I Got Excuses
But it was hard moving on. Not when you knew that Ransom was out there living such a great life without you. As bad as it was, you’d taken to stalking the couple on social media to try and get a peep into their lives. To try and see if they might not have been as happy as they seemed that night. To try and ease your mind, to make you feel better somehow, in some sick and kind of twisted way. But you only got hurt. Because he was so sweet to her. He was so fucking sweet to her, and her Instagram account was a testament to that.
Post after post after post was dedicated to something sweet he’d done. How he took her to some fancy, upscale restaurant that you knew was constantly booked and the closest reservation you could get would be years away. How he bought her a shiny diamond ring to celebrate their month anniversary. How he got her pretty bouquets of flowers every week. He got her flowers. Why did she get flowers? And why didn’t you?
Even worse, his Instagram had practically become a shrine to his love for her. A page that was once filled with thirst traps and nights out with the boys became dedicated to posting cute couple photoshoots. Nearly every post he’d made in the last three months had something to do with her. Fuck, he wouldn’t even follow you when you were friends, and you’d known him nearly all his life. Why did she get so many posts dedicated to her? What had she done to deserve his love? Why did she get to make him happy? Why couldn’t you?
This habit quickly became another thing that your friends couldn’t stand. You were sure that they wished you’d return to wallowing in self pity again. Because, really, there were only so many updates they could handle. Only so many rants. Only so much Ransom. You were sure they were looking to drop you the first chance they got. You were on the outs with them, and you knew it. But that didn’t do anything to stop the obsession.
You wanted answers. You felt like you’d deserved answers. You’d known Ransom for how long? To just get tossed aside like yesterday’s trash?
Yeah, you deserved answers. And you were gonna get them. You were gonna get them if they were the last thing you did. Even if it hurt you.
After work one day, you found yourself driving to Ransom’s house. It was a risky move, admittedly. You had no idea if he would be there. If she would be there. But you didn’t care about that. You were a woman on a mission, and you weren’t gonna leave until you got what you wanted.
Still, you almost found yourself turning and running the other way the second you knocked on his door. You were scared of what lay on the other side. There was no turning back when you got the answers you were so desperate for. If Ransom had hurt you so bad by cutting you off, what could actually knowing how he felt do to you?
But there was no chance to run, because stupid cocky Ransom opened the door, his stupid ugly smirk crossing his face as he looked you up and down. “Thought I told you to never come around again, petal. Surprised you actually listened for this long.”
“I wanna talk to you,” you said, trying to ignore the way the butterflies started fluttering around in your tummy as he looked at you like that, like he wanted to absolutely devour you.
“What about?” he asked, moving out of the doorway and letting you into his home.
It looked just as it had a year ago. Still so minimalist, still so plain. Still full of the memories you’d been trying to bury.
“Wanted answers,” you said. “I…I just wanted to know if you ever…if there was a chance that we could’ve been something more.”
There was silence for a moment. You almost wondered if he hadn’t heard you, but that was a stupid thought. There were no other sounds except your question and the quiet hum of electricity. The bastard had hurt. No, that’s not what you meant. The bastard had heard you, and he was reveling in making you squirm.
Then—
“What, you thought I actually gave a shit about you?” he laughed.
You blinked.
“Petal, I never fucking liked you,” he said. “If I had it my way, you never even would’ve gotten a chance to be, what, a friend? Is that what you thought we were? Friends?”
“We weren’t friends?”
He laughed, cold and callous. Why did he like hurting you so much? How did he find so much joy in doing this to you? “The only reason you were in my life was ‘cause my mom made you be, and by the time I had a choice about who I could be around, you’d already leeched yourself onto me.”
“Ran—”
“God, stop fucking calling me that,” he said. “I always fucking hated it when you called me that.”
“Oh? And what stopped you from telling me that all those years ago? You were never the type of person to just let something you didn’t like slide.”
His eyes darkened. “Oh, like you’d fucking listen. You were always such a dumb fucking bitch. Even if I told you to stop, you’d carry on like I hadn’t said shit.”
“That’s not true, and you know it!” you said, feeling the tears well up. “The entire time I knew you, it was all about making you happy. Making you comfortable. Doing what you wanted. Never once did you give a shit about me, not even when you convinced me to be your fuck buddy. Everything was always on your fucking terms!”
“Yeah? And you know what? Fucking me was the only thing you were good for,” he spat.
“Stop it.”
“You’re just a fucking whore, and you couldn’t even do anything on your own. Everything you have is because of me. Your job, your home, your car—”
“You forced me to take that job!”
“I bet you couldn’t even have gotten into college if it hadn’t been your connections to me and my family,” he taunted. “Though I can’t take credit for your grades. Bet you had to sleep your way to the top to get those—”
“Fuck you, Ransom!”
“You already did, petal,” Ransom said. “And I’d happily let you back in my bed if it meant you’d shut your stupid fucking—”
You hardly knew what was happening, until your hand started to sting and Ransom looked at you like you’d grown three heads. Had you…Had you hit him? He deserved it, but…Had you really done that?
“Coming here was a mistake,” you said, looking away. “I…I’m sorry to have bothered you. I’ll see my way out.”
You needed to get the hell out of here. You should’ve done that a long time ago, but better now than never. There was only pain and hurt, and memories of pain and hurt, in Boston. You didn’t belong here. You weren’t sure if you ever really did. You needed to leave.
And, at the end of the day, Ransom couldn’t hurt you if you weren’t around.
Right?