The cold is everlasting and she waits for a moment to let it pass. Stop breathing, relax. Time pauses as if she has touched the palms of the Father himself and ice has covered the remainder of her prolonged misery. Then there is life, sounds, feelings, pain. She wants to crawl into herself, read her body's code of operations, figure out her problem and erase it for good. The handprint that he left nowhere - the scar, the blood, the damage - is unsee-able; invisible. She's afraid that if she doesn't see them, then she's really not hurting. His footsteps are only echoes, the cold is gone, and her smiles reaches her eyes.
Arms, soft, around the width of her body, pulling her away from the wall, away from the spontaneous outburst of greedy lust, away from the cold draft of air that seeps lazily through the windows behind her. Arms, and then lips, tugging, pulling at her own open mouth, panting hotly against her tongue and Olivia finds her body numb and buzzing and she allows a moan to fall from the restrained insanities behind her subconscious. The fingers are there and they are loving , stroking, teasing, ecstasy and her back arches longingly into the air. Frantic hands grab shoulders and beg to sit, beg to lay, beg to kneel, anything but stand and be expected not to cry out or scream or collapse. A tongue plunges into darkness and her traitorous kneese give way to floor beneath her, mouth agape, legs open, waves of red coursing through her veins. She peers beneath semi-wet lashes to watch the blue eyes dance triumphantly with her own and for a moment she almost believes in love.