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young lady stood three hours earlier, antsy and eager for her first taste of dating, now stood a broken and aged woman. Fresh tears trickled down Sarah's puffy cheeks, both red with exertion and purple as a result of a violent beating. Her arms carried the same marks, though more widespread with her upper arms showing defined discoloration where fingers had dug deeply into the tissue. Hardly able to speak Sarah jerked away from physical contact, begging to be left alone and refusing to speak of the encounter.
    Sick to her stomach at what must have happened, Oakley quickly picked up the phone and dialed the authorities while Sarah pleaded for her to stop, to not tell another soul. Angry and frightened, she marched over to her bed and collapsed, curling up into a small ball, as if trying to block the world out. Keeping a close eye on her friend, Oakley gave campus security a quick rundown of what she knew and had seen, quickly agreeing to transport a wounded Sarah to the nearest hospital. A short battle ensued with Sarah refusing to leave the bed, let alone her room. With equal parts cajoling and commands, Oakley managed to bundle her up, walk her down the stairs, and out to her car. On the way to the hospital, she dialed Sarah's parents, delivering the horrifying news. Once again she heard the cries of her mother, roar of her father, and Sarah's muffled sobs.

    A few days later Sarah had returned to collect her belongings as she'd decided to drop out of school. A previously vivacious but quiet young woman had stood before her, thin and fearful, a fraction of the person she'd been. Oakley had blamed herself, despite Sarah's insistence that it wasn't her fault. If she hadn't gotten the two together, Sarah wouldn't have suffered a trauma that would haunt her for life.
    The campus counselor, a compassionate middle-aged woman with experience in rape and sexual assault victims, had taken Oakley under her wing, leading her through the process of grieving for her friend and presenting coping mechanisms to help her deal with the tremendous guilt she carried on her shoulders each and every day. Those recommendations had included a self-defense class along with running.
    Oakley had thrown herself into both, clinging to the positives each one provided. Jogging had taken her mind elsewhere, relieved her stress, and allowed her to push out the negatives with each step. Self-defense had returned control over her life, along with confidence, and the gumption to know that if a crisis occurred, she could deal with it. Karate had offered more possibilities, but she'd never felt athletic enough to perform the high kicks and twists. Instead, she'd looked to the areas that required less physical strength, embracing both judo and taekwondo. She'd even enrolled in a few tai chi classes during her time at the university. If they'd had a minor for martial arts, she would have earned it easily with the number of hours devoted to the programs. It had garnered her certification, though, which allowed her to teach today.
    The incident left her with more than guilt. Afterward, she found herself looking at all men as if they were wolves waiting to grab up a young lamb for dinner. Her mind told her the thoughts were irrational and downright wrong, but she couldn't bring herself to get close to any level of trust with the opposite gender. The counselor had explained all those feelings were normal, pointing out other avenues to conquer her trust issues. For the most part, they worked. She didn't fear men. On the contrary, she interacted with male coworkers, friends, and students all the time without any difficulty. She simply hadn't found one that motivated her to get naked and sleep with them. She refused to pine away for a man the way her mother did for grandchildren. Instead, she enjoyed her life and the freedoms that other women her age didn't have with families to tie them down.
    That's what perplexed her about Tanner. They'd met yesterday, but she never