A Gay Vibe From Me?

Chapter 3

It is close to 7 pm on the cheerless Saturday evening, Olivia and the darkening sky coordinating in perfect unison. The usually mature and confident older woman has felt ill all day, due to waking up from disrupted sleep in a panic, and far too early; her anxiety continuing to skyrocket throughout the course of the day and consequently sending her into a paralyzed state after receiving an unexpected text from Amanda Rollins:

"Hey Liv, sorry to bother you on a Saturday, but I need to speak with you. Text or call me back when you get the chance."

It is a minute and uncharacteristically professional text from the younger woman; at first, Olivia had an arduous time wrapping her head around why had it caused her to spin out and become totally imprisoned in fear; she also felt guilty for not responding, but she was, and still is, both emotionally and physically inept.

The hidden sun is beginning to set beneath the impenetrable clouds as Olivia is coiled into the fetal position inside of her bathtub. Her aching body has been tangled in a giant knot for hours now, her ass tender from the constant pressure of the porcelain container, knees drawn so near to her face that her chin has jammed into the bones, resulting in an unattractive imprint, and her arms wound so tightly around the lower extremities, like her life depends on it. The water has grown cold, but Olivia struggles to care, or reach her hand out less than a foot to turn the hot water back on, for that matter. She lets out a heavy sigh, desperately wishing she could chalk up her actions to the anxiety induced by her nightmares, as she has done so many times before, but today, something feels different.

Finally, after seven long years of knowing the paradoxically infuriating yet remarkable Amanda Rollins, Olivia feels a hint of motivation to self-examine, and allows herself to drown in uninterrupted thoughts.

Somewhere deep inside of her, the lieutenant has made the first few steps in identifying why she was originally so callous toward Amanda when she had first arrived to Manhattan's Special Victims Unit from Atlanta. As soon as they met, Olivia did everything in her power to construct a strong, metaphorical wall around Amanda, desperate to create as much distance as possible between herself and the much younger, noticeably attractive woman. At first, Olivia even refused to call Amanda by her first name: "Rollins" was supplemented instead.

The older woman is welcomed by a touch of shame; shuttering at the fact that Amanda had been so enthusiastic to not only get out of the 1-6 Precinct for reasons Olivia had yet to discover, but to also finally have the opportunity to work with the woman she claimed as her idol.

Olivia has been consistently adamant about not allowing thoughts like these to creep up to the surface for as long as she can remember, and right now, she learns why. She simultaneously swallows a wave of persistent nausea and the urge to push away the sadness spilling off of her. She briefly relaxes, and permits herself recall a certain case that involved the unnerving Babs Duffy, a case that ended so many years ago now, back when Elliot was still her partner. Babs was an "out and proud" woman fighting for lesbian rights, who ended up hitting on her. Olivia feels like a truck has slammed into her perspiring forehead when she distinctly remembers asking Elliot, verbatim, "do you get a gay vibe from me?" Not surprised by her question, either because of the nature of the case, or a rising suspicion, he answered, "Would it matter if I did?"

"Mmm," she speaks aloud, startled by her own sudden vocalization. She shakes her head softly and continues thinking. Determined to get to the bottom of things, the older woman authorizes herself to ruminate on Babs for a bit longer. She reminiscences about the sudden, forced kiss that the uncanny, red-haired woman pushed onto her credulous lips. Olivia is now unable to maintain control of emotions, and her tear ducts, when she feels the weight of a thousand trucks now slamming into her at full speed: she kissed the woman back. The truth is, that was the first time she had ever kissed a member of the same sex. She mentally chastises herself for how prude she has been for the past fifty years, never allowing herself to act on impulse. Maybe, she quietly thinks, if she would have kissed a female back when she was only a girl herself, she wouldn't be dealing with the intense confusion she is so passionately feeling right now.

While all of her girlfriends were drunkenly hooking up with each other at parties in college, Olivia only allowed herself to drink a beer or two; the reason being to keep an eye on her companions, and, perhaps more truthfully, much too afraid to see what would happen if she chose to let loose. She always had a boyfriend to bring to such parties, anyways, and even back then, she'd be damned if a perverted member of the patriarchy were to get off on her hooking up with a girl for fun. Olivia's brain whirls back to Babs, and she tries to think of a good reason why she kissed her back in the first place. After a short amount of time passes and the frustration starts gnawing at her core, she feels like she's grasping at invisible straws. "Okay," she mutters aloud, "that's enough truth for today." She makes some progress in untangling her severely sore body as she simultaneously pulls the freezing chain of the universal plug from the drain. Her naturally mysterious, dark eyes are glazed over with exhaustion and stifled tears as she waits for all remnants of her breakdown to swirl away; she watches and wishes the drain could suck her entire body down alongside the cold, dirty water.

As she is rolling her soaking wet hair into a towel, clad in her favorite purple bathrobe and another pair of fuzzy socks, Olivia decides to take another look at her phone. She scans through various work email notifications, shamelessly clearing each one individually as she scrolls, and finds herself ever so slightly hoping to see another iMessage from Amanda. She has received a message, but it's from a friend, inviting her out for a glass of wine tonight. She ponders comprehensively for a moment, figuring she should probably leave her apartment at least once today, before reluctantly obliging. Although she feels no attraction, he is of the male sex; just the thought of this detail casts a sense of safety over her brutally vulnerable mind, and, to be perfectly honest, she really needs a drink.

The tall and attractive detective looks as beautiful as ever after she is done getting ready for her evening out; any hint at her current state of physical and mental exhaustion has been completely obliterated by a heavy coat of makeup.

Her eyelashes are coated in thick, black mascara; dark eyeshadow painted over her eyelids with a thin line of eyeliner to match; copious amounts of foundation laid to cover the deep purple rings that have taken up what seems to be permanent residence underneath her eyes; blush spread evenly over the rest of her previously sunken in cheeks; her shoulder length, dark, brown hair left down and wavy.

The off-duty lieutenant has dressed herself in a pair of tight, low-rise, dark-stained jeans and a starched, black button-up shirt to match, which reveals a tasteful bit of cleavage; coordinating black heeled booties on her feet; her gold "FEARLESSNESS" necklace adding a pop of color to her unintentional, dark exterior. Though it feels somewhat forced, she can't help but become slightly giddy when she is reacquainted with the familiar sense of confidence she is used to feeling when she takes a look at herself in the full-length mirror. Olivia feels a smile tugging gently at both corners of her mouth as she bundles herself up in a winter coat and a pair of thin, black, touchscreen gloves. She decides to take the stairs down to the lobby of her building, and braces herself for the frigid winter temperature as she steps outside to hail a cab, firmly intent on working on "letting loose," and indulging in far more than just a glass of wine tonight.

Olivia hands a wad of cash to the cab driver once they have reached their destination, and carefully steps onto the slush-covered sidewalk. She is now brimming with some much-needed credence as she begins her short journey toward the bar.

Totally focused on NOT getting lost in her own thoughts for the remainder of the night, Olivia is suddenly made aware of a muffled voice perplexingly calling her name. Due to her years as a detective, it does not take her long to locate where the voice is coming from; it belongs to a young, blonde female, right in the middle of lighting a cigaratte that is now hanging lax between her lips, leaning with one foot pressed up against the building.

"Amanda," she gasps.