The Night of the Storm V
Title: The Night of the Storm V
Author: xunforgivenx
Theme/Set: SVU: 21. Repression
Rating: PG-13
Claim + additional character(s): Olivia Benson + Mystery Man
Warning: Rated PG-13 for language, and some sexual content.
Summery: The previous chapters to this story can me found HERE, HERE, HERE, and HERE.
Word Count: 765
Olivia Benson refuses to remember what it was like before, with work, with a partner, getting up at all odd hours in order to respond to a call. She refuses to think about all of that, so she just pushes it further and further back into her mind until she doesn't have to push any more. One day she wakes up and it's all gone, the crimes, the suspects, Captain . . . who? Instead she is just left what she has now become, what he molded her into. A silent, cleaner, sitting at home, somewhere, staring at the wall, sometimes she has a book, but most of the time she just sits and waits for him. There is no TV, no radio, no news papers, if there is an outside world - she doesn't know anything about it. If there is a world outside the four walls that she calls a home, she doesn't want to know about it.
She has forgotten all about what use to be out there, about right and wrong. Now, it was only Bobby's law. Bobby said scrub the bathroom, she did it, Bobby said wear a certain outfit and she did - without any argument, without a fight. She learned when she did something right, she was rewarded with his body - with her in his bed, with kisses, caresses, and love making. If she fought, or if she didn't do something right, she was simply left alone, shackled to the bed and left to her own devices. Those were the worst nights, lonely, scared, in the dark - she would cry and claw at the door like some sort of lost and hungry stray begging to be let in out of the cold. Even with her begging, she would be easily ignored.
After a few weeks of steady appearances, with dinner being on the table promptly - he would start to pace, to rearrange things, to stare out the window blankly and she knew that he was thinking about going out. That he wanted to be free from her, from the house. He wanted some sort of fulfillment that she could not give him. Oh, she would try, or he would demand it from her. Those are the nights he took her in the bath tub, sometimes he would make her lean over the tub and shove her head under the water while he fucked her. Sometimes he would hold her under for so long that she was sure she was going to die, but, at the last minute he would haul her head up and she would be allowed to breathe again.
When that wouldn't work, he would disappear for days at a time, and she was left on her own - pacing, worrying, and sitting at a dinner table set for two. She refused to think about what he was doing when he went out - so instead she made up elaborate stories for why he was out. A lot of them had to do with him working, something dangerous, something . . . something she couldn't remember. A long time ago she remembered what he did for a living, but for the life of her she couldn't remember what. When he got back once, she yelled at him, demanding to know where he had been, was he cheating on her?! She pushed her finger into his chest and for a moment, with that anger and fear she felt something normal once more - like she was suppose to react this way. Her questions, and her anger got her a smack across the face, and she was forced to spend the night alone - again. It was the only time he hit her, and the last time she ever questioned him.
She never questioned anything, like why she was never allowed out - or why they didn't have a TV. She never questioned why the door locked from the outside only, or why he kept her chained to the floor. There were a lot of things she just let slide, it wasn't worth the trouble, she didn't want to be turned away from him again - so she kept silent. She had no idea that there was another world outside the door, another world where she was missed, and that there were friends, people she knew - out looking for her. The detective who had been missing for almost two months.
Author: xunforgivenx
Theme/Set: SVU: 21. Repression
Rating: PG-13
Claim + additional character(s): Olivia Benson + Mystery Man
Warning: Rated PG-13 for language, and some sexual content.
Summery: The previous chapters to this story can me found HERE, HERE, HERE, and HERE.
Word Count: 765
Olivia Benson refuses to remember what it was like before, with work, with a partner, getting up at all odd hours in order to respond to a call. She refuses to think about all of that, so she just pushes it further and further back into her mind until she doesn't have to push any more. One day she wakes up and it's all gone, the crimes, the suspects, Captain . . . who? Instead she is just left what she has now become, what he molded her into. A silent, cleaner, sitting at home, somewhere, staring at the wall, sometimes she has a book, but most of the time she just sits and waits for him. There is no TV, no radio, no news papers, if there is an outside world - she doesn't know anything about it. If there is a world outside the four walls that she calls a home, she doesn't want to know about it.
She has forgotten all about what use to be out there, about right and wrong. Now, it was only Bobby's law. Bobby said scrub the bathroom, she did it, Bobby said wear a certain outfit and she did - without any argument, without a fight. She learned when she did something right, she was rewarded with his body - with her in his bed, with kisses, caresses, and love making. If she fought, or if she didn't do something right, she was simply left alone, shackled to the bed and left to her own devices. Those were the worst nights, lonely, scared, in the dark - she would cry and claw at the door like some sort of lost and hungry stray begging to be let in out of the cold. Even with her begging, she would be easily ignored.
After a few weeks of steady appearances, with dinner being on the table promptly - he would start to pace, to rearrange things, to stare out the window blankly and she knew that he was thinking about going out. That he wanted to be free from her, from the house. He wanted some sort of fulfillment that she could not give him. Oh, she would try, or he would demand it from her. Those are the nights he took her in the bath tub, sometimes he would make her lean over the tub and shove her head under the water while he fucked her. Sometimes he would hold her under for so long that she was sure she was going to die, but, at the last minute he would haul her head up and she would be allowed to breathe again.
When that wouldn't work, he would disappear for days at a time, and she was left on her own - pacing, worrying, and sitting at a dinner table set for two. She refused to think about what he was doing when he went out - so instead she made up elaborate stories for why he was out. A lot of them had to do with him working, something dangerous, something . . . something she couldn't remember. A long time ago she remembered what he did for a living, but for the life of her she couldn't remember what. When he got back once, she yelled at him, demanding to know where he had been, was he cheating on her?! She pushed her finger into his chest and for a moment, with that anger and fear she felt something normal once more - like she was suppose to react this way. Her questions, and her anger got her a smack across the face, and she was forced to spend the night alone - again. It was the only time he hit her, and the last time she ever questioned him.
She never questioned anything, like why she was never allowed out - or why they didn't have a TV. She never questioned why the door locked from the outside only, or why he kept her chained to the floor. There were a lot of things she just let slide, it wasn't worth the trouble, she didn't want to be turned away from him again - so she kept silent. She had no idea that there was another world outside the door, another world where she was missed, and that there were friends, people she knew - out looking for her. The detective who had been missing for almost two months.