Disclaimer: I don't own SVU. If I did Dani woulda been the one in the f-ing prison ward of that hospital, and Olivia woulda been in New York wrapped up safe and sound in Elliot's loving arms...

AN: I know, amazing right?!? I'm here, and there's a new chapter, and it has nothing to do with color. I couldn't fit it in, for some reason. And besides, I think the color thing is getting a little tiresom, but still. This has a little more langue and some very slight sexual themes going on, which is kinda new for me. But I wanted to try something a little different, something slightly outside my writing comfort zone. So, enjoy, and lemme know what ya'll think! XOXO

Broken glass on the ground
Reflecting light from all around
These tiny pieces of my soul
In brilliant colors, greens and gold's
Bleeding life from inside of me
The crimson glass pouring out of me
Passion dying, losing splendor
From purple to blue, losing it's hue
My life in all it's stained glass glory
Nothing more then my tragic story


Motel 6
December 22, 2001
5:48 AM

I open my eyes slowly, fairly certain that this wasn't my room. Hell, I'm fairly certain, even with this pounding headache that this isn't even in the vicinity of my house. There's never this much traffic sounds in the "Stepford House" suburbs, as I like to call them. Everything's the same, everyone knows everything and everyone. It's always pretty quiet there. Beside, my mattress is like sleeping on a cloud, whereas this one is as hard as a rock.

I try sitting up, but the arm around my waist prevents me from getting too far. I turn my head quickly, my eyes widening as I see the person lying beside me. All I can do is hope that what I think might've happened didn't actually happen, but somehow I know that I'm not gonna be that lucky. I must have been majorly drunk last night… Tristan Kyler? What the hell was I thinking? God, Chris and Luke are gonna kill me. Or maybe they'll let me live, kill Tristan, and leave me alone to wallow in my shame.

Yeah, sure, the guy might've been my sorta boyfriend at one time, but still? There's a reason I broke up with him. I pry his hand off and wrap the sheet around me as he stirs on the bed. I stand next to the bed, trying to gather my chaotic thoughts, when I feel him wrap his arms around me from behind. "Where ya going, baby?" he whispers, his voice scratchy. I can't stop the shudder that runs through my body.

"Tristan… where the hell are my pants?" I manage to inquire around the lump in my throat. See, this is why I'm never drinking again! Especially not when I'm pissed off, because I lose my mind and do something incredibly stupid… like sleeping with my ex-boyfriend. I pull away from Tristan to pick my underwear up off the floor, trying not to turn red. I'd imagined my first time many times, but I never once thought it'd be like this.

I turn just in time to see him stand up… sans clothing. And I thought this couldn't get any more uncomfortable. "Damn it, Tris, put some clothes on, would you?" I snap as I spin around again, barely avoiding toppling over as my feet get tangled in the sheet. I hear him trying to stifle his laughter behind me, and feel myself flush even more. I don't think I've ever been so thoroughly embarrassed in my entire life. I spot my sorry excuse for a shirt lying next to the door, half hidden underneath his jeans, and after grabbing it, hurry to the bathroom.

One look in the mirror tells me that I defiantly am not cut out for the party kinda lifestyle. My hair is in tangles around my flushed face, the bags under my eyes look even darker then usual. Mascara and eyeliner ring my bloodshot eyes, making my normally tan face look extremely pale. I wince as I see the very telltale hicky on the side of my neck. All in all, I look absolutely terrible. And worse, the memories of how I came to look like this are coming back full force. I not only look like a slut, but I feel like one.

I also remember why I'd gotten all dolled up and went to that party. I was pissed, and wanted to piss him off too. Chris had no right, no right whatsoever, to change the rules like that. He can't get mad at me because I was shocked, and a little worried about ruining our friendship. He and Luke are the only things that keep me sane. He can't just spring these feelings of his on me and expect me to be happy about it. My movements become jerky as the anger raises to the top, momentarily blotting out the shame.

I force myself to stay angry as I push the door open and walk back into the room in my shirt and underwear. I ignore Tristan's stare as I search under the bed for my missing pants. I come up triumphant, and quickly tug the jeans on. "'Angela? You okay there, babe?" he asks, running his hand down my arms. I wrench away, and snatch my shoes and purse before heading for the door. "Rosangela! Come on!" he yells as I run down the stairs.

I fish my cell out of my bag and find that I have eleven missed calls. I only remember the first two… I'd put the phone on silent after that. My parents have probably had a heart attack. Their perfect little daughter never made it home. Hence the four missed calls from them. And the six missed calls from Chris. And the one missed call from Luke. Luke… the only one I can bear facing right now. I hold down the four button, speed dialing Luke. I stand outside the motel, shivering in the early morning air, waiting for him to pick up.

"This better be good since you're calling me before eight o'clock on a Saturday morning." He grumbled into the phone. Luke has never been a morning person. Chris and I have learned not to call before eight on Saturday's the hard way. But I'm desperate. Desperate enough to risk the morning wrath of Lucas Traiylor so I can get the hell out of here. This day couldn't get any worse as it is.

I sigh, "Sorry about waking you, Luke. Think you can come pick me up now?" I'm sure I sound about as bad as I feel. I've been awake for not even twenty minutes but it feels like twenty four hours. I don't think I've ever been this tired before. "I mean, I'd take a cab, but I don't have enough money."

"Rosangela?! Where the hell have you been?" I don't think I've ever heard him this awake this early. "I was up till after twelve, fielding calls from both your mother and Chris. Everyone has been worried sick!" he yelps as I hear a crash on the other line.

I crack a smile as I hear him cursing under his breath. "You alright there, Luke, or do I need to call someone else to be my driver?" I ask, trying to sound playful, and failing miserably, as my head starts pounding again. I stand by my earlier vow. I am never drinking again. Ever.

Apartment of Christopher Tolbert
March 09, 2002
11: 51 PM

I pace outside the door, trying to work up the courage to knock. After the whole Tristan incident he tore into me, and our friendship took a nose dive. We've barely talked for three months. I see him watching me sometimes, but he refuses to talk to me. Not that I've actually tried to talk to him at all. I'm too ashamed to face him, to see the disappointment in his eyes. I don't want him to think I'm like that all the time. Or at all, really. Since when did I start caring what Chris thinks of me? This needs to end.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I rap quickly on the door. This needs to be done before everything completely self-destructs. I don't want to lose the best thing that's ever happened to me, although I fear I may not have a choice in the matter. I hear the lock rattling, and I shuffle my feet, trying to quell the urge to bolt as the door opens, and he stands there looking at me. "'Angel?" he whispers gently.

I can't stop the tears as I feel him put his arms around me. It feels right, being in his arms like this. Let's hope I get a chance to be under different circumstances. I pull away slightly, looking up at him with tears streaming down my face. I don't want to have to tell him this. But I can't… I won't back out now.

"Chris… I think I'm pregnant."

End Flashback