Headed home finally, I emerge from the revolving doors of the RAA building and look at the sky. A few cotton candy colored clouds tell me this evening holds the promise of a beauty. A welcomed sign that this stressful day is nearly over.

Surprisingly, Eric understood when I spoke with him about the incident on Friday night. But he made it clear this was only because I demurred from the after-party (which clearly is his realm, not mine) and that his tolerance was wearing thin. His warning was issued in no uncertain terms. "If any other rumors of your socializing with Fin pop up there will be problems and photographic evidence will certainly be worse for you." I made a promise. "We won't need to revisit the topic."

But I've thought about nothing but Fin all day long. So despite Eric's threats and my assurances, I'm about to make a liar of myself. I take out my phone to type my own excerpt from Cascando.

terrified again

of not loving

of loving and not you

of being loved and not by you

of knowing not knowing pretending

pretending

I and all the others that will love you

if they love you

My finger hovers over the send button. My parents always taught me that a person is only as good as their word. Words are my life. At least they are the life that I want. I use them to create worlds on paper. But those are imaginary and I need to live in a real one. Once I send these particular words there was no taking them back. Which ones do I want to be true?

My finger touches the screen. Then I start walking toward the subway.

Soon I notice a man walking a little too closely to me. There's nothing particularly threatening in his appearance. But my nerves are already on edge and he's making me more uncomfortable as he trails along behind me.

As a woman in the city, after you experience enough catcalls and have a few encounters with flashers, you learn to trust your instincts. So I jaywalk across the middle of the block to distance myself.  The guy doesn't cross but he keeps looking over at me across the traffic.

I mumble to myself. "Maybe I'm just being ridiculous and he's looking at me because I keep looking at him." Then I laugh and try to shake it off because now I look like the weirdo that is talking to herself. But I gag on my laugh as I walk down the subway stairs, because I see that he's come down the flight on the other side.

Heart racing, I push through the turnstile and purposely walk toward the black and white striped, aptly named zebra board, so I can ride in the conductor's car. The man continues to follow me and stops when I stop. He leaves about fifteen feet between us and paces slightly. Now I feel like I'm the zebra on the platform. And he's the lion. I'm nauseous and I wish I still carried the pepper spray my mother gave me when I started college.

The train arrives and I get on. The typically claustrophobic steel box feels even more confined than it usually does because I know I'm trapped with him. So at the next station I switch cars and the creep follows me into the next one. My mouth goes dry. The lingering stench of body odor that pervades the recycled air, couples with my fear. I taste it in my mouth. We pull into the Whitehall Street/South Ferry Station and I'm not sure what I should do. But I have no cell service below ground and the Ferry Terminal always has police officers. So I get off. And of course he gets off too. I try not to run as I go up the stairs.

As soon as I emerge my phone vibrates in my hand, making me startle. I look down to see a response to my text from Fin.

Are you done with work? Where are you?

I spot a police officer and walk towards him, which makes the stalker slow down and put a more comfortable distance between us. I type back to Fin.

I'm at the Ferry Terminal. I was about to head home, but I'm pretty sure a man is following me and I'm freaking out a bit.

Fin immediately calls me. I pick up and he doesn't even say hello.

"Stay where you are. I'm coming to you."

"Oh Fin that's not necessary. I'm standing right by a cop."

"Millie it is absolutely necessary. I'll be there in a few minutes. Don't move away from the cop."

He hangs up before I can protest. And true to his word, he arrives quickly. Although it felt like an eternity.

Fin strides toward me with his hair is pulled back and his nostrils are flaring. He looks like his character on Templars when he is about to do battle. It's terrifying and seductive as hell.

"Where is he?"

I point to the man with a shaking finger. Fin rolls his shoulders and clenches his fist. He starts to turn in the direction of the suspected reporter, but I grab his arm to stop him. If he assaults the guy we'll definitely end up on the news. Fin is so tensed for a fight that his forearm is rock hard and my fingers barely indent the flesh.

The cop takes notice of what is happening. "Is there a problem over here? Wait a minute... Oh my God!  You're that actor from that show! Fin right? My girlfriend loves you! Can I get an autograph for her?"

I know that Fin is still seething but he smiles at the cop anyway. "Of course. But first can you help us with something? See my lady friend here is being followed by that twat over there. I suspect he's from a tabloid. She's not a celebrity and hasn't signed up for this shite. He needs to move along and leave her alone."

Fin crosses his arms and stands in front of me while the officer talks with the man, who is annoyed and gesticulating. Then he takes out a camera and snaps a few photos of us. The cop is waving his hand in front of the camera and Fin holds up a reverse peace sign.

That happens to be one element of British slang that I don't need a translator for. I start snickering while I hide behind his back. "Up yours? Really Fin?" I hear the smile in his voice. "What?! My publicist would kill me if I got caught giving him the finger. But I can get away with this."

When the reporter leaves and the police officer comes back, Fin takes a selfie with him and signs a sheet in his field interview notebook. After we say goodbye to the officer, Fin takes my hand. His grip is slightly crushing and I hope he isn't disgusted by my sweaty palm. We walk toward the car that has circled back around to us. Fin opens the door. "Get in and we'll take you home."

I point to the terminal. "No that's okay. I'll just hop on the ferry. It's right here."

Fin frowns and leans his head into the car to say something to the driver. Then he shuts the door and takes my hand again. "Okay let's take the ferry then... although I would have enjoyed having you to myself in the backseat of that car."