I regret the day I said hello to him and letting him walk me to my car because there were thugs out on the street at that time of the night. He was a friend of a friend. She talked him up to the point that I just had to meet him. His face was pleasant, his teeth straight and white. He had to have worn braces as a child. I kept thinking as we talked. The conversation flowed smoothly between us. We had a few things in common, but enough differences to keep it interesting. So, when he asked me for a second date, I didn't hesitate. I said, yes.

Our second date was to a movie. Peter picked it out, something not to my liking, but it was action-packed and held my attention. We stopped at a twenty-four-hour café' and ate a sandwich.

"How did you like the movie?" Peter asked me.

"Not my style, but it did hold my interest," I answered honestly. Peter chuckled, but the little flash in his eye sent a warning to my brain. I sensed more than felt; he was not used to being second-guessed. I tucked all those flags into the back of my mind and enjoyed his company.

On our third date, he took me on a picnic in the park. He had packed a beautiful basket with lunch. It surprised me he had gone to all that trouble. Everything was neat, precise, and orderly. He spread the blanket on the ground, pulled out sandwiches, and a small bottle of wine, complete with wine glasses, cloth napkins. I laughed with everything he pulled out of the basket. He had a plastic container for everything in there. He had stacked them up like blocks. There was no waste when we finished our picnic. It all was renewable or recyclable. Peter was a perfect gentleman. I wondered how he had gotten this far into his life and never been married. He was pushing forty. I was thirty-six. I wondered if we had been single too long ever to be happy letting someone into our lives. The overtures had been started. I could tell. I entered through that door with excitement and trepidation. I had been here many times before. Something always stopped me before making that commitment. My mother told me I was too picky. But a lifetime is just that.

A few months had passed. I started to think Peter and I were compatible. He was too good to be true. Even-tempered, charming, entertaining, taking me to things I knew weren't his interest. In return, I went to events I didn't particularly enjoy. We were a couple and did couple things for and with each other.

The foundation we'd built started to crumble. It was subtle and slow at first. While sitting on a park bench, a frisbee came across the field, hitting the seat. Peter went crazy. He grabbed the frisbee and berated the young man on carelessness. I had to intervene. It was an accident. I told the young man, we'd move. I pulled Peter away by his hand.

"Walk with me." Peter didn't want to stand down. He was on high alert. It took a while to get him back to the even temper I had come to know him to be.

"Punk, trying to tell me how I should feel," Peter mumbled.

"Peter, it was an accident. Why don't we call it a day?" My mood was ruined, and I could see he was in a foul mood. I didn't want to be around it. He brushed a kiss on my lips and continued to walk ahead of me.

"See you tomorrow, Rae." He wasn't running but fast walking. I was a little stunned. I knew he left because he was too angry to get over such a stupid little thing, I went home still wondering what had happened. He made such a big deal over a frisbee. I decided not to call him the next day. I was upset at his behavior and started to rethink of us as a couple. The self-doubt that always found a way into my thinking kicked into high gear. I also tried to talk myself out of it. Yes, he had a temper, I'd seen if often enough, but he usually was able to get over it. Now I saw he was hanging onto that anger and letting it fester. Could he control it? Or did it have control over him?

The morning paper hit my front stoop. I poured myself a cup of coffee as I opened the paper and started to read. A new shopping center, the latest in politics. An attack in the park yesterday. It was the same park Peter and I had been in. I read the story feeling hot sparks all over my body. A young man playing frisbee was beaten in the park yesterday. Police are looking for a clean-cut male approximately forty years old, brown hair, blue eyes, even teeth.

I had trouble drawing in my breath. Peter must have gone back after he left me. How could I remain silent? The description certainly fit. I called the number for tips. The person on the hotline asked me many questions, and I found myself being apologetic, that I really wasn't sure, but that my man friend (had I already reduced him to a friend?) exploded at a young frisbee player at the park yesterday. That we parted, and I don't know what happened afterward, but the description of the attacker fits him to a "t." I felt like a traitor as I gave his name and address. They would keep me anonymous. I hung up the phone. My doorbell rang.

Peeking through the peephole, it was Peter. My heart pounded. No doubt, he was here to make sure I hadn't read the story in the paper and put two and two together. I didn't want to see him. I needed to get ready for work. I ignored the doorbell, then the hurried knock, then the pounding on my door. I called 911. He was out there in a rage.

"Please, help me! The man who I think beat up the young man in Boulder Park yesterday is pounding on my door. I am afraid. I have turned him over to the police, but he is here at my door, and he won't go away."

"Please stay on the line. The police are on the way. I dropped the phone when he punched through the glass. I barely registered his arm as it came through and slid the chain off the door, and unlocked the handle. I was on my way upstairs. I locked the bedroom door, grabbing the phone with me, I closed and locked the bathroom wedging my feet on the door and my back on the toilet. Did he have a gun? Was he strong enough to break the bathroom door?

"Hello, are you still there?" I asked the phone, whispering.

"Yes, the police are a few minutes out yet. Remain silent, lock yourself in somewhere."

"Rae?" I could hear him in the hallway. He jiggled the handle to the bedroom. The door kicked in without hesitation. I was doomed. Why hadn't I seen this in him earlier, before I cared? Why him? He pounded on the bathroom door.

"Rae, I know you are in there. Come out and talk to me." I couldn't pretend anymore.

"I don't want to talk to you. Why have you broken into my house?" I asked incredulously.

"Open the door, let's talk." He said, sounding normal. Part of me wanted to believe it. I kept my feet on the door, and my back against the toilet. The door handle turned. Frustrated he kicked it, but the extra pressure I had applied to the door made it hold.

"Rae, just open the door," he said quietly.

"No, go home. I will talk to you later. I'm not ready to talk to you right now. Not when you are in this mood." I shouted back. There was silence. Had he left? Did I dare open the door. I was too scared. I remained quiet and listened carefully. There was a scuffle and some mumbling.

"Ma'am, this if Officer Fuller, my partner, is taking Peter Stark to the squad, he had been put under arrest." I listened, was it all a prank to get me to open the door? I relaxed my feet one inch and pulled the door open ready to slam it shut. The officer stood there in full uniform. Elated I opened the door. Then we heard shouting from downstairs.

Peter came running into the room with my kitchen knife in his hand. He appeared to be in some kind of a trance. I shouted for him to put down the knife. He came forward instead.

"Police! Stand back, or I will shoot!" Peter ignored him, moving forward. Officer Fuller shot twice, hitting Peter in the shoulder with the second bullet. Peter looked shocked. He couldn't believe someone had shot him. He put the knife in the other hand and lunged forward. Officer Fuller shot a third time, the bullet entering Peter's heart. He dropped the knife, his hand went to his heart as blood spurted with every beat, Officer Fuller kicked the knife away, Peter collapsed. I could hear someone screaming, realizing it was me.

I regret the day I said hello to him. I regret letting my heart think I would ever find happiness with another person. I regret not realizing earlier that Peter was a chameleon ever changing his colors. I don't think I will ever feel comfortable again.

By Dawn DeBraal

From: United States

Website: https://www.amazon.com/Dawn-DeBraal/e/B07STL8DLX?