This is not to say that all rescuers are dangerous. But it is to say that danger—real, physical danger—does not come wearing a ski mask and a knife. It comes wearing a kind smile and a bloody knuckle, whispering, I did this for you.
I should have run. Every instinct I’d suppressed for months should have erupted. But fear does strange things to the brain. It toggles a switch that says, This person solved the problem. This person is the solution. I thanked him. I let him drive me home. I gave him my number. the admirer who fought off my stalker was an even worse hot
Then, one night, Mark crossed the line from haunting to hunting. He followed me into the third level of the Grand Avenue garage, his footsteps a metronome of dread echoing off the concrete. There was no one else around. No security camera pointed at this particular corner. Just me, my keys threaded between my knuckles, and the slow, sickening realization that he had cornered me against a pillar. This is not to say that all rescuers are dangerous
He stood up. For a moment, I saw Mark in him. Not the same face, but the same hunger . The same need to possess. He had fought off my stalker not because he opposed stalking, but because he wanted the territory for himself. Mark was the wolf at the door. Aidan was the wolf inside the house, who had simply killed the other wolf so that there would be no competition for the kill. I should have run
Aidan became my shadow in the weeks that followed. He would text me at 2:00 AM: Just checking you locked your windows . He showed up at my coffee shop, my gym, my grocery store. At first, I told myself he was attentive . Then I told myself he was protective . Then, one night, he told me he had hacked into Mark’s email to make sure he’d left town.
He didn’t hit me. He didn’t have to. He just said, “I broke that man’s face for you. Do you understand what that means? You owe me. You owe me everything.”