Sometimes, when I slept, I woke up from the boot of someone’s car, still feeling the sensation of an arm coming around my chest and a gloved hand pushing itself over my mouth. It pinned me to the bed, as brutal as it had been that first time. Sometimes it followed me around while I was walking, my skin prickling and my eyes darting around, assessing every movement and shadow.

It was always there, and I thought I was used to it, ready for it. I had my keys in my fist and I knew exactly what I was going to do—scream Stop! Leave me alone! at the top of my lungs, as close to his eardrum as possible, while kicking him in the shins and then kneeing him in the groin—but I knew it was all useless, and I was ready for what happened next.

I’d thought about it so much, talked about it at group, accepted it. I was ready. I knew that it was inevitable, that no matter what you did, death would get you in the end. The rest of them—Geoff and Carlos and Frannie and Louise, the ones who’d come and gone—they thought they could prevent it, that they could outrun it, but I knew better, and I was ready.

Still, when I saw the shadow out of the corner of my eye, I had no idea what to think. And then I wasn’t ready at all.

My chest tightened and my spine went rigid. I felt my blood heating up, a roar starting in my ears, something cold running down my back. I kept my head down, only my eyes moving, watching the shadow and then the figure form on the footpath. Whistling. He was whistling, and I could barely breathe.

I listened to the careful, even footsteps, wondering if he’d seen me, if he’d sneak around and try to grab me from behind, or if he’d ask me for a light or a cigarette first. If we were going to a second location—never go to a second location—or if he was strong enough to just pick me up and throw me onto the tracks below. If that would kill me or I’d have to lie there, my legs broken, and wait for a train to finish the job. I thought of the houses and apartments, of the cars passing by, wondered whether anyone was watching, whether anyone would have details for the police later. I wondered if there were cameras. If the security footage of the moment before he dragged me into the shadows would make it onto the news and be discussed on Facebook, whether people would argue over if I’d fought hard enough, or if we knew each other, or if it looked like I went willingly.