The Forever of Ella and Micha

her. She breathes fervently against my lips, and moments later we’ve both forgotten about the conversation.

Chapter 3
Ella
    It’s been a week since the LA trip and I feel like shit all the time. Micha’s been really busy and I barely get to talk to him. Plus Lila started dating Preston and she’s never around. My muscles ache just from walking, my head hurts all the time, and every task is tiring.
    I’m waiting outside the therapist’s office, with my bag on my lap, when I get a text from my brother.
    Dean: Call me asap.
    Me: Can’t. In a meeting.
    Dean: Don’t be a brat. CALL ME.
    My therapist walks out of the office and motions me to come in as the phone beeps again. I shut it off and sit down in a chair in front of the desk, decorated with a nameplate, a cup full of pens, and a tall stack of folders.
    Her name is Anna and she’s young, maybe in her late twenties, with blonde hair that’s cropped short around her jawline. Every time I see her, she’s in a pantsuit. Today, it’s a black pinstriped one.
    “Hello, Ella.” She takes a seat behind her desk and puts on her square-framed glasses as she takes out my file. “How was your weekend?”
    “Interesting,” I say. “To say the least.”
    Noting my tone, she looks up at me. “And what was interesting about it?”
    I scratch at my back along my infinity tattoo. “I went to visit Micha in LA.”
    She opens a notebook. “And how did that go?”
    I hesitate. “Good, I think.”
    She scratches something down in the paper. “You seem like you’re unsure.”
    I slouch back in the seat and fold my arms. “It’s just that… well, every time I go to see him or he comes to see me, it gets harder to say good-bye.”
    She sets the pen and notebook down on her desk and removes her glasses. “Saying good-bye is always hard, but sometimes it’s necessary to move on in life.”
    “I don’t want to move on from him.” Panic gusts through me like a tornado. “I love Micha.”
    “That’s not what I’m saying,” she explains quickly. “I’m saying that sometimes saying good-bye is the hardest part of life.”
    I hate when she plays mind games. “Are you referring to my mother? Because I told you last time that I was over that.”
    “Ella, you’re not over it,” she says. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have said that.”
    I prop my elbow on the arm of the chair and rest my chin in my hand. “Then what does this good-bye thing have to do with?”
    “It has to do with you.” She takes a mint out of a tin and puts it in her mouth. “And you struggle to say good-bye to things: your guilt over your mother and your father, your pain, your feelings. You have such a hard time letting go of your past.”
    “I know that,” I admit. “But I’m working on it.”
    She pauses, tapping her fingers on the desk. “Tell me this: Where do you see yourself in a year or two?”
    “I don’t know… I haven’t really thought about it that much.”
    “Try to think about it for a minute, if you can.”
    I raise my chin from my hand and search my brain, but all I can see is Micha and me out on that damn bridge as he falls into the water.
    “I don’t know.” I grip the armrests of the chair as my pulse accelerates. “I really don’t… Holy shit.”
    “Relax, Ella, everything’s going to be fine.” She opens the desk drawer and takes out another folder. “I think we might want to start considering doing an evaluation for anxiety and depression.”
    My eyes narrow at her. “No way.”
    “Ella, I think it’s important that—”
    I shove up from the chair and swing my bag over my shoulder. “I’m not talking about this.”
    She says something else, but I’m already out the door. I will not discuss having a mental illness. I’m not sick. I’m not.
    Burying the conversation, I turn on my phone and read the text Dean sent me. “Dad left rehab Call me now…”
What?
I punch in his speed-dial number as I walk outside into the sunlight and put the phone to my ear.
    “Why the hell did you turn off your phone?” he snaps.
    “I told you. I was in a meeting.” I head across the quad, zigzagging in between people and ducking under a Frisbee flying through the air.
    “Well, you need to get back home,” he orders. “Dad bailed and no one can find him.”
    “I’ll call Micha’s mom and see if she can find out where he is. If he’s at home.” I start to hang up.
    “I already got ahold of her.” He sounds aggravated. “And she’s on a