The Prelude of Ella and Micha (The Secret 0.5)(21)
Author: Jessica Sorensen

“Like where?” I nuzzle my face into her neck. “I’ve always thought California was an awesome place. I mean, I know it’s a little bit more expensive, and we’ll need to probably stick around here a little bit longer to save up, but I like our plan.”

“But what if I told you there was somewhere else I really wanted to go? And soon.”

“Then I’d listen. You know I’ll always listen to you. So what’s up? What plan are you conjuring up in that beautiful head of yours?”

“Well, I got acc—” Her phone vibrates from inside her pocket and cuts her off.

Sighing, she fishes it out then mumbles, “Who the hell is that?” She puts the phone up to her ear. “Hello?” she answers tentatively.

“Ella, where are you?” Her dad’s loud voice can be heard clearly through the cab of the car.

“Um, out and about.” She glances at the clouds in the sky. “Where are you?”

“You need to get home,” he slurs. “You have mom duty. God dammit, Ella, I already told you this. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“But I …” She touches her numb lips then looks over her shoulder at me. “It might take a while.”

“About an hour,” I whisper, hugging her against me.

“About an hour,” she tells her dad.

“Whatever,” her dad snaps. “Just get your ass home.” With that, he hangs up, and I grit my teeth, pissed that he ruined her night.

“I should have stayed home,” she yawns tiredly, switching her phone to the text screen.

“What are you doing?” I brush her hair from her shoulder and peer over to read what she’s typing.

“Texting my mom.” Her fingers move across the buttons. “Making sure everything’s okay. Hopefully she’ll respond.”

Ella: Mom, r u ok?

It takes a minute before she responds.

Mom: I’m fine.

Ella: Is this mom?

Mom: Of course, baby girl.

The endearing name makes Ella relax.

Ella: I’ll be home soon. Just stay in your room, okay?

Mom: Of course, baby girl. C you soon.

“I need to sober up,” Ella mutters as she stuffs her phone into her pocket.

“I’ll get you home as soon as I can, okay?” I promise her. “You just try to relax.”

“That’s the problem. I’m too relaxed. I never should have gone out tonight.”

“You’re fine,” I whisper, stroking her cheek with my fingers.

She sinks deeply into my touch with a sigh. A few minutes later, her breathing softens as she passes out.

An hour later, I’m sober enough to drive home, and I buckle Ella into the backseat and head down the muddy road toward town. By the time I pull up into her driveway, Ella’s awake yet still completely out of it.

“Wow, that was a short drive home,” she mutters, rubbing her bloodshot eyes then slipping her jacket on.

“It took as long as it always takes.” I hop out of the car, my boots splashing in the puddles, and help her get out of the backseat.

“It still felt really short.” She stretches her arms above her head and yawns. “Hey, it stopped raining. I’m so glad.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because the rain is bad.”

I’d ask her to elaborate more, but she’s pretty incoherent. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if she can’t remember what happened in the car come morning.

She can barely walk, so I help her climb up her tree; otherwise, she’d probably fall and break her neck. But I don’t mind. I actually enjoy it. Helping Ella is my thing, and I want it to be my thing for a very long time.

I need to tell her.

As I’m getting ready to climb back down the tree, she beckons me back to her and throws her arms around my neck. “You’re my hero. You know that?” She kisses my cheek.

I can’t help it. When she turns her head, I kiss her right on her lips. The kiss is soft, innocent, but by the time I pull away, I’ve decided. Tomorrow, I’m going to tell her how I feel.

Chapter 9

Ella

The night seemed like it was going to turn out okay, even with the rainstorm and my dad ruining it toward the end. Micha gave me a massage. Things got a bit intense, though in a good way, I think. I almost told him about Vegas, almost asked him to come with me. But the vodka got to me, and I fell asleep.

As my eyelids drifted shut, I silently vowed I’d tell Micha tomorrow when I was sober because I’m starting to realize how much I need him.

Then I got home and everything changed in a heartbeat.

I thought, since the rain had stopped, the night would remain all right, that the storm had passed and skipped over me this time.

But the storm was just waiting for me on the inside of my house.

My mother is dead.

My mother took her own life.

And the house is so quiet.

Because my father is gone.

He told me to come home.

Told me I was on mom duty.

Told me.

Told me.

Told me.

Yet I didn’t come back for over an hour.

As I stand in the doorway, staring at the bathroom floor that’s painted red with blood, the soundlessness of the house encompasses me.

Maybe I should make some noise. Break the silence. Break myself.

I think I screamed. Maybe. I’m not sure.

I finally cross the room and check her pulse, but the bathtub water is as thick as red paint, so I already know.

She’s dead.

And her skin is unbelievably cold.

Like the chill of the rain.

I blow out the most deafening breath as I walk back to the doorway and call the police with my phone. Then I wait. For what, I’m not sure. Maybe the rain to start up again.

Keep an eye on your mother.

She’s gone.

Keep an eye on your mother.

I knew I should have stayed home.

Keep an eye on your mother.

This is all your fault.

Somehow, within the next few minutes, Micha shows up and holds me. I don’t even know how he knows, but he does. He tells me it’s going to be okay, tells me he’ll take care of me.

“No,” is the only reply I can get out.

“This isn’t your fault,” he whispers, hugging me tightly. It’s like he knows what’s going on inside my head, always does.

“Yes, it is,” I say numbly. “It really, really is.”

This is all your fault.

“I don’t deserve to be held, Micha.”

He doesn’t let me go, even when the paramedics show up and take her out of the water. They seal her up in a body bag and wheel her lifeless body out toward the flashing red and blue lights. Then we follow them to the front lawn where I see my dad. He’s standing there, staring at the ambulance, crying, crying, sobbing.