Good Girl

A new target

*Irene*

The message appears, stark against the backdrop of my screen: ‘I need your help. This guy raped me.’ Along with a picture of a rather handsome looking guy… but we all know the devil can be seductive.

My heart speeds ou slightly as the familiar surge of adrenaline courses through me. I know this message all too well. To help me heal the loss of my sister, after I got kinda back on my feet, I joined the private online group for women who have been victims, or have family members who have been victims of s****l assault.

It’s a digital sanctuary, a place where we share our stories and seek solace in each other’s pain. But it’s also become a catalyst for action. A starting ground for women taking back power and avenging the harm men has done to us.

I tap on the chat, my fingers trembling slightly. The sender’s name doesn’t ring a bell, but I can feel the weight of her words pressing against my chest. I think back to the countless women who have reached out for help, their stories so full with fear and anger. I’ve always been vocal in the group, rallying for justice, sharing resources, and offering support.

Some of us decided that we needed to act, that these men needed to face some consequenses, so we started seekinnout these men, confronting them at their homes and workplaces, with posters and chants, telling their friends and family what they did. But my journey has turned darker over time, evolving from harassment to physical confrontation, and now… now, I can feel the dark urge rising within me.

I type out my response, my heart racing. ‘I’m here for you. Tell me everything.’ There’s no time to waste. I need to know who this man is, what he did, and how I can help. I can already feel the familiar fire igniting within me, the righteous anger bubbling just beneath the surface.

As I wait, I let my mind wander to the first time I physically confronted a rapist. It was a man named Dan, a predatory figure who thought he could hide behind his charm. After he assaulted a friend of mine on a date, I tracked him down, piecing together bits of information like a detective in a crime drama.

When I found him, I confronted him outside his home. “Do you think you can get away with this?” I had shouted, my voice echoing into the night. He had laughed, thinking I was just some girl trying to scare him. But he didn’t know the fire I had inside me. I had hit him, hard, feeling the rush of power as he staggered back.

That rush turned lethal when, in a moment of blind rage when he tried to attack me. I was carrying a knife for protection, and without thinking I plunged it into his side as he grabbed me.

I felt the blood run over my hand as he screamed like a pig. It felt so good, so right. I was no longer just a support for the victims; I was a force of nature, taking back control in a world that had tried to take everything from me.

Suddenly, my phone buzzes again, snapping me back to the present. The woman has replied, her words trembling on the screen: ‘He’s a detective with the metropolitan police. His name is Benjamin Doyle.’

The information sends a chill down my spine, and the fire within me flares into a blaze of fury. A detective? The very embodiment of the law, a man who is supposed to protect us? My blood runs cold, but it only fuels the righteous anger coursing through me. ‘What did he do?’ I type back, urgency fueling my fingers. I need to know the details.

As I wait for her response, I can feel the weight of my choices pressing down on me. I know this path isn’t just about justice anymore; it’s about vengeance. It’s about taking back the power that has been stripped away from us for far too long.

When her reply finally comes, my heart races. ‘He assaulted me on a date. I thought he was a good guy. I trusted him.’

The level of betrayal ignitis my anger further. ‘Did you report him?’ I type, hoping for a glimmer of hope. But her response cuts deep. ‘I tried, but no one believed me. They said he was a good cop, that I must have misunderstood.’

I can feel the rage boiling over. This isn’t just a battle for one woman’s dignity; it’s about all of us. It’s about every woman who has been silenced, every story dismissed. ‘I’ll help you,’ I type, my heart pounding. ‘I will make sure he pays dearly.’

I take a deep breath, steeling myself, this is what I’ve been waiting for, what I have been needing since my class this morning, a possibility where I can channel all this anger into something meaningful. I’m ready to confront Benjamin Doyle, to show him that there are consequences for his actions.

As I close my notebook, I can feel the thrill of the hunt coursing through me. I’m long done being silent. I’m done letting these monsters roam free. In the beginning I would have reached out to my allies in the group, gotten a couple of girls together to harass him… but this… this is so ething I need to do on my own. I know this will be my doom, I will end up in jail or possibly dead… so I am not gonna drag someone else with me.

With each passing moment, the fire within me grows, and I know that there’s no going back now. I’m on a mission, and I won’t stop until justice is served. Benjamin Doyle, like so many before him, will learn that he cannot escape the consequences of his actions. I will ensure that he pays, and I won’t be the one in the shadows. I will be the storm that brings him to his knees.

Being with the Metropolitan police he should be fairly easy to track down, and I get right to it.