Chapter 26
The world outside was bustling with the usual energy—the clang of tools, the hum of vehicles passing by, the chatter of people and the ever-present beat of the city. But inside the walls of the shop, the air felt different today. There was a quiet weight to everything. It wasn't just the silent hum of the machines or the heavy scent of oil and grease—it was something else, something more familiar now but harder to bear.
Vi's eyes flicked to you, watching you carefully as you worked. Her gaze wasn't just one of observation; it was concern, something that had been becoming more frequent over the past weeks. She didn't know how to help, but she was trying. The love she had for you was obvious, but it wasn't always enough to bridge the distance between what you were going through and what she knew how to do.
You had always been good at hiding things, or at least, that's how it felt. In the past, you'd be able to pull yourself out of it, bury the sadness deep enough where it couldn't reach the surface. But lately, things had felt different. The sadness wasn't something you could shake off. It would hit you out of nowhere, dragging you under, pulling you into a deep, suffocating darkness. Some days, it felt like it would never end. And Vi... she didn't know how to handle it. She couldn't fix it, couldn't make it go away, no matter how hard she tried.
Vi stood in the corner of the shop, leaning against the wall, arms crossed over her chest, her usual confident posture now softer, almost hesitant. Her pink hair, always cropped to perfection, seemed out of place with the uncertain tension in her stance. The tattoos on her back, which were usually a testament to her strength and resilience, didn't offer her any comfort today. Today, she was uncertain.
"Hey," Vi finally spoke, her voice low but firm. She didn't want to push you, but she had to say something. "You okay?"
You didn't look up from the bike you were working on, your hands still moving mechanically, trying to fix something, anything. Anything to distract yourself. But your silence spoke volumes. You couldn't muster the energy to form the words.
It had been like this for the past few weeks. You'd wake up with that tight feeling in your chest, the heaviness that wouldn't leave. You'd get through the day, some days better than others, but there were times when everything felt like it was too much. You'd retreat into your head, and before you knew it, the whole world would feel like it was caving in on you.
Vi wasn't blind to it, though. She could see the way your eyes would cloud over, the way you'd distance yourself, even when you were physically present. She could hear the silence, feel the weight of it. It was as if a shadow had fallen over you, and no matter how much light she tried to shine into your world, it wouldn't fade.
"I'm fine," you muttered, though your voice lacked conviction. The lie came easily, something you had grown all too accustomed to. You didn't want to burden Vi with your pain. She had enough on her plate with the shop, with everything you two were building. You didn't want to add more to it.
But Vi wasn't having it. She stepped forward, her heavy boots making the floor creak under her weight. She wasn't tall by any means, but she was imposing, a presence that couldn't be ignored. She moved in close, crouching down to meet your gaze. Her eyes, usually fierce and fiery, were now gentle. Her hand hovered by your shoulder, unsure but wanting to offer comfort in some way.
"Don't lie to me," she said softly, her voice rough with concern. "I know you're not okay. I can see it."
You flinched at her words, your hands trembling slightly as you gripped the wrench a little too tightly. You didn't want to face it. Didn't want to admit it, not even to her. Because when you did, it would feel too real. It would feel too... overwhelming.
"I don't know how to help you," Vi admitted, her voice thick with frustration and helplessness. "I see you... pulling away. I see you struggling, and I just... I don't know what to do. I don't know how to make this better for you."
Her words hit harder than you anticipated, a sharp pang in your chest as if you had just been stabbed by the truth. You wanted to tell her, to let her in, but every time you tried to speak, the words felt too heavy. You felt like a burden. You didn't want to drag her down into this mess that had become your mind.
"You don't need to fix me, Vi," you whispered, your voice breaking despite your best effort to remain composed. "I just need you to be here."
Vi didn't respond immediately. Instead, she just stood there, her eyes trained on you, the silent weight of everything hanging between you. She wasn't sure what to say, what to do. Her instinct was always to protect you, to fight for you, to make everything better. But this... this was different. There was no fight she could win, no victory to claim. It was a battle within your own mind, one she couldn't fight for you.
Still, she wasn't going anywhere. That much, she knew.
The silence stretched out between the two of you. Vi's gaze softened even further, her frustration dissipating as she crouched down beside you, close enough that her shoulder was almost touching yours. The warmth of her body, the faint scent of her skin—comforting, familiar. She didn't have any answers. But she had her presence, her unwavering support, and that was something she knew you could rely on.
"I'm here, always," she said simply. "I'm not going anywhere. Whatever you need, however long it takes, I'll be right here."
You nodded, a lump forming in your throat. It wasn't much. It wasn't a fix, but it was something. The reassurance that no matter how dark things got, Vi would be there to pull you back from the edge. She wasn't perfect, and neither were you. But together, you could find a way through this.
The days that followed weren't easy. Some days, the weight of everything pressing down on you was unbearable. But Vi was there. She didn't push you to talk when you didn't want to. She didn't ask you to be "better" when you weren't ready. She just stayed. When you had a meltdown, she didn't walk away. She was there, holding space for you, giving you the time and patience you needed to process.
There were days when you'd spend hours in silence, sitting side by side in the shop, and other days when you'd work on bikes together, doing something physical that grounded you. On those days, when your hands were busy and your mind could focus on something simple, there was a relief, a brief respite from the storm in your head. And then there were the quiet nights, when you'd curl up on the couch together, the weight of your grief pressing heavy on your chest, and Vi would wrap her arms around you, her muscles tense with the desire to protect you from everything you couldn't escape.
One evening, after a particularly difficult day, you found yourself sitting outside on the porch of the shop. The cool breeze brushed against your skin, and the low murmur of the city surrounded you. Vi came to sit beside you, her expression unreadable as she rested her elbows on her knees. She had been unusually quiet all day, her usual brash demeanor replaced with a somber quietness that mirrored your own.
"I don't know how to make this better for you," Vi admitted again, her voice soft in the fading light. "I just... want to fix it. I want to make you happy. I want to see you smile again."
You looked at her, your heart swelling with the love you had for her. She wasn't perfect, but she was everything to you. And despite your darkness, you knew you could trust her.
"You're doing it already," you replied softly, your hand resting on hers. "Just being here... that's enough."
And in that moment, you realized that sometimes, love wasn't about fixing things. It wasn't about making the pain go away or solving every problem. It was about being there, through the highs and lows, through the good days and the bad. You didn't need her to make everything better. You just needed her to stay. To fight with you, even when you didn't know how to fight for yourself.
And as long as she was here, that was enough.