Professional Courtesy

He saw me before I saw him.
Or so he believes.

Men like him love believing they’re the observer.
The hunter.
The one doing the choosing.

He clocked the heels first.
Then the tailored blazer.
Then the careful posture, shoulders relaxed, stride measured, eyes warm but not inviting.

Polite.
Professional.
Soft.

A woman who apologizes for everything.
A woman who would answer a question.
A woman who would lean in just close enough.

She presented as a target, not a threat.

He followed at a tasteful distance.
Not rushed.
Not sloppy.

He thinks of himself as disciplined.
I let him think that.

The sidewalk thinned.
Streetlights grew infrequent.
Trees leaned closer, as if curious.

“Hey,” he called.
I turned.
Smiled.
“Yes?”

His hand came fast.
Confident.
Practiced.

He shoved me into the brush beside the path.
My back hit earth.

Leaves.
A root pressing into my shoulder blade.
His weight followed.
He mistook stillness for fear.

That’s mistake number one.

I didn’t scream.
Didn’t fight.
Didn’t beg.

I assessed.
There is always a brief window, a diagnostic pause, before a man commits.
You can tell what he is by what he reaches for.

Wallet?
Ego?
Knife?

He reached for the blade at his belt.

Ah.
Ambition.

He leaned in close enough to smell my hair.
Close enough to think he’d already won.

That’s mistake number two.

“You picked the wrong one,” I told him calmly.
A courtesy.
Professional, of course.

He laughed.
They always do.

My smile changed.
Not wider.
Sharper.
He felt it before he understood it.

You can always see the moment, that flicker, when prey realizes it miscalculated.
His pupils widened.

Teeth are decorative until they aren’t.

The bushes shook.
There was a sound like fabric tearing.
Then something wetter.
Then silence.

I stepped back onto the sidewalk.
Smoothed my blazer.
Adjusted my heel strap.
Checked my watch.

Still on time.
Annoyed by the inconvenience.

There was blood at the corner of my mouth.
I wiped it away, irritated more by the mess than the violence.

He should have vetted his target better.
Professional oversight.
I’d file a report, but he won’t be attending the review.

As I continued down the street, I almost felt obligated to leave a note.
Never mistake kindness for weakness.

It’s bad for business.