Page 80 of Little Red Riding Hood
Tears blurred his vision, turning Wim into a dark smudge against the forest. Red blinked hard, trying to clear his sight, but the tears kept coming.
“I just wanted to take a closer look at that fucking golden arrow you’re putting your life on the line for. To see if I could prove you wrong somehow.” Wim’s voice grew closer, steadier. “Goddamn her for twisting you up like this! For someone so clever, you’ve swallowed her lies without question. Just think it through properly, sweetheart. Does it really add up?”
The words struck deeper than any arrow could. Red’s chest tightened, crushing the air from his lungs. His fingers burned from holding the bowstring so tightly.
“We’ve already been through this!” Red inhaled a stuttering breath. “It doesn’t make sense that she sent someone so pathetic, so unskilled, to do such an important job, am I right?” The truth poured out of him like poison from a wound. “Because there’s no way I could possibly succeed. You’re right, Wim, Iama nobody. I’m expendable. That’s why she sent me. In case I fail, in case Oma kills me first—then it’s no great loss to her. I know that, alright?”
“Red—” Wim’s voice dropped to a whisper, soft as velvet against Red’s frayed nerves.
“I heard you and Astrid that night,” Red spat. “You called my quest stupid nonsense.”
Any remaining colour dropped from Wim’s face as his expression contorted to one of pure horror. “I’m… sorry,” he said. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”
“Well, I did! And it cut me deeply!” More than he’d care to admit.
“But—”
“That still doesn’t explain why I found you striking the arrow as if you wished to break it!” Red’s hands trembled on his bow, but he kept it high.
Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy as winter fog. Wim’s hand crept up to scratch at his neck—that familiar gesture that betrayed his discomfort. Red’s stomach twisted at the sight.
“If I managed to destroy it, I hoped you’d see that it wasn’t a magic arrow after all, just some game the Queen is playing.” Wim’s words fell like stones into still water, each one sending ripples of doubt through Red’s mind.
“But why do you care if it’s real or not? It’s worth atry, isn’t it? To stop the famine?” The bow wavered in his grip as exhaustion crept through his muscles.
Wim opened his mouth, then closed it again. His shoulders tensed, jaw working as if chewing on words he couldn’t quite spit out.
Red’s fingers tightened even further. “I know you’re hiding something. Have been hiding something this whole time. I’m not stupid! I’ve trusted you with every tiny piece of me—”
The raw anguish in his words must have been enough for Wim to risk injury, because he lurched towards Red, swiftly knocking the bow to one side to scoop Red into his arms.
Wim’s arms locked around Red like iron bands, crushing him against that broad chest. Red thrashed, but Wim’s grip only tightened as he sank to the ground, pulling Red down with him. The rough bark of the tree pressed into Red’s back through his cloak as Wim arranged them both, settling Red between his legs.
“Let me go!” Red slammed his fist into Wim’s shoulder, but it was like hitting stone. His legs kicked out, seeking purchase, trying to break free. “I hate you! I fucking hate you!”
“No you don’t.” Wim’s voice rumbled through his chest, vibrating against Red’s cheek. One large hand slid up to cradle the back of Red’s head, fingers threading through his hair.
How dare he!This fucking monster had manipulated Red from the start, had tricked him with sweet words and even sweeter kisses, had made him feel all sorts of crazy things for him.
Red writhed harder, twisting and bucking against Wim’s grip. His elbow caught Wim in the ribs—a blow that would have winded most men, but Wim didn’t even flinch. Frustrated tears spilled downRed’s cheeks as he fought, each movement more desperate than the last.
“Shhh,” Wim murmured, his fingers working gentle circles against Red’s scalp. “I’ve got you.”
This was too much. Red’s heart gave up and broke in two. Who knew that heartbreak could be so physically, viscerally painful? Not Red, until now.
“Stop it!” Red swallowed against the rising lump in his throat, and he pressed his palms flat against Wim’s chest, trying to push away, but Wim held firm. “Haven’t you done enough? Just stop—”
“Never.” Wim’s other hand stroked down Red’s spine, steady and rhythmic. “I’m not letting you go.”
Red’s struggles gradually weakened, his movements becoming less coordinated as exhaustion crept in. Still, Wim’s hands never ceased their soothing motions—one in his hair, one on his back, as constant as the tide.
“I hate it,” Red whispered, his forehead pressed against Wim’s collarbone. His fingers curled into Wim’s shirt, no longer pushing away but clinging close. “I hate that you’ve done this to me.”
“Shhh.” Wim’s thumb brushed away a tear from Red’s cheek. “I’m going to explain everything to you, I promise. Just breathe with me for a moment.”
Red’s chest heaved with ragged breaths that slowly, gradually, fell into sync with Wim’s steady rhythm. The forest around them grew quiet, as if holding its breath, waiting.
Red’s mind spun with possibilities, each more absurd than the last. Perhaps Wim was actually the Queen’s long-lost secret second son, sent to test Red’s loyalty. Or maybe he was some sort of forest spirit bound to play tricks on passers-through. Could he be Old Oma’s grandson, sworn to defend her from assassins? Or what if he was actually three squirrels in a man costume who needed the arrow for their acorn-based religion?
