The Forever of Ella and Micha

much in the first place, all I want to do is go to my room, turn the lights off, and sleep for an eternity. The letter from my dad still lies on the coffee table, unopened.
    “Are you ever going to open that?” Lila appears in the doorway, dressed in a blue dress and heels that match. Her blonde hair is curled around her face and pinned by a few diamond barrettes.
    Slipping off my sandals, I drop down on the couch and stare at the white envelope addressed to me. “I haven’t decided yet.”
    Clipping an earring in, she sits down beside me on the couch. “Ella, can I ask you something?”
    I shrug and cross my feet up on the table. “I guess.”
    She picks up the letter and flips it over to the back. “What are you so afraid of? With this letter? With Micha? With life?”
    “Feeling it all—losing it all,” I say and her face twists. “It’s nothing. I’m just not sure what my dad is going to say and it kind of worries me.”
    Lila doesn’t know about what happened with my mother. She knows she passed away, but not the circumstances leading to her death. Only my dad, Dean, and Micha know that haunting secret and I plan on keeping it that way.
    I tear the envelope, taking a deep breath, and unfold the paper, telling myself that I can handle whatever’s in there. That I’m stronger than I used to be.
    Ella May,
    I want to start off by saying I’m sorry for everything. And I mean that. I’ve been sober for almost a month now and they took me off the meds. My head’s clear and I don’t like what’s in it, especially everything related to you.
    My therapist had me write down everything I regretted in therapy yesterday and it all seemed to be about you. It was like we all piled our garbage on you to clean up and it never should have been that way. The more I wrote, the more I realized you never really had a childhood. All those times I spent at the bar, I was being nothing but selfish. I’m a terrible father who put everything on his daughter, for no other reason than I didn’t want to be an adult.
    That night was not your fault. You were seventeen and I was the adult. I should have been home with her, but Jack Daniels was much more important and easier to deal with.
    I knew how bad she was, more than you’ll ever understand, and deep down I knew I was wrong when I left you in charge that night. Now that my head is clear, I can imagine how hard it must be for you to deal with. All the pain you have to be feeling. I keep thinking about the pain in your eyes the last time I saw you and it eats away at me.
    I’m sorry, Ella. For ruining you childhood, for taking away your happiness, and just for messing up your fucking future.
    I love you.
    Dad
    “What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?” My hands shake as I clutch the letter in my hand. Tears pour out of my eyes as I force my lungs to breathe in and out as a wall around me crashes to the ground.

Chapter 15
Micha
    I don’t know why I got so pissed off at Ella this morning on the phone, other than sometimes things between us feel hopeless. I love her and I know she loves me, but sometimes I don’t think she does as much. It hurts when I analyze it.
    That night, I pack and go to bed early, feeling down that Ella isn’t coming with me. We’ve spent the holidays together every single year since we were five. It was the only way to celebrate, since her family was never really into it and my mom couldn’t afford to do much. She tried though, by decorating the house and making Ella and me a nice breakfast. She’d always wrap a few presents up for the both of us. It wasn’t much, but it was still nice.
    Long after I fall asleep, my phone wakes me up. My hand fumbles across my nightstand, knocking over the lamp, until it finally brushes my phone. Still half alive, I blink my eyes into focus and see Ella’s names on the screen.
    I answer it quickly. “What’s wrong?”
    She sounds hoarse. “Can you come let me in? I didn’t want to ring the doorbell and wake Ethan up.”
    “You’re at my house?” I rub my eyes and check the time on the clock.
    “Yeah, I’m standing in front of the door.”
    I stumble out of bed and hurry to the door in my boxers, with the phone still held up to my ear. Flipping the porch light on, I swing open the door. The light hits her swollen eyes and the red streaks on her cheeks from the dried-up tears. She’s wearing a pair of striped shorts, with flip-flops on her feet, and her hair is pulled up in a messy bun.