Evan had insisted that Ruth come back to his flat. She still hadn’t eaten, and he wasn’t happy about it.

Usually, Ruth wouldn’t be either—but that evening’s standoff had stolen her appetite. So they sat at his narrow kitchen table, and she ate a sandwich, and he watched as if he’d never seen mastication before.

Finally, forcing down a leaden bite of bread and ham, she asked, “What?”

He tapped his fingers rhythmically against the table-top. “You going to tell me what that was about?”

Ruth shrugged. “Figure it out.”

“You know, I’d love to. I’d love to figure you out. But I need all the pieces before I can assemble the puzzle.”

She took another bite of her sandwich.

After a moment, he sighed. “Okay. Keep your secrets.”

And, just like that, she felt guilty. It took a few bites of sandwich for the guilt to really get to her, but it was there.

You need to decide if you want him to know you. Don’t do things halfway.

Throwing the crust down on her plate, she said, “Me and Hayley and Maria were friends.”

He looked up, barely hiding his surprise. “Friends?”

“Yeah.” It wasn’t really funny, but she still found herself smirking. “I did have friends, you know. Before.”

“Before what?” He asked immediately.

She shrugged. Deciding to trust him was one thing. Parading her biggest mistakes before a man she really fucking liked was something else entirely.

And shit, she hadn’t meant to admit—even to herself—how much she liked Evan. But it was far too late now. Because, all of a sudden, she was thinking about how she would tell him.

Eventually.

“Why would your friends treat you like that?” He scowled. “I mean, that Hayley girl—even if you aren’t friends anymore—”

“I’d do the same,” Ruth said, “if I was her. She’s loyal.”

“To who?”

She looked at him blankly.

“Alright, Miss Mystery.” He smiled at her, really smiled. “I won’t squeeze everything out of you tonight.”

Maybe I wish you would.

Ruth buried her face in her hands and sighed. She was starting to piss herself off.

When she felt the gentle pressure of Evan’s hand against the back of her neck, she bit her lip. It was either that or make a highly embarrassing noise.

“What’s wrong?” He asked. His fingers kneaded tense muscles, strong and skilful.

She squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m sick of everything being so dramatic. I was trying to make you feel better, and it just…” She didn’t even know how to finish that sentence.

Gently, he tugged her hands away from her face. She blinked at the sudden light, then stared at him. His eyes were serious, his fingers still wrapped around each of her wrists. She felt as if she was burning. And enjoying it.

“You did make me feel better,” he said firmly. “I very much enjoyed your microwaved soup.”

Despite her determination to be dour, she giggled. Then cursed him for it.

He continued, his voice softening. “Just talking to you made me feel better. Also, seeing you in leggings.”

Now she didn’t know if she should laugh or gasp. She compromised by choking on her own spit.

Evan waited patiently for her eyes to stop watering before he handed her a glass of water.

After a few calming sips, she forced herself to say, “I should go.”

He watched her impassively, leaning back in his seat. “Should you?”

For a moment, she wavered. But then she remembered the way Hayley had looked at her. The pity in Maria’s eyes.

In Year Eight, Ruth had provided Maria with illicit tampons, because Maria’s Irish Catholic mother insisted they were sinful. Tonight, Maria had looked at Ruth and fingered the pearl-studded cross around her neck.

It hurt.

“You should know,” Evan said slowly, “that I care about you. I didn’t say that before, but it’s important, and I should have.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not. I asked you to trust me, but I should trust you too. I should trust you to figure out your own boundaries and… you know, all that shit.”

Ruth huffed out a laugh. “Yeah. All that shit. But I probably should’ve told you before now that I’m public enemy number one. And I shouldn’t have suggested that walk.”

Across the table, Evan cracked a smile. “Because I’m so terrified of the town’s avenging angels?”

She snorted. “Keep laughing. They’ll eat you alive.”

He reached out and caught her hand, placing it palm-up on the table. Casually, his fingers traced the veins in her wrist. “I assume everyone hates you because you’re a man-eating succubus.”

She tried to suppress a shiver at the languid touch of his fingers, and failed miserably. “Pretty much.”

“You take advantage of their poor, innocent menfolk.”

“Something like that.”

He looked up, his gaze heavy. “Would you take advantage of me? If I asked you nicely?”

She smiled. “I think I respect you too much.”

“That’s funny, because I respect you a lot. But I still want to rip your clothes off.”

Ruth’s heart stuttered. She bit her lip.

“Tell me no, Ruth.” His fingers slid back and forth, over the inside of her wrist. “Or tell me yes. I need to know I’m not losing it.”

“I can’t do that.” She hadn’t realised the words were true until they came out of her mouth.

“You can’t say yes?” His fingers stopped.

“I can’t say yes. I can’t say no, either.”

He swallowed. Hard. “You’re not afraid of me. Are you?”

“No.” She’d never been less afraid of a man in her life. “I just…” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “I can’t give you permission to fuck me over.”

He smiled slightly. “That’s not exactly what I want to do.”

“But you will,” she said sharply. Was this really what she thought?

Yes.

“You will, and when you do, at least I’ll know I never gave you permission.”

He stared. She’d really fucked things up now, she realised; all the ways she was damaged had been neatly exposed in the space of five seconds, and he’d wish he’d never made her that bloody shepherd’s pie.

Then he said, “I can’t tell you I’ll never hurt you. I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”

Even though she’d known it was coming, it hurt. It hurt like the time she’d sketched her favourite teacher and the teacher had crumpled the paper and thrown it in the bin because she was supposed to be doing fractions, except this time the paper was possibly, maybe her heart. Or something.

Evan grasped her hand firmly in his, drawing her attention back to him. “But I can promise,” he continued, “that I will always treat you as you deserve to be treated. That I will always respect you. That I won’t lie to you or betray your trust. I try not to say never, but I will say this: hurting you is something I would never choose to do. I swear.”

She felt unwelcome prickles beneath her eyelids, threatening tears. How embarrassing. She hadn’t cried in years, and she certainly wouldn’t now.

“I also know,” he said, “that I can’t make you believe me. I have to show you. I’m okay with that. But Ruth, you need to know that I won’t take this any further until you tell me what you want.”

“You’re impossible,” she muttered.

“No,” he said. “It’s just, I want to do things with you. Not to you. There’s a difference.”

“Believe me,” she muttered, “I know.” And then, from the flash of concern in his eyes, she realised she’d said too much again.

His voice carefully calm—maybe too calm—he asked, “What do you mean by that?”

Ruth shrugged, her tongue feeling thick in her mouth. But he waited patiently for her to find the right words, and she didn’t feel the pressure to speak that so often kept her silent.

Finally, she said, “I was with a guy. Kind of. Before. And once I agreed to be with him, I suppose that meant, in his mind, that I always agreed.”

Evan’s jaw tightened. “You mean—”

“I mean, he didn’t really care if I said yes. Most people don’t care about yes. A few more people care about no.” She shrugged. “So I have this new thing where, if I want someone to leave me alone, I bite their dick off.”

It was a joke. Evan didn’t laugh. She didn’t laugh either.

If she’d ever felt like she could actually do that—like she could fight someone off—maybe it would’ve been funny. Lighthearted. Even empowering. But she hadn’t.

She hadn’t even felt like she could scream, because, really, wouldn’t that be so dramatic? Wouldn’t she be attention-seeking, or causing problems? People said it all the time; if you’re in bed with a man, you’ve already said yes.

But she knew that Evan didn’t think like that. Evan didn’t think like that, and honestly, neither did she.

After a tense second, he spoke. “If I killed this guy you were... kind of with, would you come and visit me in prison?”

She bit down on her smile, but it spread anyway. “That’s funny.”

“I’m not joking, love.”

Ruth forced herself to roll her eyes, because it was easy and familiar and something other than crying. Why on earth was she so close to crying?

Pulling her hand from his, she said, “I should go.”

And he said again, “Should you?”

Ruth took a breath. “Um… yes. Definitely yes.”

This time, he didn’t stop her. But he did say, steady as always, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Was she grateful or terrified?