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"You're okay"
There are flames everywhere. They're eating away at wood and stone, destroying everything in their path. Canvases curl up on the walls as the fire consumes them.
Nothing is safe.
No one.
"You're okay"
There's a voice, but no one around. She only recognises the words from memory. The fire is too loud otherwise. She has to find the voice. She knows that much.
But the fire is everywhere, and she can't move. She's rooted on the spot, and the flames go around her in a circle. She still feels the devouring heat, but it doesn't hurt. It should. Somehow, it feels like a slight. Another punishment.
She wants to scream, to call to the voice. He needs to escape. But no sound leaves her mouth. She is a spectator, helpless to change anything.
There is a shape, far into the flames. She shouldn't be able to recognize it from so far away, but like the voice, she can't forget. She doesn't want to. The shape lifts a hand, as if in invitation. He's burning without a scream, his clothes engulfed by the flames. He stares at her, unmoving.
His eyes are full of recrimination.
"It's your fault"
-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-
Maelle wakes up with a shout. Her heart is beating fast as a hummingbird, trying to escape her ribcage. For a moment, she can't hear her own breathing above the rush of blood through her ears. She still feels the tears drenching her face. Trembling, she turns on her side, curling up as she hugs her own arms. She just exists, for a few moments, trying to breathe steadily. She knows from experience that sleep won't welcome her for the rest of the night. The room is still dark, and there are few sounds outside her window.
There are noises outside her room, however. Maelle flinches in guilt as she sees the corridor's light, and hears footsteps. There is a soft knock on her bedroom door. Maybe if she ignores it, Gustave will go back to sleep and leave her alone.
"Maelle ? Can I come in ?" His voice is gentle and caring. At this moment, she hates it. Just makes her feel more ashamed.
She'd tried ignoring him so many times, in the beginning. Only to find him sitting just outside her door in the morning, waiting patiently just in case she needed him. Gustave has always been patient and gentle with her. Maelle just wishes she deserved his care and love.
"You can come in." Maelle manages to keep her voice steady, even as she knows Gustave can hear her tears. She pushes herself up in a sitting position, hugs her knees as she tries to calm her panicked heart.
"Here." Gustave whispers as he sits beside her. When she looks up, he offers a glass of water. He looks tired, even as he tries to hide it. His curly hair is a mess, his moustache is askew, and there are ink stains on his cheek. He probably fell asleep on top of his work again. The empty sleeve where his left arm used to be dangles as it came undone.
It has become a ritual of sort, whenever Maelle has this nightmare. Gustave will always hear her shout or toss, no matter how much she tries to muffle herself. He'll always ask to come in, and won't enter before receiving permission. Offer water, and stay silent until Maelle feels calmer. Gustave just stay here, patient and gentle. He doesn't hug her until she uncurls. The only time he tried to touch her before she calmed, Maelle had a panic attack.
Maelle finishes her water, every sip bringing her closer to reality, to the present. Her tears dry on her face. She absentmindedly fiddles with the empty glass for a moment, before slumping to the side until she feels the reassuring heat of Gustave's body. Immediately after, there is an arm around her as she sinks into his comfort.
"Sorry for waking you up." Maelle says, because she always does.
"Don’t worry about it." Gustave answers, continuing the ritual.
Maelle still feels guilty. The nightmares have been particularly frequent as of late. She wishes she didn't know why, but there's only so much she can deceive herself about. One more week, and she'll be nineteen.
One more week, and it'll be a year since Alicia killed her brother.
Tears threaten to spill over again, and she squeezes her eyes shut. She’s already getting Gustave's shirt all wet and gross. He doesn't seem to mind, rubbing soft circles on her back as she regains the last dredge of control over her breathing. A part of Maelle hates the comfort Gustave brings her. Clea would say she doesn't deserve it, after what she's done. Worst of all, as she feels Gustave's arm around her, Maelle can't help but wish for a pair of arms instead. For the soft hum of a lullaby instead of silence.
Sometimes, she can't help but feel like Gustave is a replacement for the brother she killed. He doesn't deserve this feeling, not after all he's done for Maelle.
After another moment, she pushes away, wiping at her face with one arm. Looking around, she spots Esquie in his usual place on her nightstand. Sleeping with him brings her comfort, but she's afraid of damaging the old plush toy with her tears and tossing around during the night.
"So," Gustave calls gently. "What do you think of spending the rest of the night watching terrible Christmas movies reruns ?"
Maelle laughs, only a little watery. "You pretend to hate them, but you know the dialogues by heart." She teases, grateful for the opportunity to move on. Gustave is wonderful like that.
"Hey ! They're classics."
"Only because you're so old."
Gustave rolls his eyes, but there's no annoyance. Smiling, he gets up from the bed and moves to the door. "My old bones need some hot chocolate. Do you want any ?"
"Of course I do !"
He leaves with a chuckle, and Maelle takes another moment to breathe. She looks at her phone briefly - it's four in the morning. Better than previous nights, at least. She can manage the day with six hours of sleep. She gets out of bed and puts on a hoodie on top of her pyjamas. The air is a bit cold, but she prefers it that way. It helps sometimes, with the nightmares. Putting her phone in her pocket, she takes Esquie in her arms before leaving the room. It helps, too. Like a part of Verso is still watching over her.
Gustave is in the open kitchen, heating milk up in a pot over the electric stove. Maelle had teased him many times over it, calling him an old man who refuses to use the microwave like a normal person, but she can admit that it tastes just a little better. Perhaps just from the extra effort Gustave puts in, even as they had to clean the counter quite a few times when he forgot to watch the pot.
"Need a hand ?" Maelle teases. She'd never have dared a few months back, but Gustave likes the puns, and makes even more himself. Maybe someday she can joke about her own scars like that. She hopes so.
"You know, if I'm old and crippled, maybe you should take care of me." He jokes back, keeping his tone light. "But it's almost done. Just clear the couch ?"
The couch is, indeed, in need of clearing out. There are books and notes thrown over it and the low table, as Gustave worked there last evening until he fell asleep. As usual. Maelle just gathers everything as best she can, stacking the books beside the couch until there's enough room for two people to sit.
She can't help but think back on her childhood, when she woke up from nightmares and didn't dare go to her parents. Instinctively, she always went to her brother instead. Verso never complained about being woken up. He'd ask Alicia if she wanted to talk about her nightmares, and calmed her with lullabies or by reading to her. Alicia would always fall back asleep in his bed, clutching at Esquie as her brother watched over her and warded off nightmares.
How ironic, that now he appeared in every one of them.
Holding Esquie just a little tighter, Maelle forces herself to concentrate on the present. As she sits on the couch, a blanket over her shoulders, a mug of hot chocolate in her hand, with a warm presence besides her that is and isn't who she wants, she concentrates on the TV screen as Gustave puts on yet another terrible Christmas movie he'd watched a hundred times.
But even as she laughs at Gustave terrible renditions of the dialogues and at the movies terrible plots, the nightmare doesn't fade completely. In her pocket, her phone feels heavy. It's been weighting a ton for a week now, since she received the message from an unknown number.
“Alicia, I wasn't honest with you. You might never forgive me, but you need to learn the truth. I need to see you.”
She hasn't shown it to Gustave, even as she's desperate for his counsel. She hasn't answered either, unable to bring herself to reconnect with her family. Maelle can't help but be angry with them all, even as she knows she deserves the guilt and blame her mother pulls on her. She changed her number as soon as she left the family behind, closed all her accounts and email address. She really tried to start anew, to put Alicia behind her. But of course life doesn't work like that. Renoir had found her new number, her bank account, her address. He'd tried to call over the months, to keep in touch, and Maelle had blocked his number. She can't do the same with the monthly bank transfers, but at least she can help out Gustave a little more and show gratitude for all he's done. The only mercy is that Renoir didn't try to talk to her in person. He respected at least that much and kept away.
Until now. Maelle can't help but wonder about the message, about whatever 'the truth' is. Why did he have to send it now, almost a year after the fire ? What could he have hidden that would change anything ? She'd briefly considered unblocking Clea to ask, but she hasn't talked with her sister since that horrible afternoon, ten months ago. Talking with her mother is a non-starter. The last time Maelle saw her, Aline had been screaming at her to get away from her son, convinced Alicia would hurt him. It was also the last time she saw Verso - pale and unmoving, surrounded that machines.
-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-
It's February 22nd, and Alicia sits outside her university. She doesn't want to be there, on this ugly green bench, huddled inside her coat and gloves to escape the winter air. She doesn't want to suffer through the gaze of other young people walking by, looking at her face with disgust or pity. No matter how high she pulls her coat's collar, she still feels the stares.
What she wants to do is celebrate her brother's birthday. But she can't. Verso will not be turning twenty six today. He's dead. Alicia killed him. That's what her mother screamed and sobbed at her. What her sister made clear with every frown. What her father reinforced with every silence. It doesn't matter that they were the ones to order the life support unplugged. They granted Verso peace. Alicia killed him.
She can't even visit his grave, offer flowers as a pitiful redemption attempt. "He's with the rest of the family" Papa had said. "Your mother still needs a bit more time." Alicia had wanted to scream that she was family too, that she wanted to see Verso. She had been too numb to, at the time. Perhaps Papa had said that with purpose. How could Alicia claim to be family, when she murdered her brother.
The wind lashes at her face, and the cold burns her scars and her eyes. Alicia doesn't move from her bench. She used to have plans for the future, a purpose. Now, she can't write her poems in her journal, because it was a gift from Verso. She can't look at her half written book, because Verso was the only one she'd showed it to, seeking advice and encouragement.
All of her life, Alicia had relied on her brother. She wonders if he regrets spending so much time and energy on her, wherever he is.
"Are you alright ?"
She startles at the voice. There, looking worried but not pitying, is Professor Sinclair. Gustave, as he asks his students to call him with a gentle smile. Alicia only has - had - one class with him, and he's always been patient as he explains concept she doesn't really care about. He's not dressed for the weather, coat nowhere to be seen, hands bare. His prosthetic arm on display in a way Alicia can only envy. She ducks her head again.
"I'm alright." She hates how she sounds. Small. Unsure.
"May I sit ?" Gustave asks, and waits for her nod before sitting to her left. Alicia wonders if it's a coincidence, or if he purposefully sits on her good side - so he doesn't have to see ? Or so she can see ? "I hear you're leaving us." He starts, and Alicia can't help but wince.
"I don't think I can study here anymore." She says, and it's true. It just fails to encompass all the reasons why.
Gustave sighs, ruffles his hair with his good hand. "Listen, I - I don't know if I'm the right person to..." He groans, frustration clear. Takes a deep breath, and turns toward Alicia again. "You've been through something terrible. But... Your life isn't over, alright ? Even if it seems like it right now." Alicia scoffs in answer, but Gustave only chuckles. "I know, I know... It feels like some generic bullshit. But it helped, when..." He glances to his left, taps his left arm with his right. "It took me a while to feel better, after. To feel like I still had a life and a future."
"How did it happen ?" Alicia asks, just to change the subject, to take control of something, anything. She knows it's rude, but she figures it's fair to ask. Everyone knows how she got her scars.
"Lab accident." Gustave answers, apparently unbothered. "I didn't follow all the safety protocols, something exploded. I was lucky, actually. To get out of there alive and with only a missing arm. Didn't feel like it at the time, of course." He smiles. Alicia can only feel jealous at the ease with which he admits to his mistake and its consequences. "So, maybe our situations aren't exactly the same, but..."
"Did you kill anyone, during the explosion ?" Alicia interrupts in frustration.
"No, I was alone." Gustave answers with a frown. More hesitant now.
"Then you can't understand." She wants to sound angry, but guilt and defeat bleed too much into her tone. "I don't care about my burns, or my eye. I don't... I deserve them." She wipes at the tears that threaten to show, and glares at Gustave's hand, hovering hesitantly in the space between them. "I killed my brother ! My mistake cost him his life !"
Silence follows. Oppressive, uncomfortable. There are more stares around her, after her outburst, and Alicia lowers her head in shame, hands clenched in her lap.
"Why don't we go to my office for a bit ?" Gustave awkwardly suggests, tone overly friendly. "It's rather cold out there."
Alicia wants to tell him no, but she feels the stares pierce her more and more. Perhaps she could just get up and leave altogether, but Gustave seems stubborn enough to follow her. He looks at her with so much worry. Reluctantly, she nods.
She tries to ignore the students staring at her as she follows Gustave inside. They're already gossiping enough about her, she hopes she doesn't get her former professor in trouble too.
"Stares become easier to ignore after a while."
Alicia ducks her head. She feels too easy to read under Gustave's kind eyes. She almost prefers the disgusted stares - she has become more accustomed to them, seeing them in the mirror. Still, she'd prefer to be transparent and ignored, just another face in the crowd. She doesn't want people to know her life, her pain. Her mistakes. She used to be anonymous - just the youngest Dessendre child, the one that didn't amount to anything. Life had been easier then.
The moment Gustave closes the door to his office, Alicia can't help a small sight of relief. The room would be called cluttered by many people. There are books and papers on every available surfaces - Gustave hurries to remove some from two chairs in front of his desk. Glancing over, Alicia sees what look like complicated blueprints on numerous sheets of paper. She doesn't know much about engineering, but the drawings are fascinating. Far from exuberant sweeps of paint, there's still something beautiful about them. Creation in another form. She wonders what her parents would think about it. Would they consider it art ?
"Here, take a seat." Gustave waves her over. He sits in the opposite chair instead of his own behind the desk. His attempt at removing the barrier between them is obvious, but Alicia can't help but appreciate the gesture. She sits in the offered chair, but doesn't remove her coat, unsure if she even wants to stay and talk. She just enjoys the fleeting peace.
"Alicia, what you said..." Gustave pauses at her flinch, wincing with something that could be pity, but feels more like empathy. "I- I don't know all the details. Just what the press revealed. So maybe I'm wrong, but... You don't look like a killer to me, you know." He attempts a smile. It looks too worried to be more than a lift of the lips. "It was an accident, wasn't it ?"
Alicia hates the gently tone, as if he was speaking to a spooked animal. Her father used the exact same tone, five days ago. She feels the tears coming at the thought, and can't quite choke back on the sobs as she feels her lip wobble. Before she can roughly wipe at the tears with her sleeve, there's a tissue in front of her face. The box of tissues is pushed within her reach moments later. Somehow, that small consideration just makes Alicia sob harder.
Gustave doesn't touch her as she weeps pitifully in his office. Her watery vision picks up his awkwardly raised arms, as if he wants to hug her but doesn't dare to. Alicia just curls into her seat. It hurts to look at the gentle man in front of her. His hair is too short and too light. His eyes are too dark. His smile is both familiar and all too foreign. He doesn't want to hurt her, and yet his very presence does. Alicia doesn't want him. She can't have what she wants. Just this kind stranger in front of her. The man who doesn't know her favourite book. Who can't tease her about her poetry, because he's never read it.
"I didn't - mean to." She manages to choke out. "I didn't -"
"I know. I'm sure you love your brother." There's a hand gently rubbing her arm. It's slightly too big, fingers missing familiar calluses. "I'm really sorry."
Alicia can't help but lean into the touch. She can't remember the last time someone touched her with the intent to comfort. Clea had half tried, but her hand had shaken in anger even as she reached for her.
"I couldn't say goodbye. He's dead and I couldn't even see him."
The hand on her arm stills briefly. "I'm sorry." Gustave says softly. He doesn't add anything. No other platitude, fortunately. Not even an attempt at empty comforting words. Alicia is grateful for that, at least. She doesn't want to hear that Verso is in a better world; that he's watching over her. That the pain goes away, eventually.
Instead, Gustave just rubs her arm gently as Alicia continues to cry. He doesn't judge, doesn't hush her. She cries and cries until she feels numb, until the tears lose all meaning. She feels like she hasn't stopped crying for days now, but it's different today. She's not alone, but also not under the scrutiny and judgement of her family. It feels cathartic, to be able to show her grief so openly.
"Today's his birthday." Alicia admits after a while, when new sobs refuse to come. "He'd have been twenty six. I'd planned to go to the opera with him. He loves - loved the opera." She corrects. "He said it was like theatre, but better. Because the music is integral to the story." She smiles despite herself, even as more tears fall down. "We'd squabble over the merits of both."
Gustave doesn't say anything. He just smiles, and let her vent feelings she didn't know were brewing under the surface.
"I can't stop thinking about it. About him. Every time I hear music, I hear him explaining the harmonics and why it works or doesn't. I read a new book, and I want to talk to him about the plot and the characters. Sometimes I still send him messages, and it takes me minutes to remember that he can't answer. Will never answer again."
It's worse, when she forgets for a moment. The few minutes just after she wakes up where everything is alright. Before reality comes crashing in.
"Have you talked to your family about this ?" Gustave asks, because he doesn't understand. "Grief is easier to handle when you're not alone."
Alicia laughs. It's an ugly sound, more sob than anything else. "Maman doesn't want to see her son's killer." She chokes out, and feels Gustave stiffen again. She doesn't look at him, but hear his shocked gasp. "I can't even visit Verso's grave."
"You didn't - they blame you ?" Gustave asks incredulously, as if the very idea was ludicrous. When Alicia finally lifts her head, she sees both shock and anger in his eyes. It startles her, somehow. The anger. Unlike Clea's, it's not directed at Alicia. Gustave, barely above a stranger, is angry for her instead.
"It was my mistake." She answers simply, because she has to. Perhaps, like the rest of her family, she needs to place the blame somewhere. It can't have been just an accident, just bad luck. It must be something that could have been prevented. Should have been. Verso's death is a tragedy that should have been avoided. He didn't deserve any of the pain.
"It was an accident." Gustave retorts. There's a pause, before he asks : "Are you still living with those people ?" The way he says 'people' makes it clear he wanted to use another word. Maybe a less neutral one.
Alicia shakes her head. "I'm staying at Verso's apartment, for the moment. But... I can't... I need to move out soon. I don't think maman will let me stay much longer." The thought terrifies her. She's going to lose the last remnants of Verso's soul. And she doesn't know where she's go. Papa promised to send money, but she doesn't want to rely on him. It feels like a consolation prize, another way to tell his daughter to stay away.
Gustave is silent for a long moment. He's frowning, seeming to debate with himself. Alicia leaves him to his thoughts, wondering if she should stand up and disappear. She revealed too much, put too much on this near stranger, just because he had comforted her and makes her feel safe. She can't burden Verso anymore. Can't handle her problems on her own. She wishes she could be more independent.
"You know - you're not a student anymore." Gustave tells her after a moment, looking like he's parsing his thoughts as he says them. "I mean, you could enrol again. You're just on sabbatical, officially." Alicia frowns. She hadn't known that. She had thought her dropping out was final. "But in the meantime - if you need a place to stay... I have a spare room ?"
-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-
Maelle's first Christmas feels strange - so different from all the other ones she remembers.
There was a routine to Alicia's Christmases. They were always among family only, contrary to all other festivities. It made the celebration small, but Alicia had always preferred it that way. Aline's parents had died before she could remember her grandparents, and her uncle Henri had remained an eternal bachelor, seemingly uninterested in finding a partner or having children. None of the Dessendre children had even met their father's relatives. Renoir had only mentioned, once or twice, the fact that his family had disapproved of his life choices. Alicia had wanted to pry further, had even tried several times, but it hurt to see her father's sadness each time the topic was brought up.
And so Christmas remained a six-people affair. Uncle Henri would always arrive the day before, and he and Aline would spend time together in the atelier or the greenhouse. Clea would try to sequester herself into her old room until dinner – too much joy and cheer could give her hives, according to Verso. The manor would always be tactfully decorated, apart from the Christmas tree. This one was a mess every year, as Henri insisted the point of the tree was to decorate it with so much colour it could induce a seizure. It had been fun, to take turns throwing garlands over the tree. Alicia would watch Verso try to braid one of them in their sister's hair, soon retaliated with a half-hearted attempt at strangulation. Clea had always indulged Verso, much more than anyone else.
Now, it's Maelle first Christmas, and she feels lost. Gustave had asked her, earlier in the day, if she felt well enough to go, and she'd say yes. Mostly because she knows the old fool would insist on staying with her if she declined. Maelle can't do that to him. Can't keep him away from his family just because she's messed up too much for her own.
And so she puts on her best clothes, like Alicia had in the past. Then Gustave comes out of his room wearing a garish sweater decorated with reindeers in all colours – the clashing colours remind Maelle of the old family tree, and hurts her eyes just as much.
"Right !" Gustave looks at her with a teasing smile. "I forgot to mention our family Christmases are pretty casual. I'll be right back !"
With that, he just rushes back into his room, leaving Maelle awkwardly waiting in the corridor for a minute. When he emerges back, there another sweater in his hands. This one is blue, with cheerful snowmen wishing "joyeux noël" to anyone willing to read the words. It's also much too small for Gustave.
"I know it's silly, but it's fun !" Gustave offers the sweater with a chuckle. "Everyone is required to wear one. Mandatory uniform, sorry." He makes no effort to appear sorry at all. Maelle finds herself smiling. A stray thought tells her that her parents and Clea would frown at the silly tradition. But Verso... Verso would have loved it.
"Even Lune ?" Maelle asks, chasing the thought away.
"Especially Lune !" Gustave laughs. "Sol buys it for her every year."
Maelle smiles as she takes the silly sweater. Gustave has gone out of his way to include her. There's warmth in her chest as the thought takes root. She's going to a Christmas dinner with him and all the people he cares about - and she's among their number.
"I'll be right back !" Maelle rushes back to her room. Removing the stuffy clothes she'd put on feels like a relief. Putting on jeans and the Christmas sweater feels like belonging. Your parents would disapprove. The thought should have hurt, and yet it feels like balm to her heart. They would disapprove, but they chose to cast her out. They don't want her, but Gustave does.
Her phone rings on the bed. Maelle looks at it and sees her father's new number on the screen. As she takes the phone in hand, she hesitates. She should refuse, block the new number. Go on with her new life. She doesn't want her good mood ruined. But a part of her will always seek her family's love, their forgiveness. Even as she tried to push Alicia out, Maelle still can't forget her. Esquie smiles at her from the bed, and she isn't even sure she wants to.
The phone quietens as she looks at it, then a notification for a new message startles her. Again and again, her father pushes. 'He can't accept a no.' Clea used to complain. 'Always has to have the last word'. Last time Maelle heard her father's voice, he was crying as he told her they had to pull Verso off life support.
Anger swells in her chest, and she throws the phone back on her bed. She's Maelle, not Alicia. She's going to spend a wonderful evening with Gustave and his sister and their friends. She won't even think about her father and whatever lie he told her, because it doesn't matter. Nothing is going to be fixed by listening to the people who abandoned her.
With one last look at Esquie, Maelle leaves to join Gustave at the door. He's smiling widely as he looks at the new outfit, and she smiles back.
-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-
Alicia looks at the bedroom, and feels lost. It's been almost a month since the move, but it still doesn't feels like hers. Gustave let her decorate as she wishes, and had removed his belongings from drawers before she moved in, leaving only the bed, desk and drawers. Walls free so that she could hang whatever she wanted. A month after, they are still bare.
When Alicia left her brother's apartment, she only took the essentials. Most of her belongings had been lost in the fire anyway. But as she packed up, she hadn't been able to keep herself from taking some of Verso's belongings with her. It had felt like stealing at the time. Not from Verso – he would have gladly given what she took, had he been able to. But weeks later, Alicia still dreads getting a phone call from her mother or from Clea, threatening to call the police for taking what doesn't belong to her.
There's a knock on the door, startling Alicia out of her thoughts. "Dinner's ready !" Gustave calls out. His tone is cheerful, but to Alicia's ears, it feels a little forced. She wonders when his patience will run out, when he tells her 'alright, you've been a burden long enough, time for you to get out'.
"Coming !" Alicia calls back, trying to match the tone, knowing it wouldn't land. Sighing, she pushes the box containing her brother's belongings under the bed before leaving the room.
Gustave waits for her at the dining table, where boxes of takeout have been placed. For a fleeting moment, Alicia wants to tease Gustave. 'You say dinner's ready as if you actually cooked !' She'd have said this to Verso, and he'd have teased her right back about her own lack of skill in the kitchen. But Gustave isn't Verso. Alicia doesn't even know him that much. She doesn't know how he'd react to teasing. Would he joke back, or would he get angry ? Would he throw her out for being ungrateful ? She feels ungrateful, to this kind man who took her in when he had no obligation to. She only repaid him with silence during the day, and screams during the night as she woke up from nightmares, over and over again.
Alicia isn't hungry anymore, but she still sits at the table. The food smells wonderful. A quick glance at the packaging shows it comes from one of her favourite places. It just makes her feel worse.
"Are you alright ?" Gustave asks as she fails to even touch the food. What can she even say to that ? 'Thanks for the food and for being so kind, but you're wasting your time and effort' ? Alicia feels tears coming to her eyes, and she squeezes her eyes shut. It's not fair. Gustave is trying to cheer her up. She shouldn't feel so wretched. "Right, stupid question." She hears him mutter.
"I'm fine." Alicia quickly replies, hoping her voice comes out less wobbly than her thoughts. "Thank you." She tries to smile as she reaches for the food.
The silence is awkward as they eat. Alicia pokes at her food more than anything, her appetite still refusing show. She knows she lost weight, since the fire, but she can't bring herself to care. So what if she can't eat, or sleep, or just exist ? Neither can Verso. And he didn't deserve it.
"I was thinking..." Gustave suddenly speaks up before hesitating again. He glances at Alicia with nervous energy. "The university is closed for the holidays, next week. And I was thinking... You don't get out much."
Alicia looks up from her barely touched meal. Is Gustave trying to tell her he wants his space back for the holidays ? She's tried to take as little space as she can, but she knows she hasn't succeeded much in that goal. Gustave is probably tired of having to wake her up from nightmares anyway. "When do you want me to leave ?"
"Wait, what ? No ! That's not..." Gustave looks at her in horror for a heartbeat before closing his eyes in frustration. "I didn't mean... merde." He mutters as his flesh hand ruffles his hair in agitation. He takes a deep breath before looking at Alicia again. "We could go somewhere together, is what I wanted to say. Wait, no, that sounds..."
"Why ?" Alicia asks, cutting his fumbling words.
"You've been holed up in your room for the past month. And I know..." Gustave looks to his left, where his arm would be if he hadn't removed his prosthetic already. "It's difficult, to get back out after everything. But you can't just wither away in your room. I can't let you."
"It's not the same." Alicia retorts. She feels her hand clench around her fork. What does Gustave understand, really ? He has scars, like her, but the circumstances are different. He deserved to get better after his accident.
"Alicia... I know I can only relate to part of it, alright." Gustave moves his chair to get within reach of her, but his hand hovers without touching. "I want to help you. When I lost my arm, I had my sister and my friends around to help. They never gave up on me, and were patient even when I felt like I didn't deserve it. And it's just..." Alicia glances up and feels her heart clench as she sees the tears in Gustave's eyes. "It's not fair. That you don't have that support. It's not !" He cuts her off when Alicia opens her mouth to retort. "You don't deserve what your family put you through."
Alicia looks down, her hand still clenching the fork even as she forgot about it. She doesn't know how to feel about Gustave's words. It's not the first time he utters them, but he still says them with as much conviction. Even after a month of living with her as the worst roommate he could find. Even after nights of being woken up by her screams. Even after Alicia failing to show any gratefulness for his patience.
"It was my fault." She chokes out through tears. She hates them, always coming all too easily now. She feels manipulative, when she cries. As if trying to bring sympathy when she doesn't deserve it.
"Alicia, I don't know your brother, except from what you told me, but..." Gustave's hand covers hers, gently prying her tense fingers away from the fork. "Verso loved you so much, that's a certitude. And I know that, if Emma had been trapped like you were, I wouldn't have hesitated either. Nor would she have. And I wouldn't want her to feel guilty, if I didn't make it out. I don't think Verso would want you to, either."
"It doesn't matter what he'd want !" Alicia wrenches her hand away as she bolts off her chair. "He's dead ! He's dead and I killed him ! I set the fire ! It was my fault !"
"It was an accident !" Gustave tries to cut her off. His voice is full of concern, and Alicia hates it. Why can't he just blame her, like everyone else ? Why does this stranger care so much, when her own family doesn't ? "Would you blame Verso, if he had been the one to light the fire ?" Gustave asks over her, and the question feels like a slap to the face.
Would she ?
Would it be Verso's fault, that he died, if he had been the one to set the fire ?
Would their mother blame him, then, for dying ?
"I..." Alicia feels her mouth open and close as words refuse to form. She looks at Gustave as he cautiously approaches, as if she were a spooked horse.
"Your own family blamed you from the moment you woke up. I understand it's hard to disregard their opinion, they're your family. But Verso is your family too. What would he think, now ? Would he agree with your parents ?"
Alicia wants to say 'yes'. It's what her family would answer. Verso was only twenty five, his whole life ahead of him. He'd finally joined the orchestra two years ago, was finally coming closer to reach his dreams. He'd wanted to compose, to make it out outside of their family's influence. And all of that had been lost in one night, just because of Alicia.
But Verso...
He'd always loved his family. Alicia knows in her heart, that he didn't regret is choice that night. It hurt to think, but she knows it's the truth. He'd be hurt to see their family so fractured, he wouldn't want Alicia to be alone.
"No. He wouldn't." Her voice feels small as Alicia finally answers. The words are wrenched from her throat almost against her will, unable to lie. She sees Gustave relax, relief clear in his face.
She feels exhausted, suddenly. As she slides against the wall to the ground, Alicia just lets her tears fall. She brings her knees up to her chest, hides her face behind them. Gustave sits next to her, but he doesn't push further. Doesn't touch her, doesn't talk. He just exists, reminds her she isn't alone. Alicia just feels tired of it all. She never wanted any of this. She just wanted to spend her birthday with her beloved brother. She never wanted to hurt him. To hurt anyone. But intentions don't matter, Clea would say. Only results.
And the result was clear. Alicia had caused her brother's death. She was responsible. Verso would forgive her, if he still lived, but no one else. Alicia had done so much damage.
She doesn't want to be Alicia anymore. She doesn't want to hurt her loved ones.
"Gustave ? Where did you want to go ?"
She's not looking at him, but she feels him startle next to her. "I hadn't gone that far." He admits after a moment. "I thought we could decide together."
"We often went to Cannes in the summer, or to visit other countries. Or the Alpes for the winter, sometimes." She remembers many winter holidays spent skiing with her siblings. The memories are bittersweet now.
"Have you ever gone to Bretagne ?" Gustave suggests. "There's some really beautiful cities to visit. I worked in Saint-Malo for a time, I could show you around."
"I'd like that." She finds herself smiling. A new experience. Something unrelated to anyone in her family.
It feels like a fresh start. She refuses to contemplate if she deserves it. It doesn't matter. She can be better than Alicia.
-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-
Three days later, Maelle replaces her old shell. She's determined to be better. She can't erase Alicia's mistakes, but she can refuse to make new ones.
It doesn't stop the nightmares, but at least she has someone to blame other than herself.
-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-
Christmas had felt magical. Not in the childish way it used to, but in the way it had felt like a reprieve. A day out of time, far from the nightmares and the pain. Everyone had been welcoming of Maelle despite being much older. They'd all treat her like Gustave's younger sister, instead of the stranger she truly was. Maelle had met Emma and her partner Sol a few times before, but she had been unsure of how to behave around the couple despite Gustave's reassurances. They'd both been nice and patient, but Maelle usually spent too much time wondering how much they knew about her and her problems. At Christmas, they hadn't focused so much on Maelle, letting her relax more. Sol's sister Lune had come with her partner, a sharp-eyed woman named Sciel, and they'd both been good company. All in all, it had been a good night.
A distraction.
The nightmares come back the following night, even more vicious – as if taking revenge on Maelle for daring to smile. Sometimes, she wonders if Verso haunts her on purpose. If he's angry at her for trying to move on, to be happy. She feels guilty afterward. Verso would never wish her harm, of course.
In the days following Christmas, Maelle feels more and more exhausted. Time warps around her, hours feeling like days and second all at once. New Year's Eve comes closer, and a vice tightens around her heart and mind. Maelle wishes she only dreaded that date, that it would only be one bad day and then she'd feel better. But she looks at next year's calendar and already marks down every other. The day she woke up. The day she saw Verso for the first time, hooked up to too many machines. The day her mother forbid Maelle to come see her brother. The day she moved out. The day papa called crying and apologizing.
Almost a year since her twisted calendar began, and it still doesn't feel real. Sometimes, it feels like a bad dream that Maelle will wake up from, any minute.
By the thirtieth of December, the feeling becomes even more unbearable. Like the calm before the storm, except Maelle can't remember when the storm ever stopped around her. She barely sleeps the night before, tossing and turning until she just gives up. Instead, she spends the time laying in bed with Esquie in her arms, trying not to think.
Her phone rings in the early morning, and Maelle breaks from her daze long enough to look at the screen.
Papa...
He'd been calling her every day since Christmas, more and more insistent. He'd left messages after each times she had declined to answer, but Maelle hadn't been able to listen to them. Renoir had been vague in the one and only text message he'd sent. Perhaps he had explained more in his later messages. Unfortunately, just the thought of her father's voice chills her to the bone. The last time Alicia had heard her father had been in February, when he'd told her about Verso. She’s deleted all his messages without listening to them.
The phone quietens after a moment, then dings again with a message. Maelle sighs, clutching Esquie closer to her chest, and deletes it.
She wonders when Renoir will lose patience. He knows where she lives, and she dreads the moment he'll just knock at the door and demand her attention. The anniversary is tomorrow, and Maelle knows her time is running out.
Outside her door, she hears Gustave get up and begin his day. The coffee machine turns on, then the stove. Maelle knows he'll soon call for her, knowing she's awake. Of course, just as he's done in the last few days, he won't insist on her getting out of bed or being productive, but he also won't leave her to stare at the ceiling alone.
-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-
"Alicia ? Are you hiding here ?"
Verso knocks on her door are insistent, and he sounds worried. Alicia just huddles closer under her covers, trying to stifle her sobs. As much as she wants her brother around, she doesn't want to worry him. Not when he's so busy with university. She wonders if he finds her too childish, if he would rather go see his friends than his eleven years old sister that's too clingy and too emotional. His baby sister that can't even find and keep friends, and relies on her brother to entertain and comfort her instead.
"Alicia, I'm coming in."
She hears the door open, and stills in her bed. There are footsteps, soft and sure. Verso is going straight for her bed – where the lump of the cover makes for an obvious target. Alicia stubbornly refuses to emerge anyway, huddling closer as she feels the weight of her brother sitting on the bed besides her.
"Papa told me some of what happened." Verso says softly, and Alicia has to stifle another sob. "Do you want to talk about it ? Or do you want a distraction ?"
Alicia smiles through her tears. That’s why she loves her brother. If she chooses the distraction, he'll just walk her to his room and play the piano for her, or they'll read stories together and talk about her imaginary worlds. But then again, he'll worry anyway.
She pulls the sleeve of her sweater up, so she can swipe at her eyes and erase the tears. She can't do anything about her blotchy face, but maybe Verso will think she stopped crying before he came in. Pulling the cover back, she sits up and looks at Verso through still blurry eyes. He's as perfectly groomed as always, clothes as elegant as their maman demands. He looks at her with worry, but he still smiles gently at her.
"I tried." She sniffles. "I promise I tried."
"I know. Maman knows it too, but she's a perfectionist." Verso lays a hand on her shoulder, using the leverage to gently pull Alicia toward his chest. "She feels bad about yelling at you."
"I'm never going to be as good as Clea and you."
Verso sighs, and begins combing through her hair. "Don't compare yourself to us. Clea is a wonderful painter, and an even better sculptor, but I read her attempts at poetry. You know I can't dance to save my life. I love your stories, how you build your worlds. We all have different talents, and different struggles. You're a talented writer, you know. It's not fair to shame you for your difficulties and ignore your strengths."
"But what if I want to be a talented painter ?"
"Do you ? Or do you want maman and papa to be proud of you ?"
Alicia hesitates. The truth is, she’s started to hate painting. Ever since her maman started coming harder on her, criticising every mistake, she's started to dread every private lesson. But she can't just refuse to paint, she can't ignore her Maman. She envies Verso, who has managed to convince their mother to let him pursue music instead. She wishes she had the same confidence.
"Hey." Verso shakes her softly, pulling her out of her thoughts. "You don't have to decide now, but Maman let me go to the Conservatory eventually. She'll let you study literature when the time comes, if you want to. Or anything else. She just wants to share her passion, and sometimes she forgets that her passion isn't other people's. You just have to remind her. Maman loves you, Alicia. She wants you to be happy."
Alicia settles into her brother's embrace, letting both the gesture and his words comfort her. Perhaps she'll tell her mother, later. Perhaps, with Verso's words, she'll find the courage.
-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-
There's a knock at the front door. Maelle registers it distantly, but doesn't move from her bed. She squishes Esquie gently in her arms, petting the soft cloth, and tries to ignore everything else. She wants to ignore the whole world.
Maybe then the world can ignore her back. Just for a little while.
"Bonjour ? Who -"
Gustave stops, sounding shocked, and Maelle immediately tenses. Whoever is at the door isn't good news. It's evidently no neighbour asking to borrow some eggs. No stranger would bother them on the thirtieth of December. Maelle only has one thought.
What if Renoir finally decided to make his move ?
Limbs shaking, still clutching Esquie, Maelle slowly gets up and moves to her bedroom door. She opens it only a slit, just enough to see the apartment's entrance. From here, she can only see Gustave's back, not whoever is at the door, but it's enough to know Gustave is alright.
There's no response to Gustave's aborted question that Maelle can hear, but Gustave gasps and takes a step back. When he next speaks, he sounds absolutely stumped.
"How - I thought - You -"
Gustave takes another step back, and looks toward Maelle's barely open door. He flounders for another moment, eyes wide in surprise and shock. There's the sound of a cane softly hitting the ground, and Maelle tenses even further. And yet Gustave doesn't look angry at all, not like how he always looks when Renoir comes up in conversation.
Maelle retreats, closing the door before whoever is at the door can see her. She can't think of one person that would leave Gustave so lost and also wish her well. Looking down at Esquie, still clutched tightly in her arms, she feels frozen. She wants to flee, to avoid the world again - but it seems the world has now come knocking at the door instead.
There's movement outside, then Gustave's voice just outside her door. "Maelle ? Can you come out please ?" Gustave sounds out of breath, close to panic himself. Maelle feels bad for leaving him to deal with her problems, again.
"Is it my father ?" Maelle manages to squeak out, heart hammering in her chest. She fears the answer to be 'yes', but dreads the opposite even more. What if it's Clea ? Or Aline ?
Gustave falls silent for a moment, mouth opening and closing like a fish. He flounders for another breath, then "No - not your father. I - Please come, I don't think you'll believe me if I just tell you."
Perhaps she should gather her courage, face her opponent straight on instead of making Gustave deal with them. Heart still hammering in her chest, Maelle squeezes Esquie one last time for comfort, then puts the plush down, under her bed – where Renoir or Clea won't immediately find him. Inhaling deeply as she attempts to calm her nerves, she almost wrenches the door open.
Gustave takes a hasty step back from the entrance. He looks apprehensive, nerves barely contained as he looks at Maelle with wide eyes. "Come on." He gently ushers her, putting a hand on her back in support. Maelle feels it shake. The living room is just at the end of the small corridor, and Maelle takes what little time she has to prepare herself to confront her family. Renoir with whatever lies he wants to unveil, Clea with her righteous anger. Aline, looking at Alicia with tears in her eyes and resentment in her soul.
Instead, Maelle stops dead at the entrance as she sees the visitor.
For before her stands a ghost. An impossibility.
There's a man in front of her. With dark curly hair and pale grey eyes. Eyes she knows and has seen every day of her life for eighteen years. And yet he can't be there. He's been dead for ten months.
Alicia grieved him for a year, and he can't be here. Can't be looking at her with so much love now, with tears falling down his face. Can't be lifting a trembling hand toward her as if to invite an embrace.
Can't be.
And yet...
Maelle takes an automatic step toward the man. She wasn't allowed at the funeral. She wasn't allowed to see the grave, or his body. Renoir has been calling for two weeks, after admitting to lying to her. She's wondered about what.
She wonders no more.
Voice almost inaudible from trembling, she just manages to utter "Verso ?"
She doesn't have time to brace before her brother collides with her, embracing her fiercely. Maelle returns the hug desperately, breathing heavily. Her heart still hammers painfully in her chest, panic refusing to go down. Squashed against Verso's chest, she tries to focus on the details as she sobs into his shirt.
It doesn't feel real. She has to make it real.
Alicia remembers many similar embraces in her childhood. She always went to Verso first after a nightmare, or when she needed comfort. Verso always hugged her, protected her from the world. But this embrace feels different, even as she recognises his scent and his touch.
Verso is shaking just as badly as she is, too-thin arms wrapped around her. He feels almost fragile in her arms, instead of the bastion of a big brother he used to be. He doesn't whispers sweet reassurances into her ears. The only sound Maelle can hear from him is his ragged breathing.
Maelle knows she should speak, demand to know what happened, when Verso woke up. She wants to call Renoir and just scream. She doesn't want to even blink, for fear the dream could come to an end. For fear that Verso would just disappear, like in so many of her nightmares.
She can't get her body to unclench, can't bring herself to release Verso, even as her tears drench his clothes and her death grip on him crumple his jacket. She feels Verso's hand against her back, drawing soothing motions as he always did before.
The embrace lasts an eternity, and ends all too soon. Maelle feels her brother falter against her, swaying away. He barely manages to catch himself on the dining table before his knees buckle.
"Verso ?! Are you okay ?" Maelle asks in renewed panic. Looking around frantically, she sees Gustave hesitantly coming closer to help. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees a cane on the ground - where it had fallen when Verso embraced her.
"It's okay, I think he just needs to sit." Gustave says, looking at Verso for confirmation. Verso just smiles sheepishly and nods. "See ? Let me help. I'm sure you have much to talk about, you'll be more comfortable on the couch !" Gustave adds with forced joviality. Maelle wonders how he can be so calm.
Maelle refuses to let go of her brother as Gustave helps him to the couch. She feels as if releasing him, even for a second, would make him disappear. She can't look away, even as her vision continuously blur from her tears. She knows Verso does the same, and she has to steel herself not to hide her own scars, her blind eye.
Verso looks, objectively, so much better than he did the last time Alicia had seen him. Of course, he had been covered in bandages and could only breathe with help from machines then. Maelle can't stop herself from comparing him to the brother she remembers from before instead. Verso used to light up any room he entered, with his easy charisma and attention to his appearance and words. Now, he feels diminished somehow. He's thinner than she remembers, his clothes just a little too big on him. His face is paler and gaunter, and he looks tired. His hair and beard, as well groomed as they are, can't hide the burn scars on his jaw and neck. Maelle knows there are many more hidden under his clothes. He apparently has to use a cane to walk, and tires too easily – because of the burns ? From the coma ?
Every scar, every blemish reminds Maelle of her guilt.
And then, there's the fact Verso still hasn't said a word to her. He still looks at her with wet eyes full of love, a gentle smile on his face as he squeezes her hand as hard as she does, but he doesn't speak.
"Here, you dropped this." Gustave breaks the silence. He holds out Verso's cane and a notebook, and Verso looks relieved as he takes both. Gustave retreats, awkwardly shuffling away to give the siblings some space.
"Verso ?" Maelle tries again, voice still shaking. "How – Papa said – " She stops. Her mind feels empty, too overwhelmed. She just sees Verso finch at the mention of Renoir. He looks down at the notebook, and fiddles with a pen for a moment before opening the book to a blank page.
"I'm so glad to see you, Alicia." He writes, and Maelle can only sob again – for she not only robbed her brother of a year of his life, but also of his voice. She looks at the burn scars on his throat again, feeling worse with every passing second.
She feels a weight on her shoulder, and sees Verso's hand gently rubbing at it, eyes full of compassion and reassurance. This time, it just makes Maelle feel worse. To see her brother so diminished, scarred and voiceless, still reaching out to her in comfort. As if she deserved it, after what she did to him.
She looks down, avoiding Verso's eyes, but can't bring herself to shake off his hand. After a moment, she feels him move, and hears him write on his notebook again. Then the notebook is dropped in her lap, insistent. Maelle almost wants to ignore it, but she can't. How can she refuse to hear her brother out, in the only way he can communicate ?
And so she looks down, and reads. "It's alright. I'm just recovering. I promise."
"You'll get your voice back ?" Maelle chokes out. Verso smiles and nods reassuringly. Maelle isn't sure how much she can trust him not to lie to spare her feelings. "When did you wake up ? When did you come home ?"
Verso takes his notebook back, and takes a moment to write. He begins to flip the notebook to show her, but before she can read, he takes it back and two other sentences.
"Four months. And almost two months. I'm sorry I didn't come earlier. I didn't know where to start."
Four months. Verso had been awake for four months, her family had known he was recovering for four months, and yet no one had called her. Renoir had lied to her ten months ago, and hadn't bothered to rectify this lie even after he'd known Verso was getting better. Maelle had missed four months with Verso, because no one had thought to tell her.
"Papa said –" She manages to choke out. "He said you were - He's been trying to call me for two weeks."
She sees Verso's eyes darken in anger, his grin on his pen tightening as he rushes to scrawl on his notebook.
"He told me two weeks ago too."
"Why would he –" She stops. She sees Verso begin to write, and hastily stops him with a hand in his wrist. She doesn't want her brother to answer, doesn't him to try and make her understand Renoir and smooth the edges. Maelle wants answers, but more than that, she wants a confrontation. Wants to yell at her father, to scream in his face and not stop until he's as much of a mess as he made her.
"I'm sorry." She reads as she looks at the notebook again, and Verso looks close to tears again. It makes her own eyes water, and anger rise in her chest.
"Sorry ? Why are you saying sorry ?! You didn't do anything wrong. I - I'm the one who - It's all my fault." She cries. How can she be angry at Verso, when he's the only one in the family not at fault. Maelle can be angry at Aline for throwing her out of the hospital, at Clea for refusing to help, at Renoir for everything else. More than anything, she's angry at Alicia for the fire. For being a stupid little girl that hurt her brother.
The notebook is shoved in her lap again, but Maelle ignores it.
There are arms around her again, as Verso tries to comfort her as always. It is and has always been his first instinct, and Maelle hates how much she craves it. She doesn't deserve her brother's empathy, but can't bring herself to refuse it. She's taken her brother's hugs for granted for too long.
When she finally looks down at the notebook, there's a new sentence.
"It wasn't your fault."
She cries harder into her brother's comforting embrace.