I'm walking around Midtown when I see her from across the street. It's Stacy.

What are the chances? Here I am, trying to forget about this woman and I can't. Everywhere I turn, I'm reminded of her, and now here she is.

She's dressed in a short, black skirt and blouse, and she looks fantastic. Really fucking fantastic. And as I look around, I see I'm not the only man who thinks she looks good either.

She quickly walks underground, into the subway station, her heels tapping the ground at a quick clip.

I feel the protective urge to follow her, and then I stop myself. Why do I always feel the need to act as this woman's bodyguard? But once she disappears down the subway steps, I can't contain myself. I'm compelled to follow on a hunch. After all, this is Midtown, near 8^th Avenue on the West Side in Far Chelsea. It's not the safest part of town.

Quickly looking both ways for oncoming traffic, I seize the opportunity to run across the street. I don't necessarily want her to see me, so I'm careful to keep my distance and slowly descend the steps.

Once downstairs, I scan the subway station. At first, I don't see Stacy. My eyes are darting back and forth. I see a stream of people hustling about and on their way to various locations—old, young, and everything in between. Then, the stream of people fades, and the platform grows quiet.

The musty underground air is thick and humid. At first, it's a sound. I hear a scream that causes my pulse to race. And then something catches my eye—a scuffle—the flash of black, and silver, and shadow.

My hunch was right.

Standing slightly off in the distance, I see Stacy and another man. He's big and wearing a black, hooded sweatshirt pulled over his head, so it's hard for me to get a good look at his face. It's shrouded in shadow and obscured from my angle.

"Stay away from me!" Stacy yells, swinging wildly. I can hear the panic bubbling up in her voice.

The man firmly grips one of Stacy's arms. With her free arm, she's frantically digging into her purse. She's putting up a good fight, but she's still no match for this man. He's taller and bigger—I'm guessing he outweighs her by about a hundred pounds.

Then I see him push her against the wall.

Her head snaps back and hits the wall with the force of his push, but this doesn't slow her down. She's still struggling and putting up a good fight, and finally has what she wants from her purse.

"I have mace and I'm not afraid to use it!" she screams, and I can almost hear the man laugh as he slaps it out of her hand.

The can hits the ground and rolls out of sight. I can see the desperation etched into Stacy's face. The man has her cornered, and begins to lift up her skirt, sliding his hand on her thigh, and just as he's about to reach for her breast, I intervene.

I rush forward and grab the man by the throat. If I wanted to, I could end his life right now, with the grip I currently have on him, but I decide that'd be too easy.

The man's caught off guard. I can see the surprise in his eyes, but that emotion is short lived. Now it's fight or flight, and he's decided to fight me.

Wrong choice.

He struggles underneath my grip, and I watch as he raises an arm. His massive fist is balled and heading toward my face, but I duck just out of it's path. He misses and instead, connects with the wall behind me.

He winces with the crushing impact, and a red gash opens up on his knuckles. Now it's my turn. I swing and connect with his lower jaw. This time, the impact splits his lip, and blood spills down his chin.

My heart is racing, and I can't see or hear anything else beyond this man. The target. Suddenly, this has become a mission I have to see through to the end.

I'm seeing red.

The rest of the world doesn't exist at this point.

I hit him again and watch the man stumble back. He's on the ground now, struggling to get up and I give him a quick kick to the ribs. He winces and grits his teeth.

Who does he think he is, assaulting women in subway stations? It's unacceptable. This man doesn't deserve my pity.

I reach down and am about to grab him by his jacket and throw him on top of the subway tracks when I hear Stacy scream.

"Stop!" she yells. "Sanders, don't! That's enough!"

I'm breathing heavy, but hearing her voice calms my rage. I feel my pulse start to slow.

I release my grip, take one final look at the man, and let him go.