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“It's kinda nice to be alone
And only hear the echoes
Hear the echoes in the hall” It’s So Quiet Without You - Raynes
—
It started with that stupid cake. Julie and Louise invited him to decorate a cake together, just the three of them, and Verso was excited for it. Even if he’d been busy, if his mind was a little scattered from the personal projects and the social obligations he’d put himself through. Past the stress of visiting Alicia in the hospital, as her illness grew worse by the hour, he needed normal. They offered normal.
He didn’t hear the knock at the door to his bedroom. If she called his name, he hadn’t heard that either. That evening he’d asked, because he didn’t know Louise had already come by, “When are we going to decorate?”
Julie looked up at him from her laptop, and she smiled. “Oh, Louise just left. We already decorated it, do you want to see?”
Verso stared at her, then he smiled. “No, thank you.” There had to have been a logical reason for it, he’d thought, and of course he allowed himself to feel the hurt but that conversation needed to be had.
He couldn’t remember how it had happened. They were in the car, sitting in a parking lot, and Verso sighed. He tried to breathe through the anxiety, because he hated conflict but he’d promised he'd try.
“Julie… I'm sorry about the other day. It's just… when you two did the decorating without me, it— I know it's not a big deal. But I was looking forward to it. And… being asked to see the thing you two did without me after inviting me… hurt.”
It was like swallowing lead, putting his feelings in the open. It was daunting, and terrifying, because it could so easily be ridiculed and criticised, and—
Julie reached her hand out and softly asked, “Can I hold your hand?” And for a moment, he felt relief. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you like that.” It eased. Verso let loose a breath, and he allowed a wobbly smile.
It’s okay, he wanted to say, because it would be. It felt good, he’d thought,
Then,
“You know, Verso… you… tend to find malice where there isn’t any. I know you mentioned before it’s something you learned from home, and maybe… you should work on it.” She looked concerned. And maybe she was right, maybe he’d overreacted after all, maybe—
Verso pulled away. “Yeah… You’re probably right.”
Again, and again, and again. Every hurt, swept under the rug, pulled over by the same words.
You’re misunderstanding me again, Verso. You know that’s not what I meant.
He knew.
He knew.
He’d promised he would talk.
“You know… I don’t need to assume malice to be hurt by something.”
She knew. Of course she knew. “Verso, I wasn’t— I was trying to let you know that it’s okay. We’re good.” How could he even begin to explain— Verso breathed in deep, as if it would let out the tension. It wouldn’t, and it didn’t, and he was… exhausted.
“All it did,” he said, “was make me feel worse.”
For a moment, he thought maybe she was annoyed. But there really wasn’t any evidence for that and she still spoke to him in that same gentle tone, and maybe that was what made it feel safe to open up for that long. “How do I stop that from happening, then?”
What do I even say to that? Verso shrugged. “Maybe… think about how it could sound before you say it? You’re… not telling me that ‘we’re good’ — all you’re saying is that it’s my fault I feel the way I do.”
And to her credit, she really did seem to want to change that. “Maybe you could tell me… if it sounds like that again?” He’d agreed, because why wouldn’t he? Then, she added quietly, “It just… part of me feels… as if I’m walking on eggshells now.”
What was he supposed to say to that? Verso grimaced. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have— you’re right. I think I’m just overthinking it.”
Afterwards, their lack of communication really was his fault. He’d stopped talking after some time, and his pulling away stressed her out, and she came to him one night and—
“I’ve… been having bad thoughts,” she whispered as she hugged herself, “Are you angry at me?”
He promised he’d talk to her but, in that moment, he really did not want to. “I’m just tired, Julie.”
She nodded slowly. “I’ve been… Sorry. I’m sorry. I keep worrying that you’ll hate me and— I don’t want you to hate me. You’re— you’re really important to me and, and I just don’t— I don’t think I would want to live if you hated me.”
Cold, cold fear sank into him, and maybe it was wrong. But she’d been hurt so badly, and— god he was just treating her so horribly. “I’m sorry. It’s not— It’s not your fault. Really, I am just tired, but, if you need me… do you… Did you do something?”
Julie smiled, and it was such a small and fragile thing. What part of her could hurt him? “No, I just… I was struggling with the thoughts and… well I couldn’t bring myself to do anything because it’d… it’d really inconvenience you.”
Something in him cracked.
You’re acting like him. You’re making her feel trapped, she’s scared of you she—
“You know I love you, right? Please tell me you know that.”
Julie reached out to him, and it took everything in him not to pull away. “I know.”
—
The night Alicia passed away, Verso wasn’t in any condition to drive. Louise and Julie picked him up, let him cry the worst he’d ever done in his life, comforted him and he really thought it would be okay. They loved him, they had to have loved him, because why would they be there for him if they didn’t? They’d called Lune, Sciel and Gustave, all five of them at his side when he needed them most.
For two weeks, as Verso shuttered into work mode, designing the cards, Gustave writing the poem, figuring out dates and invitations and speeches, they were there. They loved him.
February 14th, in the trash, there was a broken mug.
It was a simple white mug with a gold line around the rim and handle. It was a simple white mug, it was one of Alicia’s favourites and it was broken.
His first instinct was anger, the next, resignation. Exhaustion. The apology was half-hearted at best, and he’d asked—
“There’s only one left of hers. Please, just… don’t use it. I don’t want it to break.”
“You’re treating me like a hazard, Verso. It was an accident.”
“The rest of her porcelains are still here and I don’t want to lose them.”
“You always do this. You hold in your anger until you can’t and then you take it out on me. It’s not fair.”
“... I’m sorry.”
“I… talked with Louise about us. She agreed with me that you’re asking too much.”
“I see.”
“It’s hard, Verso. I have to learn all your rules and they keep changing.”
“I’m sorry. Disregard them.”
“I’ll still do my best, because I want to respect you, and it’s… it’s not a burden. I’m trying because I love you. You know that, right?”
And he let it go, because she was right. And he wasn’t trying enough, he wasn’t patient enough, and he needed to be better. He needed to be good. She was always patient with him, even when he asked too much, and he needed to stop asking so goddamn much. “Yes, I know. I’ll be more patient. I’m sorry.”
He didn’t talk— he should have. He’d promised. He lied. It was wrong, he should have been honest as he said he would be. Instead, he was a coward, and he did not talk to her for seven days.
Seven days later, she came to him.
“Do you hate me?” The same song and dance. She would ask, he would deny it and deny it, until he was out of words and out of breath. Then she would fidget, nervous and afraid, and say quietly, “I’m… having those thoughts again.”
And he would open up again. Because she was afraid, and she was scared of him, and he kept not talking to her.
He loved her. He had to, because he promised he would, and Verso lied about so much but he couldn’t be a liar about loving someone. Surely he couldn’t. And Julie loved him. She had to, because she always talked him through every negative feeling, every insecurity, and she helped him see how much of himself needed work because she wanted him to be the best he could be. She had to love him, because when Alicia died, she was there. She called his friends when he pulled away, she was the only reason he wasn’t alone, she had to love him.
—
Close to Christmas, whatever love between them was lost forever. She came to him and asked him to drive her to the pharmacy for medication.
Alarmed, he stopped what he was doing for her, because he loved her, and she would have done the same for him in a heartbeat. “Are you all right?”
She smiled easily. “Yes. It’s for my nose.”
“Is your nose okay?”
“It’s fine. I just got it pierced.”
The concern gave way to confusion. “Oh. I thought you were trying to save money?”
Julie waved her hand, once more her tone light. “It wasn’t a lot, I budgeted for it. And it would have been this or the other option.”
He’d been so happy to finally have a normal conversation, after so long, he latched onto it without thinking. “What was the other option?” Another piercing type, he’d thought, maybe they could—
“End it all.”
He’d misheard, surely. Or it was the name of a very strange piercing. “What?”
Julie looked at him, as if what she said was completely normal, and maybe it was— between the two of them. Maybe it was. “End it all. You know… end my life.”
The door slammed shut. Verso’s expression shuttered, and he didn’t respond. He drove her, and the car ride was silent. Lost in his thoughts, so frustrated and angry and exhausted, because… he couldn’t understand why. He let her walk in alone, let her return to the car with her medications alone, drove them both home and checked his phone after some time to see her message.
Julie: I’m sorry about the blunt answer without warning. It was a heavy topic and you didn’t need to know that. I hope you’re okay, and if you want space I understand.
He sat on it for an hour. He’d locked himself in his room, listened to her taking up space in his home, and it was a childish response. He promised he’d talk to her. He’d promised.
Verso: I’m not okay. I want space.
The apartment was suddenly very quiet, and when Verso chanced to open the door, it was empty. Empty. She left him alone, and his family was waiting for him at home and he was alone.
Because Louise came to pick Julie up and left him entirely alone during the holiday after the two of them had come home from the pharmacy. The apartment door was locked and he’d locked himself up in his own bedroom once more, hands shaking, texting his friends,
Verso: Can I please call
Verso: Someone
And they’d answered. All of them, forming a group conversation, letting him cry, leaving their own respective homes to come to him and let him break down completely. Nothing like the night Alicia died, but close enough.
“I hate her,” he’d sobbed out in his anger, “I hate her so much. I don’t know why I love her, I don’t want to, I’m so tired of her—” The same phrase over and over, and it was like he could finally breathe and suddenly he couldn’t stop doing it. His body wracked with sorrow and rage, trying to reel it all back in, to turn it into love because he had to.
He couldn’t.
—
Gustave broke the silence first. “Verso, correct me if I’m wrong, but… the way I understood this, Julie does or says something hurtful and you tell her, and the conversation that follows ends with her bringing up suicide or self harm.”
He fidgeted. “It… it happens after a few days of silence. Not immediately after. And— it’s my fault, I overreact or I think the worst of her and it’s—” my fault.
Gustave blinked at him. “That’s emotional abuse.”
But maybe he wasn’t clear, maybe, “No, it’s… it’s not like that. She says she knows how it sounds, and she’s not trying to be that way, it’s… it’s not the same.”
Lune was fuming, reaching out as if to grab him but thinking better of it. “It is the same. She’s just alleviating her own personal guilt, but she’s still doing it.”
Gustave sat beside him, opening his arm and Verso leaned into him, reaching out to Lune so she could hold his hand. She took it, and Verso really thought it would help calm her down. “Even if she’s fully aware and trying not to hurt you, it’s still abuse.”
He shook his head. “She’s not violent. Honestly, I’m really not worried about her hitting me. If anything, I think she might be more worried about me hitting her.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“She doesn’t know that. Her ex—”
Lune’s hand had squeezed his sharply, and he’d stopped talking. “What she went through was atrocious, but she is quite literally putting you through the same feeling.”
And he’d denied it. Of course he had, because she had to love him. Because people who love other people don’t abuse them, and she’d been there for him before. She was patient, she cared, she loved him.
Sciel tilted Verso’s head down and kissed his forehead. “Hurt people hurt people, Verso. This isn’t to make you feel bad for her, but to understand where the treatment is coming from. She could be afraid to lose control now that she has it and— no. Stop that. Look at me.” He did, and she was firm but not unkind. “She might think you are safe for her, but you also have the potential to be the very thing she tried to escape. We know you would never, but Julie is trying to ensure that you won’t and it’s hurting you. Do you understand?”
Gustave’s hold on him tightened and he was angry and Verso knew it wasn’t at him, but he didn’t want to be the cause of it. “How much longer is she supposed to stay?”
Verso shrugged. “One more year.” Various vocal disagreements didn’t change the fact that that was what he’d agreed to. Two years of sheltering her completely.
I don’t want to live in a world where you hate me.
When did it become so cold?
“Verso.”
He shook his head and Sciel let him go. “I can’t. I can’t. If she dies— it’ll be my fault. If I tell her to leave, if she takes her life, if she dies in the street, it’s my fault.” And he loved her. He had to.
Because what would it all have been for if he couldn’t?
“What she needs is help, Verso. And you’re not capable of giving it to her. Look at what she’s doing to you.”
Nothing. She’s not doing anything, I did this to me.
“You can’t bear the burdens of two people forever.”
Why am I protecting her? After everything?
In the end it was Gustave’s voice, gentle and firm, that pulled Verso out of his own head. “She’s not letting you grieve for Alicia. You’re breaking yourself trying to be good enough for her and when was the last time you’d cried for your sister?”
The funeral. The cup. Twice.
He felt so tired and exhausted, and giving up hurt but it hurt less than holding on. Admitting it was hell, and still it felt more freeing than wanting to adhere to his original promise. “I can’t do another year.”
—
It was quiet the days Julie was finally gone. The apartment was larger, and the spaces she took up were still hers. Spaces in the corners, on the couch, mugs and utensils and snacks she liked, all still in their respective spots, as if she could walk through that door again. Verso stood in the kitchen, hands gripping the edge of the counter, trying to let the cold bleed into his skin. As if it would ground him.
Kicking her out was complicated. Even if the space was his own, she’d needed time to figure out where to go. She’d needed time, and what kind of person would he be to let her freeze on the streets? Constantly reminded that he had so much power over her life, he couldn’t be the cause of her death, and she knew. She knew Verso couldn’t do that to her and he just let her take advantage of it.
He let her.
“Really,” Verso said to himself, just to fill the silence she left behind, “You have no one to blame but yourself. You invited her here without real planning, you decided to be her sole provider.” Regardless of her previous circumstances, regardless of how much he’d loved her,
You shouldn’t have extended it to shelter. That was your own fault.
Her voice, which he had come to hate, still echoed off the walls. Her laughter, which had begun to remind him of nails upon a chalkboard, still scratched at his ears. She was gone, but she was still here, in the back of his mind. He wanted to break something. He reached out to the closest object, and his fingers wrapped around a little porcelain mug, and time stopped.
Alicia’s mug.
Grief struck him, and he set it back down— stained with coffee and something close to rage enveloped him.
He’d told Julie not to use it, to leave it be, and she still—
I hate her. I hate her so much.
It was an uncomfortable feeling, the loneliness, the longing, the fury. He didn’t know how to handle it.
His phone vibrated, and Verso looked down at the message displayed on the lock screen— a photo of him and Julie, he needed to delete it, he needed to change it and forget her, forget, forget, forget.
Lune is calling.
He wanted to ignore her, but that would have been rude. He picked up the call, and… words failed him. He couldn’t even form a simple hello, and god how was he so useless?
It wasn’t Lune’s voice on the other line, but Gustave’s, and somehow it was worse to hear his careful speech over whatever Lune would have said to him. “I know you might not be in the mood to leave the apartment right now, but we’re coming over to get rid of her things so you don’t have to.”
Verso laughed, and it might have come out more as a sob, but Gustave didn’t comment on it. “Where’s Lune?” He was ashamed to admit, his voice was not as steady as he’d wanted it to be.
Gustave paused on the other end of the line, then laughed. “She’s trying very hard not to be celebrating right now. We thought that could maybe wait until you’re feeling up to celebrating with us.” Verso laughed again, until it didn’t sound like laughter anymore, and even as he was being such a poor conversationalist, Gustave didn’t hang up on him.
It was everything.
Ever since he’d confided in his friends about everything, finally, finally, they never let him lie again— even if it was harder on them to see everything laid bare. It was the only lifeline he had in that final year, too ashamed to confide in his own family, so heavily integrated into Julie’s friendships that he’d been so afraid to lose her— too afraid to be alone again.
The first thing his friends did upon arrival was not begin throwing things out. They found him in the kitchen, kneeling on the floor, pathetic and broken and exhausted, and they held him until he returned to himself.
—
Verso wasn't alone. He would never be alone. He had friends who loved him and cared about him. He had friends who would brave the cold for him because they love him even when he forgot to love himself. He had friends who encouraged him to try to do the things he liked, because they wanted him to be happy and to find joy in life again. It was a long year, dreary and difficult and worth every weighted second in the end.
Gustave expressed an interest in learning piano, and it did something for him, to teach someone something he once loved. Sciel wanted to paint together, little things, without judgement. Lune brought carving materials and drafts, broken paintbrushes to fill the emptied shelves with his little gestrals, and Verso wasn't alone. Together, the four of them sat around the low table, painting, laughing, pulling out an old console for some silly party game.
Across the front door, there was a dresser with Alicia's photo— one she took of herself and Verso at some theme park— candles, "I miss you" notes and lengthy letters.
He wasn't alone.