Hello! Thank you to everyone who waited so patiently for this update :) It's the longest chapter to date, so I'll jump right in.
A/N: this chapter is as graphic as any of them have been- so PLEASE consider yourself warned. I really mean this. References to sexual assault and self-harm, discussions of suicide, and general unplesantness. Title and quotes from how to be dead by snow patrol, other quotes from how to save a life by the fray, rattlesnakes by lloyd cole, you can't count on me by counting crows, and glitter in the air by Pink.
This chapter starts off a few days after where the last one left off- and no, you're not supposed to know what exactly happened to liv as far as her "accident" goes. But you'll find out.
Comments? Questions? Concerns? You know where to find me.
Edited to add: if you liked this, you'll LOVE cheertennis12's one shot companion fic, Coup de Grace- it's the events of this chapter from Amanda's POV and is absolutely worth reading, as are her two other TG companion fics...and really, everything she writes. So go read it and then give her some love!
{some sort of window to your right
as he goes left and you stay right
between the lines of fear and blame
you begin to wonder why you came}
The water cooler is leaking.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
You start counting along with the sound just for the sake of having something to focus on. You make it all the way to 97 before Brian sneezes and the sudden noise makes you cringe, tightening your grip on the armrest of the chair you're sitting in.
"Sorry," he says.
Now you've lost count. You can't (don't?) want to start over. "It's okay." Drip. Drip. Drip. "I think you're coming down with something. You probably shouldn't be here."
"I'm fine."
"Olivia?" A severe-looking woman with short dark hair, maybe a dozen years older than you are, calls your name from the reception room doorway. "You can come on back now."
"I'll be waiting whenever you're done," Brian says, a copy of Women's Day that he's pretending to read laying on his lap. He's been holding it upside down this entire time. You nod without saying a word, without looking in his direction.
The woman motions toward an office with 'Dr. Christiansen' on the door and you make a mental note of this, having forgotten her name from your first meeting. "Your boyfriend- you're welcome to have him here with you if you'd like."
"No."
"That's fine. It's your choice." She sits down behind a cluttered oak desk that faces the small couch you're seated on; an uncomfortable paisley-print upholstered monstrosity that wouldn't have been out of place in your grandparents' living room. "You look better than you did the last time I saw you."
It's a pretty low bar from which to judge, so it's hardly a compliment. "I suppose."
"I don't remember seeing that on your hand," she says, peering down at the brace covering your right wrist. "Was it a fracture?"
"No, just a sprain. But it was the arm I injured...uh, before. When I got hurt before. So it didn't take much to f- to mess it up again."
Her mouth stays in a straight line but you can see the amusement reflected in her eyes. "You're allowed to swear here, Olivia." When it becomes obvious you're not going to start voluntarily offering any information, she tries a new tactic. "Tell me, why do you think you're here today?"
"Well, to be bluntly honest- because Brian wouldn't let me back out."
"But the last time we talked, when you were in the ER, you agreed that you'd come here. So is that why you went along with it? To get him off your case?"
"No. I said I'd come so that they'd let me go home," you say. What a model patient you are.
"You knew that you could walk out of there on your own at any time, no matter what you said to me," she pressed. "So what made you say yes?"
"Look, I told you before, this wasn't some suicide attempt. It was an accident, a really fucking stupid one. No matter what I might've said. But..."
"But?"
"But I guess it was enough to scare me." You can't come up with anything to say so instead you keep silent for a moment, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear with your good hand and watching out the window as a plane gradually disappears from sight. "I'm turning into my mother. And I'm not okay with that."
{she says all she needs is therapy
all you need is love is all you need}
"It takes a lot of courage, you know," Dr. Christiansen says, hands folded on top of one of her many stacks of papers, "to admit that what you're doing right now isn't working. So tell me what made you realize this? Other than your accident itself, of course. When did it start?"
Even the uneasy feeling that your every breath is still being analyzed isn't strong enough to stifle your laugh. "Did you not Google my name like I told you to?"
"I did, and I read the files your therapist sent over- even though we already talked about how those are...maybe leaving out some important information. But what I'm getting at is, there's a reason this happened now."
"I told you that. I went on a three day bender and this was...the logical conclusion."
"Logical?" she repeats.
"Well. Inevitable, maybe."
She nods. "So why don't we start whatever you think kicked off this particular episode."
{please take it easy it can't all be my fault
I haven't made half the mistakes that you've listed so far}
Three days earlier
"See, Liv, Angela's back! She didn't die in that prison fire after all."
You scoff at Brian's excitement, snuggling in a little closer to him as the theme song to one of your nightly telenovelas began. "Of course she wouldn't- if they killed her off, there goes half the show. You don't have your lead die mid-series! But why is she living on the streets? She didn't even call her family?"
"Well for one, her mom got drunk and committed suicide in the last episode. But she doesn't remember her family anyway because she's got some kind of post-traumatic amnesia."
"Ah, of course." Despite your small meltdown earlier, the evening so far had turned out to be not that bad. You were worried that, without Nick around to serve as a buffer, Brian would try to have some sort of Serious Talk with you. But your conversations over dinner were surprisingly light, and then afterward you sat down together on the couch and half-watched a basketball game until you got...distracted. (You'd forgotten how nice it was not having to worry about Nick interrupting or hearing something he shouldn't. It felt like being a teenager whose parents have left for the weekend- hey, we can mess around in the middle of the living room and there's no one here to stop us!).
So for a few hours, life had been good- but it was fortunate that you hadn't bothered to get too comfortable with this new status quo.
Brian's phone rings, and when he sees who's calling he extricates himself from your hold on him and heads for the bedroom. "Work," he says to you before he answers, as if you hadn't already guessed.
You can't make out what he's saying but his voice is terse, clipped. The call doesn't last long, so you assume it was just some minor FYI and roll your eyes at Tucker's refusal to text these kinds of things, moving over when Brian returns so he can stretch out. You're in the mood to be the little spoon tonight.
However, he has other plans. He shakes his head when he sees you waiting for him and then goes back to looking down at his phone. "I'm...fuck, I'm really sorry, babe, but I gotta head out."
"Now? For how long?" you ask. When he gets the duffel bag out of the front closet, you know you're not going to like the answer.
"Not sure. Few days?"
It's times like these where you feel a kinship with Kathy that runs deeper than the bond between The Wife and The Mistress. But then again, Elliot didn't disappear several times a month with no way to reach him and no ETA other than 'I'll call you when I'm on my way home'. You don't think Kathy would've put up with that shit for long. Smart woman. "Oh. Okay."
"Hey." He stops throwing things into the bag and looks over at you, frowning. "Are you...is something wrong?"
He's right to be surprised. After all, you usually mask your disappointment with a tight smile and don't say anything more emotionally revealing than ' I'll miss you, be careful'. But for whatever reason, you don't feel like playing the game tonight. What you really feel like doing is pleading with him, don't go don't leave me alone don't let me disappear into my head again. You tried that before, though, and he still left. So fuck pleading. "No, why? Should it be?"
"Liv..."
"What happened to 'I'm gonna be home more often'? Isn't that what you've been saying all week? Ever since...you were the one who didn't even want me to shower without you being right there to babysit in case I tried to off myself, for fuck's sake. And now you're leaving?"
"I didn't exactly plan this, you know, but all of a sudden shit's goin' down and-"
"No, Brian, I don't know. Because I have no goddamn idea what it is you actually do."
He rolls his eyes and goes back to grabbing random articles of clothing out of the dresser drawers. "Don't be like this, Liv. You of all people should understand that's how the job works."
"What the hell's that supposed to mean? And don't give me that 'oh, it's classified' bullshit, because I'd never do that to you," which is the truth, you may not always be home exactly when you planned to be, but you do always let him know if you're running late. That's not something that comes naturally to you, either. You're not used to being accountable to someone else for your time 24/7, but that changed right away after your abduction and you had accepted that this was the new order of things. "Even if I couldn't tell you everything- I know nothing. I don't know where you are, who you're with, if it's dangerous...I'm clueless."
"Well, maybe you should just trust me and stop worrying."
"Got it. I could say the same thing to you, y'know, cause I don't appreciate you talking about me to Nick behind my back. I'm his boss now, and that's so inappropriate for you to-"
He smirks at this. "Oh, but it's okay for you to have this weeks-long slumber party with him? If he's gonna live here, I think he deserves to know what's really going on."
"Brian, if you think I have a problem, take it up with me."
"Are you fucking serious? I've tried," he says, taking a step toward you and bending down a little so that you're eye to eye. It's so condescending and you're not sure what's keeping you from giving him a good hard shove, the way you did with Elliot when he was bitching about you kissing Brian at his house. "You. Don't. Listen."
"So you go tell Nick I'm cutting myself, which is a lie- what are you trying to accomplish?"
"I didn't say that, I said you've got scratch marks everywhere and I dunno what the fuck you're actually doing but-"
"Oh, that's so much better!" you retort, throwing up one arm in frustration before both your hands come to rest on your hips. "Again, what's that supposed to...are you trying to plan an intervention? Or you wanna scare him off so he'll leave?"
"No, why would I do that? Just because you brought him home and never even bothered to ask my opinion on it?"
"Well, he's leaving this weekend so you won't have to deal with him much longer. Happy?"
"Yeah, I am. But he's not the real problem here, Liv." He leans against the dresser, looking at you expectantly as if he's waiting for you to take full responsibility.
"Of course he's not. Because that's me, right? It's always me."
"Oh jesus christ, don't even start-"
He's too late; you've already started. "I was happy for you when you got that IAB job, I-"
"That is such bullshit, you know you never-"
"I tried," you rephrase. "I really tried because you hated the courthouse so much. Even though I might not have been thrilled cause I knew you'd be gone more...I tried for your sake. But for me- at least when you were working overtime at your old job, I knew when you'd be coming home. Now it's...goddamnit! You left me here, by myself, two fucking days after the trial ended. Two fucking days! I needed you and you weren't there," you add in a small voice, furious with yourself as soon as it slips out.
"And what were you doing for those two days? You barely said one damn word to me, you went straight to bed as soon as we got back here and didn't come out until the next night."
"Are you seriously- fuck you, okay, I'm sorry I wasn't entertaining enough for you after I'd spent a week and a half in court-"
"That's not my point, Olivia, what I'm trying to say is...I know I'm gone a lot. But when I am here, I'm doing the best I can to make up for it. And you, you're..." He frowns, and you can see him mentally flailing around trying to find the right words.
"What am I, Brian, tell me."
"I'm trying. I'm trying so fucking hard and that makes me the only one here who is. You're either ignoring me, looking for a fight...I wanted to be there for the trial. You wouldn't let me. What am I supposed to do, just sit here and watch you self-destruct? I can't do this anymore."
He zips the bag shut forcefully and slings it over his shoulder, refusing to look your way as he walks out of the bedroom, and you feel like you're dangling at the edge of a cliff, nails scratching for purchase and finding none. "Fine, then go. If someone new tries to break in and kidnap me while you're gone, I'll ask them to hold off until you're back, and that way you'll get to play hero when you come home. Will that make you happy?"
"You manipulative little bitch," he says, dropping his bag and turning around to face you. You're completely out of line and you know it, but goddamn him. He says you're closed off, you try being honest with him about how you feel when he keeps leaving, and he turns the blame back on you. So fuck that- he might be the one walking out the door, but you're going to be the one who deals the final blow. "Tryin' to act like you're gonna be all alone when we both know you'll call Elliot the minute I'm gone!"
You don't even catch the end of his sentence, you just hear Elliot's name and the last bit of restraint you've been clinging to gives way. Now you're in freefall, grabbing onto his coat and yanking him toward you with such force that both of you almost topple over. "Do you have something you wanna say to me? Because if you do, let's hear it."
"No, I said all I needed to." He gives you this smug angry grin as he backs away, and you wonder perversely how much self control it's taking him to keep from hitting you right now. You're not sure you could really blame him if he did. "You know what I'm talking about, Olivia. You know."
"No. I want you to tell me, what is it you think you know about me and Elliot? If you're gonna accuse me of something, you son of a bitch, just tell me."
"Nah, I'm good." And with that he's out the door, because the fucking prick knows that leaving the 'conversation' hanging, leaving you wondering, will make you angrier than any insult he could dream up.
That's when you cracked open the first bottle of the night.
Let it rain.
{I know you see yourself flying in out of the sky
coming down to carry me but I won't come out}
"Sounds like you were pretty furious with him at that point," Dr. Christiansen says. To her credit, she hasn't ran away screaming yet- but of course, that was just Act I.
"Yeah. I was. But not to the point where...I never meant what I said, never meant to imply that. That I blame him for what happened to me."
"Then why do you think you said it?"
"Honestly? It just came out of my mouth before I thought it over. I was pissed off and...I knew it would get to him. He acts like he can save me. Like I'm standing in the way of him being able to rescue me and he can't. It's too late."
Her brows furrow in concern as she looks up from whatever she had been jotting down. "Does he blame himself for your abduction?"
"He shouldn't. Wasn't his fault."
"Whose fault was it?"
"There's no making up for it now. He should just stop trying."
She seems to decide this conversation is a dead end and moves along. "So you were already angry, both of you, and then he brings up Elliot and everything just escalates."
"Yeah. But the stupid thing is? He was right. I would've called Elliot if...that pissed me off more than him insinuating that I was- whatever he was insinuating. Being reminded that I couldn't do what I used to. Before, if Brian was gone, or even if we were just fighting, Elliot was always there. I'd call and he'd come right over or if he couldn't, he'd at least text me so I..."
"You weren't alone." You bite the inside of your bottom lip and nod, relieved that she spared you from having to say it yourself. "And Brian knows this."
"No. Well. I'm not sure if he realizes how much time Elliot and I actually spent together. Because I usually didn't say anything to him about it."
"And by usually, you mean...?"
"Ah, never," you say after reconsidering this for a moment.
"You never discuss it with him. But do you think he suspects something's going on?"
"Yeah. Definitely." When she asks if you think he's just suspicious or that he knows, your eyes drop down to your hands. "I'm not sure. I feel like I might have said something to him about it before but...it was when I was blacked out. So I don't remember and he's never offered to tell me. All I know is, whatever I said...it really hurt him."
"Is that something that the two of you could talk about? If he won't bring it up, could you see yourself asking him?"
"No. No, that wouldn't...even if I did ask, he'd change the subject and- no. I'm not going to. Because if I did..."
"Once one of you puts it out there, then it's real. There's no more hiding from it for either of you."
"Yeah," you mouth, back to watching the snowflakes that are beginning to cling to the window panes.
{let him know that you know best
cause after all you do know best}
"So were you on your own for the rest of that night?" Dr. Christiansen asks.
"Ah, no. It would've been better if I was, probably. Nick- my partner, the one who's been living with us for a while- he came home a couple hours later. I guess I was hoping he'd stay away and I'd just deal with him in the morning," you say ruefully, shaking your head. "But I should really know by now that nothing turns out the way I hope, right?"
Three days earlier
"Goddamnit, Liv!"
You look up from over the top of your glasses as Nick comes storming in. "What."
"What? What the hell's your problem? Why did you tell Amanda I was going to DC?"
"I don't know, Nick, why did you tell her I was fucking Elliot?" If your life was a sitcom, this would be the part where the audience lets out a collective 'OOOH'.
"Hey, I get it, you don't like her and you don't want us together. Fine. But trying to turn us against each other? What kind of 8th grade bullshit is that? I was going to talk to her about it, okay, I had a plan," and you wonder what exactly this plan involved- just wearing his wedding ring to work every day until Amanda caught on? "I'm trying to do the right thing for everyone here, trying to get my life back on track, and you keep getting in my way!"
You can smell the alcohol on his breath even from where you're seated halfway across the room. He's probably had less than you, honestly, but he does a shitty job of holding his liquor and you are sure as hell not going to go back and forth with him all night. "No. You're not going to blame me for your own issues. I didn't break up your marriage, I didn't tell you to go sleep with your coworker, and I am not the reason you're still on desk duty. You're so busy telling me what I'm doing wrong and whining about how I'm so unfair to you-"
"Because you are unfair! I've always had your back 100 percent of the time. I'm the one who's stood up for you, I'm the one who's kept my mouth shut about this whole Elliot thing- you know what I just realized? This," he says, pointing back and forth between you, finger jabbing at thin air, "all started when I said I was worried about you. You can't handle anyone who's honest, because you can't admit that you have a problem!"
You grab your glass and throw it down on the coffee table, fighting to maintain your balance as you come to your feet. Nick startles, automatically reaching for where his gun typically rests on his hip, and you realize that you forgot how breaking shit isn't the standard way to express yourself in most people's homes. Should've warned him about that along with showing him where the clean towels are kept and how the heater works. "That's it, Nick- just go. Just get the fuck out of here. You wanted to go down to DC, so do it now. I can't deal with you anymore."
"You're kicking me out of your house and out of my job. Seriously? Didn't take long for the authority to go to your head, did it?"
"It's my house, my squad, I can do whatever the fuck I want! I swear to God, if you have any idea what's good for you, you'll pack your stuff and leave me the hell alone."
"Liv...c'mon. How much have you had to drink tonight?" When he sees your face, he suddenly decides he's not going to stick around for the answer and heads off in search of his suitcases, but not before adding "You know, you can't keep chasing everyone away forever."
Oh, you'll just see about that. Yes, you will.
You're ignoring the broken glass on the floor, contemplating whether you want another drink badly enough to go to all the trouble of cleaning it up first, when Nick comes back out pulling his luggage behind him. His expression has softened and it instantly puts you on edge. You'd much rather have his anger than his pity.
"Brian gonna be home soon?"
"No. Not for a few days."
"Liv," he says carefully, "are you sure it's a good idea for you to be by yourself right now? I know you said things were weird with Elliot but maybe I could talk to him, I could-"
"Jesus Christ, did I not just tell you that I wanted to be alone? Go. Goodbye," you say, ready to get up and physically shove him out the door if that's what it takes, because the only thing worse than having Nick feel sorry for you would be him convincing Elliot to join the party.
He slams the door and another one bites the dust. It's a red letter day for Olivia Benson, ladies and gentlemen.
You decide it's not worth sweeping up the glass when you can just drink from the bottle right here.
Lights out.
{drive till you lose the road
or break with the ones you've followed}
"And so with Nick gone, that puts even more pressure on you at work," Dr. Christiansen surmises. "Because now you're shorthanded."
"True. But actually- having him gone was easier than it would've been having to listen to him whine all day and try to find things to keep him busy. Between him and Amanda...she was late again, as always. I don't even remember what her excuse was this time, or if she even gave me one. She wasn't really speaking to me at this point. I assume it was because of the whole Nick thing...but that wasn't my fault. I just told the truth and she didn't like it. Not my problem."
She hums to herself in a way that you know means she doesn't believe you. "So you have one detective who's not there and another one who's giving you problems. What else was going on?"
"That's a loaded question," you say, wincing as you shift in your seat. The painkillers you'd been given don't work for shit and you ache all over. "Ever since I went back to SVU, it's like everyone's been doubting me. Doubting that I could still do the job without it retraumatizing me every day. But I knew I could do it. That's where I needed to be and yeah, it's been hard at times, but I think I've done well with not letting it get to me. And now...I'm not sure."
You gave her a brief rundown of the two cases that you were trying to balance that day- attempting to extricate Clare from the clutches of the New Jersey DOC while trying to sort through what exactly happened to Avery Capshaw. "That would be stressful for anyone, let alone on top of what was going on with you personally. Did you feel like you identified with them?"
"Yeah, I...definitely. More than I should have. But that wasn't what set me off."
"So what was it?"
{Jodie wears a hat although it hasn't rained for six days
she says a girl needs a gun these days on account of them rattlesnakes}
Two days earlier
It was the miniblinds that ultimately did you in.
Not that you were doing particularly well to begin with. You were on edge, having spent the whole day drinking cup after cup of coffee with an Excedrin chaser in a fruitless attempt to kill your hangover from the night (morning) before. By the time you got to the hospital to talk with Avery, you must've been looking pretty rough, because Amanda even broke her silence to ask if you were okay.
"Never been better," you say, forgetting to knock before you entered Avery's room in your haste to get this over with.
For all her faults, numerous as they may be, Amanda doesn't let her bleeding heart get swallowed up by her personal baggage. You used to be like that, you think. But now you're hearing this horrific story and it's too much. nobody would want that. You have to focus on breathing, they made him watch, on staying upright and not processing what's being said because you can't. There is something very wrong with me. Not here. Not like this. 'No one's ever died from remembering,' Dr. Lindstrom liked to say, but you don't feel like testing that theory right now so you disassociate, imagining yourself walking out that door until the time comes when you can actually do it.
You're staring at your next destination, the elevator at the end of the corridor, which is why you don't notice Amanda reaching out to touch your arm until it's too late. You jerk away reflexively, her fingertips feeling like fire even through the thick fabric of your jacket. "Jesus, Liv, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"
"I need you to stay with her while I go back to the office." Your field of vision has narrowed to the crack where the elevator doors meet, squinting as if you could look right through it to the car that would provide your escape. I didn't want to but I was scared to death.
"Of course, I've got it- Liv," she says again, repeating your name a bit more insistently this time. She's onto you. She knows what this is. "You're sure you're alright?"
You turn your head to look at her, to give her all the false reassurance you can muster, but your eyes land on something else before you have the chance.
It's such a minor thing. One of the slats in the miniblinds that cover the room window is bent downward so that it's overlapping with the one directly below it. But the sight alone feels like an electric bolt traveling down your spine even before your brain realizes what you're looking at and you're so confused, you don't understand where this visceral response is coming from, and then.
Face down. Eyes closed. Smells like burning. What did you give me?
"Liv. Do you maybe wanna sit down for a second, or-"
You feel strange, restless. It's not a good feeling. When you open your eyes, the first thing you see is the miniblinds. They're all bent in every direction. «just a little something to get the party started.»
"*No*. Amanda, just go. Now," you bark at her, even though you're the one who's walking away.
«don't get me wrong, you're fun when you're passed out, but I like the live ones better.» The toe of his boot makes contact with your back, kicking at you until you roll over. He kneels down, straddling you, knife pointed at your neck as a silent warning before he rips the duct tape off your mouth.
"Hey, maybe I should-" Amanda calls out to you from down the hall but you don't hear the rest, the sound becoming muffled as you turn and go through another corridor.
You couldn't scream even if you wanted to; you could barely muster up a pathetically hoarse whimper from your parched throat. Your heart is beating so fast, too fast, too fast even for someone as afraid as you are right now, and when his hand slides up your bare thigh it only gets faster. «relax, don't fight it. just let the magic happen.»
Thank God you know your way around this place. You're able to flee to the safety of an empty waiting room, back pressed up against a vending machine to steady yourself as you sink to the floor, knees pulled up to your chest and your hands covering your head. Crash position. You're crashing.
«you're gonna love this.» Your whole body's covered in sweat, yours and his, the wood floor underneath you becoming slippery as you squirm around, restless and anxious and you can't get enough oxygen, you're taking these big gulping breaths but you still feel yourself getting lighter, slipping away and then. Oh god.
It can't be. It has to be some sort of waking dream because this isn't happening, this wasn't real. No. Nonono. You can't be remembering this all for the first time now, not after you swore to God and to him and to yourself and to everyone that you didn't. He didn't.
But you can see it hear it feel it, he's kissing you biting slapping you hard and then he's pinning you down and you hear the sound of his zipper and oh god why aren't you crying screaming trying to get away, he's slamming into you and you're not even trying to stop him. «see? I knew you had it in you.»
You lift your head abruptly and the back of your skull hits the machine with a thud, like you could shake the memory from your mind if you just hit hard enough, like it would fall to the ground and shatter and you could run away and leave all the pieces behind. But it doesn't work, and you claw at your scalp in a panic until you're ripping strands of hair out by the roots. Anything to make it stop makeitstopgodmakeitstop.
«God, look at that, you can't get enough.» He laughs, slaps you again and you should be fighting this, you should be feeling humiliated and disgusted but you *don't*, just maniacally uncontrollably *alive* and pain, pleasure, it's all the same, it all just makes you want more and «you're a dirty girl, sweetheart. you like that? shit yeah you do. good, cause I can get as rough as you want.»
«I'm giving you the best fuck of your life. You're gonna owe me for this, you know»
{I watch the sky coming down to bury me
and I can't stop this crawling out of my skin}
"Olivia? Olivia," Dr. Christiansen repeats, trying to draw your attention back into the present over the sound of your sobs. You've certainly shed a number of tears in your therapist's office, but never like this, rocking back and forth and shaking your head with your eyes squeezed shut to try and rid yourself of the memory. "I know this is upsetting, but I want you to remember where you are. You're safe here, okay? Just open your eyes slowly."
You do as she says, making sure your head's facing the window so you don't have to look at her. The snow is falling heavily now, enough that it's getting hard to see anything beyond the fog and the swirling flakes, and it gives you the uneasy feeling that the walls are closing in around you. Your instinct is to get up and run, but you know your bruised and aching legs can't carry you and there's nowhere to go, your only option short of throwing yourself out the window is going back down the hall you came from and Brian's out there, you don't want him to see you like this and you can't tell him-
"He raped you, didn't he?" she asks gently. It's amazing that she managed to understand even that much of the story, but you still can't force yourself to say yes or even nod your head, because the part of you that doesn't want to believe it still has a chokehold on the part that knows it's true. "And you didn't have any memory of it until then."
"No, I didn't, I...before, all I remembered was passing out after he gave me something. And then when I woke up, I was in the bathtub and the shower was on and it was so cold. But the in between time..."
"Do you have any idea how much time had gone by?"
"It felt like hours. Like it went on and on and he didn't stop and I didn't try to stop him. Oh god. Oh god." You gratefully take the proffered kleenex box even though it's no use when you just keep on crying.
"You were drugged, Olivia- did they find anything when they ran your bloodwork at the hospital?"
"No, at least not anything that would explain- I mean. They found meth lying around my apartment but by the time I was in the ER...it'd been too long, it would've been out of my system by then. I just. I can't stop thinking about it. How the hell did it take me all this time to remember?"
"Traumatic memories can-"
"I know that, I know all that, I don't need anyone to tell me," you interrupt. "But how was I so fucking stupid to think that the whole time...I did everything he said, I did all this disgusting shit because he kept telling me that if I didn't, he was going to...and why the hell did I trust him? If I'd known that we, that he already fucked me..."
"Then he wouldn't have had that control over you. You're not the one to blame. He realized you didn't remember and he used that against you; that's on him. Not you."
You laugh bitterly. "Well, it worked. And now I think about everything he said to me- even during the trial he kept saying that I wanted it rough, that I loved it, that I was sending him 'mixed signals'- and I thought it was just his way of trying to get to me. Because I know that even when I was physically...I was trying to fight it, I was crying, pleading with him to stop. It wasn't the least bit consensual and he knew that too. But now, looking back at what he said...at all of it. I wanted so badly to believe it. That he didn't."
"Did he ever come right out and say he did?"
"He almost..." You stop again, shaking your head and letting out something halfway between a laugh and a sniffle. "Right before the trial started, he offered to plead guilty to multiple counts of rape 1 if it meant he could brag about it at the sentencing. And I said no because I wasn't going to say something happened when it didn't...again, I thought he was just playing games with me and now...he was telling the truth. He knew I didn't remember or that..." You go back to looking down at your hands, picking at your nail polish. "There was something else, on the last day, that I never told anyone. I remembered it, but..."
"That he raped you again that day?"
"I. I think so. I'm not sure- please don't ask me to explain why," you add quickly, "but I'm...yeah. I think he did but...I kept telling myself, you don't know for sure. And I still don't. But he did! He knew the whole time and it was just another way to mess with my head, he knew sooner or later I'd remember and- fuck him!" you blurt out, grateful you've already been given permission to swear because God knows you don't need any more black marks in your patient record. "Where does it stop? What else am I going to suddenly realize out of nowhere?"
"It's a scary thing, the unknown," she agrees. "Is that what made you decide you were going to drink until you passed out again that night? Not wanting to risk remembering something else?"
"What else was I going to do? I was all alone, there was no one to stop me so..."
"Did it work?"
"No. That's when I got out the lighter and...well, you saw them the other day." You unconsciously wrap your arms around yourself as if to cover the half-dozen burn marks on each arm, even though they're already hidden under your sleeves.
"And what made you decide to do that?"
You open your mouth to speak, then close it again. Outside, lights blink on and off atop the skyscrapers, red and orange beacons in the midst of the fog. "I guess...I've already been through it, the pain...
I knew I could take it."
{it's only half past the point of no return
the tip of the iceberg, the sun before the burn}
Next time: the return of Brian, the return of Elliot (just what *has* he been up to all this time?), and the answer to what the mysterious Bensidy fight was all about.