In grammar school, the fifth, sixth, seventh, and eighth grade students used the upstairs bathrooms. The paint on the stalls—a pale, sickly yellow—was rubbery with age and easily peeled off. Ruth, for reasons a thirteen year old could not explain, typically used the second stall from the right. She was in eighth grade when girls hiding from class in the bathroom carved "Fuck" inside the stall door. Well, Ruth assumed it was "Fuck." She'd never gotten to see it herself. The next time she entered the stall and closed the door, a frightening photo of Jesus printed poorly on yellow paper was staring back at her. Under his face were words—a Bible quote or a made-up saying—acting as a message from Jesus that he was always watching. It was chilling. Ruth stopped using that stall, even when it was repainted and Jesus was moved to the mirror.

It was not the first time, and certainly not the last, that Ruth was told someone was always watching her.

The following Saturday had come far too quick for Ruth's liking. She had to pull two sets of art songs from the depths of her college career, meet with Scary Gary to rehearse, and rent a gown to wear to the shindig. Stupid Matt Murdock and Ruth's need to defy him. She'd be lying if she didn't admit that he'd haunted her every move for years, influenced her every decision, long after they'd stopped being friends. What Would Matt Murdock Think? Ugh, fuck that guy.

Sadly, the quick google search Ruth had neglected to do two weeks ago revealed that Vanessa—Vanessa Marianna—was Wilson Fisk's girlfriend. So it was actually insanely fucked up of Ruth to be performing at her gallery opening and doing any kind of business with the woman. But alas. Too late to turn back now. Honestly, how much worse could it be from having a singing job with an institution known for centuries of corruption, abuse, homophobia, transphobia, misogyny, racism, antisemitism, general bigotry, et cetera, et cetera? (The Catholic Church, if you couldn't tell.)

Ruth tried not to dwell on the possibility that she was actually a terrible, horrible person.

And in fairness, Ruth did not typically end a Mass with a gun pointed at her back.

Ruth was pulled into yet another alleyway on her way to the gallery, this time by a masked figure. She knew immediately it was the Devil of Hell's Kitchen everyone had been talking about for the past year. But a second realization hit her almost as soon as the first.

" Matt ?" She asked in the darkness of the alley. The brick was uncomfortable against her back, and she had on a pair of small heels that were unbalanced on the blacktop. This was fucking rich.

"What?" The figure asked, but they both knew it was no use. Sure, Matt had enhanced senses that made it hard to get anything by him, but Ruth had known him long enough—even with their hiatus—to be able to tell it was him behind a flimsy mask. She knew what he smelled like, what the bottom half of his face looked like, his build (although it was significantly uh. . . more built than it once was.)

"You're joking. You're the guy who's been running around beating the shit out of bad guys?" Ruth stared up at him in disbelief, laughing in spite of herself. She could tell Matt was fuming under the mask.

"You cannot— "

"Who am I going to tell?" She interrupted. "I've kept your other secret all these years. And honestly, did you really think you could… kidnap me the same way you did last week without me figuring out it's you?"

"It doesn't matter, Ruth. You cannot go in there. That woman is—"

"Wilson Fisk's girlfriend? I know, Matt."

He pulled back a little, looking betrayed. "And what? You're doing this because I told you not to. Is that what it is?" Ruth didn't answer, realizing how childish it sounded now that he was saying it aloud. Matt blew air out of his nose, rage boiling as he took several steps back. "Ruth, this is insane. You were more mature as a sixteen year old than you're being right now."

Oh, he was striking many a nerve. "And what does that make you? Following me around like a helicopter parent after telling me to fuck off years ago." She took a step towards him, her pointer finger making its grand entrance into the argument. "I told you a million times you weren't responsible for me, Matthew. And yet here you are trying to control my life all over again. Reserve your savior complex for the crime-fighting, Murdock." And with that, she shuffled out of the alley, pink-faced and teary-eyed.

She'd really like to blame him for her own getting mixed up in this mess. Maybe if he hadn't said all he said to her back at Columbia she wouldn't have continued trying to be someone she was not.

Her performance was fine. Singing wasn't the easiest after a heated argument with a masked vigilante. Still, the attendees were impressed. Ruth had debated sneaking out once she finished, but Vanessa pulled her aside before she could make an escape.

"That was beautiful, Ms. McGrath." She complimented, placing a warm hand on Ruth's shoulder. "My checkbook is right upstairs. Come with me and you'll be all set."

And again she'd like to blame Matt for the events that follow. He always managed to cloud her judgment and send her plummeting into a logic-less ravine. Ruth followed Vanessa up a narrow stairway and into a dimly lit room. There was a small sofa in one corner and a desk in another, along with two fancy lamps. The windows were huge, looking out over the neighborhood. Ruth watched cars whizz by as Vanessa walked over to the desk. She should've been more alert—or at least less interested in the windows—because before she could even gather that another person had entered the room, she was pushed onto her knees and something cold and metal was pressed into her back. Ruth instinctively put her hands up, panic seizing every synapse in her nervous system. She was a fucking idiot.

Vanessa walked over to her, placing a piece of paper on the floor in front of her and holding a checkbook in her free hand. Ruth snuck a glance at the paper. It was a contract.

"Did you know two lawyers are responsible for sending my love to prison?" Vanessa finally spoke. "Two nobodies. They were interns only months before." She was pacing slowly, heels clicking in a steady rhythm. Lento . "I couldn't help but do research. I wanted to tear them apart. To make them feel the pain I now feel without my Wilson." Her voice became gravelly as she spoke about the man. "I was. . .overjoyed to discover such a talented young woman was so strongly associated with one of the lawyers."

And Ruth was said woman, wasn't she? And Matt was the lawyer? Good lord. She never should have been friends with Facebook users in college. She and Matt were probably all over the platform.

"He means nothing to me now." Ruth stated without thinking. "I want nothing to do with him." Fuck. That wasn't true at all. After all this time, she still cared so much about Matt Murdock. Every day she cared about him, thought about him, worried about him. And holy fuck, most of all she missed him. Yet here she was playing the game again. And this time Vanessa was God.

Vanessa merely smiled. "Good." She said before gesturing to the contract in front of Ruth. "To receive your payment for tonight's performance, go ahead and sign."

Ruth looked down at the page, unable to read it. The print was terribly small, the lighting was terrible, her eyes were burning, and she had terrible fucking vision. "I. . .I think I'll pass on the money."

Vanessa sighed. "That's fine. You have another option." Ruth looked up, only to find that Vanessa was not looking at her, but the guy with the gun behind her.

Oh. "Sign this or get shot, okay cool." Ruth mumbled, reaching for the pen in front of her. "Could you. . .possibly. . . give me an overview of what this says?"

Vanessa laughed at her, leaning down to Ruth's level on the ground. She smiled, taking Ruth's face in her hand. Her nails dug into the skin of Ruth's cheeks. "You belong to me."

Well, shit. Maybe this was more fucked up than singing at a church. The pen shook in Ruth's hand as she signed her life away. She was probably better off with her other option, ultimately. When everything was signed and Ruth was handed her check, she dazedly made her way to the door.

"Oh, and remember, Ruth." Vanessa called out. Ruth turned back from the doorway, throat closing. "I'm always watching."

Spring, Senior Year:

"Ruth! Elise said you might talk to Matt about prom?"

Ruth's arm froze mid-air as she went to place a book in her locker. Collette had materialized next to her. "Uh, yes. I did."

"And?" Collette asked, and the look of hope in her eyes absolutely destroyed Ruth.

"He. . .He said he'd think about it!" Ruth exclaimed with a plastered grin. "And that you're a really nice girl."

Collette beamed, tucking her honey hair behind her ears as her cheeks burned pink. "Really?"

"Yup." Ruth replied, closing her locker after contemplating slamming her face into it. "Only one problem, though."

Collette's face dropped to a concerned frown. "What is it?"

"He's allergic to perfume." Jesus, Ruth already had like four different sins to confess at next week's reconciliation.

Collette gasped, slapping a hand over her mouth. "Oh, gosh I had no idea. What happens? Does he sneeze?"

"Anaphylaxis, actually." Ruth found herself saying. She couldn't stop.

"That's terrible!" Collette cried. "Thank you for letting me know. Oh! And thank you for talking to him." She grinned widely, throwing her arms around Ruth and catching her off guard. "You're the best."

She was gone before Ruth could return the awkward hug, leaving Ruth to stand at the lockers feeling like a fool. Since when did Collette's feelings matter more to her than Matt's?

Ruth's instinct was to run away from Matt at the end of the school day. As soon as she heard the tapping of his cane, she bolted in the opposite direction. He caught up to her in the lobby, grabbing onto her backpack before she could get away.

"What did you tell Collette?" He asked quietly.

Panicking, Ruth stammered out "N-nothing!" Matt shook his head, swiping her leg lightly with his long cane. Ruth jumped dramatically, pretending it was painful. "Listen, you should've seen the—" She cut herself off at his raised eyebrow. "That's a fucked up sentence to say to a blind person, let me revise." She admitted, taking a breath. "She was so hopeful , Matt. I couldn't bear to be the one who broke her heart."

"It's a school dance, Roo." Matt replied matter-of-factly.

"It's senior prom! She's probably been dreaming about this since elementary school."

"And you haven't? Now you're going alone."

Ruth's heart stuttered a moment, stomach sinking. "Is that why you wanted to go together? Because you thought I needed a date?"

"What? No, that's not what I—"

"You're taking Collette. The perfume situation is fixed. Maybe I'll get a date, I don't really care either way."

But she kind of did care. Suppressing one source of guilt had opened up the floodgates of another. She could feel it gnawing at her insides. It was never ending, wasn't it?

Present Day:

Ruth considered not showing up for church the following morning. Her blinds remained closed, lights remained off, and she was considering using the money she'd made the night before to buy new locks and other security-related doohickeys. Still, she showed up to Mass a half hour early, looking down from the choir loft and anxiously awaiting the tapping of Matt's long cane.

" I'm sorry." She whispered once he entered the church. " I'm sorry. I really am." God, she was embarrassed, " You were right. I was acting like a child and I was a fucking idiot. I really didn't think it would turn out the way it did. And you tried to warn me. And I'm sorry." She hated this. She hated to have to swallow all she said to him last night about responsibility and savior complexes. Because it was true. And now here she was begging for his help.

She needed him just one more time. Just this once she needed him to help her pick up the pieces of her pathetic mistakes. She had exhausted her chances and could not keep running from the horrible reality that she continued to create for herself. She just couldn't get over how stupid she'd been to get into this mess.

At the end of Mass, she could hear him walking up the stairs. And for a brief moment, the world was lifted from her shoulders.