The Two Doors

CW: sexual assault

The Two Doors

In her mind’s eye, Jemma saw two doors. It was kinda like Let’s Make A Deal, but there were no prizes, no Wayne Brady, no studio audience. It was just her, and she had to make a decision. 

Do I open Door #1? Or do I open the Door #2?

It wasn’t like she didn’t know what was behind each of the doors. That was the problem. She DID know what was waiting for her behind each door. She just couldn’t make a decision on which door would serve her best.

She had faced this type of dilemma before. Some people would describe it as a crossroads, others would say a fork in the road. Still others would say she had a devil on one shoulder, an angel on the other. All she had to do was make a decision.

But, that was the problem — making the decision. She had made other choices, and for better or worse, she had lived by the outcome. But now the stakes were higher. Her reputation, her freedom, her character — all would be called into question.

When she was younger, maybe in grade four, someone in her class had “found” the answers to the math test they were supposed to have that day. Jemma had to make a choice that day — Door #1, which was look at the answers and cheat, or Door #2, not cheat, and take her chances with the test, even though she hadn’t studied. She had chosen Door #2, and had failed the test miserably. But, that had been her choice.

Then, when she was fifteen, when her step-mom had been ragging on her so badly, she had to make a decision. During a fight about coming home late, her step-mom called her a “two-bit whore.” Jemma knew she could either go with Door #1, and apologize for being late, or go for Door #2, and cheekily say “Watch it or I’ll hit you with my bag of quarters." She had chosen Door #2. The consequences were that she was sent to live with her Grandmother for the summer. She had missed her friends, but she refused to feel sorry for herself, and owned her choice. 

But, now, what should she do, what should she do, what should she do?

“Jemma, you know I love you.”

Jemma looked at Dwayne. She knew that he didn’t love her. He just wanted to get laid. They hardly even knew each other. They had been on exactly one date, tonight’s wow-fest of Pizza Hut and a “walk” around the neighbourhood. Jemma had even paid for her own meal. Not that Dwayne’s financial standing was important — they were both university students, and money was scarce. She knew that.

But, truthfully, Dwayne was not her best decision. First of all, Dwayne was Dwayne’s favourite topic. Did Jemma know that Dwayne was an alternate for the Varsity Bass Fishing team? Yes, she did, because he had mentioned it about six trillion times over dinner: “My bros and I on the Varsity Bass Fishing Team, can really hook us some big ones. (Insert leer at Jemma’s chest here.)” When Jemma asked if there were any women on the team, Dwayne just guffawed. “Women don’t bass fish! That’s why we’re called fisher’men’! Ha! Ha! Ha!” Jemma had taken the opportunity to point out that her god-mother, Cindy, was a prize-winning bass fisherwoman, and was owner-operator of one the largest bass fishing outfitters in the area. Dwayne had just snorted and shook his head. “Lady fishermen,” was all he said, as if it was morally beyond belief that a woman could fish, and be successful at it.

But back to Dwayne. Did Jemma know that he was voted most likely to succeed in his high school? Yes, she did, because Dwayne had scanned the page from his yearbook, and sent it to her.

But, if quizzed, could Dwayne tell Jemma anything about herself? Probably not. Because he had not asked her one single question about herself during the entire evening.

After dinner they had walked to the park closest to Pizza Hut, and were sitting a bench when, all of a sudden, Dwayne was all over her. Jemma pulled away from him, and placed her hands on his chest. Dwayne was unsuccessfully trying to suck Jemma’s lips right off of her face, or she supposed, he called it kissing her. Eww.

“Dwayne, this is going way too fast. I’m not sure that this is what I want.”

“Why? We can go back to my frat house, if you don’t want to make out in the park.”

“No, Dwayne. I had fun tonight, but I don’t see this going any farther. I think we should call it a night.”

“Why?” he asked again. “Are you gay?”

Jemma looked at Dwayne. “You know that’s offensive, right?”

He didn’t seem to be listening (surprise!). “Why don’t you want to make out with me?” 

She almost said because she had too much self-esteem, but she didn’t. 

Not waiting for her answer, he continued, “You’re gay, right? That sucks. Gay chicks shouldn’t go out with straight guys. Not fair, Emma.”

“It’s Jemma.”

“Whatever.”

“Dwayne, I thought this was going to be two friends going out for some pizza.”

“Friends? I got friends. You’re a girl—“

“Woman.”

“— I thought you wanted to, you know, get it on.”

“No, Dwayne. I’m sorry, that’s not what this is.”

“Well, shit.” At that he got up, and walked away. Just like that. No goodbye, no “sorry it didn’t work out,” — nothing. He just walked away.

Jemma got up from the bench and turned to go home. 

Well, this didn’t go as I expected. She started walking out of the park, heading towards her home.

Suddenly, she was tackled from behind.

“What the— ” she yelled.

“Don’t want to do it with me, huh? You can’t tease me, and expect me to go home without you putting out. You’re a tease. I’m gonna get what I want, NOW!” He was laying on top of her back, his mouth right beside her ear. She could feel his hot breath. 

“Get off me!” Jemma screamed. “NOW!” 

He was so heavy she could hardly breathe.

Dwayne just laughed, and flipped Jemma over on her back. Big mistake. He started grabbing at the waistband of her pants, fumbling with her belt, trying to undo it.

If Dwayne had even thought to ask her, he would have known that Jemma had a black belt in Krav Maga, that she was a seeded MMA fighter, and for fun, she practiced kick boxing three days a week. But, he hadn’t been at all interested in her. He was just interested in telling Jemma about Dwayne. His mistake.

The reason she was so proficient in self defence was because her mother had been assaulted and left for dead when Jemma was only four years old. Her recovery had been slow and long, but once she had recovered, she vowed that neither she nor her daughters would ever become a victim again. Jemma and her sisters had been training for almost twenty years. For Jemma, Krav Maga and MMA were where her strengths lay — kickboxing was just for relaxation.

Before Dwayne could even think about undoing her belt, Jemma managed to wrap her legs around his neck, grab his shoulder, and flip him onto his back. Jemma was up before he knew what was happening.

And this was where she was right now. Door#1 — she could kick the shit out of Dwayne, or kill him, if she wanted to. But, if she did that, she could be charged with assault, or conceivably, murder. She knew that this was wrong. But Dwayne was wrong. If she didn’t teach him a lesson he would do this to another woman, who probably didn’t have the same skills as she did.

Door #2 — she mildly kicked the shit out of him. Then, she would call the cops, agree to press charges, see him in court. But, her life would be put under a microscope. She would be vilified, and attacked online. People in the university community would shun her.

This was her dilemma. What to do? Jemma knew that things were going to get out of hand, real quick, so she turned on her phone’s video camera and held it in her left hand. This way, she had evidence, if it ever went to court.

Dwayne struggled to his feet.

“You are so going to regret that,” he snarled. She wasn’t sure was she was going to regret, but she was pretty sure he would regret it more.

He lunged at her, trying to grab her by the waist. She neatly side-stepped him.

“Stop Dwayne. Just stop.”

“Bitch!” 

Jemma hated that word. With a passion. It was the one word — no, add to that the “c” word — that she believed were used to dehumanize and demoralize women. Any woman who didn’t conform to a man’s perception of what was acceptable behaviour, was a bitch. Jemma saw a bit of red. This man was pissing her off. 

He lunged at her again. 

This time, instead of easily side-stepping him — which was super-easy because he had the finesse of a charging rhino, and telegraphed his moves so broadly that her Grandma could have read is intentions — she kicked him in his solar plexus, and knocked him over.

Dwayne grappled to his feet and charged at her again.

Jemma spun, and kicked him in the side of his head, lightly. Not that lightly mattered much, because the brain was much more susceptible to trauma when jolted from the side as it bounced back and forth. But lighter than, let’s say, the kick to his solar plexus.

“Dwayne, just stop!” she said. “I don’t want to hurt you!”

“Fuck you!” he said 

That’s what started this whole thing, she thought. 

He charged her again. 

This time, instead of spinning away, Jemma used the heel of her hand to flatten Dwayne’s nose into his face. He howled in pain as he fell backwards, blood exploding from the facial feature formerly known as his nose.

Jemma jumped back avoiding the blood spray. 

Dwayne staggered towards her, again. 

“Are you stupid?” she said. “Just stop!”

“I’m going to kill you bitch!”

In her mind’s eye, Jemma was still standing in front of Door #1 and Door #2. Things hadn’t really changed, except Dwayne didn’t know that this little tete-a-tete was over. Door #1 was what she really wanted to go for. Kick the shit out of this misogynist prick, and leave him for his “bros” to find. Or Door #2 — the law, and all the accompanying hassle.

“Fuck it” she said. As Dwayne charged her again — was this guy dense? He’d charged her four times already, and she had handed him his ass every time — she pivoted neatly and kicked him in the head, twisted and kicked him in the again before he fell to the ground, unconscious.

She looked at him. “You get what you ask for.”

What to do? Door #1 or Door #2? Decisions, decisions, decisions.

She looked at the big hulk laying unconscious on the ground.

Without turning off the video, Jemma called nine-one-one.

When the police arrived, she told them what had happened. It was a male-female team. The male officer took the lead.

“So, you’re telling us that you did this to—“ he looked in his notebook “Dwayne Rogers? By yourself?” 

“

Yes,” replied Jemma. “He attacked me.”

Officer Khan (according to his name plate) said, “So, you did this? All by yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Explain to us, again, how this happened?”

Jemma explained to him, for the second time, what had happened.

“I’m not going to lie to you, Ms. Capito, I’m skeptical.”

“I have video.”

Officer Khan looked surprised. “You’re telling me that during this attack —“ he used air quotes around the word attack “— you had the wherewithal to start videoing the attack?”

“Yes. If I didn’t, you wouldn’t have believed me.”

“Humph.” Officer Khan walked away, heading toward the ambulance.

The woman officer, Officer Petrie, looked over her shoulder at Officer Khan’s receding form, and looked back at Jemma.

“You did this?”

“Yes.”

“Can you show me how?”

*****

The next day Jemma went to see Dwayne in the hospital. When he saw her he blanched.

“Get the fuck outta here.”

Jemma looked at him. His nose had been reset, but both his eyes were bruised black and blue. He looked like hell.

Good, she thought.

“If you don’t get outta here, I’m going to call the nurse.”

Jemma snorted. “Oh, a tough guy, huh? You’re going to call a nurse? Now I’m afraid.”

“What do you want?”

“I have a video of the beating that I gave you. If you ever — and I mean ever — hurt another woman, not only will I upload this video, but I will also kick the shit out of you. Again. Understand?”

Dwayne didn’t say anything, but he nodded his agreement.

“And, you’re going to plead guilty to the sexual assault charges.”

He shook his head, and looked defiant. “No way! That shit sticks to you forever.”

Jemma stared hard at him. “Then explain what exactly you were trying to do to me?”

“I .. You … I … You beat me up!”

“Why, asshole? Why did I beat you up?”

He stared at her.

“Did you not tackle me from behind and tell me you were going to rape me? Or was that my imagination? There are grass stains all over the front of my clothes, and the police have them in evidence. How did that happen? Did I trip? I’m pretty sure that the staff from Pizza Hut will testify that I did not have grass stains on my clothes when I was at dinner.”

“No way. Not sexual assault. My lawyer says—“

“I don’t give a shit about your lawyer. You are going to plead guilty.”

“You can’t threaten me! That’s against the law!”

“Puhlease! You attacked me, remember?”

“This isn’t fair!”

“Are you effing kidding me? You attack me and attempt to rape me because I don’t want to have sex with you, and you’re telling me it isn’t fair?” She stared at him. “What would have happened if I couldn’t fight you off? Huh? Would that have been fair? You outweigh my by, what, eighty pounds? I don’t think that's fair, at all. You’re going to plead guilty or I will release the video. Plus there was CCTV footage that backs my story up, one hundred percent. Your choice.”

“But it will ruin me,” he whined.

“Tough shit!”

With that Jemma turned and walked out of the hospital room.

*****

“Guilty, your Honour.”

Jemma got up and left the courthouse.