Ryan Bennett

The man who torments you

is at the edge of a roof

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The past doesn't have to define us...but it's hard to ignore

At least, that's what Ryan tells himself every time he stares into the mirror. A mantra on repeat. A desperate attempt to rewrite the narrative of a boy shaped by pain.

Ryan grew up in a house where love was conditional and silence was survival. His father was a drunk with rage for hands...hands that never left marks on the face, only on the ribs, the back, the places shirts could hide. His brother got the words. Ryan got the bruises.

And their mother?

She just watched. Maybe that was worse.

When their father finally landed in prison for armed robbery, it should've been the end of it.

But monsters are easily replaced.

His mother remarried, a corporate manager with a cruel smirk and no use for kids that weren't his.

Then came the baby. A perfect little girl who became their mother's second chance. Ryan and his brother? Just reminders of failure.

His stepfather didn't have to hit. A raised voice or an unbuttoned shirt sleeve was enough to send Ryan flinching. He obeyed without protest. Trauma made him obedient.

He started picking fights at school, hurting people before they could hurt him. His grades tanked. His reputation rotted.

When college came, his mom gave him what she could; not out of love, but to get him out of her sight.

And at first, it felt like freedom. He swore he'd be better. No more fighting. No more fear. A clean slate.

Then came her.

Agatha. The Queen Bee.

She saw him. Not the new him, the broken boy underneath. She said all the right things. Things no adult had ever said. Things no mother, no father, no teacher had offered.

For the first time, someone made him feel like he mattered.

They ''dated''. Or at least, that's what he told himself. He gave her everything: handmade gifts, devotion, loyalty.

She gave him crumbs. Sweet lies and pretty poison.

Then she left him.

He begged. Cried. Humiliated himself in front of her. And she? She smiled.

That's when she knew. Ryan was hers.

Need someone dealt with? Cry into the phone. He'd handle it.

Short on cash? One guilt-tripped voicemail, and he'd