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RUTHIE

Mom's voice rises before I even round the corner. Slurred, frantic, a storm brewing behind the locked ward doors. My stomach knots the second I hear it?—

“Whore! You brought him here? You brought him?”

She sees Vadka and sees every man who ever ruined her. Doesn’t matter that he’s still as stone, jaw carved from control, arms crossed like he’s ready to end the building but won’t. Her rage isn’t about logic. It never was.

I move fast. "Mom?—"

She lunges, fingernails like claws, her voice splitting the air. I don’t flinch. Not even when her hand cracks across my cheek so hard my teeth clack together.

Then—he’s there.

Vadka lifts me like I weigh nothing. Not rough, not violent. But absolute .

He places me behind him, like a shield being sheathed, and turns to her with that death-quiet voice.

“You strike her again,” he says, “and I’ll make sure you’re restrained. You will not like that.”

“Fuck you,” she spits.

He steps forward.

She recoils.

“She's not your punching bag. Not anymore. She doesn’t owe you forgiveness just because your cage has padded walls.”

The nurse is calling security. Mom’s screaming now, but I can’t hear it. My cheek burns, but my ears are ringing with a different sound?—

Another slap. The same hand, less wrinkled. My mother’s voice. “ Tears again? You think crying gets you out of this ?”

I’m six again. The walls blur.

And then?—

Vadka turns. And everything fades but him.

He looks down at me, his hands clenched, trying not to touch me wrong. “Ruthie.”

My lip trembles.

Shit . I don’t want to cry again.

He doesn't speak again until we're in the cafeteria, the air sterile and too bright.

“Thought she said she was attacked. ”

I roll my eyes. “Seems she said she was, but what really happened was one of her staff tried to force her to get therapy.”

There’s a vending machine, soft-serve ice cream in front of me, half-melted. He pushes it there like it’s a peace offering. Or maybe a truce.

I can’t look at him. I just keep swirling the spoon in it.

“You were shaking,” he says finally. Not a question.

I nod, barely.

“You don’t shake.”

“Yeah.” My voice scrapes. “Parents really bring out the best in you, don’t they?”

Silence stretches. He sits back in the too-small folding chair, his hands clasped in front of him.

“I remember the first time my father hit me,” he says. “It was just an accident. I dropped a drink and made a mess of the floor. I was five.”

I glance up. His gaze is steady. Not soft, but not cold.

“I thought it meant I was wrong. Later, I realized—he was the one who lost control. Not me.”

Something in me cracks. The spoon clinks against the plastic. “So… what? We just do better?”

“Yes.” He says it like it’s the only truth that matters. “We break the pattern. Or it eats us alive.”

I shake my head. “That sounds nice on a fortune cookie, but we’re not saints, Vadka. ”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t argue. He leans in instead. “You didn’t deserve that. And I will never let anyone touch you like that again.”

I whisper it before I can stop myself. “I like when you touch me.”

His breath halts. The ice cream in his hand melts untouched.

“I like when you dominate me,” I say lower with a soft smile. “Not because I’m weak. But because I trust you not to destroy me.” I can barely breathe. Why is it so hard for me to be honest and open like this?

“I like it too,” he adds. His voice dips rough. “When it’s you. When I know you respect me. When you give me yourself willingly.”

My chest feels tight.

He reaches across the table and wipes a streak of soft-serve off my hand with his thumb. Heat coils between us.

We’ve both been hit. Scarred. Trained to flinch.

But right now?

We’re choosing something else.

Not perfect. Not pure.

Just better.

And maybe… that’s enough to start.