Page 3 of The Heart of a Painter (As I Am 1)

The canister felt like amachine gun in my clammy palm, and Iplaced my thumb firmly on the trigger when Iturned around, ready to unlock the safety mechanism and spray the hell out of this guy.

“Don’t!” he yelled, crossing his arms over his face reflexively when Ipointed it at him.

Thundering pulses of blood whooshed between my ears, fearing he’duse this opportunity to attack me. “Don’tcome any closer! Why are you following me?”

“W—what?” When he lowered his arms, Isaw his golden-brown eyes glaring at me with amixture of anger and shock. “Who’sfollowing you? Ilive here.”

“You what?” His statement messed with my resolve. “No one just walks around this neighborhood in the middle of the night.”

“You clearly do.” He sounded as upset as he looked. Upset, and yet not as menacing as Iinitially thought. “Could you please put that thing down?”

Ilowered the pepper spray to my side, something in me trusting him.

When he released his arms, Inoticed he looked more than handsome. He was beautiful. Ipinched my eyes shut and shook my head from admiring how good he looked. The last thing Ineeded was another upset male figure in my life.

“Not that Iowe you any explanations…” The stranger frowned. It annoyed me, acknowledging that even afrown looked good on him. “But I’mhaving the worst jet lag and Iwent out for awalk.”

The conditioning Greg ingrained in me pushed theapologize nowbutton. The free bird Ibecame in the beginning of the evening insisted Ihad every right to defend myself. Battling the two, Iremained silent.

“Look”—he passed alarge hand through his beard, exasperated—“if anyone shouldn’tbe out here, it’syou. It’ssupposed to be safe, but aclever person solves aproblem. Awise person…”

“…avoids it.” Throwing around Albert Einstein quotes while being this annoyingly hot didn’tlessen my resentment of having him tell me what to do. “Last Iremembered, it’safree country,” Imumbled under my breath.

He closed his eyes and twisted his mouth. He probably wanted to say something. Ibraced myself to any lashing out from him. With ashort, annoyed grunt, he opened his eyes. His glare, still upset, still not menacing, was fixated on me for the whole of two seconds before looking over me at the street.

Without another word, the stranger took astep forward, then sidestepped me, and in an instant, he was gone.

When Irecovered from the shock of my recent encounter, Iturned around to see the empty street. No stranger, no one else either.

Taking his advice, reluctantly, Ijogged over to Laura’sand knocked on her door.

My friend since our undergrad days ushered me in with compassionate eyes. After getting one look at my duffle bag, she hugged me close, listened, commiserated with me, and offered me aplace to stay, promising to help me find an apartment in the morning.

Iflopped onto the bed in her guest room, where sleep couldn’thave been more peaceful.