Ruth's pov
One night, I sat alone on the cold floor of my room.
No light. Just the hum of distant generators and my own breathing.
I thought of everything.
The nights. The hands. The way they used me like I wasn't human.
The way I screamed into pillows until my throat bled.
The way I begged God to let me die but He stayed silent.
And something in me snapped.
A darkness I didn't know I carried rose to the surface like oil in water.
"If I must suffer," I whispered, "then they will too."
I looked at the prescription in my drawer the one from the clinic. The one that confirmed it.
HIV positive.
A parting gift from that life.
I stared at the paper. Then laughed. A cold, bitter sound that even scared me.
"I will give men this disease," I said to the darkness. "Every last one of them."
It was not revenge.
It was justice. My own kind of justice.
They broke me. Shattered me.
Now I would become the fire that burned them back.
No more .
I kept sleeping with men, sharing the disease with them, watching their lives spiral. Some would cry, beg for forgiveness, but I didn't care. They were paying for what they did to me, for every single man who took something from me, for every night I spent screaming in the dark. They were all going to burn.
I managed to get a job as a sales girl in a store The work was mundane nothing that could hold my attention for long. I hated it. I hated the way people smiled at me like I was just another girl doing her job, unaware of the darkness that churned inside me. I would force myself to smile back, to pretend everything was fine, but inside I was a mess. Angry. Sad. I felt dirty all the time.
Sometimes, I'd walk around the store, scanning the shelves, feeling like I was suffocating in my own skin. I could barely look at myself in the mirror anymore, the reflection of who I used to be was gone, replaced by this hollow shell. I hated her. The girl I once was. The girl who prayed for mercy. She didn't deserve mercy. She deserved nothing.
But the anger it wasn't enough anymore. The darkness inside me kept growing, turning every moment into something unbearable. It wasn't just about vengeance anymore. It was about feeling something anything that could numb the pain. The numbness was all I had left.
Some nights, I'd stare at the moon through my window, wondering if anyone else had ever felt this way. If anyone had ever been pushed so far that there was nothing left but rage and coldness. But then I'd realize, it didn't matter. It didn't matter if I was alone in this feeling. What mattered was that I was surviving. I was still here...
One day My boss told me to go and get some supplies for the shop cleaning products, a few new decorations, and some other things. Simple, everyday stuff. But it was enough to make me step out of my little world and into a place where I didn't feel like I belonged.
The driver took me to an estate filled with massive houses, the kind of place where I had no business being. We pulled up to one of them so big it looked like a palace. I didn't even want to go inside. But I had no choice.
I walked up to the front door, and Madam Clara greeted me with a wide smile. "Ruth, how are you?" she asked, like I was just another girl. A normal girl. But I wasn't normal. I wasn't okay.
"I'm fine, ma," I said, forcing the words out.
"Come in, come in," she said, ushering me inside with a kind smile.
I stepped into the house, trying not to let the coldness in my chest show. The house was warm, filled with soft light and the smell of fresh flowers, everything perfect. But I felt like an intruder.
While Madam Clara searched for the items I needed, I sank into a soft chair. She brought me a cold bottle of Fanta and a pack of biscuits. I took them automatically, trying not to show the mess inside me.
I sat there, staring blankly at the TV screen. Gospel music played softly in the background, comforting in a way, until a name cut through the air like a blade.
"Pastor David Ayo will be ministering at the national crusade this weekend…"
My breath caught. David Ayo.
The name hit me like a hammer, and suddenly, my world spun out of control.
I remembered. It all came flooding back in a rush.
I had been so young, so desperate to believe in something good, to believe someone could save me. David he had promised me salvation. Instead, he sold me. Sold me to those men.
I remembered that night like it was yesterday. The heat of fear, the cold sweat on my skin, the smell of blood and sweat.
We had been preaching, going from house to house, trying to spread the word when they took us. Those men rough, violent.
I could still hear that man's voice, the one who owned David's debt. His voice had been thunderous, booming.
"David, where's my money?"
David's voice had trembled. "Please… I'll give it to you. Just give me time."
But that wasn't enough. They weren't interested in time.
"I don't have time," the man growled. "I need my money now."
And then the beating began. Slaps. Kicks. Blows that echoed in my head.
"Pay the money!" they yelled.
I had tried to crawl away, my body shaking, my arms too weak to move. But it wasn't me they wanted.
One of the men he was huge, the one who had dragged me into the room earlier turned to the leader.
"Why not let him pay with his friend here?" His eyes lingered over me like I was nothing more than an object.
"Let her be for me," the leader said, nodding at David. "And then you go. All debt off your head."
I snapped my head up. "No… no!" I screamed. But my voice was small, swallowed by the violence in the room.
"Answer fast, David," the leader demanded. "It's either the money... or the girl."
David's eyes met mine.
And then he said it.
"Okay."
Just like that.
I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. I couldn't believe what he had just said.
"David…?" I whispered, my throat dry, my heart cracking.
He didn't look away. He stood up and smiled.
"At least I'm free from my debts," he said, and the words felt like a slap in my face.
"David! No! Don't do this—please—" My voice broke, but he didn't even flinch.
He turned his back on me. He walked toward the door.
And he left me there. Alone.
With them.
I had begged. I had cried. But none of it mattered.
Now, I was sitting in Madam Clara's living room, staring at the screen. Pastor David Ayo. He was preaching to thousands, his smile wide and welcoming. And the world didn't know.
They didn't know what he had done. They didn't know how he had sold me, how he had thrown me away to save himself.
My heart was a thousand pieces. The fire in my chest burned hotter.
He was a pastor now.
And what about me? What was left for me? Where do I even begin?
This… this wasn't a joke. It wasn't a mistake. He had hurt me. He had destroyed me.
I watched him on the screen, my hands trembling, the tears threatening to spill. I wanted to scream. I wanted to make him feel every ounce of pain he had caused.
But I was silent. I sat there, watching him, trying to piece together a future that had never belonged to me.
Why? Why was life like this?