Fractured Heart

Chapter 3

My heart slams into my throat at the sheer drop. It's the same rush of fear I always get when Father raises his fists.

My back—already sore from its earlier collision with the fridge—hits the sticky, wet mud with a thud. My head follows, the impact rattling my brain. It hurts—a lot—but at least I didn't hit my head on a rock or a boulder. I should be grateful for the cold, wet mud.

I start to thank the stars for watching over me when I realize I'm lying on an incline. I let out a scream.

I start to slip and slide downward, picking up speed with each passing second. I try to gain purchase, pushing the heels of my sneakered feet into the mud. My hands fly out in search of something to grab onto, anything to stop my fall. Only there's nothing there—nothing but cold, slick mud.

I slide down the hill faster and faster until the cruel forest tosses me down to my doom.

I fly forward and slam onto my hands and knees. The impact jars my injured ribs, and I cry out in pain. My arms give out and I land face-first in mud. As if my day couldn't get any worse.

I turn my head so I can breathe and lie there for what seems like ages. I can't summon the energy to move. Maybe I pass out, maybe I don't. I can't even tell.

Time stands still. Seconds pass, or minutes, or hours. For all I know, I've been lying here for days.

"Are you all right?" a guy shouts from a distance, startling me. His voice is strong, yet sweet; piercing, yet smooth. It envelops me the way a song does, and I play his words over and over again in my head. Are you all right? Are you all right? Are you all right? I wish I had a recording, so I could add it to my playlist.

His footsteps squish and squelch toward me. With a soft groan, I manage to sit up. When I spot him, I gasp.

He cuts a tall, lean figure in his tight trousers and loose tunic. He's holding something in his hand, too: a glass slipper.

I must be hallucinating, or maybe I'm dreaming. It would explain why he's the spitting image of Prince Charming.

The light of the moon caresses his soft, blond hair and casts his strong, sculpted cheekbones in shadow. I try to make out the exact shade of his eyes. Are they a soulful blue? Or an enchanting forest green?

He'll probably break into song next. Not that I've written a "rescuing the princess from the forest floor" song yet. It would have to be slow—soft and melodic—so his voice could weave in and out of each verse. I picture him singing, the chorus deep and hypnotic, and suddenly feel a little lightheaded.

"What happened?" Prince Charming asks, moving closer. His tunic turns out to be a gray hoodie, his trousers jogging pants, and his dress shoes sneakers. Also, the shoe in his hand isn't actually made of glass. It's a sneaker.

My gaze drops down to my feet. Right sneaker, check. Left sneaker, unaccounted for. Which means that he's just a regular guy who happened to pass by. Probably a student from the LUV Academy campus.

He crosses the rest of the distance between us and bends at the waist. For a second, I think he's executing a courtly bow, but he does me one better. He kneels next to me, holds out my sneaker, and gently lifts my ankle. "Here, let me help you."

I blush as his fingers graze bare skin just below the hem of my jeans. Then, he slips on my shoe. It fits. Perfectly.

It's your sneaker, Roonie. Of course it fits perfectly!

Prince Charming finishes tying my shoelace and then gets back to his feet. My heart sinks.

I wait for him to leave—my momentary escape into fantasy over almost as soon as it began—but he doesn't budge. Instead, he extends a hand toward me, palm up. "Let me help."