Jessica Sorensen - The Ever After of Ella and Micha

“I have no idea, but here’s the note.” I pick up the scrawled piece of paper from out of the box and hand it to him so he can read it for himself. After he skims over the note he looks even more perplexed as he sets it aside on the nightstand. “So she was just cleaning out the attic and thought, Hey, maybe I should send the granddaughter who I’ve never talked to a box of her mother’s stuff? Or have this Gary guy send it for her?”

“Maybe Gary’s her boyfriend or something?” I lift my shoulders and shrug. “I have no idea because I’ve never talked to her before.”

Micha glances at the note again, strands of his blond hair falling into his eyes as he shakes his head, worrying just like I knew he would. “This is really weird. I mean, how did they even get our address?”

“That’s a good question.” My mouth sinks to a frown as I look out the window at my small two-story house just next door, the one I grew up in, with the one that is filled with painful, sad memories. There’s snow falling and landing on the roof, which is missing half of the shingles. “Maybe from my dad.”

“Yeah, but wouldn’t he have said something to you about giving it to her?” he asks.

I aim a doubtful look at him because that doesn’t sound like my dad at all. “Even though my dad’s been better, he still gets weird about the past and my mom… Besides, I haven’t talked to him in, like, a week.” I swallow the massive lump lodged in my throat. “But I’ll go ask him in a while.”

Micha practically beams at me like he’s so proud that I’m doing the mature thing and not running away from the problem. It makes me realize that I am and that I shouldn’t be running away from marrying him, even though my initial instincts are screaming at me to bail out. It’s been in me practically forever. Run when things get too deep, too emotional, too complex. I’ve run a lot, but I’ve been good lately and I want to keep doing well.

“Do you want me to go with you?” he asks with compassion in his eyes.

I nod, tucking loose strands of my hair behind my ears. “I do.”

His smile broadens. “You remember those words very carefully. You’re going to need to say them again soon.”

“I do,” I repeat with a playful grin as I bump my shoulder against his and it makes his smile stretch to his eyes. “I do. I do. I—” He swiftly slides forward and his lips silence me. At first it’s a slow, warming kiss, but the longer it goes on the fierier and more passionate it gets. Suddenly his fingers are grabbing onto the bottom of my shirt and then he tugs the fabric up over my head. Chucking it aside, his lips crash back into mine again as he gets to his feet, pulling me with him. Then he picks me up in his arms and I can feel his hardness pressing up between my thighs as I secure my legs around his midsection. It feels so good and my body ignites with heat and eagerness and suffocates all the bad thoughts in my head. As he carries me across the hall, I don’t even care if Lila or Ethan walks out and sees us. All I care about is being with him.

When he steps into the bathroom, music is playing from his iPod in the dock on the counter and the shower is on, the mirror fogged up from the heat and steam. The humidity in the air instantly clings to my skin as Micha bangs the door shut with his foot, sealing us in the sweltering room without breaking the kiss. He mutters an “I love you” over the lyrics of “The River,” by Manchester Orchestra, and I utter the same thing back as he devours me with his hands and mouth. The feel of his lips, the soft sound of the lyrics, and the dampness of the steam absorbs into my skin and floods my veins with lust, need, and hunger. They flood me with love.

God, I feel so loved sometimes I forget how to breathe.

Maybe I should put that in my vows, too.

Micha

God, she’s come so far, sometimes I can’t even believe she’s the same person I grew up with. The Ella I used to know would have run like hell if something like that journal showed up on the doorstep, but this Ella is handling it beautifully. Even though I love her no matter what—runner, Stepford wife, or crazy and impulsive—my heart grows more in love with her with each day, for the person she was, is, and the people we are together as a couple. Soon to be husband and wife. I just pray to God we get to that place. Deep down I know we will; it’s just that I’ll feel so much better once she says “I do.”

My hands travel all over her body, feeling the flawlessness of her skin, her smooth stomach, her perfect neck, and then I taste her lips as my tongue explores every inch of her mouth. She tastes fucking amazing, like cherry lip gloss and peppermint.

I pull away with one of my hands pressed to her lower back, and the other gripping her thigh that’s hitched around my hip. “What do you taste like?” I ask as her eyelids flutter open.

“Huh… what…” She breathes dazedly, like she barely has any idea of where we are. “Gum… I think… why?”

“You taste like cherries and mint.” I lick her lips with my tongue and then set her down on the floor. “It tastes good.”

She unlaces her boots and kicks them off as I unbutton her jeans and jerk them down her long legs. She’s wearing a pair of black lacy panties that cover half of her sexy ass and I run my finger along the little pink bow that’s sewn on the front of them. “I haven’t seen these before,” I say.

“I told you,” she says, breathless. “Lila made me buy naughty lingerie.” She tugs the elastic out of her hair and auburn locks slip out of the ponytail and fall to her shoulders in waves, damp with the moisture from the shower.

I reach behind her to unhook her bra and the straps immediately fall off her shoulders. Her breasts spring free, her nipples perking as they hit the air. “God, you’re beautiful.” I leisurely take in the sight of her long legs and amazing body.

She shakes her head, like she always does whenever I give her a compliment, but before she can protest, I bend down and suck one of her breasts into my mouth, silencing her.

Her neck arches and her head falls back as she knots her fingers through my hair, moaning. “Micha…” She drifts off as I massage her nipple with my tongue while my hands wander to her panties. Hitching a finger in the top, I tug them down and she meets me halfway, kicking them off when they reach her knees. I return my mouth to her nipple as I slip my fingers up her bare thigh, not stopping until I’m inside her.

“Oh God…” Her knees start to buckle, her back pressing against the edge of the counter. I move my fingers inside her as my mouth makes a path back and forth between her breasts, sucking her nipples into my mouth and tracing circles with my tongue. Her hand glides up my back, gently scratching lines on my skin, and when she reaches my shoulders, she grips tightly, holding on to me.

I continue to kiss her breasts and feel the inside of her with my fingers as she veers closer to the edge, but eventually I crave more. Drawing my mouth away from her nipple and pulling my fingers out of her, I trail kisses down her stomach and her hands fall from my shoulders as I get down on my knees. She gasps as I bury my face between her thighs and slip my tongue inside her, my hands on her hips, gripping at her flesh. I taste her until it drives us both mad and her body tightens and her back arcs. She gasps in bliss as she clutches onto the counter for support.

By the time she returns to reality, I’m rock hard and desperate to be deep inside her. A groan escapes my mouth as I stand up, licking my lips before I seal my mouth to hers. Then I blindly steer us toward the shower, fumbling around until I find the curtain and pull it back. I break the kiss only to get us in the shower, and then once we’re under the showerhead, I go straight back to kissing her. Warm water rivers down our bodies, our skin soaked as our hands explore each other. We kiss until we can’t breathe, until my heart is slamming inside my chest, until she’s trembling uncontrollably, and then I delve my fingers into her hips, pick her up, and with one hard thrust I slip deep inside her.

She sucks in a breath, her arms looping around my neck and her legs wrapping around my waist, so she’s fully opened up to me. I pull slightly out of her and then sink into her again with my hand braced against the shower wall. With each rock of my hips, she clutches onto me tighter, her back bowing, her breasts pressing against my chest.

“I love you,” she whispers against my lips, shutting her eyes, our bodies moving rhythmically.

“I love you, too,” I say, holding onto her as we both come apart together.

Ella

I’ve opened Pandora’s box and there’s no turning back. After I got out of the shower, I started working on my portfolio some more, but I became really frustrated when I couldn’t get the creative juices flowing, so I decided to read my mom’s journal and now I can’t seem to stop. We’ve been at Micha’s house for only a day and I’m halfway through the damn thing, the house too empty and quiet to distract me from reading every last word my mother wrote.

Micha found out that this morning his mom was with Thomas and now she’s working the night shift at the diner so she won’t be home until morning and Micha and I decided we’ll talk to her when she gets home, announce the news. Micha and Ethan wandered off a couple of hours ago to the grocery store to restock the cupboards that weren’t full enough to feed their “hungry man bellies.” Their words not mine. And Lila’s taking a shower.

I’m sitting at the kitchen table, wearing one of Micha’s shirts and a pair of jeans. It’s chilly due to the fact that Micha’s mom always leaves the heat low to save money. It’s part of Star Grove life though, half the town is in poverty because a plant shut down a long time ago. We did it at my house, too, sometimes leaving the heat off intentionally and sometimes unintentionally when I forgot to pay the bill or there wasn’t enough money to pay it.

I have a cup of coffee in front of me, along with the journal. The first ten pages are fairly normal, talking about prom and her love for art, although her words are a little mopey. I never even knew she liked to draw but from the few drawings in the box, it looked like she had talent. It’s kind of nice to read about her like that, but then things start to get dark and the warm, fuzzing feelings I was having getting to know that artistic side of my mom shift into chills, especially when I get to the part about my dad. At first she seemed excited to be dating him. Like, really excited to the point where she almost seemed high. But then the excitement went quickly downhill, reminding me of all those times when she seemed okay and then suddenly she wasn’t.

I’m not sure who I am anymore. I feel like I’m lost all the time. When I look in the mirror, the person I see isn’t the person I used to be. Instead of eyes, I see two empty holes. Instead of a mouth, I see lips sewn together. I don’t know what’s happening to me. What changed in me. What made me feel like my skin is molting off as I turn into a different person who can’t even walk anymore without a lot of effort. If I had my way, I’d sit in bed forever.

Until I died.

But I can’t do that now. I have a responsibility. A child growing in my belly and a man who will be my husband in just a few weeks. It’s terrifying and not the life I think I want. But there’s nowhere else to go and really any other alternative is just as bleak as the one before me. Any future is, and sometimes just having one is frightening.

The entry was written when she was eighteen, right before she married my dad. She was pregnant with my older brother, Dean, something I didn’t know. Her thoughts are terrifying, especially since I’ve recently been contemplating my future and where kids fit into the mix. But I don’t get it. My dad once told me that she used to be happy in the beginning, but if that’s the case, then when was he talking about? When was the beginning? Because in the journal entry she’d known him for only six months and she already seemed to be falling into the dark hole of despair that I’m very familiar with, no matter what I do or try to change about my life. In the end, I have depression. It’ll always be with me—with Micha and me. I’ve known this for a while and yet I’m still going forward with him, always crossing my fingers he never regrets it.

But what if he does?

I take out a drawing that’s folded up in back of the journal along with a photo of my mom on a bed with her chin on her knees and her hair falling into her green eyes that look exactly like mine. She’s smiling, but there’s something off about the snapshot, like she’s forcing herself to look happy, or maybe that’s just what she looked like when she was happy. It’s hard to tell sometimes and most of the time when I knew her, she just looked lost. She doesn’t look lost here, but she doesn’t look like she’s someone who’s got everything figured out. I wonder if that’s what I look like?