Beautifully Broken

When Damian reaches for me, I instantly move forward, knowing safety is with him. No one can touch me as long as I’m with my protector.

His arm slips around my waist, then he leans in close so I can hear him. “Listen to me.”

I nod.

“I’m here, and nothing will happen. They’re only people. You’ll probably never see them again after tonight. Focus only on me. Take deep breaths.”

I do what he says while pulling back so I can look at him. A slow smile curves his mouth, and it sets me at ease.

This time I lean closer so I can reach his ear. “Just don’t leave me alone.” I don’t care that I sound needy. I’ll die if he leaves me here.

“Not a fucking chance in hell of that happening.” Damian’s voice is deep and reassuring. “Another drink, then we dance.”

While Damian orders another round of drinks, I glance around us. We’re standing at a horseshoe-shaped bar, the wood worn through over the years. Bowls of peanuts are spaced over the counter, and it reminds me that I once read it’s one of the dirtiest things on the planet next to a public toilet.

The bar is not as full as it felt when we first came in. Only half the seats are taken. My eyes keep taking in everything, and then I see the dance floor, and I realize why the bar looks empty. Most of the people are there, swaying to the song I haven’t even been listening to.

I don’t down the next drink. I make it last four huge gulps, and it has Damian chuckling, “I charge a fee to carry you home, but dancing is for free. Come on.” He takes my hand as the first piano notes of a song drift through the air.

“I can’t dance,” I tell Damian.

“I’ve got you,” he replies as we reach the dance floor, then he turns to me and pulls me to his chest.

He doesn’t hold me like some of the other couples are holding each other. Instead, he takes my hand and holds it over his heart. His other hand presses lightly against my lower back, securing me to his body.

It feels comfortable making a smile tug at the corner of my mouth.

I place my other hand on his bicep, and then he starts to move. He doesn’t make me do some elaborate dance. Instead, he just holds me and moves us slowly in a circle.

As the seconds tick by, I start to relax more until I’m actually enjoying the dance, even though I’m super aware of every single person close to me.

Damian’s breath is warm on my forehead, and I try to focus on it. I close my eyes to block out the world. It’s only us and no one else because no one else matters.

I’m safe. No one can hurt me.

When the song ends, Damian leads me back to the bar, and once we’re seated, my eyes keep darting to his face.

Seeing him in a social setting makes me really look at him. Damian was always just my rescuer, my safe haven, but now… I’m starting to see the man, and it wipes the smile from my face.

I watch as he takes a sip of his drink, his eyes scanning around us before locking with mine. For a moment, we stare at each other, and it makes more confusing emotions trickle into my heart.

This man has seen me at my worst.

This man came for me when all hope was lost.

Damian came for me.

Since my parents were killed, I haven’t felt any semblance of safety… until Damian.

I wonder if he would let me stay with him forever. I can find work in a nearby town and contribute to the household.

Startled by the direction my thoughts are going in, I break eye contact with him and focus on finishing my drink.

Don’t even go there.

Trying to distract myself, I glance at the other women. Some are visibly staring at Damian, and it doesn’t sit well in my gut. Then it hits me he’s never brought anyone home, and I don’t know how I’d feel if he did.

The house is my safe zone. I don’t want anyone else there. Damian is my shield, and another woman will only endanger that.

“Have you come here before?” I ask.

“Yes.” He doesn’t offer more on the topic.

Curious about Damian, I ask, “How old are you?”

His mouth lifts at the corner, and I quickly glance around me again so I don’t have to look at him.

“Thirty-six,” he says, and I can feel the burn of his eyes on me.

Thirty-six. Wow.

Doing a quick calculation, I realize he’s eleven years older than me. Because of the beard, I couldn’t tell his age.

Damian orders another round of drinks, and while the bartender prepares them, I sit down on a stool.