As much as I hate him for leaving, I can’t destroy what he gave me.
I’m going to move on.
For him.
Even if it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
CHAPTER FOUR
DELLA
* * * * * *
2018
IT’S BEEN ANOTHER three weeks.
Three months since he left, and it hasn’t gotten any easier.
But…I actually have something to write about other than Ren.
To be fair, my life has been pretty mundane since the night Ren walked out the door. I’ve crammed as much as I could into daylight and night-time hours, doing my best to delete Ren piece by piece.
I’ve stopped asking myself ridiculous questions as I fall to sleep in an empty apartment.
I’ve given up trying to find answers I’ll never earn and accept that what I did was unforgivable.
I shouldn’t have kissed him.
I shouldn’t have tried to change us.
I shouldn’t have demanded more.
I’m nothing but numb bones, dazed heart, and paralyzed soul.
Who knows…maybe I’ll always torture myself with that night. Maybe I’ll always feel wretched for hurting him.
I just had to push and push, and when he had nowhere else to go, he did the one thing he was best at. He’d run from the Mclary’s because they were monsters who tortured him; now he’d run from their daughter because she’d hurt him too much to repair.
I have nothing.
Nothing but regret and minutes upon minutes of time to contemplate the What Ifs. The What If I’d let him go to bed and given him a few days to analyse how he felt? The What If I’d just been honest and said, ‘Ren…you know I love you, but what you don’t know is I’m in love with you. Now, before you freak out, it’s nothing to be afraid of and I understand if you don’t feel the same way, but just in case you do…just in case some part of you that feels a tiny spark like I do, then let’s figure it out. We always figure things out—together.’
And he’d say…‘Okay, Della. You’re right. I do love you. Now, get naked.’
And we’d live happily ever after.
That’s the worst kind of torture, isn’t it? The horror where every outcome and scenario delivers a happier one than the life you’re currently living.
But it all comes down to choices.
I chose to sleep with David, and I chose to slug back a few glassfuls of wine to dull the ache of entering womanhood. I chose to embrace my recklessness, strip, and yell at Ren.
I was tipsy and hurt.
And I wish I could take it all back.
But you already know all this, so I’ll stop.
The real reason I wanted to write is…I needed someone.
Summer is well and truly here, and Ren is not, and that’s left me empty to the point where I’ll do anything to fill up the darkness inside me.
I’m ill-equipped for adulthood where I return to an empty apartment every night, the couch still smelling of him, the air still laced with his voice, and the night still warm with his hugs.
The memories nick my heart with their tiny, painful blades—giving me a thousand cuts until I bleed out slowly.
It’s so slow, I don’t even notice I’m dying.
I’ve run my immune system down. And the week after I handed in my assignment, I got sick.
Just a simple flu—karma for lying about being ill—but it knocked me on my butt. I could barely get out of bed from the body aches and fever. I had no food and no way of getting to a doctor without sneezing over some Uber driver.
I stayed in bed for two days, eating dried Ramen noodles because I couldn’t stand up to put the kettle on from shivering so bad, and sipping tepid tap water for my raging sore throat.
In the middle of the second day, I honestly thought I would die, and no one was left to care.
Ren…ouch.
God, the pain never gets any easier to bear.
Thinking of him is a syringe full of poison to the heart. Dare murmur his name and it’s a mallet to my bones. Risk imagining him sitting here, wiping away fever-sweaty hair and kissing my brow while feeding me chicken soup, and it’s a cannonball to my entire chest.
By the third day of curling up with chattering teeth, I knew I couldn’t keep doing this. I wasn’t dead, but it wouldn’t take much to finish me if I didn’t stop grieving.
Ren would be furious if he knew I’d gone from chasing everything to uncaring about anything, especially after all the sacrifices he made for me.
That was the only reason I managed to grab my phone, log in to Facebook, and look up all the Davids close to me.
It took a few page refreshes and an hour of stalking social media, but I found him.
The man I lost my virginity to.
Technology connects all of us and, for some reason, I despise that.
I hate the fact there’s no barrier anymore. No corner to hide from prying eyes.
David was easy to find, but not Ren.
He’s no longer in reception.
He’s returned to the wild that lives in his blood.
I have no way of contacting him and, believe me, I’ve tried. I’ve tried everything but smoke signals.
And thanks to that butcher’s blade to the heart, I needed someone even more.
His Facebook page said his full name was David A. Strait. His birthday was New Year’s Day, he was four years older than me, and according to his relationship status, he was single.
Funny that I’d willingly searched for the man who took my girlhood—a man I knew nothing about—yet almost cried in relief when I found him.
My message was lacking and needy:
Hi David,
You probably don’t remember me, but I’m the girl who pathetically asked you to relieve her of her virginity. You took me up on the offer, and then got beaten up by the guy I was trying to forget. Remember that messy evening? If by chance I’ve jogged your memory, I hope it’s not too forward to be honest with you again.
That guy? He walked out on me twelve weeks ago. I thought I was ready to survive on my own, but then I got sick. I hate that I’m asking you this and fully expect a hell no, but if you don’t mind being kind to me one last time, I need your help. My address is Apartment 1D, 78 RuBelle Ave. I’m just a few blocks from your place actually—walking distance really…
I coughed wet and ugly as I pressed send.
It showed as delivered a few seconds later.
For a few hours, I dozed with congestion in my nose and a continent the size of Africa sitting on my head.
I almost forgot I was waiting until my phone chirped with new correspondence.
Even though I knew it wasn’t Ren. Even though I knew, knew, knew I’d never get a text from him again; it didn’t stop my ridiculous heart from jumping off a building and hurling itself onto painful concrete.
It wasn’t Ren.
But it was the next best thing.
I’m on my way.
Love, David.
CHAPTER FIVE
DELLA
* * * * * *
2018
SORRY IT’S BEEN so long.
I meant to tell you what happened when David appeared at my apartment, but the guilt…
The guilt of welcoming him inside, letting him sit on the couch Ren used to sleep on, offering him water from glasses Ren used to drink from, sharing the space that Ren used to share with me…
The guilt hurt even worse than the bone aches from the flu.
Not that I have anything to be guilty for.
I’m single. I’m alone. I’ve committed no crime.
So why does it feel like I’ve cheated so many times on Ren in the past few weeks?
Let me explain.
David arrived with store-bought mushroom soup, fresh ciabatta, and a pharmacy bag full of painkillers, decongestants, and throat lozenges.
I welcomed him in, almost hyperventilated having him in Ren’s space, paid by Ren’s mo
ney, made possible by Ren’s sacrifices, and stiffened in his arms as he hugged me and said, “You can’t stay here on your own. Pack a bag. You’re coming with me.”
I gave him complete control as he bundled me into some sort of Chrysler, and drove us silently to the very same house I’d lost more than just my virginity in—I’d lost Ren.
He guided me inside, past the tastily decorated lounge with wall stickers of life quotes, up the stairs and past the bedroom where we’d ended up screwing on the floor, to another at the end of the hall.
He welcomed me into his bedroom with its charcoal and black colour scheme, pulled back the sheets on a king bed, and cocked an eyebrow until I crawled exhausted into the offered cocoon.
He set up a tray and let me eat the soup in private and swallow a few pills before he returned with a box of tissues, a hot water bottle, and passed me the remote control for the large flat-screen above his dresser on the wall.
I camped in his bed for two days.
And this is so hard to admit, but…I felt something for him. Something warm and grateful and, when I could breathe through my nose and showered away the stickiness of sickness, I wanted to repay him for his unbelievable kindness.
So, when he asked me to stay, when he said he’d thought about me a lot and wanted to see what else was between us other than just a one night thing, I said yes.
I knew what I was doing.
I wasn’t stupid to think I liked David enough after two days of him playing nursemaid to move in with the guy, but I was lonely, I was lost, and just like the first time David made me feel wanted, he had a knack at making me feel it again.
So…here is my latest confession.
For the past three weeks, I’ve been living at David’s house.
Actually, right now I’m typing this ridiculous never-to-be-read assignment at the breakfast bar in his kitchen.
It feels like yet another betrayal to admit that.
But why should I suffer in a place that stabs me over and over again with memories of Ren when he left me so damn easily?
Why can’t I run, just like him?
After I felt better, David took me home to gather some clothes, toiletries, laptop, and school gear, and we returned to his place, slightly awkward and a little afraid of what we’d just committed to.
I had no intention of letting the lease on my apartment go.
It wasn’t just an empty home.
It was the last place Ren had shared with me.
I wasn’t ready to say goodbye.
I only left because I was more afraid of sleeping another night on my own than sharing a house with a kind-hearted stranger.
If you’re shaking your head, thinking I leapt straight into sleeping with him—you’re wrong.
Three weeks and we haven’t even kissed.
I’m innocent.
But at the same time, I can’t lie to you.
I can’t type the words that pigeon-hole David into the friendship-only box.
Just like that first night, there’s a chemistry between us that simmers rather than burns. It heats up my blood just enough to melt the frost Ren left inside.
In the past three weeks, I’ve learned the A in David’s full name stands for Alexander. That his dad is rich from aluminium manufacturing, and his parents bought him this house close to the university so he’d be warm and safe to study. The three-bedroom place is all his, but he opted to share with a girl whose room we’d shagged in that night.
She’d been away for the weekend, and David’s room had already been stolen by other party-screwers.
The third bedroom was storage and a gym—the same gym that kept David’s body trim and taut rather than fierce and strong like Ren’s, thanks to a life of physical labour.
The first night I met Nathalie—who went by her favoured nickname of Natty—my hackles rose. After all, I’d gate crashed her cosy love nest with David.
But my worries were for nothing.
Natty adopted me as her sister and had a flair at finding the worst movies but making them the best with commentary and snacks.
Turns out, I’m not the only one nursing a chronic case of a broken heart.
We all were.
A house of rejected losers all banded together, banishing—or doing our best to banish—the nightmares who had scarred us.
Natty had been cheated on by her fiancé.
Me, you all know my story.
And David…well, he’d been jilted by the girl he’d fallen in love with while working the confectionary stand at the local cinema a few years ago—he didn’t know she was married and he was the other man.
It destroyed him.
And, it destroyed me too because their tales ended with someone cheating on another.
Was that the only path for romance?
It hurt to hear their sad stories, but it also helped because I was no longer alone. I had two misfits to help heal me, and for the first time in my life, I stopped analysing everything I said and learned the novelty of telling the truth.
I held nothing back.
What I’ve told you, dear assignment, is what I told Natty and David over the course of three weeks.
They know who I am.
They know who Ren is.
They know my pathetic tale and life moves on.
CHAPTER SIX
REN
* * * * * *
2018
LEAVING HER WAS the hardest thing I’d ever done.
Harder than living in the city.
Harder than existing at Mclary’s.
The hardest thing, and I’d done it voluntarily.
Walking away with my back aching beneath a rucksack full of tins and bottles, tents and sleeping bags, I physically fought myself every step.
What the fuck was I doing?
This was Della.
We’d never been apart except for three incidents in our past, and each of those only separated us for the shortest time possible.
I loved her.
I needed her.
So why the hell did I walk away from her?
The forest ought to have filled me with relief, being back in nature’s sweet embrace. The warbles of birds and clear air, far from city smog, ought to slip the stress off my shoulders like an unwanted coat.
But I found no pleasure.
I found no sanctuary.
Because I was alone.
Della was my home. She was it for me. She was my everything.
And I’d always known she’d leave me eventually—as she should. As it was meant to happen when a kid outgrew their mentor. I used that excuse over and over.
Me leaving her was merely quickening the inevitably of her leaving me.
But it didn’t stop the pain.
It didn’t stop the regret.
It didn’t change the fact I no longer had the most important thing in my life, and I was slowly dying without her.
* * * * *
That first day, I didn’t get far.
Trees weren’t just landmarks guiding me deeper into their midst, but supportive friends, holding me up as I stumbled beneath heartbreak.
I’d travel a mile with my thoughts full of disgust at my response to seeing her naked. I’d stride onward with fists clenched and teeth clamped against nausea for ever thinking about Della the way I had these past few years. I’d punch a sapling for the lust masquerading as love and beg for a way to be free—to somehow find simplicity again.
But then, my thoughts would change, and all I’d see was the little girl I raised. The sweet, trusting blue eyes gazing at me with uncomplicated love as I brushed her blonde hair or fed her a piece of crisp apple straight from the Wilson’s tiny orchard.
My confusion would vanish, and I’d backtrack at a jog, staring at the city line below where Della existed without me.
She was my responsibility.
She was mine, and I’d left her all alone, undefended, uncared for.
Who did something like that?
W
ho put themselves first when their entire life had been wholeheartedly promised to another?
I’d hate myself the most in those moments.
The moments where my love was once again pure and full of self-sacrifice.
I was being an ass.
I was reading into things that weren’t there.
How the hell did I think I could abandon her?
She was my kid.
My best-friend.
Fuck, she needed me, and I ran away like a thief. A thief who stole her protection, familiarity, and comfort all because he couldn’t handle his own demons anymore.
I thought I’d protected myself from the vile whispers in my head. I thought I’d found a suitable outlet for the prohibited dreams about a blonde goddess who kissed me, loved me, and told me it was okay to fall and fall hard.
The one-night stands had helped curb my desires but each one left me emptier than before. Each one, I itched with guilt. Each one, I thought of Della.
Della.
Della.
Della.
Fuck…
I couldn’t do this.
I couldn’t leave her alone, unsafe, uncherished.
But as I’d race to the edge of the wilderness, riddled with remorse, and inhale the stench of cities and humans, I’d freeze.
Flashes of naked skin and come-hither eyes would turn my body traitorous.
And I’d remember all the mistakes and sexual tension that’d been building between us for years. I’d finally admit that the buzzing awareness was more than bonded connection but unpermitted chemistry.
It wasn’t right. It wasn’t allowed.
Della was no longer a little girl I’d die for.
She was a young woman destined to kill me.
Kill me with the absolute unacceptable ability to switch my pure love into dirty lust and destroy any chance at being close again.
On the fifth time of returning to the forest’s edge and getting nowhere, even while covering more miles in one day than I’d normally do in two, I had to stop.
I had to admit that I’d left to save her.
I’d run because what I was feeling wasn’t fair to her. I’d promised to pave her future with everything she could ever want, but by staying, I was confusing her.