Renee Rapp x Ex Girlfriend Reader
Summary: Renee released I Can’t Have You Around Me Anymore. You’re the girlfriend she cheated on. What does this mean for you both?
The song dropped on a Friday.
It didn’t feel like anything important at first—not to anyone else, at least. Just another release in a crowded music week, another track added to playlists, another wave of promotion posts and streaming links and fan theories. But for you, it felt like your lungs forgot how to work the second you saw her name attached to it.
The person you hadn’t spoken to in months, not since everything fell apart in the ugliest, most humiliating way you could imagine. Not since the truth had come out in fragments—then all at once—too sharp to deny, too painful to pretend you hadn’t seen.
You almost didn’t click it. Almost.
But curiosity and self-destruction had always looked the same in your body, and before you could stop yourself, you were pressing play.
The instrumentals came first. Soft. Careful. Like it was trying not to disturb something fragile. And then her voice.
You knew her voice better than you knew your own thoughts sometimes. It had once been the background noise of your mornings, your late-night drives, your quiet domestic moments when nothing else in the world mattered except her breathing beside you.
Now it felt like a knife that already knew exactly where to land.
“I can’t have you around me anymore…”
The lyric wasn’t subtle. It wasn’t vague. It wasn’t a song hiding behind metaphor or distance. It was direct. Honest in a way that made your chest ache before you even fully understood what she was saying. You kept listening anyway. Because of course you did.
The song unfolded like a confession she couldn’t say to your face. Not back then. Not when it mattered. Not when you were still together and still trying—desperately, painfully—to hold onto something that had already started slipping through your fingers.
And then the line came. The one that made everything inside you collapse at once.
“Cause if it isn’t me, it’s her who’s gonna close that door.”
Your breath stuttered and your hands went cold.
And suddenly you weren’t in your apartment anymore—you were back in the arguments. Back in the nights you’d cried quietly in your bathroom so she wouldn’t hear. Back in the way she always insisted nothing was happening, even when your gut screamed otherwise. Back in the friend she said you were “being ridiculous” about. Back in the feeling of being too sensitive, too insecure, too much.
Back in the moment you found out you weren’t crazy at all. Just too late.
The breakup had been brutal, but strangely quiet in the beginning. No screaming. No dramatic final fight. Just truth hitting like a slow-moving car crash that neither of you stepped out of the way from.
You remembered standing in her apartment, shaking so hard you could barely hold your phone after you saw the messages. You remembered her face when she realized you’d seen them. Not denial. Not even excuses.
Just guilt. Pure, heavy, devastating guilt.
“I didn’t mean for it to happen like that,” she had said.
And you had laughed—because what else were you supposed to do with something like that?
You didn’t remember leaving. Only the absence afterward. The silence. The sudden emptiness where she used to be.
And now here she was again, in your ears, in your chest, in your life whether you wanted her there or not.
By the time the song ended, you were already crying. Not elegant crying. Not quiet crying. The kind that feels like it’s been building for months and finally found permission to exist.
Your phone was in your hand before you even fully realized what you were doing. Her contact still sat there.
No emoji. No heart. Just her name, plain and unchanged, like she hadn’t shattered your entire world and then turned it into art.
Your fingers hovered. You told yourself not to. You told yourself it was stupid. That nothing good could come from this. That she had already said everything she needed to say months ago when she let you walk away without stopping you hard enough.
That was it. No accusation. No question. No anger. Just truth.
You stared at it for a long moment before hitting send, immediately regretting it, immediately wishing you could unsend it, immediately hating yourself for opening the door you’d worked so hard to close.
Your phone lit up almost instantly.
Renee. Of course she replied fast. Of course she did.
Your heart hammered before you even opened it.
I’m coming over angel girl, we need to talk.
Angel girl. The nickname hit you like a ghost touching your shoulder. You hadn’t heard it in months.
You didn’t reply. You didn’t know how.
And yet somehow, without you agreeing to anything, without you preparing yourself, without you even deciding if this was what you wanted—your apartment suddenly felt like it was holding its breath, waiting.
Thirty minutes later, there was a knock at your door. Soft. Careful. Like she was afraid you wouldn’t answer. You almost didn’t. But your body moved before your mind could stop it.
The door opened. And there she was. Renee stood on your doorstep like a memory made real—hoodie slightly oversized, hair a little messy like she’d driven here fast, eyes already searching your face the second you appeared.
Neither of you spoke at first. It felt too loaded for words. Her gaze softened when she saw your face.
That one word nearly broke you again. You stepped aside without meaning to. A silent invitation. A surrender you didn’t know you were making.
She walked in slowly, like she was approaching something fragile. Like she still knew your space by instinct. The door clicked shut behind her. And suddenly it was just the two of you again. In a room that remembered everything.
You stood across from each other for a long second, neither of you moving, both of you clearly trying to figure out where to put all the history between you.
Finally, you whispered, “Why did you write it?”
Renee swallowed. Her eyes dropped for a moment before coming back to yours.
“Because I couldn’t say it to you like I could to her,” she admitted.
Your throat tightened. “So you said it to the world instead?”
Pain flickered across her face.
“It wasn’t supposed to be like that,” she said quickly. “I didn’t… I didn’t want you to hear it like that. I didn’t even know if you would. I just—” She exhaled shakily. “I needed to say it somewhere.”
You let out a humorless laugh that cracked halfway through.
“You really went and turned it into a song,” you said, voice shaking. “About cheating on me.”
“I know,” she said immediately. “I know how that sounds. I know how that feels. I’m not trying to defend it.”
Silence fell again. Thick. Heavy.
Renee took a small step closer, then stopped, like she was afraid of crossing a line you hadn’t drawn yet.
“I didn’t come here to hurt you,” she said softly. “I came because I couldn’t live with you hearing it and me not explaining it properly.”
Your arms crossed instinctively, like you were trying to hold yourself together.
“Then explain it,” you said.
And something in her broke open at that permission. She nodded once.
“I didn’t plan it,” she said. “That’s not me trying to excuse it. It’s just the truth. It started as… stupid proximity. We were spending too much time together. I told myself it was nothing. I told myself I was being dramatic even noticing it.”
Your jaw clenched. The friend.
The one you’d always felt uneasy about. The one you’d argued about. The one she always defended like you were imagining things.
Renee’s voice got quieter.
“And you weren’t wrong,” she admitted. “About how close it was getting. I just didn’t see it until it was already… messy.”
Your hands curled into fists at your sides.
“So it just… happened?” you asked, bitterness sharp in your throat.
“No,” she said immediately. “No, it didn’t just happen. I made choices. Bad ones. I crossed lines I shouldn’t have crossed. I let it get there instead of stopping it.”
Her eyes were glossy now.
“And I hate myself for that,” she added quietly.
The honesty in her voice made your chest ache in a different way. Not forgiveness. Not yet. Just pain.
“I didn’t stop it when I should have,” she continued. “And by the time I realized what I was doing to you, I was already in too deep. And I was scared. And I handled it in the worst way possible.”
“So you just lied to me,” you said softly. “Over and over.”
Renee flinched like you’d hit her.
“I didn’t want to lose you,” she said immediately. “That’s not an excuse. I know it isn’t. But it’s the truth behind it. I was selfish. I thought if I could just… fix it quietly, or make it go away, or pretend it wasn’t as bad as it was, I could keep you.”
“That’s not love,” you whispered.
“I know,” she said, voice cracking. “I know.”
Silence stretched. Neither of you knew what came after that kind of truth. Your apartment suddenly felt too small for it. Too full. Too much.
“I heard the song and I thought I was going to be sick,” you admitted suddenly, voice breaking. “Because it felt like you were telling me the truth after you already destroyed everything.”
“I didn’t want it to feel like that,” she said.
“But it does,” you whispered.
And that was the worst part. Neither of you could undo how it felt. The room went quiet again, but this time it was different. Less sharp. More fragile.
Renee finally stepped closer—not all the way, just enough that you could feel her presence properly again.
The words weren’t dramatic. They weren’t planned. They just came out, raw and immediate. Your chest tightened painfully.
“I miss you too,” you admitted before you could stop yourself.
That truth cracked something open between you. Renee looked at you like she didn’t know whether to move closer or stay exactly where she was.
“Can I…” she hesitated. “Can I hug you?”
Your instinct was to say no. Your body was still tangled in hurt, in memory, in everything she had done. But you were also shaking. And tired. And suddenly unbearably aware of how long it had been since you had felt anything like safety. You nodded once. Barely. And that was enough.
Renee crossed the space carefully, like she was approaching something sacred, something breakable. When she wrapped her arms around you, it wasn’t forceful. It wasn’t desperate. It was careful. Like she was afraid you’d disappear if she held on too hard. And something in you cracked completely. The tears came fast this time. Not quiet. Not controlled.
You buried your face in her hoodie without thinking, gripping onto her like your body had been waiting months to do exactly that. Renee immediately held you tighter.
“I’ve got you,” she whispered. Her voice shook. “I’ve got you, I’m here.”
You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Everything you had been holding in since the breakup came pouring out all at once—grief, anger, love, humiliation, confusion. It all tangled together until you couldn’t separate any of it.
Renee just held you through it. No excuses. No interruptions. No pushing you to stop crying. Just her arms around you, steady even when her breathing wasn’t.
After a while, your crying slowed into something softer. Something exhausted. Neither of you let go. Eventually, she guided you gently to the couch, sitting beside you but still keeping close enough that your shoulders touched. You wiped your face with the sleeve of your sweater, avoiding her eyes.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with this,” you admitted quietly.
“I don’t either,” she said honestly.
That answer surprised you. You finally looked at her. She looked wrecked too. Not triumphant. Not relieved. Just human.
“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” she added. “I don’t even expect you to—want me here. I just… needed you to know the truth. Properly. Not through a song. Not through rumors. Not through anything else.”
“And now I know it,” you said softly.
Silence followed. A long one. The kind where everything important hangs in the air but no one is brave enough to grab it. Renee glanced at you carefully.
“Do you hate me?” she asked.
The question was quiet. Vulnerable. You should have said yes. It would have been easier. Cleaner. But you couldn’t lie.
“I don’t know,” you whispered.
Renee nodded slowly, like she understood that more than a yes or no. Your head leaned back against the couch. Your voice came out smaller this time.
“I still love you,” you admitted, almost like it hurt to say.
Renee closed her eyes for a second. When she opened them again, they were glassy.
“I still love you too,” she said.
And there it was. The thing neither of you knew how to survive. Because love was still there. Even after everything. Even after the cheating. Even after the lies. Even after the song. It just didn’t know what shape it was supposed to take anymore.
Renee shifted slightly closer again, careful.
“I don’t want to pressure you,” she said softly. “I just… don’t want to lose whatever this is between us completely.”
You looked at her for a long moment. At the girl you had loved so deeply it had felt like a second heartbeat. At the girl who had broken your trust and then turned the aftermath into music the whole world could hear. At the girl who was still here anyway, sitting on your couch like she belonged there and didn’t at the same time.
“I don’t know what happens next,” you admitted.
Renee nodded immediately.
“That’s okay,” she said. “We don’t have to decide that tonight.”
“I just wanted to be here with you right now.”
Your chest ached again, but differently this time. Less sharp. More complicated. You didn’t move away when she reached for your hand. And she didn’t push when you didn’t answer what that meant. You just sat there together, in the ruins of what you used to be, both of you still holding on to something you couldn’t quite name anymore.
Outside, the world kept moving. Inside your apartment, everything had paused in the middle of becoming something else.
And neither of you knew yet whether it would be a beginning…
Or just another kind of ending.
