off, unable to produce the words to explain the carnage before them. The murderer-rapist had slit the girl's wrists, raped her, and then cut her all over with a switchblade or utility knife, watching her as she slowly bled to death. Melinda took a rape kit, but she knew it would be useless, as the blood had tainted the fluids.
"I know. It's pretty gruesome," Olivia comforted him, although she felt no discomfort. It was after eleven. "Well, I think we should get some sleep and work on it first thing tomorrow morning."
"Do you want a ride home?" her over-protective partner asked. Ever since she'd been forced to shoot her stalker, he constantly worried about her safety, and ever since his wife died in a car accident, he was more emotional than Olivia had ever been herself.
"I'll be fine," the detective replied, looking deeply into his ice blue eyes, her hand resting on his muscular shoulder. "There's a bus coming by soon, it'll drop me off three blocks from my apartment."
"This late?"
"Service here stops at 11:30. See you tomorrow, she told him, and commandingly walked over the crime scene tape CSU had placed half and hour before.
Olivia Benson lay in bed, dozing off and waking up, realizing her body wanted to play games before it shut down for the night. The stunningly loud noise of her cell phone, amplified by the wood table it sat on, woke her with its urgent ring. She rolled of her bed grumpily.
"Benson," she said into the phone, her annoyance clear.
"Hey, Liv." It was her partner. "I just wanted to make sure you got home safe."
"Yeah. Thanks."
"Well, don't let the bedbugs bite."
She chuckled. He too must be exhausted, teasing her as he would the twins.
"Good night, Elliot," she told him.
"Good night."
Realizing she wouldn't be able to get to sleep for a bit, Olivia strolled over to her kitchen and made a cup of hot cocoa—heavy on the sugar. It brought back memories of her high school years. She was a sophomore when forced to take Biology. It came first period for her, which was fine until the dissection unit. She and her best friend, Annelisse, had always stopped by the gas station for hot cocoa on their way to school; the inside of a female frog, their first dissection, quickly put an end to Annelisse's habit, although Olivia still loved it.
About that time, a couple weeks, maybe a month before the dissections, Olivia'd done a little experimentational dissecting herself. Her mother, it seemed, was either constantly drunk or hung-over, her grades were steadily dropping , no matter how hard she studied, and the junior she had a crush on and had just been promised a movie by had committed suicide. It was a natural way to deal with all the stress, a counselor told her later—she didn't have to be ashamed of cutting herself.
It started strangely—some of the girls she walked home from school with bragged to her about their piercings and tattoos—and, once they were sure they could trust her—how they cut themselves as a release. She tried it one day, a pair of silver scissors stained with drops of ruby blood. She started on her upper leg, where no one would see—it felt so good, the pain was almost redeeming. Next, she moved to her wrists. She covered them with band aids, covering those with watches, bracelets, and long sleeves. Finally, Annelisse told her she knew and threatened to tell the principal, so she stopped out of embarrassment and fear. By then, the emotional river had run dry, and she felt—at least she thought so—better.
Since the cutting had instilled in her a guard against any squeamishness her classmates had, she was the ideal dissection student. She dissected each organism carefully and with respect, amazed at how neatly the insides fit together. Mr. Zwinel, the teacher, found himself spending a great deal of first period at Olivia's lab station, helping her, showing here where to cut and what to notice.
Recalling the emotional roller coaster called high school had exhausted Olivia and her mug of hot cocoa. She put the mug to soak in the sink and loped back to her still-warm bed, snuggling another pillow under the comforting covers.