5 - Tears of Silence
All I can think is how much it hurts to think. Pain throbs in my side, in my temple, on my arms, my face, everywhere. It's coming to a point where it's plainly exhausting to merely stay awake, alert, focused on whatever the hell he's blabbing about.
"Hey, hey, did I say you could close your eyes?" He prompts almost sincerely. I moan trying desperately to reopen my lids without passing out.
Finally, I do, but not quick enough for his satisfaction. He backhands my jaw, sending a shock of pain and heat to the skin. The burning sensation absorbs into my bone. Blood crawls out from the cut my teeth made on my lower lip when I involuntarily chomped down on it after being smacked. Too drained to turn my head back to face him, I leave it to rest uncomfortably on my collarbone. I whimper.
I've learned I have to act like a lady, but he could care less how he treats one.
"Well? Answer me damn it!" He screams louder, the noise rings in my ears.
I manage a weak, "I'm sorry." My voice is broken, very much so, but my spirit. Not yet...
"Good girl." He threads his hands sympathetically through my mangled hair that's dipping below the curve of my spine now. Caressing my scalp, he carefully digs his fingernails into the skin. It'd feel good if I wasn't in so much pain to actually enjoy the massage.
My mind drifts away into the tranquil silence surrounding me. How long have I been here? Awhile apparently, but I can't remember anymore. It was so much easier to keep track the first weeks, but now I've lost count of the days. To think it's been so long that I've had time expecting perpetual torture is depressing.
I want to hang onto this hope that my team will find me, but they would have found me by now. They can't stay on my case forever, we both know that there is always another crime needing full attention. It'd be selfish for me to want their time when it could be utilized to save someone salvageable. Fifty new cases arise within just a couple of weeks. Manhattan's a huge city, it's mine... theirs to keep safe. The case-load never ends.
"Hey, Livvy I think you might want to stay awake for this." His fingers stop mid-way.
Wearily, I strain my eyes to open more, to focus on the blurry objects ahead.
The television's volume turns up, still I am hard of hearing the words. Flipping through the channels, he clicks the remote's button on ABC. The woman in a pencil skirt updates the viewers on the weekly weather. Then she redirects to another newscaster.
He speaks of a recent robbery, and other crimes, that normally would spike a small interest in me. But now, I'm too out of it to care. Suddenly, the volume is raised, enough for my deaf-like ears to comprehend clearly.
"There are still no leads on kidnapped cop, Detective Olivia Benson. It's been a few months since her abduction. It all occurred late at night en route to her home when her abductor shot and kidnapped her. Detectives at the Manhattan Special Victims Unit of New York City ask that you call SVU's tip line for any information leading to Detective Benson's whereabouts. The number is listed below on the screen."
He laughs, deep and throaty. "See that, your so-called team isn't even close to finding you. I told you so," he boasts.
I advert my head away from the next headline story and close my eyes, holding back tears. I'm oddly afraid that I'll lose myself if I should let them fall. My cuffed hands ball into fists. My medium length fingernails dig painfully so into my palms. But I don't care. Now I'm certain. I really don't care about anything any longer.
I guess I had illusions that I'd be saved. That I would return home, and go on to lead a fulfilling life. I guess I can't lie that a twinge of me had that little spark of hope that I'd be guaranteed a "safe" exit out of this hell. But with three months that has already passed, it's extinguished.
I don't think I care if I live or die. What have I got to live for? More pain, suffering, humiliation, depression? Even if I do survive this, I'll be left to pick up the pieces. Alone.
Yes, nobody needs to listen to me drown myself in guilt like I did with Sealview. With my team dead in the water, it'll be another agonizing day with him. Another day I don't want to spend breathing. But he won't end it, not if I ask, not even if I beg. He won't end it until he wants to. Until he's finally takes everything away from me.
They all do. Even if they claim they'll keep their captives, psychos like him always break their covenant. Job experience alerts me of the cynical part of my mind. He'll kill me. It's just a race which part of me will finish the race first.
"I guess it's just you and me now sweetheart. For better or worse," he whispers as he begins to pet my head again. My eyes slip shut, and a tear escapes. I bite my lip to stop the sound humming from my throat.
For better or worse. "I'm your partner, for better or worse," he said.
Beep beep beep! The bed squeaks as he reaches across my shoulder to slam the snooze. A gruff groan slips in between his muffled cuss words. A wry smile graces my lips then disappears.
Cussing was an absolute favorite choice when I dealt with the sickest of the demented perps. Sons of bitches they were. But now, the language is as foreign as Chinese in my word bank. And to think, it was only five months ago when I'd brazenly spit out those words.
He clears his throat, obediently, I roll over to face him. My eyes are glued to the sheets, he's the last person I want interaction with today - especially today. The hollowness in my eyes is somewhat deceitful. I'm not there yet, but every day I step closer to submitting to his hellish ways.
I almost flinch when his hand brushes my jaw. As soon as his eyes leave my sight, I shut mine, suppressing a whimper as his nose ruffles my matted curls. Please no.
∞∞∞
My bare feet dig into the twigs as I canter through the brush. Every so often, my head whips back to see his progress. He's on my tail, following my trail like a trained bloodhound. I've only been running for minutes, but my heart is pounding so hard that it feels like it' going to shatter. I gasp for breath, trying to remember the techniques I was taught at the academy for chasing down suspects. Except this time, I'm the one being chased.
"Help!" My scratchy voice croaks into the knotholes of the trees. My face whips the leaves. "Please, help me." I know full well that calling is endangering my position. But, I also know that the old Olivia would be furious if I allowed the chance to slip pass.
My legs strain and groan as they pull on the tendons, weakened over time. Silently, I whisper a prayer that they'll carry me further. The itching pain on my soles whine for a reprieve - a relief I cannot afford.
Throbbing waves of nausea threaten to rip the carpet out from under me, the dizzy sensation makes my brain tumble. Sweat rolls down my face as generously as ice cream dribble on a hot summer day. The pounding in my chest is relentless as I struggle to ward off the ache.
My stick thin bony fingers grasp onto the branches when my legs finally decide to give way. Paying attention to my wrist, my palm pats along the haggard bark. My other hand holds the other end of my metal bracelet to prevent it from weighing my down.
The blood licking my shoulder blades chafe his t-shirt. I don't have time to be disgusted or repulsed. And though my mind hates me for admitting, I'm actually thankful for that bastard's 'kindness'.
The stabbing in my ribs brings me to my knees, and my face twists with anguish and pain. Tears brim in my lashes. My panting mocks that of a greyhound who has had the sprint of his life. It's so heavy that the big bad wolf and I would be fierce competitors for top dog. A groan passes through my throat as I try again to stand. The string of moans following my ascent and subsequent step forward pales in comparison to the actual brokenness of my spirit and bones.
I just want one of the two options: rescue and recovery or a quick and 'painless' death - and I want it now.
Crack! Someone's near. Déjà vu. Now or nothing. He'll find me sooner or later. Ironically, it's the sooner that's better.
Though I don't look forward to the knuckles that will spring stars and spots intent to sway my sight or the prickling jabs of furniture edges into my abused flank, it's better, far better, than resting in bed with his hairy arm nestled around my waist like we're some lovers snoozing after a pleasurable evening. If there's one thing I'm guaranteed, it's not having the beast torture me that way.
"Help!" My scratchy voice croaks to the trees. "Please, help me."
"Hello?" someone calls back.
I flinch with the realization that someone can help me. "Help me!" The timber in my voice is quickly dying. "Please!"
"Where are you?"
"Help!" I insist.
"Just keep calling."
"Please, help me! He's coming!" My eyes close in relief and exhaustion. The low thuds pound on the dirt as I wait.
"Oh my god!" A man kneels, assessing my state. "Can you hear me, ma'am?"
I can't manage an oral response, so my good hand shifts to skim his fingers. The pulsing through my mind roars. It hurts like hell. The clammy skin-baring my back makes the pale polo stick like flies to my spine. Reid's coming, my light headed brain warns.
"Ma'am, did you hear me?"
"What?" I ask.
"I asked talons hooves bin ear." My eyes squint, perplexed. The guy is talking nonsense. "Hey, hey!" My shoulder shakes and my head rocks with it. "Stay with me! Stay with me!" he says.
"He's coming," I tell him.
"What?"
"He's coming," I repeat, my voice so soft and small.
"Who? Who's after you?"
"Help." I can't help that my mind is drifting in and out of awareness. The swords clash over and over for the state of my mind. "Please."
"Wait, who...'fter you?"
"Elliot!" I want Elliot. I want his warm embrace, his comforting voice with me.
"Is Elliot after you?"
"El!" Tears blur my vision as I struggle to stay awake.
"Wait! I don't under-"
"Please." My head keeps throbbing and I can feel my thoughts slipping.
"I'm going to pick you up, okay?" I jump when the back of my knees settle into the crook of his arm - he didn't even wait. "I'm going to take you back to my jeep, but you gotta tell me your name."
"Benson," I find my voice slurring a reply automatically. I feel like I'm drunk and on a hangover at the same time. It's literally mind blowing. Pulses of pain pound and pound.
"Bentham? Okay, Miss. Betham, what's your first name?"
"He's coming!" I cry again.
"The guy, Elliot?"
My head shoots up, nearly slapping the underside of his chin. "El! Elliot! Where's El?"
"No, no, he's not here."
"Please help me! Don't leave me."
"I'm not leaving you. What's your first name?" My lashes close, concealing my brown eyes. "Hey, hey! I need you to stay awake!"
I groan as he spanks my thigh lightly. My head lolls on his chest.
"What's your name?"
"'Livia." With the last strength I can muster, I answer and fall head first into unconsciousness.
A/N: As you noticed there is a pretty significant time jump between last chapter and now. So you'll find out how Liv escaped in the coming chapters!