The End Of A Song

 

Katrielle slid the last box into the closet, her hand grazing over the braille marking it as “Performance Wear”. Moving out had been unusually easy, but that came largely from the gateway her ex had made where the unused storage closet had been. She’d always been a city girl, so moving things back into her apartment was, in some ways, relaxing. This city had good walkways and markings for the blind, and that was somewhat necessary to live anything close to a normal life. Audi, on the other hand, was very much a country girl, preferring to be away from people.

“Just one more difference,” she mumbled, walking back into the main room and flopping down on the couch. She couldn’t hear the castle out in the woods anymore. Katrielle had elected to seal the gateway with glue and paste – as she is not generally a magically inclined creature – And it dampened the sound so much, she couldn’t tell if the gateway is still there.

It was painfully tempting to check. But she avoided the act. It would be painful to discover it was still there, and it would be painful to discover it wasn’t.

She wasn’t even sure if Audi had noticed the door was sealed. Maybe she had. Was it really Kat’s to worry about if she had? She didn’t know. She pressed her hands to her face, trying to rub the stress out of her mind. She’d done so well trying not to let it get to her, trying to be distant. But now she had stacks of broken hearted songs from over the years and she was tempted to write another. Maybe it was her way of admitting she’d let go.

That was pretty hard to do, honestly. The world always felt like it was crashing down when she thought too hard about what happened. She’d been so happy, originally. She’d smiled and sung and played and she was cheered on. Audi had been so clever and so sweet and so complimentary, it had been nice. It had been a treasure. And after going through something mutually horrific together, getting so frightfully close to death, you’d assume people would stay together forever, wouldn’t you?

But, they wouldn’t. Shared experience is more in common but it isn’t a promise or a red string of fate. Sometimes going through that horror makes you swallow all the red flags you don’t want see, all the compatibility issues that are obscured in the optimism of finding someone who understands this particular thing you went through. All the moreso when they come to understand and respect some of the more esoteric parts of your own personality.

She rolled off her couch, accepting falling to the ground with a small thud. Pushing herself up, she paced her way around to the window, and used it as a guideline to let her pace back and forth. The glass felt cold under her fingertips, but winter in this city was always brilliantly cold. She adored the cold, so having that, at least, was a treasure.

She did have fun, that was the thing. Kat did enjoy the relationship and, for a long time, felt quite happy. She would get butterflies in her chest whenever Audi came home, a swelling sensation that they might have a happy life together. She’d share her latest interests and her works. At first, Audi listened to everything she made happily, cut out time in her day to look over as much of it as she could. She was interested in Kat.

…But she got bored, as most people seem to. The notes ran out, the pieces weren’t as interesting, she was busy more often. This had happened with a few friends quite easily. She’d been writing a longer piece in the echo of classical tracks, and one of her best friends also lost interest in listening to the new sections. They only came out once a week, and were barely three minutes apiece, but, perhaps the pieces weren’t interesting.

Was she interesting? Wasn’t she interesting? To who was she writing these pieces? To who was it for?

Certainly not for Audi, not anymore. But she wished it was. Maybe in some ways, the reason it was always easy to write broken-hearted songs is because she wanted to cry out until she was heard by the person she fell in love with. Even if it was likely that person didn’t exist, and Kat had gotten stuck believing an ideal and failing to see the person.

Or.. well, had gotten stuck hoping for them. She wasn’t blind to the arguments. To the squabbles they had over nothing. They both could be so stubborn and frustrated. Kat was the sort to only believe in things she could feel or prove with evidence, that were supported by things she knew. Audi was the sort to only believe she was trusted if faith was put in the words she said, if what she presented was taken as true rather than being doubted. They both had traumas related to these things, Kat to being treated like a fool for believing things she knew to be true, Audi for being doubted for speaking something she knew to be true. Ironically, exceptionally similar issues. If it hadn’t been a point of divide it might’ve been something that brought them closer.

She pressed a fingertip against the bridge of her nose. She could easily be the reason it fell apart. Hell, Audi blamed her, certainly. She’d given her a list, if you can believe it. All the things she felt was wrong with Kat. All the ways she was broken. And ended it off with asking to break up. That certainly stung. Kat marched back across her apartment reaching for the ring to throw it—

It wasn’t there. Of course it wasn’t there. She’d gotten mad recently and swept it off the table specifically so it’d roll where she couldn’t find it. She pressed her forehead against the dresser. Of course. Of course it was gone.

All of it was gone.

She’d wanted it to be gone, hadn’t she? Audi had crossed a line and it was in trying to get her to see that, that she was cut off. That she was told to leave Audi alone for a week, which of course she accepted. She’d wanted to establish a boundary and was interrupted and demeaned for trying to get to her point. And when Audi finally reached out again, it was to give that blasted list.

She wasn’t even mad about the list. The list was fine. Well, it wasn’t fine. It was the kind of thing Kat had explicitly asked not to be done to her because she’d had awful experiences like that before. So much for communication. But it was fine enough. She wanted to break up, so Kat tried to accept that with grace. And somehow that made Audi even angrier. Like she wanted Kat to bicker and beg but she’d already made up her mind. What was there to do, when the trenches were that deep?

So it’d been gone for a while.

It was already long gone. And now the ring was long gone.

She thumped her head against the dresser.

She wanted to open the gate. She wanted the ring back. She wanted the laughs. She wanted to hear Audi’s smile in her voice. She wanted to tease her and be head over heels and return to being happy.

Thump.

But it was gone. It was all gone. Everything was gone and it was mutual but it felt like it was all Kat’s fault. She hadn’t even said the words first, she hadn’t even gotten to say the words first. It was just… gone. That letter, the list, even included a note at the top acknowledging that Kat didn’t appreciate this sort of thing. Audi was aware it’d piss off Kat and she just… ignored it? What was Kat supposed to do?

Thump. Thump.

Her head started to feel sore, so she stopped, and pulled herself up. It had been weeks, months. Was it fair of her to still be like this? She soothed her self-inflicted injury and went to make herself some food. Perhaps this was always the way. She bemoaned and regretted and screamed and cried, and eventually she wrote something that said goodbye. Eventually she made a piece that said it was over, and admitted to herself that the story ended.

At least when playing the cello, the notes don’t tell anyone why they were written.