Post "Psycho/Therapist"
Olivia
Hair styled, makeup perfect, suit ironed…
There's not a hair out of place on the woman standing in front of me, though I'd tell her not to bite her lip. She'll wear off the lipstick.
Sighing, I lift a hand to pat the curl lying against my cheek. My appearance is immaculate, a vision crafted from my desperate attempt to not seem so unprepared for today. I've spent the better part of the morning staring in the mirror when all I'd like to do is look away.
I'm not ready. Despite all my prepping and planning, the hours I've spent ensuring that I'd be the victor today…. I'm not ready to walk into that courtroom and place Lewis's fate in the hands of the jury. My adult years have been spent depending on the justice system for fulfillment of my duties, yet when it come to my own personal fight I can hardly bear to trust it.
The what ifs have crushed me since the very first day in court. What if they don't believe me? What if they know I'm lying? What if they don't convict him? What if he gets away? What if he does it again?
What if I've placed my anticipation of closure too squarely on this expectation of justice?
There are a million horrible ways that this could end, and I have lived them all inside my head.
Glancing towards my watch I realize there's no time left for pondering if I am to make it into the courtroom on time to hear the verdict. I spare one last look in the mirror before I leave the room.
The day has come whether I'd like it too or not.
When I arrive at the courthouse, the halls are bustling. A slew of media attention has erupted around the proceedings, a fact I despise. I can hardly watch the TV anymore without seeing his face or my face splayed across the screen, voiced over by judgemental talking heads. The discourse over the whys and the hows has nearly driven me mad. Quite often they are so far from the truth, and yet, at times, almost too close for comfort.
Keeping my head lowered, I weave through the crowd, shouldering my way towards the courtroom with the hopes of escaping unnoticed.
"Wait, there she is!" I hear a man behind me exclaim, shooting a boulder of anxiety straight through my stomach.
I glanced back to see the reporter and his entourage flocking towards me, cameras, mics, and eyes jabbing at me with terrifying inquiry.
"Miss Benson, how you feel about the trial today?" The man demands, pushing in to shove a mic into my face.
Caught off guard, I stutter, trying to take a step back, only to bump into someone else. I gasp, beginning to turn, but the grasp is strong and steady on my elbow.
"That's Detective Benson to you." A familiar voice replies for me in biting condescension.
I pull away, turning about to face Amanda who has seemingly appeared out of nowhere. My heart immediately squeezes at the sight of her, throbbing in dull pain. It's never relief to see her. It's not even happiness anymore.
It's been a certain kind of excruciating hell existing in the same space as her every single day. I thought the knife like pain in my chest would dull after time, but we are here, weeks after the fact, and it still hurts just as much as if it were yesterday. Our last deeply personal interaction replays through my mind every time we make eye contact, haunting me with thoughts and fears. Despite my resistance I can't stop caring for her, but all I can do is pray that she won't one day end up dead or in prison. I can only imagine how she coped with my rejection that night, though I know I can't take responsibility.
I realize I'm staring at her, mouth agape, and I struggle to make some kind of neutral resistance to her interjection with the hoard of reporters mere inches behind me.
"Wh-what are you doing?" I stutter, although it's obvious.
She's here to be the savior, the Mr. Fix-it to anyone but herself. It's easy for her to make these confrontations for others, to jump in the midst of chaos and command calm - but never for her own peace and wellbeing.
"She doesn't have a comment." Amanda snaps at the reporter, ignoring my question, as she dismissively waves a hand at them. "Now get along."
"Who are you?" The man demands, seemingly annoyed that she's come between him and his target.
"NYPD." Amanda replies, sharply, flashing her badge at them from her hip. "If you wanted a sound bite you should've gotten a seat in there."
Before they can answer, she takes my arm once more, dragging me away from the group of press. I still feel as if I'm in reeling as she guides us safely to the courtroom and through the doors. My resistance tumbles from my lips in a series of huffs and stutters until we're inside the much quieter courtroom. At least I know that the media here knows their boundaries.
Once we've reached relative safety, I try to gather my composure as well as my common sense.
"What are you doing?" I repeat, pulling my arm away as I regain use of my tongue.
I don't want her to think that I've changed my mind or that she's swayed me with her heroic rescue from the reporters. I'm grateful, but it's a small favor, one that makes little difference in the grand scheme of things.
"You don't owe them a comment." Amanda answers, her sharp blue eyes narrowed so directly upon me that I can hardly return her gaze.
"I…" I turn away from half a second, glancing across the dozens of people inside the room. "I just wasn't sure you'd be here. I could've handled this by myself."
"You think I'm not gonna be here for this?" Amanda asks, tossing a hand towards the judge's bench. "He was my perp in the beginning if you'll remember."
I glance back at her quickly, working hard to hide the burn that trickles through my chest bone. She's here for Lewis - not for me.
"Yes, I remember." I reply, stiffly, adjusting my suit jacket to hide the tremble in my hands.
I keep my eyes towards the floor and the rows of chairs ahead of me - anywhere but towards her face.
"Oh, come on, Liv," She says more softly, "After what he did to you I wouldn't miss this."
I turn my head away quickly as a knot of emotion burgeons in my throat. A rush of tears stings my eyes, but I try to convince myself that I'm just on edge because of the verdict we're about to witness. I'm tired, overworked, stressed out - not in the least bit affected by her concern which I assumed she'd tossed to the side.
It's a lie, and, deep in my heart, even I'm not deceived by my own excuses.
I know she cares. Maybe, she cares too much - but I can't accept her devotion to me any longer. It's not as pure and undiluted as it once was, and the choices she has made have led me to believe that our relationship was no longer a priority. I pulled away because I couldn't take the pain of realizing that her addictions were more important than me, and that even after all her repentance and tears, she had no intention of truly changing that. I gave her every chance possible to redeem herself, and she failed each and every time.
I felt justified in ending the ill fated relationship between us, but at times I find myself still yearning for the bond we once shared. Perhaps it hurts more knowing that I still love her with every fiber of my being; having her taken from me by the cruel hand of every single vice she has fallen to. A desperate part of me wants to wonder if she was telling the truth the last time we spoke - that she really is trying to quit.
Stop being foolish. I tell myself with a shake of my head.
She's told me such lies before, only to hurt me the very next day with some indiscretion or another.
"I'm going to find a seat." I mutter, ducking away from her intense gaze.
We haven't even referenced our relationship, or come even close to discussing it, but it fills my brain, ballooning across my mind in an all consuming wave. For the past few weeks I've managed to keep my head down and avoid even the possibility of interacting with her, but now that she's next to me, forcing this contact upon me, it's hard to look into her eyes without remembering that when I held her I knew it was all I ever wanted. It's hard not to think of how she looks when she sleeps next to me, finally quiet and peaceful because she's never anything but a raging storm when she's awake. It's hard to forget that when she stares back at me in those moments that it's the happiest I've ever been…
xxxxx
It's nearing twenty five minutes since the verdict has been read. Twenty five long, excruciating minutes that I've sat inside this cold, empty stairwell struggling to have any kind of grasp on my emotions.
I hate the way the dull, cement walls echo my sniffles and sobs back to my ear tendfold, but I have no other place to hide. The masses of media and the public await me just outside and I can't find the strength to rise and greet them.
The words keep ringing through my head - on the count of attempted rape we find the defendant not guilty.
My stomach feels sick. My hands are trembling and cold.
They didn't believe me even after all I have gone through to keep that charge on the table. In the eyes of the jury I've suffered nothing even close to rape. In fact, they wanted me investigated more than anything.
I've barely controlled another wave of tears when I hear the door open loudly from above me. Sniffing sharply, I drag my hands over my face in a desperate attempt to cover my anguish. I begin to push myself up from the stairs in order to escape whatever confrontation I'm about to have, but a hand on my shoulder stops me.
"Liv, are you okay?"
Amanda's voice causes me to groan because she's the last person I need monitoring my well being. I sink back down to the stairs, cradling my face in my hands.
"Liv?" Amanda repeats when I don't answer.
I hear her boots scuff the concrete as she moves down beside me, taking a seat at my side.
"Everyone's concerned." She murmurs, touching my arm.
"I'll be fine." I reply, stoically, lifting my head to stare at the wall.
"You don't look fine." Amanda counters, quickly.
"Well, I am." I snap, snatching my arm away from her as I toss her a watery glare.
Her silence prolongs, ringing loudly with judgement through the frozen air between.
"You won in there." Amanda finally replies, her voice losing it's gentle tone as she tosses her hand back in the direction of the courtroom. "He's going to prison, Liv, for the rest of his miserable life."
"I know that!" I nearly snarl, my face flushing in indignation that she has come here simply to berate me for my feelings.
She wishes I were strong now, instead of weak. She doesn't know what it's like to be the one holding a person together with only the strength in your arms, as if squeezing hard enough will force the shattered pieces back together. She wishes I were logical now, instead of unhinged, here when it is my feelings at stake instead of hers.
Pushing up from the stairs, I march across the small space of the landing, my back turned to her as I clasp my hands over my burning eyes once more. She's silent behind me, long enough that I sense regret clouding in her chest, permeating these four walls. It puts a knot in my throat because it's reminiscent of so many arguments we've had before, the dozens which spiral out behind us like the shrapnel of one tragic plane wreck after another.
I clench my fingers into my hair, drawing breaths despite the tight pain expanding through my chest. I hurt when she's near me, but when we're apart the distance hardly dulls that pain. I don't know which one is worse.
"Olivia, I'm sorry…" Her apology, the one I knew was coming, finally reaches my ears.
This time last year I might have accepted that. I might have crumbled beneath the repentance glimmering deep within her gaze, but I've learned that no matter how sincere she sounds, her decisions always fail to back her up. It doesn't matter anymore whether she means it or not - only that it will never last.
I cringe when I feel her fingers brush my back once more, hesitantly skimming down my spine.
"I didn't mean that you are ungrateful. It's just….this is over now. You can go on."
I turn, arching my back away from her inquiring touch. Steeling my expression, I lift my chin to stare back at her.
"Go on." I repeat, frigidly, "Go on to what?"
"The rest of your life…." Amanda says in confusion, making a wide gesture around us.
I scoff, indifferently, all the while glancing away from her as another rush of hot moisture fills my eyes. She makes it sound so simple despite the fact that I know she's struggled just as I have to move past the trauma of sexual assault; but then again maybe she's never truly processed it. In the past I might have felt compassion for her, but now I'm almost angry that she can't use her own experience to have any hint of understanding for me.
Glancing back towards her, I whisper, sharply, "My dignity has been taken from me. My sanity. My job may still be taken from me…. and you've decided to take the last of what I did have."
She draws back, her lips parting, slowly. I can see the creasing of her brow and the slight tremble that seizes her chin, signaling her tears. My chest thrums with the memory of a pain I once felt at her sadness, but I can't stay here and contemplate what might have been.
"This selfishness, Amanda." I whisper, feeling my own features twist in pain. "It's ruined us. So forgive me if I take a little for myself."
Shouldering past her, I rush towards the stairs. The floor tilts and blurs beneath me as I charge towards my escape, but then her hand is upon me, grabbing at my arm, desperately.
"Olivia, wait!" She implores in an anguished tone.
I turn back towards her, yanking on my arm which is locked inside her grasp.
"Let me go." I demand, my voice trembling.
"No." She whispers, a tear streaking down her cheek as she pushes in closer to me.
My arm is poised between us, my fist shaking, but she won't release me. I pull back once more, harder than before, but the step is behind me. With a surprised cry, I stumble on the edge of the stair and my own two feet, landing awkwardly on my side. My outstretched hand scrapes over the hard, gritty surface, causing me to cry out.
"Liv!" Amanda's voice rises, sharply, in concern, and she immediately drops to her knees next to me as I clutch my burning palm.
My hip and my hand are throbbing in pain, humiliation making a flushed swatch up my neck and face. I've been punched in the face by men twice my size and never once shed a tear, but tripping and falling to my own demise of embarrassment is almost more than I can take in this moment. When she touches me, my entire being flares in rejection.
"Just fucking stop!" I snap in her face, the curse spilling from my tongue hastily as I yank my arm away.
"I- I'm sorry." Amanda whispers, hollowly, the beginning of a sob choking her throat as her hand hovers over my shoulder.
"Stop touching me." I cry, shoving her hand away and grabbing at the railing to pull myself up.
"Let me help you." Amanda insists, her voice strangled with tears and desperation.
She clutches my arm, as I get my feet under myself, and I immediately begin to struggle away from her as full formed, heaving sobs break to the surface. Instead of desisting, she drags me in closer, wrapping her arms around my shoulders.
"I'm sorry, Liv, I'm sorry." She cries in my hair, nearly crushing me with the ardor of her grasp.
The comfort of her embrace and the passion of her words force another shard of pain through my chest because I know I can't accept this. I can not take her hugs or her kisses; her apologies or her promises. I've shut the door to my heart, and I can not open it again without the whole of her spilling back into my chest, rushing to fill every cavity and empty space inside of me.
Harsh, aching cries fall from my lips as I use the last of my strength to try to escape her arms, but in my weakened state she easily overpowers me. I'm pinned between her and the wall, and she clenches me tight to her chest until I slowly lose my grip on my failing ire.
Finally, I lapse down in her arms, my fingers curling around her shirt in quivering fists. All of my anger and pain rains down upon the open pillow of her breasts, and she takes every droplet until she's soaked through with my sadness, sopping with my anger.
I find us sinking back down, collapsing into a huddled mass of emotion at the bottom of the stairs, our soft whimpers melding into an echoey, somber harmony against the cement walls. It's both strange and comforting for her to be the one holding me, her arms so familiar while my heart cracks just a little bit more.
Why did you have to hurt me?
I want to scream the words, but I've been struck mute by the utter despair and pain of it all. All I can do is shiver against her and hope she feels the agony twisting me to my bones. I hope she understands that I would've loved her to the very end if she had only chosen me one single time. One good reason would have been enough….
Her apologies dwindle into halting breaths which I know are covering her tears, and for a moment, I can barely contain my own because everything within me wants to soothe her hurt; but those days are gone, replaced by this irrevocable anger and betrayal.
At last, when she falls completely silent, I pull back the raging emotion from my mouth, swallowing it into my belly. I've given her enough my voice for now.
She pulls back slowly, and I can hardly bear to meet her eyes. She touches my jaw with a hesitant hand, but I turn my face away with a low noise of resistance.
"Let me take you home." She whispers, her voice raw.
Her words jolt me, snapping my eyes towards hers much more quickly than her physical prodding. Our gazes clash, cinching my throat tight at the sight of the tears clinging to her blonde lashes and her blue eyes shot through with redness.
"Not like that." She clarifies quickly, her brow furrowing at my inquiring expression. "Just to make sure you're there...safe and sound."
"No." I scoff, quietly, and shift away to grab the railing.
It's preposterous that she wants to care for me now when she's witnessed the extent of my pain. I can't remember a single time in the past few weeks where she's made an attempt to express her concern when those have been the worst days of my life.
Rising from the stairs, I pace away, drawing my hands over my face. My cheeks are wet and flushed from crying, and I can only imagine how I would look should I be in front of a mirror.
"Well, someone needs to make sure you do." Amanda asserts, and I hear her standing up behind me, ready to fight once more.
"I can take care of myself." I return, glancing over my shoulder at her with a callous gaze.
"I'm taking you home." Amanda repeats as if her simple declaration will be the end of the conversation.
"No." I shake my head.
"Then who?" She's asks, folding her arms. "I know you, Olivia. You don't want to show weakness to anyone, least of all the people you work with. I'm here and I'm not worth anything to you so you don't have to worry about disappointing me or damaging your image. You already know how I feel about you…."
My nostrils flare at her words, and I clench my hands at my sides. In some ways she is right, but it still hurts to listen to - that she loves me in ways she'd never think to afford herself. I accused her of selfishness, but I know that it's only a by-product of her self destruction.
"Fine." I whisper at last, glancing away to avoid her reaction. "Take me home."
I want to my blame my weakness on the emotional exhaustion of the trial, and I know I can convince myself of this for as long as it takes to believe it. Otherwise, I wouldn't be able to live with the fact that I am making a mistake. The trapdoors of my heart are groaning beneath the weight of her watery eyed instistence, and I fear that soon the floodgates will be opened.