She realized about three months after it happened. She had endured three months of either a blissful ignorance or desired stupidity, depending on which way one looks at it. Regardless, she wishes she could return to that sentiment.
The realization hit her hard. It knocked all the wind out of her, left her gasping for air, struggling to breathe. It hit her on the softball field, of all places.
She remembers that it was a line drive. A line drive to first base: her position. As soon as it registers in her brain that a bright yellow ball of pain is hurdling at her at a dangerously fast pace, she absentmindedly sticks her glove out, not paying attention to where it is in relation to the ball; just hoping. Hoping that wherever she puts it will be the right place.
When the ball reaches the back of the glove, she sees him. It was a tattoo that he had. On his upper right bicep. A Yankees tattoo with a smiling baseball on it. It was an evil smile, she remembers. Fitting for the person whom it decorated.
The rest of the scene plays out in slow motion: she sees the ball resting in the pocket of her glove, still spinning for its previous momentum. She sees his tattoo, and then his face, and then that night. She sees everything; but only now does everything mean nothing to her.
The numbness is startling, a hollow pain that creeps slowly up her bones. After three months of counseling, concerned faces, sympathetic smiles: she knows what happened. Now she wishes she only knew why.
"Olivia?"
The uneasiness in Casey Novak's voice is so thick that Olivia could cut it with a knife. Her tone sounds somewhat expectant: as if she knew that this moment was coming. Olivia has never liked to be predictable; in fact it used to be the antithesis of her existence. But now she has no antithesis: all her fire, wit, and desire is gone. Gone. Taken, really. But Olivia no longer feels any anger towards that. Her spirited nature has been replaced with some sort of weak apathy, a nature that Elliot subtly hints he misses.
But it's not her fault, she knows. Oh yes, she knows. George, Munch, Cragen: they repeat this statement over and over like some sort of a sick mantra. "Rape is not the victim's fault," Elliot told her the first day she returned to work. "Never think that, Olivia. Never."
She doesn't think she's ever heard anyone say it directly to her. Rape and Olivia. They've used the two words in the same sentence before, they're SVU detectives after all, but she has yet to hear, "Olivia, I'm sorry you were raped." She almost wishes they would. She wants some tough love, someone without sympathy. It would give her a reason, and target, for her anger.
"I'm okay, Casey," Olivia replies as she casually throws the ball back to the pitcher, as if nothing had happened. Had something happened? She doesn't think so. It's a realization, which doesn't necessarily mean that she never knew. It was the simple matter of acknowledging the fact.
Maybe it was a conscious repression. Oh lord, she thinks. I'm starting to sound like George.
"Okay," Casey says, returning to her position as shortstop. Before she turns, she shoots Olivia a fleeting glimpse of understanding. A look that says, "I'm here for you, Olivia. I understand what you're going through."
But you don't, Olivia thinks. You don't understand, and you never will. She can't understand when Olivia doesn't understand it herself.
She sighs and puts her glove back on the ground in ready position. She knows now that realizing doesn't always mean understanding.