Chapter Text
Loganville GA, 1990
Amanda Rollins grew up in the Baptist church. It was all she knew as a child– on Sundays, you go sit in the stuffy basement down the road and the honey-sweet blonde teacher tells you stories about forgiveness and burning bushes and floods so heavy they swept up every single one of those mistakes God supposedly didn’t make. You listened closely and you made a little craft you’d find at the top of the kitchen trash by Tuesday, not even hidden below beer cans and TV-dinner wrappers, and then you sang some songs and got a little packet of dollar store candy to eat during the car ride home while you used all of that praying practice to beg God that tonight was the night your daddy had a big win and the screaming could wait until Monday.
Of course, Amanda got too big for Sunday School eventually, as all children do, and while sitting in the pews with the adults had sounded very grown up, she quickly realized that she missed the soft smile and lilting voice of her Sunday School teacher. The pastor had a booming voice and he talked about hate far more often than forgiveness and loving your neighbour.
On church days, Amanda had to wear the ugly dresses her mother would wrestle her into kicking and screaming– the itchy ones with the lace in colours she hated that her Grandma couldn’t seem to stop buying her, the ones that made everyone tell her what a sweet little lady she was becoming, as if she hadn’t bitten the pastor’s kid at school last Tuesday for picking on her sister. Amanda envied the boys at church– they were dressed up too, but at least they could climb the cedar trees that surrounded the parking lot while their parents were chatting after service, Amanda left to fidget and sit on the rocks under the hot Georgia sun, because there was no way the girls were inviting her to jump rope or play the clapping games that made her skin tingle and her cheeks flush from more than just the heat.
No, Amanda would simply sit and think. She’d do the same thing she’d picked up a habit of doing every time she had to close her eyes in prayer– she’d daydream of a life far away, where she wasn’t just a little blonde girl in an itchy dress. Sometimes she was a knight, fighting the fire breathing dragon to save the princess, and when she got up to the tower, she’d bow down on one knee and kiss the princess’s hand. Other times she was a movie star, running around the big city with other beautiful starlets, swiping her card on whatever she fancied, buying gifts and sweet treats for the posse of girls who surrounded and adored her.
No matter where Amanda went in her head, it was anywhere but Loganville. Anywhere but the house she had to return to after church and wait for the telltale sound of beer cans hissing as they opened and count the minutes until the shouting started, until she had to take Kim to play in the woods by the school so they didn’t have to hear it.
No, Amanda would go anywhere but there. Anywhere but home.
***
Loganville GA, 1993
The very first time Amanda kissed a boy was at the middle school carnival.
It was the second last week of the seventh grade, and all of the middle schoolers would meet at the school in the evening for a celebration of the year finishing. She knew some of the more daring girls would sneak a water bottle of their mom’s vodka (not knowing it’d been watered down by older siblings and fathers who promised they’d quit), or a single can of their daddy’s beer to split with four friends and pretend they were stumbling over themselves.
Somehow, bored of the games her cooler friends deemed “babyish” (though Amanda had absolutely crushed it at cornhole, winning enough tickets to get herself some dollar store prize that would probably be broken within the week), Amanda had found herself in the corner of the baseball diamond playing truth or dare.
“Mandy,” her friend Michelle said, blowing a watermelon-flavoured bubble. “Truth or dare?”
Now, Amanda had never been one to back down from a dare– a habit that had resulted in a few too many blows to the head, twisted ankles, and after school detentions, but a habit she was proud of nonetheless. “Dare,” she said in an instant, not missing the conspiratorial way Michelle, Amber, and Grace’s eyes met and their mouths pulled up at the corners.
“I dare you,” the girl started, and Amanda tried not to become distracted by the green bubble that popped from between her lips before she smacked it with her teeth. “To take Ryan behind the shed and kiss him. On the lips, five seconds minimum.”
Amanda was sure that the only person in the circle whose face had gone redder than Ryan’s was her own. But Amanda Rollins never backed down from a dare, no sir, so she stuck her tongue out and grabbed Ryan’s hand, dragging him along with her to the sports equipment shed.
Ryan was her best friend– she’d never say that out loud, never admit to getting along with the boys far better than any of the girls, who seemed to take everything that made her feel uneasy about herself and twist it into something that sat deep in her gut as she fell asleep. No, Ryan and his buddies simply punched it out when they pissed each other off, and usually ended the fight laughing and forgetting what made them so mad in the first place.
Amanda had never wanted to kiss him before though– her friends had teased her about it at the last sleepover she went to, singing songs about K-I-S-S-I-N-G until Amanda had thrown a pillow at one of their heads and tried to laugh off the twist in her stomach at the thought.
In fact, as they approached the shed, that twisting feeling came back, and Amanda was starting to wonder if this was the time to break her streak of taking every dare thrown at her.
“You know,” she said, looking down at her feet. “We don’t really have to kiss. We can just stand here for a few minutes and lie to them when we come back.”
Ryan looked at her, seemingly confused. “You don’t want to? Haven’t you never kissed a boy before, Mandy?”
And his next question took that twisting and turned it into a full blown wrench.
“What, are you a dyke or something?”
Amanda had no idea why that question made her face heat up with more than just embarrassment– it felt closer to when she’d broken her Grandma’s vase and lied about the dog crashing into the table– but she didn’t want to ask herself about that right now, she wanted Ryan to shut the hell up.
And so she grabbed the collar of his baseball tee and pulled his face into hers so hard she wondered if she was going to get a bloody nose. She kissed him, and tried to remember the way people kiss in movies, because she really didn’t feel a single spark of guidance coming from within herself right now. In fact, she felt a little nauseous, and not because of any butterflies in her stomach.
With his tongue halfway down her throat, Ryan reached for the hem of her yellow tank top. He only slipped his hand up to her belly button before she finally remembered what she was doing and shoved him so hard he stumbled.
“That was more than five seconds,” she stated, not sure why she was suddenly reminded of the pastor's speech about confession and judgement. “I’ll race you back to the baseball diamond! Loser gives up all of their tickets!”
That night, Amanda brushed her teeth until her gums bled and dug her nails into her palms as she said her nightly prayers. She wasn’t so sure why she felt the need to ask God for forgiveness tonight, or why she felt like she had to whisper those prayers so nobody but the Lord could hear, but as she lied awake, staring at the ceiling and listening to Kim breathe, she thought about watermelon bubblegum and the pink and orange sunset over the baseball diamond.
***
Loganville GA, 1997
In the ninth grade, Amanda’s gym teacher convinced her to try out for the track team. She wasn’t quite sure if it was because that same teacher had caught her smoking after school and wanted her to have a reason to quit, or because he frequented the same bar her daddy would send her into to place bets where he’d pretend he didn’t see her, or simply because they needed another girl to compete in the 4-by-4 relay this year, but for some reason, she’d agreed.
By eleventh grade, she was competing in States and completely crushing it. Relay hadn’t been for her in the end– she was a good sprinter, but it wasn’t where her joy was. No, Amanda thrived at the distance events. The 800m and the 1500m were her sweet spots– her endurance kept her going for the majority, and her power sprinting got her over the finish line.
Amanda liked track more than she’d expected– actually, she loved it. She loved having someone cheer for her as she crossed the finish line seemingly miles ahead of the other girls. It was never her parents in the stand, but her coaches and teammates made do. She liked the power in her muscles, the way they ached after a good practice, the way her lungs burned better than a cigarette ever made them.
The one thing she didn’t like was the rumors.
She pretended she was used to them at this point. A 5'4 ball of anger with her pretty blonde hair always tied as far out of her face as she could get it, who spent every free hour until sundown running up and down the track that surrounded the football field– it wasn’t a question of if people would talk, but when .
It all came to a head the night after state finals– one of the seniors on the team was throwing a party. They all said it was to celebrate the season's wins, but really, someone’s parents were out of town and he had a cousin in college willing to provide beer. Said cousin only provided the beer in return for an invitation to the party, and even in her teenage mind, Amanda found it questionable that a 21 year old was so excited to hang around a bunch of sixteen year olds. It went down a little easier after her third cup.
Amanda was in the backyard, giggling over something stupid with Tracy, the only other girl who was worth a damn when it came to distance running. Her and Amanda had spent countless hours circling the track, timing each other, shouting loud enough to piss off the families whose backyards bordered the high school.
A male figure walked over, wrapping a sweaty arm around Tracy’s thin figure. He looked older than them– maybe a college sophomore, twenty or so.
“Trace,” he slurred, and Amanda stiffened a little realizing he was clearly a lot drunker than the two of them. “Been looking for you, babe. Who’s the pretty blonde?”
Tracy giggled, snuggling into his side, and Amanda felt a flash of something in her chest, something that tasted like an awful combination of watermelon bubblegum, beer, and bile.
“This is Mandy,” she laughed. “And I’m the prettiest girl here, so stop those wanderin' eyes before I pluck ‘em right out for you.”
“Amanda,” she corrected, and Tracy rolled her eyes a little while her boyfriend gave Amanda a little more than a once over. “And you are?”
“Kurt,” he provided. Amanda shrunk a little under his drunken stare.
“Stop starin’!” Tracy giggled, playfully punching her too-old and too-drunk boyfriend in the chest. “I’m glad I’m friends with you, Mandy, I know you aren’t gonna steal my man.”
Amanda’s head spun a little in a way that certainly wasn’t worthy of three beers. Her mouth went a little dry as she asked the question she didn’t really want the answer to – “And why’s that?”
“Well, y’know what everyone says,” Tracy stumbled out before dissolving into a fit of giggles.
“And what does everyone say about blondie over here?” Kurt asked, and Amanda’s fingers flexed into fists. She knew what everyone said.
Tracy leaned in dramatically toward Kurt, stage whispering in the way the drama girls did on stage while Amanda’s eyes were glued to them. “She’s a lesbo ,” Tracy dissolved into another fit of giggles, while Kurt’s eyes darkened.
Amanda didn’t want to stay for whatever happened next, she knew it was no good. It didn’t matter how vehemently she denied it, how girly she tried to dress up for parties, how many boys she talked to– people said what they said, and they wouldn’t stop saying it.
And so, as she stumbled back into the house with the shitty, booming music playing, she poured herself another drink and scoped out whatever guy looked tolerable enough to find a bedroom with. She knew what people would say at school on Monday, but Hell.
The only thing worse than being a slut was being a dyke . Amanda had a choice to make, and she grabbed it.
***
Savannah GA, 1999
College was easier than high school. Savannah University had an amazing forensic science program, and more importantly, thousands of people who didn’t have a clue who Amanda Rollins was or where she’d come from.
She gave up track after high school– she still ran every morning before class, but the idea of a team made her a little nauseous now. The idea of what it meant to be a part of something.
She was stumbling into her dorm far too late at night, giggling far too loudly with Caroline, her roommate. Caroline was also a blonde, but where Amanda felt like she looked like a scarecrow, Carolyn had golden curls that brushed her freckled shoulders that Amanda ached to reach out and touch.
Somehow making it into their room and getting the door shut, Amanda fell back on her bed, still laughing over something she couldn’t quite remember. The combination of tequila and good music and warm Georgia nights had her feeling light in a way she couldn’t remember ever feeling before.
Pulling her head off her mattress, she noticed Caroline still staring at her from where she was perched on her own bed, something more than tequila induced giggle fits in her eyes.
“Something wrong?” Amanda half slurred. God, she was going to have a hell of a hangover during her morning lab tomorrow. There was a reason she saved drinking for the weekends.
Caroline blinked– her warm green eyes shined with unshed tears, and Amanda climbed off her own bed, moving across the small dorm room to crawl into the other blonde’s bed. Caroline turned her head, so close Amanda could smell orange juice and liquor still on her breath.
“I didn’t want to kiss you like that,” she nearly whispered, and Amanda felt her stomach drop to her feet.
She had never gotten over her refusal to back down from dares. So when a couple of rowdy guys at the bar, one of whom she recognized from her psych class, dared them to kiss, Amanda had simply downed the shot in front of her (that she was fairly certain wasn’t even hers) and leaned in. It was nothing. It was a show, it was just how girls had fun when they were out and there weren't eighteen years of rumors following them like a ball and chain.
“Care, it was just for the guys, you know that,” Amanda matched her whisper, not quite knowing why. “They’re gross sometimes, I’m sorry.”
“No,” Caroline somehow got even quieter, somehow leaned in a little closer. “I didn’t want it to be for them. I wanted it to be for us .”
And somehow, their lips were touching, and Amanda’s brain short circuited. She was tasting orange juice and tequila and was that watermelon bubblegum and oh my god she was kissing a girl Amanda was kissing a girl Mandy Rollins the d–
Caroline pulled away before Amanda even had a chance to remember to kiss back, and her head was now on Amanda’s shoulder and she was groaning– “I don’t feel too good, Mandy.”
Amanda couldn’t even remember how to speak, but somehow found it in her spinning head and leaded limbs to get her roommate to the bathroom at the end of the hall before she spewed tequila sunrises all over the ugly carpet someone put in the dorms purely to torture students experiencing Georgia heatwaves.
They didn’t speak the rest of that night. Caroline was practically asleep the moment her head hit her pillow.
Amanda didn’t sleep a wink– she found herself remembering a night where she dug crescent moon shapes into her palms while whispering to a God she didn’t quite believe in anymore, found herself thinking about church pews and bubblegum and shitty beer and someone’s parents bedroom.
Caroline wasn’t there when Amanda got back from her lab with the headache of a lifetime the next day. In fact, nothing was there on the side of the room that wasn’t Amanda’s. When she’d asked Brooke, her RA, what had happened, she found out Caroline had requested to switch roommates as soon as possible that morning, citing incompatible personalities .
Amanda didn’t get another roommate for the rest of the semester. Paying for half a room and getting the whole one to herself was nice, but she never drank another tequila sunrise after that night. She never spoke to Caroline again, either.
***
MANHATTAN NY, 2012
It was quite a few years later when Amanda found herself in the bullpen of the esteemed Manhattan SVU. She’d run from her old life in Georgia– run from little Mandy Jo , run from constant reminders of the Lord who never saved her and a world that never wanted her. No, Manhattan was a fresh start. Manhattan was for Amanda , the person she’d been trying her whole life to become.
She’d become so used to what it meant to be a female cop in the South. The rumors that rivalled her high school track team, the comments from perps and victims and colleagues alike that made her skin crawl. She knew what she was getting herself into, choosing such a worldly profession, as her mother would say. She could take it, though. She always could.
It had been a crazy morning. Her first case in the city, Hell, her first real day in the city that wasn’t dedicated to moving and setting up an apartment that somewhat resembled that of a functioning adult. She’d hardly spoken a word to most of her coworkers, being thrown right into the swing of things the moment she stepped off the elevator.
Her heart dropped out of her chest when she saw her .
It wasn’t as if she wasn’t aware of Saint Olivia Benson– in fact, she’d studied some of her cases, had even Googled her when she somehow managed to get the job offer and realized she’d be working with the best of the best. But God, the Google photos results didn’t do her justice. The woman towered a good four inches over her, with sunkissed skin that reminded Amanda of Georgia sun, and an air of confidence and determination that made Amanda want to melt to the floor in worship more than any church sermon ever had.
When they shook hands, Amanda realized she was beyond fucked.
She could run away from Georgia, she could run away from Mandy and whatever the hell else people called her, but when a warm hand enveloped hers, Amanda knew it.
Under no circumstances could she run away from herself.