The feature film debuts of director James Foley and screenwriter Chris Columbus and if you know anything about these guys you can pretty easily tease out what’s going on here (besides the stunning on-location-in-Ohio cinematography by a pre-marty Michael Ballhaus): Columbus’ semi-autobiographical adolescent male fantasy about an outsider (Aidan Quinn, brooding in a leather jacket) fucking the cheerleader (Daryl Hannah) and escaping the dead end of a deindustrialized rust belt was given not just the sleaze treatment but ambiguity (shades of gray?) by Foley - is our hero actually a stalker and potential psycho killer? is something the script didn’t consider but the direction does - Uncas pointed out to me that even the supposed happy ending is scored with Bob Seger melancholia:

We rolled across the high plains / Deep into the mountains / Felt so good to me / Finally feelin’ free / Somewhere along a high road / The air began to turn cold / She said she missed her home / I headed on alone

Afterwards, Columbus was so horrified by the result he wrote Gremlins (his best work, thanks to Joe Dante) and Foley went on an absolute tear (At Close Range, After Dark My Sweet, Glengarry Glen Ross).