"Detective Benson, how did you manage to escape?"
"Can you give us any details about what happened inside your four day capture?"
"Do you have any comment to the Mayer family?"
"Did the NYPD do enough to find you?"
"Are you going back to work any time soon?"
"You deal with rape every day...How will you cope after this?"
"Liv, why are you watching this?" Brian's voice cut through the clamor of the five o' clock news playing across the television, jarring Olivia from the loudly buzzing thoughts inside her mind.
She hadn't even realized he'd stepped inside the room. When she looked over at him, the movement left her feeling shaky and unbalanced.
It had been less than 24 hours since the footage on the TV had been taken of her leaving the precinct; two days since her rescue from the beach house. The passage of time hardly seemed real or tangible.
"I...I don't know." She shrugged, at last, reaching for the remote just as she watched herself ducking into the unmarked squad car with Brian.
She wondered if she even looked credible to viewers across the country. The detective who had taken her statement certainly seemed to have had her doubts, and why shouldn't she? It was hardly believable that beating a man nearly to death had been easier and more logical than holding a gun on him and calling for help. Nausea had rocked through her as she'd told herself over and over that no one would believe a criminal, the most degenerate of humanity, over her, a dedicated detective of the prestigious NYPD. Wasn't this was crooked cops and politicians told themselves when they glanced down upon their victims? She hadn't believed herself capable of these things only days ago, and yet she prayed so fervently to be believed.
The camera swung back to the front of the building where Captain Cragen was exiting, his expression drawn. The horde of reporters immediately converged upon him, thrusting microphones into the edges of the frame, vying for his attention and comments. She swallowed hard as he gave a carefully worded statement.
"Detective Benson is a brave hero, but also the victim of a very traumatic set of events. We'd ask you all to give her the space she needs, and -"
"Come on, turn it off." Brian suggested, leaning over the back of the couch to take the remote from her hand.
The TV went black in the middle of Cragen's praises as he switched off the power.
Olivia clenched her jaw, still staring at the darkened screen. Hero or victim. Neither settled well in her mind or heart.
"Liv?" Brian prodded, quietly.
She could feel his eyes boring into the back of her head with sharp edged concern and she angled her face away from his prying gaze.
"I'm fine." She murmured.
"I didn't ask if you were." Brian said, slowly, rounding the couch to sit down next to her.
She glanced over at him for half a second as she pulled her legs up onto the couch and tucked them to her chest.
"You were thinking it." She said at last.
He didn't say anything for a moment and she could see him shifting uncomfortably, scrubbing his hand over his face as he searched for words. He didn't know what to say to her and their awkward interactions since he'd taken her from the precinct were grating on her final shreds of mental stability.
She almost wished she'd chosen to go to the hotel room, provided by the NYPD, instead of Brian's apartment. Despite having been in this relationship for nearly a year, she'd rarely been here. Brian often suggested her place, staying the night before taking off for work the next morning. While it was relieving that Brian's apartment was unfamiliar and disconnected from memories, she felt a type of obligation to act the same as she always had towards Brian.
They'd never needed each other's support for anything, and they'd both trusted that the other could be content without worry or concern. They operated as two separate units, strong on their own, but compatible enough to co-exist. Weakness was never something she'd displayed to anyone, and Brian wasn't an exception, no matter how many times he'd been in her bed. In fact, their physical relationship seemed to alienate him from her even further in this twisted aftermath.
"I want to help you, Liv, I do." Brian said at last. "But you gotta tell me what you want. What do
you need me to do?"
Steeling her eyes to a small stain on the rug, she shook her head, lips pursed.
She couldn't even begin to explain what she wanted, much less what she needed. Her very existence was an irritation to her ever suffering, circling brain. She was full of memories that were so vivid that she hardly needed to concentrate on recollection in order to harshly experience them all over again. Immediately afterward came the self-doubt, the questioning of her own humanity - the fact that she had lowered herself to a level she'd always sworn she'd never see the bottom of; the fact that now she was entrenched in lies as she clung to her job, the only thing that had never failed her.
No, there was no room inside of her for any other emotions, least of all love, and even if she could reach out to Brian as she once had, she wasn't sure she would.
"Liv?" Brian repeated, reaching out to touch her once more.
She tore her arm away from his touch before she could stop herself, shocked by the unexpected, physical contact. She choked back the soft gasp that filled her throat as she clutched her arm to her chest, rubbing at the flesh he'd managed to touch. She felt like she was burning there, her heart racing at the thought of rough, insistent fingers scraping over her skin.
"I- I'm sorry…." Brian stuttered, holding his hands up, but she could hear the pain in his tone at her quick rejection of his comfort.
She clasped her trembling hands over her face, holding in the burning tears which lay eagerly beneath her lids. She sucked in deep breaths, trying to reign in the rampant emotion before it could escape her clutches. Her heart thundered against her ribs, pounding out a quick rhythm of panic in her ears.
It's just Brian. It's just Brian. She told told herself over and over until the adrenaline released it's hold on her throat.
"No, I'm sorry." She murmured, her voice muffled in her palms.
"It's all right." He returned, but his tone was strained, and uneasy.
Things were far from 'all right.'
She dragged her palms down her cheeks, taking with her whatever moisture had managed to escape her eyes. She curled her hands into fists over the fallen tears, and stared down at the carpet once more, trying desperately to conjure some response which would alleviate the strained silence.
The unsettling quiet beat on for a few more, unbearable seconds before Brian's phone began to ring, mercifully breaking the silence. She could feel his eyes still on her as he grabbed his cell from his pocket and rose from the couch. She didn't breath until he was stepping away, his low baritone mumbling in response to the caller.
She lifted her eyes and stared at her distraught expression in the sheer black reflection of the television. It seemed strange to see the calm, safe setting of the living room surrounding her rather than that of the beach house, painted in the blood like shadows of red, sunlit curtains.
She sat stiffly on the couch, seemingly unable to tear her eyes from her own haunted gaze until Brian returned.
"I gotta go. There's been an accident in the Lincoln Tunnel and they need all hands on deck." He said, his tone holding an apology that she didn't want to hear.
"Okay." She whispered, finally glancing away from the television, and off towards the wall.
"Should I call someone?" He asked, quietly, after a moment.
"No, Bri, I'm okay." She said, looking down at her lap, and brushing away imaginary lint from her thigh as a distraction.
He paused for half a second, before adding, softly, "I've never had to ask you if you're sure about something before."
"Brian…" She sighed, closing her eyes in a cringe against his concern. "Please, just go do your job."
"All right." He said, but his tone was uncertain. "I'll be back here ASAP though, okay?"
"Okay." She repeated, forcing herself to meet his eyes if only to reassure him enough for him to leave.
"Okay…" Brian echoed, leaning down to gently kiss her forehead.
She reminded herself to breath and to relax for as long as the contact had to last, though it seemed like endless minutes. Finally, he pulled back, gazing at her one last time with a prying eye.
"Don't ask." She whispered, holding up a hand to stop his concerned inquires that she knew lay just behind his lips.
"All right." He backed off, showing her his palms in surrender. "But I'll have my cell on."
She nodded, holding on to the last bits of her self control as he turned and left the room. As soon as he disappeared from her view, she sunk down in the couch and covered her face in her hands.
She felt both numb and all at once overcome by emotion. Her eyes stung with tears, welling up sharply in guilt. She should be thankful for Brian's gentle concern and care, but she couldn't find the place in her heart where she had connected with him before.
In fact, she hadn't thought of him during her captivity since the moment she'd heard his voicemail in which he abandoned their dinner plans yet again. Perhaps, she felt like he had abandoned her all together, despite knowing that if he had come home during Lewis's invasion of her apartment that he might not have made it out alive.
No, she hadn't thought of him. She'd thought of someone else who she would've rather have left in the past.
The sound of the door slamming upon Brian's departure startled her, and she cursed the surge of her heartbeat in her chest. She felt caged inside her own body, and when she looked up at her reflection in the TV screen once more, the unfamiliar skin and bone seemed to be even more of a prison.
She rose sharply from the couch, her hands clenched into fists at her side, as the overwhelming urge to hack out some escape through these fleshy walls engulfed her.
Tearing her gaze from the TV screen, she charged towards the bathroom. Her mind was racing, tears wrenching her expression taut, as she shut the door behind her. She could hear every chug of her heartbeat fluttering quick and shallow in her chest.
Her intentions were bold and apparent in her mind's eye, but even the truth of this new low couldn't stop her from screaming into the silence of her own private torture. The tethers of her tenuous control were snapping one by one, and with the assurance of unending pain ahead of her, she determined to slash away the last of her hesitation.
Escape wouldn't mean freedom this time, but she had to try.
Breaking from the door, she frantically yanked open the drawers and cabinets. She was suddenly desperate, her hands quaking and clumsy as pathetic sobs welled in her throat. Panic shored up in her chest as the object of her search evaded her for what seemed like minutes. She flung open the medicine cabinet, her frenzied search leaving bottles of pain reliever, boxes of tissues and bandaids, and a dozen other random objects strewn across the bathroom before she switched back to the cabinets.
Her breath was raspy and loud in her ears as she came to a halt. A whimper slipped from her lips as her trembling hands hovered over the scissors lying in drawer to the left of the sink. She stared at them for a long moment, her cries quieting and wavering into nearly nothing. At last, she wrapped her fingers about the handle, straightening, as she lifted them in front of her face.
Beyond her, she could see her reflection and the bathroom lights glinting off the scissor's blades and the tears upon her cheeks.
Her hair fell in long waves about her shoulders and she could remember well how he'd grabbed it, yanking her head about whenever he would kiss her neck and jaw, his saliva wet and hot against her flesh. Her stomach twisted at just the thought and it didn't take much to even feel the ghost sensation again along her pulse.
She moaned as a wave of nausea claimed stomach. Grabbing onto the counter, she bent over the sink, panting heavily. For a terrifying moment, she thought she might vomit, and she clenched her eyes shut for several long, excruciating second. Finally, she opened her eyes and glanced over at the scissors clenched in her right hand. Grinding her teeth, she swallowed back bile from her throat.
Yes, he'd hurt her in ways she'd never imagined she would suffer; but things would be different now. She was going to make sure that no one would ever have the opportunity to hurt her ever again...
Squeezing the handles tighter, she lifted her head, finding her haunted expression mere inches away from her in the mirror. Her eyes were dark, smudges of grey filling the soft flesh around her lids while tears clung to her lashes and cheeks.
Letting out a wavering breath, she straightened. Ignoring the sickness that still sat in the pit of her stomach, she grabbed a chunk of her hair and wielded the scissors. They were quaking in her hand, and her scalp burned with the force of her own fingers, but she poised the steel blades on either side of the separated hair, clenching her fingers harder to still the tremble running through her limbs.
The last time she'd cut her hair she'd been trying to change something about herself in hopes that the rest of her body would follow. As her hair grew back around her neck and shoulders, she had thought that it represented her personal growth.
God, how wrong she had been.
She felt no attachment to the long, soft locks which had only served as another weakness for Lewis to exploit.
She bit at her lower lip, choking back the tears in order to maintain her solid hold on the scissors. She took a breath through her nose and closed her eyes for half a second as she clinched the scissor handles together.
Schick!
The sound of steel severing hair filled her ears and she opened her eyes as the handful of brown locks collapsed into her palm, leaving the remaining connected strands to fall against her jaw. She opened her fingers, and the hair slipped from her palm, dancing towards the floor.
She couldn't be terrified at the calm that warmed her veins at the vicious delight of mutilating her once cherished locks. It was too relieving to deny.
She glanced up at her reflection again and grabbed another chunk of hair, her movements more determined now. She didn't hesitate this time as she trapped the section between the blades and chopped in one ragged motion. She didn't look away this time as she sawed her hair from her head, but she hardly even noticed the tears slipping down her cheeks.
Schick. Schick. Schick.
She cut over over and over, savagely hacking portion after portion of hair. It wasn't even and it wasn't pretty but she didn't care. She would've only been more relieved if there were nerve endings inside each lock to feel the unremorseful cutting.
Finally, she stood still as strands of hair floated around her, finding their final beds upon the counter and floor, clinging for life upon her shoulders.
She lowered the scissors and looked into the mirror, searching for any stray piece that she could find to continue the bizarre respite from her aching mind, but gazing at what she'd done on herself, the buzz of temporary relief faded into the harsh clamor of reality.
Brian's expression of shock and horror upon finding her like this flashed in front of her eyes. What would he think of her? What would her therapist think of this hack job? The squad?...Amanda?
The very thought of the sweet detective, who'd protected her through every excruciating moment at the hospital, nearly hammered the strength from her knees. The scissors slipped from her fingers as tight emotion gripped her chest, and she could hear them hit the rug with a dull thud.
They'd all think her unstable, broken and shattered by Lewis's torture, and how could they be wrong?
Clasping her hands to her face, she fought back the deluge of sobs, but her defenses had already suffered too many storms today for her to resist. A low cry trembled from her lips as she scraped her hands over scalp and through the shorn ends of the hair that barely fell to her chin.
I knew it. Lewis's voice laughed inside her head. You don't have it in you.
And maybe he was right. She hadn't had the strength to kill him and she didn't have the strength to fight through this recovery.
I wish you were dead. The thought ran through her mind but she wasn't sure whether it was meant for Lewis...or for herself.
xxxxx
It had been less than 24 hours since Amanda had seen Olivia. She'd watched Olivia leave with Brian, completely uncertain as to how he would handle caring for his traumatized girlfriend on his own. Olivia had been far from mentally stable, and sending her off with Brian had been her last desire, but Olivia was still a grown woman. It had been her choice, but despite knowing that she had no say in the matter, Amanda could not quash the disgruntled feeling inside her.
Now, every moment was filled with thoughts of her. Fear for Olivia's state of mind shadowed even the most logical reasoning she could tell herself.
She'd hardly been able to sleep. Every time she closed her all she could only remember every small, horrifying detail of the beach house and the ensuing ordeal at the hospital. It was hard to rest when memories of brutality and torture haunted her every thought; but she knew without a doubt that Olivia was living with even more terrifying memories inside her head.
Work was a welcome distraction, but as a quiet, uneventful evening came to a close, Amanda found herself gazing across the room at Olivia's empty desk. A pang of regret went through her as she remembered heading out for drinks with Fin that fateful evening, oblivious to the fact that while she and her partner were unwinding Olivia would be violently assaulted and abducted. She wished more than anything that she could go back in time and drag Olivia out with them against all of her objections - anything to keep her from walking into her apartment alone.
"Penny for your thoughts?" Amaro's voice rattled her train of thought, bringing her to the present.
The other detective sat across from her at his own desk, though it appeared that both of them were more contemplative than productive. It had gone unsaid, but Amanda knew they'd both felt the weight of Olivia's absence at SVU.
"Just thinking about Liv." She shrugged, glancing over at Olivia's desk again.
Nick's brow furrowed and he began to play with a pen, dancing it back and forth across his fingers.
"She'll be okay." He said, but she could see the doubt behind his gaze.
Nick was never one to give up and she doubted that he'd want to imagine an SVU without Olivia as his partner. As strong as a bond as partners was Amanda couldn't help but to think the friendship that she and Olivia had forged in the past few days might be stronger. They were two women who had survived the unimaginable, and understanding that trauma was something Nick would never be able to give Olivia.
They were both solemnly quiet for several moments before the opening of the squad room doors alerted them. Brian strode into the room dressed in a full formal NYPD uniform, hat clutched in his fist. His brow was furrowed, and Amanda rose from her desk, expecting bad news.
"Hey, what's up?" She asked as he approached.
"I got held up at this Lincoln Tunnel thing." He said, making a sharp, irritated motion back towards the door. "Now, they think there was suspicious activity, and they want me down there for the cameras because I was a first responding officer."
"Okay…?" Amanda replied, confused as to why he was here telling her this.
"Liv is alone." He finally said, a guilty tone in his voice and exuding from his rigid mannerisms.
"For how long?" Amanda asked, immediately stepping out from behind the desk as concern gripped her.
They both knew that Olivia was a big girl who could take care of herself, but they'd both seen her emotional collapse at the hospital. For once, she and Brian were on the same page, and she thanked God he'd actually come here. They could hate each other all they pleased, but they had one thing in common, and that was their concern for Olivia's well being.
"A couple hours." He muttered, turning away to scrub his hands over his face. "I don't have time to get back up to there, and I couldn't stay even if I did. This fucking press conference is in twenty minutes."
"I'll go." Amanda said, immediately reaching to unholster her service weapon. "Nick, you got this?"
"I should go with you." Nick frowned, sitting forward.
"Somebody has to hold down the fort." Amanda said. "Besides, I've got a good support system going on with her."
"She's my partner…"
"Liv did ask for her at the hospital." Brian added, though his tone belied his irritation over that fact more than his support of it.
"Liv doesn't need anymore men trying to save the world for her, ok." Amanda said, striding to her locker to secure her weapon.
Neither of them replied, but she could sense their shared look of annoyance. Slamming her locker shut, she ignored their arrogance. Damn their egos and their feelings. They both wanted to swoop in and magically save Olivia, but it would never be that simple.
"Brian, you got a key?" Amanda asked as she turned back towards him.
"Yeah, right here." He said, pulling his key ring out. "You know Liv is capable of opening a door, right?"
"You're the one who's asking me to go check on her." Amanda replied, sharply, holding out her palm. "Give me the key."
Brian sighed, but unclipped the key from the ring and dropped it into her hand.
"Thank you." He said, though his tone was flat.
"You're welcome." She returned, allowing her own sarcasm to bleed into the edges of the sentiment.
Shoving the key into her pocket, she shouldered past him.
Her next thought wasn't spared for Brian and his annoyance, but for Olivia. She was the only important one in this equation, and Amanda would be damned if she let her slip away again.