A/N: So this is just a really short one-shot on what Olivia might think of herself using Jake and Russell to have hate-sex after her kidnapping, and how that affects the bond between her and Fitz. Please R&R, and constructive criticism is always welcome!
Olivia looked into the mirror, at the shadows beneath her eyes and at her gaunt face. Her hands reached down to grip the sink, to touch the clean white marble of the White House bathrooms, and then as her hands made contact, she was suddenly in a different room.
The room with the bricked up window and the dirty toilet and the grimy sink, the room with the green walls and that table, and-Oh god, fuck, she'd used that table to bash Gus's head in-
Olivia knew in some part of her that it wasn't real, but she panicked, touching the walls of the room and then trying the door, remembering sinking to the floor, crying and nearly hyperventilating. Oh god, she had to get out, why couldn't she get out-
And just as Olivia felt the sob in her throat, the room disappeared, and she was left with her hands up against an imaginary wall, staring at her teary eyes and her chest that was rapidly rising and falling.
"Liv?" Olivia looked behind her to see Fitz enter. "Are-" He surveyed her eyes, her pale face, and then her hands that were both shaking this time-not just the right-and frowned, eyes softening. "Liv. Are you okay? Do you want me to stay? It can be just us for a while." HIs voice was so soft and gentle and concerned, but his offer made bile unexpectedly rise in her throat, not just a result from the vividness of her flashback.
Because Olivia knew that she couldn't accept, even though she really wanted to, needed to. With a sense of burning shame, she thought to the scratches along her back, the hickey at the nape of her neck, at the bruises along her arms from their rough sex last night. Jake. Russell. She turned back to Fitz, looked into his concerned eyes, for her and only her, and knew, deep down, that she didn't even deserve him anymore. Not Fitz, with his sheer dedication and loyalty to her. Who would give up his presidency in a second to live his life with her.
Olivia swallowed past the sour taste in her mouth, looked at the floor so he wouldn't see her tears, and gave a fast, hard, shake of her head. No. She doesn't have to look up again to know that Fitz was disappointed, crestfallen, even, that she'd pushed him away yet again. But he didn't understand, she thought, clenching her hands into fists so hard that her nails left bloody cuts in her palms.
Olivia stared defiantly at her own reflection, noting that Fitz had left quietly, and she was in privacy once more. You don't deserve him anymore, she reminded herself, brutal. Tramp-she was begging for sex, but never with the right person, and it never really helped sooth her for more than a few hours. No. Not tramp, she thought, eyeing herself in the mirror once more-Whore.