My Abusive Ex Threatened Every Man Who Looked At Me. Until I Started Dating MMA Fighter

Living Under the Shadow of an Obsession

My abusive ex threatened every man who looked at me until I started dating an MMA fighter who’s 6’5. My name is Madison and I’m 27 years old.

Three years ago, I finally left Derek after four years of the worst relationship of my life. But leaving him didn’t mean he left me alone.

The threats started the day after I moved out. I was at Target just trying to buy some basic things for my new apartment when this guy around my age smiled at me in the cleaning supplies aisle.

It was just a friendly smile, nothing weird. I smiled back because that’s what normal people do.

Two hours later, Derek showed up at my new place. I still don’t know how he found my address.

He banged on the door so hard I thought he’d break it down.

“I saw you at Target,”

he screamed through the door.

“I saw that guy looking at you. You think you can just move on? You think I’m going to let some random guy think he has a chance with you?”

I called the cops. They came and they talked to him.

He was calm by then, all smiles and apologies. He said it was a misunderstanding and said we’d just broken up and emotions were high.

The officers basically told us both to move on with our lives. That was the first time.

The second time was at a coffee shop. A barista made small talk with me while making my latte.

Derek was somehow there, sitting in the corner. I hadn’t even seen him.

The barista, this sweet kid who couldn’t have been older than 19, ended his shift and found all four of his tires slashed in the parking lot. I knew it was Derek.

The barista didn’t make the connection, but I did. The third time was at my gym.

A guy asked if I was done with a machine. Derek followed him to his car and apparently got in his face, telling him to stay away from me or he’d regret it.

The guy came back inside and complained to the staff. They reviewed the security footage.

Derek was banned from the property, but it didn’t stop. For two years, this was my life.

I couldn’t talk to men, I couldn’t smile at anyone, and I couldn’t exist in public without wondering if Derek was watching. I filed for a restraining order, but Derek was smart.

He never did anything directly to me. It was always the men around me who suffered, and somehow he always had an alibi or a reason or just enough deniability that nothing stuck.

My friends told me to move cities. My mom wanted me to come back home to Ohio.

But I’d built a life in Austin, Texas. I had a good job as a graphic designer, I had my apartment, and I had my routine.

Why should I be the one to run? So I stayed, and I became invisible.

I stopped going out and I stopped dating. I barely left my apartment except for work.

I was 25 years old and living like a prisoner. Then I met Cameron.

It was a Wednesday afternoon and my laptop died right in the middle of a deadline. It just completely gave up.

I panicked and ran to the electronics repair shop two blocks from my office, practically in tears. Cameron was behind the counter.

He was massive. I’m 5’4 and I had to crane my neck back to look at him.

He had to be at least 6’5, maybe taller. He had broad shoulders and hands the size of dinner plates.

His nose looked like it had been broken more than once and he had a scar through his left eyebrow. He looked terrifying, but when he spoke, his voice was gentle.

“Hey, it’s okay, we’ll figure it out. Let me take a look.”

I explained the deadline, the panic, everything just spilling out. He listened patiently, then smiled.

“I can have this fixed in an hour. There’s a cafe next door. Go get yourself a coffee, try to relax, and come back. I’ve got you.”

I wanted to tell him not to talk to me. I wanted to explain that being nice to me would put him in danger.

But the deadline was in three hours and I was desperate.

“Thank you,”

I just said. An hour later, my laptop was fixed.

Cameron refused to charge me for the labor.

“First time customer discount,”

he said with a grin.

“Just pay for the part.”

I should have left it there. I should have taken my laptop and never come back.

But something about him felt safe. Maybe it was because he was so big that I couldn’t imagine Derek actually intimidating him.

Maybe I was just tired of being scared.

“Thank you,”

I said.

“Really, you saved my life today.”

“Anytime,”

he handed me a business card.

“We’re here six days a week. Anything tech related breaks, you know where to find me.”

I left the shop and made it half a block before I realized Derek was across the street, leaning against a building and watching me. Our eyes met.

He smiled, not a friendly smile, but a warning. My stomach dropped.

I walked faster, got back to my office, and spent the rest of the day feeling sick. That night, I drove past the repair shop on my way home.

The lights were still on. I could see Cameron through the window working on something at the counter.

I parked across the street and just sat there, watching and waiting for Derek to show up and do something horrible. But nothing happened.

Cameron locked up at 7:00, walked to a huge pickup truck, and drove away. I went home and didn’t sleep.

The next morning, I couldn’t focus on work. I kept checking the repair shop’s Facebook page, expecting to see a post about vandalism or something worse.

But there was nothing. At lunch, I walked past the shop.

Cameron was there, alive and well, helping a customer. He saw me through the window and waved.

I waved back and kept walking, my heart pounding. Three days passed and nothing happened.

Derek didn’t show up at my apartment. Cameron’s shop wasn’t vandalized, there were no slashed tires, and no threatening encounters.

It didn’t make sense. On Saturday, I went to the farmers market downtown.

I used to go every week before Derek, but I’d stopped because he always found me there. This was the first time I’d gone in over a year.

I was looking at tomatoes when I heard a familiar voice behind me.

“Madison?”

I turned. Cameron was standing there in athletic shorts and a tank top, holding a reusable shopping bag.

His arms were huge—not gym rat huge, but fighter huge. It was all functional muscle and scars.

“Hey,”

I said, trying to sound casual.

“I didn’t know you came here every Saturday.”

He smiled.

“The vendor over there makes these breakfast burritos that are incredible. You tried them?”

I shook my head.

“Come on, my treat. Consider it an apology for overcharging you on that laptop.”

“You didn’t overcharge me,”

I said.

“I know, but I’m getting you a burrito anyway.”

Something about the way he said it made it impossible to argue. We walked to the vendor together.

Cameron ordered two burritos and two fresh-squeezed lemonades. We found a spot under a tree to eat and we talked, really talked.

He told me about growing up in Minnesota and about moving to Austin five years ago. He talked about how he’d always been good with technology but needed a physical outlet, which is why he trained.

“Trained what?”

I asked.

“MMA. Mixed martial arts. I fight professionally, well, semi-professionally. I’ve had 12 fights, won nine.”

My stomach tightened.

“You’re a fighter?”

“Yeah,”

he took a bite of his burrito.

“I know, I know. People hear that and think I’m some aggressive meathead, but honestly, it’s the opposite. Fighting teaches you control and discipline.”

“When you really know how to hurt someone, you become very careful about not doing it,”

he said.