SHE GETS THE FLOWERS (RANSOM DRYSDALE & STEVE ROGERS)

2. WHAT SHE HAS

You tried to move on. Really, truly, you did. But there was just something about Ransom fucking Drysdale that made it impossible to get him out of your mind. Every time you nearly got him out of your mind, something would happen that would remind you of him and you'd spiral back into the pit of despair you'd tried so, so far to dig yourself out of. It seemed like Ransom was destined to haunt your every thought. You tried to bury yourself in your work to avoid thinking of him, but that proved to be difficult because every day at work was a constant reminder that Ransom got you that job, that the only reason you were still in Boston was because of Ransom. That, even when he'd long since left your life, Ransom Drysdale would forever be a part of it.

Your friends tried to make you feel better about it. But even you could tell they were getting tired of having to deal with your broken pieces. Was that why Ransom turned you away all those months ago? Was he also tired of dealing with your bullshit? Was he—No. Stop that. Stop thinking like that. You were perfectly fine. Ransom was the one with issues...Right?

But there was only so many times you could hear "it's not you, it was him" before it started to lose meaning. What if there was something wrong with you? What if you really were just too hard to handle? What if there was something about you that was just fundamentally unlovable? You'd hardly ever had a serious relationship. Maybe there was a reason for that? Maybe you really were just too much. Maybe Ransom saw something in you that you were just blind to, and maybe he saw reason to run the other way when it came to you.

Yeah...yeah, you could see why your friends got tired of this.

God, you needed to stop thinking so poorly of yourself. How had Ransom managed to do such a number on you? Really, what you had was nothing more than casual sex with misplaced feelings on your part. How could he have managed to hurt you the way he did? (And, really, the answer was simple—destruction and devastation was his nature.)

In yet another attempt to distract you from the pain that you were still wallowing in, your friends had offered a night on the town to lift your spirits. To put on your sexiest dress, to doll yourself up, and have some mindless fun for the first time in a long time. And the offer was so tempting that you found yourself accepting, even if all you really wanted to do was put on one of Ransom's sweaters that he'd left behind and never asked for, turn on some cringe reality television, and eat your weight in takeout in a feeble attempt to stop your heart from hurting as much as it did. But you did accept the offer, pulling on your glittering silver dress that left little to the imagination, put on your sky high stilettos, and painted on a nice shade of ruby red lipstick that you knew made all the boys go wild.

Yeah, you deserved this.

You deserved some fun for once.

But when you got to the club, you just felt so out of your element. The thumping music only made your heart race, but not in a good way. It beat a mile a minute, and you felt the blood pumping in your ears, and your chest tightened in a way that made you feel like you needed to get the hell out of there and fast. But, instead, you went to the bar, settling on drinking your sorrows and pretending to be having fun when (if) your friends decided to check on you. (Really, you knew they wouldn't come. They'd done their job in getting you out of your apartment, and that was all they felt obligated to do.)

You'd just ordered a couple of shots of vodka to numb the rush of pain when someone slid up next to you. He was easy on the eyes, admittedly. Nice and tall, good sense of fashion. A kind nice, soft eyes. He cracked a joke or two, and you found yourself warming up to him. He wasn't someone you would've been interested in a year ago, but that was then. And now? Now, you could just use anyone to make you feel like you were worthy of love. And if he was the guy to do that, who were you to complain?

Then why'd it feel so wrong? Like you were cheating? Like you were being unfaithful to someone who clearly never gave a shit about you? And you knew you weren't. You didn't owe a damn thing to Ransom fucking Drysdale. He had no authority over your life. He had no control over you. He would not dictate your actions any further. You could do whatever, and whoever, you so pleased. And if it was this stranger at the bar? Well, that was just fine with you.

But it still didn't feel quite right. Like you weren't ready to move on from you heartache just yet. And you were ready to just turn the guy away, but then you saw something that just absolutely shattered you.

There he was. With...with his arm wrapped around someone? And leaning down to kiss? Love...shining in his eyes? That was not the Ransom you know. The Ransom you knew would have been so keen on physical displays of affection. The Ransom you knew kept you at arm's length. The Ransom you knew would sooner pretend he didn't know you existed before he would ever get so...comfortable, when anyone could see it.

But the Ransom you knew was one that existed a year ago. Could he have changed? Could decades of prior behavior just change in the span of twelve months? Could...could she have changed him? But then...what did she have that you didn't? Why did she get the nice Ransom? What did she do that made the difference?

How could she change a man so set in his ways?

And, God, why did she have to be so beautiful? She had long, slender legs and wore a stunning red number that hugged all of her curves almost as closely as Ransom was holding onto her. She had hair that looked oh so soft to the touch, and a kind smile that even made you weak at the knees. God, why couldn't she have been hideous? Why couldn't she have looked like she was a massive bitch? Why did she have to be perfect?

But you knew why. Ransom didn't settle for second best. He never had, and it was clear that he never would. He'd only go after the best of the best, and when you weren't that anymore, he left you behind. It was foolish to think that he'd never replace you. You should've expected this. This shouldn't have hurt this much.

Fuck, why did you have to be such a big fucking baby?

Everything in you wanted to storm up to them, to pull Ransom off to the side to talk. To yell. To ask him what the hell he was doing. How he could love her when he had your love before. Why wasn't your love enough? Why did he have to push you away? But you knew he wasn't yours to question.

He never was.

So, instead, you turned to the charming guy who's attention you did have, and asked if he wanted to get out of there. You needed to move on, too, after all. Ransom wasn't the only one who deserved happiness.

You did, too, and you would remind yourself of that every chance you got until you eventually believed it to be true.