Just pick up the pieces. Breathe. Stay calm. Just pick up the pieces, and move forward.

Squatting, she began to place the glass shards into the wastebasket. Shortly, each movement began to create a rhythm matching her thoughts: I... will be... okay...... I... will be... okay......

The bright, morning sunshine streamed into the happy, yellow kitchen creating focused light beams around her. One ray caused the splintered glass to glisten like a gem. She laughed out loud.

"Even mother nature, or God, is trying to show me that I can create my own ending. Will I make lemonade with these lemons? Or maybe, lemon meringue pie," she pondered silently, leaning her hip against the Archway wall.

She picked up her purse, her hands no longer quaking with fear and anxiety the way they were just moments before when she dropped the glass. The "walk of shame" home from the fraternity house this morning was unbearable, but now, she felt none of that guilt or embarrassment. The heavy feeling of dread that knotted her stomach was gone.

The fraternity brother was her friend, or so she thought. She trusted him. She thought he was going to take care of her after she had way too many mimosas. Oh, he took care of her, alright! All she could recall clearly was telling him, "No," and the fact that he did not hear her, or did not care what she said.

He did not even bother to re-dress her when he was finished. That is how she is certain what happened. She awoke early this morning with her clothes scattered among his messy room. She found them all, dressed, and went to her apartment - confused and blaming herself for what he did to her.

Betrayed. Violated. Abused. But not broken. Not like the shattered glass with its pieces now in the trashcan. "I have been victimized, but I will not be a victim" she announced to everything surrounding her: the physics textbook, the can opener, the refrigerator, the air, and herself.

She rummaged in her purse, found her phone, and dialed the police, her first step toward picking up the pieces.