Normal.
This one, the permanent one, looped over itself and back across in a letter not a shape. A letter that happened to be the first of my name.
Della hadn’t even tried to act ashamed, high on marking her skin with an unforgettable, unforgivable symbol.
With shaking hands, I paid the artist and was grateful when he wrapped Della’s leg and foot in cellophane, blurring the design enough so I could pretend I’d seen something that wasn’t there.
By the time we’d returned home, my temper was short, my mind a mess, and the tent resting in its untouched box on the coffee table just made me tip into places I could no longer run from.
Grabbing Della, I marched her to the couch, shoved her down, and kneeled before her.
“What are you—”
“Shut up,” I hissed, hell bent on finding answers I was afraid of.
She gasped as I tore at the cellophane, unwrapping the plastic, revealing the slimy aftercare cream and the vibrant blue ribbon forever inked into her skin.
Two hundred dollars and she’d fucking ruined me.
My teeth hurt I clenched so hard as what I’d feared stared back at me.
Not an ordinary ribbon but one with a goddamn message. “What the hell is this?” I looked up, seething and ruthless. My fingernails dug into her foot as I held it on my thigh.
She tried to yank it away, her black dress riding up her legs, the flash of red underwear sending yet more rage into my already out of control temper.
“Nothing.”
“It’s not nothing, Della.”
“It’s nothing, okay?” She shrugged with a worried look in her gaze. “It’s a ribbon. That’s all.”
My hands, despite themselves, feathered up her calf to her knee. I couldn’t stop them, and I couldn’t stop her reaction as her legs parted and her lips sucked in desperate air.
She should hate me for touching her.
She should leap away and smite me for even thinking of touching her.
But she did the opposite.
Her entire body beckoned, clouding my head, making me sick with—
“What the hell are you doing?” I groaned as I shoved her aside and stood on trembling legs.
I needed to get laid.
I shouldn’t have blocked myself from other people’s affection just because I preferred Della’s company over everybody else’s.
I wasn’t naïve.
I knew Della was experimenting and testing, and this was just another push to see what I would do. Only problem was, I didn’t know what I’d do if she pushed me any further.
Raking my hands through my hair, I paced the lounge as Della shuffled higher on the couch, her eyes dropping to her newly inked ankle and foot.
I couldn’t look at her. Couldn’t stand to see what she’d done to herself.
It hurt.
It hurt so damn much to love her so fucking dearly but be so confused. I loved her in so many ways, but here she was, trying to get me to love her in an entirely different one, and I honestly didn’t know if I could.
How was I supposed to see past the little girl I’d raised?
How was I supposed to be a man with her when I would forever be her boy?
How was I supposed to be okay with the changes in my need for her?
The answer?
I couldn’t.
I was projecting my desires onto her, making myself believe she sent me messages when really, they were entirely innocent.
She wasn’t inviting me.
She wasn’t messing me up.
This was my fault.
I was reading into things that weren’t there.
There was no message. No ulterior cry for more.
I was the one turning innocent into dirty, and it had to stop.
Right now.
She confirmed I was the one making a mess of everything by murmuring, “Ren, I’m sorry. You’re right. I did ask him to make it wrap like an R. I didn’t think you’d be so mad. I thought you’d appreciate it.”
I spun to face her, willing to hear the truth after my stupid mind muddied everything. “Go on.”
She spread her hands helplessly. “I love you. I’ll always love you. You’re my family. Is it so wrong that I wanted a reminder of you on me at all times?” She blinked back tears, urging me to believe. “I’m sorry. It doesn’t mean anything, okay? I know we never talk about it, but that kiss at Cherry River has been infecting everything between us for years. It’s a toxin that I don’t know how to get rid of, and it’s changed how you see me and I miss you, Ren. I miss you so much. I miss that I can’t hug you and say silly things without you tensing and thinking I’m trying to get you into bed. I miss that I can’t get a tattoo that represents both me and you and explain that it’s a symbol of togetherness and nothing more. That’s all. That’s it. If you were a girl who’d run away with me and been there every day of my life, I would feel the exact same way. I would want something permanent to remind me of all the amazing times we’ve shared and all the sacrifices you gave me.” A single tear rolled down her cheek. “Please, it’s nothing more than that. You have to believe me.”