A/N: This is what happens when I get prompt words. I come up with all these little things that really have nothing to do with anything, but at the same time, make perfect sense. And SVU's not mine and I'm rambling, so I'm out of here. :runs away:
The lights are all off when you get home. They always are. You're used to it by now, because there's never anyone else there waiting. If there was, the lights would all be on. And you wouldn't be able to just fall into bed and go to sleep…if you can sleep at all. Usually, you'll stay awake for a few hours, just staring at the ceiling, only drifting off when the clock tells you that you have a short amount of time before you're due on shift again.
It's hard to forget the things you've seen. Children lying there in their beds, looking as if they're asleep, when in reality, they're dead. Women left to die in darkened alleys in the middle of the night, only to be found the next morning. And then there are the living victims, the ones with haunted eyes that keep you awake more often than anything else.
You came for a change. You didn't want to see the dead bodies anymore, the blood on the sidewalks, and the families standing off to the side, looks of stunned disbelief on their faces. But this isn't any different. You listened to the rumors about the unit, but you ignored them. Twenty-odd years as a cop, and you'd thought you'd seen it all, but in truth, you're only just starting to see. And it's only making it worse. Even if the victims live physically, emotionally, they are, for the most part, dead. And it pains you to see it.
It's because you feel as if you don't have a choice that you volunteered in. Leaving Baltimore wasn't a big enough change…no, you had to take on another department, another unit. More years of sleepless nights, when all you can see are victims' faces, when all you can hear are their voices. You close your eyes as you lie there, but it doesn't do any good. You can only hear their voices that much clearer…you can only see their faces that much better. So you turn on your side and open your eyes again, staring out the nearby window.
Sounds from the city drift up towards you, despite the fact that the window is closed. It's been the same for the past seven years, ever since you came here. The streetlights are at an angle so that if you lie a certain way, they're shining directly into your eyes. So you turn again, and look at the clock on the bedside table. Red digits glare back at you. You've lost all sense of time by now, and you're surprised to see that nearly two hours have already passed since you first walked in the door. Rolling onto your back, you kick off your shoes and resume staring at the ceiling, even though you know there's nothing there.
And finally, you close your eyes with the intent of trying to sleep, hoping that you'll fade into nothingness, but you never do. There's always something there. Sometimes you wake up from it, sometimes you don't. But either way, it is an escape, a way for you to get away from the harsh realities around you.
After all, it's been said that dreams are the things that can save you from yourself.