“All that other shit? Those obstacles? You’ll overcome every one of them. You’ve seen some stuff, suffered I don’t know what. But you’ve survived. Look at yourself, Ryan. You’ve fucking thrived.”
“Impending motherhood has made me soft. Made me delusional.”Made me think for a little while that I could keep you.“What happens when I turn back into the real me?”
“I love the real you,” he says with such adamancy, my words dialing up his rage. “Don’t you dare tell me I don’t know her.”
“I’m not worthy of your love,” I retort, pulling from his hold. “Aren’t you listening? You don’t know, Matt. You just don’t know. Last night, in bed, lying across your chest, I wanted to rip out all your fucking tenderness.”
“I would’ve let you—let you tear open my chest if it meant I could show you my love. To prove it to you.”
“Do you know why I stayed?” I demand as I pivot. Bodily. Tactically. “Because I needed a roof over my head. And I needed someone to keep me accountable.”
“Fucking bullshit!” he yells, full of rage. “This was never about what was good for you.”
“You don’t know me,” I repeat, turning for the door to my apartment. I need to leave. Go. I can’t be here anymore. “You don’t know the things that I’ve done.”
“You’re the first woman I have ever loved. The only one.”
My heart aches to hear that. But he’ll find someone else. Who couldn’t love him?
“You shouldn’t hang your hopes on me,” I say, almost at the door when I turn to face him. “I’m not a good person. You shouldn’t trust me.”
“Don’t leave.”
He looks so hurt.I hate that I have to do this.
“You’ll find someone else. Someone like Mila or Evie. A woman with goodness inside her.”
“Fuck that.”
“Evie and her animals. Mila and her social causes. Ryan and her ... m-mercenary ways.” I catch myself just in time.
“Fuck all your excuses,” he retorts angrily. “I don’t want Mila, I don’t want Evie, or anyone like them. I love you! The Ryan I know isn’t a quitter. She’s fearless and, yes”—he gives a huff of a laugh—“oh so fucking independent. You don’t have to leave. You’ve just been conditioned to think the worst of yourself. Of everything. Can’t you see that?”
“I know who I am.” I bring my fingers to my chest. “And I above all people know what I’m capable of.”
“And what about me?” He takes a step toward me, but I hold up my hand.Stop. Don’t. Let’s not do this again.“You think I deserve better? That I’m worth more than you? You don’t know a fucking thing,” he says, coming closer anyway. “The night back in October when I left you in the foyer. It wasn’t for condoms.” In front of me now, he tips my chin as he says so softly, “It was so I could go and beat some sense into that fuckhead. One of them, anyway.”
I feel my brow furrow.
“Brandon,” he spits. “I wanted to smash in his face, but I was careful. I didn’t want you to cop trouble. Not at work,” he adds like a taunt.
Something blooms hot in my chest—a realization. After that night, the asshole pretty much left me alone. I thought he’d gotten the message finally. And he had. I just hadn’t realized the mode of delivery. “Why would you do that?”
“Because he deserved it. Because I hate bullies. Now ask me what I did to the other fucker.”
“To Pete?” I’d know if he ...
“Best not say his name around me, teacup. Not when I’m feeling this charged.”
“You wouldn’t—”
“Hurt you? Never.” His thumb strokes my cheek. “Can’t say the same for anyone else, though.”
“What did you do, Matt?”
“Just ... systematically destroyed your ex. His livelihood. And the company you used to work for.”
“But you said—”
