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The next several days pass slowly and painfully.

I don't leave my apartment for five days. I take a week's vacation from work. McCoy isn't happy with me for taking it on such short notice, but I don't care. I can't work right now. Whenever I think I'm going to be able to function normally and I force myself to get out of bed and go to the kitchen or try and watch TV, something will remind me of Olivia and I'll find myself consumed with grief again and I'll collapse into tears and cry myself sick.

I lie in bed all day long, screening every call I get and answering none of them. Right now Alex Cabot doesn't exist. Right now she's dead. The outside world can't get to her.

I can't eat. I have no appetite and when I do force myself to eat, I can't keep anything down. Every time I lean in front of the toilet and empty my stomach, I long for Olivia to be there. She used to rub my back for me as I got sick, and then she'd take me back to bed and hold me in her arms. Warm. Secure. Loved. Everything I'm not now.

It's hot outside but I'm chilled to the bone. My soul is frosted over. Nothing I do will warm me. I take showers so hot I can barely stand it and I swaddle myself in my fleece bathrobe, but none of that helps. My body misses the feel of Olivia's body pressed against it, misses the heat and love she used to radiate.

And so do I.

It doesn't help that Olivia is everywhere in the apartment. She left some clothes and personal items behind. Every morning when I see her hairbrush and her toothbrush in our bathroom I burst into a fresh set of tears. Her pillow on our bed still smells like her perfume. And her voice is still on the voicemail greeting for the home phone. It says, "You've reached Alex and Olivia." Which is only half true now. But I know I'll never delete it.

I've called Olivia every day since she's been gone. I beg and plead, tell her I love her and I can't live without her. She never answers but I leave her a message. And every time I disconnect the call, I feel my pride fall away and I'm ashamed of myself.

On the fifth day I've moved past complete and total sorrow and desperation and allowed myself to welcome anger in.

How could Olivia just walk out on me, after all we have been through? We loved each other so much. Thinking of her and knowing I would be home to her someday is the only thing that got me through every day in Wisconsin. I would look at my favorite pictures of us together and cry and yearn for her touch, because I knew she belonged with me. Olivia belonged with Alex. Only I wasn't Alex there; I was Emily, and Olivia didn't belong with Emily. No one belonged with Emily. I had never been so alone and sad in my life.

Until now.

I know Olivia has gotten my messages. There's no way she couldn't have. I'm upset and crying and begging her to come back, and she chooses to ignore me. She ignores the sorrow and heartbreak in the voice of the woman she was supposed to have loved and just deletes the message. Deletes it like I never meant anything to her at all.

Maybe I didn't. Maybe I've been a fool all these years. Maybe Olivia only stayed with me out of habit and familiarity. Maybe she felt obligated to wait out my time in Witness Protection and in the Congo. Maybe she never loved me at all.

And that thought - the thought this all could have been an insincere act - hurts me more than Olivia actually leaving.

Will I ever find anyone who truly loves me?

So on the afternoon of the fifth day I force myself out of bed and focus all my energy into being angry - no, furious - at what Olivia did to me. I fill three cardboard boxes that I find in the hallway closet with Olivia's clothes and what little personal items she left behind. I threw each item into the box angrily, feeling more liberated the fuller the boxes get.

Olivia left all her jewelry behind - except the bracelet I gave her last Christmas. It was a silver tennis bracelet with charms that represented every aspect and journey of our lives together. Olivia had loved it, and had cried and hugged me tightly, promising her loyalty and love over and over again.

All lies. Complete lies. And I believed them.

After I've filled the boxes, I call my building maintenance man, Floyd, and ask him to come up and get the boxes. I can tell he wants to ask me why I'm getting rid of clothes and jewelry, but he knows better than to ask. I tell her to take the boxes to Goodwill or just get rid of them. I don't care either way.

Word will get around the building soon that Olivia is gone. Everyone here knows her. All the neighbors, the doorman, the girls that work the front desk…they all know Alex and Olivia. Or, I should say, they did know Alex and Olivia.

I gather up all the photos of Olivia and the two of us together that I can find. I go through every photo album we have, not missing a single one. The ones that hang framed on our walls I take down completely.

I delete all our pictures from my phone and computer, and replace the wallpaper on my laptop. It used to be a photo of the two of us together, our arms around each other, smiling happily and proudly. Now it's a cute picture of a kitten that I downloaded off the internet.

I intend to throw the pictures away and thereby erase every trace of Olivia that ever existed in the apartment. But when I lift the top to the trash can, I can't do it. My hand freezes in place, squeezing the stack of photos tightly.

I can't just throw them away. Even though she's gone and I know now that I meant nothing to her, she still meant something to me. She was still a part of my life for a long time.

So I put them in a shoebox in my bottom drawer and try to forget about them.

On my first day back at work, everyone regards me with tentative smiles. All I hear is, "Welcome back, Alex," "We missed you, Alex," and other equally meaningless words.

I curtly thank everyone for their wishes and concerns but make it clear that I don't sympathy or even questions about Olivia leaving. I'm sure everyone knows. I'm sure I'm the talk of the DA's office.

My secretary, Becka, smiles at me and stands as I approach. "Miss Cabot…how nice to see you! I'm so sorry to hear about…your situation."

I sigh. I'm tired of being reminded of my "situation" everywhere I go. "I appreciate that, Becka, but I'd like to stick to business as usual. Do I have any calls?" My tone is harsher and more condescending than I mean it to be.

But Becka is pretty unfazed by my harsh words. She's worked me long enough now that she's immune to my mood swings.

In a confident and sure voice void of any other emotion, Becka says, "Miss Novak as been handling all of your calls for the past week."

I excuse myself to the safety and privacy of my office. It's nine AM on a Tuesday and I'm certain Casey will be in court right now. Tuesday mornings are normally very busy court days. So I'll have some privacy…at least for awhile.

But Casey isn't in court. She's sitting at her desk on her laptop and looks up when I enter. She seems surprised to see me but gives me a smile anyway.

I pause just inside the door, trying to hide my disappointment and resentment for her being here. I force myself to put on an expression resembling a smile and nod at her before going over to my own desk.

"Welcome back," Casey says, shutting the lid to her laptop and standing up. After some difficulty, she finishes her sentence. "And…I'm sorry to hear about Olivia."

I hope Casey doesn't catch the pained expression on my face at the mention of Olivia's name as I quickly tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and sit down. Tucking my hair behind my ear is a nervous tick I have. I clear my throat and manage to say, "Thank you. I appreciate that." I am desperate to change the subject and I find my opportunity when my eyes wander to a stack of folders on my desk. "Anything I need to be caught up on?"

Casey gets the point that I have no interest in discussing my personal life right now and quickly falls in stride with me. She gestures to the folders I'm looking at. "I've tried to keep everything organized to your satisfaction. Our current cases are summarized there, and I made a copy of all my notes and email correspondence regarding all present cases on your computer."

I flip over the first file I find. I've only been out for a week and I already feel out of the loop. I don't recognize any of the names I'm seeing on the victim's report I'm currently looking at. As I thumb through the first file, everything appears to be in order. All documents are in the proper places and are dated and stamped and I notice that Casey dated and initialed each one in the upper right hand corner. This is something I neglect to do frequently.

Casey notices my impressed expression on my face and I can tell she's smiling without even looking at her. "I think I did an okay job. McCoy was running scared because I've been unsupervised for a week. You wouldn't believe how many times he popped in here. I think he expected to see me with an open box of evidence sitting on my desk and all the seals broken or something equally as illegal."

She's right. He was probably looking for any little thing he could use to get rid of her. But she must have played exactly by the book, because she's still here.

"Everything seems to be in order. You did a great job; thank you."

It's all I can say. I'm not good at giving compliments. And my belief is someone shouldn't be complimented on doing the job they were hired to do. They deserve to be complimented only when they go above and beyond.

The day moves at a fast pace. I spent most of the day ensconced in Casey's files, playing catch up and familiarizing myself with the details of the crimes and the victims. Her notes on my computer are surprisingly well put together, and I even notice that the documents open faster than they used to. She must have de-fragmented my hard drive. I usually neglect to do it myself because I'm so impatient and can't stand the time it takes. I mentally remind myself to thank her for it later.

Casey is gone for most of the day. She had a late morning court appointment and didn't return for several hours afterwards. I assume she was talking to a victim, or maybe meeting the squad. Probably telling everyone I'm back and as bitchy as ever.

As much as I try not to let them, thoughts of Olivia creep into my mind throughout the day. I even find a couple emails from her in my email program that I forgot to delete. And I feel my blood run cold when I open the last one.

It's a picture of the two of us that Olivia had sent me from her phone last week. I stare at it for several minutes, tears welling up in my eyes. All my anger for Olivia fades in that one instant.

It's been a week now but I had already been forgetting the intensity of Olivia's brown eyes, and here they are now, staring at me once more. Staring at me from the past.

It's this moment that Casey proves she has wonderful timing. She walks right in the office, rambling on about traffic without even asking if I'm in the middle of something. She has a bag from the nearby taco place and when she asks me if I want one of her tacos, I snap at her.

"No. Look, I'm in the middle of something here, so could you keep your rambling to a minimum please?"

Casey looks a little shocked by my words but simply nods and sits behind her desk. I don't hear her voice again for nearly twenty minutes.

I've deleted both emails from Olivia and gotten rid of the picture, but all my thoughts are filled with her. I'm suddenly glad I didn't throw out all her photos at home. I never want to start forgetting those brown eyes again. As angry as I am and as much as I'm trying to hate Olivia…deep down I know I won't be able to let her go so easily.

I can feel myself becoming more emotional every passing minute, and a huge headache is starting to rear its ugly head.

Finally, Casey speaks up again. "Sorry to interrupt, but I need you to sign off on this report."

Casey drops a stack of papers down on my desk. At least ten pages. I have no idea what the report is even about, but I know there's no way I can sit here and read ten pages or more. I don't have it in me, not today, not right now.

"I'm sure it's fine, Casey; just turn it in." I look away from the report and back to my computer screen.

"Okay, that's good to know. But you still have to sign off on it."

I sigh in frustration and force myself to look at her. "What have you been doing the past week when I wasn't here to sign off on your work?"

"I was giving them directly to McCoy…"

I nod. "There you go. You didn't have a middleman then, why do you need one now?"

I realize I'm being unfair. Casey was told she had to have me sign off on and supervise all her work, and I was told to do so. She's trying to follow orders and I'm making it difficult, which is unfair. I've always been a firm believer that you shouldn't bring your personal life to work, and here I am letting mine influence my attitude towards my job.

"You're not a middleman; you're my supervisor and I'm supposed to report to you." Casey pauses a moment and then adds, "Could you at least look at the report?"

I'm frustrated and past the point of caring now. "Look, just turn the report in. We've been doing this for almost a year now; your work is fine. Turn it in and if there's a problem I'll take the blame and tell McCoy I didn't read it and just told you to turn it in."

I get up from my desk and approach the file cabinet, desperate just to escape this conversation.

"Okay…but I have some others…" Casey's says hesitantly.

I turn my back to her and heave a sigh over my shoulder. "Turn them all in. I don't care."

I know I shouldn't be talking this way and I should do the job I was assigned to do, but my words are true; I don't care. Not about anything, not any more.

"Alex, I think – " Casey starts.

I turn around angrily and unload on her. "Just do what I say, god damnit!"

I don't mean to yell to speak so vulgarly but I can't help myself. The words tumble out of my mouth as if they had direct marching orders to do so.

Casey looks at me in shock for a few minutes and then says, "Okay. You're the boss." She grabs her report from my desk and glares at me as she starts for the door.

I'm about to compose an apology when my phone rings. I immediately answer it, not even trying to disguise the frustration in my voice. "Alexandra Cabot."

It's Cragen. They need me at the precinct.

Of course. Here I am frustrated beyond belief and at the end of my emotional rope, not to mention working on a migraine the size of the state, and now the squad needs to see me. At the precinct. Where Olivia used to work. The precinct that I haven't been to since she left me.

I know I can't go there. I'm not ready to see them; not yet. They all no doubt know what happened, and I'm sure word has gotten around that I needed to take a week's vacation to deal with my grief. I can't face them; I can't deal with all the sympathies I know I'm going to receive.

So I sigh and fall into my chair behind my desk, squeezing the phone so tightly my hand hurts. Casey has stopped at the doorway and is watching me. Before even thinking I tell Cragen, "Okay. I'll send Casey. She'll be there ASAP."

The confusion is evident on Casey's face as I hang up the phone but I don't give her time to question me. "Casey…look, I'm sorry for snapping at you. I didn't mean it. I'm just really stressed right now. And I have the worst migraine right now." That's a little white lie; I do have a migraine, but it's pretty minor compared to how they usually are. "Could you go down to the precinct for me?"

She should tell me no, to do it myself. After the way I just spoke to her I deserve for her to turn her back and me and laugh.

But she doesn't. Instead she smiles at me and says, "Sure. I hope you feel better soon."

I'm taken aback. If someone had been so rude to me, I wouldn't be so quick to do them a favor.

I let Casey get halfway out the door before I call her back and take her report from her. "I'll take this to McCoy. Like I'm supposed to do." I manage a smile. "Thank you for helping me out."

In the next chapter a lot starts to happen. Leave me a review on this one and let me know what you think!