I made sure to wash and pack clothes for both Della and me. Winter jackets, summer t-shirts, and every season in between. She still had her bag that we’d bought when we left the Wilsons, and I studiously ensured our rations and belongings were evenly distributed, even though I put all the heavy stuff into mine. The two pots for cooking, the many lighters I couldn’t function without, the multiple knives I carried even though I constantly had at least three on my person at all times.
Della messaged me on the first day of our self-eviction from this city and said she’d called the landlord, cancelled our lease, and asked for our returned bond to be paid in cash. We didn’t have a fixed contract anymore, so we weren’t breaking any rules, and I left her in charge of cutting off the electricity and gas, leaving the apartment as dark as the forest on my last night in so-called civilisation.
With Della staying one last night at David’s, I bunkered down in the empty space, lying on a thin yoga mat I’d stolen a few months ago in the very same sleeping bag I’d washed and prepared for our upcoming disappearance back home.
All that existed from the life we’d created in this apartment were empty walls and lonely carpet. Not one plate left in the cupboards, not a single blanket left in the laundry.
All gone.
My phone buzzed in the darkness.
Della: I know we said I’d swing by our place and stuff the rest of my clothes into the backpack you have prepared for me, but…David has requested you come here.
I shot upright, jack-knifing off the floor.
What the fuck for?
Ignoring my chugging heart, I wrote back:
Me: What did you tell him? Is he planning on killing me? Does he have a gun?
Della: What? Don’t be ridiculous. He won’t kill you. And I told him the truth. He already knew it anyway.
Me: Goddammit, Della. I feel sick about this already without being judged by him. I’m the guy who raised you, who is now stealing you into a life of uncertainty, and who stole you from him. Of course, he wants to kill me.
Della: He wants to understand. That’s all. Love hasn’t been kind to him either, Ren. And you did beat him up, after all. You kind of owe him an apology.
Me: I beat him up because he stole you from me.
She took a long time to reply, and I could hear her thoughts as if they were my own. He didn’t steal me. You pushed me into his arms. He didn’t take my virginity. I gave it to him as I was over being hurt by you.
My shoulders slouched, and I reclined back into my sleeping bag, cursing myself all over again. By the time her message buzzed in the dark, I was ready to agree to whatever she wanted if only to try to make amends to her, David, and frankly, even to myself.
Della: Closure, Ren. I think we both need it. I think you need to understand what we’re doing. You need to accept that we’re leaving together—just like old times. But unlike old times, we know exactly what we’re going to do out there…alone. You can’t lie to yourself anymore. You can’t imagine a life of happiness with us side by side and believe it will be like before. It will be better. Because this time, we aren’t lying. We ARE going to sleep with each other. We ARE going to learn about each other on an entirely different level. And if you can’t accept that in front of David, then…I’m actually terrified that you’ll never be able to accept it. What’s to stop you from changing your mind if this gets too hard? What if you can’t stop the images of me as a kid when you see me naked? What if you break down the moment you slip inside me and can’t go through with this? Where does that leave me? What will that mean for us? I want this, Ren. You have no idea how MUCH I want this. But I’m also so scared because if this doesn’t work, if you can’t accept it, then I’ll lose so much more than just a lover. I’ll lose you all over again, and not having you was the worst thing I’ve ever endured.
My breathing was loud and heavy. My eyes flying over her message again and again. We were no longer talking about David. She’d somehow opened the vault of her terrors and shared them with me. I hadn’t stopped to think how hard this would be from her point of view. I’d returned to her, told her I was in love with her, flipped her entire world upside down, and asked to take her away from the people who knew her, all with only a vague promise that we would try for more.