When things passed, our bond would snap right back into place and life would be simple again. Hiking, exploring, swimming.
Della hadn’t packed a swimsuit, but she didn’t argue when I made her wear a t-shirt and underwear before getting wet. I made sure she was never around when I bathed, and I averted my eyes whenever she’d strip—sometimes catching me unaware with flashes of her perfect skin.
We shared tasks on building a fire or erecting the tent or preparing food, and overall, the lifestyle we shared was much easier now she was older and offered more help than hindrance.
For two glorious months, we travelled on back-roads and explored the stunning countryside. Occasionally, we’d stumble onto a campsite tucked high in the hills, or hear trampers in the distance, treading the trails we’d become so sure footed on.
The money stuffed safe in my backpack wasn’t needed as I allowed every aspect of our lives before the Wilsons to return—including stealing.
I didn’t take from those who had nothing and did my best to only pinch a few things. Items like toothpaste and deodorant, canned food and another lighter…things that didn’t cost the large supermarkets much money but kept us healthy and fed.
Della asked me to teach her the art of thievery, but that was one thing I refused. I’d teach her anything she wanted—skinning rabbits, setting traps, sharpening knives, making fires—but never stealing.
There was too much risk.
And she was far too precious to get caught.
She might not need me as much as she once did, but I still had a role to play in her life.
A role I would gladly uphold until my dying breath.
To protect her.
At all costs.
Even if it meant protecting her from herself.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
DELLA
* * * * * *
Present Day
CRAZY HOW LIFE can change so fast, right?
How days can blend into months, and seasons can flow into years.
That was what happened with us.
Leaving behind Cherry River was sad. Some days, I missed Patricia, John, the horses, our one bedroom, Liam, and even Cassie so much, I almost asked Ren to turn around. To admit I’d made a mistake, and I wanted to go back.
I’d never stopped to notice just how privileged I’d been living there—learning to ride, running around in open fields, swimming in creeks, and attending a school that actually nurtured my dreams instead of ruined them.
I missed it.
But as much as I missed them, I would miss Ren more, and he was no longer welcome there.
Because of me.
I’d made it impossible to go back.
I’d taken away so much from both of us.
The guilt that caused was a daily passenger. Unfortunately, I had a steep learning curve to find there were many layers of guilt. Some days, I suffered shame. Some nights, I wallowed in disgrace. Others, I wanted to flog myself with blame and dishonour and somehow purge the skin-crawling chiding that I’d done something irrevocably wrong.
I’d been selfish, and stupid, and as much as I regretted everything we’d lost, I was just as guilty for being grateful for everything we’d gained as much as I was for losing it.
For the rest of summer and most of autumn, I had Ren all to myself.
He no longer left before I was awake to work on the farm. He no longer stayed out till dark doing chores and feeling responsible for the paddocks and meadows left in his care.
He lost the edgy hardness of being relied upon and returned to the serious, wild boy I remembered.
Every story he shared. Every laugh he indulged in. I remembered how to love him purely without any of the mess I’d caused. Some weeks, I honestly didn’t remember why I’d risked everything by kissing him.
What was I thinking? I’d muse.
Eww, how gross. I’d conclude.
I merely saw him as Ren—the farmyard boy who I’d watched make out with Cassie, go through chicken pox, and get all stuffy with the flu.
But then…other days…a switch would flip inside me, and I’d struggle to see him as family and only saw things I shouldn’t.
Forbidden things.
Things that had the potential not only to get me in trouble but to steal Ren from me forever.
I’d focused on the glisten of his sweat, and instead of thinking he needed a bath, I’d think how salty he would taste. I’d watched him break off dead tree limbs for our fire and instead of worrying he’d hurt himself, I only noticed how strong he was. How his arms bunched and his belly clenched and how everything about him was virile and perfect and just begging to be touched.
Things were alive inside me. Heat and hunger.
Sometimes, he’d look at me before I could bury my feelings and he’d freeze. His eyes would lock on mine, understanding the look of naked need even if he didn’t want to.
I’d swallow it all down, let my hair curtain my eyes, and pretend all over again that things were normal and I wasn’t drowning beneath right and wrong.
One dawn, when Ren slept beside me in our tiny tent, he rolled toward me as he sometimes did and gathered me close. I couldn’t help myself. I let myself be gathered, melting into the way his front cradled my back.
He was asleep. I was awake. I knew who was innocent and who was not, but it didn’t stop me from wriggling closer, my belly tightening as Ren’s hips jutted forward with something hard and—
Yep, stopping right there.
I can’t write the horror of what happened when I gasped and woke him up. How he’d ripped himself away from me. How he’d thrown himself out of the tent and refused to talk to me for the rest of the day.
It was yet another incident swept away, dirtying our relationship in ways I didn’t know how to clean.
In fact, this whole chapter I should delete, but ugh, I don’t like editing, and this is so close to being burned anyway.
I won’t litter the rest of this assignment with teenage awareness of how his normally comforting face was suddenly a treasure trove of harsh jawlines, straight noses, and black eyelashes. I’m not gonna remember the beard he grew or the fact that it wasn’t patchy like before but full and rugged and—
Why do I do this to myself?
Why do I insist on slicing through the sticky tape on my constantly breaking heart and stabbing it over and over again?
Can you answer me because I’m honestly at the end of my limit.
I know I can’t have him.
I made him believe I don’t want him.
Yet…I can’t forget him.
I just want him to go back to being Ren.
So why won’t that happen?!
God, you’re no use.
This is a waste of time.
You know what? I’m done.
This is beyond stupid. It’s become a mess of words and boring.
I’d get an F for this if I turned it in.
These secrets are just stupid really. I’m sure other people have the same issues. I’m not special. Just because I’ve been in love with someone I shouldn’t be for almost a decade doesn’t mean I can justify my heartache to you.
Ugh!
Okay, that’s it.
No more.
Nice knowing you, assignment.
Deleting…
* * * * *
So…I’m back.
Yesterday was a bad day.
I always have bad days remembering the forest in-between the Wilsons and what happened next. Probably because it was the last time we laughed together. The last time we could sleep side by side—when Ren wasn’t hunched against the tent to avoid me—and not have every other shit I caused become a third wheel between us.
God, I don’t want to write this anymore.
Not because I’m afraid of bad grades because that no longer matters, but because the end is coming. The end of everything, and the end of what I can tell you.
But before I can write those two little words and be done
with this horrible excuse of literature, I have to tell you what happened in the next five years of my life.
I have to tell you why our fourth separation has lasted the longest.
I have to tell you why it’s my fault.
And I have to tell you why Ren will never forgive me even though he did in the forest.
I did something even worse than kissing him.
Wow, I didn’t think words had the power to make me tear up and tremble, but they did. Clever, huh? I’m making myself insane. I’m dragging everything into the light that I’ve done my best to keep buried in the dark.
Let’s see how my hands shake typing it again. Let’s do it in bold, shall we? Just for even more dramatic effect…
I did something even worse than kissing him.
Yep, that got my heart galloping.
Bet you’re wondering what the hell I could do, right?
What else could I possibly do to destroy everything I ever cared about?
I’m sure you can probably imagine.
Maybe I should just let you imagine and not finish. My heart is done. I’m drained. I’m tired. I’ve been tired for far too long, and this is just ripping me into pieces.
All I know is, I can’t write what happened in the forest.
All I can tell you is it was the best time of my life. It makes me miss him with a clawing, violent need that drives me mad. The freedom of living day to day. The joy at starlit nights full of talking and the lazy mornings with chirping birds.
It was total innocence.
Maybe one day, I’ll be able to write a short story on the afternoons that stand out or try to describe the rose-coloured happiness and sun-warmed bliss we lived in. Maybe, I’ll do a poem or haiku on how my love evolved all over again from crush to tenderness to fevered yearning.
Or maybe I won’t.
Either way, it doesn’t change how wonderful those few months were.
Ren and I found our way back to each other, and I wish, wish, wish we could’ve stayed in the trees and never come out. I’ve cried myself to sleep more times than I can count to stay in that joyful place and never slip into the Della I became.
But…it happened.
Winter found us, ice crept toward us, and snow drove us from our heaven back to hell.
And the stopwatch started ticking, inching me closer to the day when I would be alone.
The day when Ren would walk out of my life.
The day when everything would be broken.
Because I’m still here…alone…writing this sorry excuse of a story, pretending I can conjure him from nothing, desperately loving a memory, and killing myself with the knowledge that no matter how much I write about him. No matter what tales I tell you or secrets I spill, he’s not going to be there to tell me off. He’s not going to scold me for telling the truth. He’s not going to notice or care.
I no longer need to pretend I don’t love him.
I don’t need to lie that I don’t want him.
Can you guess why?
I’ve been lying to you, too, didn’t you know?
I made you believe he stuck by me. That he would never abandon me no matter what disasters I caused.
But that is another lie.
Probably the biggest one.
Because Ren Wild…he’s gone.
He left me.
And he’s never coming back.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
REN
* * * * * *
2015
FOR TWO YEARS, things were back to normal.
It was just me and Della against the world, but I wouldn’t lie and say I didn’t think about what had happened between us.
Della had shown me two sides of herself in those few days that I hadn’t seen before or since. Sure, there’d been a few incidents in the forest: a few heated looks, an early morning embrace that had been instinct and not thought, and even a couple of fierce arguments.
But we’d ironed out the kinks and found a new acceptable.
As time went on, problems were few and far between.
And that worried me.
Della had revealed she wasn’t just the simple blonde angel I’d raised and adored, but a girl with evolving needs; a trickster who could hide behind a mask and successfully keep her secrets.
Lately, she’d been too amenable—none of her usual fire or willingness to get into trouble for speaking her mind. But no matter how many times I caught myself studying her and no matter how often I tensed in her embraces, there was never anything more to her affection. No tension or undercurrent.
Just natural, sinless love.
It was the same as it had always been: given freely, kindly, wholeheartedly, but most of all, purely with no underlying contraband.
Her smiles were innocently genuine.
Her touches appropriately platonic.
I did my best to relax, but no matter how normal things became between us, I couldn’t let it go. A niggle was always there, searching her actions and tones, knowingly putting a barrier between us that I didn’t want.
She knew the wall was there, just like I did.
But we never addressed it, never tried to bulldoze it, and as time marched on, we learned to live with it. We accepted that the wariness would never fully dissolve and had become a fracture in our otherwise perfect relationship.
I hated it.
I hated that I’d lost the child I loved with all my heart and been traded a girl who had the terrifying capacity to destroy me.
Maybe it was all in my mind.
Perhaps the late-night dreams of phantom kisses with a woman I couldn’t claim was turning me mad. Maybe I’d been ruined all along and that was why I could never give myself to Cassie.
Whatever caused my vigilance, I never found any reason to be suspicious.
Guilt drowned me because how could I pretend to trust Della, when night after night, I was waiting to catch her? And catch her in what, exactly? A confession that she actually loved me in a completely different way to what was allowed? A hint that she felt just as scrambled and confused as I did and couldn’t find her way back to innocence?
At least, we still had each other.
That was all that mattered.
We fought against winter for as long as we could, but eventually, the icy winds and snowy chill drove us from our sanctuary and back into the cities we despised.
It took us a few weeks to adjust being around people again. And another few to figure out the rules as we navigated our way into well-oiled society where finding somewhere to stay meant paying rent and paying rent meant finding work and getting work meant providing references.
I had cash for a down payment on a rental, and I learned on the job how to walk into letting agencies, ask to view a place, and tolerate being chauffeured around, guided through the home in question, and sold on every benefit.
Even though Della and I had lived with the Wilsons, gone into town, and been around public before, this was on an entirely different level.
We couldn’t hide behind the Wilsons anymore. We couldn’t rely on them to find us a place to stay or talk to the smarmy salespeople on our behalf. I couldn’t work my ass off and ask someone I trusted to buy everything we’d need. I had to pre-empt Della’s requirements with school uniforms and stationery. I had to plan groceries and living locations so she could get to school safely without a long commute.
There were no empty farmhouses for us to borrow. No perfect villages where we could happily live off the scraps unseen.
It suffocated me, seeking places to live where no trees grew or rivers ran. My brain battled daily with my heart, forcing me to give up house hunting and focusing on why we were there.
School.
Della had to go to the best school possible.
That was the reason.
And I clutched it hard even when finding a good school proved to be as much as a challenge as finding a home.
Della helped and researched online. She narrowed her results to two,
and together, we walked from our hidden shack we’d commandeered as our winter abode on the edge of a campground, and did our best to hide the fact that we were still homeless.
The cracked weatherboards and grimy windows hadn’t been maintained, but it had a small stove for the extra blizzard-filled nights and it kept us from freezing to death.
It didn’t help with our bathing arrangements—having to melt snow and scrub down with the other person shivering outside to grant privacy, but at least the clothes I’d bought were fresh and new and Della’s hair shone gold and her eyes glowed with intelligence.
Any school would be lucky to have her.
And thanks to her skills, she managed to enrol into an all girl’s high school by acing the entrance exam and telling the headmaster to call her last school for her file.
I hadn’t thought to do that and used the trick when we finally found a cheap one-bedroom place three blocks away, asking the listing agent to call Cherry River Farm and ask John Wilson for a reference.
They did.
And whatever he told them ensured within the week Della attended a new school and I’d moved our meagre backpacks into a bare essential, unfurnished apartment and chewed through a chunk of my savings paying bond, first month’s rent, and Della’s tuition fees.
Della and I transformed its empty spaces into a semi-liveable home, thanks to flea market bargains and the odd furniture found on street corners.
I’d achieved more than I had in my life.
I’d dealt with people and hadn’t been recognised for being a runaway slave or for being the man who stole Della Mclary. My fears of being taken and sold were still strong, even though I was no longer a boy, and I preferred not to be too close or talk too long to anyone.
All winter, Della caught the local bus to school, bundled up in the thickest jacket, mittens, and hats I could afford, and returned straight after class ended.
I didn’t mind she didn’t make friends straight away. In fact, I was glad because it meant I had her company when I returned from work after toiling away at a local building site, and we spent the evenings together with our second-hand TV, street-salvaged couch, and snuggled under a shared blanket watching whatever was on.
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