#not knowing what music corey likes. dw he also doesnt really know properly yet lol

[hersweetrevenge]

this chapter kept me sustained over a weird week for me, and now i can finally splurge all my thoughts !! i've loved the build up of this relationship, the giddy infatuation and the harmless (for now) cat-and-mousing, but it's so nice to see the begining of the result lol 💗

“He’s gonna fix my sewing machine.” You said with a laugh. ... “What does that mean?” Veronica gave you an exaggerated scandalized look.

i love this so much lol the humour is so spot on !! veronica is such a real one. also i am for sure adopting this into my lexicon as my number one sex euphemism.

“Corey,” Veronica purred. The two of you burst into giggles like you used to in the back of class in high school. 

i love this too !! as much as i love and want to read angst and being tragically, maddeningly in love, i also want the silly, giggly feeling of having a crush. having a crush should make you happy !! i've said it before but i do think there's something very youthful about corey, and that permeates through the crush for me. idk where i was going with that tbh, but having a silly, exciting crush is so interesting, especially compared with the next point --

he looks at you with something cold and hard in his face, and you remember the fear you felt in the library the first time you made eye contact

yes !! the fact that as genuinely sweet as corey is, he's dangerous too, and that isn't something that should be underestimated. it's that leaky tap personality of his, even the darkness tends to leak out when he doesn't mean it to.

Corey has a screwdriver kit you didn’t notice him bring in... He has one of your reference books open to a diagram you’d tried several times to understand. He shows no signs of confusion.

i love seeing corey do what he does best. above all, he is intelligent. he had so much potential that i think he's only just realising again. he's getting into the swing of utilising his skills and developing a hobby that has no pressure. education was a means to an end, now he can do what he finds interesting and it really is just for fun (and some extra cash money).

“Oh my god, cooking on the first date? You slut!” That makes you smile. It is slutty, in its own way, doing something for him that other people might reserve for later in the relationship. Performing an intimate and domestic act for a stranger.

this has been living in my head rent free since i read it !! you're so right !! the intimacy of domestic acts is severely under-rated. and it really is something special, coming from a place of love and care that is inherently tender. corey needs to be treated tenderly, having spent so much time bouncing between sharp edges and harsh realities.

cook some pasta, sluttily, basically.

When the guys at work ask questions about his life, he gives half answers if they're persistent. If they seem like they would let it go, he just grunts.

obsessed with this corey who's surly and grumpy and tight-lipped. who tries so hard not to give a single thing away, even when it's written all over his face that there's something in his past that made him this way.

He can’t imagine not wanting to go to college... Doing things, not because you want to, but to avoid the consequences if you don’t.

college, man. corey has adapted his whole life to try and be palatable, to try and be what people want him to be, even while being told that no one will ever want him anyway.

To put on a front and pretend to be normal. To get to know a pretty girl. He lies to himself every day that it doesn’t hurt. That he likes being alone.

again, he's tried so hard, all his life and it didn't help him in the end. he's lonely and it feels like it's never going to end. but this is his rebirth, isn't it? and he's never been able to resist the longing and yearning even when he thinks he doesn't deserve the end result.

again he feels aroused at the idea that you’re a hunter too

ahhh !! this line !! he's such a little weirdo and i love him so much. he's always wanted to be wanted, and he's been through a lot lately so i can absolutely see him being unreasonably excited by the idea of hunter/hunted, and is happy to switch roles.

You reach into the basin and, without really thinking about it, you pick his fork up off his plate and put it into your mouth. You stand there for a second before you catch yourself.

i'm so obsessed with the way you are shaping this infatuation !! harmlessly weird things that you'd be embarrassed to ever repeat to someone, but that just fulfils the need to be close.

The two of you crawl around in the dark as he replaces each stickered outlet, you holding a flashlight steady for him. It feels strangely intimate, and you both speak in whispers, leaning in to be heard.

another absolutely perfect scene of domestic bliss. it feels like a weird game of murder in the dark, a very childish but intimate experience of both playing and trusting someone else.

He’s smart. He seems scared to make jokes, like he doesn’t think he’s funny, but there’s a dark edged humor to him

literally, this is the reason i love corey so much. him not getting allyson's joke about the bike is the moment i knew i was done for, and this plays on that so well. i want him to get some confidence in himself so badly !!

You’ve noticed the scars on his hand and his throat... the sense that he’s been through something awful [...] You’ve been emotionally unavailable for what feels like forever.

okay, okay, okay, wait -- the idea of what people must think of seeing the scars is so interesting to me. they must be gnarly enough for people to know it must have been traumatic. whichever way reader's thoughts go, if he did it to himself or it was done to him, they're kind of right? he did it to himself but his hand was forced, wasn't it? except it wasn't, it was his choice and it is just another decision in his life that got him in a worse place than where he started.

wow, anyway -- i think corey would get self concious about it. he's never liked being perceived in the superficial way he is in public, and now he has this scar that will just make people analyse him and formulate theories.

and being emotionally unavailble? man, you went for the jugular on reader realism. i love this aspect though, knowing what we know of corey, but still knowing we want to open up for him because he'd understand. oof.

It still hurts, wrenching the air from his lungs. And it still feels like sinking into a warm bath at the end of a long day.

this description is everything !! corey feels everything so deeply, all the time, and i love the intensity of this description. the similar feeling of loosing breath but it being violent and then soft.

sidenote, what is it about corey in baths that fascinates me? something, something, vulnerable and safe at the same time.

You’ve already gotten more time with him than she ever will.

i love the way you write his (to his knowledge) posthumous connection with allyson. the guilt and regret, but also the fact that he still won't let her go. he thinks he's what killed her and he still needs her, will still call on her to help him, or let her have a presence in his life. and the way he compares his time with reader, as though he doesn't keep allyson with him anyway.

ahhh this chapter is brilliant !! corey and reader's relationship is so endearing, there is the childish excitement of a fresh crush, but still with an undercurrent of strangeness 💗

Clean Again

Chapter 5: THE LONG LIST read on AO3 | previous chapter | tumblr chapter index make sure to check AO3 for this fic's playlist and other extras!

Corey comes to fix Reader's sewing machine.

general warnings for this fic - angst, fluff, eventual smut (MDNI), canon-typical violence, canon-typical gore contents/warnings for this chapter - alcohol consumption, stalking

4,237 words

@rebel-blue @heartrot666 @wolvesandvampires @cordelium @toxicanonymity @multifandom--mess @hersweetrevenge @futurewife @yllcm @ethanhoewke dm me or reply to this post to be added to the list💕

You stand in the living room, slowly rotating in a circle. Evaluating. Your eye lands on a candle and you lunge forward to light it. Then you step back and think. Too romantic. You blow it out. Another thought occurs to you and you run to the bathroom. You tear down the hand towel on the bar over the counter and stuff a new one into it. You tidy the bunched up fabric, but not too much. The kitchen! You sprint to the sink and dump out the mesh trap you keep in the drain. You dash back to the bathroom and apply a spritz of perfume down the inside of your shirt.

Corey’s coming over tonight.

Yesterday Veronica asked you to meet up for coffee before work. You arrived at the cafe across from the record store and found her at a little table on the patio. Before you could even pull a chair out to sit down, she was demanding information. All you had texted her on Monday night was a message mimicking hers.

“Oh my god, spill!” She exclaimed excitedly. 

“He’s gonna fix my sewing machine.” You said with a laugh.

“What does that mean?” Veronica gave you an exaggerated scandalized look.

“My literal sewing machine. It’s been jammed for weeks. I can’t figure it out. But he’s a mechanic or something? I’m not really sure, but he knows machine things and he’s coming over tomorrow to fix it.”

“That’s your first date?” She said, amused.

“Well, I’m also gonna make him dinner.”

“Oh my god, cooking on the first date? You slut!” Veronica slapped your hand playfully and you both laughed. “What are you making him?”

“I don’t know yet! He said anything is fine except spaghetti. I wanna pick something kinda simple cause I know I’m gonna be super nervous. I gotta look at what I have in the house.”

“So how did the conversation go? How did you wind up asking him to fix your sewing machine?”

“The first time I saw him was in the like, technical hobby aisle. I was getting books about sewing machine maintenance because I thought I could figure it out on my own. I haven't gotten anywhere 'cause I keep getting scared I'm just gonna irreparably fuck the machine if I do it on my own. I saw him on that aisle again and I just said ‘Do you know anything about sewing machines?’” She didn't need to know you'd chased after him, even if you kind of felt like he'd wanted you to. You know she would not approve.

“Your opening line was ‘Do you know anything about sewing machines?’” She asked, incredulous. You nodded your head. “I cannot believe that worked.”

“Me neither,” you admitted.

“He’s a mechanic or something? That’s sexy.”

“Yeah,” you squeaked, covering your face.

“Mr. Library, the sexy mechanic. You’ll have to let me know how it goes.”

“Of course!” You reassured her. “Actually, I was planning to text you like, right before he gets there and after he leaves, like, for safety.”

“You fucking better, or I will come over there, guns blazing,” Veronica said. “What’s his name?”

“Corey.”

“Corey,” Veronica purred. The two of you burst into giggles like you used to in the back of class in high school. 

You stand in front of the mirror on your dresser now, putting earrings in and taking them out. You want to look put together, like you tried, like you care. You also don’t want to go overboard. He’s just going to be fixing your sewing machine. But it’s more than just fixing your sewing machine. You haven’t been on any dates since you broke things off with Hurley. You’re already so infatuated with Corey it scares you. You just want things to go well. You’re not sure you can handle it if they don’t. 

You go back out into the rest of the apartment, making sure it’s clean in the right way. Tidy without being sterile or stuffy. You pull the blanket down off the back of the couch, then toss it back up, so it doesn’t look so manicured. You flip through your records, looking for something to play, or at least to put on your little easel so it looked like you had been listening to it. You don’t know what kind of music he likes, so it seems fruitless. 

It doesn’t matter now anyway. You can hear someone walking up the gravel path. He’s here. You text Veronica, hitting send just as there’s a knock on the door.

You open the door and you’re instantly taken aback by his beauty, the same way you were the first time you saw him. He looks great. He’s dressed in the simple way it seems like he always is, but it suits him so well, and you’ve never seen him in a sweater before. The way it hangs off his broad, round shoulders entices you to wonder about his body, so you look up at his face instead. His eyes, surrounded by halos of lashes, his pillowy lips. You feel your chest flushing.

“Come in, make yourself at home. You can take your shoes off if you want, or whatever you’re comfortable with,” you say, stepping behind the door to let him in.

“Oh, thanks,” he says. His work boots clatter to the wooden floor. You close the door awkwardly behind him.

Your phone goes off extremely loudly. Both of you jump. You had the volume turned up so you could hear if he called or texted while you were preparing for him to come over, but now the sound is deafening.

“Sorry, it’s just my friend checking in. She’s nervous about you coming over, 'cause you could be a serial killer or something.” You try to make a face that indicates it’s a joke, but for a split second he looks at you with something cold and hard in his face, and you remember the fear you felt in the library the first time you made eye contact. The hairs stand up on the back of your neck, but his face is already soft again and you manage a smile. 

“Sewing machine’s in here,” you say as you lead him to the dining room. "I don’t know if you need them but the books I got from the library are right next to it. Can I get you something to drink? I have water, tea, beer…?” Corey just shakes his head and sits down in front of the machine. “Okay, let me know if you need anything. I gotta put the water on for dinner.”

You scamper into the kitchen. You pull out all the pots and pans you’ll need, using the water running into the pot for the pasta to cover the deep breaths you’re taking to try to steady yourself. He said no spaghetti, but that other pasta was fine. But is it fine? Should you make something else? You double check that your phone is on vibrate before sending Veronica another text.

Then you go back into the dining room.   

Corey has a screwdriver kit you didn’t notice him bring in, all different shapes and sizes including ones you've never seen before. He’s already got the machine split down the middle, a neat little pile of screws in the lid of his tool set. You watch him silently for a second. He has one of your reference books open to a diagram you’d tried several times to understand. He shows no signs of confusion. He doesn’t acknowledge that you’ve come back into the room, so you clear your throat quietly. 

“Do you want company or do you need to be alone to focus?” 

Corey waves you over. You grab a dining chair and place it closer to him before sitting down. He glances up at you briefly, then goes back to his work. You sit there with your hands clasped in your lap, watching him. At first you feel super awkward. You still kind of can’t believe this is happening. That you saw him more than once, that asking him to fix your sewing machine worked, that he’s here, in your dining room. But as you watch his skillful hands remove piece after piece, working with quiet determination, you settle down. It feels like the most natural thing in the world. When you hear the water start to boil, you resent having to go back in the kitchen instead of getting to watch him longer. Then you remember what Veronica said yesterday morning.

“Oh my god, cooking on the first date? You slut!” That makes you smile. It is slutty, in its own way, doing something for him that other people might reserve for later in the relationship. Performing an intimate and domestic act for a stranger. You’ve never let a man know where you live without hanging out somewhere else first before, you’ve never had a man in this apartment at all. You’re breaking all your rules for him. It's scary, but the rules didn't protect you last time anyway. Might as well see what happens if you do things differently. 

By the time you have a free moment away from the stove again, Corey is reassembling the machine. There’s a mound of dust and little fabric scraps on the table.

“Is this what was wrong with it?” You indicate the dust bunny, embarrassed.

“Yep,” Corey says simply.

“Damn, I thought I kept it pretty clean,” you say, trying to defend yourself even though Corey doesn’t seem to be judging. 

“It’s the machine’s fault. You can’t clean where I pulled this from without opening the whole thing up. Bad design.” He shrugs.

“Oh. Thanks for fixing it.” You sweep the dust bunny into your hand and drop it into the trash can. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

“It smells good,” he says quietly.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Riding here, the road rumbling under him, Corey tried to prepare himself for your questions. He knew you would want to try to get to know him. When the guys at work ask questions about his life, he gives half answers if they're persistent. If they seem like they would let it go, he just grunts. No one can find plot holes in the revised version of his life if he never shares it with anyone. But he knew that wouldn’t work with you. And if he was going to do this, whatever this was, he had to let you in, at least a little.

He was grateful you seemed happy to watch him work on the sewing machine in relative silence. Being able to do something with his hands helped him calm down. But now that diner is on the table, it’s time to talk, and his anxiety creeps up on him. He tries to push it down with the beer you brought him. Your cooking is surprisingly delicious. He regrets being too uncomfortable to really enjoy it. Hopefully next time, he catches himself thinking. If there is a next time.

“So you’re a car mechanic? Or are you like, an appliance mechanic? It wasn’t clear the other day.” 

“Both,” he takes the beer bottle from his lips to say. “I work at a garage, and I repair old electronics and appliances to sell just for myself. You mend clothes?”

“Oh that’s my little side business. I also work at Plymouth Records, downtown. The mechanic thing is so cool. How did you get into that?”

It’s gonna be a long night, Corey thinks, wanting to do this to be close to you, but already feeling the wear of talking this much for the first time in so long. 

“I was gonna go to college for engineering, but…” he trails off, scared to give you more information than that. 

“But college.” You finish the sentence, making a face. “I dropped out too.”

“What were you studying before you dropped out?” He asks. He feels so relieved to hear you didn’t finish college either. He hopes the circumstances of your departure were much less traumatic than his, but it feels good to have a thing like that in common. It’s been so long since he felt like he had anything in common with anyone. 

You laugh ruefully and it surprises him to hear the edge in your voice. “I had so many majors. I wasn’t in college because I had something I wanted to study. I was in college because it’s where I was ‘supposed to’ be.”

Corey wants to say something meaningful to that. He can’t imagine not wanting to go to college. He’d hung all his hopes on it before the thing with Jeremy. It was his ticket out. But he understands suffocating under other people’s expectations. Doing things, not because you want to, but to avoid the consequences if you don’t. He’s done that his whole life, with the exception of one glorious and horrific week. He couldn’t possibly get into it, so he settles from solemn nod.

“Where are you from?” You ask.

“Illinois,” Corey says, then immediately regrets it. He doesn’t want to lie, but he could be less specific. 

“Oh yeah? I could tell you weren’t no southern boy,” you say, exaggerating your subtle accent. “Where at in Illinois?”

“Not a town you’ve heard of.” He hopes against hope that that’s the truth. His manslaughter trial didn’t make huge waves, but it had definitely made the rounds on social media nationally, and there was the podcast that nurse had mentioned. Michael Myers’ massacres, and his own, were probably much bigger headlines. Front page maybe even. He had killed nine people that week. He had no way to even estimate how many Michael had done beyond the two he’d been there for. That had to make the front page nationally. Or trend on Twitter, or something. But he couldn’t be sure. He’d avoided the news studiously since he left.

“What brought you here?” 

That, Corey can answer truthfully. Vaguely, but truthfully. “It was hell living there. I couldn’t wait to get out,” he says. “What about you?”

“I’m from here,” you say. “I was gone for a few years, but I wound up crawling back.”

The conversation lulls. Corey is thankful that you allow it to. Mixed feelings roil inside him. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t have accepted dinner if he was going to help you, and he shouldn’t have helped you. His cover will be blown, he’ll go to prison. He’ll be sentenced to death, but he won’t ever die. He’ll just wither immortally in a cell, watching all the other killers be walked to their waiting KFC.

And yet, it’s so nice to talk to someone. To put on a front and pretend to be normal. To get to know a pretty girl. He lies to himself every day that it doesn’t hurt. That he likes being alone. That even with his mother breathing down his neck his whole childhood, he was always really alone, and his complete isolation is just the logical conclusion of things. The way he was born to live. 

Of course none of that is true. He remembers the way he felt about the Allens before the accident with Jeremy. How he’d hoped someday he could experience a love like the one they had, before he destroyed it.

Then there’s you. Rubbing your finger around the rim of your glass in mock-absentmindedness. Pretending not to look at him, but studying him intently. You texted your friend just in case the man you invited into your home was a murderer. He is. But you’re safe with him, at least right now. He thinks about the way you caught him in the library. And again he feels aroused at the idea that you’re a hunter too. He wonders if you could survive an encounter with Michael, if you have the fight in you like Laurie did. He finishes his beer.

“You’re a good cook,” he says, breaking the silence. 

You give him The Smile . “Thank you! I was worried it was too similar to spaghetti.”

“I might actually eat your spaghetti.”

“You should be so lucky,” you reply, laughing. You’re flirting. He’s flirting, and you’re flirting back. He almost can’t believe it. 

The rest of the evening is easier for Corey. He relaxes just a little. When it’s time for him to go, you walk outside with him. You stand out there in your sock feet with no jacket even though it’s a chilly night. Your eyes light up when you see his motorcycle.

“Is this what you drive all the time?” You ask.

“Yeah. Do you like motorcycles?”

“Uh, I think so? I’ve never ridden one.” You step closer to it. 

Corey almost offers to give you a ride, but he hesitates, thinking of Allyson. The only other person he’d ever ridden with. Will giving you a ride lock you into her fate? 

“I might be scared to ride it, honestly. As lame as that is,” you say, letting him off the hook. 

“It’s not lame. My dad died in a motorcycle accident when I was little,” Corey says, surprising himself by sharing so easily. 

“And you still ride this thing everywhere?” You raise your eyebrows in exaggerated disbelief. 

“I don’t have the best sense of self-preservation,” he confesses. 

A smirk curls your lips. Corey can see you realizing the shy, reserved boy you’d spent the evening with might have an edge to him. You have no idea how sharp that edge is.

“Let me know if there’s anything else you need fixed,” he says, straddling the bike and putting his helmet on. 

“Do you want the long list or the short list?” You say sarcastically.

“The long list. Text it to me.” Corey’s bike roars to life. You laugh and shake your head. “I’m serious!” He shouts over the rumble of the engine. 

You reach out and put your hand on the top of his helmet. Then you walk back to your door, turning around to wave at him before you go inside. He waves back, and watches you disappear into your apartment. When he can't see you anymore he rides away.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

As you close the door, you let out a little excited sound. You can’t help but squeal. Things went so well! You send the all clear text to Veronica as you make your way to the kitchen, not even annoyed that you have to clean up. Corey had been so nice, scraping both plates and putting them in the sink. You’re touched by the small gesture of respect. You reach into the basin and, without really thinking about it, you pick his fork up off his plate and put it into your mouth. You stand there for a second before you catch yourself. You pull the fork from your mouth and laugh out loud at yourself as you load the dishwasher.

After that’s done you bring a glass of water into the bedroom and set it and your phone on your nightstand. You want to text Corey and tell him thank you for such a lovely evening, but you don’t want to come across as clingy. You tell yourself you’ll decide after you do your nighttime routine. The water barely spurts out of the faucet in your bathroom. You struggle to get your toothbrush clean under the unimpressive flow, and it takes forever for your cupped hands to fill with water to splash on your face. 

When you come back into the bedroom, skin moisturized and hair braided, the decision of how soon to text Corey has been made for you.

A little heart appears over your last message. His transparent attempt to have reasons to come back over charms you. As if you wouldn’t just invite him because you like him. You smile as you tuck yourself into bed.

Your bedroom door is crooked and sticks closed, so Corey takes it down and glues a bunch of toothpicks into the screw holes, then when the glue is dry, he saws them flush before he hangs the door back up.

Some of your outlets are loose, the weight of the cord pulls the plug halfway out as soon as you let go. The two of you check every outlet in the whole apartment, plugging things in and watching them slip back out, putting stickers on the ones that suck. Next time he comes over he flips all the switches in your breaker box. The two of you crawl around in the dark as he replaces each stickered outlet, you holding a flashlight steady for him. It feels strangely intimate, and you both speak in whispers, leaning in to be heard.

The light bulb in your closet is burnt out and your high ceilings keep it out of reach, even on the step stool you keep around. Corey stacks your dining chairs under the bare bulb and climbs the precarious pile.

“Be careful,” you warn him from outside the closet. He scoffs and holds his hand out for the new light bulb. 

“There’s a spider in here,” he says when the light comes on. 

“Cool,” you say. “Is it poisonous?”

“Um… I’m not a spider expert. It’s just a regular spider, I think.”

“Just leave it,” you instruct. 

 “You don’t want me to kill it?” His muffled voice sounds surprised.

“It’s not hurting anything. If that’s where it wants to be, I’m not gonna stop it.” He gives you a confused look when he jumps down from the chair stack. “Are you judging me?” You ask.

“Never. I’m just… impressed.”

“I have a soft spot for maligned creatures,” you explain. 

When you’re not with Corey, he’s always on your mind. You’ve started hearing motorcycles everywhere. Whenever you hear one rumbling along, you think of him, and say a quick prayer to no one for the rider’s safety. 

He’s smart. He seems scared to make jokes, like he doesn’t think he’s funny, but there’s a dark edged humor to him that surprises you pleasantly every time. When you talk it feels like he really listens, like he’s taking notes. 

Something very bad happened to him. You’ve noticed the scars on his hand and his throat, but the sense that he’s been through something awful comes equally from how extremely guarded he always seems. His reservation is the very thing that reduces yours. You’ve been emotionally unavailable for what feels like forever. You think of all the times you ended things after one or two stiff little dates. Corey’s hesitance makes him feel like someone safe. 

And he’s just so goddamn pretty. Sometimes you have to look away because it feels like gazing at the sun.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s not a complete coincidence that you’ve started hearing motorcycles more often, not only an illusion of increased frequency. 

Corey hadn’t let himself follow you home from the library the other day, but finding the same strength now isn’t always easy. In the evenings after work, on his days off, whenever he’s not busy and he’s not with you, he wonders where you are and what you’re doing. He makes himself work on a project, scrub a circuit board with rubbing alcohol and a q-tip. But inevitably he gets antsy.

His bike carves across town. He passes your apartment, he cuts through the parking lot behind the record store, he lurks across the street from your favorite mom and pop grocery. He’s been going to the library more than ever before. Your habit of texting while walking irritates him, but he always softens a little when he feels his phone vibrate. He makes sure you get home safe on nights you stumble out of a dive bar and into a taxi with Veronica and Rose. A time or two he’s left you a little present, dropping a flower from a nearby tree onto your passenger seat through your barely open window. When he sees a meter maid writing you a ticket he runs over and stops her, putting all the coins in his pocket into the machine to buy you more time. 

When he’s with you he’s still nervous, putting a lot of effort into every conversation, always desperate for you to give him The Smile . It still hurts, wrenching the air from his lungs. And it still feels like sinking into a warm bath at the end of a long day. He feels a foreign sensation in your presence: joy. 

The guilt however, is familiar and well worn. The thoughts about Allyson, that he had failed to keep her safe, that he had walked away after promising he wouldn’t. It just gets a shiny new coat of paint. He should stay away from you. What if he implicates you, contaminates you. Is he putting you in legal danger by getting close to you? Or physical danger? And is he disrespecting Allyson’s memory? You’ve already gotten more time with him than she ever will. Is that good or bad? How can he keep you from ending up like her?