Текст книги "The Ever After of Ella and Micha"
Автор книги: Jessica Sorensen
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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 14 страниц)
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 pieces 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.”
Her shoulders start to heave and she gives in to my hold, allowing me to pull her over the console and onto my lap. Then I wrap my arm around her and cradle her head against my chest as she sobs into my wet shirt. I smoothe my hand down her head, each sob tearing at my heart. I stare out into the rain, watching it splash against the lake, feeling so helpless. I wish I could take all of her pain and guilt away. She doesn’t deserve this—she doesn’t deserve anything. What she does deserve is someone to love her unconditionally, which I’ve been trying to do for a while, if she’d just let me. I need to find a way.
“Micha.” The sound of her strained voice jerks me back to reality.
When I glance down at her, she’s looking up like she’s lost and has no idea where she is as she clutches onto my shirt. I know she’s probably going to fall asleep soon and when morning rolls around there’s a good chance she won’t remember any of this.
I trace a finger underneath her eyes, wiping the tears away. “Yeah, baby?”
She takes a deep breath and then she’s pulling on my shirt, forcing me to get close to her. “I love you, too,” she whispers and then she presses her lips against mine. She kisses me briefly, but it’s enough that I feel it all the way through me. I clutch on to her as I kiss her back with every ounce of emotion I have in me, wishing it could be just like this all the time. But just as quickly as it all began, it stops as she leans away and settles back in my arms. Moments later, she’s asleep.
I listen to the rhythm of her breathing and the longer I sit there holding her, the fiercer my heart beats, and no matter how hard I try to keep them back, eventually tears escape my eyes. My head falls forward against the steering wheel and I cry quietly through the sounds of the rain. Crying for her. For the life she was handed. Because I’m so in love with her it hurts me to see her like this. Because I know when morning comes, there’s a good chance she won’t remember this.
Because I’m afraid I’m going to lose her forever.
Chapter 11
Ella
When Micha finishes telling me what happened, I lay quietly on the bed with him, my head right over his heart. It’s beating faster than it normally does and I wonder if he’s feeling what he felt that night. The fear I put in him and whatever else was going through his head at the moment.
“I can’t remember any of that,” I say, looking up at him. “I think it was the combination of the pills and my… my anxiety. Things sometimes get blurry when I go to that place.”
“I know,” he says, staring down at me. “Like I said, I knew that night there would be a good chance you wouldn’t remember any of it. I just thought that I’d never see you again after it happened.”
Silence stretches between us as I struggle to remember and he struggles to forget.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him because it’s the only thing I can think of to say. There are no words that could possibly even begin to explain to him how bad I feel for putting him through that and for me doing it to begin with. It still hurts to even think about it, how I was about to throw everything away—everything I have with Micha now. “I really am.”
He moves me with him as he sits up. “You don’t have to be sorry for something that happened a few years ago—something that wasn’t even in your control.”
“Running away was.”
“You know, I thought so at first, but now I don’t think that’s entirely true. I think sometimes in life shit happens and people have to do what they can to move past it.” The corners of his mouth tug upward into a sad smile. “For you, that was running away and for me… with my father, it was deciding it was better to let him go.”
“But I came back.” I tuck my legs under me and kneel up between his legs. “Well, I came back for summer break because I had to, but now I’m back, for the most part.”
“I know.” His fingers spread across my cheek. “It’s called healing, Ella May.”
“I guess it is,” I agree. “But you wouldn’t let your father back into your life, even if he tried.”
His thumb grazes my bottom lip. “I’ve got everyone I need in my life. My mom. You. Even Ethan and Lila. That’s more than a lot of people have.” His hand leaves my lips and he threads his fingers through mine so the O-ring on his finger is pressed against my engagement ring. “Besides, I have you forever. And one day we’ll have our own family and that’s what will matter in the end.”
I’m not sure what kind of face I make, but he definitely notes a shift as I move to the edge of the bed.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, sitting up straight and sliding his long legs over the edge of the bed and his feet onto the floor.
I wanted to prepare myself for this talk, about our future, where we’re going, but now it’s kind of unavoidable because he said our own family… Shit. Does he mean kids and everything? “I’ve actually been meaning to talk to you about that.”
“About what? Having you forever, or having a family of our own?”
“Um…” I swallow hard. “The last part.”
“About having a family.” He speaks slowly and cautiously like he’s afraid he’s going to scare me.
“Yeah, sort of…” I struggle to talk about a subject that makes me feel so uneasy. “I mean, where are we even going?”
He looks puzzled. “I’m not sure I’m following you, pretty girl.”
“Are we…” God, this is so difficult. “When you say family, are you… are you talking about having kids?”
He considers his next words wisely. “Not having kids right at this moment, but having them in the future, yeah.”
“And what if… what if I said I didn’t want to have kids?” I bring my feet back onto the bed and sit cross-legged.
He scratches his scruffy jawline as he brings his feet up on the bed and faces me, crisscrossing his legs. “It all depends on why you don’t want to have them, I guess.”
“So you do want to have them?” I’m a little surprised that he doesn’t even have to think about it.
His eyes search mine and then he definitively nods. “Not right now, but eventually way down the road.”
“And what if I said that way down the road I couldn’t see myself as a mother.” I chew on my lip nervously. “Then what?”
He slips his fingers through mine and holds both of my hands. “Why can’t you see yourself as a mother?”
I roll my eyes and pull one of my hands away to gesture at myself. “I think it’s sort of obvious.”
He looks genuinely perplexed. “No, not really.”
“Because of who I am.” I struggle for words. “Because of my problems. Because I don’t even know what being a mother entails. I mean, I had a few good moments growing up, but other than that I pretty much took care of my mother instead of the other way around.”
He wiggles his fingers from my hand, grabs my knees, and drags me closer to him. “Exactly, which is why I think you’ll make a great mom.”
“I think you’re wrong,” I disagree. “If anything, it’ll make me a very confused mom.”
His hands glide from my knees to my thighs and his fingers jab into my skin like he’s afraid to let me go. “No way. As much as I hate it, you took care of everyone in that household. You cooked. Cleaned. Paid the bills. Helped your mom take her medication. Stayed home and took care of her while your father went out to the bar every night acting like a teenager. At sixteen, Ella May, you were more responsible than a lot of thirty-year-olds.”
“I did stupid stuff, too,” I remind him. “I think you’re forgetting all the fights I got into, all the roofs I jumped off of, the many times I made you drive reckless and tested the boundaries of life.”
“You had to breathe somehow.”
I think about what he said, squirming because all this positive talk about me is making me uneasy. “You’re seriously freaking me out right now.”
“I know,” he says. “But it’s the truth. You’ll make an awesome mom if and when that time comes around.”
I eye him over with skepticism. “And what if it doesn’t? What if I say there’s just no way I can do it? What if I say that I just want to spend the rest of my life drawing and listening to you sing? Just you and I?”
“Then I guess it’ll be just you and I growing old together,” he says with a trace of a smile on his lips. “And I can live with that, too. I can live with anything just as long as you fucking marry me.” And with that, he gets to his feet. “This weekend. No more messing around.” He sticks out his hand and I take it, nodding.
He pulls me to my feet and we walk toward the door. “Although, I must say that we would make beautiful babies together.” He flashes me a cocky grin and I roll my eyes. “Imagine one with your hair and my amazing eyes.”
“You’re too cocky for your own good. Besides, I’d rather they had your hair and my eyes. I’ve never been a fan of the color.” My face twists in disgust I grab a few strands. “Although I love your eyes, too. Maybe she could just have your hair and eyes.”
His brow crooks up as he starts to pull the door open “She?”
I bite down on my tongue, realizing my slipup. “Did I say ‘she’?” I feign dumb.
He nods and there’s a sparkle in his aqua eyes as we step out into the hallway. “So you’d want a girl?”
I fight for oxygen and then seal my lips. If I could picture myself with a kid, I picture it as a little girl, all punked out with blond hair and blue eyes. I’m not ready to admit that aloud yet, though. “Can we just go tell your mom about the wedding?” I ask, trying to sound neutral, but my voice comes out more off pitch than I intended. “Before Lila and Ethan let it slip out.”
He looks at me for about five seconds longer and I wonder whom he sees. The girl he met when he was four? Or the one who ran away when she was eighteen? Or this new one who thinks about weddings and babies? “Whatever you want,” he finally says and starts down the hall.
He’s always saying that and I tug on his arm, stopping him. “What about what you want for once?”
He pauses, searching my eyes for God knows what. “I have everything I want right here,” he says simply, and I can tell he means it.
