Immediately, the blonde pulled away from Cal. Rose saw the look in his eyes, but she didn't crumble like a little girl. She looked right back at him.
“I'm so sorry,” Cal apologized to the blonde, who looked at Rose like something she had stepped in. Inside, Rose felt her heart beat quickly, but she knew she couldn't allow Cal to behave the way he did, either. This was a two way street. “What the hell is wrong with you?” He gripped her hand and almost dragged her to the exit. She tried to free herself from his grasp, but she couldn't. He dragged her outside into the cold December air. She shuddered, not from the cold, but from what Cal would do. She struggled to stand as he almost pulled her to the ground with his force. “How dare you disrespect me like that?”
Rose tried to utter a few words, but nothing could fall from her mouth.
“Who do you think you are? Who on earth do you think you're talking to?” Cal continued raging.
Before Rose knew it, his fist connected with her face and she almost fell to the ground. She felt as though she was numb. She felt no pain. Her eyes traveled for a moment to the waiter who had just exited the back door and was putting trash in the dustbin. She shook her head. What was wrong with her? She felt nothing; all she could concentrate on was the waiter. As if in slow motion, Cal ranted in front of her face, waving his arms around violently, but it was almost as though she had muted his voice. The waiter’s head turned, Rose assumed he had heard Cal’s rants. He appeared young, maybe as young as she was. His hair was long and a sandy blond, she guessed from the light shining in the street, but the one thing she did see was how blue his eyes were when they connected with hers.
“Hey!”
Everything went back to normal. The waiter grabbed Cal's arm just as he was about to hit Rose again. He punched his stomach, causing Cal to fall back against the wall, but it didn't stop him from fighting back. For some reason, Rose found herself hoping this waiter took her fiancé down. The waiter punched his face once more before he fell to the ground, groaning in pain. Rose felt her heart beat quickly, but her bleary eyes cleared. The waiter wore a white shirt and black pants—his uniform, she assumed, but over the top, he wore a leather jacket and stood next to a motorcycle, which she assumed belonged to him.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice strong. It made Rose feel safe for some reason as she looked even further into his eyes.
“Yeah,” she managed, her teeth chattering.
She was utterly floored by the turn of events. She looked down at Cal, laid out on the London street. The waiter removed his apron from around his waist and threw it on top of Cal. He climbed onto his motorbike and was about to put his helmet on when Rose realized she was still watching him.
“Wait!” Rose called, holding up her hand.
She looked down at Cal's body lying in the street. She immediately removed her engagement ring from her finger and threw it down onto the pavement next to him. She made an on the spot decision to go with the waiter, whoever he was. She now felt a slight sting of pain in her cheek. She felt such hatred for the man who had brought nothing but fear into her life, but what was she doing thinking about getting onto a motorcycle in a foreign country with a strange man? He could be a criminal. Cal began to stir, breaking Rose's thoughts. Quickly, she kicked him in the crotch. She heard him cry out in pain, but felt nothing.
“Now I'm okay.”
The waiter handed her a spare helmet and she fastened it underneath her chin. Their eyes met and he cocked his head to one side, indicating to her to climb on. She struggled with her dress, but managed it, not caring what happened to her dress or anything she was wearing. When he revved the engine, she felt excitement inside, like she was a bad guy in a movie.