I want to explore the whole we-are-sharing-a-bed-thing and the sexual tension but right now (after a nightmare) is certainly not the time. Maybe next chapter when Noah has questions about why Uncle Rafa is "sleeping with Mommy"... idk but I do know that more fluff is in store to stay tuned! This was a shitty chapter in terms of writing quality (sorry) but I was trying a new method of dictating my thoughts and then editing it a little bit. I like my original way better, so I'll just stick to the normal method from now on. Oh, and while writing this, I was thinking how fucked up it would be if Olivia had a miscarriage in the beach house. Maybe I need therapy, maybe I'm a sucker for writing internal anguish.
Remember that PTSD nightmares aren't always accurate as to what actually happened and the facts can get distorted easily. The first half of her nightmare is more or less according to what I think could have happened, the second part is a little more of the distorted type.
Olivia startled awake, immediately concerned with her surroundings. She felt a warm hand resting on her forehead and her limbs began to shake with adrenaline. It only took mere moments, however, for her to realize that the man touching her was none other than her best friend, Rafael Barba. Olivia's chest was filled with warmth and an understanding set in; Rafael must have taken to playing with her hair soon after she fell asleep. His soft fingers must have slipped after he dozed off into a turbulent slumber, and as Olivia sat up, she began to understand the situation with immense gratitude.
The grey blanket was strewn across the floor and the orange pillow remained on Rafael's lap, while Noah rested against his other side. Deciding it was best not to wake Noah, Olivia made her way back to her bedroom reluctantly – but only after lazily taking pictures of the two. The desire to stay in Rafael's caring embrace was strong, no doubt, but now that she was awake and Rafael was asleep, it seemed almost intrusive to wrap herself back in his arms without him knowing. Besides, there was a heavy chance of nightmares and she didn't feel like embarrassing herself any further tonight. Or – her watch read 1 in the morning – this morning. Day 3.
The moonlight shined through her bedroom window, illuminating her path as she hesitantly got under the covers. The intense trepidation of lying prone on a mattress was suffocating but Olivia convinced herself that overcoming this fear was a necessary landmark of her recovery. Even though she was sure that Lindstrom would balk at the idea, Olivia felt as if she needed to force herself to overcome this to prove to herself that she was ready, that she was whole. After only 15 minutes of restless rustling – and getting up to plug in the nightlight – Olivia finally succumbed to the fatigue that she could never manage to truly escape.
Lewis made her look him in the eye as he slowly unrolled the toilet paper, square by square. Her handcuffs cut against her wrist and the tape bruised her ankles as she struggled against her restraints, but there was no point. The feeling building in her chest was more than resentment, more than fear. She regretted letting him "help her", it would have been better to just piss herself.
He startlingly reached out and pulled her by her arm until she was standing, pants around her ankles and shame in her heart. Lewis tilted her chin, so she was forced to look at him, and slowly dragged the thin paper over her sensitive flesh. The motion was repeated twice before he moved to get more.
The coarse paper was slipped in between her folds this time. It didn't stop like the last times, though. The gagged woman unintelligibly begged in protest as it briefly brushed her clit. Her muscles contracted involuntarily.
"You like that?"
He did it again and she bucked again. The movements, the sensations, were uncontrollable and both parties knew it. But while Lewis took ineffable amounts of sadistic pleasure in her involuntary arousal, Olivia just repeated the mantra "arousal does not equal consent" until her neurons could no longer form intelligible thoughts.
He abandoned the toilet paper and taped her hands as a precaution before uncuffing her wrists, only to restrain them around the shower curtain bar. It was a beautiful rusted metal one attached to the wall, where the clips would attach around it instead of sliding onto it. God, he loved this old house.
Olivia stood on her toes, her stomach unprotected because of her raised arms, as she tried to hang all her weight on the bar in hopes that it would break. It didn't.
He slid the cuffs, and her body, down the bar until her body was partially pressed against the partition between the shower and the toilet. Cold fingers touched her folds and tears began to flow down her face at the same pace of his ministrations. His hands barely fit between the gap of her thighs, as her bound legs left no room to push them apart, but he made do.
There was no penetration. There was, however, constant stimulation of her clit until Olivia was unwillingly close. He flicked it a couple of times, and although he knew it was too risky to put his head between her legs to lap at her core, he wanted to. Instead, Lewis continued evoking her involuntary movements with his fingers. The cigarettes and knives were ignored, it was time for a new type of torture. It would be more painful for her to orgasm at his cruel hands than it would be to mutilate her flesh. He would burn this memory into her brain until her last waking moments, this time without the help of the blowtorch or lighter.
"Come for me, Livvie Love." He felt her manage to pull away for enough time to stop the growing warmth in her lower abdomen. Lewis used his free hand to put the cold barrel of the Glock against her skull. "Come!"
The shiny droplets that poured down her face were constant now, and so were his motions. She couldn't help it. She hated her own body as much as she hated him as her genital muscles spasmed in waves of humiliation and more wetness gushed out of her. Her eyes shut closed as she sobbed and tried to wiggle out of his grasp, but it was too late.
When she opened her eyes, she came face-to-face with Joe in the car that Lewis drove. He spent no time trying to humiliate her, took no pleasure in stimulating her sensitive flesh to make her involuntarily squirm. He just wanted to feel his own pleasure, and fast.
Joe aligned his member and pushed into her, but she didn't know whether to be grateful or ashamed that it didn't hurt as much this time. Lewis must have warmed her up. Speaking of Lewis, he was driving. Chuckling the whole way, too, as he watched her rape in the rearview mirror. Still, though, her sensitive skin stretched beyond its readiness and she thought that it might just rip in two.
Joe's movements became faster and more erratic as somebody started calling her name.
"Liv!"
His movements became more forceful and his member pushed deeper against her cervix as Lewis roared with laughter.
"Liv!"
Rafael was startled awake by an unfamiliar wail of anguish that would have shaken the pictures on the wall if he had cared to look. Instead, his immediate focus became Olivia. He let Noah's small body rest on the cushions before half-running to her bedroom. Understanding that it wouldn't really count as an invasion of privacy under the circumstances, he barged in.
Her body twisted and she contorted into awkward positions as her arms blindly swung at the nonexistent threat, the blankets and sheets trapping her limbs. "Get out of me!"
Rafael was an ADA assigned to prosecute SVU cases, he was not an SVU detective. Ill-equipped to deal with this situation, the man felt his characteristic confidence become replaced by anxiety. "Liv!" He decided to stand near the door and shout her name, unaware if touching her would wake her up or make it worse. "Liv!"
Unfortunately, this wasn't effective, and the frantic woman still flailed around as if she were possessed. Another blood-curdling scream emanated deep within her diaphragm.
He made the bold decision to shake her arm, backing away immediately afterward to not get hit by the resulting reflexive swing. "Olivia!" Rafael saw her eyes open slightly as her body gradually stilled, so he lowered his voice to nearly a whisper and approached her with great caution. "It's me, Rafael."
Her thoughts transformed from No! to Help me!
Olivia's eyes were open, but her mind was split between realities. Tears streamed down her face as she once more became a prisoner of paralyzing adrenaline and terror. "Please, Rafa, get him out of me..." Her voice became quiet as her body shook against his arms when he gently wrapped her arms against her stomach and propped her up. "Get him out... it hurts."
He stood on the side of the bed while Olivia's upper body was somewhat supported by his arms, and gentle whispers fell from his lips out of instinct to comfort her. "He's out, Liv. It's just us. You and me, Liv."
Olivia wasn't totally convinced and begged him one last time until her verbal expressions dissipated into a pathetic repetition of "Please."
He moved matted locks of hair out of her face and encouraged her to take deep breaths while her erratic panting, combined with the leftover adrenaline, quickly sapped away any remaining energy. She barely heard the actual words and assurances but was grateful for his voice. It grounded her.
Rafael continued to comfort her as he lowered her head onto the pillow and released her arms. He made a mental promise to not contemplate the meaning of her pleas while she still needed comfort. His speculating could wait, she couldn't. "You're okay. It's okay."
They stayed like that for no less than half an hour, Rafael ignoring the tiredness of his muscles and fingers as he twirled strands of hair and closely monitored her features. Playing with her hair quickly became another sign of intimacy and trust between the two, and neither one took the service for granted. Olivia began to relax, letting the exhaustion of her efforts wash over her weary muscles while the comfort of his presence made this level of vulnerability possible.
Rafael tried not to think about the meaning of her words under the guise of protecting her privacy, while the truth was a more selfish desire to be blissfully ignorant. The urge to know and the urge to not know occupied parts of his mind simultaneously, like some emotionally confusing version of Doublethink.
After many moments of peaceful silence, both growing content against each other, Rafael wondered if her panic woke Noah. Luckily, however, he didn't hear any movement from the boy in the other room.
Before he could stop himself, he lowered his head to whisper to Olivia. "What about the neighbors? Do you want me to tell them not to call the cops or anything?"
She huffed and felt herself begin to mentally resign with shame. "They know the drill by now." Her voice was robotic.
"Oh."
"Yeah." She huffed and resumed lying motionless on her back, catching her breath.
Olivia practiced her breathing exercises while her body went slack against the luckily dry sheets (wetting the bed could be an embarrassing aspect of PTSD nightmares sometimes). Rafael stood next to the bed, quickly becoming unsure if he should go and give her some privacy.
She struggled to open her heavy eyes for longer than a couple of seconds but managed to meet Rafael's. "Stay?" It was almost inaudible, but as always, he understood perfectly.
"Of course." The situation was cataloged carefully, but he was still left at a loss. "Um... where..."
She could barely gather the courage to admit that she needed him next to her, so voicing that sentiment was impossible. He was only met with a huff as she rolled over to the right and drew back the covers, exposing the area where she was previously resting.
Rafael became aware of his outfit – he had not yet changed into the pajamas packed in his overnight bag – and promised a semi-clingy Olivia that he would be back shortly. The bag was ungracefully snatched from beside the couch as he rushed into the bathroom to change. As he shreds each layer and replaces it with a pajama equivalent, he was forced to remind himself to not think about two concerns: the implication of her frantic words earlier and the new levels of intimacy he would face in the immediate future. Rafael could only pray that his body did not betray him as he lay beside the woman of his dreams.
He took a couple of deep breaths and promised himself not to let his mind wander as he entered her bedroom again, equal parts nervous, concerned, and secretly – despite his efforts and guilt – excited.
Olivia closely watched his bare arms as they approached the bed's vacant side, but chuckled when a bit of the cold pants fabric brushed her ankle as he hesitantly settled in. She noticed that his motions were robotic and unsure as if he was scared to make a mistake.
He looked down at the resting woman as he remained sitting up. "What is it?"
"Silk pajamas, Counselor? Really?" Her voice possessed some remnants of her earlier crying, and the neck bruising was the worst it had ever been, but she was appreciative of the brief break which gave her some time to get herself together. At least a little bit.
Rafael blushed but grinned right back. "I can almost see the clearance tag on yours.", he gently teased. His back rested against the headboard, still sitting up, because he was nervous to intrude on her sense of privacy.
"You don't like my Rudolph pants and my Santa hoodie?"
His grin widened. "It's June."
"Touche." Olivia rotated from her previous position on her back and turned to face him on her side. "At least mine are fuzzy, though."
He took the action as an invitation to do the same, and soon they were both facing each other. "Not as comfortable as mine." Their faces were a foot apart, both bodies lying under the duvet, but Rafael swore he could feel her heartbeat. Or maybe it was his own blood rushing into his ears. Either way, the intimacy was not lost on either party.
Under different circumstances, Olivia would have steered the conversation into something a little less innocent. But Olivia was mentally, emotionally, and physically worn out. Not to mention that the thought of sex was revolting to her right now. Part of her, however, was almost angry at the rest of her. For being unwilling to explore this situation. For being unwilling to be brave, for being unable to get over herself and her fears.
Olivia rotated her body so that she faced the window with her back to Rafael. She wearily whispered a gentle, "Goodnight, Rafa.", before letting her muscles relax as her mind worked hard to rid itself of the remaining demons.
Rafael wanted to wrap his arms around her in a protective embrace but thought against it. The temptation of letting his mind wander was already shamefully present and although he had a healthy sense of self-control, he doubted the recently assaulted woman wanted to wake up to morning wood pressed against her, anyway.
Her breathing evened out within the minute, and Rafael determined that she was asleep. Probably not for long, but some is better than nothing.
He leaned over to gently move a lock of hair out of her face, before settling onto his back. He made one last promise to himself: he would talk to her about his suspicions tomorrow. They gnawed at his soul and set fire to his chest, so he only managed to quell them by creating alternative answers. Some men counted sheep; some men tried to come up with any explanation other than the obvious as to why their best friend was begging for a man to get out of her. As to why she couldn't do anything other than protest that it hurt.
A guilty tear crawled down his features. "Goodnight, Liv."
