Chapter 13
The fallout from your argument with your parents didn't take long to reach its inevitable crescendo. The walls of your seemingly perfect world were closing in fast, and you were caught in the storm between loyalty to your own happiness and the expectations forced on you by the people who were supposed to love you unconditionally.
The day had started unremarkably. You were at Vi's garage, watching her work on an engine with the focus and skill that had become so familiar to you. The rhythmic clinking of tools against metal and the faint scent of grease brought you a strange sense of calm.
"Pass me the socket wrench," Vi called over her shoulder, not looking up from the machine in front of her.
You handed it to her without hesitation, your fingers brushing hers for just a moment. She smirked and tilted her head toward you. "You're getting better at this."
"Maybe I should switch careers and become your assistant," you teased, trying to keep things light even though your mind was clouded with worry about your parents.
Vi chuckled, the sound low and warm. "As long as you don't mind getting your hands dirty."
Before you could reply, your phone buzzed loudly in your pocket. You froze, dread settling in your stomach like a lead weight. You didn't have to look at the screen to know who it was—it could only be them.
Vi noticed your hesitation, her smirk fading. "You okay?" she asked, wiping her hands on a rag as she turned to face you.
"Yeah," you lied, pulling out the phone. The screen confirmed your fears: a text from your mother.
"We need to talk. Now."
Your breath hitched, and Vi's eyes narrowed. "Is it them?"
You nodded, unable to find your voice.
Vi set the rag down and stepped closer, her presence grounding you. "You don't have to answer," she said firmly. "Not if it's just going to hurt you."
But you knew ignoring them would only make things worse. With trembling hands, you opened the message thread, your heart sinking as you read the next few lines.
"We know about her. This ends today."
Panic bubbled up in your chest, and you stared at the words as if they were physically cutting into you. You didn't need them to spell it out—your parents had somehow found out about the kiss, about Vi, about everything.
"What's wrong?" Vi asked, her voice low and steady, though her eyes burned with concern.
"They know," you whispered, your voice barely audible.
Vi frowned. "Know what?"
"About us," you said, meeting her gaze. "About... you."
Her jaw tightened, and she took a step back, running a hand through her cropped pink hair. "How the hell did they find out?"
You shook your head, feeling helpless. "I don't know. Maybe someone saw us at the bar. Maybe one of their friends overheard something. It doesn't matter—they know, and they're furious."
Vi's fists clenched, and for a moment, she looked like she was ready to punch something—or someone. But when she spoke, her voice was calm and measured. "What are they saying?"
"They want me to come home," you said bitterly. "They think this is some kind of rebellion, that you're just... a phase."
Vi flinched at that, and guilt immediately surged through you. "I didn't mean—"
"I know," she cut in, her voice softer now. "I know what they think. Rich people like them, they always think they can control everything, don't they?"
You nodded, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. "They don't understand. They don't even want to try."
Vi stepped closer again, her fierce eyes softening as she cupped your face with her calloused hands. "Hey," she said gently, her thumbs brushing against your cheeks. "You don't owe them your happiness. You hear me? You don't have to live your life for them."
Her words broke something inside you, and you leaned into her touch, letting the tears fall. "I don't know what to do," you admitted, your voice cracking.
Vi pulled you into a tight embrace, her arms strong and protective around you. "We'll figure it out," she said. "You're not alone in this."
For a moment, you let yourself believe her, burying your face in her shoulder and breathing in the comforting scent of her. But deep down, you knew the battle with your family was far from over.
The confrontation came sooner than you expected. That evening, as you sat with Vi in the small apartment above Vander's shop, the doorbell rang.
"I'll get it," Vi said, her tone cautious as she got up from the couch.
You followed her to the door, your heart pounding. When she opened it, your parents stood on the other side, their faces etched with disapproval.
"Mom. Dad," you said, your voice trembling.
"Can we come in?" your mother asked, though it wasn't really a question.
Vi glanced at you, her expression unreadable, before stepping aside to let them in.
Your father's gaze swept over the modest apartment, his lip curling in barely concealed disdain. "This is where you've been staying?"
"It's where I'm welcome," you replied, crossing your arms.
Your mother ignored your comment, turning her attention to Vi. "You're the mechanic, I presume," she said, her tone icy.
Vi didn't flinch under her scrutiny. "Yeah," she said simply, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. "And you must be the parents."
Your father bristled at her tone. "We didn't come here to trade insults," he said. "We came to talk some sense into our daughter."
"There's nothing to talk about," you said, stepping forward. "I've made my choice."
"Your choice?" your mother snapped, her eyes narrowing. "To throw away everything we've given you for... for this?" She gestured at Vi like she was something beneath her.
Your blood boiled, and you opened your mouth to argue, but Vi beat you to it.
"With all due respect," she said, her voice low and dangerous, "your daughter's not some possession you can control. She's her own person, and she deserves to be happy."
Your father took a threatening step forward. "And you think you're the one who can make her happy?"
"I know I can," Vi shot back, her eyes blazing. "Because I actually care about her—not about appearances or money or whatever else you think matters."
"That's enough!" your mother shouted, her voice trembling with anger. "You've poisoned her against us, filled her head with lies—"
"No," you interrupted, your voice steady despite the fear clawing at your chest. "This is all me. This is who I am. And if you can't accept that, then maybe you don't really love me at all."
Your mother gasped, and for a moment, the room fell silent. Then your father spoke, his voice cold and final.
"If you walk down this path, you're no longer a part of this family."
The words hit you like a physical blow, but you stood your ground. "If being a part of this family means denying who I am, then maybe I don't want to be a part of it."
Your mother turned to Vi, her expression venomous. "You've destroyed her," she hissed.
Vi didn't flinch. "No," she said quietly. "I've helped her find herself."
With that, your parents turned and left, slamming the door behind them.
For a long moment, you and Vi stood in silence, the weight of what had just happened settling over you. Then Vi pulled you into her arms, holding you tightly.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice rough with emotion.
"Don't be," you said, burying your face in her chest. "I'm not."
And for the first time, you realized you meant it.