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There was a buzz in the air following Indie’s last note, the careful balance of finished but not yet. Indie always was pretty when she sang. Her eyes closed as she basked in her own music, her head tilted back, just slightly as if she were singing for the stars. In the dim light of the studio, Indie looked nearly otherworldly.
And then like that, the moment was broken. Her eyes fluttered open, cheeks bright with a joy the two used to share over music, and a bright light in her honey colored eyes.
Indie was a lot of things Esse wasn’t. Pretty was just one of them. She had long since lived in her sister's shadow—she lived in everyone's shadow, really—where she almost didn't notice the band forming around her chest. Restricting her beating heart, keeping her aching lungs still.
She licked her dry lips, gaze darting away to look over the computer screen and bobbing her head.
“That was it. That was the one,” Esse said after a moment, “No Celebrations is officially finished,”
Indie gave a nearly bewildered laugh, fingers carding through her blue hair. Newly dyed. New enough that Esse’s hands and fingers were still tinted blue after helping. They always made an affair of dyeing their hair, a wide variety of colors—just before, Indie had red hair and before that it was green—something Indie insisted was necessary to express their personality.
We seem to be rather bland people, Esse. Indie had insisted. What, with our brown hair and dull eyes. We seem average.
For the longest time, Esse had always joined her. Sometimes she would match her sister—like twins, the two would always gush—and sometimes she would choose something wildly opposite. She wanted to stand out. She didn’t want to be average.
One day she just stopped. She continued to help Indie, of course. The fact that it was their thing never changed, but part of her was relieved to not have to meet the expectations of anything more-than-average. She was so tired of being someone she wasn’t.
“It still feels incomplete,” Indie admitted after a moment, “Four songs doesn’t feel like nearly enough,”
“What else do we need? It’s Magic, Lost Music, Without You, No Celebrations. You have all the important parts in your life tied into four songs and one EP. What’s it missing?”
“You,”
That made Esse falter. Her head snapped over to look at Indie and a startled laugh escaped her. She slumped back in her chair, shaking her head. “Funny,” She said after a moment, once that odd heaviness slowly eased from her chest. “Very funny,”
Indie met her crooked grin with a blank stare. Her eyebrows furrowed, trying to look over Esse, whatever her expression may have held. Esse didn’t know what she was trying to find, but she knew it wouldn’t be discovered anywhere on the surface. If anything, it would be buried below the thorny vines which would themselves around her chest and cage her heart.
“Esse,” Indie said slowly, crouching down in front of her seat as if she were a child again. One hand rested on her thigh, “Esse, you do realize I was being serious?”
It made sense, Esse supposed. No Celebrations was a compilation of everything important in Indie’s life. Esse played a part in Indie’s life in the end, no matter how much she sometimes wished she wasn’t the one thing dragging Indie down.
Her tongue felt thick in her mouth, her mouth opening and closing a few times as she tried to get the words to form correctly. When that much failed she nodded again, fingers curling into her palms, sharp enough to sting.
“You don’t have to have any part of writing it,” Indie continued, honey eyes still studying her, trying to worm their way into the innermost parts of Esse. “I realize it's not your thing anymore,”
It’s not your thing anymore. Indie said it as though she lost the passion itself, as if she had woken up one day and the music had simply escaped her. As if she never wanted to write again.
But no, it was tears from a shattered heart that only came with betrayal. Of stolen lyrics and broken promises and a faked passion.
Esse had tried to write music again, but it left her raw and aching and Esse could never quite bring herself to hum a note, or strum a guitar.
“I won’t touch a guitar,” She started, “I can’t touch my keyboard either,” She breathed, hands shaking. “I’ll listen and give my input and maybe help write a few lines but I can’t…” I can’t make music.
“That’s okay,” Indie said softly, voice soothing as she gave a small squeeze to Esse’s thigh, “You don’t need to do anything. Whatever you’re willing to give,”
It was funny how Indie always knew the correct things to say and do when it came to Esse. Esse always seemed to flounder in these situations. She knew Indie was no better sometimes. She acted fine—they both did—but Indie still cried over their mothers birthday and she wrote No Celebrations for a reason.
I want to tell a story of my life.
Esse finally nodded. She owed Indie everything, one song was the least she could do.
“I’ll help you. Of course, I’ll help you,”
─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───
Indie may have fallen for music first, but Esse fell harder.
There was no warning. It was though some missing piece had suddenly clicked into place and all was well.
All it took was one little melody. Their mother was working a long stretch that night—some restaurant job that she complained about as she stumbled back through the door with slurred words and tired eyes the following morning—leaving the two girls on their own. Indie was perched at the oven, cooking a boxed mac for the two of them. At their little dining table, with scuffed wood and one leg practically useless, Esse was sitting doing her homework. It was a routine of sorts the two had formed.
Except Indie had been adoring her music classes as of late, the only classes she adored really, and found herself humming a small tune. Just a few notes she happened to remember.
Esse looked up, blinking at her sister with furrowed eyebrows. Indie never noticed, not until she realized she had set off a chain reaction of sorts. Esse was always eager to follow in her sisters footsteps.
Suddenly Esse was humming along to everything. She recognized songs and artists from the radio, made beats with the tap of her fingers, and constantly found the urge to make noise.
It drove their mother to her wits end. While Indie and Esse were always actively trying to seek out noise and life, their mother wanted a break from the constant chaos and noise.
“Turn off that radio,” She snapped, sending a glare over Esse’s way. Hazel eyes sharp with a tired anger.
“But—“
“Turn. It. Off,”
Esse bit the tip of her tongue until she tasted iron. She wanted to fire words back. She wanted to protest that Indie always played music. She wanted to say it wasn’t fair. But she already knew her mothers response and maybe that made it worse.
She turned the dial and clicked the radio off, eyes stinging with tears she refused to shed. Her hands were trembling now, she realized, fingers curling into her palms, pressing until she felt the steady sting to distract her from the torrential thoughts instead.
Her mother gave a final sigh of relief, relaxing back into the couch as she reached for the bottle on the coffee table. Her eyes fluttered shut, head falling back against the cushions. Fingers wrapped around the glass and for a moment, Esse felt as if it was those very fingers wrapping around her throat and squeezing.
Her voice felt stuck in her throat, the room falling silent other than the soft, shared breaths between the two of them and the clinking of the glass bottle. Esse turned her head down, back to the papers in front of her but her vision was too blurred with unshed tears to actually comprehend any of the information.
She quickly scrubbed her eyes free of any tears threatening to fall, grabbing for her pencil again. She resisted the urge to tap, to make noise of some sort knowing it would only upset her mother more.
She always hated the noise.
Indie had found her an hour later, eyes tired after a shift at the rundown little diner she had worked at—who paid her cash and didn’t check her age. She tossed her jacket onto the dining rooms chair, leaning over to look at what little progress Esse made.
“What’re you workin’ on?” She asked with a small hum. She was always allowed to make noise. Their mother never cared when she listened to the radio, or hummed a song, or played an instrument.
“Nothing,” Esse snapped back, that anger bubbling in her chest until it spilled out. She would have felt bad, if it weren’t for the anger leading her words. “Leave me alone,”
“Esse—“
“Stop,” Esse nearly slammed her hands down on the table, only to think better of it. That would wake their mother. That would upset her. She couldn’t take more of their mothers sharp tongue today. “I’m fine. I got this. Leave me alone,”
Indie sucked in a sharp breath, shoulders raising to her ears. She slowly pulled back, hands falling to her side.
“Right,” she muttered, “Sorry,”
She let out a small sigh, retreating back to the radio where she turned the dial, listening to the music filter into the room.
Their mother jolted awake, mouth opening before realizing it was Indie standing across the room. Her expression softened, a tired smile graced her face.
“Hi baby, how was work?”
Esse never got called baby or any other endearing nickname from their mother. Her mother refused to call her anything but Summer. A name she always found ironic considering she was born in the middle of winter.
Her mother gave Indie her nickname in the first place. Apparently Naomi Drew was a mouthful and Indie ‘just fit’. Esse wasn’t nearly as creative, nor necessary.
It was Indie who gave Esse her nickname. That way we match, she insisted, Like sisters. Or twins.
“It was good,” Indie said softly, “One of the regulars came in today and tipped extra,”
“Did you use my tricks?”
Esse didn’t care to continue listening. Her mother had already complained enough about how Esse wasn’t pulling her weight enough. Indie argued that Esse should be focusing on school instead.
You’re too smart for us. You should use it to get out.
She wanted out. She was tired of the busy city and the tired looks. She was tired of the heaviness of guilt she carried. Never enough. Too loud, in the way, too much.
Dreams are a silly thing, her mother had insisted one day when she was younger, talking of dreams to sing and create music and be someone. I moved here with a dream, y'know? Look how I ended up.
Maybe if Esse was braver, she would have snapped back and called her mother a talentless whore. Except she wasn’t brave enough and she knew better than to say such things. If the scalding lectures from her mother weren’t enough, the disappointed looks from her sister were enough to send her six feet under with guilt.
She had heard the story from her mother plenty of times now. Nothing but a janky car and a dream to be an actress. Perhaps in another life she would end up on Broadway, but in this life, she never got the chance to make it on a stage. Instead, she ended up with two daughters, and a trashy apartment.
Sometimes, Esse wasn’t sure whether or not she was happy her mothers dream failed. Sometimes, she wished she didn’t see her mother so much in her.
─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───
Esse fell harder.
It seemed to be something she did. Not realizing she loved something — or someone — until she was in too deep. Until the very thing wound around her being and buried itself deep into her soul.
Moving to Chicago was simultaneously the best and worst thing she had ever done. Her and Indie scraped up just enough for their gas and a shitty apartment—though no worse than the one in New York City— and ran. Not for a moment did they look back.
On one hand, Esse was free. Free from New York and the people, and everything that city held. The memories, the guilt, the shame.
On another, Esse had quickly learned it was hard to be new. It was even worse feeling lost.
Indie didn’t care to return to school, not when the responsibilities fell on her first, leaving Esse floundering without someone to shadow. No sister, no friends, no familiarity. Just… lost.
She picked up her own work, a lovely little cafe named the Velvet Roast, as a way to help her sister, despite the protests and fights it received.
You’re too young—too talented— to throw your life away!
And you weren’t?
That had shut her sister down quickly. There wasn’t much of an argument left when Indie realized she was right, because of course she was right.
The work itself was nice. New. Different. Just like everything in the city. A bit chaotic, but the people were nice and the job paid decently. She was able to set hours before school, and one of her coworkers had seemed to take her under her wing within days. It was the first time she felt as though she was herself. Not some meek girl hiding behind her older sister, or scurrying out of her mothers way. Esse had the ability to be someone else, and she took it.
School, however, was a separate issue. Kids her age were more difficult to talk to than adults. They seemed to be able to read her better, know how to get under her skin and they had no sense of filter when it came to what they said. She didn’t know how to weave through the conversations of a high school student without stressing herself out. Overthinking every word in every interaction, wondering how she could just do it better.
She was dreading it with each passing day. A ruthless cycle of wanting to wake up to escape herself in the warmth of her work, only to be tossed into the reality of school and loneliness and stress. It wasn’t school itself that was difficult, she wouldn’t stand for doing poorly in her classes, but it was the people around her with judging gazes and fake smiles that set her on edge.
“I want to drop out,” She insisted one day, dropping her backpack by the doorway and tossing her shoes off. Practiced. Routine. She had done these things what felt like hundreds of times now.
Indies head snapped over to look at her from where she was reading, her eyes narrowed. “No,”
“You dropped out,”
“I was failing every class,” She pointed out, carefully closing the book and setting it on their coffee table. It was falling apart, something the two of them had bought off Craigslist “temporarily” and then never got around to finding a new one. “You’re too smart to drop out,”
Too smart. Too young. Too talented.
It was the same excuses over and over and over again. Esse didn’t quite understand it. Indie always insisted on these things and yet Esse was nowhere different than before. She felt as though nothing had changed and she was tired of it.
Indies expression softened, as though reading her mind. “Finish out this year,” she insisted, “It’s your last one. Worst case, you at least get to graduate,”
Esse gave a small sigh, “Fine. But I don’t want to go to college,”
“That sounds fair to me,”
Esse could see the pain in Indie’s eyes. She knew her sister wanted to argue. To give the usual protest of her having so much going for her. Indie held too much hope for Esse, and Esse was afraid all she was going to do was disappoint her sister.
Except she met her, and suddenly she wasn’t so sure what she really wanted anymore.
Esse had always been told it wasn’t worth dreaming. She found giving up worked out better. The expectations to fail held less pain than the expectations to succeed. Sure, she was smart, but she wasn’t the smartest. She was nice, but she could have a mean streak. She was pretty, but other people were prettier. She liked music and baking and so many other things, but people would always be better.
Sure, Esse had always had Indie on her side, but that was her older sister. Someone who was meant to tell her pretty things and fill her head with dreams. Teachers called her smart and an advanced student but that's where her talents ended.
She was different. She was everything Esse wanted to be and more. She took one look at Esse, and by some miracle, she swooped in and saved her within moments.
Esse found herself sworn to the stars, allowing them to guide her in her darker moment, when she was otherwise alone. The stars decided to shine brightly for her, and in turn, Esse began to shine too.
She had never really taken a break from music. She couldn’t. Not when the beat came naturally, and lyrics formed like a second language on her lips. She filled her journals with ideas for lyrics until the journals were full, and even then she kept writing.
Music was her escape. It was her therapy, a way to say what she wanted when the words otherwise felt lost. Everything seemed easier when it was nothing more than pretty words and simple tunes.
She seemed just as interested in music, and suddenly Esse wanted more.
She wanted those dreams. She wanted whatever her sister saw in her and she wanted what she wanted. She wanted to play and write music, and she wanted to be someone again.
It was exhilarating, to realize that there was a dream again. Living for more than just comfort or survival, but instead with a star to reach for. And she was a star.
You seem brighter, Indie had commented one day, casually as though it didn’t make Esse’s soul sing, Like Summer again.
And suddenly, Esse was living again. She didn’t care much for the people in school, she made it worth it, but Esse wanted to excel. She wanted to go to college and study music and make something of herself. She wanted what her sister dreamed for her, and the dreams her mother never got, and she wanted what she dreamed for herself.
She applied for schools, watched the scholarships roll in, beaming as she got to explain to her sister that they didn’t have to worry about paying off school debts. She got to continue playing and writing music, watching the world through the eyes of a star and finding herself falling.
It was as though her feelings suddenly collided with reality one day, as Esse realized how suddenly she loved her. The world kept spinning, nothing earthshattering happened. Esse had simply just realized she was practically head-over-heels for her.
It was a breath of fresh air, and a feeling she couldn’t quite handle so she did what she found she did best in those moments. She wrote.
─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───
Esse knew the first time she heard those lyrics, that beat, that melody. Every sound fell out of tune. There was no music, no sweet tunes. Instead, the sound of static filled her ears, like when the cable went down and they were met with the buzz of black and white on the television screen.
She saw it in her sister's eyes too. Maybe that was really the startling part. Indie was always better at receiving emotions. She could sort through them without issue. She was always jumping into action, ready to find a solution. Compartmentalizing, she had said. Esse had tried it a few times but she always seemed to drown in her own emotions.
Indies head had snapped over to look at her, eyes wide and wild, hands reaching out as if to brace Esse for something they couldn’t see.
It was all just a song. It was just a song, except it was her song.
At least, in most ways. Because it wasn’t her.
She opened her mouth—perhaps to say something or another, maybe reassure Indie that she was fine—and instead all that escaped her was a sob. Her own words, feelings, emotions, being thrown back at her in the form of her own song.
Or what was supposed to be her song.
Esse was used to being used. People would befriend her to steal her notes to pass a class. She was used to being the alibi and the scapegoat and the pushover. But Esse was used to being used by strangers, people she had her walls up for and was careful with because she had quickly learned that there was a motive behind everything.
She wasn’t used to the people she trusted using her. Her mother had no use for her afterall—why would she when she saw Esse to be nothing but another obstacle in her way—and although her sister never said anything about it, it was a shared sentiment.
Useless. She was useless to those she cared most about, and now she wasn’t sure if she was happy with that fact or not.
Until she wasn’t.
She couldn’t breathe. Those vines that wound around her heart and lungs and soul suddenly grew thorns and made her bleed. The stars had burned so bright until they burned the thing closest to them and it just so happened that Esse was closest.
In just a moment, with just a single note, Esse’s light had dimmed once again.
“Summer,” Indies voice broke through her panic. Esse wanted to protest that she wasn’t Summer. Not anymore, if ever. “Esse, honey,”
She pitched forward, falling into her sisters arms as if she could suck the warmth and the love from her. As though that would be enough to ignore her life crumbling down around her.
Esse always fell harder. She didn’t realize that would be a problem until she had to brace herself for the crash.
It all hurt. A bone deep ache that she was entirely unprepared for as she clung to her older sister as if they were children again. Esse had never wished for it more, the simplicity of being a child once again, because she wasn’t sure if it was the heartbreak or the betrayal killing her.
“We’ll figure it out,” Indie insisted, “We can get your music back,”
“It’s not just the music,” Esse murmured, scrubbing her face free from the tears. Maybe if she wasn’t so distraught she would worry more about the mess of makeup—the insistence from her mother saying to keep the tears at bay to maintain an appearance lingering in the back of her mind—but this was different, with no one caring about appearances or reputations. “It’s everything with it,”
The music. The feelings. The betrayal.
Esse had never felt so foolish. She was beginning to wonder if college was even a good idea if she was this stupid to not see the signs. She tried to run through everything. Every interaction, every word, everything involving the star her life had seemed to revolve around for nearly a year. There had to be signs, of course there had to be.
“Then we’ll start with this,” Indie's voice was soft as she took Esse’s phone, unlocking it with ease—the two had each other's passwords memorized just as well as their own—and then blocked her number, then every account connected to her.
“Next, I’ll dig around and try to find any way to claim the works were stolen,” Indie pressed the phone back into Esse’s palm, watching her fingers curl around the device until they were nearly white. “We’ll go to court if we need to,”
Esse shook her head mutely, squeezing her eyes shut as she forced more tears away.
“It’s fine, I should have enough money saved for a lawyer and—“
“It’s not worth it,” Esse whispered, “it’s not worth the money or the trouble. Let her have the music,”
It was for her anyway.
Because Esse had written every lyric and note with her in mind. Her muse, her star. Those pretty words were woven into songs for her.
She could tell Indie wanted to protest, wanted to continue to press until Esse finally crumbled. Her lips pressed into a thin line, a weighted look remaining on her.
Finally, she let out a sigh, her shoulders slumping. “Fine, we will leave it,”
Esse felt herself deflate, nodding as a few more loose tears escaped her. “Thank you… thank you,”
The words had never sounded more broken falling from her lips, and in some ways it felt like defeat, giving in and allowing her to just take. But Esse was tired, and broken, she had forgotten how to shine without the stars guiding her.
That night, she threw her journals into a bin, shoving it into the back corner under her bed. The guitar and keyboard quickly joined them. She pulled out her laptop and opened the schools website to switch her major from ‘Music’ to ‘Undecided’.
She never told Indie, but she didn’t have to. The love she had once felt for music was broken alongside her heart.
─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───
“Are you sure you want to help me with this?” Indie asked, head tilting to look up at Esse where she was perched on her bed. A keyboard was laid out in front of her and a journal was splayed across her lap.
“This is the third time you’ve asked me in five minutes. Are you sure you actually want my help?” Esse challenged, raising an eyebrow at her sister.
“You just haven’t written anything since…” Indie never finished, allowing her voice to trail off. She didn’t want to speak the name. Not when Esse felt everything to such an extreme. Not when it was all still raw to her.
“This is important to you,” Esse answered after a moment. “It’s important to me. You are missing something from your first EP, and I’m going to help you find it,”
Indie made some choked noise in response, ducking her head as she looked back at her own notes. The two of them had been at it for days. Writing and rewriting the lyrics over and over again except nothing was quite right.
The ache was back, stronger than ever. A gaping hole in Esse’s very being. The words didn’t feel quite as full, the notes not as sharp. She wasn’t sure how she ever loved this in the first place, or if she ever would again if it truly hurt this much even after all this time.
There was a squeeze to her ankle, Indie watching her carefully. “We should take a break,” she murmured, voice soft. Esse wanted to protest, they just started, but her body was working against her and she ended up nodding instead of shaking her head.
Indie practically dragged her to the kitchen, tossing an apron at her before grabbing one for herself. Rather than going to turn on music, like the two of them usually did when they baked together, she grabbed a few pans and the ingredients.
“What are you doing?” Esse asked with a small laugh, looking over what they had. Already moving to start on what they were baking, cookies by the looks of it.
“We’re going to bake cookies together,” Indie answered and it was obvious, really. Though Esse didn’t know why. They were supposed to be working on Indie’s song instead of baking or wasting time. It had taken them long enough and—
Indie was humming as she worked. Of course she was, even Esse found herself humming along when baking as the two of them blasted music throughout their apartment—it was an often enough occurrence that their neighbors stopped caring so long as they brought whatever sweet treat they made that day—except there was no music playing.
It took Esse an embarrassingly long time to realize that Indie was humming the song. The one the two of them had been working at and failing to come up with more than a melody. And oh, it was as though it suddenly all clicked into place once more. Since she had lost music, she found solace in baking. It was a compromise of sorts. The thing she struggled most with, and the thing that settled her. Her heartbreak, and a sense of comfort since.
It took them longer to make the cookies than it had in a long time—especially considering she had memorized the recipe by scratch years ago. The cookies weren’t her best, a little off in taste, and the lyrics weren’t completely formed, but it was a start.
It became a thing. A new routine of sorts. Some days, Indie would bake with her. Others, she sat on the couch, guitar in her lap or keyboard in front of her. It still took them days. They still fumbled on notes or lyrics and had to rewrite it hundreds of times. But it was becoming fun again.
“Change that word,” Esse hummed the tune, thinking it over, “It sounds a bit clunky there,”
Indie nodded, not questioning it for a moment as she crossed out the word in her own journal and wrote a note in the margins. “Something shorter then?”
“Unless you want to change the melody again,” Esse shrugged, looking up from where she was decorating cupcakes—the decided treat of the day.
“I like the melody though,” Indie muttered.
“Then change that last word!” Esse laughed, shaking her head.
She paused as she saw the look on Indies face. A soft expression and warmth in her honey eyes.
“What?”
Indie shook her head with a small, almost sheepish, laugh of her own. “I just haven’t seen you shine like this in a while,”
Like Summer.
Esse couldn’t help the flood of warmth that overwhelmed her, cheeks turning a bit pink at the reminder. Still, she rolled her eyes and gave a joking scoff. She was glad Indie took it as the sign it was, moving on and returning back to her own song.
Esse was too busy realizing the scars from those thorns were beginning to heal. Slowly patching themselves with warmth and love once again.
That night, Esse pulled her keyboard out from under her bed and played a few notes before she felt as though she was gonna be sick from the very thought. She shoved the keyboard back into its spot and practically ran from the room. She didn’t say a word to Indie about it.
Except it happened again and again and again. Each time feeling lighter on her. Less pressure on herself to try to make music.
It wasn’t just for Indie anymore either. The song, named Summer of all things, had gone into the production process and was now out of her hands. She had helped Indie enough. There was no more pressure to write a song or play a note, except for her soul ached to be closer and simultaneously farther from music than ever.
No Celebrations was set to release soon and Esse never had to worry about it again. No one had to know she helped write it, just as no one knew about her writing for a star—one now famous for her songs and on tour, far away from Chicago.
Except it wasn’t that easy. Esse fell harder, she always had. While she had previously thought she never had to touch music again, she was back in and deeper than ever. A soul-consuming ache and urge to continue despite the pain it carried, drawn to it like a moth to a flame. Now that she had started again, she found herself unable to stop.
It was as if music re-entered her world. She heard a song in everything, the soft breeze, a hum of a car. It slowly grew. A hummed note during the day, a whistled tune while she baked, lyrics engrained into her mind until she caved and finally pulled her journals from the depths under her bed.
─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───
Esse threw her journal, just a few pages filled, onto the coffee table, looking Indie dead in the eyes.
“I want to write again,”
The words came out in a rushed breath, so fast she wasn’t sure if Indie even understood. Her ears were ringing, heart beating so fast she could have been told she had just run a marathon and believed it.
Indie didn’t question it. Later, Esse would realize that she knew, of course she did. Anyone could probably see it coming, the quick fall back into the depths of music.
“Okay,” Indie said instead, expression so impossibly soft Esse wanted to cry. “What can I do to help?”
“Sing something for me?” Esse asked softly, voice weak to her own ears. She wasn’t sure why she was so scared, as if Indie would say no when she knew she wouldn’t. Her sister was always on her side, even before herself. The very thought made Esse ache from the inside-out in complete adoration.
“Of course, yeah,” Indie said without a moment's hesitation and Esse gave a nervous grin. She retreated back to her room, pulled the guitar out from under her bed. It was older now, probably out of tune from the lack of use. Dust had gathered, even with the case, but it was still comfortable, carefully weighed in her hand.
When Esse returned from her room, guitar in hand, Indie smiled that one smile meant just for her. The same smile when she said Esse was bright or shining or Summer. The one that warmed Esse’s insides and made her feel almost gooey with love.
“What do you want me to sing?” Indie asked finally, watching carefully as Esse tuned her guitar. Esse only gave a hum in response, thinking it over before peering back up at Indie.
“Whatever you want to sing, I guess,”
Esse wasn’t sure why she was surprised Indie had settled on Summer. It was her favorite song, or so Indie claimed, and Esse found herself listening to it almost regularly alongside her.
I think it means the most to me, Indie had whispered between them late one night, after one too many glasses of wine. The two had been sprawled out on the couch, basking in each other's presence and the soft classical music in the background. Not just because you helped me write it or it took so long, but because I think it’s for you.
Esse hadn’t been sure how to respond then, a little wine drunk at the time, though she wasn’t sure she would even be able to respond now, fully sober.
Me too. Is what she had said.
I think it helped me love music again. She didn’t say. I think it helped me love myself again.
So Esse carefully strummed the guitar, as though it were delicate or the strings would snap. It wasn’t perfect—she didn’t think it would be after not playing for so long—but she played while Indie sang and everything seemed a little more clear for that song.
And then they played another, and another, and another. Esse felt lighter, brighter as Indie liked to put it. They played even as Esse’s fingers began to ache, worn from the lack of callouses, and Indies' voice fell hoarse, and then they played more. They played as the sun began to set, casting a steady glow on the room and Esse’s cheeks began to ache from how wide she was smiling.
I want to write again. I want to write again. I want to write again.
She had never been more sure of something in her life.
─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───
It started with a tune. It always did. Something she found herself whistling one day while she was baking brownies, and suddenly Indie had picked it up and started whistling it too. They never shared a word about it, just mutually decided it existed.
She wasn’t sure where the tune suddenly turned into a song. Something the two of them hummed in passing, making breakfast, or at work, or simply existing in the presence of each other.
And when she pulled out her keyboard, she saw the look in Indie’s eyes, the silent laughter that she held. Like honey, Esse always thought. Bright, soft, something so entirely different from their mother. She knew what Indie was talking about when she said she seemed brighter because Indie carried the very same expression.
Indie knew exactly what was happening because she had experienced the very same thing, the sudden spark of creativity all at once. Esse knew what was happening because she saw it in her sister—she saw herself in her sister—and suddenly she was too far gone once again.
It all becomes real when the notes are written out, then played over and over again. She recorded them on her phone, content with listening to the instrumental, nothing but her keyboard, until she wasn’t.
Indie laughed out loud when she pulled her guitar out one day, sitting on the couch and not getting up until it was perfect. Over and over and over again. Indie watched from the kitchen, a large smile on her lips. Esse knew what she was thinking.
You seem brighter, like Summer.
Indie had Summer, Esse had… whatever it was. Something between finished and incomplete. She wasn’t ready for it to be finished, but she couldn’t decide what words she wanted to give the song just yet.
Someone already took all my love. I have nothing left.
Because in the end, that’s where she struggled to write. Every lyric held her muse, the shining star in her sky, and without her she was nothing. Esse was left a hollow body with no love, no inspiration. There was nothing left to write.
She spent nights cursing her journals and the blank lines left in them, the torn pages from how hard she pressed against the paper, and the stains of ink from her pen. Nothing seemed right for the song, no lyric seemed to click into place and everything was off.
“I can’t make music,” She finally told Indie. She had spent sleepless nights trying, trying to write something. Anything that was more than a jumble of nonsense.
“Then let’s bake,” Indie said after a moment, and suddenly the weight was off of Esse’s shoulders.
They blasted music, going through different playlists and albums. They talked as they worked, Indie listening to Esse rant about her friends, and then they switched the music to listen to their albums, and then suddenly they were listening to No Celebrations once again.
Esse woke up the next morning with a stiff back and a crook in her neck, not even realizing the two of them had fallen asleep in their baking endeavors. Indie was no better, still asleep draped over the counter.
She gave a quiet laugh, almost bewildered as she looked around the mess of the kitchen. It still had yet to be cleaned from the mess of the night before. She hadn’t even realized she had fallen asleep, and she assumed Indie had drifted off much the same.
Esse tiptoed around the kitchen, trying to stay quiet as she picked up the bowls and utensils. The cookies they had made the night before were burnt to a crisp and Esse was silently thanking god for their luck of the apartment not burning down because the oven was definitely still on.
Indie had woken up some time in between and she went to clean the counters as Esse swept the floors. Somehow, the two of them got back to playing music—something Esse realized they would definitely have to apologize to their neighbors for later for the night before—and somehow it ended up back where it started.
Summer blasted and the two all-too-happily sang along. With the kitchen clean, the two danced around, singing and laughing with pink cheeks and wide smiles.
Esse had suddenly halted, the pieces falling into place as she stared at her sister. Indie had been terrified half to death as she suddenly bolted to the room, gathering her guitar and journal into her arms.
“I figured out what’s missing,”
She didn’t need her muse to be some lover or ex. She didn’t need to look to the stars for something that wasn’t there. Every answer had been right in front of her all this time and Esse nearly cried at the very realization.
Indie smiled, leaning on the counter, “Well?”
“You,”