The Boy and His Ribbon (The Ribbon Duet, #1)(98)

God, it hurts so bad just saying that.

No amount of chest rubbing or false soothing can cut away the pain growing like a cancer inside me.

I’m an adult now.

And that means I no longer officially need him.

And because I no longer officially need him, I can move away.

I can cut ties.

I can put distance between us so our interactions will reduce to what normal families with children leaving the nest reduce to: the odd holiday gathering, the occasional phone call, a half-hearted text every other day.

I will be safe from ever being this wretched every time I look at him, smell him, laugh with him, adore him.

If I don’t do something soon, then my entire life is going to be destroyed. I’ll never find someone I can fall for. I’ll never be able to love another the way they deserved to be loved.

Those two days when I ran—the days when Ren couldn’t find me—were days I needed to glue shattered pieces back together in the best order I could. It was time I needed to talk to my younger self and tell her that she had her entire life in front of her and there would be plenty of other boys to kiss, to fall in love with, to want with such desire.

I wasn’t ready.

Ren would never be ready.

Therefore, it could never happen.

I’d spent a night in a friend’s house who I knew was overseas, and I happened to know where the spare key lived. I’d had the place to myself, but I hadn’t slept or relaxed. I’d used the space and minutes wisely, doing my best to carve out the mess I’d made of my heart and return to the Della I’d been before I’d crept over to his bed in the dark.

I’d stared into mirror after mirror, desperate to reverse the time to when I didn’t destroy myself or him.

I’d stared into my eyes.

I’d clutched the ribbon from my hair.

And I’d made a vow that Ren will never know.

I knew he would find me.

He would discipline me.

He would forgive me.

And I also knew, despite all of that, I would make him believe it was all a terrible mistake. I would sell my lies. I would believe my untruths. I would do everything required to make it all go away, because he must never know that kissing him might’ve been the worst thing I’d ever done, but it was also the best, the realest, the most truest thing I’d ever felt, and I would never apologise for that.

I would beg for his forgiveness purely to ensure our relationship was back where it belonged, and I would nurse my dirty secrets to protect him for a change.

I’ve failed at many things in my life, but I’m happy to tell you, I’ve never once broken my vow. I’ve been protecting him from that secret for years. I’ve been lying to him every minute of the day.

And now I’m exhausted, and writing this all down has shown the conclusion I didn’t want to face: I’m not ready to say goodbye.

I’ll never be ready but if I don’t, how can I ever move on?





CHAPTER FORTY-SIX


REN



2013




“DELLA…”

Her head snapped up from where she’d been snoozing, sitting up against a tree stump. Her eyes blinked away drowsiness, slipping from joy at seeing me to guarded with trepidation.

She should be nervous.

Now that I knew she was in one piece and not molested or dead, my panic transformed into the hottest rage I’d ever felt. The catalyst of fury replaced my insides, making my nostrils flare with hot breath and temper fire with cruel words. “Della.”

Before, her name had been a prayer of thanks. Now it was a curse of condemnation.

She scrambled to her feet, her head bowed, contrition all over her. “Before you say anything…I’m sorry.” Glancing at me between strands of curling blonde, she breathed, “I’m sorry for doing something I shouldn’t. I’m sorry for running away. I’m sorry I made you worry.” She licked her lips, shrugging. “I’m…just very sorry, for everything.”

Her apology tried to douse my anger, but I didn’t let it.

Stalking the distance between us, I crunched over twigs and foliage, coming to a trembling stop in front of her. She was no longer as short as I remembered. No longer as young. She stood subservient and entirely ready to be scolded, but her eyes burned with the same sort of fire that hissed inside me.

A fire that did its best to confuse and convince me that she didn’t deserve to be told off when it was the only thing she did deserve. She needed goddamn boundaries, and she seemed deaf to them unless I shouted.

My hands curled, doing my best to keep control. “Are you hurt?”

I’d wanted to yell, but somehow, my fear made me check she was capable of withstanding the violence I itched to give her first. My palms burned to strike. To imprint some sort of punishment for everything she’d done.

Hoisting the backpack—my backpack—up her shoulders, she shook her head. She’d dressed in jeans and a thick knitted jumper with her winter jacket tucked through the straps of the rucksack. “No.”

Despite studying her appearance and finding no blood or broken bones to say she was lying, I took another step closer.

Her eyes flared then dropped to the ground again, giving me permission to nurse my terrible temper. “Where the hell were you?”