A big thank you to gypsypower for her help with the first scene. I've never seen a therapist and I wanted a realistic depiction so she so kindly offered her experience for which I am extremely grateful :-)

xxxx

2 Weeks Later

She supposed that the environment of Doctor Lindstrom's office was meant to give her a sense of calm and safety with the gentle scent of essential oils, the soft plushness of the chair cushions, and the dim lighting in which she could hide, but calmness never came easy, especially here.

She'd seen him a total of five times in the past two weeks, five hours if one was counting. She'd spent the first two staring at her lap, wondering when the discomfiting silence would end, and she could run from the room. He'd been patient, never pushing her to reveal more than she wanted to, but maybe that was worse. Parts of her wanted to scream out what had happened, rail on about the unfairness of it all because maybe he could answer the questions swirling through her mind.

Why me?

Why now?

After all I've been through why do I have to suffer again?

Why can't I just cease to exist?

Why did she have to leave?

So far, none of them had found a satisfying reply. Neither had Lindstrom's own inquiries. She'd barely managed to recount the sparse details of her past, much less disclose the extent of Lewis's torture. She'd only ever told one person those secrets, and she'd fled fourteen and a half days ago with barely an explanation.

"How are you doing today, Olivia?" Lindstrom asked, drawing her attention from the thoughts which clouded her mind.

She glanced up, forcing a smile

"Fine." She murmured.

A glance towards her watch told her she'd already wasted ten minutes of the sessions by staring off into the oblivion. She'd lost larger chunks of time before, but it was never any less frustrating. She'd always labeled herself as sharp and focused, and the lack of concentration jabbed deeply at her self confidence.

"Fine is what you tell someone you're passing on the street." Lindstrom said with a soft smile. "How do you really feel?"

She shrugged, immediately glancing away. It was usually his first question of the session, and she hated it more than some of the other more invasive ones. Maybe, analyzing her own feelings had never been her strong suit, nor accepting that she wasn't always 'fine'. Her ingrained reaction to feeling that weakness was always deflection, and it came far easier than revealing the truth.

"I'm sure you've seen the news." She murmured, picking at a string on the seam of her jeans. "What's your professional opinion?"

"I don't claim to make accurate deductions about things I know nothing about, Olivia." Lindstrom assured her. "That's why you're here."

"Yeah…." She muttered, glancing off towards the window.

The words were on the back of her tongue, a disclosure that she had hoped would set her free; but so far her expectations were rapidly falling short. She'd walked in here, praying that she could tell him everything, and he'd, by some magic, fix the shattered pieces of her mind and heart, but she hadn't even been able to keep up her side of the bargain. She pressed her eyes shut for a moment, wishing in the back of her mind that Amanda were next to her, holding her hand. Maybe, then she would be able to say the words that Lindstrom wanted to hear.

"I know it's hard for your to understand what's happening inside of you, Olivia." Lindstrom replied, quietly. "So let's just take things slow. Pick out one feeling. One emotion. What is it?"

Olivia sucked in her lower lip, her lids stinging as she contemplated Lindstrom's question. It wasn't hard to grasp the strongest emotion inside of her, but naming it was something she didn't want to do. Saying it out loud made it too real, cementing in her mind what Amanda had done to her, and the dozens of people before her.

She swallowed hard, and opened her eyes, blinking away the blurriness of eager tears. She reached up to quickly dash away the moisture, and cleared her throat as Lindstrom patiently waited for her reply.

"I just feel... betrayed." She whispered at last, gazing down at the swirls in the carpet.

"Betrayed." Lindstrom repeated. "By who?"

She scoffed, shrugging once more as a mirthless smile touched her lips, a shield for her pain.

"Everyone." She whispered, wrapping her finger around the string she'd been playing with, and ripping it from the seam.

"Everyone." Lindstrom echoed, a sympathetic tenor entering his tone. "Who's 'everyone'?"

Olivia breathed out a long sigh, and rubbed her fingers over her eyes once more. The questions never stopped, and Lindstrom's endless supply of them seemed a daunting task in the midst of her own uncertainty.

"I've been an afterthought to everyone since birth." She finally murmured, latching to a story that she had told dozens of times, one that wasn't so fresh. "An afterthought of rape. A consequence that my mother didn't want…."

"Your mother was raped?" Lindstrom clarified gently.

"Yes, when she was in college." Olivia nodded, still hardly meeting his eyes. "She worked in the cafeteria at Hudson University. A man… a vendor for the cafeteria...he met her there, and attacked her one evening in a dark stairwell. She never saw his face..."

"You seem to know the details quite well." Lindstrom commented.

"Yes, I researched it for a very long time. It's one of the reasons I decided to become a cop, but that wasn't until I became a woman myself, and understood the trauma of rape."

"And before that? What did you think?"

"That she hated me, of course. She only kept me because of her Catholic upbringing. Because of victim blaming and the idea that abortion is a sin. Otherwise….we wouldn't be sitting here."

"That's a grim outlook." Lindstrom frowned. "Do you think that would be better for you?"

"Maybe for everyone else." Olivia whispered, wincing against another rise of tears. "Back then...and now."

"Consider this." Lindstrom offered after a moment of silence. "You became a sex crimes detective because you wanted to help people like your mother. Is that correct?"

Olivia nodded, reaching up to smear away the tears seeking to spill from her eyes.

"You think that they deserve compassion and understanding?"

She nodded once more, and her throat knotted because she knew where his reasoning was going. She'd knew all of the assurances and comforting words because she'd said them hundreds of times to rape victims. Somehow she couldn't tell them to herself.

"You're in your mother's place right now, Olivia." Lindstrom added more quietly. "You've suffered an unimaginable tragedy, and no matter the consequences of that on you or on those around you….you deserve the same compassion and understanding you've been trying to give other woman for almost two decades."

"Easier said than done." She murmured, squashing the much more complicated responses to his words. They felt far too large and intimidating to tackle when she already felt so exposed.

"I know." Lindstrom replied, pausing before he suggested, "Let's move on. Who else do you feel betrayed by?"

She blew out a low breath, and nervously tucked her hair behind her ear.

"Most of the men I've dated." She generalized with a motion of her hand. "Many people have claimed to care about me only to reveal their selfish motives later on…"

"And your boyfriend now." Lindstrom interjected. "Where does he fall?"

A choked laugh trembled on her lips, and she lifted her shoulder.

"He...uh…" She struggled, knowing she could not reveal the seed of her doubt in Brian without beginning the story of Lewis. "He, um, hasn't always been the most conventional."

"In what ways?" Lindstrom asked.

"We started off as a one night stand thirteen years ago. We were both new to Special Victims, and I think that's why we hit it off." Olivia explained the way she'd come to think of that night. "It's kind of funny because at the time he wanted more, but I cut him off. I told him I didn't mix business with pleasure. Now…"

She stared at her lap as the end of her sentence lapsed into silence. Lindstrom waited, though she could feel his eyes on her. He wasn't pushing because he sensed this subject was fresh and painful, but in reality, the stagnant state of their relationship had been building for quite some time.

"Now…." Lindstrom finally echoed when she pursed her lips over the truth.

"He wanted a relationship with me back then." She murmured at last. "I'm not so sure about that anymore."

"What makes you say that?"

"He refuses to talk about children or marriage. We don't live together…. Well, we didn't…" She cut off, realizing that the past three weeks had been spent under his roof, though it didn't feel as if they were together in any sense of the word.

"You're living with him now?"

"Yes, for the past three weeks." She stated, avoiding framing it in any context of Lewis's abduction of her.

"And how do you feel about that?" Lindstrom asked, that dread question.

"Before I would've loved it. Now, we barely speak. He goes to work, and comes home with dinner, but I think he does that out of obligation rather than consideration." She mused with a sense of self loathing. "I'm a burden to him. He's uncomfortable with me."

I've let him down. The final confession slipped through her mind, catching at the back of her tongue. I've wanted someone else, and I'm afraid it's the last nail in the coffin…

She closed her eyes once more, her head lowered. Hidden behind the short strands of her hair, she struggled not to mentally break again. Her relationship with Brian was hardly the reason for her being here.

"Many times loved ones are afraid." Lindstrom replied, softly. "They don't know what to do or how to help, and it leads to a disconnect."

"I don't even know if I want him to help me." Olivia replied, sharply. "I've never needed someone to prop me up, especially not him."

"You make an emotional support system sound like a weakness, Olivia." Lindstrom admonished, though his tone remained at gentle as ever. "I want you to try to remember that it's not a weakness to be here, or to allow your family and friends to rally around you. You are not a superhuman, Olivia. You can accept their kindness without guilt."

"Can I?" Olivia repeated, flicking a watery gaze towards Lindstrom.

He knew nothing of Amanda nor of their adulterous kisses. He didn't know the way that sin had widened the cavern between her and Brian, or the way her desires still ate at her brain every day despite her supposed repentance. Every kind word or good deed exchanged between them was an apology, a bandaid holding together their splintering connection. What could come of that except for guilt?

xxxxxx

Olivia arrived home an hour later, struggling with the door lock at she balanced the brown, paper bag in the crook of her other arm.

She'd taken the subway back, and she had stopped off early, wandering past Central Park, then down towards Brian's apartment. As she had passed the bodegas and taquerias, she'd seen the liquor store, the neon OPEN flashing brilliantly behind the barred windows. She wasn't whimsical enough in the moment to call it a sign, only desperate enough.

Lindstrom had suggested letting her guard down throughout the days between their next session. He'd encouraged her to let friends, and Brian help her in any way they could, and to accept their offerings as a sign that they cared for her well being. Maybe, it was supposed to make her value her life, but whatever hopes were wrapped inside the assignment seemed lost beneath a wave of self hated that she couldn't resist indulging.

Arriving home with the liquor in hand, she couldn't feign to have any other intention but wasting that emotion beneath the diligent effects of the alcohol. She couldn't dare to imagine what her former self might think of the disgustingly destructively and pathetic coping mechanism, so like her mother's, and she didn't let it cross her mind now as she shoved the door open.

Stumbling inside the dim apartment, she kicked the door shut behind her with her heel, and leaned against it for a moment, panting softly as her eyes roved across the empty space. She thanked God that Brian wasn't here to see her tumbling slowly down this hill of despair, and sniffing back tears, she pushed herself towards the kitchenette, cradling the bottle to her chest.

She sank down in the chair at the table, and set the paper bag down in front of her. Clutching the neck of the bottle with both hands, she stared at it through a blurry gaze. She trembled, a mixture of fear and pain which burned her nerve endings.

She was afraid of this, of losing herself, losing Brian, Amanda, and everything else that had once mattered to her. She'd spent the entire session detailing how they'd all hurt her, yet now, she couldn't blame them. She could only blame herself.

She sucked in a sharp breath against tears, and lowered chin with gritted teeth. Glaring at the bottle, she dragged the paper bag down, the material crinkling to a crushed ball at the bottom of the glass. The amber liquid gleamed back her, catching slim rays of fading sunlight from the window.

She lifted a shaking hand to the lid, her grip weak at first as she began to twist it off. She grappled for a moment, releasing a raspy exclamation from between her clenched teeth, before the seal finally cracked. She sank back as the lid slipped from her fingers, forgotten as the scent of the alcohol touched her nose.

"Oh…." She choked out, clenching her fingers harder around the neck as she lowered her head, tears rushing to her eyes in a second, involuntary wave.

She pressed her face into her arm, breathing heavily as memories and childhood anger flooded her, but so much of it felt foreign now. She'd never been able to understand, but, oh, how she understood now. She understood more than she had ever wanted, even at her darkest hours of teenagehood, when all she had desired was a peek into her mother's psyche. Enlightenment wasn't anything what she had expected. No, it was much worse.

Whimpering, she lifted her eyes to the bottle, pulling it closer over the wood. The liquid sloshed inside, enchanting her lips towards the rim. Pulling herself up straighter, she lifted the bottle, hesitating as it hovered almost close enough to taste.

She knew what Lindstrom would say. Self medication is not a path to recovery, only a retraction from it, but in the moment, she couldn't bring herself to care for the sound logic.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she pressed the cold glass to her lips, a quick decision before she could falter again. The liquor slipped past her teeth, burning the soft insides of her mouth and throat, but she steeled herself against the discomfort, and swallowed - one gulp, then two, then three. Her head rushed with a buzzing warmth as she finally set the bottle down. She stared down at the table, breathing heavily as her heart raced with the sudden intake of alcohol. She could already feel the flush on her cheeks, and with blind ambitions of drowning the pain, she clutched the bottle once more. She drank until her head began to spin behind her tightly clenched eyes, and she had to take a breath. Slamming the bottle down, she coughed against the sharp, fiery liquor in her throat, uneven cries melding with each choke.

Sinking down against the table, she covered her face with her arm once more, and prayed that the dulling effects would take over quickly now. The next second wouldn't be soon enough.

Several moments has passed when her silent, desperate pleading was shattered by the sudden sound of Brian's key jiggling in the lock. She gasped, sitting up straight as she heard him step inside, then the door slam behind him.

"Liv?" He called out, and she felt her pulse speed up, from fear of discovery rather than the effects of the liquor.

She fumbled for the lid, struggled to screw it back on with uncoordinated movements. Stray tears clung to her cheeks as she attempted to stand up, and the room began to spin around her. She grabbed at the edge of the table, panting as Brian's footsteps grew closer.

He came to a standstill at the entrance of the kitchen, the Chinese takeout clutched in one hand as his eyes fell upon the scene. She stayed next to the table, biting at her lower lip as she tried to find some explanation.

"Liv." He repeated in a low tone, his brow furrowed, gray eyes widened with disbelief as they bounced between her inebriated appearance and the bottle.

"What are you doing?" He whispered at last.

"Nothing." The denial rolled off her tongue as she shifted away from the chair, putting her body between the bottle and Brian's line of sight.

"Nothing." Brian repeated, advancing into the kitchen.

He set the bag of take out down on the counter and tossed his keys next to it as he sauntered towards her. His cloudy gaze and tense shoulders threatened her with the discovery of her drinking, and she clenched teeth against a quiver, gripping the edge of table behind her until it bit into flesh.

He drew near, and he seemed to tower over her as came to stand mere inches from her. She stared up him, tears shimmering in her guarded gaze as his stormy eyes cut into her. The silence between them was tenuous until, finally, he moved to reach around her. Choked with panic, she vainly tried to push in front of his arm in a weak attempt to stop him, releasing a low protest.

"Brian, wait-"

He jostled into her, crowding her out of her place in front of the table as he swiftly grabbed the bottle.

"No, Brian!" She cried out, grabbing at his arm as he swung it out of her reach.

"What is this?" He demanded, taking a step back to avoid her flailing fingers.

"It's nothing!" She insisted, tears choking her.

"The last time you said that it was lie." He snapped, his eyes glittering with something close to betrayal, although she had been sure she was only betraying herself in this moment.

"It's not your concern." She ground out through the emotion that would silence her, and firmly held out her hand in wordless command.

"No?" Brian demanded, "And how is that, Olivia?"

He waved the bottle between them, taunting her with a solace she had come so close to calling hers.

"Huh?" He sneered when she didn't answer him, her eyes following the amber liquid. "When will it be my concern? When you become a drunk just like your mother? When I find you dead at the bottom of a set of stairs?!"

His words sliced into her with a pain and indignation so great that for a moment she could scarcely breathe. Finally, the whole weight of it hit her, and she felt herself trembling because how dare he be so brutal, and yet so honest in that brutality? She didn't want the truth, or a mirror to look at, to see how far she had fallen. She'd only wanted an escape, a way to slip beneath the edges of reality into a kinder, less painful world, but he wouldn't let her.

She stumbled back, clutching her chest as the sharpness of his words went through her chest like knives. She could hear herself panting in her ears, but the air couldn't quite reach her lungs. She grabbed at the table behind her with a numb hand, her unfocused eyes trying to find anything but Brian's horrified expression.

"Jesus, Liv, I'm sorry…" Brian whispered as he watched her begin to crumble before him.

She could feel her legs giving way, and he rushed forward, catching her quickly. She heard the bottle clank against the table, and a part of her wanted to turn and grab it, run from this house before he could stop her, but his arms were unyielding. He crushed her to his chest, his fingers clenched with a quiver in hair as she convulsed with tears in his arms. The horror and shame followed quickly after her dying dreams of drinking herself to unconsciousness, and as oxygen finally reached her airways, she sobbed raggedly into his leather jacket, fighting against the insistence of his comfort.

"Liv, stop it!" He demanded as she pushed against his chest with her balled up hands.

She cried out in frustration and humiliation, wrenching away from his arms, only to be caught once more. Her violent struggles knocked them off balance, and he stumbled back into the counter. His grasp on her faltered, and she shoved his hand from her arm as she began to charge towards the living room.

"Liv!" He called after her as she rushed towards the front door, tears blinding her.

His footsteps fell heavily behind her, quickly over taking her own stumbling ones. He caught her by the arm just as they reached the front door again, and he spun her around, pushing her up against the cold, wood surface. She gasped around tears as he pinned both her arms, and pressed into her, startling her with a kiss. His mouth was not kind, only desperate, raw with the last plea he had for her to stay.

She was frozen against the door, her hands grasping empty air as he ravaged her lips to swollen compliance, igniting the promise of another empty abandon.

It was the first time he had touched her this way since before the abduction, and their last tryst inside her apartment played through mind now with a new realization. Was this all they could do to salve their open wounds? Was this all he could offer her? They had no more intimacy than frantic pleasure beneath the sheets, then and now, but in this moment, she was just wasted enough to cling to that short prospect of bliss, that familiar rhythm of their previous relationship. Thoughts of his hands, rough and unforgiving, filled her body with the idea of something other than endless despair - a chance to feel; a chance to be someone other than the damaged victim she'd become; a chance to put off losing this man she'd tried so desperately to love.

It wouldn't be the oblivion she had hoped for, but with his own body clutched in pleasure he wouldn't be able to stop her now.