Once again the question fills the room as discreetly as the proverbial white elephant. What are we doing here? What am I doing here? You came pushing through those courtroom doors, and it was as if a photograph blew in on a breeze. I was looking at you, but at the same time it wasn't you. I somehow thought I would feel differently, feel anything. I guess that would require the ability to do so anymore. Slowly I had given that up, along with hope that you would be back. I can remember the day you died in my mind. I have always known you were not literally dead, but several months ago I had come to view you as such. I had to in order to save myself.

I had gone for a jog in the park—no, a run. Dusk was just peeping in, and I vaguely remember wondering if it was too late to head out alone. Not enough to not go though. I had intended to go for a short, quick three mile trot, but somewhere around mile two-and-a-half I zoned out and kept on running. I wasn't concerned at all, actually the opposite; I was enjoying the feeling of a longer run. I have always loved running in the dark. It makes me feel sleek, graceful, fast. I feel like a panther when I run in the dark—not the clodhopper I actually am. Something about the dark conceals my natural clumsiness, at least that's what I like to think. Then, I heard rustling in the bushes and a chain rattling. I tried to tell myself it was nothing. But, I started realizing how dark it was and how far away from my apartment I was. I heard the noise again. Almost like someone was pausing in the bushes and then following me. My heart starting pounding like to rip through my ribcage and take off on its own. I tried to rationalize my situation and just kept trotting towards the nearest exit to the street. I tried to push the images of someone springing from the bushes, someone overpowering me in my fatigued state, someone violating me out of my mind. It was one of the moments I really, really cursed my job for providing such graphic details to my panicked mind. All the while, tugging at my mind was that you weren't here to rescue me. Not necessarily from an assailant in the park, even if you were here you wouldn't know I was running in the dark alone despite all the cases I tried that warned me against this. But the afterwards part. I tried to imagine myself calling Elliot or Munch, having them take my statement, see me, see pictures of my pain, and witness me in states of weaknesses. I couldn't even fathom picking up the phone for them. I realized you weren't around to even pick up pieces. I knew I had to get over expecting you to come back to my rescue. Right then, something in me broke.

I made it home safely. It turns out my "stalker" had been a trail race official stapling up course markers for a race. But, that didn't resolve what had happened during my panic. I stopped running at dusk alone. I had reminded myself of a story I heard about one of my cousins. From a family in the country, he was fond of hunting. Then, one day he was driving home in the old Chevy with his father and a deer darted out. The poor thing broke its leg and was suffering on the side of the road. They knew they couldn't leave it suffering, but they didn't have a gun with them. My cousin had ended up holding the creature's head while his dad slit its throat so it would pass away quickly. He stopped hunting after that. I don't know how I made the connection, but I saw myself as the deer that night. I couldn't bring myself to go out running alone anymore. Literally and figuratively. I couldn't keep placing myself out there in unreliable situations. I knew you couldn't save me, so I wouldn't risk it. Part of me knew this was irrational--all of it. My fear, and my delusion that you were dead. But … I had to move on though. I had to get over the longing for you to come swaying through the doors.

So I did. It didn't hurt any less. I just slowly and effectively rid myself of the notion that you would return, that you would be around to rescue me. Or miss me if something happened to me. You had died, and I had half-followed you.

Then, I needed you. Well, not me, but I needed you to come help someone else. It was imperative. I fought for your resurrection. You had left me without ever even trying to contact me, but I knew you couldn't let down a victim. They were always more important to you than I was. I knew that from the start; it's what made you such a great cop--less than stellar girlfriend, but great cop. It wasn't like I was up for "free time" of the year award either.

I was right. You came back for someone else. You pushed through those doors and rescued her. At the time I couldn't decide whether to smack you for the way you left, cry, be jealous, or hug you. I didn't know whether to fume or fawn. I just wanted to throw myself on the ground in a full blown temper tantrum screaming 'What about me?!?! That was answered shortly through a decision to meet up later.

And so here we are. We are supposed to be having a talk, but it's funny because I have been watching the clock tick for fifteen minutes now. Our talk was brief, more like you recounting the past months and me listening. You told me about not being able to contact me. You told me skeletal facts about staying with the group. You confided in me that you felt differently than when you left—about a lot of things. Including me. You told me you wish our last conversation could have ended differently, but that we couldn't change that. You ended by telling me that whatever you had been planning to say the next day didn't matter because that was then and this was now. And now, you couldn't give me what I wanted, what I deserved. You needed time to sort yourself back out—alone. You still wanted to be friends, but you didn't know if you would ever want anything else. And that's when I started watching the second hand. You were asking me to do the one thing I was incapable of. Love you less. I guess I was asking you the same. But for you, it was love me more. Where do we even go from there? I didn't know what to say. I had been anticipating this day secretly for ages. God. Now I just felt … done. I listened to you and felt the emotions just draining out of me. I probably had a puddle of emotions beside my pinky toe. Tick. Tick. Tick. I didn't know what to say. Tick. Tick. Tick. How could I tell you I was too tired to fight for you, but I didn't want to let you go either.

After about thirty minutes, you told me you were going. You said you had a new apartment that you weren't telling people about yet. You needed time. (Like I had forgotten the conversation we just had). You said you understood that I needed time to process it. And then you did it. You were getting up to leave and said it again. "I don't want to walk out this door and never see you again Casey. I –"

"Don't you fucking say that. Don't you fucking say that again to me Olivia! You don't want to never see me again? But you also don't want to see me? You don't want to come out of hiding? You just want me to push all my feelings aside. For an undetermined-possibly-forever amount of time?! You want me to just be a friend? A buddy? But you won't tell me where you live. That's not even friendship. That's nothing! I am not a fucking shirt you can wear when it's in season and pack away when it isn't!" I couldn't believe your gall at repeating what had happened. I was furious at you. God! But all I wanted, even in my fury, was for you to magically change your mind. When I looked over at you, you were just as drained looking as I was. It broke my heart. What had we become? You spoke very softly as you were leaving.

"Casey, I'm sorry. I won't disappear like last time. But I also can't give you what you need right now."

As you slipped out I whispered after you, "Well … you know how to find me."