15. All of you

A reader suggested a 'self-esteem' themed short story. This one was challenging, because Olivia's character is generally a confident badass who builds victims and women up. That being said, the persona we portray isn't always how we feel on the inside. We know how to care for others, but struggle to give ourselves the same care. Here's what I came up with :)

Why the hell did she agree to this date? If dating was meant for people to get to know each other, then this was pointless. They already knew each other, and 'dating' is adding pressure and ceremony to an already anxiety inducing relationship.

She flung another shirt on her bed with the other ten 'rejects'. "Forget it." she muttered. She was half tempted to cancel, but Elliot seemed so happy when she finally said yes, and she didn't want to disappoint him. She might disappoint him anyway. She pinched at her lower belly, feeling frustrated with the 'roll' that wasn't there twenty years ago. She constantly worried that Elliot had this vision of her perfect self in his mind, and the reality would be disappointing.

She opened the door to her bathroom, and while standing in her bra, started applying her make-up. She began applying some primer to her face, and sighed again, at the wrinkles. Honestly, they hadn't bothered her much until recently, but everytime she looked at Elliot and then back at herself, she felt he was way out of her league. The way he looked, he could pick up a young hot blonde he hit on, so it was baffling that he continued to pursue her.

She tried to focus on her makeup, but her bare body frustrated her. It wasn't only the lack of muscle tone that bothered her. She ran her fingers across the cigarette burn scars peeking above the line of her bra. She sighed at the burn scars on her lower hips and pelvis. They were not pretty, in fact they were a constant reminder of the ugliest time in her life. While she had dealt with the trauma of seeing them everyday, she struggled to feel comfortable when others saw them.

She finished applying her makeup, knowing she needed to go back to the pile of shirts waiting for her on her bed. Even her bra felt frumpy. Practical, but frumpy. She had no real need for anything sexy or pretty because she wasn't planning on ever pursuing anyone again. Plus, no amount of sexy lace could dress up a body as soft and scarred as hers. She closed the door to the bathroom so she would stop looking in the mirror.

She'd counseled many survivors on owning their bodies, and loving themselves, but for herself it felt daunting to practice. When you add the layer of Elliot to the mix, she felt like a mess. She took a slow breath in and out and glanced at her watch. He was due to pick her up in twenty minutes, and she preferred to be dressed when he got there.

Finally, a shirt and cardigan fit the way she wanted. She curled her hair and put on her favorite necklace. She took a step back to see herself in her dresser mirror. She looked okay. Good even. A knock at the door startled her from her search for some boots.

Barefoot, she padded to the doorway, opening it for a grinning Elliot. "You're early" she complained.

"I know," his eyes took her in, looking her up and down, "I couldn't wait." He smiled that flirty smile, "You look amazing."

"I don't know about amazing, but thanks." The complement felt sincere, but her heart didn't want to believe it. He frowned at the dismissal of his praise, but quickly recovered that knee weakening smile. "I just need to track down some boots, and then we can go."

He nodded and wandered over to the couch while she wrangled some matching boots out of her closet. She stepped out of her room to find Elliot perusing a photobook she had made of her and Noah. She peeked over his shoulder wondering what picture he stopped on. It was one of her favorite pictures of her and Noah from a few years ago. Their foreheads were pressed together, noses touching, smiling uncontrollably. "I love that picture," his attention flitted back to her, "Noah was still small, and those little curls still melt me."

"Yeah, he's grown up a lot since then." His eyes met hers, "But I love this picture because you look happy," that damn smile came back, "and completely drop dead gorgeous."

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes in disbelief, and tried to take the complement to heart. He stood up, leaving the book on her coffee table. She took the opportunity to really look at him, and her heart nearly stopped. How was it possible for him to look better than he did twenty years ago, and she felt like her body was going to hell? It almost hurt her to look at his perfectly muscled form.

He smiled, obviously thrilled that she was checking him out, and he reached a hand out for her. She grasped it, loving the feeling of his hand in hers. They left the apartment, locking it behind them, and made their way to the restaurant.

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The date went well. They were just them, and that felt good, comfortable even. She unlocked the door, keeping her hand in his, signaling she wanted him to come in. She locked the door behind her, and walked over to the kitchen, "Do you want a drink?" She asked.

"Nah," He glanced over to the couch, and the book on the coffee table, "come look at this book with me. I want you to tell me all about those pictures with Noah. She watched a pained look cross his face, "I want to know what I missed."

She smiled gently and joined him on the couch, knees touching. She started at the beginning of the book, showing pictures from the first week Noah stayed with her. An entire section of the book was filled with messes Noah made during that out of control toddler stage. Elliot chuckled at those, and told some stories about the trouble his kids caused him at that age. They started to get more comfortable as they went through the book, picture by picture. At one point he wrapped his arm around her and she leaned into him. His hand slid to her hip, pulling her close, as they continued the story-telling.

Towards the end of the book they found pictures from a photoshoot she and Noah did together last year. She watched Elliot brush his finger across the image tenderly. "Damn Liv, you are just so beautiful."

That all too familiar voice popped up, telling her she wasn't good enough, pretty enough, young enough for a man like him. She didn't know how to respond so she stayed quiet.

"Liv?" his voice questioning. She kept her eyes down, looking at the pictures. "Hey, look at me." He gently grasped her chin forcing her to face him. His eyes searched hers. "I love you," his voice was low.

She shook her head. "I don't know why."

The sound of anger in his voice startled her, "Liv, you don't see yourself do you?" His voice softened, "You are the most incredible, strongest, most beautiful person I have ever met."

Tears pricked her eyes. "Maybe twenty years ago. Since then things have changed. I changed, and not just my body. All of me."

"We both have, but I know you Liv. I know who you are, and I love all of you."

"You think that but," she didn't finish before he cut her off.

"I know, not think, that Liv," he shook his head in frustration. "I don't know how to make you believe me."

"It's just that," she struggled to find the words, "I guess I don't want you to be disappointed. My body has been broken, beat, and burned. It's not pretty anymore. It's not what it used to be."

"Do you think that matters to me?" The frustration returned to his voice, "Do you know me at all? You have to know that scars don't matter." His voice came out hushed, next to her ear, "If anything, they make you more beautiful. Don't you see," he turned her towards him, cupping her face in his hands, "they show me that you are a survivor, a fighter, and that's the Olivia I love."

She didn't notice she was crying until he wiped her tears away with his thumb. "I love you," reassuring her.

Olivia nodded and thought for a minute. She bit her lip, nervous, but trusting in the man she loved. She reached for the bottom of her shirt, took a breath, and removed the blouse she so carefully chose earlier that night.

Elliot's eyes widened in surprise, but not disgust. Instead she saw what looked like admiration. Complete adoration. Desire.

"Here they are," she said, "you can see most of them." She pointed to a thin strangely shaped scar near her belly button, "Wire hanger." She ran her fingers across the top of her breasts, "Cigarettes." She turned around to show her lower back, "house key." She turned back towards him. "That's just the beginning," She closed her eyes and shook her head, "There are so many more."

He sat in stunned silence, and she feared she scared him off, but slowly he lifted one hand. He lightly brushed his rough fingers across the scarred skin of her stomach. He scooted closer to the edge of the couch, using one hand to steady her as his fingers continued their exploration of her damaged body. His eyes met hers, welling with emotion, before he pressed a soft kiss to the large jagged scar above her hip. Her breath caught as a tingling sensation spread from where his lip touched her skin. He continued, brushing his fingers across her scars, and kissing them in symbolic acceptance.

She felt tears on her cheeks, as he stood up, pressing his body flush with hers, his hands pressing firmly into her bare lower back. Her breathing quickened, and she could hear him do the same. His lips were enticingly close to hers, causing her heart to pound. "You, are incredibly beautiful," he kissed her cheek lightly, "body," he kissed her other cheek, "and soul." His lips ghosted hers, "I want you. All of you." one of his hands brushed across her abdomen creating goosebumps across her skin. "I love you," he whispered before pressing his lips to hers.