It was a luxurious accessory store. I was working the floor.
Hair freshly cut, face done, eyebrows sharp.
I wasn’t expecting anything. I wasn’t asking for anything.
I was just doing my job. Smiling. Folding wallets. Charming the room without trying.
I thought it was the kind of place where people would have more class.
Not like a Walmart.
Not like a McDonald's.
This was luxury.
I thought the price tags would scare the predators away.
I was wrong.
Then he came.
I didn’t even see him at first.
I saw M’s face — pale like spilled milk.
I saw K’s face — tight like a purse string.
They pulled me aside and said:
"There's an older man taking pictures of you."
No drama.
No buildup.
Just the facts, handed over like a receipt I didn’t ask for.
I didn’t even know what he looked like.
I kept asking.
They kept dodging.
Like saying it out loud would give him power he hadn’t already stolen.
And even if they had told me —
it wouldn’t have mattered.
The store was packed.
Bodies everywhere. Faces blurring together.
Predators thrive in crowds.
He blended in like smoke.
I never even saw his face.
They moved me to another section.
At the store, we rotated every hour — like a carousel you can't get off.
Maybe they thought if I moved, he’d lose interest.
He didn’t.
Wherever I went, he followed.
Silent.
Ghostly.
Lurking behind racks of discounted handbags and false safety.
They moved me again — this time with T, a male associate.
As if a man standing next to me could rewrite the script.
As if being near testosterone would make me invisible.
It didn’t.
He stayed.
Watching.
Waiting.
I kept folding wallets.
I kept lying to myself.
Pretending this wasn’t happening.
Pretending folding leather was more important than running.
Eventually, K snapped.
She told me to go on my break early.
I obeyed like a good little employee.
Went to the back.
Sat in the staff room that smelled like burnt coffee and fear.
Didn’t eat.
Didn’t breathe.
When I came back, he was gone.
Just like that.
Like a nightmare that walks away before you can prove it was real.
But the damage stayed.
A few weeks later, I cut my hair into a pixie.
Sharper. Shorter.
Less girl, more ghost.
I didn’t feel safe in my feminine anymore.
I didn’t want to be seen.
I wanted to be unrecognizable.
I wanted to be untouchable.
And maybe, for a while, I was.
Later, they told me why they hadn’t done anything.
We weren’t allowed.
Company policy.
You can’t confront a customer — even if he’s not here to buy anything but your dignity.
You just stand there.
You just wait.
You just pray he gets bored before you get broken.
🚩 Red Flags He Carried Like Accessories:
Took Unauthorized Photos — Treated me like merchandise, not a human being.
Targeted a Younger Woman — Easier prey. Easier silence.
Followed Me Across Sections — Predators move when you move.
Lingered for an Extended Time — Not shopping. Hunting.
Didn’t Leave After Being Noticed — Comfortably shameless.
Company Had to "Wait Him Out" — Proof he wasn’t afraid of being seen.
Blended Into the Crowd — Predators don’t need fangs. They need camouflage.
Stayed Long Enough To Be Remembered — Proof he didn’t deserve to be.
💡 What I Learned:
You don't have to do anything special to catch a predator’s eye.
You just have to exist.
Danger doesn't always roar. Sometimes it just breathes quietly behind you.
Good intentions without power are just sympathy with a broken spine.
Silence is the only prayer predators pray.
My instincts are not up for debate.
Next time, I’ll move before the story writes itself without me.
Volume X. Sealed.
Next.
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