"Sure thing, Trixie."

I hesitated before reaching for another cigarette, eventually putting the unopened pack back into my pocket. The acrid smell bothered the were, and was it very gentlemanly to become a repeat offender, especially after the evening she had endured? I did not think it horrendously appropriate to needle that, especially when her defenses weren't all that strong. But I did it anyway, feeling sated when the cigarette wasn't even lit but resting comfortably between my lips. When I lit it, the motion felt deliberate and pointed, as if proving to her that this favor was on my terms, regardless of how inclined I felt to protect her. What was it that encouraged that particular behavior, anyway? I exhaled the smoke, following her quietly for the time being in the direction of the home that she professed to be allowing me to walk her to.

Where did hero behavior come from? I don't know if it's just me, but do all men have a stoplight-esque alert system that showed up over every woman's head, letting you know what kind of point she was at? If she needed saving, it would be green, or yellow if she was unsure. See the theme? Without trying, I often found myself teetering towards women in the green, nearly screaming inconsolable or subordinate. I never attempted to fix them, per say, but I had an instinct that wanted to be acknowledged when women like that were nearby. I guess it stems from my sisters. From feeling helpless, from feeling guilty... As if every pretty brown haired woman might be staring back at the same little boy who couldn't help his sister. Okay, maybe that's a little too Freudian but... The idea is the same. To fill a void, or a gap in a memory I didn't always want, I gravitated towards protecting those who didn't necessarily have a propensity to protect themselves.

When she acquiesced to letting me walk her home, I felt an air of smugness fade away. It would give both of us peace of mind, I was sure, that I accompany her even if just for the walk. Those men could leave the bar at any time, even though I knew that they were incapacitated enough that they wouldn't be able to, but still. It was always better to be safer than sorry, and they outnumbered her with several to one. They had fed off of her aura as it was laced with every insecurity she might have felt on their arrival and their stalking of her, as every predator would. And me? Maybe I fed off of it in a different way. Maybe that's where my desire for "hero-status" came from; it was the way I fed off of the insecurities and lack of confidence in prey.

"Lucky for you, I'm not into bestiality."

The words weren't harsh, but tinted with a darker humor to help her understand that I truly wanted nothing from her, except to see a young woman safely at home. Vaguely, I had wondered if there had been a man to do the same for my sisters, would I be doing this now? Elenore would tell me that I, at heart, was always a white knight and would have done it anyway. And me? I'm not so sure. I dropped the cigarette, unaware of whether or not the cherry fell away from it during it's descent. She brushed past me to walk home, and I was obliged to follow along as if it were the yellow brick road.

"For those of us without an animal counterpart who enjoys long walks on the beach and evening sunsets, do you live far from here?"