The Secret 04 The Ever After of Ella and Micha (9 page)

I’m lying in my bed, thinking about how to tell Ella about the tour when Ethan kicks everyone out of the house. Darkness has settled into my room and the noise and voices slowly dwindle until the house becomes silent. I sit up, but only to turn my iPod on, selecting “I Can Feel a Hot One,” by Manchester Orchestra, then lie back down. Ella is naked beside me, flat on her stomach, her hair scattered all over her back, the sheets pulled up halfway over her body as she sleeps soundlessly.

Moonlight flows through the window and across her lower back, highlighting the infinity mark tattooed in black ink. It matches the one on my arm perfectly and sometimes I wish I could remember the night we got them, remember what we’d been thinking when we made the permanent decision. What lead up to the moment when we thought, Hey what the hell, let’s go get matching tattoos that mean forever and eternally. What was going through our minds? What was going through Ella’s mind? I lightly trace the curving lines on her back and I feel her shiver beneath my touch.

“Are you awake?” I ask, my fingers wandering lower, to the top of her ass.

She nods her head, her eyes still closed. “I can’t sleep when you’re touching me like that.”

“How about like this?” I roll over to my side and lean down to kiss her lower back. “Does that help?” I ask, suppressing my laughter when she shivers.

“No, it’s worse, but it’s okay. You can keep kissing there if you want to.”

I smile to myself and then place another kiss on her back, sliding my tongue over her skin. She squirms so I do it again, then rest my head on her back, place my hand on her side, and my fingers fold around her ribs.

“Do you remember any of that night at all?” she murmurs against the pillow.

“Any of what night?”

“The night we got the tattoos.”

“I already told you when we woke up on the park bench that I didn’t remember a thing and the memories never came back to me. It’s just one of those kinds of nights that I think will be a blank.”

“Yeah, but I’ve always wondered if you were just telling me that you didn’t remember because you worried that I’d get weird about whatever happened.”

“Well, as much as that sounds like something I’d do, I honestly can’t remember a single thing,” I say. “Other than, one minute we were drinking a lot out in my backyard while a party went on inside and the next thing I knew we were waking up on the park bench, your shoes were missing, and my arm was burning like a motherfucker. I’d seriously like to know how I managed to convince both of us to do it. And how I managed to get you to do something so permanent,” I tell her and she grows quiet, the sound of her breathing mixing with the slow paced song. The longer she remains silent, the more I start to worry. “Ella May?”

“Yeah.” Her voice is high and full of nervousness.

My palm glides down her side to her hips. “Have you been lying about not remembering any of that night?”

She pauses, her body tensing. “No. I’ve already told you a thousand times I can’t remember a thing.”

“Pretty girl, I think your lie’s showing.” I tickle her side and she buries her face in the pillow, shaking her head. “You do remember something, don’t you?” I press my chest against her back and lean over her shoulder, dipping my mouth to her ear. “Just tell me. I won’t be mad.”

“I know you won’t be mad,” she says, rotating her head to the side so her face is away from the pillow. “But you’ll be smug, which is worse and why I’ve kept it a secret.”

“I won’t be smug,” I say enticingly. “I promise.”

“You will too, Micha Scott,” she argues. “I know you too well not to think otherwise.”

“I can make you roll over and tell me.” I push away from her a little and skim my finger down her back to the center of her legs. She jumps, startled, as I start to put my finger inside her.

“Micha.” She narrows her eyes through the dark as she flips over onto her back and bolts upright, the moonlight hitting her bare chest. “That was a low move.”

I sit up, pulling her legs over my lap as I turn to the side and relax against the wall. Then I situate her on my lap, so her ass is positioned over my cock. “Just tell me,” I say. “I’ll try not to be smug but I want to know.”

She sighs and then puts her head against my shoulder. “Fine, but only because I love you.”

I kiss her forehead, breathing in her words, never getting tired of hearing them. “Fair enough.”

She sighs again and then she splays her fingers across my stomach. “You remember how we decided that everyone at your house was annoying and that we just needed to have a party of our own so we took a bottle of Bacardi and snuck outside?”

I nod, resting my chin on top of her head. “Everyone was always annoying.”

“Yet you always had the parties.” She draws a pattern across my stomach and then up to my chest. “Almost every weekend after you turned sixteen.”

“I was bored and liked the distraction.” I shiver from her touch—she’s the only girl who’s ever gotten me to shiver.

She walks her fingers up my stomach and stops them over my heart, pressing her palm flat against it. “The distraction from what?”

I place my hand over hers and trap her hand in place. “From you.”

She tenses and so do I because I know what’s coming.

“Is that why you slept around so much?” she asks quietly.

I shut my eyes, knowing she can feel the acceleration in my heart rate. “Haven’t I always told you I was just passing time until you came around?”

“Yeah, but did you really have to sleep with everyone?”

“I didn’t sleep with everyone—not even close,” I point out. “And I was sixteen and horny and everyone I hung around with was having sex.”

“So it was because of peer pressure?” she questions, doubtful. “Because that doesn’t sound like you.”

I open my eyes and sigh, releasing her hand. “It wasn’t really because of anything and that’s kind of the point. I was young and bored and in love with my best friend and if I tried to do anything at all that went past the friend boundary, she’d get upset. I didn’t know what to do with myself half the time, and honestly, Ella, I felt like shit most of the time about the stuff I did, not just with other girls but with you.” I pause, giving her room to say something and when she doesn’t, I continue. “Do you remember that time when I made you go racing with me and when I won I kissed you because I got a little overly excited?”

She hesitantly nods with her hand still positioned over my heart. “I almost punched you in the face, but only because it was a reflex. I wasn’t used to people touching me like that.”

“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.”

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 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.”