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The first time Lucy played We're in Love, Julien didn't say anything. Lucy had pointedly avoided looking at her while she played, keeping her eyes on her hands, sneaking glances at Phoebe’s adoring expression to bolster her courage. It had been a long time since she’d been nervous in a room with only the three of them. When the last note was sung, Phoebe applauded softly, and Lucy finally looked at Julien. Julien was looking back at her, but only for a moment. She ran a quick hand under her eyes, pushed up from the swivel chair and bolted from the room, leaving the heavy door to swing itself shut behind her. Lucy listened to her steps down the concrete stairs, the almost inaudible click of the door at the bottom, and then— nothing.
Phoebe cleared her throat. “Well. That could have gone better.”
Lucy laughed humourlessly. “Actually, that’s about what I expected. I told you she’d hate it. It doesn’t matter, we’ve got plenty of songs to choose from anyway.” She shook her head, staring up at the ceiling lights and swallowing thickly.
Phoebe sighed, lifting the guitar from Lucy’s lap and replacing it with herself, straddling her thighs and taking her face in both hands. “You’re brilliant. The song’s brilliant. She’ll come around, just give her a minute.” Lucy leaned into the contact, tipping her head forward to rest against Phoebe’s.
“I don’t know, Pheebs. She was really upset.”
Time seemed to slow, as if aware it was being watched. Lucy tried to go back to scribbling notes on the wall for recording, then crossed them out when Phoebe pointed out she was only repeating herself. The minutes turned to an hour, then two, the grey drizzle of the day turning into rain that pattered audibly against the studio roof. Julien’s phone and jacket sat forgotten on the couch. As afternoon fell into early evening, Phoebe joined Lucy at the window.
“D’you think she’s gone back to the house?”
Lucy shrugged, then shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe.” But she’d seen the briefly unmasked panic in Julien’s eyes, the clench of her fists, the hard set of her jaw. The kind of open tenderness that weaved itself through her song was the exact thing Julien had spent years building walls against, and her offering of unfettered vulnerability had hit at some unhealed wound, just like she’d known it would. Like she’d known it would since she first sang the song for Phoebe, when Phoebe had made her promise to at least show Julien, at least give it a chance. It hurt that Julien had left, but it made sense to her, and the hurt was slowly turning into anxiety, with no way to reach Julien and the rapidly latening hour.
Phoebe watched her for a minute. “She’ll be back, Lucy. She’ll be fine. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Somehow, Lucy’s “yeah, I know,” sounded far less convincing out loud.
~~~
Julien ran. The repetitive strike of heel to pavement was frantic at first, evening out as her breathing demanded it and years of body memory took over. The streets were unfamiliar, her route guided by the path of least resistance, turning when crossing lights flashed red, seeking out less populated alleyways. Time lost all meaning, breath clouding in front of her, pushing herself harder, desperate to wrest her body from the pull of the panic that threatened to overwhelm her. She eventually skidded to a stop, her way blocked by a dead end. She rested her head against the wall, pressing her palms into the cool brick and resisting the urge to scream. The scene replayed in her head over and over; the distilled, concentrated love that Lucy put into words so effortlessly and that left Julien feeling flayed alive, the hope in Lucy’s eyes when she’d finished, followed by quickly concealed hurt. A look that Julien had put there, because she couldn’t fucking react like a normal person , because she had to go and fuck everything up. Because she felt like Lucy had taken a knife to her heart with an executioner’s accuracy. She wanted to cry, wanted to be back at the house, warm and dry and tucked between Lucy’s chest and Phoebe’s back in the king sized bed, but the thought of being held now after being stripped so bare made her want to claw her skin off.
Panting through the rising panic, soaked to the bone and shivering, she settled for yanking her arm back, colliding her fist with the wall, hard. The rough brick ripped into her knuckles. She gasped through the sudden bright flash of pain, clutching her arm to her chest, immediately breathing easier even as she watched the blood soak into her t-shirt with a detached sort of relief. It was tempting to keep going. To see how far she could go, how much damage she could do before her friends would decide she was too much. Instead, she sank to the ground, pulling her knees up to her chest, facing out down the alley. She held her arm out in front of her, letting the rain wash away the blood, flexing her fingers. At some point between watching the bruising spread across her fingers and the electrical buzz of the street lights turning on, she realized she didn’t have her phone.
It took a long time to find her way back to the house. She’d gone farther than she’d realised, and without a way to navigate back it was well into the night by the time she reached the door, security light clicking on overhead. Reality had begun to seep back in the moment she’d stopped having to focus on where she was. The shame built like bile in her throat, frozen on the doorstep, hand on the already unlocked door handle. She was uncomfortably aware of how much of a mess she’d made, how much of a mess she looked. She knew Lucy and Phoebe would still be waiting for her. She might hate them a little bit for that, she thought, for how much they loved her. Knew that she hated herself more. She was weighing up a night on a park bench when the door opened beneath her hand. She stumbled, caught off guard, caught by Lucy, then jerking back just out of reach. Lucy had her phone clutched tight in one hand, lit from behind by the dim hallway light. Her cheeks were streaked with tear tracks, though her eyes were dry, hands outstretched like she wanted to grab Julien and bodily force her inside.
Julien had never wanted so badly to be held.
Julien had never wanted so badly to disappear completely.
She glanced behind her, back out into the storm, then back up at Lucy. Lucy shook her head, eyes pleading. “Please don’t,” almost a whisper, almost a command.
Julien opened her mouth to reply, but found no words available to her. Shoulders slumped, refusing eye contact, she nodded, stepping inside. Her wet shoes squelched against the linoleum. Lucy locked the door behind them, deadbolt sliding into place with a decisive snick. She trailed behind Lucy to the lounge, where Phoebe was in the process of sitting up on the couch, rubbing sleep from her eyes. Julien felt her eyes scanning her, and despite knowing that Phoebe fell on anger as a cover for any kind pain that might invite closer scrutiny, she was immediately more at ease with the way her eyes hardened than with the open hurt and worry that coloured Lucy’s posture.
“What the fuck was that, Julien?”
Lucy stepped in, as if to mediate. “Phoebe—”
“No. No. She doesn’t get to—” she turned to Julien. “You don’t get to just fucking leave without telling us anything. Without any way for us to contact you. We talk, remember? We communicate and shit.”
“I needed a bit of time. It was— I just couldn’t.” Her voice is croaky from the cold, from disuse, and she can’t make the words line up right under Phoebe’s unyielding glare. She pressed her thumb into her injured hand behind her back.
“A bit of time? It’s been six fucking hours. We got kicked out of the studio because they wanted to lock up. It’s the middle of the night. Lucy wanted to call the cops or something!”
Julien felt like the ground had been ripped out from under her. “Six hours? Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t even—” she broke off, looking wide-eyed between Lucy and Phoebe, then down at the tiny puddles that were slowly forming from her dripping clothes. She’d thought half of that, maybe. It slammed into her all at once, how worried they must have been, leaving a locked studio behind, sitting and waiting up for her, not knowing when or if she was coming back. So fucking selfish. She shook her head against the onslaught.
Lucy placed a hand on her shoulder, clearly trying to diffuse the tension. “Go get cleaned up, JB. You’re shaking; it’s freezing out there.”
Julien nodded detachedly, heading to the bathroom, grateful for the respite even as she felt two pairs of eyes following her every movement. She heard both their voices pick up the moment she closed the door, turning the shower on quickly to cover the conversation. She sat on the closed toilet seat, exhaustion and the shaky aftermath of a panic attack catching up with her all at once. She put a hand over her mouth to muffle the sobs that she couldn’t hold at bay anymore, trying to keep quiet as she lost the careful control she’d been keeping over her breathing for so long. She knew she’d failed when she heard a light tap at the door, Lucy’s voice— still so filled with care even after everything Julien had done— asking if she was okay.
Julien couldn’t pull herself together enough to answer. She watched the doorknob turn, then Lucy’s gentle “I’m coming in,” before it opened. She knelt in front of Julien, placing a hand on her cheek, and Julien, all defenses stripped away, leaned into it.
“Oh, baby. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
Julien shook her head emphatically, cutting her off. “No, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Luce, I shouldn’t have left and I’m sorry I worried you and that you had to stay up for me and I’m sorry that I keep fucking up and the song—”
“Shh, we’ll talk about it later. Or tomorrow. It’s okay, I promise. We love you, okay?” She stood, reaching for Julien’s hand to pull her up. Julien winced, trying to pull away, but she wasn’t fast enough. Lucy caught her hand, looking at the bruising, the cuts, the mostly dried blood.
“Jules…”
“I’m sorry,” she said again. It felt like it meant less with every repetition.
Lucy ran a thumb over her knuckles, so softly she could hardly feel it. “We gotta get you out of those wet clothes. Do you want help?”
Julien shook her head, then stopped herself, looking up at Lucy pleadingly; unable to bring herself to ask for it but too tired to deny herself completely. Lucy smiled at her, small but real. She pulled her to her feet by her good hand, wrapping her in her arms. Julien stiffened instinctually, but Lucy held tight, and she slowly let herself relax into the embrace. Lucy pressed her lips to her forehead before letting go, hands dropping to the hem of Julien’s shirt. “Okay?”
“Yeah.”
Leaving Julien in her underwear— so aware of her boundaries without having to ask— Lucy tested the temperature of the shower, removing her own clothes without fuss and leading Julien under the cascading water. Julien sighed, the heat chasing the cold that had settled into her body, fatigue loosening her muscles. She leaned into Lucy, closing her eyes, letting the guilt settle into the back of her mind. Lucy ran her hands through Julien’s hair, brushing it off her face. “Let me wash this for you?”
Julien nodded again, not wanting to break the tentative peace she’d found with herself by talking. The careful pressure of Lucy’s fingers against her skull had her half asleep, Lucy catching her with a quiet laugh when she swayed on her feet. “I just want to clean your hand, then we’ll get to bed, okay?” The water stung, but Lucy was as gentle as she was thorough, washing away dried blood and grit with a tenderness that made Julien want to cry again.
“I really am sorry,” she whispered, looking up and finally meeting Lucy’s eyes. It was hard to tell under the shower, but she thought Lucy might be crying too.
Lucy nodded, pressing a kiss to her hand. “I know.”
Once Julien had wrapped herself in the towel Lucy held out to her, dropping her underwear on the pile of her wet clothes, she let herself be led to the bedroom. Phoebe was curled around a pillow, her face lit by her phone. She sat up, flicking the bedside lamp on, eyes still wary as she grabbed a pile of clean clothes from next to her and offered them to Julien. Julien took them with a murmured thanks. She took her time changing, collecting Lucy’s towel with her own, tidying their discarded things from the bathroom. When she returned, Lucy and Phoebe were already in bed. She watched them from the doorway for a moment before Phoebe looked up and met her eyes, patting the empty space in front of her. And Julien hadn’t thought that Phoebe would push her away completely, not really, but that acceptance still sent a shock of relief through her. She settled herself on her back under the covers, watching the shadows play on the ceiling.
Phoebe broke the expanding silence. “Lucy said you wouldn’t like the song. Maybe I shouldn’t have made her play it. I’m sorry. To both of you.”
Julien propped herself up so she could see both of them. Lucy looked distinctly uncomfortable, clearing her throat before replying. “We can just forget it. No hard feelings, and all that. We’re never going to agree on every song.”
Julien bit her lip. “I don’t hate it. I don’t even dislike it. It’s a good song, Luce.” When there was no response, she sighed, closing her eyes. “Could you maybe— like, I get it if you don’t want to. But could you sing it again?”
Lucy made a sound that could have been a laugh if it wasn’t coloured with a nervous incredulity. “Am I going to have to tie you to the bed to keep you here afterwards?”
Julien shook her head, not willing to push further. Some inscrutable look passed between Lucy and Phoebe, before Lucy nodded. “Okay.”
Julien kept her eyes closed as Lucy sang, swallowing hard around the tears that threatened instantly. Phoebe’s hand found her own, interlacing their fingers, grounding her. Lucy’s voice was tentative, scratchy with fatigue and emotion, as beautiful as Julien had ever heard it. She let the words, the memories wash over her. Felt herself being stripped bare layer by layer with each verse, forced herself to sit with the impossible intimacy of being so seen, so known. As Lucy held the final note, she opened her eyes to find both Phoebe and Lucy looking back at her. The thought hit her with a startling clarity, they see me , quickly followed by, and I see them . And as terrifying as it was, it wasn’t something she wanted to run from anymore.
So,”I want to do it.”
Phoebe flipped over to face her completely. “Wait, seriously?”
Lucy’s reaction was more reserved. “Jules, it’s fine. We don’t want to do a song you’re uncomfortable with.”
Julien shifted, fidgeting with the edge of the comforter. “No, I mean it. I just thought it was too… long, maybe?”
After several dragged-out seconds with no reply, she looked over at Lucy, who was looking back at her incredulously. “Okay, so you got yourself lost in a storm for half a day and punched a wall because you thought it was too long ? If it makes you feel like you need to hurt yourself then we’re not doing it.”
Julien flushed red, hiding her hand beneath the covers. “It caught me off guard. And that’s not an excuse, it’s just— easier sometimes. To be hurt, than to be seen by y’all, I guess,” she held up a hand to stop their protestations, “and I promise I’ll talk about it in therapy but it’s not gonna happen again. It’s a beautiful song, Lucy.”
Phoebe looked back and forth between them. “We could at least record it. Then it’s there as an option?”
Lucy nodded slowly. “Yeah, okay. But we’re not done talking about this.”
Phoebe grinned, kissing Julien on the cheek. “I told her you’d come around to it.” Lucy elbowed her in the side and she sobered slightly, throwing an arm over Julien’s chest and squeezing her tightly. “We’ll work through it, okay? We’ve got you.”
Julien sniffed, tired of crying but unable to hold the tears back even as she nodded. “Yeah. Thanks. I love y’all.” She rolled over to bury her face in Phoebe’s chest. The light was turned off, and Lucy’s arm wrapped around them. In the dark, in the small hours of the morning, surrounded by her boys and trusting that even though everything wasn’t fixed, it was fixable, Julien let herself sleep.