Copious amounts of Malibu + social cat + NYC energy + no hangover = this update.
She doesn't feel the glass nick her skin as it rains down on her, maybe she managed to avoid it or maybe she is too numb to feel it. She does however hear him unlock the door and then his hands are on her, moving her out of the car.
She pinches her eyes closed, no part of her is able to believe that this is actually her partner dragging her out onto the darkened street. She goes with his pull because she knows resistance will only cause more damage to her shoulder. He lifts her completely, her feet barely touching the glass-covered pavement before her back is slipping haphazardly against the backseat with a sideways thud.
He drags the seatbelt over her chest and clicks it into place with a strained exhale. As he moves in close she can smell sweat, musk and fumes and then she feels something on her, a dampness on the material of her dress just above her abdomen. Her hands move over it and when she inspects her fingers she realises it's blood.
"You know I don't want to do this," he rasps down at her and that's when she sees the familiar shine of metal bracelets in his hands. He must have taken the cuffs from Tony's car but she's too busy inspecting the blood to acknowledge what he is insinuating.
"Tell me I don't have to do this," he whispers down at her, his voice strained. He pauses then, he wants her to say something, anything that will stop him from taking away more of her freedom than he already has.
But she doesn't react. She doesn't resist. She is done resisting. The man in front of her is not her partner but she knows he isn't quite ready to hammer that final nail into their coffin so she does it for him. Her eyes move up to his, empty as they come, capturing those unfamiliar blues before she says it.
"Do it," she spits, her voice baseless. Maybe she's so used to the pain that it's now become tolerable, expected - familiar. More familiar than him.
He studies her, caught off guard by her answer but equally concerned that every minute they stand here is a moment closer to danger.
"I askedyou to trust me," he rasps, almost angry with her that she didn't.
'I don't.' She wants to spit back but although the words never leave her mouth it would appear they didn't have to. His eyes narrow at her as if he has lost all hope. He tosses the metal cuffs to the side and they bounce off the leather seat and onto the floor. She continues to stare absently at him until he slams the car door with a thud and moves around to the drivers seat, slamming it shut with a similar vigour.
He turns the engine once more before he takes a deep breath, the air settling around them before his eyes flit to the rearview mirror and lock with hers.
"Kill us both Olivia," he tells her bitterly. "I don't care," he rasps before putting the car into gear.
"We're both dead anyway."
She wakes up with a start.
She doesn't know if she had lost consciousness or if she had just fallen asleep.
Elliot is no longer in the drivers seat and they're parked in front of a battered motel room door marked 124.
She starts to sit up, crusty dried blood staining her dress, marking her hand – confusion still present as to where it has come from. She spies a male patron exiting one of the rooms to her left. He's dressed in tattered clothing, no shoes and is stumbling towards the carpark. That's when she see's Elliot's frame move through the lobby doors passing the drunken man as he heads towards their vehicle with something in his hands.
He opens the car door on her side.
"Let's go," he whispers, holding the door open for her as her vacant eyes stare up at him. "I got us a room," he explains.
She feels like she's woken up in a groggy daze. She's dehydrated, nauseous and concerned about their surroundings.
She spies a woman in ripped stockings and tarnished heels stalking past their car towards the man in tattered clothing. She tries to turn around to peer out the backseat without angering her shoulder. She sees no highway in sight or even a road for that matter. It would seem he has driven them into the outskirts of a small, unfamiliar town to a motel full of prostitutes and drug dealers.
"Where are we?" Her groggy voice questions, unsure if it's entirely safe to exit the vehicle. She doesn't even know what state they are in, let alone town at this point.
"Safer than we were on the road," he tells her, his expression marred with impatience at her lack of movement.
She starts to slowly sit up, flinching as her cut-up feet drag against carpeted floor. When she finally moves out of the vehicle the moment her bare feet touch asphalt he wastes no time ushering her towards their room.
She watches him insert the key and when she steps forward into darkness their room feels dim and unsettling. Her nose twitches under the stark smells of cigarettes and mothballs and when he turns on the light the first thing she sees is a small suitcase on the bed, a larger one on the floor, a lone bottle of vodka and a drugstore paper bag.
Her heart starts to thrum when she hears Elliot deadbolt the door behind her.
"Is someone here?" Her throat is already congested from the cigarette stench, her mind swirling in a cloud of confusion as she tries to back up, her shoulder knocking into his side.
Did Elliot already enter this room while she was asleep and accumulate this mass of products? Or did they belong to someone else?
He steps forward, his eyes scanning over her dishevelled exterior until they settle on her face.
"You should shower," he tells her slowly. His voice low, his tone no-nonsense. "Warm up - get clean."
He then moves towards the first suitcase, clicking open each buckle until he is pulling out a woman's t-shirt, sweat pants, underwear and a hoodie. He holds the pile out to her but she doesn't take it.
"Put these on and when you're done I'll check out your shoulder."
She looks down at the fresh clothes in his hands before her eyes return to the bottle of vodka resting beside the suitcase.
She tries not to draw parallels with Lewis but it's too late her mind is going there, her stomach already turning as she recalls the rocket fuel he made her consume that night. She turns away from the bottle of liquor, her hands starting to tremble. He can see she is notably effected by the sight so he moves forward, grasping her forearm gently and turning her around to face him. He waits until he gains her full eye contact before he speaks.
"Disinfectant Olivia," he tells her slowly, his eyes moving from one eye to another. "For your cuts."
She swallows. She has questions. So many questions about why they are here, what will happen to them and why he hasn't even mentioned his handlers let alone called them but her exhaustion and the sudden desire for a warm shower starts to win out.
Without another word she takes the stack of clothes and moves towards the bathroom door, closing it slowly behind her with a click before locking it from the inside. When she lets go of the handle she can feel her hands trembling in full force as she realises for the first time that evening that she is finally alone. She's still on guard but she feels like she can breathe again.
She moves towards the sink intent on washing her grimy hands but the moment she catches her reflection she stills. Dark eye makeup smudges the rims of her eyes, dirt and grime mark her skin – bruises, hickeys and trails of light scratches cover her neck while dried blood pools beneath her nose. She sees Elliot's hands all over her, marking her, bruising her, his mouth biting into flesh – fingernails digging into her skin. As she moves closer, inspecting her body in the reflection the polarities from Lewis are unmistakable.
She sets down the clothes softly and can't seem to still her trembling hands. It's as if the whole night has caught up to her in that one moment. Her empty hands make contact with the ceramic counter as she tries to steady herself, her eyes boring holes into her own reflection.
Just shower. She tells herself. One step at a time. Don't think about it right now. Just get under the spray.
Her eyes move downward taking in the tattered, ripped strap of her dress that now hangs limply down her side, a large portion of her stained lace bra exposed. She slides the remainder of the material down one handed, sucking in a breath as it scrapes across her bruised ribs.
She winces, she knows her left shoulder won't accommodate unzipping it from behind so she just tugs it firmly down her body once - twice, retching it downward in small bursts until she hears it rip as it finally starts to slip down her torso.
"Ugh," she winches as it hitches on a tender part of her waist where Elliot had grabbed her but she continues through it, yanking it downward one handed until it slips over her hips and finally falls to the floor. She turns to the side to inspect her hips in the reflection and she sees it now, red marks almost finger like as she takes in the extent of the damage.
It's not real.She thinks. This time it's not real.But she can't escape the feeling that it is.
Her fingers smooth across the markings Elliot had caused before a light tap on the door behind her causes her to jump in response.
"You okay?" she hears Elliot's muffled voice through wood and she closes her eyes, he must have heard her wrestling with her dress and it's a jarring reminder that there may be a door between them but she isn't actually alone in here.
"Yes," her voice croaks and that's when she hears the raw emotion break in her voice because she knows no part of this is okay. She swallows, her eyes beginning to prick with long overdue tears and she takes in a shaky breath, biting into her lip, trying to stop herself in her tracks but the salty residue is already brimming below her irises threatening to overspill.
She holds her breath, wading through the silence until she's sure he has retreated. Slowly then she begins to drag her underwear down her thighs but it's rough lace scraping over open cuts that finally breaks her and there is nothing she can do to stop the salty liquid from spilling down her cheeks.
TBC
