Olivia
A light, warm rain has rolled in from the east, and it peppers my shoulders and my hair as I stand outside Rudy's, an old bar on 9th Ave. My heart is pounding against my ribs, and my body is strung tight with an anxiety that has gripped me for the past six hours.
When Amanda ran from the precinct, I had still been hopeful enough that she would return, and agree to my conditions. Some naive part of me expected her to come back to me as she always does, but after I watched her fly from my arms on shattered, broken wings, she didn't look back.
I called, I texted, I nearly called a damn unit on her, until finally, Fin entered my office, and without a word, handed me her cell phone's GPS address, something I'd been far too flustered to think of myself. My annoyance at myself for my lack of logic in the situation quickly faded into the background when I realized where she'd gone. I shouldn't have been surprised that she found her way to an establishment that sells alcohol, but I was less than thrilled that she chose to return to her self destructive patterns once more; but now that I've made it here, all I can feel is numb.
I feel as if I'm running on some kind of nightmarish path which I've already lived time and again. The dirt is well worn beneath my feet, and I know already where it leads, but something inside me hopes that maybe this time it will be different.
Squaring my shoulders, I heave a deep breath, and step towards the door.
I can already imagine her inside, hunched over her drink, the tears in her eyes. It's almost as if I can feel the heavy sadness of her aura radiating through the walls of the building and straight to my heart. I barely need to even touch her to feel the violent emotions running through her veins, but I did touch her. I caught her in my arms, and felt the full force of her anger and desperation. I felt her giving way beneath me, only pull away once more, and it's almost more than I can take.
I grab the door handle with a determination that I must reach deep down to muster.
A part of me wonders why I am even here, but I can't gut the protective instincts spurring me on. I'd like to tell myself that I've set aside our relationship and that, as her sergeant, I am being responsible not only for her discipline, but also for her safety. Somewhere in the back of mind, I squash the knowledge that my badge has nothing to do with my presence here, and push forward.
The bar is humming with the evening crowd, bursts of laughter erupting from different tables over the sounds of the TV playing above the bar. A few patrons at the bar glance over at me, and I realize that I may not blend into this atmosphere as easily as Amanda. Nevertheless, I lift my chin and skim the bar for any sign of her golden head. On my second pass, I spot her at the very end in a corner seat, nursing a fourth of whiskey.
For a moment, I stand amidst the strangers, watching her from afar, as I scrounge for some bit of courage which will sustain me through what is, no doubt, going to be another argument. That cynical, wounded part of me murmurs that I should turn and walk back in the direction I came before she even sees me, but I know what could happen to her if I do. She's vulnerable, her senses dulled, and currently lacks the judgement that might lead her away from a dangerous situation. I can't leave her here, no matter how badly my instincts want me to turn my back on her.
I take another breath and begin weaving my way through the crowd, cutting a quick path towards her deflated figure at the bar. I make it close to her before her eyes even lift to meet mine. When they do, the blue of them are sharp against the redness of tears although I can see the glaze of alcohol and the heaviness in her lids. Her brow furrows, as she recognizes me slowly in her impaired state, a mix of exasperation and fear crossing her features.
"How'd you find me?" She asks, her tone raspy and slightly slurred, although I doubt the whiskey has changed much since she found her way in here; if anything, her tongue is loose, her inhibitions low.
"GPS." I state, finding it best not to lie to her.
I've asked her to be honest with me so many times that it would be hypocritical if I lied only to not seem so pathetically desperate to find her.
I stand over her for a moment, as she nods slowly, her jaw clenching.
"I could've gone somewhere else, you know?" She sneers, at last, glancing up at me, "Somewhere that can't be tracked as easily as my cell phone."
"But you didn't." I point out, and she turns away with a wordless scoff.
Sitting down on the stool adjacent to her, I study her face as she gazes back down at the glass, turning it around in her hands. Behind the strands of her hair tumbling across her face, I can see the flush on her cheeks. I'm not sure if that's due to her indignation or inebriation.
"Amanda…" I begin, ready to launch a neutral suggestion for her return to the precinct, but she cuts me off.
"You can't even leave me alone for one day?" She snaps, a spark of cynicism exploding across her languishing enunciation.
Her blazing, arctic gaze flings back to me for one accusatory moment, and I can see her nostrils flaring, her chin trembling with the onset of tears that she refuses to shed. She stares off towards the bar, poising one finger to her mouth as she angrily bites at the nail.
"You didn't answer my calls or my texts. I wasn't sure what you were going to do." I reply, firmly, reaching out to grab her elbow, to force her to look at me.
I want to understand her pain and anger, but in the midst of my own scorn, I can hardly justify her behavior. I have given her every chance to set things right, and she's thrown it back in my face too many times to count.
"Oh, fuck off, Liv." She scoffs, yanking her arm away, her jaw jutting in anger. "I'm so sick of you acting like you care."
"I do care." I answer, my teeth gritting against the pain of how little she thinks of me.
I've given her so much of my time, pieces of my heart I've never shown to anyone else, and I've expended every resource I have to keep her safe and employed. I've ignored my own feelings, my own heartbreak, and yet she acts as if I've thrown that all away simply to punish her for her indiscretions. She imagines that I enjoy her suffering when, in fact, calling her into the office with that photo was one of the hardest things I've ever done.
"Do you think if I cared about you that I'd give up on you?" I demand in a shocked whisper.
"You have." She insists, glaring at me through shimmering tears, before taking up her glass once more.
She takes a quick drink, tilting her head back as she swallows what's left of the whiskey with a cringe. Her fair skin blooms pink at the rush of alcohol, and she rubs one hand over her face, a tremble in her fingers.
I stare at her, incredulous that she thinks I'd care by leaving her to the degradation of this life. The chains of addiction have bound her for so long that she's grown used to their presence there. Suddenly, it's as if gambling is some treasured part of her that no one else can have, and now I would be the villain to take it from her.
She raises her hand to catch the attention of the bartender, indicating her glass is empty, and I shove up from my chair to grab her arm.
"Stop this." I breathe, yanking her hand down between us as her fingers quake in my grasp.
"Let go." She demands through gritted teeth, pulling back.
"I still believe in you, Amanda." I entreat, shaking her. "I believe that you can stop doing this to yourself if you just find the right reasons. Is this really what you want the rest of your life to be?"
"Oh, that's easy for you to say." She snarls in my face. "You've got your job security. You've even got a promotion. You have a life left to live!"
"You have a life too." I insist, ignoring the way my nose and eyes burn with the pain of watching collapse into hopelessness just inside my arms.
"Yeah?" She whispers, sharp cynicism filling her husky tone. "Well, maybe not when you're done with it."
Her insult stuns me, racing across my veins with paralyzing effectiveness. She rips her arm from my grasp, and stands from the stool, swaying unsteadily with the influence of the whiskey.
"Why are you even here, Liv?" She asks, the tears evident in her voice as she pulls her wallet out and tosses a few bills on the counter.
It's apparent that she means to leave, but despite my desperation, I struggle to fit together some combination of words that will convince her to stay with me. She's taken everything I've said tonight and twisted it into an unrecognizable pattern of destruction, and I can barely grasp at the hope that that will change.
"It isn't because you love me." She says with a shake of her head, twisting the knife even deeper into my chest.
"Amanda." I finally attempt to speak, but my voice emits low and strangled.
I'm watching her leave again, and I'm torn between forcing an intervention upon her and following my instincts of protecting her at all costs. I know where the road of complacency leads, and the logical parts of me scream to let her hit rock bottom; let her crash and burn if it will make her realize that she needs to conquer this addiction. All the while, my heart agonizes over the desire to take her in my arms and shelter her from this cruel, cruel world.
She pushes away from the bar and brushes past me, unsteadily. She's halfway across the room before I can scramble from my seat and rush after her.
"Amanda." I call after her, shouldering through a group of people that have just entered the bar.
"You could say excuse me." I hear one of them snap behind me, but I ignore the snide remark.
I break through the crowd, and shove the door of the bar open. The cool, fall air catches in my hair, caressing at the heat that has taken over my face as I search the sidewalk. I find her standing near the wall, her hand cupped to her mouth as she lights a cigarette. I can hardly breathe with the relief that she hasn't fled beyond the perimeter as I watch the flame illuminate her tear stained cheeks.
"Amanda." I repeat her name as I march over to her, frustrated that she has jumped from one bad habit to another in the short span of our conversation.
"What?" She demands in a trembling tone, her glittering gaze pointed off at the street as she sucks in a lungful of nicotine.
"I'm not trying to ruin your life." I say in a measured tone as I reach her.
"It's what I deserve, isn't it?" She asks, venomously, turning her face towards me.
"That's not what this is." I reply in a hushed, but firm whisper as I reach out to touch her arm.
"No?" She inquires, her tone bleeding sarcasm as she tilts her head, hazy eyes narrowing.
She takes another, slow drag before she angles her chin at me and releases the smoke from between her lips. I turn my face away, jaw clenching as the smoke billows across my cheek. She means to incite me with the rebellious, disrespectful action, and my nerves are worn just thin enough to cave to her manipulation.
Grabbing her arm, I shove her back against the wall and snatch the cigarette from hand.
"This isn't a game, Amanda." I hiss, tossing the smoke to the ground and grinding my heel on it. "This isn't some poker hand you can win."
"No?" She repeats in the same mocking tone. "Then how will you punish me next...sergeant?"
Immediate anger and indignation seize the pounding of my heart, burning my chest, and I grab both of her arms to shake her, just to avoid the urge to smack her hard across the mouth; but it's then I notice the tears pooling in her eyes, fighting silently to spill over her lower lashes.
We stare at each other for one excruciating, cryptic moment, and although I'd be too ashamed to admit out loud that I can't take the pain hiding inside her scintillating gaze, the lowering of my head is admission enough.
She's lashing out because she's hurting, and perhaps I am responsible for that, but I cannot feel guilty. Her own actions led us to this moment, and for that very reason, I cannot rescind my ultimatum.
Lifting my head, I whisper, "We must go on from this, Amanda."
"Olivia…" She murmurs, unsteadily, as a single tear races from her eye, making a path towards her trembling lips.
"You're drunk." I cut in, stopping her from whatever unexpected thing she might say in her inebriation. "I'm going to take you home, and you're going to sober up, and really start thinking about what you're going to do to fix this."
Taking her by the arm, I drag her limp figure away from the wall, and begin to direct her towards the street where I parked the squad car. She staggers next to me, and I have to wrap my arm around her waist in order to make it to the vehicle.
"Liv…." She whimpers once more, sagging against me as we reach the passenger side door.
I struggle to hold her upright, but I can feel the strength draining from her muscles with every passing second. Her liquid courage is seeping beyond her reach, and with it, my own anger.
A sob breaks from her lips, and she crumples down against my chest, folding into a small, distraught mess. The force of her distress sucks the air straight from my lungs, replacing the burn of frustration with the ache of sadness, but beyond the pain of this moment, a small hope that reality has finally broken through flickers hesitantly in the back of my mind.
"Shhhh, honey…" I whisper, wrapping my arms around her as her body shudders.
She's clutching my shirt, rocking into me as she begs in a choked tone, "Please, don't do this to me, please…"
I clench my eyes shut, my heart seizing with the shard of guilt that goes through me. I know, in the most logical part of my brain, that what I've done is right, and may lead her to sobriety, but listening to her begging me with every fiber of her being is almost more than I can take.
If she were anyone else I would've already turned her into IAB. I wouldn't be standing here, holding her as she grasps at the very end of her rope. I wouldn't be here, hoping against hope that the ends will justify the means.
I don't want to admit it, but I still love her, and every part of me, physically and mentally, is agonizing and contorting in tandem with her desolate cries.
"Amanda…" I whisper, my throat tight with the knot of emotion resting there.
"Please," She cries, lifting her flushed, tear streaked face, "I've lost you...I can't lose my career too…"
"Amanda." I repeat through clenched teeth, closing my eyes against the tears brimming at my lids.
I'm holding onto my composure by bare threads, and she's sawing away at them, over and over, with the scalding knife of her anguish.
Squeezing her arms, I force my eyes open to look down at her desperate expression, her wide, wet, blue eyes and quivering mouth. I can't stop myself from sliding my hand up to her face and cupping her moistened cheek with every urge to crush her to me and kiss away what is left of these tears.
"Oh, sweetheart…" I whisper, almost too quiet to hear; too longing to be meant for her ears.
Her brow furrows, and she sucks in a breath as if she senses my inner conflict. I almost expect her to take advantage of my emotions, here at the highest peak of my weakness. I almost want her to press into me and lure me with the comfort of her body because this pain is too great, but it is here that she grows cold, tilting her face away from my hand.
"What do you want me to do?" She asks in a low, husky tone as she clutches at the front of my jacket.
"What do you mean?" I ask, my heart thrumming hard in my chest, my own desperation rising.
"I mean, I'll do anything." She whispers, her eyes glistening beneath the street lamps. "I'll take whatever punishment you want. Just….not this."
"B-but….I don't want to punish you." I insist, grabbing her face in both hands. "I want to see you happy! I want you to stop hurting yourself so that other people don't do it first! I want you to believe in yourself as much as I do!"
"I don't believe you!" She cries out, shoving my hands away from her face and replacing them with her own.
She leans against the car, hunched over as she pants into her hands. I want to protest, but the words seem stuck in my throat, my hands now useless at my sides. I watch her, a wrecking ball of emotion slamming into my chest over and over again. I want her to rise up and seize the opportunity to change, but as the silence ticks on, what little hope I've clung to wavers.
A wave of panic washes over me as I imagine walking into IAB, and destroying the career and life of the only person I've ever truly loved. I can hardly fathom the pain of giving testimony against her under the guise of leadership and responsibility, and taking the praise for removing another dirty cop from the NYPD under the pretext of morals and duty.
I wanted to believe that after my threats she'd finally reach a breakthrough and return to the meetings, leave gambling behind forever, but maybe she's falling short of my faith just one more time. Maybe it's my own willpower which has become a feast for my desires, gone in a second into the hungry mouth of love. They're possibilities I don't have the emotional fortitude to contemplate any longer.
I can barely even out my breathing as I step in closer to her, and gently touch her arm.
"Come on….Let's get you home." I whisper, ducking my head.
I'm disappointed in myself because I have her here at breaking point, but I can't bring myself to give the final blow. I can't pull the trigger. I can't end this because I'm afraid that if she reaches the other side, she truly will leave me behind, here at rock bottom, holding on to what's left of a memory.
Amanda hasn't answered me, and I can't look up at her. She'll see the tears swimming in my gaze, the terror hiding behind my eyes at the realization that I love her and it's killing me, little by little.
For a long moment, she doesn't move, but finally she drags her hands away from her face. She hardly meets gaze.
"I'm only letting you do this because I don't have any more money for a cab." She mutters in a raspy tone before she grabs the door handle, and steps quickly inside, slouching down in the seat.
I just want you safe.
I don't speak the words as I close the door behind her.
With a low, wavering sigh, I glance back at the bar one last time, a wretched symbol of just how far we've fallen.
When I came here, I told myself that I am her sergeant, and only her sergeant; that our love affair is over with no chance of turning back. I told myself that I could hold my moral obligations above my desires to save her from herself - but now, I doubt not only her, but also myself. I don't know if I have the strength to report her to IAB - and I'm not sure I ever will.