By the time Olivia found herself stumbling home in the cold New York air, she had already stopped at a bar and started a familiar ritual.
She hadn't started out to find a bar—it was more as if the bar had found her. Discovering herself in the familiar surroundings, the first drink went down easily. There was a certain comfort in being surrounded by strangers. She let her chin rest on her hand and she studied the grain in the wood of the bar. Tracing it with a finger, she took a deep breath and tried to clear her mind.
All she wanted was an escape. It wasn't too much to ask—not with everything else she had been through. Not with all the things that she had seen. Maybe this hadn't been her plan but it was the best she could come up with.
She wanted to forget fighting with Alex. She wanted to forget the blonde's tear stained face; she wanted to forget everything that had happened and to be the same Olivia Benson she had been before Sealview.
She couldn't go back to Alex now. Now that she was sitting alone waiting for an absolution that wouldn't come. She tapped her glass lightly while watching other people engage in social conversations. Instead, of letting go, she let the familiar guilt and pain well up inside her. Threatening to overwhelm her, the second drink helped to tap down the emotions and behind a fake smile, she nodded when the bartender offered to refill her glass.
She had messed up—it was that simple. It was her fault that the confrontation with Alex had ever started. She had made a mistake of telling Alex that something bad had happened. It was something she never wanted to admit. Not to Alex and certainly not to herself.
More than anything she wanted the feelings to go away. She wanted the pain to stop, her mind to blank, and for the world she faced to entirely disappear. As she snuck back into her apartment, she crossed the kitchen, pulled herself up on the counter, and recovered a bottle from the top of the cupboard that was partially hidden. Hating herself for having it, and hating herself for not having enough, she stared into the bottle and sighed as she tipped its clear contents into a glass.
Slumping onto the couch, she downed another shot. "That's to you, Alex" she thought bitterly. She was angry at the blonde for making the feelings reappear. With a considerable amount of concentration she focused on pouring another shot. Pouring wasn't really the word for it anymore; sloshing was more an appropriate description. She watched as precious alcohol slid down the side of the glass and started to puddle on the coffee table. She knew she had already gone too far but she didn't care. She felt dangerous and way beyond rational.
Without meaning to, she let her eyes close. Immediately it flashed in front of her-she saw herself on her knees, felt his hand in her hair forcing her body into his. She heard his laugh, felt his power, and knew she was helpless. She knew she couldn't stop it. She couldn't get him out of her head. For that, there was another drink.
Part of her wanted to run to Alex and tell her everything. She wanted to come clean, feel the secret stripped from her and shared. She wanted to be able to feel it fall from her shoulders, but that was the problem. She was a soldier, and no matter what, she was supposed to hold up the weight of the world.
That calls for another shot.
Her throat burned as she swallowed. Staring down into her hand, she decided the glass was an unnecessary reminder that she was way beyond her limit. What difference did it make how many she had? Was anyone counting anyway? The difference between five and seven was moot anyway. Her hand shook as she pushed the offending glass aside, smiling as she heard it clink onto the floor. Instead, she picked up the bottle and swigged.
She can hear the things she's heard for a lifetime. All the training. All the education about alcohol awareness. She can hear Elliot's voice telling her she needed to stop. Well, she would have stopped, at least she would have had it really been a problem. Remember what it did to your family, remember what happened to your mother. Remembering burned and the alcohol put out the fire.
A tear rolled down her cheek, but she immediately pushed it away. She would not cry. Not now and not ever. Instead, she resolved to remain tough and with that, she took another drink.