In the Blink of an Eye

Chapter Twenty: In the Blink of an Eye

"Sergeant Benson, you rescued the infant, isn't that right?"

"Yes, Your Honor," Olivia replies.

"And you're the only one who's taken a consistent interest on his behalf. Is there any chance you might like to become a foster mother to this baby?"

I immediately stop walking. I am just on the other side of the doorway, so nobody in the courtroom would be able to see me. I cannot think—I cannot think! I am utterly shaking, wondering what Olivia's response will ultimately be. Although it seems like years, in reality, it is just a few moments.

"I'm sorry. Excuse me, Your Honor?" Olivia asks.

"I have a feeling about this, Sergeant Benson," the judge replies. "Call it a judge's hunch. If you agree, I will order Noah Porter into your care as custodial parent for one year, at which time you will be given the option to permanently adopt him. Do you agree?"

I am numb as Olivia stands there, presumably dumbfounded, and, ultimately, tells the judge that she would love to. I quickly turn on my heel and run as fast as I can down the hallway, not bothering to look back. I get to the parking garage and find myself unlocking my car door and slamming it behind me. I am gripping the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles are quickly turning white—I cannot allow myself to think.

Of course Olivia will adopt him, I tell myself bitterly. She'll adopt him and will be seen as the hero cop who adopted an unwanted baby. I couldn't believe I was being so negative about the whole thing—I myself had made the choice not to tell Olivia about her being my birth mother, as well as forcing everyone else who knew that fact to keep silent as well. I wipe the tears from my eyes, noticing that Olivia has texted me, asking me where I was, that she was looking for me. I know what I have to do—I know what I have to say.

But I don't; I don't say anything, other than making up a quick lie about traffic as I cannot bring myself to shatter her perfect world. In that moment, I envisioned a new life for Olivia Benson and knew, deep down, that I could not bring myself to ruin it in the slightest. Putting my key into my ignition, I drove out of the parking lot and made my way over to Homicide—it would be nearly a year before I spoke to Olivia again.

. . .

I know I am dreaming as soon as I enter that room. The notion hit me immediately, and I found myself shaking. However, I forced myself to go through the motions, although part of me didn't know that it was forceful, deliberate, anything like that at all...

I was seventeen years old, weeks from my own eighteenth birthday, when that day happened—when it happened. He must've seen me through the crowd of other kids—I don't know. I remember using the facilities but then he charged into the bathroom as I was washing my hands. I found out later that the sick bastard had put an "OUT OF ORDER" sign on the door so nobody could come in—clever son of a bitch, let me tell ya. He managed to throw my purse across the room—this was 2003, so I guess he didn't feel the need to check if I had a cell phone on me—and pin my hands behind my back, before I had a chance to break away. He held me there, tearing through my sweater tights and pulling up the above-the-knee-length skirt of my new dress and pinned me to the counter. Grunting like a dog in heat into my ear, I felt him shove himself inside me.

Naturally, I tried to scream; I'd only dated three boys in high school—Bobby Thompson, Derrick Howard, and Lewis Monroe—and I hadn't slept with any of them, or anyone, for that matter. Writhing against him in an attempt to get away from him, he chuckled—maybe he thought I wanted him. Having no experience in this field, all I could do was do my best to look away from my pathetic expression in the mirror in front of me, however, he thought of that, too. Gripping me tightly and angling my neck the way he wanted, he forced me to witness my attack; he also manages to choke me every few seconds as well. Then after maybe three or four minutes, which seemed like hours, he pulled away from me and cleaned himself off—my blood had gotten on him—and left the bathroom quickly and quietly.