We made plans, I steaked out the place and didn’t show up on time. I was over an hour late, I planned that. I watched him, I read the texts, 4 or 5 sent, each one getting more and more impatient, nastier. The last one resulting in my cringing when I saw him call me a fucking cunt three times in the same text message. He really needed to work on the originality.

I hoped I wouldn’t see her. I just expected her not to be a player in this game anymore, but there she was. And she was with him. Chris Stevens, future rapist. Possibly already sexually assaulted someone by now. There’s a lot of rage there. Definitely got away with it before. That was then.

She laughed, hitting him gently on the arm, flirting. I had to stop him. I walked in looking a bit of a mess, I put my hand on his shoulder and he looked away from her to me. His face reveals how angry he is. “I’m so sorry.” I lie, trying to look sincere. “My phone died and I got lost. I couldn’t find the place.” I allow my lower lip to jut out ever so slightly, so he could see how ‘genuine’ I was, eyes wide. Men like him are easy. One puppy dog face and he’s hooked. He grabs his drink and leaves her with no goodbye, no warning, giving me his full attention. Pushing me away from her, as though I would ask questions.

I smiled sadly at her, but I wanted to tell her to leave, to get out, never come back because he’s not a good man and he was going to hurt her. I hope to meet her in the bathroom later. We sit down in a dim corner and he tells me I should smile. I do as I’m told. He tells me I look okay, for a school marm. I look down at my plain black dress. It’s very conservative. He’s the type of guy who’d blame the woman for the rape, because of what she was wearing. Because she was showing too much skin.

We talk about him. No, he talks about him. He asks no questions about me, hell I even try to give him a few tidbits about fake me but he doesn’t care, he doesn’t want to know. I’m just a face to him, a pair of tits and an ass. I’m not a person. I came up with a backstory and I didn’t even need to. I just sit quietly, nod, smile, take the snide, mean remarks he thinks are making me want him. Dear men, Negs don’t work.

“Let’s get out of here.” He says, and I ask where we’re going. “You’ll see.” he responds, his smile almost scares me, he pushes me to the back exit, grinning at a man behind the bar. He’s done it before, I can tell. We’re in the alley and he’s an octopus, because it feels like he has 8 hands and they’re all over me. I say No, but he doesn’t stop. I say it again and he pushes harder, it’s like no is a turn on for him. “Stop, please.” I cry, wondering if the man behind the bar is around… no one comes, which is probably for the best – for me.

I grab him by the neck and pull him toward me as I lift my knee toward his abdomen. He falls, not much of a fighter, obviously. I take his arm and pull him into a hammer arm lock. His arm held bent against his back, and his hand forced upwards towards his neck. He screams in pain. I push my knee into his lower spine. “No, Chris, means No.” I start, and I hear him growling more curse words. I push his arm upwards again and he keeps screaming. I punch him in the throat and he goes quiet, well except for the gargling.

“You’re going to listen to me for a little while, Chris. Is there clear.” He gargles again. “First, I need you to really let the no means no thing sink in, because otherwise, the rest of my monologue may just go right over your head. If a woman says No and you keep going, that means you’re ignoring her choice. It doesn’t matter if she’s wearing nothing but a pair of high heels and a crop top that says ‘fuck me now, Chris’, no means no. Do you understand?” He gargle/sobbed his response. “Good. Secondly, I know what you wanted to do to that girl, to me. You were going to take us to a dark basement and tie us up and … once you finish, what then? Just let us go? Even though we knew where you live, who you were? I don’t believe that. I think you were going to do something even worse, but let’s not get into that, because it’s not what I’m here for and not what I saw.”

I press my knee into his spine as I push his hand up again. “So here’s the plan, Chris. You’re going to get some help, if you think you want to hurt someone, you’ll go to the shrink and talk it out, you’ll eat more if you have to, jerk off to some non-con porn, I don’t give a shit. I personally subscribe to the people don’t change train, and I honestly don’t believe you’re going to get better, but I am willing to let you try. Because I don’t want to kill you… but believe me, Christopher Aiden Stevens, 512 - 102 Old Fulton St. Son of John and Prudence Stevens, Atlantic City, New Jersey, I will if I have to. Mark my words.”

I pull out a piece of paper from the pocket of my jacket and I tuck it into a back pocket of his jeans. I’m not worried that my prints will be on it, mainly because I don’t have prints in any system normal people can get to. “I wrote you some stuff, Chris. It basically tells you how I expect you to treat women. I will be watching.” I get up and he whimpers as he’s released, but I don’t give him much time to get comfortable, because something takes over me and I kick him in the side. He groans and I do it again until he’s rolled over and I kick him in his crotch. My heels are very pointy, it must have hurt. I get close to him as he cries in pain, I see the tears sliding down his cheeks.

I put my hand on his forehead and the vision comes to in front of my eyes. He’s in a cell, curled in a ball similar to the position he was crying in in the present, in the alley. It was only a moment, shorter than the others. I feel vindicated. I know I shouldn’t but I do never the less. “I didn’t want to do this, Chris, but I can’t allow you to hurt anyone else and actions speak louder than words. Remember that.”

I left the back alley to the sound of Chris’s cries. I don’t feel bad, but I wish I could know for sure that he won’t hurt anyone to get to jail.

I stay close, he’s found about a half an hour later by his bartender friend. Well, he’s not much of a friend considering he laughs when he sees Chris on the ground. “I expected this to happen to you at some point, but not with a fucking midget. Seriously man, she was 4 feet tall.” I’m slightly offended that he’s off by an entire foot and two inches, but I don’t do anything about it, although he is now on my list.

He’s stopped crying at this point, his friend helps him up and goes inside to grab Chris a glass of water and some ice. While he’s gone, Chris pulls the letter out of his pocket and looks around, he can feel me watching him. I want him to. He begins reading it. I wrote about respect and misogyny, no meaning no, rape, belittlement and everything else he’s done to piss me off. I hope my words repeat in his mind over and over and over again.