Steven Basic
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Growing into the Job, Post 478: Sharpening the Weapons: Stephanie, p1
🕑 Added 2024-12-13 16:26:42 +0000 UTC
“What if he’s…not here?” Stephanie Wojcik asked her pale, darkly-mannered friend as the two walked the long path that led from the dirt parking area they’d found in the woods. They’d been hiking about a half-mile across the moonlit fields to get to the country bar, which had recently appeared up on the hill. Stephanie was dressed casual but nervous, on edge, her pulse matching the <thump-thump> of her old trainers on the dirt path. The last hour at the automobile recycling yard had given her a thrill - pushing her body to do things it had never done before, proving it to herself that her strength was far beyond what she’d been able to show at the gym - but her nerves had now returned. What she was going to ask herself to do tonight was not like anything she’d ever imagined herself capable….and not just physically.
“He’s here, I just checked five minutes ago,” Marisela Vazquez replied plainly, her tone factual, almost clinical. She was, though, biting her bottom lip as she quietly fought against her own feelings. By this time of night she might normally be off herself, stalking prey, ridding the world of vermin - the thrill of hunting was unspeakable. The thought, though, of what she and Stephanie were about to do had her blood absolutely sizzling. She pushed a lock of jet black hair behind an ear studded with multiple silver hoops. Marisela had considered herself strong, but tonight seeing her blonde co-worker tearing the doors off the rotting hulks of old utility vans and throwing them like they were frisbees had opened her eyes even wider to the future. It was clear now that the quiet blonde gym rat she’d once underestimated could be a useful weapon for the group, albeit one in need of honing, sharpening, training. She just needed a target. “And,” Marisela continued, “if he’s run off, we’ll find him.”
“Okay,” Stephanie replied, her breath visible in small clouds against the cold as she looked up the hill at the bar. Each step drew her and Marisela closer to it, to Kurt, and to her past; the memory of it tightened in her chest. It was one thing to feel strong in a scrapyard, tossing aside rusty engines and bending steel bars like toys. It was another to face him in person, knowing what he’d done and what he’d taken from her. And then find the strength to do tot himwhat she’d done to those old cars.
The two walked, side by side, mostly in their own thoughts. The night had a chill, and Stephanie wrapped her loose, oversized denim jacket around herself. Below, she wore only a sports bra of bright orange; the tee she’d ripped through earlier that evening was still in shreds back at the junkyard. Marisela did not seem bothered by the cold, even though her thin, cropped leather jacket and fitted black top, sheer in places, offered not much more protection. Both young women wore long pants - Stephanie in gray joggers, Marisela in black, skinny jeans, ripped across the shapely bulge of her thighs.
“Steph, let’s hold on a minute,” Marisela said.
About a hundred yards away, Marisela and Stephanie stopped. From where they stood, the bar looked like a relic of a time that had never been particularly kind. Red Dog’s sat alone on the hill, a squat, rectangular building with peeling red paint, barely illuminated by the flickering sign above the door. The neon dog in the sign looked like it was mid-howl, its edges blurring as the light struggled to stay lit - an invitation, such as it was, to the regulars who wandered through its doors.
Marisela took in the scene with a mix of contempt and detached interest. Red Dog’s was one of those bars that seemed built to withstand a constant cycle of abuse, from the drunken college students it attracted to the smattering of locals who’d slouch against its barstools ‘til closing. The building itself seemed worn to the bone, like it had absorbed years of sweat, smoke, and spilled beer.
Cheap, unwelcoming lighting cast a weak glow through the grimy windows, which were papered with half-torn flyers for old rock bands and drink specials from weeks or months ago. Near the entrance, the rotting wood of the porch sagged slightly, and three old, rusty barrels sat to the side, filled with sand and cigarette butts - a last pathetic vestige of hospitality. Even from this distance Marisela caught the whiff of stale beer mixed with cigarette smoke and rowdy laughter, a reminder of the lowlifes and frat boys who frequented it. She also noticed the side door, off to the back; she’d have to keep that in mind.
Marisela, her face a cool mask of pale foundation, dark lipstick and kohl’d eyes, turned her gaze back to Stephanie. If her expression was placid it was a mask, though, that hid thrill beneath its calm. “Charming place,” she murmured, keeping her tone flat with the disdain of an outsider. She could see Stephanie flexing her hands and clenching her fists in the growing tension, moving between exhilaration from her newfound power and deep nervousness about confronting the trauma from her past. Marisela knew Stephanie was trying to anchor herself, and she respected the emotional strength it took for Stephanie to get herself this far. She was gratified to see that she was feeling the growing heat. She knew, though, that Stephanie would need to get herself to an even higher state of purpose before they walked through the bar’s rickety front door.
“So, you never really told me what happened, back then,” Marisela said, putting a hand on the shoulder of her blonde friend as the two stood at the bottom of the hill. It was a move of emotional generosity atypical of the normally acerbic, austere young woman, but one that felt natural to both. “Before we do this, I think I need to hear you describe it.”
Stephanie hesitated at first, her voice tight. She didn’t look at Marisela, her eyes fixed on the path up and ahead, the beer-bottle and cigarette butt-strewn walk up to the bar. Her hands were clenched tightly at her sides as she recalled the night, and after a deep breath she was able to speak.
"It was...six years ago, early in my sophomore year,” Stephanie began, “I’d been dating him for like a month, I guess, but we’d gotten pretty serious. Or, at least, I thought we had.” Stephanie paused, readjusted the ponytail holding back her long, blond hair. “ We were at a halloween party, Kurt and me, at the lacrosse house. You know, one of those disgusting frat things that everyone thinks are cool because they’re loud, and everyone’s wasted, and the beer’s free.“ She paused again, this time in thought. “But you don’t realize how evil they can be until it’s too late."
Marisela watched as Stephanie swallowed hard, as if forcing herself to continue.
"Back then...I thought he was a cool guy, you know? A year older than me, lacrosse player, the one everyone liked. He was maybe a bit of an asshole, to others, but he made me feel safe, like he’d have my back. And I was, like, pretty quiet, kinda shy. I knew I was cute, had nice boobs, but…”
Stephanie’s voice wavered for a moment, then tightened again as the memories started to overwhelm her. Marisela appreciated how Stephanie’s recall was fragmented and halting, reflecting the trauma of the event. She was struggling with the memories, and they obviously still haunted her. That, Marisela thought, would help to make the revenge feel justified.
Stephanie inhaled sharply.
"But that night... something was different,” she continued, “He’d been drinking, with his friends. Not much more than usual for a Saturday night, but... I don’t know. I went upstairs to find the bathroom, and when I came out... there he was. Him and four of his…buddies." Blake. Ryan. Troy. Jace. She would never forget their names, or the look on their faces.
She paused, her jaw clenched as she stared up at the bar on the hill. Her hands were trembling slightly. She squeezed them into fists to steady herself and Marisela saw the veins bulging in her lithely-muscled neck.
"What did they do?" Marisela asked, moonlight glinting off one of the silver hoops in her right ear.
Stephanie's voice became quieter, more hesitant. "Kurt was laughing, they were all laughing. They were telling me how pretty I looked, dressed like a bunny, y’know, the costume, the ears, the tail and everything. So stupid. They cornered me, kept me from going back downstairs, pulled me into his room. I thought... I thought it was just Kurt messing around at first, but I didn’t like the way they were laughing, looking at me. Talking about my breasts. One of them yanked the tail off my butt. Another one spanked me."
She trailed off for a moment, her brow furrowing in discomfort, but continued after a beat.
"I asked Kurt to stop, to tell them to stop. But he...he was smiling, like this was some kind of joke, like it wasn’t a big deal. I remember him saying something... something about how I was 'too sexy for just one guy.'”
“For real?” Marisela asked.
“I laughed at first, you know? Nervous... thinking he was joking... but then he wasn’t,” Stephanie managed, “He grabbed my wrists, and before I could... before I could react, the five of them, they pushed me onto the bed. Kurt held me down while his friends..."
Stephanie’s voice broke there, and she had to take a breath. She spoke haltingly, the words spilling out in pieces.
"They... they tore at my costume. I remember... I was begging Kurt to stop them. I begged him, Marisela! But he just laughed. He told me to ‘relax,’ that they were ‘just having fun.’" She shuddered, fighting to keep her composure.
“Then what happened?” Marisela asked - knowing, but needing Stephanie to say it.
"They took turns,” Stephanie said, plainly, “I... I don’t even remember all of it, because at some point, I just... shut down. Kurt watched the whole time. He never did anything. He just...helped hold me down. And watched. And then... when it was over, they left. Like nothing happened. They just... left me there."
“Oh my god, Stephanie, I’m sorry,” Marisela said, softly.
“They didn’t even close the door behind them.” Stephanie’s voice had hardened here, her expression turned dark with anger and bitterness.
Marisela just listened. There was something else Stephanie wasn’t saying, something more that happened, but couldn’t bring herself to say. Marisela decided not to push it.
"And you know what’s worse?” Stephanie continued, her voice now cracking with a mixture of rage and anguish, “Nothing happened to them! Nothing. Kurt stopped talking to me, they never got in trouble...”
“Did you tell anybody? Didn’t, like, the administration-”
“I was too scared! Too embarrassed!” Stephanie sobbed, clenching her fists anew, her body tensing as the memories continued to flood back. “The school didn’t do anything because I was too afraid to say anything. He was this athlete, this popular guy, and I felt like...I…I didn’t matter."
“You know that’s not true now, though, right?”
"Yeah, I guess, but I couldn’t handle it then. I dropped out of school, moved home. I’ve lived with this, though...this feeling of weakness for years,” Stephanie explained, holding her denim jacket tightly around herself, looking down at the ground, “It’s like they stole something from me that night, and I’ve been trying to claw it back ever since. It’s why I started lifting weights. Every time I work out, every time I push myself, it’s to remind myself that I’m strong. I tried to make myself stronger...but I never felt like it was enough. Like it was never enough."
Both girls’ breathing was heavier now, the weight of the memory pressing on Stephanie and igniting a dark fire in Marisela. Stephanie was not just telling Marisela a story, she was trying to release it, piece by piece, but it was clear the pain still lingered deeply.
Marisela saw that, and - in a voice quiet but sharp - spoke to her friend. "But you’re enough now, right? Now you’re strong enough. And that’s why we’re here tonight."
Stephanie glanced up at Marisela, the dark ice of her coworker’s steely blue eyes oddly comforting in this moment. Still, her voice shook with a mix of fear and anticipation. "I... I want to, Marisela. But I’m scared. What if... what if I freeze? What if I can’t-?"
Marisela stopped her. "You won’t,” she said, firm and reassuring, “This time, you’re not the victim. This time, you’re the stronger one. And this time, they’re the ones who should be scared."
To that, Stephanie felt her heart surge, a new heat flaming to life in her chest. It scared her though, this fire she felt, and she tried to tamper it, best she could. “What if I lose control?” she whispered, feeling her pulse quickening already, though, the strength inside her building, begging to be released. “What if I become a…a monster? If I use…if I use what I can do to hurt them, am I any better than they were to me?”
Marisela’s eyes narrowed, the moonlight casting an eerie gleam across her dark makeup. “You’re asking the wrong questions, Steph,” she said, her voice understanding but sharp as cold steel, “It’s not about being better than them. They showed no mercy, no humanity. And you know there’s been other girls, right? You weren’t the only one. So tonight isn’t about matching their cruelty. It's about showing them the consequences of their actions. It’s about making sure they know that their power is gone, that women - women like you - are not prey anymore.”
Stephanie’s breath came out in a short, sharp burst, half relief, half anticipation. Marisela’s unwavering confidence bolstered her resolve. She hadn’t thought about it that way before. It was never going to be about stooping to their level. It was about reclaiming what was taken from her, and proving, to herself and to them, that she was no longer that frightened girl in the bunny costume. That women were not their playthings.
Marisela stepped forward, her hand leaving Stephanie’s shoulder and curling into a fist. The tattoos that snaked up her forearm flexed as her muscles tensed. “And if you do lose control?” she said, her tone softening as she looked Stephanie in the eyes. “Then good. Let them see what happens when they unleash the strength of a woman who’s built herself back up, up from the place they tore her down to, right? A woman who, piece by piece, has become stronger than ever, and so much stronger than them. Let the men - these overgrown boys - understand that their time is over.”
Stephanie swallowed hard, the fear in her chest slowly turning to a deep, burning determination. “You’re right,” she said, her voice steadier now, stronger. She reached up and pulled her denim jacket tighter, knowing that soon it might soon be nothing more than shredded fabric at her feet. “They need to see me. They need to know what they’ve done.”
Marisela’s lips curled into a shadow of a smile, predatory and approving. “Exactly. Now, are you ready to show them who they underestimated? Who they thought they could keep quiet by keeping her afraid? With fear?”
Stephanie nodded, the tension in her body turning into a powerful hum, like a coiled spring ready to be unleashed. “I’m ready.”
The two women stood together, their silhouettes sharp and foreboding under the silver glow of the moon. The low thrum of laughter and chatter from inside Red Dog’s wafted out on the night air, unaware of the reckoning that approached.
With one last, shared glance, Marisela turned toward the bar and extended her hand up towards the gravel path. “Then let’s show them what fear really looks like.”
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