Page 70 of Stalkers Anonymous

“It was hard to watch her drive away,” I say honestly. “I wanted to make sure she got to work safely. I, uh… I struggled to trust that she could take care of herself.”

Grant shifts in his seat. “Man, that’s rough. I understand the urge to just…check on them. Make sure they’re okay.”

I shoot him a look that I hope conveys how little I appreciate being lumped in with his particular brand of obsession. “It’s not really the same thing.”

“Isn’t it?” Tracey asks, and there’s genuine curiosity in her voice rather than accusation. “Can you explain the difference as you see it?”

“Grant’s issue is his inability to recognize when he’s making people uncomfortable. Mine isn’t.” I keep my voice even, but I can feel the tension building in my shoulders. “My issues stem from wanting to make men uncomfortable. Specifically, bad men who hurt women.”

I let the last part land with a pointed glance in Grant’s direction. He has the grace to look uncomfortable.

“That’s a fair distinction,” Tracey says, nodding slowly. “We each have a different history. Our patterns emerge from a need to protect people we care about when we perceive them to be in danger. Would you say that’s accurate?”

“Yes.” The acknowledgment makes my shoulders ease a bit, but the look in Tracey’s eye reminds me that she knows the truth about Emma and Shitbag Steve. She’s pushing me toward the edge of my lies, where I’ll have no choice but to reveal the whole truth. “In the military, that instinct kept people alive. It’s hard to turn it off just because the context changed.”

“Except in the military, you had sanctioned targets and clear parameters,” Tracey continues. “The problem arose when you applied those same tactics to civilian situations without consent or legal authority.”

She’s not wrong. She’s never fucking wrong.

“The point,” Tracey continues, “is that your pattern isn’t about romantic obsession. It’s about control. About believing that you’re the only one capable of keeping someone safe, and that this belief justifies crossing boundaries without consent.”

Goddammit, Tracey. Stop being so fucking accurate.

“So when you mention wanting to make sure this woman got to work safely,” she says, “I’m not concerned about romantic fixation. I’m concerned about the protective impulse that led you here in the first place. Is there a reason you’re feeling particularly protective of her?”

“She has a stalker,” I say flatly. I can’t hide this from them forever. “An actual one. He left a threatening note on her windshield, then keyed her car while we were on a date.”

The energy in the room shifts drastically. Jessica’s eyes go wide. Zach looks up from his fascinated study of the floor tiles. They’re all shocked by the idea of a real stalker.

“And your response to this has been…?” Tracey prompts.

I scrub a hand over my face. I can’t tell them what I’ve done. It’ll earn me another six months in this hellhole basement. “She’s in danger. Real danger. And she’s not taking it seriously enough. Someone has to—”

“Protect her?” Tracey finishes. “Even if she hasn’t asked for protection? Even if she doesn’t know you’re doing it?”

The words hang in the air, uncomfortably familiar.

“It’s different,” I insist. “He’s dangerous. I’m not.”

“You don’t think every person in this room hasn’t told themselves that exact same thing?” Tracey’s voice is gentle but pointed. “That they were different from the real threats?”

“I’m nothing like—”

“To be clear, I’m not saying you’re a danger to this woman. I’m saying your thought patterns are similar to someone who is.” She leans forward slightly. “The belief that your assessment of danger supersedes someone else’s autonomy. The conviction that your intentions justify your methods. These are the patterns we’re trying to interrupt.”

I don’t have a good response to that. There’s nothing I can say to get myself out of this hole I’ve dug.

The room is quiet for a moment. Grant is studying his shoes. Austen has gone very still. Zach looks like he’s experiencing something dangerously close to self-reflection.

“Here’s what I want you to consider,” Tracey continues. “You’ve identified a situation where someone you care about may be in danger. That’s not inherently problematic. The question is: what’s your role? Are you a partner she’s chosen to confide in, working together to address the threat? Or are you operating as a shadow security team, gathering intelligence without her knowledge or consent?”

“She knows I’m concerned,” I say.

“Does she know you’re this concerned? Does she know the extent you’ve gone to protect those you love?”

No. She doesn’t.

My silence is all the confirmation Tracey needs.