It was a bone-chilling conversation that I will never forget. The tiny hairs on my neck stood as I watched his hands fondle his whiskey glass. “So, how does a guy make you love him?” He stared at me with dilated pupils, black, unblinking, watching my throat. Earlier, he had claimed how easy he could make my life, peppered with questions about my financial wherewithal and knowledge about me that extended beyond a simple Google search.
At first, Johnny claimed that he was a successful businessman with multiple properties, that he had not found the right woman, and that he was working on the perfect deal. After two dates, he swore he could fall in love with me, and we would travel the world together. On the third date, he brought me to a ridiculously expensive restaurant and regaled me with stories about his life.
Terrifying stories on how he duped border agents, housing authorities, and ex-girlfriends. Smuggling money across the border. Owning a strip club. Bragging about the machetes in his truck and guns in his homes. With an intense predatory stare, he kept asking me if anyone knew I was out with him that night or waiting for me at home.
Despite being introduced by a matchmaker, I was positive I was dealing with a psychopath.
Separated, lonely, and in a contentious divorce with public filings available at the courthouse, I was…
