Ghost: An Addendum —Part 2
'She held my hand…'
It probably wasn't much to reflect on, but the image of Olivia with her in the ambulance made the traumatic ordeal that night easier to live with.
'Is it bad if I just want to tackle and squeeze her?'
Standing at the window with the file folder cradled in both hands, Alex lifted her gaze, unaware of her smile. 'Why her…' She shook off her thoughts and turned her attention to the police record. 'I need to focus.'
'Liam Connors, referred to as Ghost ha — What's taking her so long?'
Alex rolled her eyes. The pages might as well have said "Olivia" a thousand times over.
She looked out the window, a chill trying to force its way through the thick-layered glass as she lost herself in a daze. Her arms were wrapped around Olivia's midsection, tight and unrelenting. But most importantly, Olivia was smiling and— 'Shit.' Alex sighed with a grumble, looking to the documents and keeping the expletive to herself; no one had to know about her inner sailor's mouth.
'Would she even let me?'
Rejection, in all honesty, she never feared it. Suitors—of all kinds—sought her out. But Liv didn't seem fazed by her good looks. There was the occasional stare, but nothing indicating greater attraction. Most of the time the detective was so engrossed in the case at hand, that their interactions were relegated to something short and work-related. She wanted more of those conversations that turned personal when they only had each other for company.
Even then, Olivia spoke measured and careful, watching what and how much she said, often opting to be a listener. But the tranquil darkness harbored in her eyes made her a rather tough person to approach with matters of the heart, and trying to "figure her out" was a labyrinthine quest bound to fail from the start.
A couple times Alex tested the waters between them, throwing out a comment about a date she'd been on or had coming up, but Olivia's resolve was rock solid. She'd get quiet, not bothering to fill the awkward silence, and sometimes even amusedly smile.
"How'd it go?"
Olivia never failed to ask about the date the next time they met, forcing her to push out an honest "They were nice but…"
"Hang in there Cabot." Olivia's half-hearted consolation over her failed dates always seemed too smug; a small smile resting on the detective's features as she gave her a supportive pat.
"What's so funny?" She always wanted to catch Olivia before the woman could escape and ask that but didn't feel like opening pandora's box and pouring an unnecessary amount of tension between them.
A smile tugged at the corner of Alex's mouth. Her childish antics and manipulations never garnered the rise out of Olivia she hoped for. If anything, her talks of dating probably killed any chances with the detective.
"I want to date you." Straight forward, quick and easy, that's what she wanted to say. But to preserve their friendship and avoid a weirded-out look from Olivia, a blunt approach wasn't wise.
Alex's smile faded and she glanced to the empty couch. There was no gut feeling, no careful thought before she reached over taking Liv into that embrace, just automatic response after feeling Olivia's guilt.
Olivia didn't squirm or pull away. It surprised her how willingly the detective accepted her display of "friendly" affection. But something stirred within her, telling her this time it would be harder to let go.
It scared her.
Liv was here, real, not a figment of her memories. And feeling the detective mesh against her with every breath, squeezing her hand…she could've sat there forever.
Eric, the claims adjuster.
With his warm brown hair, eyes the same shade, and tan skin, she couldn't help but see a resemblance. More times than she wanted to admit, she'd envisioned Olivia's arms around her as she slept, only to shake off the disquieting thoughts or wake from embarrassingly vivid dreams.
"Surely just a coincidence. Many people have brown hair and tan skin. I'm digging too deep", she'd tell herself and attempt to move on with her day.
'Be blunt, say something. How much time have you wasted? If the friendship is meant to survive it will.'
Alex relented to her alter ego's truth with a sigh. All the missed opportunities to get closer to Olivia before witness protection still haunted her.
'Don't you want answers? You might never get a chance like this again.'
Alex's gaze turned to the stagnant city view outside the window. Liv joked about the characteristic smell of rotting garbage ruminating in Manhattan's air, but this was home. Everything was here.
She closed the folder around her thumb.
Openness lingered between them tonight, but her thoughts drifted back to Eric just as she mustered the strength she needed.
"The man of women's dreams, huh…But does he know how to make money?" That's what her cynical, high-society mother chuckled over the phone as she told her about Eric's gentle and tender nature. "Well…at least you're not a lesbian…always thought you'd be one for some reason. Maybe it was the suit." That's also what her mother said, to which she incredulously smirked on the other end of the phone.
Eric's advances were smooth and charming, but she'd been weary of them nonetheless, waiting for his ulterior motives. They never came. She enjoyed his company. He'd wrap his arms around her waist and kiss the crook of her neck; she would smile. And on those rougher days, he'd be there with his bright grin, trying to lift her spirits as he consoled her fears and worries.
It could've worked. He had a way of fascinating her, wasn't bad in bed, and…
She clenched her jaw as her thoughts strayed.
No, it could've worked…
But when he said "Emily" as they made love it never failed to send a chill down her spine, like nails on a chalkboard ripping her out of a dream and into reality, reminding her of everything she'd lost.
Accepting his bashful promises with uncertain but grateful smiles and turning his chaste kisses into something more, she tried to be what he needed, to fulfill what she needed in return. But emptiness lingered, forever hanging over her "new life".
No matter how much she tried to force the door closed, her past always escaped through the cracks.
Getting used to a new existence and leaving behind the old was supposed to be the plan. No court, no Manhattan, and no Liv.
It was nearly a success. They'd taken her phone, her apartment, her car, even her clothes—everything and anything linking her to "Alex". But they couldn't take the fear inducing memories, waking nightmares, and chronic pain that resurfaced every couple of months.
The media, the movies, they had it all wrong with their rose-colored depictions. It was impossible to get shot and come out unscathed.