Into the Hands of Men

"Have you seen it yet?"

Emma had barely stepped out of the door of her dorm building when the other girl grabbed her arm, eyes manic.

"Seen what?" she asked, a familiar sinking feeling hitting her stomach. Whatever it was, she knew it wouldn't be good.

Sara didn't answer, just held her grip tight on Emma's wrist as she pulled her out into the biting morning air, dragging her across campus.

The sight of a crowd gathered ahead did little to calm the sick feeling of dread in Emma's gut as she followed the hundred gazes up to the side of the building. There, in red lettering, spray painted across the faded brick wall of the Pavillion:

'1 DAY LEFT OF FREEDOM'

And beneath it, as though an afterthought:

'BITCHES!'

Emma knew what it meant, of course. This was the biggest, boldest display of it on campus, that was true, but for months now this had followed around her and the other girls on campus. At first as whispers, just noticing guys pointing girls out to their friends, snickering amongst themselves. Then as it seemed more certain, posters began appearing, pasted on walls, slipped beneath dorm room doors. And now this, painted twenty feet high for all to see.

"What do we do about this?" Emma whispered to her friend. She looked up at the girl beside her, whose slender face was pinched in anger. She pushed a strand of pink hair out of her eyes and turned to Emma.

"I already told Professor Wilson about it," Sara said. "She said the cameras were spray painted over too, so no one saw who did it. I'm going to ask around after my lecture, see if anyone saw someone sneaking around."

Emma blinked. "I didn't mean about the graffiti," she whispered, pulling the other girl back from the crowd. She had learned by now to be wary who overheard a conversation like this. "I meant, you know." She gestured up at the words sprawled across the brickwork. "Tomorrow."

She could see the fire burning behind Sara's eyes as she stared down at her, and as she opened her mouth Emma prayed she'd say something comforting, reassuring, anything to quell the feeling of panic that seemed to grow fiercer inside her every day. Sara paused though, shook her head.

"It won't pass," she said simply, and Emma reached out to touch her friends arm.

"How can you say that," she began, hearing the strain in her own voice, hating herself for it, and hating her friend for her stubborn refusal for all these months to even admit the possibility.

"It won't pass," Sara interrupted, voice sterner now, as she yanked her arm back. "I have to get to my lecture," she said in the way of a goodbye, turning on her heel and setting off briskly to the other side of campus, leaving Emma alone but for the crowd still growing behind her.

She turned, knowing staring at the back of their heads wouldn't tell her anything about what everyone around her thought of it, and glad for it. She didn't need to see a single face excited for it, a boy laughing, or a terrified girl crying - she didn't need to feel more hopeless than she already did.

One day, and it would be voted on. It was insane to think of it. By tomorrow, 650 men, supposedly elected to represent their constituents, would have decided whether to strip away Emma's rights, to make her a second class citizen along with every other woman over the age of eighteen. Her future, her life, her body, out of her hands and into the hands of men.

It was, in a way, easy to understand Sara's insistence the bill wouldn't pass. It had all come about so fast, three years was all it had taken for a party to go from fringe obscurity to governing the country. But of course it had been coming before that, it hadn't been hard to see the changes in attitudes, the way decades of progress had unravelled just slowly enough that people could still deny this is where it would end up. The hard part was making yourself see it, fighting the urge to pretend it wasn't happening.

This evening, the Bill of Modern Women's Rights would be put up to a final vote, and a simple majority would be all that was needed carry it through, and then tomorrow everyone would wake up in a new world.

Women's Rights, she thought as always, what an insult of a name. The need for a so-called "Modern Woman" that she'd seen people talk about online, heard creeps in her classes mention, and finally heard the government parrot. The solution to all society's ills, they seemed to think. Nothing more than a way to legalize every man's darkest desires.

Emma knew her own lecture was about to begin but the thought of sitting in that theatre, surrounded by classmates who no doubt voted for this party, who had eagerly counted down the days, made her feel ill.

The hall to her dorm was empty and Emma was glad for it, quickly dropping her bag back into her bedroom before heading into the kitchen, flipping the kettle on and trying to calm her breath when she heard a knock on the door behind her.

Spinning her head around she saw a familiar face leaning against the door-frame, knuckles rapping mockingly on the wood.

"Mind if I come in?" Kyle asked, and Emma tried not to let her expression sour too visibly, not to give him the satisfaction.

"It's your kitchen too," she said, turning her back on him to grab a mug from the cupboard.

"I was just trying to be respectful of your privacy," the boy said, but she could hear the derision thick in his voice. There was an unspoken second part of that sentence, she knew, "-while you still have it." As she turned back and saw the smirk plastered across his face she could tell he was enjoying himself.

"You're a true gentlemen," Emma said with a roll of her eyes, willing the kettle to boil faster.

"You know, I really am," Kyle said, stepping further into the room. "I mean, compared to some of these animals out there, I'm a real saint." The nod of his head let her know he was referring to the graffiti, and Emma wasn't surprised he knew about it already. Whatever he said, he was probably friends with the assholes who did it - hell, she wouldn't be surprised if he'd been up there himself, spray can in hand.

"What do you want, Kyle?" she asked, struggling to keep her voice steady, knowing if he pushed her just enough she'd end up shouting at him at best, bursting into tears at worst.

He leant a hand on the countertop beside her, and Emma felt that all too familiar sense of fear she got whenever he got too close. He was tall, broad shouldered, and loomed over all the people in their dorm, but over Emma he towered, and he clearly loved it. She'd never minded being so short, but in moments like this she always resented it, how tiny and helpless it made her feel.

He'd asked her out not long after they'd started university, but even then he'd given her the creeps. She wasn't looking for a boyfriend, she told him, although of course she sensed he didn't care about dating her so much as bedding her. He'd not been happy then, but it had only been a few weeks later she actually had started seeing someone. She knew he'd never gotten over that.

"I just wanted to check up on you," he said, reaching a hand up and brushing her blonde hair off one cheek. "Make sure you're alright."

"You don't give a shit about me," Emma said, proud of how steady her voice came out, but Kyle just grinned.

"Now that's a lie," he said, leaning in closer and making Emma take an instinctive step back. "I wanted to make sure you know there's no need for hard feelings between us. That if you need me, I'm here for you once the Bill passes."

"It won't pass," Emma said, hating how much she reminded herself of Sara in that moment, and how little she believed the words.

Kyle just chuckled. "Oh it's passing, we both know that," he said, and his thumb brushed against Emma's cheek, her breath catching in her throat as it did, leaving her frozen before him as he lowered his voice and leant in close enough she could feel the warmth of his breath on her face.

"And when it does pass," he continued, "maybe you realise how good you could have things with me. I can't promise to go easy on you, but I can promise there are guys who would do a lot worse."

She hadn't noticed his other hand leave the counter, not until she suddenly felt it squeeze her ass and despite herself Emma let out a startled cry, high pitched and panicked, as she stumbled back from him and left him laughing there.

"What about your tea?" he called behind her but Emma didn't reply, didn't stop, couldn't care about the mug left on the counter and she threw open the door of her room, slammed it shut behind her and breathed a sigh of relief as she slid the lock shut, wishing she could forget everything he'd just said as she collapsed onto the bed and prayed that he would be proven wrong.

***

A buzz of her phone let her know her next lecture was in ten minutes time, and Emma pushed herself up off the bed. She'd missed two already, but she wasn't about to miss the last one - not only because she wasn't about to spend her whole day wallowing in her room, giving in to the fear everyone around her seemed to want her to have, but also because she didn't want to leave the other girls in her class alone.

She didn't have to be a history student, although she was, to know how much university life had changed recently. Ten years ago her course would have had as many women as men, if not more, but now she was in the minority. A social shift first, then a government push - to encourage women out of intellectual pursuits and promote inequality, Sara always called it.

A large part of it though, Emma believed, was due to the off-putting culture on campus. It had started with the student union making the decision that female students couldn't run for office, then their disbanding of feminist societies. Of course in their place rose plenty of men eager to sit around and fantasize about some day when they could get the world how they thought it should be - to no doubt sit together in their dozens and point out which girls they'd love to fuck if they could just be given the chance to take whatever and whoever they wanted.

She'd seen it in every lecture, every seminar. It was the reason Emma had long stopped going on night's out - it was too easy to find some guy grabbing your ass, trying to slide a hand beneath your skirt, and to know absolutely no one would do anything to stop it. Complaining to a bartender was more likely to result in him telling you to stop being a prude than to step in and help.

That was why she slung her bag over her shoulder and tried to ignore everyone around her as she marched to the lecture theatre, as she quickly made her way past the leering of her male classmates and towards the familiar group of girls who gathered together to wait by the door - strength in numbers one of the only kinds of strength they had left.

Of course it wasn't all the girls - she saw as she walked the smiling face of Rachel sat between two guys she vaguely knew. The girl had been in the same dorm as Emma and Sara since first year, and at one point they'd been friends. But as she saw one of the guys slide his hand along Rachel's thigh and watched the girl just giggle and keep up that vapid grin, she was reminded why that wasn't the case any longer. It was what doomed them all, as far as Emma was concerned, what Sara couldn't see - it wasn't enough to hope a handful of men opposed the Bill, not when there were once self-respecting women who had already accepted the place men wanted them to have in society, who hadn't needed to be forced, who were willing to let everyone else get dragged down with them.

As she approached the door she swapped half-hearted smiles with a few girls, and tried to ignore a snicker from a gaggle of boys watching them, although quickly saw what they were laughing at. Charlotte, ever one of the sanest voices of the girls Emma knew, quietly gestured to the door. There taped to it was a drawing, cartoonish but recognisable instantly.

The woman, drawn on her knees, dressed only in heels and stockings, was clearly Miss Gibson, their lecturer - the thick red curls and round glasses gave that away. And of course beside her stood a man with his hand clasping a lead, attached to a collar round her neck, an improbably large cock pressed to her lips. "Next week's lesson plan", someone had written beneath it.

More stifled laughter came from behind her as Emma stared at the sketch, and she pretended she'd not seen it. The days where the girls tore down posters like these was months ago - they knew it was better to just stand there, not let it show how much it pissed them off, that it had the exact effect it was intended to.

As the door opened and Miss Gibson stood waving them in, Emma felt she could see on the woman's face that she felt everything they did. No matter if they were students or lecturers there was surely a solidarity there, an understanding, a shared experience. Charlotte led the girls forward, and Emma shuffled into one of the front benches beside her, eager to give their teacher a barrier between her and the few students who already chose to act as though the Bill had passed.

As Miss Gibson clicked through to the start of her presentation and began to speak, Charlotte leant in to whisper into Emma's ear.

"You shouldn't have walked here alone," Charlotte said, "drop one of us a text next time yeah, we'll walk with you."

Emma leant in towards the girl, but kept her eyes fixed ahead, hoping the hushed conversation would go unnoticed. "It looks like we're scared though, right? If we can't even walk for five minutes without being buddied up."

Charlotte shrugged subtly. "Who cares how it looks. From now on, we're in pairs or more. If a girl in your dorm can't be relied on, some of us will come to you."

Emma knew Charlotte was referring to Rachel. She titlted her head to one side a little, giving her a glimpse of the girl sat a few rows to the right of them, flanked as always by a couple of eager boys. They wouldn't do anything in here today, she knew, besides grab a quick feel. Lecturers had stopped calling that out weeks ago, it wasn't worth the constant disruption. But tomorrow...

As the clock ticked to the end of the hour Emma was suddenly very aware she'd not taken in anything that had been said to them, but a glance at the faces around her told her that everyone else seemed preoccupied too. They let the guys filter out through the doors, taking a moment to pretend to rifle through their bags, until Miss Gibson looked up from her desk.

"Your seminar's in a couple minutes time girls," she said, "you should be running along."

Charlotte stepped towards the desk, and Emma followed a step behind.

"We just wanted to say-" She paused.

"About the picture, I mean," Amanda, another girl, cut in. "On the door."

"Yeah," Charlotte nodded, "We're sorry about that."

The lecturer's gaze was familiarly empathetic as she stood up from behind the desk and walked over to them. "It's nothing," she said, "don't worry about that."

"But- what's going to happen?" Charlotte asked, her voice choking up on the last word. "Tomorrow, I mean."

The redheaded lecturer paused, and wish a sigh took of her glasses, rubbing them on her blouse. "Nothing you need to worry about," she said, her voice resigned, her eyes not meeting theirs.

"All we can do is worry," Emma objected, and Miss Gibson slid her glasses back on and seemed unable to stop her shoulders from sagging.

"Look, girls, maybe there's something you need to realise now," she said, "either the Bill doesn't pass, and then there's nothing to worry about because nothing changes. Or it passes, and then there's nothing to worry about either, because everything at that point is out of your hands. Either way there's nothing you or I can do but accept what comes and hope for the best of either outcome," she said, and for the first time Emma noticed the extra button undone on her blouse today, the way she'd hiked her skirt up just high enough to show the lace at the top of her stockings, and realised just how alone she was.

"Now," Miss Gibson said, moving to open the door and gesture them out, "I'll see you all next week." Emma tried not to notice the fact she was stood with her half naked sketch and it's prediction on the door right beside her.

***

"It's bullshit," Sara said, between bites of her dinner. "Everyone could see it, could see him making her uncomfortable, and Finch didn't do a fucking thing. I'm telling you, once this shit settles down, I'm making sure he's fired."

Emma just nodded along, only half listening to her friend's tirade about some professor pretending not to notice a student harassing someone in his seminar. Sara's girlfriend was sat with them doing much the same, although the raven-haired girl rarely said much of anything. She supposed that was why they worked so well together - Sara was happy to talk for hours, and Grace was happy to listen. She didn't actually know where the girl stood on anything that was happening, or really anything much about her, but she didn't feel making new friends was exactly a top priority right now.

Her own seminar had gone by uneventfully, even Rachel had seemed to be on good behaviour. It was on her now that Emma's attention was divided, watching her sitting on the other side of the canteen. She'd been so jealous of her once, and in moments like this it was so easy to see why. She was practically glowing, as she sat and tossed her hair back and laughed she looked like she'd been plucked from some fashion magazine. In first year she'd been in awe of the girl, her face always perfectly made up, luscious and silky hair, tall slender figure, long shapely legs, the subtle curves she knew how to show off so well. Emma had never struggled for attention from guys, but compared to Rachel she'd always felt inadequate.

But whatever vision she might briefly have seen to a Rachel to be envious of was dispelled as she saw the girl grin and let some guy Emma had never even seen before slide up beside her, his arm wrapping around her as he grabbed at her chest, squeezing her tits like he was playing with some toy, not sat with a girl in public. And all the while Rachel just let it happen.

Did she enjoy it, Emma wondered? Did she get off on it, find pleasure in it, like the fact that boys knew they could come grope her, slap her ass, disrespect her? Or did she just figure this was easier, that she could just let them do what they wanted and get on with it, get it over with? Would she ever realise that they would never get bored of her, that for every guy who got a squeeze of her thigh and moved on another would come by ready to slide his hand further, to grab something further between her legs? Did she not realise that every guy Emma could hear grunting as they fucked her at night would just tell his friends who would take their turn the next?

"Are you even listening?" Sara said, jabbing Emma in the arm with a finger, and her head snapped back to the girl.

"Uh, yeah," she said, "that's awful," she guessed would be the right response.

"Isn't it though?!" Sara exclaimed, proving Emma had guessed correctly, as she carried on with some story about posters she'd seen on the other side of campus.

Across the canteen though Emma could see Rachel standing up, heading over to the toilets, and as she walked two pairs of eyes fixed on her. She recognised one of them from her course, a guy named Connor, and the other as a friend of his who sat pointing to Rachel as she walked. It was a familiar exchange between them, quiet jeering, goading, no doubt discussing what they'd love to do to her dorm-mate, but Emma watched as one of them stood up, pulling the other with him, and they began to follow her, their grins making it clear they weren't just going to piss.

With Charlotte's words coming back to her, Emma sighed and stood up, catching Sara's attention.