ROSALINE
I turned to the sight of a crusty-looking old man backlit by one of the lights. It was funny because he looked scrawny, as though eating, in his life, was merely a myth. I couldn't help but chortle, immediately placing my hand over my mouth to alleviate the rest of the laugh that raged within me.
"Did you not hear me, pretty thing? Name's Michael, what's yours?" He probed, taking a seat next to me and spinning my chair to face him. He was very disrespectful with his actions. He tapped his finger on the table with every break of the syllable. "How. Much. Do. I. Need. To. Pay. You?"
"You've got to be kidding me," I rolled my eyes and leaped off the seat. Just one day of trying out a path of defiance, I was already getting harassed by a scrawny elderly.
I reached into my purse and placed a note under the glass as payment for the drink. The bartender was no longer at his post, and the entire room suddenly felt emptier than when I walked in.
I didn't want to say anything rude to him, so I'd rather leave, accepting that today just wasn't my lucky day.
"I'm still talking to you!" His hand was fast in grabbing mine, and I was pulled towards him, almost slamming my face into his chest.
He smelled like he'd been soaked in a basin of whiskey in a penitentiary and was finally released to walk the earth, polluting it with his mere existence.
"Let go of me!" I protested, hitting him on the chest with all the strength that I could muster. "Let go of me before I call the police!"
The corners of his lips pulled upwards in a genial that didn't reach his eyes, and Michael scanned me lusciously, trapping me within his legs and his hands grabbing me by the waist.
At that exact moment, I felt the alcohol effect start to seep in, and his voice invaded my ears again, carrying a distant echo. "Oh, darling. This conversation would go a lot friendlier if you'd just stay still."
Anger was beginning to feel like the only emotion I was capable of experiencing these past few hours. It devoured me, burning in my chest. I inhaled deeply and pulled out of his grip, shoving him to the ground in the process of it.
I watched him land with a loud thud, and I immediately registered that I was in trouble. It would be too much of a shame to end up in a police station for something like this.
In order to avoid any more complications, I raced in the direction of the door, completely engulfed by fear, and I successfully reached it, pulling it open. A loud bang was all I heard when the door was snatched from my grip and slapped shut.
I turned around fearfully only to catch the sight of the same old geezer. I wheezed, stepping away from him. Get away from me! Somebody! Anybody!"
Michael's thin fingers clutched my wrist, sending a wicked shiver sliding down my spine. "You can't leave that easily, honeybunch; we still have unfinished business-"
In that moment of terror, a sudden savior emerged from the shadows. "The lady has no business with you," He cut in, and my head snapped in his direction.
A young man, carrying an air of confidence, stepped forward, his eyes piercing through the dimly lit room. His broad shoulders and defined jawline hinted at a strength that could effortlessly overpower the frail old man. I gulped hard, still trying to pry my wrist out of his surprisingly unwavering grip.
"Let her go," he commanded, his voice carrying a calm authority. He gently pried the old man's fingers off my wrist, and I immediately took several steps back, rubbing my wrist with my other hand and wincing in pain.
It stung way more than I expected. Yet, the room had slowly begun to spin, and my vision was a bit hazy. I shouldn't have had that drink.
Michael tried to mumble a protest, but the imposing figure of the young man made any resistance futile.
"Did I hear you say something?" The stranger closed in on the old man's personal space, peering down at him.
"No, she and I, we can continue our business later. Right now, disturbances aren't a good sight for me." Despite his tough words, I could see his hands quiver by his side.
The room seemed to still, the tension dissipating as the stranger asserted control.
I, still trembling, felt a wave of relief wash over me as Michael reluctantly retreated. I locked eyes with my rescuer, gratitude welling up in my gaze.
His warm, understanding eyes conveyed a sense of reassurance, contrasting with the malicious intentions that I had just escaped.
"Thank you," I whispered, my voice shaky, yet filled with genuine gratitude. As he slinked away, defeated, the young man extended a reassuring hand towards me.
"He won't bother you anymore," he assured me, a comforting smile playing on his lips. The fear that had gripped me began to loosen its hold, replaced by a newfound sense of safety in the presence of a random stranger. I felt lighter, suddenly.
I nodded, still processing the adrenaline that surged through my veins. The stranger's protective gesture lingered in my memory, and what would have happened if he hadn't appeared when he did?
As Michael disappeared out of the bar, my eyes followed him until I was certain he was gone.
"Take care," the young man said softly, his concern evident. "We have people like that roaming around these days. You got a taser in that bag?"
Still battling mixed emotions, I shook my head slowly. "I- I don't. I have never really..." my voice trailed. I have never really been to a bar. I shoved it down. This handsome stranger didn't need to know that.
"That gentleman should get you one. You deserve to stay protected, always."
"What... gentleman?"
I followed his eyes to my fingers. Oh, the stupid ring. "This?" I beamed as I struggled to take it off. "Consider it practice. It's not important."
"Practice, huh? Well, that's intriguing," He responded, cocking his head to this side with a skeptical expression etched on his face. There was a brief reflection of one of the lights in his eyes, and caught a glimpse of the calming brown in them. "Oh, sorry. Excuse my rudeness, I'm Harry."
"Oh, hi, Potter," I took his outstretched arm. "I'm Ron, Ron Weasley."
Why did I say that? I was immediately filled with reproach until Harry burst into the sweetest laughter I'd heard in a while, the corners of his eyes wrinkling as he laughed and gently squeezed my hand.
"Hi, Ron," He cackled. "Woah, you do have a sense of humor."
"Sometimes?" I shrugged. "Nobody laughs at my jokes."
"Well, they are... missing out," Harry stated, his eyes still hooked on mine. He still hadn't let go of my hand. "You wanna tell me what they call you in this world, Ron?"
"Oops, my bad. Rosaline..." I said. "My name is Rosaline."
"A beautiful name for a beautiful woman, huh?"
"I knew you were going to say that," I joked. "But thank you. You're not looking bad yourself."
Harry had a beautiful countenance, you see. He could almost become a friend. More, if my messed up life permitted.
"Thank you, milady," He curtsied. "Do you wanna see something cool? This part of the bar isn't the best and is almost always empty. Going upstairs is the real deal. Shall I do the honors?"
He sounded like a regular, but it wasn't a problem. Harry might be the exact distraction that I needed, so I nodded and followed him. "Yes, let's go."
After passing a couple of shaky-looking staircases, we arrived at the compartment of the bar upstairs. Although it was somehow darker up there, there was a lively burst of colors on the walls that immediately calmed my nerves.
Almost like a nursery but in the most mature way possible. "Wow... It really is beautiful up here."
"It is, right?" He cooed. "The theme was treat or trouble. Something about sweetness and sunshine, accompanied by sins and sadness. It's one of the reasons I like to come here."
"You seem to know so much about it. How so?" I asked, intrigued.
Harry grinned with a half-shrug. "Don't know, probably because I designed it?"
"No way!" My mouth formed an 'o' "Really? This is amazing! I should have guessed it, really? Interior designing?"
"And painting," he added. "Would sure like to paint you a portrait... if life permits."
"That's just lovely," I chimed. "You've done beautiful things to this place. It is a sight to behold!"
Before he could say anything else, the music seeped in loudly, breaking barriers. It was a slow song that I'd remembered listening to, but could pinpoint. Either way, it had my legs moving. "Hey, I love this song..."
"Let's do this the old-school way."
"What?"
"May I have this dance?" He politely asked. "Rosaline?"
I contemplated it for a while. I definitely didn't come here for a dance, but it might just be what I needed. I felt bolder, and confident enough to do the things I wouldn't normally do, thanks to alcohol.
"Hell yeah."