Someone is following me. I was almost mugged, or maybe even worse could have happened. But there was a guy who saved me like some modern superhero masked in a black helmet. I should have been terrified when he slit my assailant's throat before nodding at me, waiting for me to get safely in my car, and laying his hand on my window. Instead of feeling scared, I'm feeling... Excited. Alive. And I'm dying to feel it again. So I do what no sane person does. I roam the streets of the city when I should be in bed, resting, just waiting for another glimpse of my rescuer. He corners me and makes me feel things I shouldn't be feeling because I'm in a relationship. I yearn for his touch, I open my legs when I should use it to run far, far away. Someone is following me. And I like it.