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I take a turn to my left, and notice that the
man trailing behind me does too.

He's definitely following me- like he was, five or so minutes ago.

To be aware that he was following me, I am suddenly forced to feel a bunch of different emotions during the quick walk back to my apartment. And all of those emotions include panic, panic and panic.

Unfortunately, people make the worst decisions when they panic.

Emotions usually drive to questions that usually start with the word, "why?" Like for example, when we're curious we ask, why is the sky blue? And when we're sad we ask, why am I living in this world?

Now because I'm panicking a list of different questions begin to flood my thoughts. Why is he following me? Why is he wearing a black hoodie in the heat? Why does it have to be me? Am I going to die?

At this point, just a few feet away from my apartment, I am on the verge of asking the stranger why he was following me. And at this point, you probably already realized how stupid I was-and how panicking makes you do the stupidest things. Because no one, I repeat, no one asks some strange guy who's following you why he's following you. You run. Literally. For your life. It's what you always do.

Eventually I figured that asking him straight out would just be stupid so I don't. I am a few feet away from the gate to my apartment. I could run. The problem is, he's bigger and taller than I am, judging by the heavy sounds of his footsteps. He'd catch up to me pretty quick before I could even get close to the gate, so running isn't really an option. Calling the police knowing that it would take them minutes to arrive is suicide. Well, not really suicide, but I would've been kidnapped by then if that was his motive. Distraction, is by far the most effective. I distract him, then run in. It should slow him from reaching me. It was perfect.

I stop walking and grasp my backpack, which was already in front of me, tighter. I am about to throw this precious bag to a stranger. I start to fidget around for a second then throw the bag at him. Right at his face.

What happens next? I run.

Or at least I try to. Because the moment I threw my bag at him, all the words that should've been empty were replaced with,

"What the fuck?" he says, while rubbing the parts of his head that I hit. It turned red, like someone had just slapped him.

"What the fuck" isn't the usual choice of words someone with the motive of kidnapping an eighteen year old girl who manages to somehow attract him. It's the kind of word choice an innocent human being would use.

Right now, realizing this, I've practically screwed up.

"What was that for?" his face scrunches up in pain, and I believe that his constant rubbing on his forehead made the injury worse.

"Why were you following me?" I ask, desperately keeping up the brave girl act. Not gonna lie, I felt really powerful when I threw that bag, but now seeing his gaze with a face filled with fury and annoyance, that power is slowly sinking to the ground.

He laughs sarcastically, my confidence dropping from a hundred one to a flat zero. "You think I was following you?"

I say nothing, stare at his black hoodie and examine him, speechless. He laughs again, and me? Oh I'm fine. Just stupidly humiliated, nothing big.

"You wear your black hoodie with your hood on, and you kept walking behind my back so-"

"So apparently the world is too messed up for me to even wear a black hoodie, walk behind a girl and go home?" he interrupts.

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