He’s there again. Behind me.

I can always tell when. I’m not entirely sure how.

Maybe it’s his breathing. He breathes so loud. We’re teenagers and yet it sounds like he’s been smoking for 40 years. Just an ever-present wheezing; squeezing air in, shaky breath out. So, so loud.

Maybe I’ve just grown more susceptible to his body heat. God knows I need to be. If I weren’t able to recognize his presence without at least a few seconds’ warning then I’d have had a heart attack several weeks ago.

Or maybe it’s just the dread that washes over me whenever he gets too close, like his intent leaks off of him in waves like radiation. 

Intent. I’ve never hated anything more.

I felt his breath on my neck a mere second before his shoulder was on mine, pressing into me and trapping me against the wall.

“Heya, J,” he said directly in my ear.

“My name’s Ja-”

“Ya know J, you should really speak up more. I can hardly ever hear you. You have such a nice voice.”

“You’re squishing me-”

“Also, you’re going to the dance, right? Ya going with anyone?”

“I don’t-”

“Would ya be interested in going with me? I love spending time with you.”

I paused. My shirt sleeve slid against the cool brick wall as I shuffled along. He almost seemed to press in more, driving me further into the wall and slowing me down.
Of course that’s what he had wanted. I had known it the second they announced it on the intercom. Of course he’d accost me to ask.

“Well, J? Ya can’t just leave me hanging,” he pressed on.

“I- um, well-”

“Oh, you’re playing hard to get. It just makes me want you more.”

My veins turned to ice.

“Well, you can tell me later, I guess. I’ll be back tomorrow!” In a second he was off of me, down the hall and lost in the wave of students.

I mean, at least he gave a warning this time.

I peeled myself off of the wall, feeling my shirt sleeve fall away from my arm. Brushing my fingers over my shoulder, I felt the barest indent of the brick underneath the pain of the wall burn I’d sustained. My skin lit up each time I passed a raised section of the indentation.

It would be gone soon. He’d pressed me into the wall as we walked so many times that any wall burns I ever got healed quicker and quicker. It would ache for only about ten minutes and the redness would be gone after thirty. Still annoying though. The skin around the area had started to toughen and form a callous, and I could feel it bend whenever I moved my arm.

I smoothed my shirt sleeve down as I started back down the hallway. I had to walk slowly; I was always shaky after encounters with him. That was the one thing I hadn’t managed to adapt for. The learning his schedule to avoid him, the anticipating his presence whenever he did find me, and the toughening of my shoulder whenever he caused a wall burn I had all down pat. But no matter how many times he got too close, how many times he pressured me with questions, and how many times he inadvertently injured me, I always shook like a leaf afterwards. 

I rounded the last corner and walked out of the building. The cool air felt nice on my wall burn. And if I closed my eyes, I could almost pretend I was shivering with cold instead of fear. I could pretend nothing was wrong; I could pretend he wasn’t my problem.
I could pretend I had peace.

As I continued down the sidewalk, the thought took hold in my mind. It seemed to fester and grow, feeding off of every other thought that tried to claw its way to the surface.

I could have peace. I could be left alone, be free to live my damn life. I wouldn’t have to spend every living, breathing moment planning and preparing and bracing for impact— I could just live.

I could have peace. And the only thing in my way…

…was him.

I picked up my pace down the sidewalk; a power walk bordering on a run. Faces whizzed passed me as I maneuvered around them. Some people even stepped out of the way. I strode on.

I knew what I would do. 

The plan formed in my head as I walked; pieces falling into place with each step I took. Before I knew it the sidewalk was gone and my feet hit the pavement on the edge of the road. I bolted. 

With my feet sore and my legs burning, I got home ten minutes earlier than usual, thoroughly out of breath with my clothes soaked through with sweat. Though as I stood in my doorway, I didn’t feel tired. Maybe part of it was some sort of runner’s high. 

But most of it was from what I had in store. What would be possible once I dealt with this. The anticipation of executing my salvation coursed through my veins as if it was my lifeblood. If I played this right, I would be free.

Free. I almost couldn’t believe it. It’d been so long.

I was shaking as I deposited my backpack at the front door and walked to my room. I was shaking as I pulled one of many notebooks and a pen from my desk. It didn’t matter where I wrote my plan. Just that it was written down— codified and fully formed. I had to see it. It needed to be physical and material and real. My writing was barely legible— my hand was shaking so much— but it didn’t matter. 

There it was.

I gripped the edges with fervor, reading and rereading my chicken scratch for any possible mistake. Snatching a stray red marker from my bedside table, I crossed out sections, added details, altered grammar, until the page was covered with my bright red corrections. 

Carefully, I tore the page from the binding and set it down. I grabbed the same pen and rewrote my ramblings slowly, methodically, complete with every fevered change I had made. The end result was so uniform it could have been printed; each letter sculpted with absolute precision and care. My hand had stopped shaking, stilled by my frenzied yet cold determination.

In front of me, in a spiral-bound notebook from last year, with a random blue ball-point pen that hadn’t seen light in months, was my plan. My ticket to peace.

There’s a strange and specific sense of calm you feel when things come to an end. Whether you’re ending it willingly; setting it down gently or throwing it away. Whether it’s ending no matter what; the march of time ripping things away or depositing you exhausted when it’s finally over. No matter how things end, you’re calmer once they’re done. 

And now, with the end held in my hands, I was the calmest I’d been in months. Sweet, drug-like calm that settled into my bones and every nook and cranny of my being. No shaking, no ever-present worry. Nothing.

Just peace. Finally finally finally.

-----------

My dress for the dance was red. It was asymmetrical, with the fabric from the single strap spiraling down the bodice and into the skirts, sending it spinning whenever I turned. I took extra care picking it out; it was important to me that I loved what I wore when my plan came to fruition. Plus just the joy of wearing something nice for the dance.

The asymmetry was a must for me. Not only did it keep scratchy fabric off of my shoulder callous— it kept it on display. It only felt fair that it was out as I enacted my justice; some sort of catharsis for me. 

I arrived about ten minutes after the dance had started. Partly because the lines had thinned, and because I knew he would be there already. He’d be looking for me now, I knew it. He’d have gotten here ten minutes early, waited at the doors and been one of the first ones in when nothing had even started yet. Just to look for me; be there when I arrived.

He’s anything if not predictable.

With my coat covering the bright color of my dress and the lights considerably dimmed— aside from the flashing neon, I doubted he’d be able to find me. Yet. 

He inevitably would, but that’s what I needed. I needed time to get where I needed to be without being spotted first, and then he would find me, waiting. I tapped my coat pocket, making sure everything was still there. This was it.

I began my walk across the gym, scanning the room myself in case he was too near. With the overhead lights off replaced with flashing neon, I couldn’t make out any features. But this only worked in my favor; he couldn’t see me, but I had become incredibly good at recognizing his presence— to the point where I could sense him by the smallest changes in room temperature. That part was squarely his fault.

I skirted around the crowd, not letting myself get sucked in and off course and not separating myself and becoming more easily recognizable. Being this careful probably wasn’t necessary— but I didn’t want to take any chances. You never know with him, after all.

Shrugging off my coat, I crossed out of the gym and into the hallway. I moved quickly, my gait bordering on a power walk as I turned into the girls’ restroom.

The restroom was filthy, whether it was here before or if it had been trashed so quickly in the ten minutes the dance had gone on I wasn’t sure, but I did know that it smelled awful. Sewage leak or just general public high school bathroom ambience— it burnt my nose. Still, I carried on.

I walked into the stall at the end, the one with extra space, and hung my coat on the door. As I slipped my hand into that coat pocket, I heard footsteps outside the restroom.

Familiar ones.

“Hey J! Ya in there?”

He wasn’t supposed to be here yet.

“C’mon! I saw ya walk this way— I know you’re in there!”

How had he seen me? How was he here already?

“J! J c’mon!”

He was getting closer. He was walking in. 

He knocked on the stall door.

I could see his dress shoes on the other side.

We were inches apart.

I closed my hand around the pepper spray in my coat pocket.

“J! What’s taking-”

I kicked the door into him, heels and all.

He staggered back, shiny black dress shoes slipping against the dirty tile. He hit the floor with a satisfying thud as the stall door ricocheted back off of the wall. I stopped it with my hand as I walked forward, armed with my pepper spray.

“You don’t know when to stop, do you?” I said, my heels clicking as I stepped forward. “Tell me, did you think twice about anything you said to me? Did you ever think at least once that maybe, possibly, I wasn’t interested? Even once?”

He stared up at me, confusion giving way to anger. “What the hell did I even do?! What, am I not allowed to show interest now?”

I chuckled. “Of course you don’t know. Why wouldn’t you? I’ve said about two words to you for every twenty you’ve said to me— if you don’t realize I’m not interested then then you’re a lost cause.”

“Then just f***ing say that! I can’t read minds and you can’t expect me to!” He was fully shouting now, gesturing wildly with one hand and propping himself up with the other.

“Don’t you think I tried? I couldn’t get a damn word in to tell you otherwise!”

“Then f***ing speak up! Not my fault you’re basically mute! F***, why did I even like you in the first place!” He pushed himself fully to his feet and began striding towards me, arms spread wide. I gripped the pepper spray tighter.

Flinging my arm out, I pressed the trigger. The mace came out in a quick, wide arc, catching his eyes, nose, and mouth in its path. He sputtered, stumbling backward, arms flailing about. Lingering spray had made my eyes water as well. I stepped forward anyway.

“You—” I slammed my heel in the center of his stomach before he could finish, just below his ribcage. He fell back to the ground, clutching his stomach as he was overtaken by a new coughing fit. “What the- *cough* hell—”

Between his coughing fits, watering eyes, and aching stomach, he didn’t notice me stepping right in front of him. He didn’t seem to register me planting my foot on his lower stomach, pushing him lower and pinning him to the ground. He didn’t notice me leaning down.

He almost didn’t notice me putting the nozzle directly in front of his mouth.

“Hey J- *cough* hold- *cough* wait—” he sputtered, struggling beneath my shoe.

“My name’s Jane, asshole.” I dug my heel further in, sending him gasping for breath.

I took my chance.

I pressed the trigger once more.

-----------

I got some of the second spray in my own eyes as well, so I spent a few minutes washing them out at one of the sinks. After all the spray was washed out, I patted my face dry and touched up my makeup as well as I could with what I had brought to the dance. Soon enough, I was as fresh-faced as I had been when I had arrived. Couldn’t say the same for him.

I tucked everything back into my coat pockets, slung my coat over my calloused shoulder, and went back to the dance.

I spent the next few hours enjoying myself. Without constantly worrying and looking over my shoulder— I felt free. I felt free and clear and alive. 

I had peace. I had peace for the first time in months. 

It was near the end of the dance when they found him. They ended the dance about twenty minutes early— everyone was calling their parents outside so they could get picked up. Most didn’t even know why we had been let out that soon. 

But me? I walked home as I always did, wrapped in my coat with my heels clicking on the sidewalk. I slept like a baby, and I woke up the next morning feeling as peaceful as ever. Maybe he found peace too. A different kind of peace, but peace nonetheless.