~~~Amanda~~~

It's been less than a week, but to me it feels like months. Each wretched hour that has passed by has left me feeling achingly bereft, and a chasm of uncontrollable desires rarely closes its yawning mouth.

I've learned to operate on professional autopilot, and I've managed to make it through the workdays without drawing too much attention to myself from my co workers, although I've caught Olivia's uncertain gazes. She hasn't spoken to me outside of work-related conversations, and in some ways I can almost imagine these feelings don't exist if I zone out far enough. On the other hand, her presence is almost too much to handle should the slightest awareness of the tension between us arise.

It's a Saturday evening when she sends it all crashing down upon my head -with all of her best intentions as usual.

I'm gathering my coat and locking away my service weapon when she exits her office. I sense her presence and her eyes upon me before I even turn.

The rest of the squad room is silent and deserted as she approaches me. Even with my head down, I can see the tense expression on her face in my peripheral.

"Amanda…" Her voice is soft as she comes to stand next to my desk.

I straighten and begin to shove my coat onto my arms. I don't want to look at her.

"Yeah?"

She hesitates for half a second and I can see her hands clenched in front of her.

"I wanted to ask how you are?" She says, finally, slowly.

I lean my head back with a sigh and flip my hair over my collar as I try to think of some way to respond. A dozen spiteful thoughts run through my mind, followed by a deeper instinct to beg her once more for her compliance.

"I'm… Fine." I reply, stiffly, grabbing my phone from the desk and shoving it into my pocket.

"Are you?" She asks, stepping forward.

She reaches out and touches my arm, halting my harried motions. I glance over at her fingers lightly gripping my forearm, distinctly aware of every single wave of heat that washes over me in suffocating, churning tides.

"Yeah…" I rasp, but my voice sounds uncertain even in my own ears.

"I know I came off rough." She murmurs, gently, and I wonder if she's trying to push me to explosion. "My very last desire was to let you down."

I purse my lips against the urge to cry at her simple words - when she's so close to me and yet so far.

"And what was your first?" I ask, huskily, lifting my eyes to her wide, dark ones.

She stares back at me, her lips parting in a soft quiver of shock as if she hadn't expected me to blatantly acknowledge the desires I had seen hiding in her eyes that night.

"That doesn't matter." She says at last, her fingers sliding from my arm.

"Then don't patronize me." I snap quickly at her denial although I'm prepared for it.

"Amanda, I care about you as a member of my squad and as my friend. What you're asking of me compromises both of those positions." She reasons, seemingly desperate to gain my understanding.

I shake my head, shouldering past her in order to get out of the room. The exposure of the squad room, although empty, it far too raw against the vulnerable layers of my heart that she's filleting open. Each word seems like scalpel in her hands, eviscerating me almost painlessly at first...until I realize I'm bleeding out.

"Amanda…" She calls after me as I head towards the elevator, hands shoved into my pockets.

The floor blurs in front of me but I don't stop until I'm stabbing the down button over and over, desperate for the doors to open.

"Amanda, Amanda…"

Her footsteps pound against the floor as she jogs after me and she catches up to me just as the elevator dings and the door begins to slide open.

"Wait…" She breathes, catching my arm.

"I get it, Olivia." I cry, spinning back to her. "You can't."

She draws back, her brows furrowing sharply. I can see the conflict raging in her eyes, her body rigid against her urges to hold me, and I wish she'd just break, just as sharply and painfully as I have done, over and over again; but she won't -not here, not tonight...maybe not ever.

"If there was something I could do…" She whispers, fervently, clutching my arms.

I lapse back against the wall, my head lolling to the side as a tear slips from my eye.

Her words hurt because I know I how much she means them. I know she would give me the shirt off her own back...anything...anything but this.

"Let go." I whisper, my tone, hollow.

What I want I won't find here. I've always been able to find a way around obstacles in order to achieve my desires, and if she won't give me what I want, I'll take it from somewhere else.

"Amanda…" She tries once more, her tone a sad plea.

"Just leave me alone." I mutter, pulling away from her and jabbing the elevator button once more.

Her hands fall away from my arms, and I ignore the sting in my heart at how quickly she's giving up. I know I'm not giving her many choices, but I know that if she knew my intentions upon leaving this building she would be much more vexed in this moment.

The doors sway open and I step through into the tiny cubicle, barely turning to watch her shimmering, distraught expression as the elevator takes me away. It won't stop me anyways.

Once, a fellow GA member stood up in a meeting and sarcastically joked, "You know…. Addiction is like potato chips. You can't have just one." - right before a confession of relapse in a single, unhinged night of drinking and gambling.

Meetings have provided me a place to vent, a place to be understood, a place to belong. I've chased away my loneliness in the company of others who are just as tired and stressed as I am; but I've also known just in the back of my mind that I could find the hook up - whether that be underground gambling, hard drugs or sex - from almost anyone in that room if I knew who to press just right. After years of detective work, I can tell when someone is lying, when someone is uncomfortable, and most of all, when someone is guilty, and I've been watching the people that pass through GA for awhile now.

Finding someone is easy. All I have to do is show up, and I know they'll be there - because deep down inside no one wants to quit and it's never easy.

Her name is Lana. Dark hair, green eyes, perfect lipstick. She's nearly forty, but you'd never know by the way her dark pant suits hug her frame. You'd never know she's a sex addict, but I do.

Approaching her discreetly after the meeting ends, I sidle up next to her near the table of snacks and drinks.

"Hey, Lana." I say, grabbing a cookie from the plate, casually.

"Hey." She smiles, quickly.

Always flighty, always nervous. If I didn't know better, I'd think she was taking something, but I know a guilty conscience when I see one.

"You look like you're itching to get out of here." I comment, trying not to watch her too intently.

"I'm good." She shakes her head, but she's looking away, pouring a drink with a shaking hand.

"You smoke?" I ask.

"One of my legal vices." She returns, scoffing a laugh.

"Come on." I encourage, canting my head towards the door. "I'll bum you one."

She glances over at me with a frown, most likely wondering why I'm suddenly so interested in her, when I have never spoken to her before.

"Come on." I murmur, leaning in, "We both want to get out of here…. Why not?"

Her eyes dart away from mine, back towards the room of people milling around and conversing...unaware of the two of us.

"Okay." She finally says, setting the cup down at the edge of the table.

I nod and turn towards the exit, shoving my hands into my jacket pockets as I try not to hurry too quickly out the door. I don't want anyone to notice us leaving.

Lana follows me and we escape together out into the quiet alley alongside the building. The sounds of the city and passing cars echo in the background, but I deem us sufficiently alone.

Grabbing my cigarettes out of my pocket, I lodge one between my lips and hold the box out to Lana. She takes one and I hold up the lighter next, igniting a flame at the tips of the cigarettes between us.

She's watching me closely as smoke billows between us and I lean back against the wall, taking in another drag.

"You're probably wondering who I am and what I want." I finally say, glancing back over at her.

"I know your name." She says, hesitantly sucking on the nicotine. "But you don't really talk in meetings."

"You wanna know why?" I ask, inspecting the end of the cigarette, marked with my lipstick.

"Okay…?" She says, uneasily.

"I'm a cop, Lana." I say, taking another drag, slowly.

Her eyes widen for half a second, and I can see her trying to process what I said, and why I said it.

"I know you're in SAA too." I continue before she can speak.

"Wh-what does that have to do with anything?" She demands, her cheeks flushing even in the darkened alleyway.

"Back there…" I nod towards the building. "You said your vices are illegal."

"Yeah…." She says slowly, and I can see her connecting my profession to this conversation, but she has it wrong as she blurts out, "Look I haven't done anything that warrants-"

"Lana, I'm not here to judge you." I say, pushing away from the wall and pacing away. "I'm not undercover or looking to arrest you or whatever else you're thinking."

"Then what…?"

"You know where to get things where most people wouldn't..." I say, tilting my head back and releasing a stream of smoke. "Sex… for example."

Shocked silence follows my statement and I turn towards her to find her staring at me, stuttering for words.

"I'm looking for something very specific and I want your hookups." I say, "Someone safe….discreet….Someone who won't get me caught."

"Amanda," She shakes her head, holding up her hands, "I'm trying to get my life together. How can I send you down this path with a clear conscience?"

"I wouldn't ask you to relapse." I reply. "And I'm not an addict. This isn't going to hurt me."

"That's what I said at first, too." She returns, and I can see quivering, prancing like a nervous mare.

"Look, I've got gambling under control." I say, stepping back to her so she can see the calm control in my eyes...so she'll calm down too... "Hey, I know where to draw the line now." I catch her gaze with the most cavalier smile I can muster, but she's shaking her head.

"You're asking me to tell you where to find someone that you pay for sex." She whispers, each word enunciated with shock, and all the disgust I should've expected from someone who's in the program and understands how wrong their actions are - just like I should.

"Look." I breathe, swallowing against panic, conjuring what logic I can into the spiraling conversation, " The person I want isn't ready. This isn't about a mindless fuck, okay? I know what I'm doing."

I try to tamp down the desperation that's bleeding into my tone, but it's hard to ignore the clawing need inside of me. It's hard to ignore that I'm willing to let a complete stranger touch me after all I've been through. It's hard to ignore that Lana is right.

"I can't do this." Lana whispers, turning away from me.

She tosses the half spent cigarette to the ground and kills the glowing end with a stab of her pointed-toe high heel.

"Lana, wait." I demand, grabbing at her arm before I can stop myself, before I can remind myself that I don't know her, and she's not a perp.

"Let go." She cries, yanking her arm away from my hold, and the look of horror on her face tells me all I need to know about where this ill fated meeting will end. "You're crazy if you think I'm going to tell you this stuff!"

"I'm perfectly fine!" I breathe, although my face is flushed and my heart is pounding, desperation flooding my veins.

"You're a cop and an addict?" She scoffs, spinning back towards the door. "Get some help, okay?"

"Lana…" I say once more, my voice a moaning plea as she yanks the door open, and marches back into the building, leaving me alone.

The door slams, echoing along this slim road of darkened desperation with a note of ringing finality.

"Errggghhh!"

I scream out at the brick walls of the alley way, spinning away from the closing door. Slamming my hands against the opposite wall, I sag there, crying softly against the rough, gritty exterior. Ignoring the way the brick bites into my palms, chest, and forehead, I dig my nails into the grooves, wishing I could just tear it down brick by brick and hurl each heavy piece until this raging need and miserable frustration is vanquished from my being.

The empty, indefatigable alley stares down upon me, unmoved by my anger, quietly taunting me with the fact that I have done everything possible to gain what I want and I am still empty, aching, cold. It seems as if the entire world has strategically turned it's back to me, stealing every strike of luck or cunning straight from my hands. I've cajoled, cried, begged, demanded...I was even prepared to pay, though now I wonder if it might be just a unfruitful and unfulfilling. It wouldn't be her…I'll never be whole without her….

Finding my way to her doorstep is instinct.

There is no elaborate plan this time, no conniving or manipulative tactics to gain her sympathy or compassion. I'm alone in my agony, and showing her the rawest side of my anguish is more ill-advised than anything. She is still my commander, after all. The things she could bring down upon my head, the ways she could ruin me, are immeasurable - and yet I trust her most of all.

It's late when I finally drag myself up to her building, shivering with what is left of my self control. At this point, I feel strangely numb, as if the world is floating past me. The single thought of finding her throbs through my veins, reminding me over and over of the burning need inside, the way it singes me to my core.

I buzz for her with a languishing hand, leaning my forehead against the building as I wait for her to answer. I can hear my breath rushing through my nose and out through my mouth, a husky, shallow harmony to the dull beating of my heart. My lids flutter, holding back a flood of tears that I can hardly feel stinging my eyes, and yet I know are ready to explode upon my cheeks beneath her gaze. Once she sees me I know I'll be finished.

"Who is it?" Her voice startles me, crackling through the speaker.

Lifting my head, I fumble for the button once more, my limbs feeling both heavy and all at once weightless.

"It's me…" I whisper, before reminding myself that we aren't yet that close. "It's Amanda…"

Silence whispers back at me upon staticy sound waves, scratching with grating unease over my ears, foreboding a myriad of outcomes. I haven't considered the possibility that she might turn me away, but I have to believe in the side of her that held me all night in my apartment, the part of her that swore she wouldn't leave me.

Finally, her answer comes in the unlatching of the gate. The speaker clicks off, offering me no sign of her reception to my appearance at her door past 1 am, but I don't have time or energy to consider this anything other than a sign.

Pushing inside, I carry myself as quickly as possible to her door.

I've been here only a couple of times, a few dinner parties with the team, but never alone. Being inside of Olivia's space is much different than her being in mine. It seems so invasive when she already gives so much of herself to the job, but I can't imagine that I'm taking something from her when I need her to give me so much; no, I can't consider that this is wrong because I've already suffered enough.

Simply getting to her door already feels like salvation.

I knock, my knuckles falling weak against the wooden barrier, then trailing away. Leaning against the frame, I wait for her to open the door, and pray she'll find some way to hold me again.

When the door creaks open, spilling light out onto my huddled, shivering figure, I lift my head. With squinted eyes, I gaze up at her beautiful face etched with both concern and apprehension. I can see all of her emotions in the tight draw of her brows and lips, but even the tiny lines detailing her mouth and eyes won't stop my heart from fluttering, my stomach from flipping. Just her presence is a salve to my raw, aching emotions.

"Amanda…" She begins, and I know she's about to lecture me, to remind me of what she's already said - even if it's in the most gentle way possible.

"Please…" I whimper, sagging into the doorway, "I just need some help…"

Her frown deepens as my haggard appearance comes to light, and she immediately reaches in to touch me. Her fingers wrap around my arm, and I close my eyes, my breath rushing from my lungs. It feels as if my skin is peeled back, her hand squeezing against open, exposed nerve endings, and I can feel my knees shuddering, sapped of strength.

I don't realize I'm swaying, nearly falling until she's catching me. My eyes slam open as she wraps her arm around my waist and pulls me inside. I'd be on the floor without her and the fact that she's holding me up with every fiber of her physical strength only forces another quiver through my body.

"Amanda, are you all right?" She asks, her voice low, nearly trembling.

She's frightened. I can tell by the look in her widened eyes, the way she grips me almost too tightly, the slightest thickening of her voice, but she won't let it show. She is my commander, my pillar of strength, my protector, and I know I'm safe here with her.

"I just…" I whisper, blinking slowly against blurry tears. "I don't want you to let me go."

Her expression twists, slowly, from concern to something akin to dread, but it can't hurt me anymore. If this is to be our final road, I will crash and burn in her arms, and I've accepted that.

"Have you taken something?" She asks in a whisper, as if searching for some more horrid explanation for my behavior.

I laugh, but it comes out sounding more like a raspy cough, "I told you...you don't understand."

She's quiet, an intense silence, as if I can hear the implications cementing themselves inside her brain. She's realizing my need for her isn't a choice. I can't simply walk away, or decide this isn't wise.

I look up at her, and our eyes lock slowly, like two cogs finally turning into place, fitting together in one, final turn. Her eyes are ever shifting pools of chocolate and caramel, and tonight they are swirling with light. She's never looked at me this way before, and it shakes me to my core.

"What did you do?" She whispers, as if divining the terrible actions and decisions I've made that have brought us to this point.

I glance away, though I loathe to leave her open gaze willingly, but it's the shame of what I tried to do that forces my eyes towards the ground. Tears pulse at my lids, and I shake my head slowly.

"Amanda." She demands, firmly, holding me away from herself with both hands gripping my shoulders. "Look at me."

Finally, I drag my watery gaze to hers, staring, pitifully, up at her with the horror of what I might've done had Lana told me what I wanted to hear swirling through my brain.

"I… I tried to find another way." I whimper. "Without you…"

"What do you mean?" She asks, breathless with apprehension.

"I can't…" I murmur, my chin lapsing to my chest once more as the tears finally pool high enough to slip from the confines of my lids.

Her hands are trembling as she gives me a shake, hard enough to jolt me.

"Tell me right now." She orders, releasing one shoulder in order to grab my chin, forcing my miserable gaze to hers.

"I…" I stutter against tears, my lips twisting with force of emotion and shame. Squeezing my eyes shut, I sob, "I was going to pay someone!"

"Amanda…."

I can hear all of the horror and disappointment wrapped up in every, single syllable and I would've much rather have ceased to exist if I didn't imagine the ways she could make me whole again, if I didn't believe in every particle of her being to save me - but all of the faith in the world doesn't stop this moment from hurting.

With tears shaking me, I'm hunched over, collapsing into her. Loud, wrenching sobs rip from my throat as she catches me, shocked yet steady still. She seems uncertain of her direction for only a moment before she shoves the door closed and pulls me inside. I'm huddled down into the crook of her arm as she directs us towards the couch. My feet are uncoordinated, nearly causing us to stumble before I finally drag us both down.

I find myself on my knees, splayed over her, my head buried in her stomach, and though the floor is hard against my joints she's soft, and she's safe. I clutch her waist, unwilling to let go, unwilling to move from my position at her feet.

At first, she tries to pull me up onto the couch with her, urging me in a low voice, "Come on, Amanda, you don't want to be down there, honey."

"No… I do…" I whisper against her, my voice muffled and mutilated by emotion. "I need to be down here."

"Amanda…"

"Don't you get it?" I cry, lifting my head as I sink back on my heels. "It's never going to be anyone but you…."

She stares back at me, her eyes wide, full of so many swirling emotions, so many I can't begin to describe them all; and I know if I can't convince her tonight that I never will.

Reaching up, I grab her arms and breathing heavily, I plead, "Please… I need you so much… Take this from me… Break me. Please."

She's blinking quickly, dark eyes shimmering and I can feel her trembling against me as she reaches up slowly. Her fingers brush my cheek, leaving tingling trails of stimulation along my flesh, stealing my every breath, until at last she finds purchase in my disheveled hair. I can see the fire igniting inside her gaze, and her chest rises and falls sharply like the swell of an incoming tide, crashing higher and higher inside of her.

She drags me in suddenly, harshly, and her lips are as unforgiving as I have always dreamed they would be. When she moves, she doesn't hesitate. There is no second guessing wrapped up inside the action of kissing me and the warmth and power of her mouth paralyzes me. My fingers are clenched against her arms in shock, my body rigid and quivering; and though the tears are still fresh upon my cheeks she takes my lips with a passion unshaken by mere emotion.

It takes me several long moments to respond, but when I do, I'm hungry for it, my mouth parting beneath her ravenough ministrations. It's neither neat or slow, but our relationship has never been either of those things, and I doubt it ever will be.

We go back and forth, sucking at each lips in a flurry of tongue and teeth until I'm drowning in the sensations. The warmth of her mouth captures me, the taste of her tongue holding me down even past what I think I can take until finally her lips drag away. She's panting heavily as her wet lips move down my jaw to my ear lobe.

"Promise me you'll stop me if it's too much." She's whispers ardently, pressing her forehead to my temple.

I nod raggedly against her, my heart racing in my chest, choking me in my throat. I'm shaking all over in anticipation and although I have spent every single moment since that night in my apartment pining for this I hardly feel prepared for this moment of truth. I want it with my entire being, every single cell screaming for this contact, but I am all at once terrified and eager to bare myself to her.

There's no time to contemplate because her hands are sliding down my body, seeking buttons and zippers, bare flesh and compliance. I'm breathing sharply and shallowly as my trembling, fumbling hands dare to assist her, our fingers bumping into one another in our rush to remove my pants from the equation.

I thought I'd feel ashamed after my confession to her, but when I'm free of the cloth restrictions all I can feel is relief.

"Come here." She murmurs, pulling me closer until I'm laid across her thighs.

She pulls one arm behind my back and her fingers slide through mine, lacing tight in reassurance, and I can't discern which one of us is quavering harder.

Her other hand touches my back, the first hesitant interaction since the kiss, but I can only hold onto her tight, wait for it to come. My whole being is hanging onto this moment, waiting for her to take me.

Like a crooked, improperly healed fracture, I want her to break me again to set me right, to make me whole.

Her fingers trail downwards, dragging a wash of goosebumps over my flesh as she moves over the swell of my buttock and down to my thigh. I hear her draw a raspy breath as her fingers fall away, leaving me achingly bereft of her touch for a few unbearable seconds.

The first strike expels the air from lungs in a sharp gasp, and I jerk against her, my flesh tingling at the site of the blow. Though I imagine she could enforce much more strength, my body is too overworked, feeling everything at the high level of intensity, and anything she gives me is almost more than I can take.

Her fingers flex around mine, and I can feel the sweat gathering between our palms but neither of us would dare to let go in this moment. I need to hold onto her, to be anchored to her in every way possible.

"I've got you." She whispers, her husky voice falling on my ears with more grace than I know I deserve.

I clench my eyes shut though I don't damn the tears filling my eyes. I'm not sad - only ready to surrender.

Her hand falls again with a crack, harder, more purposeful, and I moan into the couch as the burn resonates into layers of flesh. As soon as it is dispersing into nothing I'm aching again for it, and I don't know when it will ever be enough.

"Yes…" I whimper, digging my toes into the carpet in order to push my ass back up to her hand.

I can hear her panting as she pulls me close and spanks me again, her actions gaining determination now. She doesn't hesitate to deliver a second and then a third, burning patterns of punishment across my flesh. I'm moaning each time, wordlessly begging over and over, praying she won't stop.

When she finally does, I groan, "Nooo… Don't stop…"

I dig my head into the couch, pushing back against her again because it's still so far from being enough. I need her to destroy me, to obliterate this need inside until I'm nothing but a sniffling, shivering mess at her feet.

She hesitates for only a moment, and I can sense she wants to question me. I know she's scared to truly hurt me, but I can't even imagine that being a possibility. All I can think about is releasing every ounce of this wretched anguish and anxiety inside the safe space of her arms, beneath the guidance of her hand.

Pressing the length of her forearm across my back, she squeezes my hand while her other palm massages over my stinging flesh for one sweet, tantalizing second. In the next, she's striking me, the flat ridge of her hand unerring across my backside. Another moan explodes from lips as the second falls in tandem with the pulse between my hips. A churning warmth is curling there with every blow, and just as it doesn't stop, neither does she. A space barely long enough to draw a breath passes between each spanking, punctuating a continuous loop of her hand cracking against my flesh, then my cry and the jar of my body.

The pain of each spanking screams at my brain to buck and claw to escape but inside my heart is buckling to the relief of falling apart in her hands, and when she holds me down that deliverance only comes quicker.

Crack! She strikes me for what seems to be dozenth time, and I arch beneath her arm, crying out as she lays the harsh punishment on top of already aching flesh, pushing a dull throb to the surface. The fresh flesh she does find, sings with the rush of activated nerve endings, but those tiny pieces of me are becoming smaller and smaller beneath the force of her palm.

Tears sting at my eyes, pushing to escape as the rhythm of the spankings steadily continues, beating like a drum of commencement. I've lost count of how many I've taken, but some part of my brain tells me that it's enough do temporary damage to my soft, pale flesh.

Above me, she's shaking, finally hesitating, but I'm burning up inside. She can't stop now, not even at this point where I can barely breathe. I choke over saliva that had gathered thickly in my mouth, gasping as I try to beg, to tell her not to fucking stop.

"M-more…" I rasp. "Har-harder…"

Her hand is trembling against mine, her flesh growing cold and clammy in the embrace of our fingers, and perhaps she's more terrified in this moment than I am. To me, this is finally it. This is what I have wanted for so long, what I've needed, and I can't let us stop - not until I'm completely destroyed.

She's pulling me close again, pushing me deeper into the couch as she clenches her thighs around mine, holding me firmly down. I gasp in breaths as drags her palm over my aching flesh where she's struck me enough to cause tiny bruises and broken blood vessels and the intense clench between my legs expels a sharp moan from my lips, a heady cry that I know she must discern from the ones that have come before.

She pauses once more, her hand squeezing my buttock sharply as she leans over me. I can hear her panting, thready noises that rake shivers down my spine. I'm shaken realizing that she's searching for her self control, knowing I've broken through her armor just as she has broken through mine. We're here together, naked, vulnerable, and finally one.

When she drags herself upright, I can feel the resolution searing through her. She's stopped quaking, her breathing slowed.

I swallow hard, digging myself down smaller into her lap because I can feel the way she's about to destroy me. There will be no more hesitation on her part, or begging from me. She doesn't need it, and I can already feel myself imploding at the power of her control over me. It's all I've ever wanted, everything I've ever needed.

Crack!

Her palm falls. Hard. Fast. Determined.

I cry out, the sound tearing at my throat because it somehow hurts worse than before. I burrow my face into the couch as the tears finally push past the final barrier of my resistance just as her hand falls again, tearing at the brick walls I've built around my heart. I can feel myself beginning to crumble from within as she strikes me with a low cry of her own, the sound of exertion and passion taking another blow to my self-constructed armor.

I'm shaking, coming undone at the seams of my existence where I've stitched myself together with the bitterness of a hundred heartbreaks and betrayals. I'm suddenly feeling again after all I've known for so long is the numbness of scar tissue on top of scar tissue, and I'm screaming, releasing my agony in the form of tears spilling down my cheeks.

She strikes me until my voice reaches the pitch of desperation, and when she stops, I'm sobbing, in a daze.

"Why…? Why are you stopping?" I cry, though I'm a weak, slumping mess of tears and engorged nerve endings.

"It's enough, Amanda." She whispers, her voice husky as she slides her arm around me, and begins to pull me up.

"No...No…" I mumble, shaking my head.

I feel like I'm still falling...falling into her arms… I'm not sure where the bottom is or where I came from.

"Stop, stop." She whispers as I slip down between her legs, swaying against her thighs. "It's okay… everything will be okay."

She cups my face in both hands, her thumbs dipping beneath my eyes to gather away my tears and I blink against the remaining moisture. I gaze up at her face, and her expression is a mix of concern and satisfaction. Lifting my hand slowly, I grab onto her wrist, holding on so that she won't stop touching me like this - soft, affectionate, caring.

"Don't let go." I murmur.

"I won't let go." She's whispers in return, never hesitating.

My heart clenches in my chest and I lean into her harder, grasping at her. I need to be closer to her, flesh to flesh.

She pulls me up onto the couch, and leans back slowly as I sink into her lap. She holds me around the waist while her other hand cradles my head to her shoulder, and I imagine it's something like the way she holds her child, but that doesn't confuse or discomfort me - rather the opposite. I know she's going to take care of me.

What happens after this night is far from my mind. I don't even care what happens in the next minute, or hour, because I know she'll be with me, putting every shattered piece of me back together - broken and unbroken, safe inside her arms.

Hey, guys, just a little note here at the end : I'm going to be taking a short hiatus from writing and posting, I'm not sure for how long. I've got some real life stuff to work out and that I need to focus on. I love you all so, so much and I will be back :-)