Olivia

Waking up next to a warm, soft body is a universal pleasure, one I believe transcends romance or even sex at times. It means I haven't woken alone, which in the end holds a larger meaning then a few moments of orgasm.

Waking up this morning doesn't cause me any pleasure. The disappointment is a sour, churning mess in my stomach, a soup of regret and frustration towards myself, before I've even opened my eyes. I've woken up from dozens of bad decisions before, but none so devastating as this. I wish I had taken a few sips of the wine that she poured me as some sort of excuse of inebriation, but there will be nothing of the sort. I knew what she wanted from me the moment she offered to take me home - and I let her. I willingly walked into the temptation of being alone with her, and I cannot feign my innocence in the matter. I could've said no at any time, and I know she would've listened to me eventually, but instead I did what my body and heart wanted rather than what my head knows is right.

I kissed her back.

I threw her down.

I fucked her.

I let her sleep next to me.

I did all of these things, and the knowledge that the responsibility for last night rests solely on my shoulders nearly crushes me. Perhaps if she also knew that this was a mistake it might be easier, but I know Amanda. I saw the look in her eyes when I kissed her and sank down between her legs. She loves me and wants me to love her in return with a desperation that is as terrifying as it is heartbreaking. Now, I must tell her that it can't be so.

Sitting up slowly at the edge of the bed, I run my fingers through my knotted hair and try to calm the anxiety rushing through my stomach. I have no intention of continuing this relationship, but imagining her reaction causes my heart to pound. I don't want to do to her as she has done to me so many times, but I know I'm about to.

Standing from the bed, I quickly go to my closet and randomly choose an outfit for the day. I'm not even sure if I would know if it didn't match or if I'm making some unintended fashion statement.

I leave the room and head to the shower, impatient to stand beneath the cleansing spray. I can smell her on me, the remainders of pleasure marking me with damning evidence of my horrible choices last night. The familiarity of it all grabs at my heart with long, cold fingers, ushering me towards a pit of depression that I am almost too willing to fall into. I've always managed to pull myself together when a tough situation calls for it, but after the stress of the trial and my tumultuous evening with Amanda, I'm left grasping for that same tenacity which has sustained me through the past few months. I feel drained, the very last bits of my strength sucked dry.

My throat is tight as I scrub at my body until my flesh is nearly raw. The physical reminders of the night before may have dispersed beneath my relentless washing, but even as I clean myself of her, I must bar the memories of my own climaxes until the tears spring fresh to my eyes; and beyond the most pleasurable reflections, the more painful ones lie.

More than desire or sex, it felt so good to hold someone, to soothe the pain and anguish tearing me apart inside. For those hours I almost forgot what Lewis had done, and what the jury had failed to do. Maybe, even if just for a minute, I forgot what she had done too.

A soft cry erupts from lips, unchecked, and I sink back against the wall of the shower, fighting the emotion. I said I would look out for myself now. I said I wouldn't cry about her anymore, or waste anymore time on her than I already had. I said I wouldn't put myself back into a position to be hurt, yet here I am; and now I have done exactly what I have vowed to never do - I took her for my own selfish reasons and desires.

I want some way to blame her, to ease the guilt, but I can't. It hurts more than I thought it would be the user. Standing in her shoes for once, I can hardly take the knowledge that I am going to hurt her more than I ever intended.

The tears slip quickly from beneath my lids, streaming down my neck and disappearing into the pounding water of the shower. Somewhere at my feet, they will circle to the drain, along with any hope I've ever had of moving on from the woman in my bed.

It takes several, long minutes to compose myself enough to finish washing myself and when the emotion finally abates, I find myself even more drained than before. I feel like a numb, lifeless shell as I go through the motions of washing my hair, and rinsing the soap away. When I emerge from the shower, I only check the mirror to ensure that my face no longer bears the flushed signs of anguish. With my body moving on autopilot, I dress myself and blow dry my hair, desperately trying to stop the panicked thoughts from clouding my head.

I know what comes next.

I have to go out and wake her, tell her to gather her clothes and leave. I have to tell her that this can't go on, for both our sakes. I have to tell her the truth….

Exiting the bathroom, I can feel my heartbeat throbbing in my chest, causing waves of nausea to crash through my stomach.

At the bedroom door I gaze in on her sleeping form, soft and quiet in her slumber. She appears so peaceful, and I wish more than anything that I could've provided that for her forever. Oh, how I wanted to be her solace, her protector, her savior, but maybe that wasn't enough. Maybe all she ever wanted was acceptance… and I couldn't give her that. My job and my own goddamn morals wouldn't allow it.

Grasping the door frame, I lower my head, clenching my teeth against tears. I try to even out my breathing and control the emotion washing over me, but the resolve I need to complete this heinous task is escaping me, slowly but steadily. My willpower wilts down to nothing in my chest as the moments tick by, and she continues sleep, unaware of my conflict mere yards away from her.

Suddenly, a noise from the living room startles me, halting my dilemma. I turn my ear towards the outer room as the sound comes again - a low, consistent vibrating against the floorboards.

My own cell phone is in the bedroom, and I realize it must be Amanda's, still in her pants on the floor where I discarded them. Welcoming the distraction, I head out to the livingroom and snatch her pants up from the floor. Sticking my hand in the pocket, I fish out the buzzing device - but it is not the diversion I had hoped for.

A moment of confusion grips me as I open my hand to gaze down at a small flip phone, no doubt a prepaid disposable. The number displayed on the tiny screen is restricted.

No….it can't be…

Dismay grips me because I know what this is. I can feel my fingers tremble, the first sparks of anger flickering in my chest with a familiar burn. I can hear my breath rushing through my nose, my jaw clenching as the phone continues to jangle in my palm.

I'm done… Amanda's voice murmurs in my head, a scathing lie. Nate...the gambling… I don't want it anymore.

A rush of tears fill my eyes, and I press my lids shut; but I hardly feel the burn of betrayal, not anymore, not after all these times. The anger rushes in above the pain, a deluge of rage to protect the disjointed pieces of my heart.

I act, suddenly, without much thought - something I never do...unless it's because of her.

Flipping the phone open, I press the phone to my ear.

Over the white noised buzz in my ears, I hear a man's voice.

"Hello?"

"Hello." I reply through gritted teeth, though my voice still trembles. "Who is this?"

"Max from The Green Room?" The man, Max apparently, seems confused. "Who's this?"

I squeeze my eyes shut at the confirmation of my assumptions about this cell phone and the call. I've been here before, in a variety of ways, staring down Amanda's addictions , but it never becomes easier nor less painful. I grasp at control over my breathing, enough to form a response.

"If you're trying to contact Amanda, she's not available right now, and she won't be coming to your establishment any longer." I say through clenched teeth into the phone, pacing away from her crumpled clothing on the floor.

"Hey, what the fuck?" Max replies. "I don't know who you are, but she wanted the pass code for tonight."

"To what?" I snarl. "An illegal gambling room?"

His silence is a damning affirmative, and I feel the blood rushing to my head, filling my cheeks with white hot anger.

"You can forget that. You want to know who I am? My name is Olivia Benson and I'm an NYPD officer so you better toss your phone and this fucking phone number right now!"

"Wh-what the fuck?" Max stammers.

I can hear the terror in his tone, and, god, it feels damn good, like some kind of fucked of salve to my raw and open wounds.

"You don't contact Amanda again. You don't even think about her, do you hear me?" I seethe into the phone.

"Liv?" Amanda's voice startles me, snapping me out of my red-glazed anger.

I spin towards the bedroom to find her standing there, clutching my sheets around her naked body. Her eyes are wide, her cheeks beginning to grow pink as the implications of this moment slowly cement in her mind. We stand there, frozen for half a second, before she rushes at me suddenly, trembling in indignation.

"Give me my phone, Liv." She demands in a strained tone, holding out her palm.

In my ear, the phone clicks, signaling that Max has ended the call. I snatch the phone from my ear and snap it shut, squeezing my fingers tight around the device.

"No." I whisper, staring back into her blazing, cerulean eyes. "I'm not going to do that, Amanda."

"Fuck you." She breathes. "You're not in charge of my life. You had no right to fucking do that."

"You said you were done." I return, shaking my head as the tears bear down behind my eyes. "You said you didn't want to do this anymore."

"That was before." Amanda snaps, grabbing at my hand.

I yank the phone away from her, holding it up away from her as I glare back at her.

"How could you do this?" I ask, and I can hear the pain and emotion evident even in my own ears.

She flinches, her brow furrowing, but her jaw is taut in resistance.

"Why does it matter?" She asks. "You didn't want me back."

"I'm not your reason to be sober, Amanda!" I burst out, my voice rising, as I bend down in her face. "I am not a prop for you to use to get your life together! I am not going to stand by and watch you destroy yourself in the name of love! I can't be your savior, Amanda, do you hear me?"

She flinches as I rage at her barely inches from her nose, but she stands her ground, her jaw grinding.

"I didn't ask you to be." She finally return, her strained and low. "It was seriously fucked up for you to do that. I could be in serious shit if they find out I'm NYPD."

"Serious shit with who?" I demand. "With them or Captain Cragen because I will turn you in, right now."

"Then do it!" She finally explodes, rearing back into my face so close that I can feel her breath blasting across my face. "And while you're at it you can tell him you fucked me last night and that you goddamn liked it!"

She grabs my hand, digging the phone from grasp in my moment of shock at her venomous and far too truthful words. Spinning around, she marches to her clothes on the floor and tosses the sheet away.

I watch her shove her pants on her legs, shaking in anger, and I'm suddenly hit with a tidal wave of anguish. The pain immobilizes me, and I grasp at my chest as the air leaves my lungs. My legs weaken beneath me and I stumble back into the recliner behind me. I grab at the material, holding myself upright as I desperately try to breathe.

I can't escape the thought that I'm watching her leave for the last time, and it hurts more than I ever imagined it might - even after the freshest betrayal, I want nothing more than to save her from herself. Even after the words I've screamed in her face….

She hardly deigns me a glance as she buttons her shirt and pushes her feet into her shoes. When she turns back towards me, her hair is a mess about her flushed cheeks, dangling across her watery, angry gaze.

She strides towards the door, spitting at me one last time, "Fuck you, Liv."

The words are a slap in the face, just another in the dozens she's given me in only a few minutes time. My chest is tight, vision blurred, but I shove away from the chair to grab her by the arm in one last effort to crack through her hard skull and make her understand. She begins to yank away from me, but I slam her against the wall, forcing a gasp from her lips.

"No, no." I shake my head. "You don't get to fucking do this."

"Do what exactly?" She sneers back at me. "Defend my own fucking privacy?"

"You don't get to act like you've done nothing wrong!" I breathe, shaking her. "I was ready to fucking apologize to you because I used you last night. I admit it. I can admit when I screwed up, Amanda."

"Well, what a good fucking person you are, Liv, what a fucking bleeding heart." She snarls in my face before smacking my arms away from her.

Shoving me back, she spins towards the door once more, rushing towards her escape. This time, I let her go, sinking against the wall. A moment later, I hear the door slam, causing the wall to shudder beneath my palms. Pressing my head against the cold, smooth surface, I feel the wave of tears racing at me. When the full force of brutal agony hits me, I scream, slamming my fist into the wall - once, twice, three times. Throbbing pain explodes across my knuckles, and I cry out a second time until the strangling tears engulf what's left of my voice.

Sinking down against the wall, I cradle my aching hand against my chest; and I can only wonder if this time, it truly is the end of us - forever.