DELLA

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Present Day

 

 

SO…THIS IS where my story might turn a little odd, Professor.

I’ve told you pretty much everything you need to know up to this point.

I’ve introduced you to sweet little Della—the innocent child who looked up to her big brother, Ren. I’ve revealed the rapidly growing, ever inquisitive Della—the mischief maker and stubborn mule who idolized and sometimes despised her best friend, Ren. And now, I suppose the time has come to introduce you to complicated Della—the child who somehow became a girl with intricate complexities that even she didn’t understand. The girl who suddenly knew Ren meant so much more but didn’t know what.

And it all happened in a moment.

One second, I was secure in my world, protected and guarded by my love for Ren and his love for me. The next, I was full of things I didn’t understand. Things that made sense for a woman to feel but not a child. Things I didn’t fully accept or even have names for until many years later.

You see, that moment—that instant—when I heard the barn doors opening and Ren stayed catatonic beside me, I’d known our lives were about to change.

Horrors of being torn from his side like I’d been at school drowned me. Terrors at being clutched by teachers who spoke too close and asked prying questions about what Ren meant to me and if he ever touched me inappropriately made me want to leap from the hay loft and run.

I know our second separation wasn’t a long time, but it affected me, it aged me, it changed me more, in a few short minutes, than a month living our normal happy life in the forest.

I’d already been kicked from childhood into the next part of growing up, so I suppose, it was only natural to be protective and guarded of Ren in return.

He was mine.

I didn’t have much, but I had him, and I had no intention of ever losing him.

I know I’m rambling, but I’m trying to make you see that I felt different. Back then, I had no name or maturity to grasp how I felt differently.Now, of course I do, and as I sit typing this, I wonder if a child could feel those things or if I’m just placing such well-worn and long-lived emotions onto her.

That’s possible.

Because what I’m about to tell you probably won’t make sense.

It’s time for my first confession. And I say confession because, well, there is no other name for it. It’s twisted and wrong and one I’ve never told anyone…not even him.

Do you feel lucky that you’re the first?

You shouldn’t.

Because I’ve come to the conclusion that I can never show you this. The more I write about my past, the more I’m aware that I’ll have to erase every word and burn every edit because realistically, Ren was right.

No one can know that my real name is Mclary or that he took me when he was ten or that we lived so unconventionally for so many years. Who knows the sort of trouble I’d cause him and the nightmare that might come after me.

And so, because I’m now entirely convinced I’m going to delete this, I can be more open. I don’t know what I’m going to do when I have no assignment to turn into you, but now that I’ve started…I can’t stop.

I want to keep going because it hurts.

Funny, right?

Every word I write about him hurts. The heartache I live with. The deep-seated longing that I’ve grown to accept has magnified tenfold since you gave me that piece of paper with this assignment.

You were the one who gave me permission to pull out dusty desires and polish them until they’re so bright and blinding, I can’t stop it anymore.

I can’t pretend.

I can’t ignore.

I can’t lie to myself, and I don’t know where that leaves me.

You see, there was never a day in my life when I haven’t loved Ren Wild.

Every memory, he’s there. Every experience, he’s with me. And for that…I almost hate him.

There is no me without him, and perhaps this complicated mess is all his fault, but the sweet agony I’m putting myself through by writing this—the unrequited ache that I feel every time I recall how perfectly he raised me and how dotingly he adored me is nothing compared to the agony of growing up loving him in a way I knew was wrong.

Are you ready, Professor, to never read my darkest secrets? To never see the dirtiest of confessions?

No? Well, good because I don’t know if I’m ready to write them, but here I go…

In my eighteen years, I’ve been guilty of all seven deadly sins: lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy, and pride. I was never innocent, and I’m not afraid to be honest and share them with you. 

But how about I start with my first one?

Wrath.

My first true sin.

And it all happened the moment I met her.

Let’s just say, I hated her.

From the second she popped up on that ladder to the many years and memories later, I hated her.

But…and this is the kicker, I also loved her.

Her name was Cassie Wilson, and she was the daughter of Patricia and John Wilson, sister to Liam Wilson, friend to my girlish adolescence, and biggest enemy to my fledgling womanhood.

When she found us, I clung to Ren—partly trying to protect him from her and partly wishing he’d protect me. Even so young, I knew our lives were about to change, and I knew it was all because of her.

She’d vanished as quickly as she’d appeared, slipping down the ladder with skills of doing it a hundred times before, and bolting across the farm to grab her father.

In the few minutes we had alone, Ren barked for me to grab his jeans and boots and used the last of his remaining energy to hoist on sodden, cold things and helped me safely down the ladder.

He’d tripped going down and tripped again as he struggled to haul the backpack onto his shoulders.

In his flu-fugue state, he’d left our sleeping bag upstairs—our one valuable piece of equipment second only to our tent, and he’d left it behind.

At the time, that terrified me.

To have someone so strong and invincible suddenly become so sick and lost rocked my small world.

Not that it mattered.

Because we didn’t get far.

John Wilson arrived, flanked by his curious handsome wife, devious pretty daughter, and cute little son.

And that was when Ren pushed me behind him, stood to his full height, and spoke with the gruff and rasp of sickness to let us go. His hand flexed around the hunting knife in his jean’s waistband, his knuckles turning white, then pink, white, then pink as he flexed in preparation.

He was my protector, and he’d promised I wouldn’t have to share him with anyone, yet here I was…sharing him.

I wanted to run in front and scream for these strangers to let us go, but Ren kept a solid grasp on my bicep, keeping me wedged safely against him.

With my limited interaction with humans, I expected them to grab us and maybe murder us there and then.

I’m pleased to report, they didn’t.

Instead, they changed our lives.

They welcomed us into their home, fed us a home-cooked breakfast of bacon and eggs, and called a doctor for my brother and best friend.

And through it all, Cassie Wilson never took her eyes off my Ren.

And my hate grew wings and flew.

You see, I loved her for being so kind to me, for everything she became to me.

But I hated her for taking something from me, for claiming the only thing I had, for stealing the boy I loved in all the perfectly right and terribly wrong ways that a sister ever could.