@cleaobscur says, some things are better left forgotten.
she doesn't mean that. she couldn't mean that. she misses him, too, alicia knows it. it's in everything she's not saying. it's in the way she pores herself into what's happening outside of the canvas. it's in the way she's blunt and even churlish in her replies to alicia right now. it's there. the love is there. the pain is there. alicia swallows, the discomfort in her seared throat amplifying. everything she wants to say is caught in scar tissue and sentiment. verso would know what to say. verso would be able to bridge the gap between his sisters.
"... no," she murmurs and it sounds as painful as it is. alicia swallows again, hands wringing in front of her. she meets her sister's steely gaze with her dulled one. another sound slips her throat.
we can't just erase him.
behind clea, their parents remain still. their mother looking on the brink of a new sort of death and their father standing, sentinel. a guard between the living and the dead. alicia's focus pulls back to clea. desperation tearing at her as she moves to reach for clea's hand. apprehensive at first and then suddenly not. suddenly it's maelle's courage she borrows to try to paint a path between them.
telling alicia to forget the canvas feels like she's telling her to forget their brother that died for her. forgetting doesn't make it better. forgetting feels like betrayal. forgetting feels like trying to pack everything away neatly. like his room that has gone untouched. the room alicia avoids at all cost because she knows if she goes in there, she'll be forced to see how everything remains unmoved. how there is no music playing down the hall. how esquie sits lonely atop verso's bed.
the light in his room remains on.
in case he comes home.
"please," alicia finds a singular word in the onslaught of what she's feeling. her knuckles blanche white as she grips clea's wrist. she's five again, begging her older sister to read to her. she's five again, and clea's always busy. always doing something. always tending to something. she's five again, and she's afraid of what she looks like in clea's eyes.
she isn't a child, but she isn't grown.
she isn't a child, but she needs her older sister.
