Chapter 100: Wounds of her childhood

Della’s fingers curled carefully around the apple. It was warm from the afternoon sun, smooth beneath her fingertips, and so perfectly red that she almost felt guilty holding it. She had never owned something that hadn’t first belonged to someone else.

She turned it over once before looking back at Darren.

"I’m curious to learn about how and where you grew up."

The question caught her completely off guard, and she instinctively glanced towards the dirt path, almost as though looking for Annelise to magically appear and save her.

"It’s not very interesting," She finally replied.

"I don’t mind."

"It really isn’t."

"I wasn’t asking because I expected an interesting story." Darren smiled softly.

She looked at him.

"I asked because I wanted to know yours."

But because no one had ever asked before. Growing up with a condition like hers only brought questioning, interrogations, pranks that brought her a little closer to death’s door just to entertain a few adults or children, countless slaps and beatings, accusations for everything that went wrong, and being judged for something you have no control over.

But no one had ever simply wanted...to know her.

She lowered her eyes to the apple again, "I grew up in IronRidge."

"I’ve heard of IronRidge," He tilted his head, "You grew up with Werewolves?"

She wanted to say she was also a Werewolf and the Alpha’s daughter as a matter of fact, but technically, she isn’t a werewolf and her father hates everything about her.

"Yeah," She nodded absentmindedly, "It was big,"

"That’s all?"

"The houses had stone walls."

He waited.

"Lots of wolves."

He waited again.

"And...trees."

Darren blinked, "...You’re describing the Pack. I asked about your childhood."

Another long silence followed, and Della frowned slightly, as though genuinely struggling to understand the difference, "My childhood..." she repeated.

"Yes."

She searched for an answer.

Searched harder than she ever had. Was she supposed to tell him that her childhood was filled with tears and blood and struggle every second of the day?!

"I don’t remember much." She uttered softly.

Darren didn’t interrupt.

"I remember cleaning." She shrugged lightly, "I remember carrying water, and I remember washing clothes." She thought a little longer, "And I remember being hungry all the time,"

That was all she could offer? Nothing else? Darren’s smile disappeared the longer he thought about it.

She’s had no birthdays? No games? No favourite places? No treasured memories.

Just work, cold and hunger?

"Did you have friends?"

She looked genuinely puzzled.

"What about toys?"

"Toys?"

"You know... dolls. Wooden horses. Balls."

"I made a few for my sick cousin when he was first brought to me. He was about five years old by then,"

His hope died just as quickly, "I’m asking about you. You never played with toys while you were young?"

She slowly shook her head.

Darren looked away for a moment. The orchard suddenly felt much quieter, "Then what did you do for fun?"

"Fun?"

"You know..." He smiled awkwardly, "...Something that made you happy."

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. She thought as hard as she could, and minutes seemed to pass inside her own head. Finally, a bulb lit up in her head, and she answered, "I read a lot,"

Darren’s brow shot up.

"Most nights of my life I can barely sleep a wink, so I take books from the library, and I read about a lot of things,"

Darren was utterly speechless. A lot of people do find fun in reading, but the way she explained it so vividly, and her eyes shone so brightly, made him realise that reading... might be the best kind of fun — and probably the only one she’s experienced.

He had thought Anne was exaggerating when she’d hinted that Della hadn’t been treated well.

She hadn’t exaggerated.

If anything, she’d softened it.

It took Darren another minute to realise that she wasn’t just smiling and her eyes weren’t shimmering because she was excited. It was also because there was pain beneath it, and it was manifesting as tears gathering under her eyes...and the rhythmic heavy plop hitting soil.

He looked down, his eyes following the noise only to see that it wasn’t water.

It was blood.

And it was coming from her hands.

They were tightly clenched, and her nails were digging into the palms of her hands.

"Della!" He grimaced for her; he reached over and took the bleeding hands in his.

It was only when she looked down at herself that she once again realised what she was doing.

"Are you okay?"

"I’m sorry," She whispered nervously and tried to pull her hand away from him, but he wouldn’t let go.

Darren carefully loosened her fingers one by one.

It wasn’t easy.

Her nails had dug so deeply into her palms that fresh blood welled up the moment the pressure eased, staining the lines of her skin crimson.

"Della..."

"I-I’m sorry," she whispered again, unable to meet his eyes.

"Don’t apologise."

"I ruined your afternoon."

"No." His voice remained gentle. "You’re hurt."

She tried pulling her hands back again, but Darren only relaxed his grip enough that she wouldn’t feel trapped.

""You’re doing it again," He sighed, pulling her nails off her bruised skin, "You don’t realise you’re doing it." He added, looking at the fresh wounds before lifting his eyes back to hers. "Do you?"

"I’m fine,"

"You’re not," He said, swallowing hard.

How many times had this happened before today?

How many times had she bled without even noticing?

"I should clean those."

"No."

"I have bandages inside."

"No." This time her voice came out a little firmer. She gently but insistently slipped her hands from his, "I’ll... I’ll let Anne do it."

"Della—"

"She’ll worry if she comes back and doesn’t find me."

It was a poor excuse, and they both knew it since Annelise had been the one who’d left her here in the first place.

Darren looked at her for a long moment before giving a slow nod, "If that’s what you want."

She took two hurried steps backwards, clutching the untouched apple against her chest, "Thank you..." she whispered, her voice shaking. "For... showing me your garden."

Before Darren could reply, she turned and hurried towards the gate.

She wasn’t running, but was walking just fast enough to make it obvious she was escaping something.

Or someone.

Darren remained where he was, watching until she disappeared beyond the orchard. His gaze eventually dropped to the grass beneath his feet, where tiny crimson droplets stained the earth where she’d been standing.

He stared at them for a long time, then he finally whispered to himself, "What did they do to you?"

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