character summary:
Cybil - protagonist. An officer in training and part-time mechanic with a love for vintage cars
Rochelle - her friend
Jim - her closest friend and cadet buddy.
story summary: A young cadet intervenes as her friend falls for a dangerous man.

-----------------------------part 1 - 'action' scene----------------
DISCLAIMER: This part contains mature and potentially uncomfortable themes regarding consent and the absence of it, please do not read and skip to part 2 if these themes are too much.

She was back within the men’s, yet again staring down a revolting mix of fluids she had ejected from her body.
A large hand, adorned with a raw wound – a series of pockmarks, scattered in apprearance – tilted her head upwards. Rochelle could faintly recognise the taint of raw fish overtaking the sour sharpness of vomit.
He yanked her up, away from the bowl and towards the sinks. The world was now too bright as her eyes looked up at the ceiling, into the harsh lighting that caused her to wince in agony.
“Gabriel?” Rochelle gasped.
***more story to be written here****
For a moment, 'Gabriel' released his grip on her to fill a tall cup with water from the faucet.
Rochelle felt water pass through her lips, and a voice into her ear prompting her to gargle. Her waist was then snatched by his arm, which pulled her body back to sit flush with his waist.
The fog in Rochelle’s head was momentarily chased away by a sharp spike of panic. Wasn’t this her friend helping her?
“Gabriel? What the hell are you doing?”
“Try again.”
Rochelle dared herself to look behind her shoulder, of where she saw the face of the man holding her.
Chandler. There was no mistaking him.
Rochelle’s mouth went dry, and it was only now that she realised what was happening to her. Fear crept up as her breaths became increasingly short, the gravity of the situation finally settling in.
She pushed against his grip, slipping her body forward enough to that her elbow could connect with the side of his abdomen, but it was no use. Chandler easily shifted his hold in accordance to her thrashing no matter how hard or wild she moved. She relented, but only to try another form of escape; bargaining.
“Don’t hurt me. Please don’t hurt me.”
“I’m not gonna. I just wanna kiss.” Chandler laughed as he pulled Rochelle around to face him. Rochelle could see the red tinge on him, as well as the stink of alcohol. No longer could she feel the alcohol bogging her systems; for a single, petrifying moment, she only felt the terror that her flight response bought her.
This man was not going to stop at a kiss at the rate he was currently going.
Chandler leaned in and latched his face onto Rochelle, pulling her into a deep and unwelcome kiss. The woman struggled, gasping for air as she shoved him off.
“You’re drunk. Let me go!”
His low laughter filled the bathroom with echoes.
He tightened his grip around her waist and back. “Relax. I won’t hurt you. I just want to love you…”
“No! Let me go!”
Rochelle begged desperately as she felt Chandler’s arm leaving her back to search her skirt pocket, emptying it - but not before her ass was thoroughly handled, and her thigh lovingly stroked.
“You’re so soft…”
“Get off!” With renewed anger, Rochelle dug her palms into Chandler’s chest with all the force she could conjure, finally managing to push the invasive creep off her.
“Cute.” Chandler smirked as he strode back towards his prey, emblazoned by her resistance. It was adorable to him how she fruitlessly fought his advances.
He flashed her her phone, quickly typing in a number before she could react to the device being stolen from her. The phone was then slipped back in her pocket as Chandler approached her once again, squeezing her ass again as he slipped his intrusive hand out of her pocket.
Rochelle watched, helpless as Chandler dived down towards her neck, his warm breath tickling the exposed skin.
She didn’t want to see anymore. Rochelle scrunched her eyes shut and awaited the contact of Chandler’s lips.
The first contact was light, with only the very tip of his top lip brushing against her pale neck. The feeling of his mouth on her shot cold fear through her body, and Rochelle picked up her efforts in shoving Chandler away.

-----------------------------part 2 - 'talking' scene----------------
In this part, there is still a bit of 'skeleton' writing, which will be denoted in [] brackets.
'Rossa' is the name Cybil gives her car.
Skips indicated by ******
<> used to denote context as this is an excerpt and the full picture is not intact.
Eminence Front is a song from The Who, which talks about the facade one puts on with vices to cover up insecurity and shortcomings.

“Rochelle broke it. Your ‘eminence front’.”
“My what?”
She gestured at her phone with a quick jerk of her head.
Eminence Front – one of Cybil’s favourite singles. <a/n: the song is currently playing from the car>
“Your emotional smokescreen.” She continued, referencing the song title’s subtext. ”You’ve been pretending that everything’s fine for a bit.”
Jim, flustered, tried in vain to rebut. “I’m just busy. I mean, it’s been…I’ve been…” But as quick as he had tried to rebuke, he relented, allowing the yet uncontested statement to hang uncomfortably in the air. The passing streetlamps became a sudden point of interest, their hypnotising symmetry drawing him further from Cybil’s unwavering intent.
Jim sagged, unable to muster up an excuse. “You’re right.”
“Thought so.”
“How did you see?”
Cybil gave Jim an incredulous glare. “Well, I’d hope I know you by now.”
*********
Cybil had known about Jim’s predicament for quite a while. For a month after he broke it off with his past girlfriend, Jim was elated to be freed of the shackles of companionship, and of all the heavy commitments that were bundled with having a girlfriend. His ex had pushed him hard, and the toxic aftertaste she had left in his mouth had almost converted him to asexuality.
It wasn’t until three months had passed that Jim’s desire to dive headfirst into another relationship awoke and reared its ugly front. And it was also around that time that Jim’s façade began to surpass his true self. The ‘eminence front’, as Cybil had so nicknamed, consisted of a cocky, reckless shell of her friend; a wannabe Don Juan. Burned by his ex-girlfriend for being far too ‘nice’ of a person, or as any normal would see it as - decent - Jim had reacted by stripping himself of said decency, acting borderline harsh with his new girlfriends.
Somehow, whether it was a miracle of nature or bad taste on the part of his partners, Jim had been successful at first. Cybil remembered fondly the ‘day afters’ that Jim seemed to be unable to keep quiet about. He left out the more explicit details of his night, of course, but it was nothing to Jim to burn hours on end talking about his new companion over a couple of shared mixers and a few good episodes of Miami Vice.
But in the end, Cybil hated it all. Jim’s behaviour reminded her far too much of people like Chandler. He was still the same person when it came to her, but when he interacted with others - especially the women he wanted to start a relationship with - he transformed into someone that she barely knew or liked. She had never, in their fifteen years of friendship, seen him like this.
“I’ve told you again and again, just be yourself. Seriously. That ‘bad boy’ shit is tired.”
“It’s not as simple as that. It’s what they like.”
“That is the worst mindset you could have. Fuck what they want. If she’s meant for you then you don’t need to hide yourself. Be honest.”
“How would you know?”
There was a reason Cybil remembered the multiple ‘day afters’ Jim celebrated. Every time, within a week and without fail, Jim’s new girlfriend would disappear, rendering him just as lonely and frustrated as before.
“Well, you’d have a…” Cybil stopped herself before the truth came out. She didn’t want to remind Jim of those horrible nights. The way he had been was downright traumatising to see.
“Common sense.” She lied. “Once you stop being their ‘perfectly flawed bad boy’, they lea-“
Stop it!
”-aren’t interested anymore. What reason do they have to see you?”

Aggravated at Jim’s ignorance, Cybil shifted back to fourth gear* and bought Rossa up to a wonderous howl, the sudden burst of speed snapping her friend flush against the seats. Matching the volume of her Red Lady, Cybil resumed her questioning.
*DON’T REV AN MR2 IN FIFTH GEAR
“Do you really want to waste your time with someone like that?”
The command in her voice seemed to push some sense back into Jim.


“No...” Jim mumbled, the passing streetlights becoming so interesting he couldn’t tear his eyes from them. “I don’t. But I also don’t think I’ll find anyone like me.”
“Maybe. Maybe there isn’t anyone out there for you. It’s not like you have to find someone. No one’s holding a gun to your head and saying ‘Get yourself out there or I’ll blow your head off!’.”

“Maybe. Maybe there isn’t anyone out there for you. It’s not like you have to find someone. No one’s holding a gun to your head and saying ‘Get yourself out there or I’ll blow your head off!’.”

“You should stop this kinda thing since it clearly doesn’t work for you.”
[Jim’s eyes began to reflect the amber streetlights as they became glassy.]
Ah, shit, though Cybil,
[Here Cybil realises how hurtful her words are and tries to redirect the conversation]

Rossa’s occupants fell quiet. Jim kept himself turned away from Cybil.
Cybil would rather forget the ‘night afters’ Jim had. Cocktails of celebration turned into shots of regret, and jubilation turned into alcohol-fuelled tears.

[Cybil ceased her harshness, turning instead to finding a ‘workaround’ to his loneliness problem.]
“You could always try a site.” Cybil suggested.
“I know, but…It’s just I don’t ever want to see someone like her again.”
“Good point.” The last time Jim had seen Joyce, a woman he had met online, she had cut up a good amount of his closet and was almost about to cut him up before the police intervened. If she ever saw that abusive lunatic again, Cybil knew she wouldn’t hesitate to tear her to pieces, as crazy as that sounded.

“I still really…you know what I mean. I want someone. Not just…like that, but as a companion.”
“Stop chasing something that’ll never come.”