When the Heart Falls

He pushes me into a seat at a table by the band and scoots his chair close to me. His grip loosens, and my wrist pulses with pain as blood flow returns. When his arm slips around my shoulders I freeze. "What would you like?" he asks.

"Orange juice.” I force the words out of my dry throat, still too frozen to act. But if he goes to get us drinks, I’ll leave. I’ll run to the bathroom or find someone to help me. He can’t keep me here forever. We’re in public. He can’t hurt me. I tell myself these things through the haze of panic-induced paralysis that still grips me.

But he doesn’t leave. He signals the bartender and shouts out our order instead. I’m trapped.

With his free hand he pulls something out of the bag he carries. "Want a pastry?"

"No. No, thank you."

He shoves one in front of me. "Please, I insist. It good."

"It’s a once in a lifetime experience." Are we supposed to be playing the happy couple? I need to get out of here, need to move, what the hell is wrong with me?

He nods, knowingly. "You're right. Nothing better than the first time you taste these pastries."

"I'll remember that time forever."

"Me too," he says, a look of longing on his face. "They're just so good that first time."

I notice Jenifer by the bar and sigh in relief. “Jenifer! Jenifer!”

She looks around, trying to spot who called for her, then sees us and comes over.

"Hey, Jenifer.” I smile through gritted teeth and hope my eyes show my desperation. "You remember Rocco?"

It takes her a second, then her eyes widen. "You gave us those pastries!"

"Not again," he says. "Nothing beats that first taste."

Jenifer sits down with us. No. We have to leave. Not sit down with this guy.

"You never called my girl." She’s looking from him to me, a question in her eyes, but she’s oblivious. How can she not see that I need her help?

"Yet we meet here, and we dance," Rocco says. "I see now. It's destiny. We meant to be together." He squeezes me, his fingers digging into the bruise on my arm.

Jenifer downs a shot and has another one ready. "Good for you.” She’s already too wasted to notice anyone but herself.

A waitress brings our drinks and a chocolate cake for Rocco. He holds up his wine to me. "You want?"

I shake my head and kick myself for my own weakness.

A new song starts, and my heart cracks open, the pain now warring with my fear. It’s the song I danced to with Cade, the song we sang together, the song from his childhood. I want him so bad I lose my ability to breathe for a moment. It’s crushing, the fear, the pain, the longing and loneliness, the memories from the past.

Rocco breathes in deeply, as if breathing in the music. "I love this song. We must dance, Winter."

He grabs my hand and pulls me up. My eyes sting with unshed tears. I can’t dance to this song. Not with anyone and especially not with him. I have to do something, have to stop him. He won’t make a scene with Jenifer here will he? But then, she’s so drunk, she might encourage him to drag me out to the dance floor by my hair. She seems to like that kind of guy.

He nuzzles my neck from behind. "Maybe later we go back to my place, no? Your friend can come to."

"No.” My voice is too weak, too soft. The word breaks away from me like a leaf falling from a tree.

He misunderstands. "Yes? Good."

"No. I can't." This time my voice is louder, but still barely above a whisper. It’s physically painful to stand up to him, and I don’t understand why. Why can’t I be normal? Why can’t I find the strength I used to have before Rodney broke me?

"Of course you can. Look at you. Look at how you are dressed." He motions to my tight outfit. "What did you think would happen? Of course we go back to my place."

He pulls me up against him and starts to spin me. My heart is racing, my hands slippery, the world around me is zooming in, and I know this means I’m about to pass out, but then I’ll be even more vulnerable. Then, he can do anything he wants to me. I’m going to throw up. Bile rises in my throat and my face heats up.

A hand lands on Rocco's shoulder. "I believe the Mademoiselle does not wish to dance," says a voice from behind him. Vincent.

"She love to dance," Rocco says.

Vincent shakes his head. "Not with you."

Rocco stops dancing and faces Vincent, his arm still draped over me. "Who are you again?"

"Je m'appelle Vincent. You've been to my restaurant a few times."

Rocco's eyebrows shoot up. "Your chicken is amazing."

"Merci. I've heard about your pastries as well."

"They are too good for this world."

"Oui. They should definitely not be in this world."

"It is good to see you again," Rocco says. "But I must return to my lady Winter."

"Not yet," Vincent says. "First, come sit with me." Vincent grips Rocco's arm and escorts him to the table. Still Rocco doesn’t release me, but at least someone is doing something. Once Rocco is sitting with me next to him, Vincent sits across from Rocco and, with a smile, puts his hands under the table.

Rocco shudders. "Please, monsieur, can you put your hands on the table?"

Vincent smiles. "I like my hands where they are."

"Please, monsieur. I can't sit with you like this."

"No?"