And when that day happened, I couldn’t afford to be illiterate without her.
Then again, I’d left her before she’d left me.
And now…now there was a chance we would never be apart again.
My heart cramped with a hope so vicious it made me shake.
My fingers typed slowly, deleting my regular typos, hoping my spelling was on point. I wanted to be honest with her. I needed to be. She needed to know just what she was getting into because this was me putting everything on the line. This was me ripping up my world when I still didn’t fully understand if I could.
Me: I don’t know if I’ll ever be fully ready. If this was happening to someone else, and not you and me, how repulsed would you be if you knew the man was contemplating sleeping with his own kid?
Goddammit.
I sat forward, digging my elbows into my knees and wiping my mouth with my hand.
Fuck.
Seeing it in black and white, reading how foul that sounded, I very almost dry-heaved. What the hell was I doing? I’d been driven by my desire for so long that I’d forgotten what this actually entailed. What sort of sins we were about to commit. What sort of mess we were about to create.
This wasn’t me.
I wasn’t this self-obsessed.
I ought to be her father figure.
I ought to be better—
Della: First, I’m not your kid. I never felt like you were my father, and there was never any confusion about what we meant to each other. Second, forget about everyone else. They don’t matter. I couldn’t judge on another’s life just like I don’t want them to judge us.
My head hung as I ran my fingers over the touchpad. She was right, I supposed. For some reason, we’d always clung to the boundaries that we weren’t blood or related, almost as if we knew eventually we’d want more than just friendship.
Before I could reply, she sent another.
Della: You told me this afternoon that we were going to talk. And we’re talking. But if I’m honest, I don’t think this can be rationalised by text message. You asked me to help you understand that there was no other path for us. That it was always going to end this way. That we were always meant to be. I’m not just saying what you want to hear, Ren. I truly believe that. And the only way to come to terms with it is to just…trust me, trust you, trust us.
I sighed.
Her message was a lot kinder in black and white than mine had been. She’d successfully thrown my own words in my face, making me see there was no other choice for us. Even if she hadn’t kissed me and firmly imprinted herself into my dreams, I would have eventually fallen for her because a man like me, I didn’t love easy. I didn’t trust easy. It’d taken me seventeen years to even admit I was ready to put my heart on the line in a romantic sense rather than family.
Cassie had known that about me. She’d sensed that I would never care more for her than gentle affection because I was too afraid to open myself up to pain.
Della was the only one worth risking such agony.
And as much as I’d vehemently deny it, I’d already been hurt by the Mclary’s which sort of gave Della permission in a strange, unfathomable away.
She was the only one allowed to hurt me in the future.
I opened a new window and typed slowly:
Me: Are you willing to let me work through this? Do you understand it won’t be an overnight switch for me? It’s going to take time.
The moon hung heavy above, reminding me that it had been too long since I’d been in the forest. As much as I needed to live in the apartment to stay close to my addiction of stalking Della, I’d had my fill of cities.
I hadn’t liked living here when Della was finishing school. There was no way I wanted to live here while we figured out whatever we were about to embark on. We’d had a near miss with her principal with rumours of her being in love with me. A mere rumour almost separated us. Now it was fact, we stood every chance of being ripped apart.
This had always felt like a temporary place. A chapter that didn’t quite fit.
If it was over and we could go home…thank God.
Della took her time replying, and I reclined against the pigeon-crapped bench, exhaling hard.
Della: I can’t promise I won’t get frustrated. I can’t say I won’t get mad if you kiss me, then pull away. But what I can promise is, I’ve wanted this since I was thirteen, and if you need another thirteen years to accept that I was born for you, then so be it. I’ll be patient.