Back when I was in high school in the early 2010s, I bought all of my clothes from Target and JCPenney. My family wasn’t exactly poor, but Macy’s was definitely out of the question.

Since most of the kids in my school were in the same boat, it was basically fine, but it didn’t stop me from lusting after the gowns I saw women wearing at the Oscars and the MTV music awards or whatever.

Sometimes, though, I’d go to the mall on the rich side of town and try shit on, just to know what it was like. They had a Nordstrom there, with racks of designer clothes going for two or three grand a pop. I’d try them on and pose for selfies in the dressing room and send them to my friends.

Usually, I wouldn’t dare venture out of the dressing room, but sometimes I’d get bolder and walk around the store, vamping a little bit and taking videos.

The last time I ever did that was when I walked around a tall rack and bumped into a tall, thin man in a finely-tailored suit. With his high cheekbones and scraggly beard, he looked like he’d walked out of a catalog.

“My apologies,” he said, taking a step back. “You should buy it, by the way. It’s stunning on you.”

I looked down at the gown I’d chosen for the day. It was a sheer and white lace Dolce&Gabbana evening gown that cost $6,050, on sale.

“It’s a little more than I want to spend today,” I said, trying to play coy.

He laughed and took my hand.

“Come with me,” he said, walking to the sales clerk. Then he laid a heavy-looking credit card on the table.

“I… can’t,” I said.

“Of course, you can,” he said. “And then you’ll wear it to lunch with me. Fair?”

I felt like I was in a fairy tale. I accepted the offer.

We are at an upscale steakhouse a block down the street from the mall. I opened the menu to find cuts of wagyu more expensive than my family’s mortgage. I was planning to order a sashimi salad, but when the waiter came, the man ordered for me.

“She’ll have the ribs,” he said. “And please remove her silverware.”

The waiter obeyed without comment.

A few minutes later, a bottle of wine showed up. I wasn’t sure if I’d remembered him ordering it. He poured me a large glass.

“I trust you’d had a cabernet before?” he asked.

Not knowing what to say, I nodded. In truth, I’d never even tried wine that didn’t come out of a box, and that was only once at my friend Gabriella’s quinceanera.

“The best practice with an older vintage like this would be to decant it for a few hours, but given our limited time, we’ll have to improvise a bit. Here, swirl it like this.”

He raised his glass to the light and swirled the wine gently. I tried to do the same, but the wine barely moved. I was scared that if I moved it too much, the wine would destroy the terrifyingly expensive gown.

“You’re timid,” he said. “I enjoy that about you. My intention was to agitate the wine, not you. Please go ahead and drink.”

I took a sip, trying to feel sophisticated, but all I could really taste was the alcohol.

“You should be careful,” he said after a minute. “Certain men. Certain evil men would do all kinds of things to a tipsy girl if they got the chance.”

He stared into his wine glass, still swirling it furiously. Finally, he took a drink.

“Sometimes even good men do the wrong thing,” he added. “I’m sure you know all about that, though. I’m sure the boys in your class have taken their shots.” He took a long breath in and finished his glass. “But you. I can tell you’re a good girl. I bet those boys beg and beg for it, and you just keep telling them no.”

“I think I should go,” I said quietly, my body starting to tense. “I told my mom I’d–”

“Your mother will be fine,” he said, topping off his glass and adding a splash more to mine. “It would be a shame if you didn’t finish your drink. And your food isn’t even here yet.”

I took another sip as a waiter approached with the plate of ribs. I couldn’t help but notice he hadn’t ordered anything from himself.

“Forgive me, I’m on a diet,” he said. “But please, do go ahead and eat.”

“But how do I…?” I looked down at the plate of ribs, wishing he hadn’t removed my silverware.

“Do be careful not to soil that dress,” he said. Then he took a silk handkerchief from his pocket and passed it to me. “Please, allow me. As a gentleman, I must insist.”

I wondered what might happen if I ran. In my mind, a scenario played out where I sprinted for the door, only for him to catch up to me, pressing me into some dark booth where he’d rip the dress from my body, forcing himself on me as the waitstaff pretended nothing was happening.

“Eat,” he said, all kindness drained from his voice.

“If I could just…”

“Do remember our agreement,” he said, his eyes boring into me. His gaze warned of consequences. “I heard about a girl who came to this very restaurant just a few weeks ago, even younger than you. She told her date she had to go to the bathroom, but instead, she ran away. They found her body just a few days later, knifed a hundred different ways, barely a drop of blood left in her.”

I felt my breathing quicken and my vision blurred. I put a hand down to steady myself from falling over. I imagined what it might feel like to be stabbed over and over again.

He leaned forward, and whispered, his breath smelling of fresh vanilla.

“I would be disappointed if you broke our arrangement. But not that disappointed.”

Timidly, I picked up a rack of ribs and tore it into pieces as gently as I could, but my hands were a mess. Even with my life on the line, I couldn’t help but keep looking at my white dress, trying to make sure I didn’t dirty it.

I pressed the flesh to my lips and ate methodically. His breathing quickened as he watched me.

“More,” he demanded. And as he said it, a single drop of sauce dribbled off my hand, staining my dress at the hip. The damage was done.

In life, there are moments when you just say fuck it and do your thing. And this, honestly, was my first Fuck It moment. If he wanted to watch me eat, I decided to let him.

And so I did. I ate. Rib after rib. My face and hands got filthy. I sipped wine between bites, choking down the meat until I’d emptied both my plate and my glass.

Then, finally, when everything was gone I stopped and took the napkin, wiping my hands and face.

The man looked over at me.

“You were incredible,” he said. “A complete surprise. Truly. I’ll never forget you.”

He reached down and opened his leather satchel, removing a small wooden box.

“The napkin, please,” he said, and I handed it to him.

He opened the box to reveal a red velvet interior. Then, carefully, like he was handling a work of art at a gallery, he gently took the napkin and placed it inside, before resealing the box carefully.

“Can I go now?” I asked, but he didn’t respond. He just stared at the box, transfixed. I stood and walked slowly out of the restaurant, but when I hit the street, I broke into a run. I didn’t stop until I reached my car, tears streaming down my face.

I picked up the phone, thinking I’d call my mom, but instead I dialed 911.

What is your emergency?

“I just got robbed,” I screamed, hysterical. “I just got robbed!”

“Can you please detail what’s been stolen?” asked the operator.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t know.”

And I still don’t.