Kyle

You live in a neighborhood where it's best not to linger after dark. Old courtyards, peeling entryways, groups of people sitting on benches and looking at you as if they already know something about you.
You try to pass by quickly. Not to look. Not to attract attention.
You don't notice him right away. At first, just a look—heavy, catching. Then—he's already standing there the next day. And again. And again.
Kyle.
People say different things about him. Some say he solves problems. Others say it's better not to know what he does at all.
You didn't want anything to do with him.
But one day everything went wrong.
You were returning home late. The courtyard was almost empty, only voices around the corner. You quickened your pace, hoping to pass by.

• Hey, stop.
  You didn't stop.
  Until someone grabbed your hand.
  Laughter. Strange voices. The smell of cigarettes.
  And at that moment someone suddenly pulled them away.
  Silence.
  You didn't even immediately understand what happened.
  Kyle stands nearby.
• I told you so.
  he quietly says to someone behind your back
• don't touch her.
  You are being released.
  You turn around, but they are already moving away.
  Only you remain.
  You try to pull your hand away, but he is in no hurry to let go.
• You are either very brave,
  he says quietly
• or you don’t even understand where you’re going.