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Who does he think he is, assaulting women in subway stations? It's unacceptable. This man doesn't deserve my pity.
I reach down and am about to grab him by his jacket and throw him on top of the subway tracks when I hear Stacy scream.
"Stop!" she yells. "Sanders, don't! That's enough!"
I'm breathing heavy, but hearing her voice calms my rage. I feel my pulse start to slow.
I release my grip, take one final look at the man, and let him go.
39
Stacy
I can hardly believe my eyes. Just when I thought Sanders was gone for good, he's in front of me, and he's saving my life … again. How is this happening?
Sanders has the man in his grip, and I watch as he delivers blow after blow. It's as if he's in a rage trance and the world around him has melted away.
He has one thing on his mind, and that's to beat the shit out of this man. I watch as he grabs the man by his jacket. It looks as if he's going to throw him on the subway tracks, and when the realization dawns on me that this is his intent, I panic.
As much as I hate my attacker, he doesn't deserve to die … and I don't want to see Sanders go to jail for murder.
I look around for my can of mace, which my attacker had knocked from my hands. I find it on the ground and grab it in my trembling fingers.
Pointing it toward the attacker and Sanders, I can feel a scream bubble up my throat.
"Stop!" I yell. "Sanders, don't! That's enough!"
It works. My words have the desired effect, and it's as if Sanders comes out of trance. For the first time, his eyes lock on mine, and I watch as he releases his grip on the man. The man drops to the floor, and realizing that he's free, he seizes the opportunity to scramble to his feet and run.
I've never seen a man run so fast in his life. I can hear his sneakers slap the pavement, and before we know it, he's simply a dark smear in the distance, growing smaller and smaller by the second until he's completely gone.
I'm still trembling. Adrenaline is coursing through my veins.
I'm holding the can of mace as if my life depended on it, and I don't know why, but I'm pointing it at Sanders. It's as if my arms are frozen in this protective position.
He looks at me and walks over. There is a soft concern pooling in the depths of his eyes.
"Are you going to spray me with that?" he asks. But even my posture doesn't worry him, and he continues his slow walk toward me.
The can is still trembling in my fingers like a leaf on a tree, but I don't change my position. "I should spray you … after the way you left me," I say, and the words just tumble out of my mouth. My eyes are still locked on his.
"I never left you," he replies.
"What's that supposed to mean? One minute, you where there, and the next, not."
"You're wrong. I was always watching you, at a distance."
"Who told you to be all creepy like that?" I ask. It's just an odd thing to admit … that someone's been secretly watching you when you had no idea. "I never asked you to protect me like that."
Sanders doesn't respond. He just continues to step closer. I still have the can of mace pinched between my fingers, and my fingers are on the trigger. It's now just inches from his face. But even that doesn't phase him. He's undeterred.
Finally, he steps up so close to me that his body is inches from mine. I can smell him … the smell of a man I realize that I deeply care about. I can now feel his warmth, his body reaching for mine, and my resolve crumbles.
I can't stay mad at him. He just risked his life for mine. He saved me. If he hadn't have been here, I shudder to think where I would've ended up.
With that realization, I feel my arm unfreeze, and I drop the mace. It hits the ground with a metallic ting, rolling away and out of reach.
I embrace Sanders. I feel his strong, warm body on mine as he wraps his arms around me.
