The Forever of Ella and Micha

shit.”
    I rake my hand through my hair and roll to my side. “What about Ella?”
    “That one is probably the worst.” He messes with an alarm clock on my nightstand, rotating the nob on the back.
    I turn back around. “Why? What’d I say?”
    He makes air quotes and says, “ ‘I’m sick of your fucking mind games and problems.’ ”
    I drape my arm across my face as I shake my head. “God damn it. What was I thinking… God fucking damn it!” I punch the headboard and then wince when my knuckles pop.
    He props the clock up beside the lamp. “You were drunk, which was the reason the fight started. Ella doesn’t want you drinking so much anymore and I have to agree with her. Yes, we all drink, but it seems like you do it more as a coping mechanism than the rest of us. In fact, you’ve kind of been doing it a lot lately.”
    I peer up at him from underneath my arm. “Dude, what the hell have you been reading? You sound like a psychiatrist.”
    He backs up toward the doorway with a grin on his face. “How to clean up your best friend’s drunken mistakes. Now, get your ass out of bed, so you can go patch things up with Ella before she runs away again.”
    I kick the blanket off me and sway to the side as I get to my feet. “She ran off… She’s gone?”
    “Calm down.” Ethan rolls his eyes. “After you yelled at her, she ran to the end of the street, but came back. She bunked up with Lila last night. I guess she doesn’t have a key to her own house, which is weird.”
    “It’s not weird.” I signal at him to get out as I grab a pair of clean jeans from my dresser drawer. “Her dad and brother are assholes.”
    Giving an agreeing nod, he leaves the room and shuts the door. My stomach aches and my head feels like it’s going to explode, but most of the pain lies in my heart.
    I was the only one in Ella’s life who’d never done anything to intentionally hurt her, but now I’m not.

    “She’s not answering her phone,” I mutter, pacing the living room floor. The carpet is old and brown and has holes in it, and the walls are this icky shade of green that resembles puke. “What if she’s run off again?”
    “Dude, settle down.” Ethan peels open a cheese stick and sinks back into the leather sofa that’s missing an arm. “I texted Lila and she says they’re just out getting some lunch.”
    Rubbing my forehead, I plop down into the recliner and kick an empty soda bottle out of the way so I can put my feet up on the table. “God, why is our relationship always so up and down?”
    Ethan peels at the string cheese and rolls his eyes. “Because you both have problems, yet you won’t talk to each other about them because you want to spare one another the pain.”
    I steal a handful of candy from the dish my mom set out on the coffee table. “Again, what have you been reading? Because you’re seriously on a roll today.”
    He crumbles the wrapper up and tosses it onto the table. “I’ve just been around you both forever and I have eyes. Plus, my mom does that shit all the time with my dad. She lets him get away with anything just because she’s afraid of confrontation.”
    “Is that what we do?” I mull it over.
    His eyes widen in mockery. “Um, yeah. It’s what you’ve been doing since you were kids.” He stands up, dusting some crumbs off his jeans. “Maybe if you two would just be completely honest with one another for once, you’d be okay. I have to go. My mom wants me to pick up a fucking ham for dinner.” Sliding his keys out of his pocket, he departs for the back door. “It’s the day before Christmas, for God sakes. I don’t know how she thinks I’m going to find one.”
    “You’re a wise man, Ethan,” I call out, knowing I’m going to annoy him and myself a little, but it needs to be said. “Thanks for spelling it out for me.”
    “Don’t get all weird on me because I said what I think.” He steps outside and then the door slams.
    I flip through the channels, restless, until the back door creaks open. My mom and Thomas walk in.
    “Hey, man, what’s up?” He nods his head at me as he takes a seat in the sofa. He has a pair of cargo pants on, brown work boots, and there’s a stain on his white shirt. “Are you watching the game?”
    I toss the remote down on the coffee table. “Do I look like someone who would be watching the game?”
    He looks at the tattoo on my arm, the piercing in my lip, and my black shirt and jeans. “Umm… I don’t