As I watch his strawberry, chocolate and caramel icecream face melt on the hot pavement my mind races back in time to high school. Year 9 cooking class to be precise.

I had just topped my cake with strawberry cream and was taking it to the presentation table when Sally Hardes stepped into my path. Sally, the goth girl, the only one in school, long before being a goth was a thing.

She leaned in toward me, her dark eyes and ringed nose inches away, her blood red lips puckered in an evil kiss.

Mrs Richards, our teacher, had her back to the class writing on the whiteboard so she didn't see Sally push me, her lace-gloved hands spread across my shoulders, her bare fingertips digging in.

Nor did Mrs Richards see as I lost my balance, my cake sliding off the plate and down my pale blue uniform.

Sally ran a finger through the cream smeared across my shirt and stuck it in her mouth.

"Mmmm ... nice," she said.

"Oh Leesa! How did that happen?" Mrs Richards said, as she turned to face the class.

"Yes, Leesa, how did that happen?" Sally exclaimed, her eyes narrowed, daring me to dob her in.

"I ... lost my balance," I stammered.

I lost my balance a lot in high school, courtesy of Sally Hardes, so much that I could not wait to leave school as soon as possible.

All my teachers tried to persuade me to stay, especially Mrs Richards, but they were oblivious of my treatment at the hands of Sally.

It was before social media became an instrument of cruelty so I suppose I got off lightly.

Cooking became my lifeline, my passion, eventually my full-time job.

After a few years of training and working in the industry, I took a leap of faith and opened my own cake shop.

Mum and Dad helped out after they'd given up trying to convince me to find a job with better hours.

It didn't matter to me that I worked through the night. It's not like I had a social life.

The few friends I had from high school had also given up.

Early nights, even on weekends, apparently did not make me good company. My only socialising consisted of a chat with the shop regulars.

So it was a surprise that my sheltered shop life was the reason I met Carissa.

She had come in to order a birthday cake for her mother.

Her eyes lingered longer on my face than they did on the book of cake designs I was showing her.

By the time she left she had ordered a chocolate mousse cake and asked me out for a drink.

I tried to explain that I was the most boring woman on the planet, that I went to bed early and didn't really drink but she wouldn't take no for an answer.

It was flattering that Clarissa was so persistent.

She was sweet but clingy, not unlike some of my best desserts.

Even on our first date, she was trying to entice me.

"Come on, Leesa, just another half an hour. You're the boss. I'm sure your workers will pick up the slack if you're not quite up to your usual divine delights."

There was a hint of condescension in her voice.

Or was it admiration? It was too early to tell.

"But I'm the boss. I have to lead by example. They're not just workers to me. They're my colleagues ... friends in a way."

"Well, friends understand that sometimes fun has to come first."

She squeezed my hand tight. I gave in that night and many more nights after that.

Carissa was persuasive and intoxicating at the same time.

All her words were carefully chosen, her pleading yet insistent voice spellbinding.

"Hey babe, there's this new dessert bar opening up. We have to go there. You might be able to steal some ideas."

"Leees, let's stay in tonight. Perfect snuggling weather."

"Lisaaa, let's go out tonight. There's dirty margaritas with our names on them."

Carissa even commandeered the weekends, deciding when, where and with who we would spend our time.

She was a cyclone and for a while I was happy to be swept along.

My shop was the only place where I had control or a say in my life. I believed I had a balanced life, work and play on an even keel.

But with every cyclone, there's always a moment in the eye of the storm where you get a chance to look around, survey the damage and think about escape before the wind comes back around again.

We'd ventured out on a hot Saturday for an ice cream from the local servo. It had been years since I had a Bubble O'Bill.

"You want one of those? How old are you? Why don't you get a grown-up ice cream?"

"Because I like these."

"Because I like theeese," she mimicked.

"Gees, how old are you?"

That was when she pushed me.

I tripped and fell face first on an uneven bit of footpath, coming nose to bubblegum nose with Bubble O'Bill.

Somehow I managed to avoid any more of Bill's glum face.

So here I am looking at a melted mess while Carissa glares at me, daring me to challenge her.

It's Year 9 all over again. Carissa. Sally.

They are interchangeable.

The only difference is that Carissa used stealth to get into my heart.

I turn to go and I keep walking despite Carissa's pleas for me to stop, despite her yelling "sorry" over and over.

Her apologies will never be genuine, will never be enough, no matter how many times she tries.

The voice I found sweet is now bitter.

Thanks Bubble O'Bill but it's time for me to be my own saviour.