all he wanted
Ransom Drysdale was not the kind of man who regretted things. But, he mused, knocking back his fifth shot of tequila, if there was one thing he regretted, it was losing you. He had the remarkable tendency of ruining everything he touched. He supposed he could blame it on his background. He certainly did. Where he was from, love was not easily given, if at all. Affection for the weak and, if the Thrombey family was anything, it was not weak. But, if he was being honest with himself, he knew that what had happened was solely his fault. While he was not in control of his background, he was also a grown ass adult that chose his own actions. Unfortunately, Ransom was rarely honest with himself.
And yet, for a fleeting moment, he almost wished that he was an honest man. Perhaps then he would be good for you. But he also wasn’t a man who cared if he was good for anyone other than himself. He cared about himself, a selfish man through and through. He did what he wanted, when he wanted, the rest of the world be damned.
That was his fatal flaw.
He remembered when he was younger, when he was first forced on playdates with you. He hated the idea, hated having to play nice with other people. So, he didn’t. He yanked on your hair, stole your toys, called you names. And the entire time, you laughed it off. It confused him to no end. How could you just roll off the punches so easily? Did you not have an ounce of self-preservation?
The behavior continued as the two of you got older. He realized that he could use it to his advantage. If he asked for anything, you would be more than happy to oblige. He dragged you everywhere he wanted. You were practically his own little doll to do with what he pleased. And his least favorite thing was when others tried to take you from him.
Once, when he took you with him on a summer vacation in Paris, the summer after the two of you graduated high school, he took you out to a club. He had meant to ditch you, to find a willing woman or two to get his dick wet, but those plans were quickly abandoned when he see saw that. How dare another man talk to you? How dare another man that was so far beneath you even think he had a chance? And how dare you even think about laughing at that man’s jokes, touching that man’s arm, leaning into his like you gave a damn about him? He saw red as he stormed up behind you, snaking an arm around your waist, and chewing that man out for having the audacity to look at you. You weren’t too pleased with his antics, but when he pulled you out of the club, saying that he would rather take you to his room and watch whatever cheesy movie you wanted, you couldn’t stay mad at him for long.
And, when you looked up at him through your eyelashes, your eyes all big and doe-like, a small smile curling across your face, he decided that he wanted you to look at him like that all of the time. In his own sick, twisted way, he cared for you. More than he could ever be willing to admit.
Then you left for college. Left him behind. Went away. Stopped being there for him.
He would never say it out loud, but he had missed you more than he could describe. The few holidays that you had and the occasional trips to sate his unexplainable urge to be around you every hour of every day.
After four long years, you finally came back for good. And he swore that he would never let you go. He threw the biggest party Boston had ever seen to celebrate you. And, when the night came to a close, he had the intent of asking you out, to make you his forever. But, when you fell into his arms, whispering about how this would ruin everything and that you should set boundaries, he said whatever it took to make you trust him. Even if it meant lying through his teeth that he only wanted you to be his fuck buddy.
It wasn’t what you wanted, he could tell that much, but he was in too deep to turn around now, to admit his feelings. Because, he wasn’t sure what his feelings were. He wasn’t sure if what he was feeling was love or if it was some desire to have everything in the world. Regardless, though, he was determined to never let you go.
So, when months later, you came to him, saying that you got a job in Los Angeles, he had to stop you. He should’ve been kinder, yes, but all that he could think of was that you were going to leave him. And he couldn’t let you leave. He got you a job at Blood Like Wine, making you promise that you wouldn’t go away. He couldn’t live with himself if he just let you leave. You had to stay, even if it meant giving up your dream job. That was the sacrifice he was willing to make.
You stayed by his side, coming whenever he called. If he wasn’t so selfish, he might’ve been more put off that you never called. Why did you never call? Were you not as invested? No, no you were. Why else would you always answer? Then, why? What stopped you from picking up the phone and asking for him?
He wanted to ask you, but he never did.
Instead, he took you out to another family gathering because, goddammit, he didn’t think he could survive another one of those. You accompanied him, putting up with his and his family’s bullshit, rolling with the punches like you had done on your playdates with him all those years ago. But then, on the way home, the careful façade he’d built was destroyed when you let slip that you loved him.
He should’ve been overjoyed. He should’ve been happy. He should’ve been asking you to be his girlfriend. But, a sort of iciness rushed through his veins at the words. How could you love him, Ransom Drysdale? How could you look at everything he’s done and decide that you love him? He couldn’t figure out why he felt this way, but all he could think to do was rip you to shreds and spit you back out. He yelled at you, he berated you, leaving you in tears to figure out your own way home.
If there was one thing Ransom Drysdale regretted, it was making you walk away.
Still, though, he tried to move on. Tried to forget you were ever part of his life. He found a new girl, a timid girl named Lizzie. She was sweet, she was kind. But she wasn’t you. He tried, though. He tried. He got her nice things, took her to wonderful places. But it wasn’t the same.
All he wanted was you.
So when you came knocking on his door, he should’ve been thrilled. He should’ve taken you in his, kissed you breathless, and said that you were the only woman for him. Instead, he only dug himself a deeper grave.
He could still hear the words echoing in his head, reminding him of the great pain he’d caused you.
“What, you thought I actually gave a shit about you?” he had laughed. “Petal, I never fucking liked you. 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?” Your pretty eyes were all wide and full of tears that were ready to spill over. He wanted nothing more than to wipe them away as they fell, but he was too far gone.
“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. Why was he saying this? Why was he lying to you? “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.”
“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, the tears starting to spill over. “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. No, no, no, this wasn’t what he meant. Why was he saying this? You were wonderful. So intelligent, so kind. You were an angel in a world of demons. So why couldn’t he stop trying to put a damper on your shine?
“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—”
He hardly knew what was happening, until his face started to sting and you looked at him like you couldn’t believe what had happened. His hand went to his face, touching the spot you hit. Had you really hit him? Had his docile little lamb actually hit him?
“Coming here was a mistake,” you said, looking away. “I…I’m sorry to have bothered you. I’ll see my way out.”
And as you walked away, he wanted to run away you. But he let you go, walking away from his life once more.
He had the intent of going back to your apartment, to apologize and grovel for your forgiveness. But when he arrived two weeks later, the apartment had been cleared out. Everything that was yours, everything that had made that space your own, was gone. Against his better judgement, he went to your neighbor, asked what happened.
You’d left. You left him.
You were gone.
He hired a private detective to find out where you were. It didn’t take long, admittedly. You hadn’t gone far. You’d left for New York, took a job at some fancy firm. That didn’t matter. What interested him, though, was how, months after him breaking your heart, you’d already moved on. He should’ve gone down sooner, taken you back for himself, but he found an odd sort of pleasure in seeing you move on. To see you in a happy, loving relationship. That could’ve been his. That should’ve been his. In another life, it might have been.
But, when he found out that you were moving in with Captain fucking America, he saw red. He had been so sure that you would come running back eventually. That you would come for him again. That you would realize that you weren’t really over him. But you never came. Because your heart didn’t belong to him anymore.
His anger only escalated with Lizzie came into this kitchen, her small hands rubbing her shoulders, as she cooed, “Hey, Ran, I know it’s hard now, but you’ll get over it in time. You don’t need her anymore. You have me.”
“Don’t you get it?!” he snarled, slamming the glass against the counter. “I don’t want you! You’re not the woman I want!”
She blinked slowly. “What...What are you talking about, Ran?”
“Don’t fucking call me that! You’re not the one who can call me that! You’re not her!”
“Her? Who’s her?”
“God, I knew you were slow, but I didn’t take you for completely stupid. Let me spell it out for you: You. Are. Not. Y/N.”
She licked her lips, her eyes falling to the floor. “I knew it. I knew you weren’t over her.”
“Then you should know that you should leave.”
“Ransom—”
“Go. I’ll have someone bring your shit back to you.” He reached for the bottle, pouring himself another shot. “I don’t ever want to see you again. Understood?”
She didn’t say another word. Instead, she turned, trying to hide her tears, as she walked out of his home and out of his life. If he was a good man, he would’ve ran after her, wiped her tears away, try to explain the situation more gently. But Ransom Drysdale was not a good man. And he would never waste attempts at goodness on someone who wasn’t you, the only angel to have ever been in his life.
He knew what he had to do. He had to win you over again.
He could only hope he didn’t mess it up again.
But that was what he was good at. And he wasn’t anywhere close to changing his ways.
It went worse than he ever could’ve imagined. He thought you would fall into his arms. He never thought you’d fight back, twist his own words again him, and throw him to the curb. You weren’t his anymore, and he knew that now.
He stopped keeping tabs on you after that. Perhaps there was some truth in the saying, if you love something set it free—if it comes back, it was yours; if it doesn’t, it never was. He hoped you would come back. But he'd kicked you out of his life too many times for you to even think of returning to him.
Then he heard from his mother that you were getting married, that you’d sent out invitations. He hadn’t gotten one. He hadn’t expected to get one. But, when he looked at the fancy paper, the way your name looped around Steve’s, his heart ached.
He almost went back to New York, track you down and get down on his knees for you. But he knew better now.
For the first time ever, he let things be. He let you have your life. You weren’t his anymore, and acknowledging that hurt more than potentially being rejected by you once more.
But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.
The only thing Ransom Drysdale ever regretted was losing you, and now he had to forever live with the consequences of his actions.
It was what he deserved.