“You were so pissed.”
“Only because I was confused.”
I pause. “About what?”
She hesitates. “About me and you and what I was feeling.”
“And what were you feeling? Because I’m dying to know.” Even though I have her now, I still love hearing about our past and the fact that sometimes I wasn’t the only one suffering in silence.
She turns her face toward me so her breath warms my chest, her lips grazing my skin. “I’m not sure.”
“Did you like what you were feeling?” I touch my lips to her forehead.
She wavers for a moment and then nods. “I did. A lot. And that was the problem.”
I smile as I stare over her head at the window where Christmas lights glow through the darkness outside. There’s a set of silver ones on the tree that leads to Ella’s room, the one I used to climb up all the time just so I could be near her. “Thank you, pretty girl.”
“For what?”
“For telling me that. It’s nice to hear that it wasn’t always me,” I say. “Now will you please tell me about the tattoos?”
She grimaces and then moves her head back to look me in the eyes. “It was my idea to go get them,” she admits.
My jaw nearly drops. “What?”
She rolls her eyes at herself and then sits up, swinging her leg over me so she’s straddling my lap and her nipples brush against my bare chest. “We were drunk and you dared me to kiss you so I did. And then I stupidly suggested that it would be super funny if we did something to mark the moment and then decided it should be tattoos.”
“And I just willingly went with you?” I ask, not with skepticism because it does sound like something I’d do.
She nods as her palms glide up my shoulders and then she links her arms around the back of my neck, her soft nipples grazing my chest. “You took me over to Jason’s house and asked him to put infinity marks on us.”
“And then what?” I inquire, my fingers finding her waist.
She shrugs. “And then that’s where things get a little hazy.”
I consider what she said and it makes me happy. “So this entire time you were the reason I have this on me.” I raise my arm with the infinity mark on it.
She sketches it with her finger. “Does it make you mad?”
“No, it kind of makes me very, very happy.”
“Why?”
“Because it proves that you might have loved me all along.”
She wets her lips with her tongue and then leans into me, so close that when she blinks, her eyelashes brush against mine. “Even though I didn’t know it at the time,” she whispers against my lips, “I think you’re right and I’m glad I finally figured it out.”
Chapter 9
Ella
Even though I can feel it in my bones that I should stop, the next morning I read some more of my mother’s journal. The part I’m reading was written a little before her wedding and she doesn’t seem happy about it at all. She seems depressed and sad and everything a soon-to-be wife shouldn’t be.
I’m not sure I can do it. Go down to the courthouse and make it official. I’d rather claw my eyes out. If my mother had her way, I wouldn’t go through with it. She says Raymond is no good, that he’ll ruin my life, and that I’m not fit to be a mother or a wife right now especially with what I’ve been going through… the drastic mood swings, the ups and downs. She’s probably right, but then again I feel like my life is already ruined, whether I’m married and a mother or not. Besides, I really do think I might love Raymond. Maybe. But sometimes the mere thought of taking another breath seems like the biggest chore in the world. I wish I could stop breathing. I wonder if it’s possible for someone to be able to hold their breath long enough to die.
Maybe I should try.
I look over at the picture of her and the drawing of the flower in the vase. When did she draw this and when was the picture taken? When she wrote this? Before? After? Why am I obsessing over it so much? Just let it go.
“Baby, are you ready for this?” Micha asks as he loops his leather belt through the top of his worn jeans.
Tensing, I close the journal, noting that he hesitantly glances at it. “Yeah, as ready as I’ll ever be.”
“It’ll be fine.” He fastens his belt, then reaches for the cologne, glancing at the journal again as I climb off the bed. “Are you going to ask your dad about the journal?”
“Yeah, I guess now is as good a time as any.” I’m wearing a black and purple plaid shirt and jeans that are tucked into boots. I comb my fingers through my tangled hair and reach for my deodorant that’s in my duffel bag. “I just hope he doesn’t act all weird about it.”
Micha sets the cologne back down on the dresser beside a pile of his old guitar picks. “Why would he act weird about it?”
I shrug, removing the cap from my deodorant. “Because it has to do with my mom, and what if he wants to read it?”
“Then let him read it.”
I wipe some deodorant on my armpits and then toss it back into the bag. “Yeah, but it says stuff… about him… not nice stuff either, at least not great stuff about how she felt about marrying him.”
His throat bobs up and down as he swallows hard, raking his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, maybe you shouldn’t then.” He pulls open the top dresser drawer and begins digging through it like he’s looking for something when there are only a few old T-shirts in there.
I touch his arm lightly. “Micha?”
He stiffens under my touch. “Yeah.”
“I want to marry you more than I’ve wanted to do anything else in my life,” I say, turning him so that he’s facing me, even though he’s got his head tipped down. “And yes, I know that sounds super cheesy, but it’s true so…” I trail off as he leans in toward me.
“Even after everything you’ve been reading?” he asks, his hand cupping the side of my neck.
I nod and his mouth covers mine. I part my lips as his tongue devours me in a deep, passionate kiss, his fingers knotting through my hair, tugging at the roots, forcing my head back. When he pulls away he looks high on the kiss, eyes glazed, pupils wide, and I love him for it.
“There is something I want to talk to you about,” I tell him, because I know it’s time to ask questions that need to be asked. To have the talk about where we’ll be in a few years, what our plans are for the future. “But let’s do it after we tell my mom and your dad that we’re getting married.”
“Are you sure?” he asks, his fingers unraveling through my hair.
“I’m sure,” I say. “Besides, if we don’t get this whole wedding announcement thingy out in the open there isn’t going to be a wedding, at least one that people can go to.”
“Where are we going to have it?”
“I don’t know,” I say, and I don’t. Even when I was little, I never imagined getting married. In fact, when I thought about it, I thought about how much I didn’t want it. I watched my mother and father fight too much, be miserable, fall apart, our household always on the verge of cracking until one day it shattered completely. But I’ve changed. And it doesn’t matter where it takes place or what I’m wearing. I just want Micha there with me and I’m good. “In your backyard?” I suggest. “I mean, a lot of stuff happened in the backyard.”
His sucks on his lip ring, contemplating. “Yeah, a lot of things did, but a lot of things happened at our spot, too, so how about up by the lake. It’s where we first said we loved each other, even if you don’t remember it.”
“Won’t it be cold?”
“Does it really matter?”
He has a point, but I still frown at the floor, my heart knotting in my chest as I remember the night on the bridge and how I almost jumped into the water. How Micha saved me. How I kissed him afterward to silence the three words I knew he was going to utter, words I can’t get enough of now. I remember turning to leave, ready to bolt from him and my feelings, and then the rest of the night is only broken pi
eces in my mind because of the mixture of adrenaline and anxiety in my body, along with the pills I took from my mother’s stash. Rain drops splashing against the asphalt. Puddles covering the ground. Water like black ink. Silver lightning blazing across the midnight sky. Micha’s intoxicating warmth. “You never did tell me exactly what happened.” I glance up at him. “Would… would you tell me what happened? I want to know what happened the night I first told you I loved you.”
He looks at me for what feels like an eternity, assessing me as he contemplates what I’ve asked. Then instead of walking out of the room like I fear, he pulls me down onto the bed with him and wraps his arms around me. “Absolutely. I’ll always give you whatever you want.”
Chapter 10
Two and a half years earlier…
Micha
Rain hammers down from the sky and slams against the charcoal asphalt, soaking my jeans and T-shirt. Lightning zaps across the sky and thunder booms, reverberating through the metal beams around and above the bridge. My lips are numb from the cold air, Ella’s kiss, and the fact that she’s walking away from me.
“Ella May, don’t you dare run away from this,” I yell as I jog after her, my boots splashing against the puddles.
She’s having a hard time walking, veering from left to right as the rain drenches her jeans, shirt, and hair. The beams of the headlights from my car parked in the center of the bridge light up the darkness and makes her looks like a shadow. “Micha, just leave me alone. Please.” She trips over her feet and falls to the ground. I don’t know if it’s from the pills she took, if she’s been drinking, if it’s the combination of the two, or the simple fact that she’s having a panic attack.
I speed up and wrap my arms around her waist. As I help her to her feet, she wiggles her arms and tries to jab me with her elbows, attempting to shove me away.
“Just let me go!” she cries and I hear a sob in her voice. It splits my heart into pieces because she never cries. Ever. The pain she’s feeling… God, I can’t even think about it. “Please just let me go.”
“No,” I say as I support her weight in my arms and help her back to my car. “I’m never going to let you go. Don’t you get that?”
Holding on to her with one hand, I maneuver the passenger door open as rain continues to drown us. I put my hand over her head and help her duck down into the car. Once she’s sitting in the seat and the door is shut, I feel slightly better, the crushing weight in my chest lighter. Not gone, but lighter than when I pulled up and found her standing on the edge of the bridge.
I blink through the rain as I look over at the beam Ella was balancing on and then at the dark water below. “God damn it!” I curse and kick the tire as I yank my fingers through my wet hair. How did everything turn this shitty? How could a beautiful, smart, wildly wonderful girl be handed so many shitty fucking cards. She’s spent most of her life taking care of her parents, and then her mother takes her own life and her father blames her. Why does she have to deal with this? Why can’t something good finally happen to her?
I have no idea how to handle this, but I know I have to try. Forcing my feet to move around the front of the car, I get into the driver’s seat and slam the door. “It’s fucking cold in here,” I say, cranking up the heat as my wet clothes soak the leather seat.
She doesn’t look at me, keeping her forehead against the window and her hands lifelessly on her lap as rain drips from her hair onto her cheeks. “I can’t feel anything,” she mumbles.
My heart sinks inside my chest and I have to take a slow breath before I speak. “Baby, put your seat belt on.”
She shakes her head, her eyes shutting. “I… can’t…” She sounds exhausted, on the verge of passing out.
I lean over and reach across the front of her. When I grab the seat belt, she doesn’t budge even when I pull it over her chest. As I’m buckling her in, she abruptly shifts her weight toward me. The seat belt clicks into the lock as she rests her forehead against mine, her skin as cold as the rain outside.
“You almost… you almost said you love me…” Her warm breath hits my skin as her eyes stay shut.
“I know.” I swallow hard, but I’m still afraid to move and break the connection between us. Water drips down my forehead, across my lips, and runs from my hand as I move my fingers away from the buckle and to her hip.
“No one’s ever said that to me before,” she whispers.
“I know,” I say, my fingers shaking as I hold onto her.
Her shoulder turns inward and presses into mine as she slumps more of her weight into me. “Did you… did you mean it?”
I slowly nod without leaning away, causing friction between our foreheads. “More than anything.”
“Micha I…” she starts and my chest aches for her to say it. Just say it please. But then her forehead is leaving mine and she’s moving back toward the door. “I’m really tired,” she whispers, slumping her head against the window again.
I gradually inhale and then release, trying to steady my erratic heart. It takes more than a few breaths to get me to where I can even speak again. “I’ll take you home.”
“No, not home,” she utters. “Somewhere else… I hate home…”
I turn forward in my seat and watch the raindrops crash down against the hood and windshield. “Where do you want to go?”
“Somewhere that will make me happy,” she says and flinches when thunder booms.
Placing my hands on top of the steering wheel, I shut my eyes. Some place that will make her happy? I’m not sure a place like that exists at the moment, but I have to try. Opening my eyes back up, I shove the shifter into reverse and back up off the bridge. When I reach the end, I put it into drive and crank the wheel, turning the car around.
The road is flooded with puddles and the windshield wipers are cranked on high as I drive away from the bridge. Every time the thunder and lightning snaps, I jump, but Ella stays still, nearly motionless. When she does move, it’s only to mess around with the iPod. She skims through the song list forever, her fingers fumbling over the buttons. She keeps shivering but when I ask her if she’s cold she shakes her head. Finally she selects a song: “This Place Is a Prison,” by The Postal Service. Then she slouches back in the seat, leans her head back against the headrest, and stares at the ceiling as the song plays through the speakers.
I continue to drive until I reach the side road that weaves out to a secluded area surrounded by trees and nestled near the edge of the lake. The road is a muddy mess and I’m worried that we’re going to get stuck. But somehow I manage to make it to our spot, the one Ella and I always go to be alone—to be with each other. I park the car so it’s facing the dark water and leave the headlights on. The water ripples against the raindrops as the wipers move back and forth across the windshield.
“Tell me what you’re thinking?” I finally say, not staring at the lake.
“I’m thinking I should have jumped,” she says emotionlessly.
Something snaps inside me and I lose it. “No, you fucking don’t!” I ram my fist against the top of the wheel and she jumps, lifting her head up, and stares at me with wide eyes. “You don’t want to be dead, so stop saying it.” My voice softens as I reach over and tuck strands of wet hair behind her ear. “You’re just confused.”
“No, I’m not,” she protests. “I know exactly what I’m thinking.” But I can tell she doesn’t by the glossiness of her eyes, the vastness of her pupils, and the fact that she’s struggling to keep her eyelids open. “I don’t want to be here anymore, Micha.”
“With me?” I choke, cupping her cheek.
She swallows hard, her eyes scanning mine. “I don’t know.”
“But I thought you knew exactly what you were thinking?” I say, not sure if I’m going about this the right way, but it’s the only way I know how.
“All I know is that I don’t want to feel this.” She slams her hand over her chest, a little too hard. Her eyes are wildly big, filled with fear and panic as
her chest heaves for air. “I don’t want to feel all this pain and guilt.”
“What happened to your mother wasn’t your fault.” I place a very unsteady hand over hers, worried I’m going to fuck this up. I’m stunned by how rapidly her heart is beating, thrashing against our hands. She’s probably got so much adrenaline pouring through she’s lightheaded.
“That’s not what my dad and Dean say,” she whispers, pulling her hand away and forcing mine to fall from her chest.
“Your dad and your brother are fucking assholes,” I tell her firmly, leaning over the console. “And it doesn’t matter what they think—no one else matters but you and me. Remember, you and me against the world.”
Her eyelids shut and then flutter open again. “You’re always saying that.”
“Because I mean it. I don’t care about anything else. I could lose anyone else and make it through. But not you, Ella May. I can’t do this without you.”
A few tears fall down her cheeks. “I hate myself.”
“Ella, God damn it, don’t say—”
“No!” she shouts, jerking away from me and huddling against the door. “I fucking hate myself! I do! And I wish you’d just see what I really am. You’re always seeing more in me than what there really is…” She drifts off as more tears spill out and she scans the outside of the car, the trees, the water, the rain, like she’s contemplating running. “If you’d just let me go, you’d be happier.”
“No, I wouldn’t.” I ball my hands to keep from touching her because I know it’s going to set her off more. “I…” I blow out an uneven breath, knowing that what I’m about to say is going to change everything, even if she won’t remember it in the morning. I will. I can’t go back from it and honestly I don’t fucking want to. “I fucking love you. Don’t you get that?” I unclench my hands and stretch my arm over to her, grabbing her arm as she shakes her head. “I love you.” My voice softens. “And no matter what happens, with you or me—with us—I’m always going to love you.”
The Ever After of Ella and Micha Page 8
