"We like to believe that by not starting the fight, we're in the right. Oh, how wrong we are?"
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Hollow - adj. having a hole or empty space inside
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Lieutenant Lexa McGarrett has done a lot in the 28 years she's been...
"I don't really remember a whole lot of what happened. I just know that it wasn't me." Lexa's gaze was held by the intricate pattern of the carpet flooring. She was trying so had to remember, she really was. It was the not knowing the got her. Sure, she could recall names and faces, but never actions.
Her doctors said it was a form of PTSD. That she was blocking out the memories as a way of protecting herself. What a load of crap.
"Is there anything you do remember," Dr. Vellon asked. The therapist had been asigned Lexa's case, though she was unaware of her patient's name at the time. The file of the woman she had to help was over 75% redacted for her safety.
"I, uh-I remem-The place I was kept was white. Blinding. No doors. No windows. Just white. And they drugged me. A lot. But, umm, their were, uh..." Lexa was struggling to grasp onto the memory that flitted across her recently closed eyes. Her face was screwed up in concentration as she desperately tried to hold on. Tried to uncover what her mind had hidden away.
"It's alright if you don't get it all now," the doctor soothed. But it didn't help. If anything, it made things worse.
"No! I have to remember! If I can't remember, how am I supposed to know what happened," Lexa argued, raising her voice beyond the mere whisper it had been during her recollection.
"Over time, you should be able to remember things. But trying to force it..."
And just like that, Lexa was drowning in her past.
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When Lexa reawoke, everything felt foggy. Truth be told, she wasn't sure if she was actually awake. Things felt sluggish. In front of her was a person. A man. Lexa wasn't able to confirm anything but that through the haze. He moved to stand behind her. Close behind her.
"Lexa, what do you see?"
A voice echoed through, but she couldn't answer. She felt something stir within the depths of her mind before it was overwhelmed with exhaustion. She was beginning to feel sort of free. Her limbs were light as her breath was weightless.
Then there was a voice. This one was closer. She could just barely feel the hand on her shoulder as someone's warm breath fanned over her ear and the base of her neck. Another hand fell to her low on her back, very low. But she scarcely registered the action as smoky whispers filtered through her ear.
There was almost no feeling as she shrugged off her jacket, moving over to the metal table against the left wall. And while the hand on her lower back never faltered, the one on her shoulder trace swirls along her arms, occasionally flitting to her waist with a gentle touch. Something deep, deep inside of Lexa knew that it was wrong, but, for some reason, she craved the light touches. She wanted more.
Within moments of reaching said table, the hands were carefully turning her around, her hips pressing into the edge of the table. One hand on her hips as the other brushed her hair behind her shoulders. The fog was increased as something pressed against her lips softly.
