Hello lovelies! I had good intentions of getting this thing done quickly after leaving y'all hanging at the end of that last chapter but alas, life interfered. My sincerest apologies.
While we're on the subject of apologies, this chapter contradicts a spoiler I had shared with a few of you...that was not intentional. This part took on a life of its own while I sat and shook my head and said well...I guess if that's how you wanna play it…
Some of you will adore me after this, some will hate me, all will likely have their soul crushed a time or two. Whichever category you fall into, I continue to lovelovelove everyone who takes the time to let me know their thoughts. I have so much fun reading them...if you've been lurking, please don't be shy, I'd love to hear from you too! I'm a nice person when I'm not torturing fictional characters and channeling psychopaths, I promise.
A/N: remember what I said last time about SVU meets HBO? I still mean it. Serious warnings for sex and violence here, so tread with caution. Once again, title and quotes from one by the incomparable U2. Consider the last quote as a hint of things to come in the next installment.
As before, the italicized paragraphs are the words of one William Lewis (which you all figured out last time, yes?
«so let me get this straight, you want me to just go plead guilty...why, now? Because I'm supposed to be impressed by your threats? Lemme tell you something right here, okay, I know how to work the system. Every. Single. Time. So I guess you could say I feel pretty good about taking my chances in front of a jury again. Even if I didn't...fuck, man, I wouldn't pass it up for the world. I've been counting the days for seven months now!
Why? I'll tell you why. You ever see those big animal heads that hunters have stuffed and put 'em up on the wall? Yeah, you know what I'm talkin about. It's not good enough to just sit and remember it, you wanna be able to look at that motherfucker everyday and think yeah, I killed that son of a bitch. That was me! And that's half the fun of killing it in the first place, gettin to relive that. Do you see what I'm saying? Why would I turn down my one opportunity to enjoy it all over again? Cause I will enjoy it. I'm imagining it right now. I get to be there and hear it all come out of that pretty mouth of hers. Every little detail. Like about when I fucked that old lady and killed the husband while she watched? It was nothin' personal against them, I just needed someone to make an example of. Just in case she'd started to forget what I was capable of if she didn't behave. And it worked.
But I'm getting off topic...where was I? Oh yeah. I was saying how I can't wait until she has to tell everyone what happened at those people's house, how I asked her which way she wanted me to fuck her and she said I could do her up the ass. Jesus, that was good. I didn't believe her when she said she hadn't before but...it's an honor to be the first, you know? Until the little slut starts crying and screaming for me to stop and I said this is what you wanted, you stupid whore! Now, you've got a dead guy laying by you over there, and you can either shut the fuck up and start liking it or that bitch upstairs is gonna be joining him. And yep, that did it- she stopped giving me any more trouble after that.
Do you get it now, why there's no deal? I'm gonna have the fuckin time of my life.»
{have you come here for forgiveness?
have you come to raise the dead?
have you come here to play Jesus to the lepers in your head?}
[I need to see you]
[you could call]
[no I can't do this over the phone]
[well I'm not coming to your place]
[Brian's gone]
[forever?]
[please just get over here. I don't want to do this any more than you do]
The knock at the door was hardly a knock. It was barely more than a tapping sound, one you might have missed completely if you hadn't known to expect it.
You had on a hoodie and a pair of pants that you hadn't touched since last July, soft and oversized for when it was almost unbearable to have anything brushing against your skin. You'd sit on the couch with your shoulders hunched over and your hands jammed into the pocket, watching Brian watch tv in your peripheral vision, wishing to disappear entirely within your fleece cocoon.
It still seems like a tempting idea now, while you and Elliot stare wordlessly at each other from opposite sides of the doorway. He looks like he hasn't ate, slept, showered, or shaved in days- and he probably hasn't. He smells like stale beer and it's 10:30 in the fucking morning.
"Come in," you say after you've already turned and walked away. He says nothing. "You want a drink?"
You shrug when he doesn't answer, popping the top off a Blue Moon. He's barely made it past the door, standing in the entryway like a big hungover statue.
"Sit down," you command, and he does as told. You're staying right where you are, observing from the safety of the kitchen, because it all but literally ached to be any closer to him when you didn't know what to do or say and all you wanted was to make it stop hurting.
"You never told me you fucked dumbass more than once."
"Excuse me?"
"Back in the day. He said you actually hooked up three or four times."
"It was three times, and I don't see how it matters, or why he even told you that," you said, wondering what else about your sexual history might have been shared yesterday while Brian answered the phone when Elliot called. If the way Brian was glowering and muttering to himself afterward was any indication, it hadn't been the friendliest of conversations.
"Yeah, I guess you must've forgotten to mention that to me."
"Why is- know what, Elliot, that's not what you came over here to talk about."
"It's not," he finally admits before changing subjects without warning. "You know I only did it for you."
"Mmhmm. Because once again you knew what was best for me, right?"
"I knew that having to go to court and relive it all wasn't it."
You squeeze the neck of your bottle, tempted to just throw it at the wall and watch it smash, meeting the same fate as so many of its brothers who've passed your way before. "See, the thing is...as humiliating as I'm sure it'll be, most of the people there are strangers. It'll be over and they'll know way too much about me but once it's done...that's it. Why do you think I've already told everyone I don't want them there in the courtroom while it's going on? There's just some things you don't wanna share with the people that you..."
"That you what?"
"It wasn't any of your business, Elliot! Goddamn it. This is exactly what I didn't want-"
"I'm not going to apologize," he blurts out. "I'm not sorry I went there. I would do it again, I'd just snap his neck this time."
"I, I, I! Do you see what's wrong with this here? It's all about what you want, you're not even thinking about how I would feel. Your only regret is...so was it really worth it? You feel better now?"
"You're fucking ridiculous. You really think I do? I did it because I had to, not-"
"You had to. You had no choice. That's bullshit. You know who didn't have a choice in any of this? Me. I didn't have a choice then and now I...do you even get any of this? You know what it feels like? It feels like being raped all over again," you say, voice dropping off into a near-whisper by the time you get to the last sentence, but he looks like he's just been hit by a sonic boom. You can't watch, can't live with seeing him like this, so you turn and stare vacantly out the window, fist pressed against your mouth and biting your knuckles to keep from crying.
"Liv."
"Don't. Touch. Me," you warn as you sense him coming closer, even though you can tell he's nowhere near being within arms' reach of you.
"I'm not going to, I promise."
"Don't talk to me like that! Like I'm some fucking fragile china doll."
"Figure out what the hell you want, then!" There it is, you think, perversely happy that you'd finally gotten him to raise his voice to you.
Wrapping your arms around your waist protectively, you watch a garbage truck barrel down the street below. The sky above is white-gray and it'll start to snow soon. "I can't do this anymore."
"Do what."
"This!" you say, turning back to face him, hearing in your head all the times you insisted that there was no 'this'. "I mean, really...what the hell did we think was gonna happen?"
"So now all of a sudden 'this' exists?" and you knew he wouldn't let you get away with that, not without calling you out on it.
"Oh jesus christ, Elliot, let's just cut the bullshit. There was a 'this'. Was."
"Liv...don't talk like that. Nothing's changed."
"Everything's changed! How do you not see that? I had one good thing. You were the one thing I had that he couldn't touch, and you ruined that when you had to go off and play the hero without thinking how I might have felt about it!"
"I was trying to protect you," he insists, voice quiet and resolute.
"Well, you failed. Nice work."
He lifts his head, looking you in the eyes for the first time since he'd stepped past the doorway, and his pupils are bloodshot beyond what a simple lack of sleep and overabundance of alcohol can do. "You think I didn't know that already?"
"Fucking...are you going to cry? Really? Excuse me while I have a hard time feeling sympathetic. Why don't you go home and wallow in your guilt complex there? You've got more than enough material to keep you busy with that for a while. Leave me out of it, please."
"Oh, that's right, according to you that's the only reason I ever do anything," he says with a sneer. "Isn't it? Cause there's no chance that I might actually care about you and-"
"You care about me. Yeah, I'm sure you-"
"Will you just shut the hell up and let me-"
"I didn't want you to know!" You barely even recognize the shrieking voice as your own, sound bouncing off the walls and cabinets so forcefully that you can almost feel the vibration in the air. "I didn't want you to know," you say again, but softly this time. "And I was trying to be as honest with you as I could, but...it should've been my choice, and you took that away from me. It wasn't for you to decide."
"Liv..."
"Even though you're not the only one to blame...he's a goddamn motherfucking psychopath, I expect that much from him. But you...I trusted you and now I feel so completely violated. I hate you. I fucking hate you for that."
"Liv. I."
"But I hate myself even more," you say, oblivious to his attempts to cut in. "I'm such a fucking mess, I'm sitting here thinking about how much I hate you and I. I want. All I w-want is my goddamn best friend to tell me it's gonna be okay. What the hell is wrong with me?"
He doesn't say anything, but you see him rest his palm behind yours on the counter. You turn around and try to face him head on, try to tell him to go fuck himself once and for all and then shove him out the door.
But you don't. You don't do any of it. Instead, you just sob.
He hesitates before putting his hand on your shoulder, so lightly that it's hovering more than actually touching you, and when you don't move to stop him he takes a step closer in your direction. You want to hit him, to lash out with everything you have to prove how unspeakably furious you are, but he's warm and he's familiar and he's there, goddamn him, and you can't walk away from that.
"Let it out. It's okay, let it out," he reassures you under his breath, and for the first time there's a strange sense of comfort in the fact that he knows, he knows why you're crying and he's still here anyway. He knows that you're disgusting, that you're a victim, and yet for some reason he hasn't left.
But the comfort doesn't last. "I mean it, I hate you," you blurt out suddenly, shoving at his chest to push him back away from you.
"I thought you already did."
"You're going to be a fucking smartass right now? Really?"
"No, I'm just saying that you've told me you hate me before, and I said I didn't blame you, that you were entitled. You still are."
You tilt your head back, glancing up at the ceiling and running a hand through your hair. "What happened to 'I'm not sorry, I'm not going to apologize'?"
"Liv. Just because I'm not sorry I went there doesn't mean...had I known, I wouldn't have bothered trying to talk to him, I would've gone straight to breaking his neck. Because I am sorry that...jesus. You didn't deserve to get hurt again."
"And you can't just apologize and make it go away."
"I never thought I could." He rubs his jaw, looking past your shoulder and out the window as if there might be an escape route he hadn't previously noticed. "Look. I really fuckin hope it goes without saying but...I will never breathe a word of it to anyone. Not even you. I'm not gonna mention it, I'm not gonna ask you about it- if you decide you want to talk about it someday, okay. Otherwise, I won't."
You nod halfheartedly. "But it's still in your head."
"Yeah. It is," he admits. "I can't stop thinking that-"
"Enough. I told you, I'm not coming along on your guilt trip."
He looks like he wants to take that bottle and hurl it at the wall before you get the chance. "Okay, Olivia, you know what? You're right, I feel guilty. Wouldn't you? Yeah. You would. I haven't slept in three days- and I know you don't want to hear it, but it's because I feel so fucking sick about all of this shit. That it happened in the first place, that everything got fucked up again and I was part of it. And I'm telling you this because you would feel the same goddamn way if you were in my shoes."
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, you shouldn't-"
"Shouldn't what? Shouldn't care about you? Cause I know that scares you shitless- but it's a little too late to try and stop me now. You don't have to like it, but you're not gonna change my mind. Sorry."
"No you're not, you bastard," you say, unable to keep a hint of affection from mingling with the frustration in your voice. "And I'm so tired of your apologies. I really, really am."
"So what is it that you want? Honestly."
"I. I still don't know." You do know that kissing him isn't going to get you any closer to being able to answer that question, at least not in the grander scheme of things, but that doesn't stop you from doing it. You can taste the salt from the remaining teardrops rolling down your face, landing between your lips as your mouths crash together again and again.
Before long he has one hand tangled in your hair and the other resting at the small of your back. "Shit, do you..."
"Yeah. Bedroom," you say without waiting to find out what the question is.
"Sure?" You nod and the next thing you know, you've got your legs wrapped around his waist and you're laughing for the first time in days as he's carrying you down the hall. When he drops you on the bed, you let yourself fall back against the mattress before all but bouncing back up, grabbing onto his shirt and pulling it up and over his head.
You run your hands up and down his arms as he kisses your neck, because god you love them, love that you're finally allowed to touch. You're all too happy to shed your own very ratty, very unsexy sweatshirt, and you're not wearing a bra underneath and that in turn seems to make him happy. (You've learned very quickly that not only is he a breast man, but he also likes being able to see what he's working with.)
Now it's getting more heated, but it's nothing you haven't done before, and it feels good. It feels like forgetting. He's sucking your nipple into his mouth and it's easy to pretend that nothing has changed, that this is still your own secret world that no one else can enter. You lift your hips to push your sweats down over your ass and he pauses. "Liv, we don't have to..."
"I know we don't, but I want to," you say, and the urgency in your voice must be enough to convince him- for now. You nod when he looks at you questioningly and hooks his thumbs around the sides of your underwear, which quickly join the rest of your clothes somewhere at the foot of the bed.
He's already got two fingers inside you when he leans down and nuzzles the sensitive spot behind your ear. "Tell me what you want."
"I want- ohh. Fuck me." Your eyes are closed and yet you can still read the expression on his face. "El. I'm serious."
You don't need anyone to tell you that this may not be the greatest idea you've had lately. That it isn't going to solve anything- quite the opposite, in fact- that your emotions are all over the place and you're feeling especially vulnerable and things are moving way too fast for you to think about whether this is what you really want. But it feels good, and you know he wants you, and it was going to happen eventually anyway. So it might as well be now, when you need the escape. Because what he said about you, it was wrong. He was wrong about everything.
Elliot doesn't say yes or no, just swallows hard and kisses you and asks if you want another finger, but you know that ultimately it's impossible for him to deny you anything. Especially when you've already started working on getting his pants off. "You know you can tell me to stop if you change your mind..."
"I don't want you to stop," you insist, sighing a little in disappointment when his fingers slip out of you. But it's short-lived, because now you're both completely undressed and he's situated between your legs, rubbing the head of his cock up and down your center. "Jesus fucking...damnit. Wait."
"You okay?" he asks, backing off quickly as you lean over and fish blindly through the drawer in the nightstand until you find what you want.
"I thought you were on the pill."
"I am. But I also know you have five unplanned children and you could probably knock me up just by looking at me long enough. I'm not taking chances here."
You know you've got him there, that he's not going to argue while you're feeding his ego. And on the subject of feeding his ego...you have to admit, you're a tiny bit intimidated. You knew from previous experience that he wasn't exactly small, that was no surprise, but you also know that there's a pretty significant difference between theory and practice. Fortunately for you, he seems to pick up on your worries without you having to say anything. "Do you- I mean, is it better if you're on top?"
"No, ah. This is good," you decide, hitching one leg over his. You're not always the biggest fan of the whole missionary concept, but for right now that's changed. You need to be able to see him, to feel his body covering yours, on top of you and inside you and all around you after so damn long.
"Okay. We'll go slow." He looks about as nervous as you feel, and you wonder if he's doubting the wisdom of all this as you trade hesitant smiles. "Tell me if you wanna stop, alright?"
You've barely gotten started before you're hissing in pain, grabbing at his shoulder and trying not to panic because you know how this goes when your head wants one thing and your body wants another, and it ends with you storming off to go sulk on the couch and drink your frustrations away. "Shit...no, no. Just give me a second?"
He nods and leans toward you, pushing your hair back from your face and planting kisses along your hairline. You focus on staying in control, on letting your muscles go slack and remembering to breathe until the tension starts to melt away, and then you kiss him back softly and tell him to keep going.
The look in his eyes is hungry and it makes you feel sexy as hell as he starts moving inside you, gently but steadily. Your usual bedroom back and forth is mostly absent, not much being said beyond yeah, right there- like that, yeah, keep doing that as you work at figuring each other out. Too many words would ruin it, anyway, would distract you from your attempts to memorize every little detail as your hands roam freely and your eyes stay fixed on his.
You bend your legs until your heels are pressing on his ass, drawing him in deeper despite the sting, and he groans quietly as his mouth breaks contact with your neck. "Shit, Liv, keep that up and I'm gonna..."
"Yeah? Do it, c'mon," you say, moaning when his hand brushes over the curve of your breast, and right here in this moment it feels like everything has gone back to the way it was. There's no room in this world for anything but the two of you, no room for feeling betrayed or guilty or disgusting or completely fucking terrified as long as he can keep making you feel like this. Like forgetting.
"Huh-uh, you first." His hand moves between you, pausing after each time he rocks into you to press against your clit, and you're trying to explain that you're not gonna come, not like this, but he won't listen. Sssh, yeah you can, you're so close. Do it for me. That's my girl. You're still in mid-sentence when it hits you, and it feels like a shockwave echoing again and again, so overpowering that you don't even notice he's coming right along with you until you hear him groan and say your name one last time. Then he goes still, and for one tiny moment you could swear you saw the emotion in his eyes change from pleasure to regret before changing back just as quickly. "Liv...god you're fucking perfect, I'm...is everything good? You're okay?"
"God yes," you say with a breathy laugh, forgetting all about what you thought you might have seen as he cups your cheek in his palm, kissing you sweetly.
"I love you," he says then, and it catches you off guard. You forget sometimes that his perspective is different, that this may very well have been the first time he's slept with someone other than his wife (and if it isn't, frankly, you'd rather not know). To him, sex and love have always been intertwined. It's not a familiar position for you, being on the receiving end of all that, which is probably why you're too stunned to manage more than a cautious I. I know. I mean...You look over at him with pleading eyes, willing him to understand the things that even you don't, the things you certainly can't put words to.
He smiles when you let him put his arm around your shoulders and pull you in closer. "Yeah. I know."
«I'll tell you though, man, she can be one hell of a stubborn bitch. I thought we had an agreement going- she gives me what I want, and then I don't have to make her life quite so difficult. But she doesn't listen, you know, she decides to be stupid and try to bite my face off so she can make a run for it. She doesn't get very far, course, and I told her I needed to teach her a lesson, that I always win. So if she's into biting, I can play that game. I will take it to the next level. Fuck...I'm sure she still has the scar and I bet it's fucking unbelievable- wait. Wait.
Is that...I see that look on your face. You know what I'm talking about, don't you? Well what do you know, maybe I was wrong. You're already doing her, huh? You are! I can tell. Man, is she just spreading her legs for everyone nowdays or do you two have some sort of special arrangement? Cause I gotta say- woah, hold up, hold up, this just keeps getting better. Is that a fucking wedding ring you've got on? You're married *and* you're screwing her! And she knows? She's cool with that? Or else she's just vulnerable and so desperate for attention that she doesn't care? Wow. So what, you think you're gonna heal her with your cock? That you'll just fuck her until you both feel better? I mean, cause that's pretty shitty. That's you saying 'hey, I can't deal with you and all your baggage full time, so I'll give you the next best thing and hope you're too fucked up emotionally to notice. Just get down there on your knees and be grateful for what you're given.' Look, I know you didn't come here for my opinion, but I'm giving it to you anyway. You're a real dick. If I were you- well. I'd just be praying to God she doesn't wake up and realize she could do so much better.»
{did I ask too much?
more than a lot?
you gave me nothing
now it's all I've got}