Chapter One Cole #2
I force myself to stop, blinking several times. What am I doing? This is exactly the kind of hypervigilance that will only continue to get me into trouble.
“Cole?”
I snap back to attention. Once again, six pairs of eyes are trained on me. From the look on Tracey’s face, I get the impression it’s not the first time she’s said my name.
Straightening in my chair, I lean forward and clasp my hands as I clear my throat. “Sorry, what was the question?”
I don’t know how I’m going to make it through six months of this shit.
“I asked if you’ve identified any specific triggers that lead to you crossing interpersonal boundaries. Are there any situations or emotions that make you feel the need to gather information or track someone?”
When I don’t answer immediately, unsure what exactly she wants me to say, Tyler jumps in. “She’s asking if you know why you’re a stalker. Self-awareness and all that.”
I stare blankly between him and Tracey, who’s looking increasingly annoyed with Tyler and his insistent use of the word “stalker.” I consider deflecting but ultimately decide that a small truth might satisfy her enough to let me slip under her radar.
“Perceived threats. When I think someone might be dangerous or hiding something, I go into information-gathering mode. It’s automatic. Not something I really notice until I’ve gone too far.”
She nods. “That’s a common trigger. For your homework this week, I’d like you to document instances when you feel that impulse arise. Resist the urge to act on it. Just note the situation, the emotions you experienced, and what you did instead of gathering information.”
I’ve got an advanced degree in Intelligence Studies, eight years of military experience, and a security clearance that would make the president’s eyes water. But she wants to give me homework? Perfect.
“We’re almost out of time,” Tracey says, checking her watch after another twenty minutes or so of discussion. “Our closing ritual is simple—each person shares one boundary they commit to respecting in the coming week.”
They go around the circle, each person offering their commitment.
“I won’t look up the bride from Saturday’s wedding,” Grant says.
Only because he’ll be too busy looking up the bride from Friday’s wedding.
“I won’t adjust my brewing schedule to match when certain customers usually visit,” Tyler promises.
He won’t have to, since he likely already set a schedule with those customers in mind.
“I won’t search for my former student’s new publications,” Austen states firmly, like he’s trying to convince himself.
Doubtful. He’s going to look her up before he even gets to his car. The twitch in his fingers makes it painfully obvious how desperate he is to pick up his phone.
“I won’t drive by my client’s neighborhood,” Zach mutters.
It’s a blatant lie. We all know it.
“I won’t check anyone’s social media but my own,” Jessica says confidently. “I should probably just delete it, but…baby steps.”
She’s the only one I might actually believe. Maybe.
They all look at me, and I scramble for something that sounds sincere enough.
“I won’t……run background checks on new people I meet,” I offer, thinking it’s appropriately specific while not limiting my actual work.
Tracey nods in approval, giving me a “good enough but I’m watching you” look, almost like she’s threatening to expose my secrets to the group.
She knows the truth about why I’m here—Shitbag Steve, his suit against NextGen, and the way I’m a liability to Jack’s company.
She wouldn’t call me out in front of these people, would she?
“Thank you all for your honesty and commitment. Same time next week. Tyler, please connect with Cole before you leave.”
As the group disperses, Tyler approaches, phone already in hand. “Let’s exchange numbers. Fair warning—I take the buddy system seriously. I’ll check in daily, and I expect responses.”
I raise an eyebrow as he hands me his phone. I quickly type my number into his contacts. “Daily? My boss only requires me to attend weekly meetings.”
“Your boss requires you to participate in the program. Daily check-ins are part of that.”
I hand him his phone back.
“Look, Cole, I get it. You think this is bullshit. You’re not like us because you had a ‘good reason.’ We all had good reasons.” His expression turns serious. “The sooner you drop that defense, the sooner you’ll actually get something out of this.”
“I’m just trying to get through it,” I admit, tiredly rubbing the back of my neck.
“Then play the game. Answer my texts. Do the homework. Say the right things to Tracey.” He shrugs. “Or don’t, and risk your boss deciding you’re not complying with the terms of your agreement.”
Put that way, the choice is clear. “Fine. Daily check-ins. Whatever you want.”
“Good. First one’s easy—what’s your plan for the rest of the night?”
I think about it, then choose my words cautiously. “Go home, order takeout, and work on a new security protocol for a client.”
“Anything that might trigger you?”
I almost laugh, but opt for a smile instead. “I’m a cybersecurity specialist. My entire job involves monitoring people and threats.”
“You know what I mean. Personal monitoring. Anything outside of work that might get you in trouble.”
“No, Tyler. I’m not planning to stalk anyone tonight.” The word feels wrong in my mouth, foreign and harsh. I hate it.
I’m not a stalker.
I’m observant.
Protective.
Thorough.
He seems satisfied with that answer. “Good start. I’ll see you next week, Cole. Or sooner, if you need to talk.”
I walk to my car, enjoying the crisp early autumn air—a welcome change from the stifling confines of the basement. I scroll through my phone to delete the meeting from my calendar. There’s no need for a digital reminder of this place.
My thumb pauses over an icon that looks like a weather service app but is actually a monitoring program I developed to track exactly one person: Shitbag Steve.
Recovering, I told the group. It was an easy lie. I checked his location this morning.
And then several times throughout the day, making sure I didn’t miss my hourly check-in. And of course, once more as I walked into the IBSG meeting.
But they don’t know that. They don’t need to.
I stare at the app, Tracey’s words echoing in my head.
Our intentions don’t justify actions that violate others’ autonomy and privacy.
But some people forfeit their right to privacy when they hurt others, don’t they? Some threats need to be monitored. Some people need protection, whether they know it or not.
I close the app without opening it, silently cursing that one small concession to the program. I’ll check tomorrow instead, or when I get home. Whatever feels right in the moment.
Because Shitbag Steve needs to be watched.
Emma needs to be protected.
As I drive home, I map the quickest route between the community center and my apartment, looking for security cameras, traffic patterns, and potential choke points along the way.
Know the terrain. Plan for the unknown. Again, old habits die hard—but I’m not convinced that’s always a bad thing.
There’s comfort in knowing what’s going on around me, from geographical details to more… granular observations.
The irony isn’t lost on me: leaving a therapy group for people with boundary issues only to mentally document every detail of my surroundings. But that’s not a problem I’m trying to overcome—it’s basic situational awareness. It’s survival.
Isn’t it?