#savebenson

    ↪ 15.10 “Psycho/Therapist”

    ↪ 15.10 “Psycho/Therapist”

rip good quality :(( the shortest edit I’ve ever made, don’t worry I have more to post :)) I hate lewis with a passion but the Lewis/benson arc was amazing, and @officialpabloschreiber really portrayed Lewis well! #oliviabenson #williamlewis #svu #savebenson #pabloschreiber #mariskahargitay @therealmariskahargitay song: lullabies by yuna

puzzles me how she can still look so good with a lil blood on her face, ripped clothes and messy hair? #oliviabenson #btsSVU #SaveBenson #SurrenderBenson

That about covers it. #SVU #SaveBenson #Obsession

There was this nasty click into one of guns that he held in his left hand. He took the top one, the revolver spun the barrel one good time, aiming it at me, with his lips in his mouth. He was ready to shoot. In that instant, I knew it was the end. My heart was pounding; my face was pounding; my right eye was throbbing. He licked his lips like some kind of wild animal. Then he smiled. Like we were old pals and took a step closer to me, then another. He kept coming. He transferred the guns between his hands so he ended up with one in each hand. Both pointing lightly, almost playfully at me. He could rip me to shreds in seconds, but who would care? They’d just find another one. Another me. They’ve done it before. To the others. Guess that’s how I got my job. My hands leaned over the table between us, my head was filled with air, and I felt like I was going to topple over, but I couldn’t let him win. I can’t let him win. But what do I have to live for? I jerked my head to the side, or maybe it just fell that way. Then I caught it again, pulling it erect as I stared into his cold, sociopathic eyes. I waited, I was waiting for him to pull the trigger to finally put me out of my misery, but he didn’t. He held my gaze for a moment then he opened his stupid mouth. “You know what? I’ll be a gentleman.” He said with a smirk across his nasty face. He licked his lips again, “I’ll go first.” He said and put the gun to his head. I almost laughed, but my body kept my face taut as a numbingly cold shiver went up my spine. I felt my heart shift forcing my eyes to look at the child I had almost forgotten was suspended, swinging by a chain on the metal next to me. Us. “Look away.” I said, instinctively. I took a swallow of my saliva, “Look away, Amelia.” I repeated. I didn’t want my words to shake, but they did. I was showing him fear. Damn it! I didn’t want to show him fear. Lewis smiled at me, he had shoved his other gun in my face while I was looking at Amelia, I closed my eyes for a second and then flashed them open again, “Death is nothing to be afraid of, Rafael.” The gun clicked against his forehead. His eyes were still fixed on me. He slammed the gun on the table. My body reflexively jumped, “Pick it up.” He said in a voice barely above a whisper. My eyes tunnel-visioned on that gun I looked up. He was licking his lips with that cocky expression on his face that made me want to punch him harder than I’ve wanted to punch anyone in my life. He snapped the trigger again. Only this time. He didn’t make it. Red splattered everywhere. I could taste it. I could feel the coolness of it over my face. And suddenly everything was dark. Blackness and a gasp and suddenly I’m staring at my ceiling, listening to some man scream his lungs out. Oh wait. It’s me. Again. Banging sounds on the ceiling of the hotel I’ve been renting for quite a few days. I slide out of my bed and rub my palms over my face. Then bang them into my face. I wish he would’ve shot me. I wish my phone would ring and they’d call me into the office, but I need time off. Time to recuperate. What I really need is to get back to work. I turn on the lamp next to my bed and step into overly expensive slippers and trot over to the wide-open bathroom door. There’s a baseball bat in my hand. I don’t even remember picking it up. I half expect Lewis to be there waiting for me. I flip on the bathroom light and find myself staring at a man, whom I do not know, in the mirror. It drops the bat. He looks like me. With bags under his eyes and scruff that’s grown out for far too long. It’s basically a beard now. It rubs its hand over its beard in perfect harmony with me. Like it is me. “Liar!” I scream into the inanimate object. A slamming knock sounds over my head. Thank god I’m old friends with the manager or I wouldn’t have been able to stay here this long. I walk over to the sink and put my left elbow on the small sink so I can sink my face back into my palm, rubbing it over and across my face like maybe if I rub it enough it’ll go away. The memories, the dreams, the flashbacks, the PTSD, will go away. I doubt it will. I turn on the faucet, cold water, and splash it on my face. “What’s the point of all this?” the reflection of the man’s voice moves with my mouth, an echo. It offers me a small weak smile that I’ve seen on so many victims before, “He should’ve killed me.” It whispers. Infecting my mind with the thoughts of how easy it would be. How scandalous it would be. I huff out a sigh, “But the others wouldn’t understand.” I slam my fist down on the sink, “They don’t understand!” I yell. I take a deep, shaky breath and sink to the ground. The tears come flowing out of me like the pathetic echo of the man I am.