Stalked

The shop was hot. A sweltering heat from the Grecian sun. A kind women stands at the door, barring the entrance.

I hide among the baubles. The tiny bottles and cheap trinkets. I keep my head turned from the street. The minutes pass by as my panic grows. A calm exterior forced through the haze.

You hear the stories.

Of girls picked up, glamoured by a sexy smile, a foreign tongue.

Statistics that pile until they become meaningless.

I refused to join their numbers.

A dark head, a deceitful smile, pass by under unknowing eyes.

I breath again. I thank her, and make my escape. Seeking my refuge in a foreign land.

But he finds me. Of course he finds me.

Take a picture, I want a picture. A forceful grip on my pale arm. Trying to pull me, forcefully behind its supposed kindness. To where no one would hear. Where no one would care. An abandoned building off the streets.

Where it is quiet. Where no one will see.

I yank my arm away as anger flashes over his face. He reaches further, unwilling to give up his prey.

"Jordan, oh thank god there you are."

Fury fills his face as he slinks into a crowd of animinity.

I turn and sink my relief into the shoulder of safety. Muttering promises to never wander again.