Rating: T for language

She winced a little bit at the cold tile beneath her bare feet, goosebumps patterned across her skin.

She stood in front of her bathroom sink, nude, shockingly dull blue eyes staring intensely at the mirror in front of them, searching for something. Searching for what she'd lost a mere few hours ago. The time passed seemed daunting, and muddled. Like she hadn't even gone through it herself.

Maybe what she was searching for- what wasn't there any longer, might never be again- was hope. She wasn't entirely sure, but Amanda wasn't Amanda anymore.

Water dripped from her body, trailing down into a small puddle at her feet. Her right hand lifted to her right cheek, fingers gently tracing the purple bruise that had formed there. She could still feel the cold metal, the gun...her cheek felt ice cold, she felt ice cold.

She clenched her eyes shut and lowered her head, shoving away the memories as her hands gripped the sides of the sink, knuckles white, hands shaking, she was shaking. Sighing deeply, Amanda chucked to herself...what the fuck did she do?

After what seemed an eternity, she reached out for the towel that she knew hung on the nearby rack, wrapping herself in the soft purple material. Running her hand through her wet locks, her piercing blue eyes stared right back at her, laughing at her, mocking her. The voices yelled and screamed in her head, reminding her just how much of a fuck up she was.

Weak.

She knew it.

Amanda knew she was weak and pathetic. Old habits crawling through her skin like venom.

A break up, of all things, causing her to stumble back and fall into hell itself, a pit with no bottom, a free-fall was she. The neon lights, cigarette smoke and hard liquor was the only thing she needed, the only thing she knew in order to get through the days. And the nights. And everything in-between.

Well...there were worse things. People, more like. A person.

Spending every waking moment in the same building, same car, and, hell, even crossing paths on the way to the bathroom made her just about ready to crawl out of her own skin.

Those dark brown eyes that would stare, trying to read her like she was a book to be picked up and then tossed aside once the words had been read, once the secrets the pages held had been aired out. That fucking gaze, clearly holding a myriad of questions that the host daren't ask.

Amanda wouldn't let herself be open in such a way ever again, wouldn't let herself think, and yet, she stood in front of her mirror, wrapped in a towel, wishing that Olivia was there to hold her and kiss her self-pity away.

Gambling was her vice, her escape from being at the older woman's side, hell, in her near vicinity.

The stench of stale cigarettes ensured the removal of every last wisp of rose scented perfume that she'd inevitably inhaled throughout the day.

She needed to throw her mind and body into anything to remove herself from her own head, and the blackjack table was where she found peace.

But, well, that was until she was founded as a cop in an illegal underground gambling. Then, she was forced to use her 'special skills' to fix any problem of the owner's, or else it was her job or, her life. And truth be told, Amanda could have cared less about her life, worthless as it was. But oh, she took pride in her job and losing her badge- and not to mention Olivia's respect- was something she couldn't handle.

And now, she was to face her Sergeant, and her former lover, after finally taking down the gambling operation with a fellow officer, Lieutenant Murphy. She was lucky that he'd saved her and put her undercover instead of turning her in. Maybe he had a few vices of his own, maybe drugs or even hookers, who knew, but Amanda was forever grateful for Murphy treating her with such respect, rather than like she was a lost child.

She only wished, hoped, and prayed to the God that she didn't believe in, that Olivia Benson would do the same.