Post: "Gambler's Fallacy"
Olivia
One Week Later
I'd be lying if I said there wasn't a war battling on inside me. The entire situation with Nadari and Lieutenant Murphy was initially Amanda's sole responsibility in my mind, but somewhere between understanding that she'd returned to gambling and realizing that, despite how close she'd come to prison, she'd managed to escape relatively unscathed, I was profoundly impacted by the the fact that I could've prevented that course of events. I'd promised Amanda I would turn her in to IAB should she continue to gamble, but I didn't have the backbone to follow through. I allowed her pathetic behavior to manipulate me into giving her the chance to return to the same, destructive patterns as before. If I had remained firm, and given her the consequences she'd needed to rouse herself from this fog of addiction, she might never have entered that club. I feel guilty that I didn't hold to my promise, and determined not to make the same mistake again. The days of my giving her endless chances are over.
That this resolution is born from bitterness is a concept I hardly want to contemplate. Every day that I see her I am reminded of the many times that she threw away our relationship, both personally and professionally, in exchange for gambling. The past trauma of every single relapse is ingrained into my brain with startlingly vivid recollection. I hardly need to close my eyes to remember each incident in which I discovered evidence of her gambling.
Yes, a part of me is angry, clinging to the betrayal with every ounce of strength that my shattered heart may still hold, and it's that part of me that keeps me rigid and stern in her presence now. The balance between lashing out and falling to pieces is a tenuous one that becomes more and more difficult as each day passes.
I've thrown myself into my role as her sergeant, compartmentalizing what parts of me are left to remember our failed romance while inside the precinct, and I tell myself that my strict way with her in the past week is well earned. But each time I pull her into this office to scold her for some misstep, it soothes the ache inside me that would've seen her transferred as far from me as possible. I justify it with her own words, that she would earn my trust again in whatever way possible.
So far, she is failing.
From my stance inside the captain's office I can see Amanda's desk facing the opposite direction, her head bent over an open case file. Her report should've been on my desk two hours ago. I've reminded her three times.
Glancing towards my watch, I note the late hour. I should be leaving for the evening if I have any hope of getting a full night's sleep. After last week's events, I've struggled to get my necessary seven hours, and the exhaustion is weighing heavy on my lids even now. Last night I only managed to sleep for five in between the tossing and turning.
I am frustrated and tired. I shouldn't be standing here waiting for her to deliver, gently reminding her like a child who can't complete their homework.
With a click of my tongue, I uncross my arms, and stride to the door. Pulling it open, I call her name across the the squad room. She startles, glancing back over her shoulder at me. Her expression is strained and conflicted.
"Can you come in here?" I ask, motioning for her to follow me as I turn back towards my desk.
As I take a seat, I watch her walk slowly across the squad room, her head lowered. She knows what's coming.
When she reaches the threshold, she shuts the door behind her, remaining there with her back to me for an extended moment.
"I'm sorry about this report." She begins, turning towards me with a wave of her hand.
I can tell she's attempting nonchalance, but I can see the tears forming her eyes. She expects me to rip into her until she's raw with my disappointment, and I swallow against the knot in my throat, the tiniest shred of guilt that would choke me.
"Amanda…" I murmur, glancing down towards the desktop to soothe the seizing of my chest.
I've tried to numb myself to her watery, desperate gaze because she's stood in front of me so many times, vowing to change her behavior, only to let me down time and again. She deserves every reprimand I could give her, and yet a part of me burns with her, as if we're somehow intertwined in our bones.
"Look, I just need one more day." She cuts in, her tone low above a barely controlled tremor.
I clench my jaw, shaking my head slowly. Her emotional distress may sting me, but her lack of reliability only reminds me of exactly why I have hardened myself to her.
"You know you're only here by the grace of my hand." I respond, quietly, lifting my eyes steadily back to her.
The dull throb of conflicted anger and hurt takes over the racing of my heart, and I clutch my hands together in front of me, til my knuckles bleach white.
She quiets, and I can see a stoic mask veil her features. She ducks her head, lips pursing as her throat bobs. For a long moment, she stares at the floor, pushing down tears that she knows I don't want to see. Lifting her head at last, she squares her shoulders, and attempts to courageously meet my gaze.
"Yes, ma'am." She whispers, haltingly. "I know...a-and I'm going do better. I promise."
I nod, slowly, resisting the words of doubt that want to spill, venomously, from my lips. Not a single part of me believes her specious promises, but accusations will do nothing at this point.
Standing, slowly, from the desk, I pace towards the front and lean on the edge. I can see her watching me, her lids fluttering in a nervous tick. Folding my arms, I cant my head towards the space next to me.
"Come here." I order, softly.
Her nostrils flare slightly, and I can nearly see the tremor going through her, but she steels herself once more, and crosses the room towards me. She stops two feet away from me, her body rigid, her expression untrusting. If anyone has a right to be untrusting, it's me, and I refuse to feel apprehension over forcing her to prove herself.
"Pockets out." I say, causing her to flinch.
"Liv…" She whispers, her eye flitting away as her voice dips into a plea.
"Do it." I reply, firmly.
I can see the tears shimmering in her eyes as she hesitates, biting her lip so hard that I can see the color bleed from her flesh.
"If you want to earn my trust," I continue with sharp enunciation, "you'll prove to me that you aren't gambling again."
"B-but I'm not." The plea bubbles up to her lips, one quick tear sliding down her cheek before she dashes it away.
"That's not good enough, Amanda." I say with a condemning shake of my head.
I've already failed once in giving her the proper consequences to her actions, and I will be damned if it destroys not only our relationship, but this precinct as well. The incident with Nadari will remain classified due to the nature of Lieutenant Murphy's operation, but next time, I may not be so lucky. Next time, the repercussions of her actions may bring the entire force of IAB down on all of our heads, and that is a possibility I don't even dare to entertain.
"Now, empty them." I command, clenching my arms tighter across my chest if only to hold myself back from grabbing her and shaking her. I cannot touch her. Not now, and not ever again.
"I'm trying, Liv." She whispers, although she begins to comply. "I'm trying to make you believe me."
"I don't want promises. I want actions."
I watch her, my gaze unwavering as she shoves her hand into each pocket. When she's done, I am relieved to see that there's only a set of keys, her cell phone, and a pack of cigarettes sitting on my desk. It does not prove beyond a doubt that she hasn't been gambling, but it gives me some peace of mind that she hasn't it made it readily available for discovery.
"See." She says, gesturing to the desk.
"I see." I reply. "Thank you, Amanda."
"I hope you got your fucking kicks." She snaps, stepping into snatch her things from the desk.
Her cheeks are flushed with humiliation, and I am brutally aware of the embarrassment of being stripped of one's privacy, but I don't believe that she's earned that privilege with me, and therefore, has no right to be disrespectful. Her words are a slap in my face, an utter disregard for my rank.
In a flash of indignation, I grab her arm, my fingers clenching tight about her flesh in an impulsive action I swore I wouldn't take.
I'm ready to decimate her with a burning tongue-lashing, professional decorum be damned. I'm ready to lose every ounce of cool composure I've held rigidly in place for over a week, but I'm stopped cold. Our noses are bare inches apart, our breath mingling in the same cloud of space between us, and it's then that I smell it.
An intense wave of painful sense memories crash through my chest, intertwining with every other betrayal and vice that has torn us apart. I feel my fingers bite into her arm, watch her confused expression twist in pain.
"What?" She demands in a whisper, her expression reading horrified apprehension.
"Are…" The words feel stuck in my throat, raw and sour on my tongue. "Are you drunk?"
Mortification crawls across her face, a slow, steady bleeding of flushed red. She yanks her arm away from me quickly, denial already sputtering on her lips, but I won't believe her.
"No. What the fuck? Why would you say that?" She scoffs, grabbing the rest of her belongings with trembling fingers.
"Don't lie to me, Amanda." I demand, shoving away from the desk.
I would know those smells anywhere, the sharp concentration of alcohol signaling one more night of torture and conflict. Memories dangle heavy from that scent, reeling up from the deep to cloud my mind with a dozen different Pavlovian responses. For a moment, I don't know which one to follow.
I should've seen the signs before - the lack of concentration, the nodding off at her desk, the showing up late to work. After all of the time I spent living underneath an alcoholic's roof I should scrutinize every detail, but despite what I want to believe, maybe I had wanted to think that she'd finally woken up from this perilous slumber of addiction.
"I'm fine." Amanda insists, holding up her hands to stop me from touching her again. "It was one drink, ok?"
My shocked stupor snaps at her defensive, loathsome reply. I've always known that Amanda enjoys drinking, especially when gambling, but I am enraged that she would do so here, in a place where she took an oath to protect citizens and fellow officers.
"On the job?" I breathe, a hot rush of the fire that's kindled in my chest, ignoring her posture as I charge towards her. "On my watch?"
"Yes, Liv, especially 'on your watch'." She sneers up at me, rearing into my face with another blast of whiskey tainted breath. "Because you make this place fucking unbearable! What are you gonna do next, huh? Fucking strip search me?"
"Maybe I should!" My voice rises to a shout, the loudest tone I've ever used with her, but I can't stop the pain and the anger swirling through my mind. "I cannot trust you in any aspect anymore.
You're jeopardizing this entire precinct! Why would you do that?"
"Oh, well there's a question I've never heard before." She exclaims, spinning away from me.
"What does that mean?" I demand, grabbing her arm once more and yanking her into place in front of me.
She's panting, her hair tossed across her flustered expression, and with our faces so close, I can see the glaze over her eyes and feel the overwhelming tinge of alcohol on my cheeks. The image strikes terror through my veins with the fear that she has turned from one vice to another, one much more legal and concealable in many ways. Tear burn my eyes, forcing a quiver into my every exhale.
"What do you mean?" I repeat in a raspy whisper.
"The whole time we were together you never even tried to understand." She replies, her voice cracking beneath the devastating accusation. "Not fucking once did you ask why. You just wanted me to fucking stop."
"Amanda, that is not what this is about." I insist, although my heart is breaking all over again, shattering with the possibility that I've never helped her - only hurt her.
"No?" She asks, her eyes narrowing over glittering tears. "Isn't that what this is all about?"
"Amanda…" I repeat, although the bold anger has fled from my tone, leaving me breathless. "I just wanted you to help yourself."
"Right." She whispers, "You hate me. You're disgusted with me. Please...just admit it!"
She jerks away from me, ripping her arms from my weakening grasp. She backs away from me, and I can see the despair winding its way across every curve of her brow and twist of her features.
"No." I whisper around the choking emotion, reaching out for her once more. "I do not hate you."
"You can't stand what I am!" She cries, quick tears tracking down her cheeks. "Well, here's some good news for you: neither can I."
She spins around, and runs towards the door, fleeing as if this will be here final escape. All I can think is that the last time she ran from this room I found her in a bar, drunk and devoid of hope.
"Amanda, wait!"
It's a pitiful attempt at persuasion as I realize that I have distanced myself from her with such ire that I am the last person she will listen to. My trust in her is gone, and with a sharp breath of dismay, I recognize the fact that her trust in me has also disintegrated.
I rush after her, but the office door slams in my face, and I grab onto the frame as a wave of emotion engulfs me, crashing down on me like a landslide that has finally given way. Through the blinds and my tears, I can see her leaving the precinct, and I can only hope that it is not for the last time.
xxxxxx
The next morning comes too quickly. By five am, I am staring at the ceiling, wide awake with thoughts and anxieties. I check my phone for any messages from Amanda, but my inbox is empty.
I didn't go after her last night. I couldn't bring myself to extend my emotions any further, and all the investigating I could do was to drive by her apartment to ensure that she'd made it there. I assuaged the guilt with the thought that as long as she was inside her own home she couldn't be harmed. A lie, but a justification nonetheless.
I hope to fall back to sleep in order to escape the damning thoughts, but soon enough, my eyes are open again, my mind forming outlandish scenarios.
There isn't much of a point of remaining in bed at this point, and I'd rather busy myself than falling victim to panic. Typically, I would enjoy a leisurely morning routine, but today the time passes slowly. For the first time in over a week I am anxious to get to work in order to see Amanda. I would be satisfied with simply seeing her at her desk, sober and safe.
I am in no way ready to completely forgive and trust her. In fact, I've just begun to realize that I have to draw up a report on her intoxication last night. It's the last thing I want to do, but I would rather see her receive a command discipline and desk duty than continue this pattern of self medication. Her behavior last night scared me in ways I have not felt in many years, and it's hard not to remember my mother's passing. She may have been telling the truth when she told me it was only one drink, but in my opinion, it was one too many for her fragile state of mind.
I am on my fourth cup of coffee by the time I arrive at the precinct, and I try to remain calm and inconspicuous as the doors of the elevator slide open. I stride into the squad room, my eyes immediately roving over Amanda's desk - a desk that is empty.
Swallowing the tiny seed of assumptions and panic, I notice Nick already at his desk, taking a call. I approach him, waiting impatiently until he sets the phone down.
"Hey, Liv." He says, jotting down a note on a sticky pad, unaware of my silent alarm.
"Have you spoken with Rollins?" I ask, sitting down at the edge of the desk.
"No." Nick replies, glancing up at me with a frown. "What's up?"
"Nothing yet." I murmur, watching her desk as if I can will her into existence behind it.
"You sure?"
"I had a talk with her last night, and she left upset."
"Oh…" Nick says, slowly, before assuring me, teasingly. "I'm sure she's fine, Liv. We all know you're all bark and no bite."
"Oh? You wanna try me?" I joke in return, smacking his arm as I leave the desk.
The smile falls from my mouth as soon as my back is turned. This was more than a stern talking-to, and Nick is far from conscious of just how horribly wrong the conversation turned.
I lock myself in my office, keeping the blinds open in order have a clear line of sight to Amanda's desk. Fin arrives less than half an hour later, and my stomach is beginning to twist with concern as the minute hand rounds the clock. I still have no messages from Amanda.
Finally, I pick up the phone, and dial her number. Staring down at the desk, I listen to the shrill ring, over and over again until the voicemail picks up.
"Amanda, it's Liv. Please let me know if you're going to be late before you do it. It's past eight o' clock."
I hang up the phone, ignoring the nagging feeling that Amanda isn't late or simply trying to spite me. Nothing in me wants to trust my gut instinct in this moment, but each minute that passes is a dooming countdown. To what I do not know.
As the work day creeps into the second hour, I attempt another phone call, and then another, and another. Each and every one ring to the voicemail.
"Come on, Amanda," I insist on my fourth phone call. "You're going to get damn sick of hearing this phone ring. I'm not going to yell at you. Just please get your butt in here."
I'm tossing the phone to the desk when I hear a knock on the door. Glancing up, I see Fin outside the door, motioning for me to let him in. I wave at him to enter, and he steps inside, shutting the door behind him.
"What's going on?" I ask, rubbing my fingers over my temples.
"I wanted to show you something." Fin said, approaching the desk with his cellphone in hand.
"What is it?" I ask, my stomach immediately clenching with fear.
He sets the phone down on the desk, and slides it across from me, his expression barely guarding the twinlike foreboding hiding on both our faces. Grabbing my glasses, I take the phone, noticing the screen is opened to a text message thread. I feel my heart beginning to pound at the sight of Amanda's name at the top, and the string of messages below:
A: I don't know what to do
F: Whats up?
A: Liv just ripped me a new one again. I snapped.
F: Wait what exactly happened?
A: She caught me drinking at work I'm fuckin done
F: Hold on let's meet up u can come to my place if u want
A: Idk dude my life is just kind of over rn
F: Meet me come on we can fix this
A: Whatever I'll be ok I'm just screwed when it comes to her
F: U sure ur good?
A: I'll survive
F: I got u baby u know that
A: Yeah
F: OK I will b here
The messages end abruptly, and I skim over them again and again, searching for some hidden sign that there was contact between them after this point. I note that the last message was sent only an hour after she fled the precinct.
"Have you spoken to her since these?" I ask, glancing up at Fin.
"No." He said with a sigh, "At the time, I thought she'd be okay, you know? Rollins is strong girl."
"I know, Fin." I reply, quietly, handing the phone back to him. "Why don't you give her a call? If she doesn't answer I'm going over to her apartment."
He nods, and quickly dials. As he waits for the phone to pick up, I stand from the desk, and grab my keys. At this point, my stomach is turning over and over, and the racing of my heart has not calmed. I have little hope that Amanda will answer the phone, and I'm becoming increasingly afraid that something has happened between her text messages to Fin and this moment.
I'm pacing, a small part of me hoping that she will pick up the phone, and we can both be relieved that she's only screwing with me out of anger. Insubordination is something I can deal with coming from Amanda, but anything else may be out of my control - and that scares the hell out of me.
A moment later Fin hangs up with a shake of his head, landing a blow of panic to the center of my chest.
"No answer." He says, grimly.
"I'm going." I say, turning away to grab my coat from the hook with a cold, shaky hand.
"I'll come with you." Fin suggests, following after me.
"No, I need you and Nick here to hold down the fort." I reply, shoving the coat onto my arms. "Besides, she is my officer, and this is my problem."
"Are you sure?" Fin asks, concern lining his features as he realizes just how shaken I am.
"Yes, Fin, I'm sure."
"But you'll call me if there's anything I need to know." Fin insists, watching my harried movements.
"Of course." I reply, meeting his eyes in reassurance before yanking the door open, and I striding out of the office.
The rest of the world is a blur around me, save for the singular path towards Amanda's apartment, and all I can think of is her last words to me. Inside, I'm begging for one more chance to show her that what she said isn't true. I don't hate her. All I can possibly do is love her in so many ways I can't understand, even if it means walking across broken glass to reach her heart.
Last night, I prayed that I'd see her here again, that her tear stained face and turned back would not be my final memory of her. Now, I can only demand that God not be deaf.