The Prelude of Ella and Micha (The Secret 0.5)(10)
Author: Jessica Sorensen

Like fragments of ice.

“Well, you know me.” My voice is dry, humorless as I stare at the ground. “I’m all about the joking and random kisses.” When I’m finally able to look at her again, I come to an excruciating realization. Even though the kiss happened, it can’t ever really happen. Ella and I can’t really become anything more than what we are, not right now, anyway. Ella is relying on me to say so; otherwise, she’s going to break apart. And, if I really do love her, I’ll do everything in my power to keep her together like I’ve been doing for the last twelve years.

“I didn’t want it to land on Tammy.” I swallow hard, aware that this might be the first lie I’ve ever told Ella. “And Ethan has a thing for Mara. Plus, there was no fucking way I was going to kiss Renee.” I causally shrug, even though my insides are wound tight. “You were my safest option.”

She relaxes a little.

And I die a bit inside.

“I’m so glad to hear you say that. For a minute there, I thought …” She quickly shakes her head. “It was weird, right? The kiss.”

All I can do is nod.

“You know what we should do.” She spits on her hand and my heart withers inside my chest even more. “We should make a pact to never, ever kiss again.”

I can’t make that pact.

I grind my teeth as I stare at her hand. “I have a better idea. How about we make a pact never to speak of this kiss again.” It’s the only way I can think of to get around this.

She considers what I’ve said then nods. “Okay, that sounds good to me.”

I spit in my hand, then we shake on it. Part of me is saddened that I’ll never get to speak of this night again because that kiss was the kind of kiss I want to relive over and over again, even if it’s through words. But the other part of me is relieved because I don’t want to relive the pain I’m feeling right now, over and over again.

The pain of heart break.

The only thing that keeps me from breaking down is the fact that I tell myself things could change. Ella and I have years to spend together, and in time, her fear of commitment could change.

It has to change.

Chapter 3

Seventeen years old…

Ella

I can sense trouble coming from a mile away. Why? Because I’m exhausted, and that usually leads to trouble. It’s been a long week. Summer is nearing an end. My dad’s working less, so there’s hardly any money to pay bills and buy food. Dean is gone and that leaves me to take care of the household. And my mom’s having one of her rough days today. It’s Saturday, and I spent the entire afternoon searching for a photo of when our family took a trip to the sandy beaches of California, even though the photo doesn’t exist. But I have to look for it until my mom is satisfied that it’s lost; otherwise, she’ll continue to have a panic attack until she has a meltdown.

“Ella, please find it,” she begs as she follows me into the small, disordered living room, tugging at the roots of her reddish-brown hair. Her eyes are enlarged, her pupils dilated. I’m starting to worry she might have snuck an extra dose of her medication again.

“I’m trying to find it, Mom.” I lift up the couch cushions and check underneath them before I rummage around inside a few boxes stacked by the front door. “I think it might be gone, though.”

“I have to find it, Ella.” Her voice trembles as she starts to pace the length of the room, maneuvering around the ashtrays, beer bottles, and my dad who’s passed out drunk on the floor in front of the television. “Please, I need to remember what happened that day. It was a good day. I know it was. I know they exist.”

“They do exist,” I play along, unsure if it’s the right thing to do or not, but I’ve spent enough time with her that I know she’ll calm down eventually. “And that day was a really, really good day. I promise.”

“How do you know for sure?” She stops in the middle of the room and crosses her arms, her eyes skimming the boxes, walls, and windows.

“Because …” Sighing heavily, I wind around the coffee table and move in front of her to keep her focused on me. “Because I remember going, and I remember Dad, Dean, and I saying that we had a great time with you.”

She rocks back and forth, hugging her arms tighter around herself. “Good, but … I can’t remember it. Please, help me remember, Ella.”

“Well, it was a really sunny and warm day. The air smelled like salt and water and all the scents of the ocean … We spent all afternoon collecting seashells and building sand castles.” As I create a story for her, I find myself wishing it was real. My family hasn’t taken many trips, but it would have been nice to, if only once, go somewhere for fun, like an amusement park, or hell, I’ll take just a park at this point. The only place I can recollect going for a vacation was to the zoo back when I was six and money and life wasn’t as bad as they are now. It was a time when there was less yelling, and my mother’s delusions and manic depressive episodes hadn’t manifested.

A minute later, my mother starts to settle down, her arms relaxing at her sides while her posture slackens. “Did we have a picnic near the shore? Because I remember having one.”

I nod, relaxing myself. “Yeah, we had one right there on the beach, and we ate under this really large, yellow umbrella.”

“Oh, it sounds like we had fun.” She almost smiles.

So do I. “We did.”

“Good, I’m glad.” She pauses, rubbing her hands up and down her arms like she’s cold, even though it’s the nearly eighty degrees outside. “You know what? I think I flew that day, too, like I did at the bridge.”

I swallow hard. My mother’s obsession with flying has been growing worse over the years. Whenever she gets stuck inside her own head, she insists she can fly. There was one day not too long ago when she left the house, and I found her on the old town bridge, trying to actually fly. It was one of the most terrifying days of my life, and it was also the day I realized just how severe my mother’s condition is. If I hadn’t showed up when I did … Well, I don’t like to think about it too much.

As her eyelids start to lower, I know she’s veering toward the energy crash she always has after a panic attack. “Baby girl,” she says, dragging her feet toward the stairs, “I’m going to go take a nap, just for a little while. I’ll be back in a bit.”