the spaces between

breaking

isa sat cross-legged on her bedroom floor, the notebook in her lap flipped open to a mess of half-scribbled lyrics and bent page corners. her pen hovered in the air, useless. nothing she wrote sounded right. it was like her brain had packed up and left, but her heart was still here—loud, stubborn, aching.

"come on," she muttered to herself, brushing hair from her face. "just finish the bridge."

she played the same melody again on her guitar—soft, unsure. the chord progression was right. the tone felt right. but the words—god, the words—felt like walking barefoot on broken glass. too sharp. too raw.

she flipped back through the notebook, looking for anything—anything—that might jog her brain. scraps of ideas, old songs, little lines she'd written at 2 a.m. and forgotten about.

and then she saw it.   

december 2017- christmas '17 triplets

her fingers hesitated over the page. the ink was faint, the corner smudged with hot chocolate or maybe tears. she wasn't sure.

suddenly, she was little again, sitting in the triplets' living room with her guitar across her lap, legs curled under her. matt and chris had just finished wrestling over the remote, and nick was eating peppermint bark straight out of the tin.

"okay, ready?" she'd asked, strumming the first chord. "this is extremely corny, so no laughing."

"no promises," chris had grinned.

but then she started singing—soft and sweet and slightly out of tune, her voice cracking on the high notes. and none of them said a word. even matt, who usually had some sarcastic comment locked and loaded, just watched her with this dumb kind of smile—like she was made of starlight and snowflakes.

they clapped when she finished. loud and chaotic.

matt had said, "that was the worst song i've ever loved."

and isa had laughed so hard her stomach hurt.

she blinked back to the present, eyes burning.
how had things gotten so far from that?

her phone buzzed beside her. she didn't expect anything, really—just another notification from some group chat she didn't read anymore.

but it was from matt.

matt:

| can we talk sometime soon?
|  please.

isa stared at the message, heart thudding, mind suddenly blank.

she stared at the texts for a long time.
it was always like this with matt—quiet for days, then suddenly full of words.

as if something had happened to shake him.
a fight, maybe. or a moment. she'd stopped guessing.

ruby parfait's house smelled like vanilla candles and soft fabric softener. everything in it gleamed like a showroom—clean lines, polished wood, perfect lighting. the kitchen counters sparkled. the white sofa hadn't been stained once. no one yelled here. no one stormed out of rooms or slammed doors. everything in it gleamed like a showroom—clean lines, polished wood, perfect lighting.

only the vase on the coffee table was crooked. she didn't fix it.

her mother was upstairs doing yoga. her little sister was at ballet. her dad was in his office, the door open just a crack.

and ruby sat on the couch, phone silent in her hands, trying not to fall apart.

at first, she just stared out the window. the yard was trimmed. the sky was pink. her reflection looked calm—still that same smooth ponytail. but she hadn't put on gloss.
she hadn't even noticed.