It was Tuesday when Ruth received a call from Vanessa. She'd been on her way home from school, shuffling through the streets of Hell's Kitchen, when her phone rang. The woman was as intimidating as ever, even over the phone.
"What is your availability Thursday evening?" Vanessa asked, and Ruth almost laughed. Most evenings she spent on the couch watching television, recovering from another day of loud, energetic children. She loved her job a lot, but she also needed to tap into the deepest recesses of her energy reserves to stay with it for six hours straight. She normally avoided doing anything on weeknights (not that there was anything to do), but she was very much willing to sacrifice her evenings of decompressing for an opportunity to make money singing.
"I'm free." Ruth stated, trying her best to sound cool and collected. She had to stop under some scaffolding to take the call for fear of sounding too winded. Ruth was never known for being an athlete.
"Perfect. I have a new gallery opening soon on 34th Street. I'd love to hear you in that space. I'll email you the information."
"Okay, great. Will there be an accompanist?"
"Of course. Only the finest." Yeesh. Sometimes Ruth preferred working with mediocre pianists. She suffered terribly from imposter syndrome. "I look forward to hearing your voice."
And before Ruth could say any form of goodbye, the woman hung up. Ruth let out a shuddering breath, shaking off the weird tone of the phone call. She tried very hard to ignore the horrible, sinking feeling she had about this audition and this lady. She pushed it all under the irrational anxiety umbrella in her brain. Normally she'd google the person before making any kind of plan like this, and yet her mind was so hazy with the new church job and seeing Matt again, she'd nearly forgotten there was a chance the woman might call her. And she couldn't throw the opportunity away. The lady had art galleries and security guards, like come on.
And it was the guilt. The guilt drove her decision-making. She was taught to obey all authority figures, good or bad, and she had no way of stopping herself from doing it until it was too late to turn back.
Fall, Junior Year:
"I'm quitting cross country." Ruth announced from Matt's bedroom door. She had walked to the orphanage straight from practice.
Matt was sitting on his bed, hand on a textbook, unsurprised by her sudden presence. "Well you've always hated it, so why not?"
"Well, yeah, I hate running and I'm really bad at it." She said, as she did many times before, but this was different. This was her last straw. She could feel tears welling in her eyes. She should've just gone home, bottled it up, gotten over it. "But—" She tried to continue, but she hated the way her voice sounded as soon as she began to speak. It was squeaky and strained. She was not going to cry in front of Matt Murdock.
Matt sat up a little straighter, seemingly knowing what was about to happen before even Ruth did. "Did. . .something happen?" He asked. Ruth could see through her blurry gaze that he was beginning to reflect her own anger and disgust.
Ruth felt the grime. She'd been sweaty from running at practice and then walking to the orphanage. Her legs were shaky and her hands were tingling. And when she closed her eyes to get the tears out of her vision, she could feel the hot breath on her face. His shoulder against hers. The low voice in her ear.
Are you afraid of me, McGrath?
Ruth choked on a quiet, squeaky sob. Embarrassing, embarrassing, embarrassing.
"It was him, wasn't it." Matt asked, but it came out sounding like a statement. He got up from the bed, crossing the room to stand in front of Ruth by the doorway. "Did he do something? Say something? He's a fucking creep, everybody knows it. You need to tell Father Emerson." Matt shut up when he evidently realized he'd only made her cry harder.
"I c-can't." Ruth said shakily, covering her face. "They golf together." And it sounded ridiculous, but it was true. Nothing would ever be done. There was a reason nothing had been done yet about the man.
Matt ran a hand down his face. He was noticeably shaking with rage. He pulls Ruth into a hug, holding onto her tattered school tee shirt as though someone might come and steal her away. "I'll beat the shit out of him someday, Roo."
Ruth laughed bitterly into his shoulder. "Me first, Matthew."
Present Day:
Ruth decided she wouldn't try very hard at this audition. Que sera, sera. She strolled up to the gallery location in a floral sundress and minimal makeup, heart pounding despite her best efforts to calm herself. She opened the glass door to reveal a large room with white walls and a wooden floor. There were tarps and sheet rock strewn about the place, along with—presumably—paintings under sheets on otherwise empty walls. Ruth's steps echoed immediately as she walked into the room. She wondered for a moment if she had the wrong day or time, but as she walked farther into the room, she came across a grand piano, Vanessa, two security-looking guys, and the pianist. Vanessa and the pianist had been engaged in a very quiet conversation prior to Ruth's entrance.
"Ms. McGrath, it's wonderful to see you again. And under less soaking circumstances." Vanessa said, the ominous smirk sitting on her hot pink lips.
"Good to see you, too." Ruth said, turning to the pianist. "I'm Ruth McGrath," She greeted, extending her hand.
The pianist looked at it for a moment, kind of snobbily, before grasping it firmly. "Gary." He said. The lack of a last name was a bit concerning.
"Pleasure to meet you, Gary." Ruth replied, plastering her big sweet smile on her face despite feeling very uncomfortable. "Should I get to singing?"
"Absolutely." Vanessa said, taking a seat on a fancy little chair perpendicular to the piano.
Ruth handed Gary her scores, setting a tempo and beginning the piece. She chose Charmant papillon by Andre Campra, figuring it would showcase the range of her voice most efficiently. It was also a bit of a workout to sing, though, so she slightly regretted making the choice. She got through it unscathed, anyway, and she couldn't quite discern what Vanessa thought.
"I'll give you a call." Was all she said, her face unchanging. "Chuck, would you walk her out please?" She said, addressing one of the security guys.
Chuck nodded silently, stalking towards Ruth and guiding her toward the front doors with a hand on her back. She did not welcome the touch, and walked quickly in an attempt to get ahead of him. Part of her was suddenly hoping that Vanessa wouldn't give her a call. Still, she was proud of herself for going through with the audition. She could hear her college professors in the back of her head telling her to seize every opportunity possible. And again, she'd be making fucking bank performing at that lady's functions. How bad could it possibly be?
"You were nervous today." Matt called out from a bench in front of the church. Ruth was hoping she could sneak past him without him acknowledging her. She knew she shouldn't have been lazy and just walked around to the other side of the church.
"And that's your business, how?" Ruth responds, stopping in front of him despite her instinct to keep strutting along.
"You weren't nearly as nervous last week. Did something change?"
Ugh, he was being a jerk. She was nervous because this time she knew he was there and he was listening. And she knew he knew that. Matt Murdock knew everything.
"Why do you care?" Ruth said, fists curling. They hadn't spoken in years and he had the audacity to call after her like they were back in high school.
Matt sighed, leaning forward in his seat. It was strange to see him so. . .old would not be the word, considering that would mean she's equally elderly. It was just odd to see him in a suit with a different haircut and different glasses. Red glasses. Her stomach twisted. "I was just curious."
"Well, it's invasive, Matt." Ruth told him, and even after all those years it felt wrong to talk to him in such a biting tone. "I- I know you can't help it, but. . ." What the fuck was she even saying? "This is ridiculous. You don't get to speak to me like you didn't completely shatter my perception of myself just to. . ." She stopped talking. She really didn't want to have this conversation. She'd thought for years of what she'd say to him, had this conversation in her head dozens of times, and she was certain until last week that she'd finally forgotten about him.
Matt opened his mouth to say something, but the sound of a cell phone ringing quickly interrupted him. Ruth started at the sound, taking a moment to realize it was her phone. She huffed, answering the call and walking away from the church.
"This is Vanessa calling for Ms. McGrath." There goes the jelly leg feeling again. Ruth snuck a glance behind her. Matt didn't seem to be moving from the bench any time soon, and she could tell from the way his head was tilted that he was definitely listening to her entire phone conversation. Asshole.
"Speaking."
"Hi Ms. McGrath. I was wondering if you were interested in performing at the gallery opening next Saturday night. It's at 8:00, so it shouldn't interfere with your little church job."
Dammit, Ruth was caught off guard. She was so angry, so determined to convince Matt she wasn't the girl he once knew, that all her doubts and concerns about Vanessa were immediately abandoned. "Yes, I'd love to."
"Two sets will do. Perhaps one Italian and one French? I'll forward you Gary's contact information so you can set up a rehearsal time. Wear a gown. I look forward to hearing the performance."
"Than—" Ruth began to say, but once again she'd already hung up.
Ruth had gotten a good block and a half away from the church when she was grabbed roughly by the upper arm and pulled into an alleyway. She immediately went to scream, only for it to come out as a strangled yelp when she realized who had done it.
"Matt, what the hell? "
Had he followed her the entire time? When she'd glanced back five minutes ago, he was still sitting at the church. It took everything in her not to punch him.
"Who was that on the phone?" He asked, his voice low and serious. She did not like that.
"Just some lady." Ruth answered without thinking. "Would you leave me alone? This has nothing to do with you. I have nothing to do with you."
She moved to get away, but Matt only tightened his grip. "Ruth, you have to listen to me. Do not sing at that art gallery."
"I already have. When I auditioned . I came out unscathed, so I don't see the problem here." Ruth said defiantly, yanking her arms from Matt's hands. She shoved him forward, squeezing past him and away from the alley.
She was seething. She could not believe all that had managed to transpire that afternoon. And she was more pissed that she clearly should have gone with her gut instinct regarding this Vanessa lady. But she'd be damned if she followed Matt Murdock's advice anytime soon.
Spring, Senior Year:
"Do you know who you're taking to prom?" Ruth asked while picking at a leaf. She and Matt were in the park. He was leaning up against a large tree while she lay opposite him in the grass. "Because Collette mentioned she'd like to go with you."
Matt scoffed. "Collette mentioned it to you ."
"No, no. She mentioned it to Elise, who mentioned it to Cora, who mentioned it to me." Ruth explained. "And normally I'd encourage a girl to talk to you about it herself because I am no carrier pigeon, but Collette's a nice girl."
Matt frowned. "Yeah, she is. But the perfume she uses gives me a headache."
"Well, tell Cora to tell Elise to tell Collette that she needs to cool it with the perfume, and you're set."
"Why don't we just go together?" Matt asked, fingers fidgeting with Ruth's shoelaces.
Ruth pushed herself up onto her elbows, raising an eyebrow at the boy. "Aren't we always discussing how we can't do everything together?" She asked, smirking. "People are going to think we're the ones who were fucking in the chapel."
" Ruth ." Matt scolded, though it was evident he was holding back laughter.
"Sorry, sorry." Ruth apologized through giggles. "I'd be happy to go with you. Unless someone cuter comes along."
And there it was again. The strange look on Matt's face. And the strange flutter in Ruth's stomach. But she would never, ever, ever , let herself identify the feeling. She couldn't. And she couldn't explain why either. And that frightened her more than the feeling itself.