The Ever After of Ella and Micha

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.”