*
Sometimes, and don’t judge me for this, but sometimes, I would do something naughty just to have him yell at me. I know it was wrong, but when Ren yelled, he drenched it with passion.
*
How many times do you think a person can survive a broken heart?
Any ideas?
I would like to know because Ren has successfully broken mine, repaired it, shattered mine, fixed it, crushed mine, and somehow glued it back together again and again.
*
I was jealous that he was close to another when I was supposed to be the only one. I was angry that he turned to another for comfort and didn’t come to me. But most of all, I was in shattered pieces because I wasn’t enough anymore.
*
I’m in love with Ren Wild.
It looks even worse in bold, doesn’t it?
It looks like a life sentence I can never be free of…which, in a way, is exactly what it is.
*
But what I do know is I will always love Ren.
I will always be in love with Ren.
And I also know I will never have him.
*
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.
*
The next time Ren and I ran, I wanted it to be for good. I never wanted to tie him to a new place so I could go to school. I never wanted him to feel as trapped as I did. I wanted to be free because maybe, just maybe, away from people and rules and constant reminders, Ren might slip enough to realise he loved me, too.
*
That was my true performance because he never knew how much I sobbed the moment he closed the door, promising to be home soon.
I sobbed so much I couldn’t breathe, and my tears were no longer tears, but great heaving, ugly convulsions where hugging myself didn’t work, where lying to myself didn’t work, where promises that it would get better definitely didn’t work.
I’m sure you can probably guess what I did next?
If you can’t, then you’ve never been in love with someone who was off making a future with someone else.
My breath roared in my ears. My limbs turned shaky and liquid.
I only had minutes to read, but I skimmed as fast as I could, absorbing letters of pain, heartache, and confusion.
I recognised the moments she wrote about.
I remembered the attitude she gave me around Cassie. The jealousy she tried to hide. The possessiveness she never stopped nursing. The obsession of keeping our family just us and no one else.
I had no fucking idea her withdrawal and moods were because she thought I’d replaced her with Cassie. I was so na?ve to think she hadn’t seen me sneaking off to make out time and time again.
Fuck.
Even with the kiss she’d given me when she was thirteen, I’d believed her when she said it was purely growing pains and learning what attraction was.
An experiment, she called it.
I’d believed her when she lied point-blank to my face.
I’d chosen to trust what she said rather than focus on what her body language told me. What her eyes screamed. What her sighs whispered.
How could I be so fucking stupid?
How could I be so blind?
How had I not seen how distraught she’d been the night I went out on that second date with some woman I couldn’t remember? How had I not heard her tears or run back to her to stop her from losing her virginity instead of forcing myself to believe I was doing the right thing by finding comfort in arms I was allowed rather than dying for the ones I wasn’t?
My hands curled around the pages, wanting to wring her neck for years of bullshit, while at the same time, wanting to clutch her close and say I finally understood. Understood the unrequited pining. Understood the burning jealousy at the thought of anyone else having her but me. Understood the epic heights of such sweet agony and the almost addictive properties of loving someone you just can’t have.
The night she lost her virginity, I’d done that. I’d pushed her into doing something final by believing I was the only one hurting. That I was the only one struggling with right and wrong.
Fuck!
I spun around, one hand latched around the pages and another tangled in my hair.
I needed to get the hell out of here before I did something unforgivable.
But…everything locked into place.
My heart stopped beating. My body stopped shaking. I swallowed a groan as Della stood dripping wet in a towel, glowering at me in the doorway.
We stared.
And stared.
And stared.
I didn’t move.
She didn’t move.
I hadn’t heard the shower turn off.
I didn’t feel her arrive.
I’d been too focused on learning the years of pain I’d put her through to focus on the present.
She’d been in love with me. Was she still? When did she know? How long had she lied? How badly had I ruined this?
Slowly, my heart tripped into beating again, wary and worried, quiet and quick.
With blazing blue eyes and wet blonde hair plastered against creamy shoulders, she padded barefoot toward me.
I stumbled backward, my knees giving way at the delirious perfection of seeing her again, of her seeing me, of us being alone together—away from others and judging opinions.
My lips parted to speak, to say something that could delete the years of agony, soothe months of hardship, and have her love me the same way she did before I’d stupidly run.
But my voice no longer worked, my lungs no longer operated. She closed the distance, bringing familiar smells of vanilla and melon until she reached out and snatched the pages dripping with secrets from my hands.
I flinched as if she’d punched me in the gut.
Tears glittered in her gaze as sadness so deep and cloying seemed to blur her before me. “You read them…” Her whisper fissured with soul-breaking disbelief.
And for the first time…I saw her.
Truly saw her.
Not as a baby.
Not as a toddler.
Not as a child.
I saw her as Della.
Herself.
Her own creation.
A creation I’d had no hand in, no part in nurturing or raising. She was no longer mine; she belonged only to herself, and she’d utterly crushed me beneath her written honesty.
“Ribbon,” I breathed. My voice shook. My hands curled into fists as I took in her wild, wet, blonde hair, the sharp wings of her collarbone, the swell of her breasts beneath the towel, and the long willowy strength of her sun-kissed arms and legs.
The first time I’d used her nickname in far too long.
But I had no choice.
The word was torn from my entire being as I stood staring at the most stunning creature I’d ever seen.
How had I prevented my eyes from seeing?
How had I believed she was merely pretty—just my little Della who needed me to survive?
How had I convinced myself that she loved me only as a friend when everything between us flared hot and forbidden with years of pent-up desire?
She was never innocent like I believed.
She was never pure like I hoped.
She was none of those things.
Not anymore.
She was sin and sex and such sizzling chemistry, my entire body burst into flames.
I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
I couldn’t breathe as explosion after explosion hit me, realisation after realisation, acceptance after acceptance that I’d loved this girl since I’d stolen her yet…here now, this very fucking moment, I fell head over heels, madly, desperately, horribly in love with her, and it fucking ruined me.
Her words…her confessions…I didn’t stand a goddamn chance.
I shot forward, grabbing her tight and clutching her to me.
A hug.
Our first hug in so damn long.
Her body was unyielding—no longer open to my touch. She was braver, stronger, sexier, and having her in my arms, my body shook off the shackles I’d always locked tight and fell away.