The Boy and His Ribbon (The Ribbon Duet, #1)(46)

Another cough spilled from my lips as my fever crested, and I blinked back teeth-aching chills.

All I could do was hold Della close and hope to hell I could talk my way out of whatever was about to happen.

A head appeared.

A head with long brown hair the colour of the bay horse below, green eyes, red lips—wariness and anger the perfect makeup on a very pretty face. About my age or slightly older, the girl’s petite hands gripped the ladder as she locked eyes on me.

Three things happened.

One, my flu-riddled body threatened to pass out from added stress.

Two, my boxers tightened as my body reacted to stimuli it’d been denied for months.

And three, the strangest sensation of guilt and unease filled me, because even though she was my enemy, I wanted to know her.

The moment ended as suddenly as it’d begun.

She raised her chin, cocked her head, and snarled, “And just who the hell are you?”





CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE





DELLA



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?