When he first approached me at work, I was polite. I have never been the type of person to rudely turn someone away, no matter how I feel about them. Especially considering that he was my co-worker, cordiality felt necessary, and so I made conversation. I laughed at the appropriate times. When he asked me for my number, I said yes. I was not interested in him, but I was nice, and didn’t want to hurt his feelings or embarrass myself by assuming that he wanted anything more than friendship from me. 

The first time he asked me to hang out it was casually. He made a subpar joke that I forced myself to smile and lightly chuckle at, and then blurted it out. You’re really cool. We should hang out sometime.

I smiled and shrugged, unsure on how to take it, before returning to what I had been doing. He walked away.

Less than an hour later, I made my way to the back of the kitchen to get a trash bag. After peeking around the corners of the entrance and seeing that he was nowhere in sight, I sighed in relief and hurriedly made my way to the big box of trash can liners that lay on the shelf. 

“Savannah?” His voice came so unexpectedly and from so close behind me that I jumped, successfully causing me to drop the bag I had just grabbed. I spun around, my heart pounding against my rib cage in fear. He was standing less than a foot away, his chest so close to mine that I almost feared he could feel my heartbeat racing against his own rib cage. 

“Hey Aaron,” I tried to give him a smile, I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but it was an

empty one that didn’t reach my eyes. “you scared me.”

He chuckled.

“Sorry.” There was no remorse in his tone.

“I’m serious though, we need to hang out sometime.” As the words fell from his lips, the fake smile fell from my face. There was that phrase again. 

I had absolutely no desire to hang out with him. Not that there was anything particularly wrong with him, I just didn’t want to spend the rare time I had away from work with a coworker whose jokes I had to force myself to laugh at. Dealing with working a minimum wage job after my long days of high school were torture enough.

“I don’t really know honestly. I don’t hang out with people very often, I’m really busy.” He nodded, seeming to understand. 

“Okay, well if that ever changes just let me know.” I smiled at him again, genuinely this time, happy with the expectation that he would drop it.

That was my first attempt at shutting him down. It was unsuccessful.

Not even three days later, he texted me, asking if I would be busy that weekend. I told him that I was, and apologized. The apology made me curse at myself. I owed him nothing, there was no reason for me to be apologizing, or making excuses for that matter. I should have just said no thank you in the first place, instead of that passive little shrug. 

He wouldn’t leave me alone. Every shift I worked with him, he would hunt me down and talk to me about making plans that I would awkwardly fumble my way out of. How could he not take the hint? Each time he asked that question, I became more enraged. It was so, so painfully obvious that I did not want to hang out with this dude, how could he not understand that? Did I really need to shout no in his face for him to get the idea? I didn’t want to. That would be so mean, and I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. 

Life went on. He texted me at least every other day. Was I busy? Yes. And the next day too? Sorry, but yes.

He pressed on. It built a fire within me, the frustration and annoyance of having to deal with him constantly just to be kind growing from deep within me until it felt as though it were pouring from every orifice of my body, overflowing with anger. I wanted to grab both sides of his head, dig my nails into his scalp and scream into his ear- TAKE A HINT. Obviously, though, that was irrational. I was causing my own problems by refusing to be straight up with him and tell him I did not and never would want to “hang out” with him, but I was never going to be able to just say that. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

Eventually it became exhausting to deal with, repeatedly making excuses and lying my way out of making plans with him. After some serious consideration, I came to the conclusion that if I wasn’t going to grow some balls and tell him no, then I would just have to get it over with and hang out with him, to give him a reason to never ask me again, since my hints were clearly not getting across to him.

It must have shocked him when the next time he asked to see me outside of work I responded sure. When?. He didn’t hesitate to reply, inviting me to his place the following night. I accepted reluctantly, but did my best to sound enthusiastic. I needed him to feel like I wanted to be there, as though it weren’t purely out of pity and sorrow and the sheer fact that I’m incapable of rejecting someone for fear that it will hurt their feelings. He seemed to believe it and immediately gave an address and plenty of exclamation points. My stomach was already turning at the night I was sure to endure.

I got to his apartment around eight. My mom would have killed me if she’d known that I was there, with this 19 year old, instead of at my best friend’s house like I’d said. It was pretty small, and severely lacking in any kind of decor. The walls were bare, save for one small tv and a mirror by the front door, and the furniture made it obvious how few people came over, with only one small couch and a dining room table with two chairs pulled up to it. I almost felt bad for him, almost. The man was clearly desperate for company, but it wasn’t hard to understand why, I thought, knowing how he’d acted towards me.

He smiled at me nervously. “Sit anywhere you’d like, the pasta should be done soon.”

And so it began.

The night didn’t start off terribly. The pasta was too salty, but not inedible, the conversation was somewhat smooth, and he didn’t make any creepy remarks. We stayed on safe subjects, like work and the weather, and he never tried to do anything I wasn’t comfortable with.  It felt mildly uncomfortable, being in his house for our first time officially “hanging out”, rather than a restaurant, but it wasn’t the worst. He was almost tolerable.

But when we had finished eating, and he invited me over to his couch to watch some movie he’d found, I immediately knew that my previous beliefs about him and initial instincts were right. He was exactly the kind of desperate, creepy man he had come off as. I tried my best to dodge his advances, attempting to shift my body away from him as he repeatedly placed his hand on my thigh, and traced his fingertips along my arm. He refused to acknowledge this, just as he’d refused to acknowledge my lack of interest in meeting him outside of work, and continued trying. I got up from the couch.

“Do you want your water?” I asked him, my voice shaky from the anger I felt at his lack of regard for my body language.

He shook his head, eyes never wavering from the TV.

“Yeah, thank you.”

I tried to hold back a sigh of relief. I wouldn’t have known what to do if he had said no. My plan relied on him being thirsty, it was pure luck that he couldn’t cook pasta very well, leaving both our throats parched. I got our glasses and returned to the couch swiftly. The drugs would be fast-acting.

He didn’t put up much of a fight. I think his lack of height was the reason, but it barely took anything to get him asleep. He was fully knocked out when I started. I began with his tongue. My freshly sharpened knife sliced through it easily, and I smiled with the realization that I would never have to worry about him bothering me again. But I had to be sure. I made a mental note to start on his vocal chords next.

Anything was easier than hurting his feelings.