“And if you don’t think I want this, then what?” I ask, catching up with her and placing my hand on her back to help her down the steep slope.
“Then we won’t get the tattoos right now,” she says, stumbling a little, and my fingers enfold her waist to catch her from falling.
“But I thought you wanted a commitment?” I ask, taking her hand as we reach the flat section at the bottom of the hill.
“I do,” she says as we duck to enter the trees. “But I also want to know for sure that you want it. And if you do, then great, and if you’re not ready for it, then you’re not ready for it.”
I grow a little nervous. “But what if what I wrote freaks you out?”
She aims a disbelieving look at me. “Are you kidding me? After all the stuff I put you through, you think that something you wrote in your journal is going to freak me out?” She pauses as we reach the open section of the trail where the trees are sparse. “You helped me through addiction, family problems, and helped me find myself. I don’t think anything you wrote could be more intense than that.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” I say, unsure if I want her to read anything in my journal. It’s like giving her insight straight into my head.
“If you don’t want me to, then that’s fine,” she says. “But I’m not going to get matching tattoos until I know for sure that you want this and aren’t just saying so because I’ve been weird about commitment lately.”
“I never say anything but the truth,” I remind her. “Even if it’s harsh.” I pause, tugging my free hand through my hair, thinking about what I want and what I don’t want and which one is more important. But in the end only one thing matters—what she wants. “I’ll let you read it… but just prepare yourself… I always write what I say and sometimes… well, I’m not sure how you’re going to interpret it… whether you’re going to see it as me wanting a future with you.”
She swallows hard and then lets out a loud exhale, looking nervous. “Well, I guess we’re about to find out.”
Chapter 5
Lila
I don’t want to get too happy just yet. I need to make sure that he wants something linked to me branded on his gorgeous body forever. I don’t think that Ethan would ever lie to me, especially with something this big. He’s always been really truthful in the past, but the only way I’ll be able to truly know is if I read his words.
He looks nervous as we sit in his truck, the sun glaring in through the windows. He’s flipping through the pages of his journal, searching for the right page, and I try to stay calm in the passenger’s seat, hoping there’s nothing in there that’s going to upset me.
He finally stops flipping through the pages and takes a deep breath before he looks up at me. “Just make sure you read the whole thing. It starts off kind of”—he struggles for the right words—“unsure in the beginning, but it gets better.”
I nod and then reach across the seat toward the journal. He glances at it one more time, seeming torn, before he reluctantly hands it over. I take it and put it on my lap, feeling a little uneasy as I read the first word on the page: confusion.
“Just start right here?” I ask, tapping the top of the page with my finger.
He nods and then turns toward the window, staring at the vacant motel parking lot to the side of us. I swallow hard, tell myself to go into this with an open mind, and then with caution, I start to read.
Confusion. That’s what I feel every time I think about the future. I hate thinking about where I’m going to be in a few years—where I’m supposed to be. If I had my way, I’d take things day by day. Never think about the next day or about the past. I’d live life in the moment. Breathe it. Live freely. It’s so much less stressful than worrying all the time about where I’m going to be down the road or who I’m going to be with. I already lost someone once that I cared for. And the idea of losing Lila is like a hundred times worse than that. I’m not even sure if I could get over her if I tried. And what if I didn’t lose her, but we just ended up despising each other like my parents and her parents do. That would be equally as hard. It seems so much easier just to stay away from that deep of a commitment and avoid all the “what ifs.”
The problem is it’s sort of selfish to think this way about life, especially when I’m not the only one in my life. Lila is such a huge part of me. She’s more than that. Over these last couple of years, she’s become my best friend and not opening up to her completely because of my fears is wrong. She’s the person I love more than anyone else in this world and if I have to open my eyes for a moment, and look forward, all I see is her. God, it’s the truth… She’s all I want. That much I know. I never want anyone else to go through all this shit with me—to go through life with me. And if I have to decide one thing right now about my future, it’s that I want to be with her. I want her with me. Even five or ten years down the road. Even when we’re thirty or forty. Even if it means we could possibly turn out like our parents, I want to try. I want to try to have a future with her. What the hell happens between now and then I’m not so sure. But do I even need to be sure about that yet? Maybe I only need to be sure about one thing. And that’s her and I always being together. Even through the shitty times. I’d never go back and change a damn thing. Every single thing that we’ve been through has gotten us to this moment where she’s lying in the bed beside me and just her being here makes me so content. I breathe easier. I don’t even want to think about being on this trip alone. Yeah, I love the quiet, but it could never compare to all the moments we’ve shared together. Fireworks. Arguments. Ponds. Kisses. Sex… God the sex is great. Every conversation with her, good and bad. Every moment, light and dark. I want to relive it over and over again. I want so many more moments and conversations.
I want this to be permanent. I want Lila and I to be permanent.
Forever and Always.
I try not to cry. I really do. But I’m an emotional person and this… well, I never ever thought anyone would ever feel this way about me.
As my tears start to stain his beautiful words, I quickly shut the journal so the ink stays intact. I quickly wipe my tears with my hand, look up at him, and before he can speak, I say, “So where are we going to get the tattoos?”
* * *
Ethan
I wasn’t sure how she’d take what I wrote. Yeah, the ending was good, but the beginning… well it was full of my fears. And then she starts to cry and I’m a little worried she’s maybe misunderstood what I was trying to convey in my journal. I’m about to ask her what’s wrong, but then she says she wants to go get the tattoos. I’ll admit I’m a little scared, but in a terrifyingly good way. I want this. I knew it the moment I wrote the word permanent.
After we decide to get the tattoos, I drive us over to a tattoo shop on the main section of town between a row of shops. We go inside and start looking through the examples on the wall, but Lila keeps frowning at them.
“I want something that we come up with,” she says, resting her arms on top of the glass countertop. “Something that’s just yours and mine.”
“A symbol?” I ask. “Or words?”
“Words,” she says, smiling. “I think you should come up with words that connect us.”
I point at myself. “Why does it have to be me?”
“Because.” She walks up to me and hooks her arms around my neck. “You put words together beautifully. I seriously think you should consider the whole writer thing.”
I press back a smile, feeling my heart speed up with panic and fear and excitement. “One future move at a time, please,” I say, and she laughs. I let a slow breath ease past my lips as I try to think of something to put on our fingers. There’s not a lot of room and I know the artist is probably going to tell us that more than one word is too much. I think about the last words I wrote in my journal and how they were so huge because they made me realize that moving forward with Lila was something I wanted.
“How about forever and always?” I say,
taking her hand in mine and tracing my finger around her ring finger.
She glances down at her hand, puzzled. “What, you take forever and I take always? But then who would take the word and?”
I shrug. “How about both of us.”
She glances up at me with her brows knit. “You want to split up and? Like you take the a and half the n and then I take the other half and the d?” she asks, and I nod. “Wouldn’t that look a little weird?”
“Does it really matter if it looks weird?” I ask. “It’d mean something to us and that’s all that matters, right?”
She considers what I said and then a smile breaks through. “I really love that idea.” She pulls me in toward her and we kiss until a very bulky dude with tattoos covering his arms comes into the waiting room to see what we want. When I explain it to him, he looks at me like I’m some sort of punk kid who’s stupidly in love. I don’t really give a shit what he thinks, though, and feel perfectly content with his disgusted look as he draws up the designs.
When he’s finished, I decide to go first since Lila seems nervous, like she was when she got her first and only tattoo. I take a seat and the guy puts the drawing on me, making sure it’s where I want it. When we get it in the correct place, he gets the needle ready and I shut my eyes, feeling myself change the moment the ink touches my skin. I can feel myself moving forward with each stroke. Feel myself connecting to Lila. Feel that I’m exactly where I want to be. Right in this moment with her.
* * *
Lila
I get so nervous around needles. It took a lot just to get me in the chair for the first and only tattoo I’ve ever gotten. Then I damn near fainted the first minute into it. But Ethan stood by my side and reminded me why I decided to do it. Because I want to be free and wanted to have something that would forever represent my journey toward freedom.
But watching Ethan mark his finger with something that would always connect him to me is different. It makes me feel even more free and alive. Excited. Overwhelmed. Loved. It’s the perfect moment that ends too quickly because suddenly he’s finished and it’s my turn.
“You sure you want to do this?” he teases, stretching out his fingers as we trade places.
I eagerly and very anxiously nod as I plop down in the leather chair. The large guy with a lot of colorful tattoos on his arms who did Ethan’s tattoo tells me to put my hand up on the armrest. He seems sort of cranky, but I don’t care. Nothing could ever ruin this moment, not even a cranky guy who smells like he’s in dire need of some deodorant.
I stay quiet as he positions the drawing on my finger until he gets it in the right place. Ethan holds my hand the entire time, while staring down at his free hand. The skin around the tattoo is a little red, but other than that it looks perfect.
He’s perfect.
He’s the only person who’s every fully understood me. The only person I’ve ever trusted. The only person who saw who I really am and the potential of what I could become. He loved me in a way that I thought wasn’t possible and that’s what I keep telling myself over and over again as the tattoo artist presses the tip of the needle to my finger.
I’ve gone through a lot over the last eight months or so. I’ve changed for the better. I’ve had a lot of moving, life-changing moments. But this one is different. This one is epic. I can feel it through the blissful pain that makes me hyperaware of what I’m doing. And when I’m finished, I feel genuinely happy even though my finger aches.
“So?” Ethan says as I get up from the chair. He watches me, like he’s waiting for me to say I regret it.
I stare down at my ring finger with a big grin on my face. I’ve always pictured myself with a huge diamond on my ring finger, a carat at least, but now… well, this feels so much better. So much more personal and intimate. Nothing could mark our relationship better than this.
I glance up at him, looking him straight in the eye. “I think it’s perfect.”
He smiles back at me and then slips his fingers through mine. It makes the area of the tattoo sting a little, but there’s no way I’m going to pull back. We pay for the tattoos and walk hand in hand outside to his truck.
“You ready to start our journey back home?” he asks, opening the truck door for me.
I nod as I climb in. “I’m ready for anything.”
There’s a sparkle in his eyes as he leans in, pausing when our lips are only inches apart. “Me too.”
He kisses me passionately before pulling away, blinking his eyes with a dazed look on his face. “We’ll have to go on one of these trips every year,” he says as he starts to shut the door. “Just you and me and the road. Living in a tent and eating camp food again. Taking baths in the pond.” He grins. “Having sex on the shore of a lake, hiding under a blanket.”
I smile, feeling happier than I’ve ever been because I know Ethan will be in my future and that’s all I ever wanted, and as long as I have him, nothing else matters. “Sounds perfect.”
About the Author
The New York Times and USA Today bestselling author, Jessica Sorensen, lives with her husband and three kids. When she’s not writing, she spends her time reading and hanging out with her family.
Learn more at:
jessicasorensensblog.blogspot.com
@jessFallenStar
http://facebook.com/JessicaSorensensAdultContemporaryNovels
Please see the next page for a preview of The Temptation of Lila and Ethan.
Chapter 1
Present day…
Lila
I’m having a where-the-hell-am-I moment. My arms are flailing, my pulse fitfully racing as I struggle to get my bearings. I open my eyes, but I can’t place a single thing about the room I’m in other than I’m naked in a bed, sweaty, and super gross. My head feels like it’s stuck in a fishbowl as I try to recollect where I left my pills, but I can’t even remember where I am. There are photos on the walls, none of anyone I recognize, though. The closet is open and it looks like there’s some kind of football uniform in there. Did I sleep with a football player? No, that doesn’t sound familiar. My gaze slides to the opened condom wrapper on the nightstand and I feel relief wash through me. I’m on birth control and everything, but that only protects from pregnancy. God, I really need to stop doing this.
I’ve become accustomed to these kinds of situations, waking up in unfamiliar places with a headache, panic, and consistent, recognizable shame inside me that I know belongs there, just as much as the air in my lungs and the blood in my heart. I don’t deserve to feel anything better after the decisions and choices that I’ve made. I know what I am on the inside now and I don’t fight it anymore. It’s both liberating and heartbreaking because this is how I have to be—who I am—and it’s sad. But I can smile on the outside, show the world how happy I am, since that’s what’s important, even if I’m dying on the inside.
The routine is very simple and I know it like I know the back of my hand. I open my eyes, take in my surroundings, try to remember something, and then when all else fails, get the hell out of there. I slowly sit up, trying not to wake the guy lying in the bed next to me. He’s got dark brown hair and a pretty sturdy body, but his back is turned to me and my memories are hazy, so I can’t place what he looks like from the front. Maybe that’s for the best, though. Whatever I was looking for with him—love, happiness, a blissful moment of connection—obviously never happened. And I’m at a point in my life where I doubt if it ever will.
Holding my breath, I climb out of bed and slip my dress on, covering myself up, along with the scar winding around my waist, reminding me of why I’m here. I attempt to get the back row of buttons done up, but my fingers are numb, like I was doing something weird with them last night, which could be a possibility. I do have tendency to get a little extreme when I’m that drunk. The fingernails sometimes come out, and back in boarding school I got deemed the slutty biter/screamer. Although, sometimes I wonder if I do it out of pleasure or from the fear that seems to surface whe
n I have sex. And that confusion is his fault. I’ll always hate him for that, even if I thought I loved him and would have done anything for him at the time. But how could I really, when I was way too young to feel love? Even now, I still haven’t felt it and I’m twenty years old.
Leaving my dress unbuttoned, I collect my shoes and tiptoe toward the door. I notice a wad of cash on the nightstand beside the bed and a ring that looks like a football championship ring or something. There’s also a stale sandwich on the dresser and several empty beer glasses.
“Ew, I must have really been drunk,” I mutter, cringing at the food and then double cringing when I catch my untidy appearance in the mirror on the wall.
Making a repulsed face, I slip out of the room, thinking I’ll be out in the hallway of one of the dorm buildings on campus. But I’m in a large, open living room with columns around the walls and picture windows everywhere, letting light easily flow in. The floor is marble and there’s a large white rug spread out. It has to be a condo or something, with how fancy it is, not a dorm.
There are a couple of guys and a girl sitting on a leather couch in the middle of the room, watching a flat-screen television mounted on the wall just beside where I stepped out. I can’t remember anything other than shots, a chic club, a sleek black Mercedes, someone’s hands and lips on me, wishing I could black out, and then I must have gotten what I wanted because after that I remember nothing.
The guys simultaneously look up at me and I notice they’re older, like maybe twenty-four or twenty-five, which makes me feel too young to be here, yet older guys seem to be my thing, at least when I’m drunk.
Lila and Ethan: Forever and Always: A Short Story Page 5
