She stood, fumbling for her towel and holding it as a barricade in front of her. “I understand because it’s hard for me, too. Don’t you think I have the same memories? Of you kissing Cassie? Of you younger and softer and nothing more than an uncomplicated farm boy who made me fall in love with a single smile?”
I held up my hand. “I know this is unfair, but our situations are nothing alike.”
“They’re everything alike.”
“No.” I shook my head firmly, scolding her like a child when, only seconds ago, I’d been kissing her like a man. What role did I play in her life anymore? Disciplinarian or partner? Father or husband? “They’re not alike. At all.”
Stalking to the door, I wrenched it open before saying softly, “I raised you, Little Ribbon. In my heart, I hold so many elements of love for you. I’ve fed you from my own fingers. I’ve washed your body. I’ve held you tight while you cried. I know we aren’t siblings, but somewhere along the way, I did love you as a brother. I need to untangle that love before I can move on as…as—”
“As my lover?”
I winced. “Yes.”
“Are you sure you want to be? This isn’t just you running away again?” Her eyes sparkled with another wave of unshed tears.
I hated that I’d let her down all over again, but I wouldn’t be honest with her if I didn’t tell her how hard this would be. How difficult I found it separating all the Della’s I knew, and somehow learn to allow myself to love all of them after she’d been off-limits for so long.
But I also knew if we were going to do this, we couldn’t do it here.
We couldn’t do this where people knew us as relatives.
We couldn’t do this where we might be caught.
“Do you still have the same phone number?” I asked, my fingers clutching the doorknob, holding myself in place, stopping me from running back to her and shoving her down on the bed.
From this distance, all I wanted was her, but I knew the moment I touched her my world would shatter, and I’d drown beneath memories determined to make me vomit for taking a sweet, innocent girl and turning her into something sick with want.
“Yes.” She hung her head. “But I won’t be here when you get back. I have to go back to David’s. I only came here to burn that.” She arched her chin at the scattered forgotten papers, trodden and crumpled on the floor.
My chest ached at the thought of her going back to him, but I had no choice. “Don’t burn it. And give me a few hours. I’ll text you, okay?”
She looked up, forlorn and afraid but resilient just like I knew her to be. “A few hours? I thought you were going to say a few days.”
I smiled sadly. “I’ve wasted more than enough days not having you. I have no intention of wasting anymore.”
She smiled, wider than before. “Okay, I can accept a few hours.”
“Thank you.” My eyes drank her in, imprinting this Della, the new Della into my mind first and foremost as I backed out the door, promising, “I’ll be in touch. And when I do…we’re going to talk. You’re going to help me understand that there was no other path for us. That it was always going to be this way. That we were always meant to be. And then…we’re going to leave.”
I didn’t wait for her reply.
I had some soul searching to do.
I had some compartmentalizing to sort.
And I needed to do it now.
Because once I did.
I could have her.
And my complicated world would finally be complete.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
REN
* * * * * *
2018
DELLA: ARE YOU ready to talk about this?
The glow of my cell-phone screen lit up the night-shrouded park where I rested. The bench made my ass flat from hours of sitting, watching the sun go down. Pruned bushes and carefully controlled trees granted a sense of home, but nothing was wild about their regimented flowerbeds.
I’d meant to move. I’d meant to text Della hours ago, but once I’d opened the gates of so many stored memories, I couldn’t rush it.
It was a curse to have a good memory.
I didn’t have to strain to pull up image after image of Della as a two-year-old, five-year-old, ten, fourteen, sixteen. I knew her body and scars from falling off horses and clumsy incidents better than I knew my own. I knew more about her than any lover should. And I didn’t like how that made me feel.
Was it right for me to want her body that I’d seen grow from so small to so stunning? Was it disgusting to admit, even though I’d carried her as a child and cared for as a baby, I saw her as more than just my responsibility and legacy now? I saw her as my other half. My future. Everything I’d ever been searching for.
I guess I’d always seen her as my other half; I just didn’t have the lust component to go with it. It made sense now why I’d always felt lonely even when she was in my arms—because some part of me knew it wanted more but couldn’t have it.
Sighing heavily, I pressed reply. The alphabet spread out on an on-screen keyboard, waiting to transform thoughts into messages.
Thanks to Della, I could read, write, spell, and wrangle technology enough to be proficient. Even when we’d moved away from the Wilsons and our regular study sessions were replaced with long hours at the milking shed and Della traded me for other boys, I hadn’t stopped learning.
Instead of Della being the one to choose which textbook or subject I’d study, I merely went through her school rucksack on the nights I wasn’t exhausted and read science books, math, English, then stole a few pieces of paper to work out the answers before checking mine against hers.
She’d caught me once or twice and had rushed over to kiss me. But then, she’d remembered that kissing wasn’t exactly permitted anymore and would pat my shoulder with a strained smile instead.
I knew she was proud of me for continuing my studies, but I didn’t do it for me. I did it for her. I did it so I could converse and calculate and not have to rely on her because I knew my job as her caregiver was almost over, and she would leave me for better things.
And when that day happened, I couldn’t afford to be illiterate without her.
Then again, I’d left her before she’d left me.
And now…now there was a chance we would never be apart again.
My heart cramped with a hope so vicious it made me shake.
My fingers typed slowly, deleting my regular typos, hoping my spelling was on point. I wanted to be honest with her. I needed to be. She needed to know just what she was getting into because this was me putting everything on the line. This was me ripping up my world when I still didn’t fully understand if I could.
Me: I don’t know if I’ll ever be fully ready. If this was happening to someone else, and not you and me, how repulsed would you be if you knew the man was contemplating sleeping with his own kid?
Goddammit.
I sat forward, digging my elbows into my knees and wiping my mouth with my hand.
Fuck.
Seeing it in black and white, reading how foul that sounded, I very almost dry-heaved. What the hell was I doing? I’d been driven by my desire for so long that I’d forgotten what this actually entailed. What sort of sins we were about to commit. What sort of mess we were about to create.
This wasn’t me.
I wasn’t this self-obsessed.
I ought to be her father figure.
I ought to be better—
Della: First, I’m not your kid. I never felt like you were my father, and there was never any confusion about what we meant to each other. Second, forget about everyone else. They don’t matter. I couldn’t judge on another’s life just like I don’t want them to judge us.
My head hung as I ran my fingers over the touchpad. She was right, I supposed. For some reason, we’d always clung to the boundaries that we weren’t blood or related, almost as if we knew eventually we’d want more than just friendship.
Before I could reply,
she sent another.
Della: You told me this afternoon that we were going to talk. And we’re talking. But if I’m honest, I don’t think this can be rationalised by text message. You asked me to help you understand that there was no other path for us. That it was always going to end this way. That we were always meant to be. I’m not just saying what you want to hear, Ren. I truly believe that. And the only way to come to terms with it is to just…trust me, trust you, trust us.
I sighed.
Her message was a lot kinder in black and white than mine had been. She’d successfully thrown my own words in my face, making me see there was no other choice for us. Even if she hadn’t kissed me and firmly imprinted herself into my dreams, I would have eventually fallen for her because a man like me, I didn’t love easy. I didn’t trust easy. It’d taken me seventeen years to even admit I was ready to put my heart on the line in a romantic sense rather than family.
Cassie had known that about me. She’d sensed that I would never care more for her than gentle affection because I was too afraid to open myself up to pain.
Della was the only one worth risking such agony.
And as much as I’d vehemently deny it, I’d already been hurt by the Mclary’s which sort of gave Della permission in a strange, unfathomable away.
She was the only one allowed to hurt me in the future.
I opened a new window and typed slowly:
Me: Are you willing to let me work through this? Do you understand it won’t be an overnight switch for me? It’s going to take time.
The moon hung heavy above, reminding me that it had been too long since I’d been in the forest. As much as I needed to live in the apartment to stay close to my addiction of stalking Della, I’d had my fill of cities.
I hadn’t liked living here when Della was finishing school. There was no way I wanted to live here while we figured out whatever we were about to embark on. We’d had a near miss with her principal with rumours of her being in love with me. A mere rumour almost separated us. Now it was fact, we stood every chance of being ripped apart.
This had always felt like a temporary place. A chapter that didn’t quite fit.
If it was over and we could go home...thank God.
Della took her time replying, and I reclined against the pigeon-crapped bench, exhaling hard.
Della: I can’t promise I won’t get frustrated. I can’t say I won’t get mad if you kiss me, then pull away. But what I can promise is, I’ve wanted this since I was thirteen, and if you need another thirteen years to accept that I was born for you, then so be it. I’ll be patient.
I chuckled quietly, wincing as it turned to a cough.
I doubted she meant to be funny, but even now, her temper came through something as impersonal as a text. Somehow, it made me feel better—as if I wasn’t such a monster to contemplate such a crazy idea as taking her for my own.
Me: If we do this, we can’t do it here.
Della: I know.
Me: Don’t say you know as if nothing else matters. We need to think about this. You’re in college. When does your course end? You’re with David. How will he take you breaking up with him? What about your job at the florist? We have an apartment and furniture to get rid of. Are you prepared to say goodbye to another home?
It took much longer for me to type such long sentences than Della, and my leg bounced as I pressed send, nervousness trickling through my blood. It wasn’t a simple matter of running like previous times. We had things holding us here. We had bills and people. Or at least…Della did. She was more adult than I was in this scenario, and once again, my mind tripped down memory lane, feeding me images of her young and innocent and untouchable, doing its best to unhinge my resolve that this was what I wanted. No matter how hard.
Della: I’ve already written regarding my course and withdrawn, stating a family emergency. I used part of the rent money to pay for the first semester—which I doubt I’ll get back. But where we’re going, we don’t need the cash. I quit my job a while back. I’m not dating David; he turned me down when he realised I wasn’t over you, and the apartment is easy. Terminate the lease, put our furniture back on the street corners where we got them from, pack a bag and…let’s go home.
My heart pounded as a breeze kissed my cheek, tugging me toward the black spaces where the city lights didn’t reach. The darkness full of leaves and rivers.
Home.
I knew where my home was.
Did she?
Me: Home means no running water, no supermarkets, no roof. Are you sure you want that?
Della: I don’t know if reminding you of a younger me is a good idea, but on the night of my seventeenth and your twenty-seventh, I gave you that tent. Remember what I said?
I groaned under my breath. That was one memory that wasn’t just remembered but polished daily and treasured. She’d let me see behind her fakery that night. She’d painted a future that I’d desperately wanted, even while believing it could never happen.
Me: You asked if I intended to stay here and said we had to start thinking about our future. That you wanted to return to the forest, and that’s why you bought me that tent.
Della: And you asked if I was sure. You made a point to tell me there would be no boys, no jobs, no school. No future out there in the wilderness.
Me: And you set me straight by saying there was no future apart from with me.
I looked at the moon again, tension slipping away. I was torturing myself about wanting Della as deeply as I did when, for so many years, I’d already been living with the same sin. I’d already accepted the mess, even then. And I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardise it now. Not when we were so close.
My lips curled into a hesitant smile as my mind raced with everything we’d have to achieve. Every goodbye we had to finalise. Every beginning we were about to embrace.
Standing from the bench and striding toward the apartment, hopefully for the last time, my fingers flew, and I sent.
Me: Pack a bag. We leave in two days.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
REN
* * * * * *
2018
TWO DAYS
Forty-eight hours to delete our entire existence as the Wilds.
Della and I kept our distance while we systematically dismantled our world. She focused on selling, donating, and sorting through her stuff at David’s house, while I lugged our fifth-hand couch up the steps of our place, and dragged it to the same street corner we’d salvaged it from.
My body proved just how badly I’d treated it the past few months and the residual cough from the flu made tasks last longer than I wanted.
I didn’t like that Della had refused to sleep at our apartment, insisting that she owed David too much to abandon him without explaining and they needed a proper goodbye.
The urge to forbid her—the desire to beg her to be with me instead, proved I needed to keep my possessiveness in check. I’d never stopped her from hanging with her friends before.
I wouldn’t start now.
Instead, I threw myself into my tasks, doing my best to tie up loose ends quickly so Della was mine and we could leave.
Scrawling a hasty poster, I announced a one-day garage sale and opened our apartment to anyone who wanted cutlery, crockery, bedding, an ancient TV, decrepit motorcycle, and anything else we couldn’t carry.
I made sure to wash and pack clothes for both Della and me. Winter jackets, summer t-shirts, and every season in between. She still had her bag that we’d bought when we left the Wilsons, and I studiously ensured our rations and belongings were evenly distributed, even though I put all the heavy stuff into mine. The two pots for cooking, the many lighters I couldn’t function without, the multiple knives I carried even though I constantly had at least three on my person at all times.
Della messaged me on the first day of our self-eviction from this city and said she’d called the landlord, cancelled our lease, and asked for our returned bond to be paid in cash. We didn’t have a
fixed contract anymore, so we weren’t breaking any rules, and I left her in charge of cutting off the electricity and gas, leaving the apartment as dark as the forest on my last night in so-called civilisation.
With Della staying one last night at David’s, I bunkered down in the empty space, lying on a thin yoga mat I’d stolen a few months ago in the very same sleeping bag I’d washed and prepared for our upcoming disappearance back home.
All that existed from the life we’d created in this apartment were empty walls and lonely carpet. Not one plate left in the cupboards, not a single blanket left in the laundry.
All gone.
My phone buzzed in the darkness.
Della: I know we said I’d swing by our place and stuff the rest of my clothes into the backpack you have prepared for me, but…David has requested you come here.
I shot upright, jack-knifing off the floor.
What the fuck for?
Ignoring my chugging heart, I wrote back:
Me: What did you tell him? Is he planning on killing me? Does he have a gun?
Della: What? Don’t be ridiculous. He won’t kill you. And I told him the truth. He already knew it anyway.
Me: Goddammit, Della. I feel sick about this already without being judged by him. I’m the guy who raised you, who is now stealing you into a life of uncertainty, and who stole you from him. Of course, he wants to kill me.
Della: He wants to understand. That’s all. Love hasn’t been kind to him either, Ren. And you did beat him up, after all. You kind of owe him an apology.