Ceilings

Caitlyn walked through the crowded halls of her high school, her gaze fixed straight ahead as if daring anyone to try to talk to her. She kept her backpack straps tight over her shoulders and her movements precise, her posture as rigid and disciplined as it was on the ice.

She didn’t stop at the lockers to chat or linger in the cafeteria for gossip. Although she was the president of too many clubs to count, she didn’t sit with a regular group at lunch, and certainly didn’t waste time on idle chatter. Instead, she moved like a ghost through the chaos of teenage life, her sharp focus on academics mirroring the intensity she brought to skating.

In the classroom, Caitlyn excelled. She always sat near the front, her notebook meticulously organized, her hand shooting up to answer questions with a clarity that made her teachers nod in approval and her classmates roll their eyes. But she noticed the sideways glances, the whispered comments just loud enough for her to hear.

“Ugh, there she goes again.”
“She thinks she’s better than everyone.”
“Probably just practicing being perfect for the Olympics or something.”

Caitlyn didn’t react. She’d perfected the art of keeping her face neutral, her emotions locked away where no one could reach them. But each comment stuck like a pinprick under her skin, adding to the ache she’d carried from the rink the day before.

By lunchtime, she had retreated to the library, her usual refuge. She buried herself in a stack of textbooks and a pile of practice problems for her next calculus test. The numbers and equations gave her a sense of control, something predictable in a world that often felt overwhelming.

Still, her mind wandered. She thought about Vi’s comment during their lesson. The teasing joke that had struck too close to home. She clenched her pen tighter, her stomach twisting. She wasn’t ready to face Vi again.

When the final bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, Caitlyn lingered by her desk, pretending to organize her notes. She knew she had to head to the rink for practice, but the thought of being at the rink again made her head hurt.

“Just get through it,” she muttered to herself, stuffing her notebook into her bag. “It’s just another session. You’ve handled worse.”

As Caitlyn walked to her car, the chilly air biting at her cheeks, her mind spiraled back to the unrelenting expectations she had been living under for as long as she could remember. The weight of her parents' success bore down on her like a stone she couldn’t shake off.

Her mother was a powerhouse politician, known for her sharp wit, flawless public image, and unyielding ambition. “A Kiramman never falters,” her mother would say, her voice cold but resolute. Every slip up Caitlyn made, no matter how small, was a reflection not just on herself but on the family name.

Her father, on the other hand, was equally demanding in his own way. A world renowned surgeon, he rarely spoke unless it was to offer criticism. When he did acknowledge Caitlyn, it was only to push her harder. “Excellence isn’t optional,” he had once told her, after a less than perfect performance at a regional skating competition. “If you’re not the best, why bother at all?”

Caitlyn had grown up watching both of them excel, never showing weakness, never stopping to rest. Their achievements loomed over her like mountains she was expected to climb. And so, she had internalized their ethos. Every mistake felt catastrophic. Every moment of rest felt like failure.

Her academics were pristine because they had to be. Her skating was relentless because falling short wasn’t an option. Even her appearance was scrutinized, her mother often reminding her to “look presentable” or “lose a few pounds” to maintain the image of perfection they had cultivated as a family.

It wasn’t just about her future, Caitlyn thought bitterly. It was about upholding their legacy, ensuring that the Kiraman name remained synonymous with success.

As she pulled open the door to her sleek car, Caitlyn let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She gripped the steering wheel tightly, staring blankly at the dashboard for a moment.

She thought about Vi’s carefree grin, her boldness, her refusal to take anything too seriously. The contrast between them was like night and day. Caitlyn couldn’t afford to be reckless or lighthearted; every step she took was measured, calculated, deliberate.

“Why can’t I just be enough?” she muttered, her voice barely audible in the quiet car.

She knew the answer, of course. Being enough wasn’t good enough. Not for her parents. Not for the world they had groomed her to thrive in. And certainly not for herself.

The rink was supposed to be her sanctuary, the one place she could escape from the crushing weight of expectations. But now, it felt like even that refuge was slipping away.

Caitlyn started the car, the engine purring to life. She glanced at her reflection in the rearview mirror. Perfectly styled hair, no stray blemishes, every detail in place. Yet all she could see were the flaws her mother and father had drilled into her.

She bit her lip, pushing back the wave of emotion threatening to spill over. There was no time for weakness, not when she had another day to endure.
“Just keep going,” she whispered to herself, pulling out of the school parking lot. “You don’t have a choice.”

The rink loomed in front of her, its simple facade belying the intensity of what went on inside. It was the place where she’d spent countless hours perfecting every jump, every spin, and every step of her routine. But lately, it felt less like a haven and more like a battlefield. One where she was fighting not just her own expectations but everyone else’s too.

Caitlyn let out a breath, forcing herself to move. She grabbed her bag from the passenger seat, slinging it over her shoulder as she stepped out into the crisp air. The weight of her skates inside felt heavier than usual, as if they knew what awaited her.

Inside the rink, the familiar chill seeped into her skin immediately, the faint smell of ice and rubber greeting her like an old companion. She headed to the locker room, nodding politely at a few other skaters and hockey players she passed along the way. None of them stopped to talk, she had cultivated that distance long ago, keeping her focus on the ice and nothing else.

The locker room was mostly empty when she entered. Caitlyn slid onto a bench, pulling out her skates with practiced efficiency. Her fingers moved quickly, lacing them up tightly, the repetitive motion grounding her. She took a deep breath, staring down at her hands as she tied the final knot.

She wasn’t looking forward to practice. Not with Vi probably somewhere in the rink. Not after yesterday.

The memory of Vi’s teasing joke about her weight flickered in her mind again, uninvited. Her jaw tightened, and she shook her head as if to physically dislodge the thought.

“Focus,” she whispered to herself.

Caitlyn pushed off from the boards, gliding onto the ice with the effortless grace that had become second nature. The sharp cold of the rink enveloped her, and for a fleeting moment, she felt a sense of control, a rare reprieve from the storm in her head.

She started her warm up routine, moving through the familiar motions. A few laps around the rink, slow at first, then faster, letting her muscles wake up and adjust. But as she pushed harder, her legs felt heavier than usual, her balance a little off.

“Come on,” she muttered under her breath, frustrated. She shook her arms out, trying to loosen up, and moved into a sequence of simple spins and jumps.
But each movement felt wrong. Her limbs were sluggish, her vision blurred slightly at the edges. When she landed a single axel, her knees buckled, and she stumbled to the ice.

She groaned, pushing herself back up, but her head was pounding now, and a wave of dizziness washed over her. She skated a few more feet, determined to fight through it.

Then everything seemed to hit at once. Her legs gave out beneath her, and she crumpled to the ice.

The cold seeped into her as she lay there, her breathing shallow and uneven. Her heart raced in her chest, and her vision swam as the fluorescent lights above seemed to pulse.

She knew what was happening. She’d felt this before. Days of running on empty, her body finally giving up. She hadn’t eaten more than scraps in days, and even then, she’d pushed herself through grueling practice after grueling practice.

Caitlyn groaned softly, curling her hands into fists against the ice, angry at herself. Angry for being weak. Angry for letting this happen.

Footsteps echoed in the rink, followed by a voice.

“Caitlyn?”

She recognized Vi’s voice, that familiar mix of confidence and curiosity. Caitlyn squeezed her eyes shut, trying to will herself to stand, to appear strong. But her body refused to cooperate.

“Hey! Are you okay?” Vi’s voice was closer now, more urgent.

Caitlyn felt a hand on her arm, shaking her gently. “Caitlyn! What happened?”

“I’m fine,” Caitlyn mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper. “Just... tired.”

“Tired?” Vi scoffed, crouching down beside her. “You’re lying on the ice looking like you’re about to pass out. That’s not ‘tired.’”

Caitlyn turned her face away, embarrassed and frustrated. “Leave me alone.”

“Not happening.” Vi’s tone was firm, but there was a surprising gentleness to it. “Come on, let’s get you off the ice.”

Before Caitlyn could protest, Vi slipped an arm under hers and started helping her up. Caitlyn leaned heavily against her, too weak to argue.

As Vi guided her toward the benches, Caitlyn felt tears prick at her eyes. She hated this. Being seen like this, being vulnerable. But there was nothing she could do except let Vi help her.

As Vi helped Caitlyn toward the benches, a sharp voice cut through the rink.

“Violet! What the hell are you doing on the ice with your shoes on?”

Vi flinched, glancing toward the boards where her hockey coach, Sevika, stood with her arms crossed and an expression that could freeze the ice itself.

“Uh, Coach, I was just...” Vi started, but Sevika’s gaze had already shifted to Caitlyn, slumped heavily against Vi. Her scowl softened immediately, replaced by concern.

“What happened to her?” Sevika barked, stepping onto the ice, her boots crunching against the surface as she strode toward them.

“I don’t know,” Vi said quickly. “She just collapsed. She said she’s tired, but I don’t think...”

“Stop talking and help me get her off the ice,” Sevika snapped, though her tone was more urgent than angry now.

With Sevika’s help, they managed to guide Caitlyn to the benches. Her head lolled slightly, her breathing shallow, and Sevika’s frown deepened.

“Caitlyn, can you hear me?” Sevika asked, leaning down to look her in the eye.

Caitlyn blinked slowly, her lips moving without sound for a moment before she croaked, “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, no, you’re not,” Sevika said, not buying it for a second. She straightened up and motioned to Vi. “Help me get her to the infirmary.”

Vi nodded, and together they half carried, half walked Caitlyn down the hallway to the small infirmary tucked in the back of the rink. Sevika opened the door with one hand while balancing Caitlyn with the other, ushering them inside.

The room was basic—just a cot, a small desk, and a cabinet stocked with first aid supplies, but it was better than nothing. They eased Caitlyn onto the cot, and she lay back with a small groan, her face pale against the stark white of the pillow.

After a short while, Caitlyn’s mom arrived at the rink, her pristine luxury sedan pulling up to the entrance with the kind of efficiency that screamed “no nonsense.” Sevika walked Caitlyn out, the skater leaning heavily against her. Caitlyn’s mother stepped out of the car, her tailored dress immaculate, her sharp heels clicking against the pavement.

She didn’t rush to Caitlyn or show any sign of worry. Instead, her lips pressed into a thin line as she took in her daughter’s pale face and unsteady steps.
“Get in the car,” she said curtly, ignoring Sevika’s attempts to explain what had happened.

Caitlyn obeyed, slipping into the passenger seat without a word. Her mother didn’t so much as glance at her as she slid back into the driver’s seat and started the engine.

The ride home was silent at first, the only sound was the low hum of the car and the occasional turn signal. Caitlyn stared out the window, her stomach twisting not just from hunger but from the growing tension. She knew what was coming.

Finally, her mother spoke, her voice icy. “Do you realize how irresponsible this was?”

Caitlyn flinched but didn’t respond.

“You embarrassed yourself, Caitlyn,” her mother continued, her tone sharp and unforgiving. “And by extension, you embarrassed me. What were you thinking, collapsing like that in front of everyone?”

“I wasn’t...” Caitlyn started, her voice weak, but her mother cut her off.

“No, you weren’t thinking. That’s the problem. You have responsibilities, Caitlyn. To your training, to your reputation, and to this family. Skating is what you’re good at. It’s what you’re supposed to excel in. And yet you couldn’t even finish a session?”

Her mother’s words were like knives, each one cutting deeper. Caitlyn’s chest tightened, and she bit her lip, forcing herself not to cry.

“It won’t happen again,” Caitlyn said quietly, her voice barely audible.

“It had better not,” her mother snapped. “Do you think I have time to be rushing to pick you up like some irresponsible child? You’re seventeen, Caitlyn. Start acting like it.”

The rest of the ride was suffocatingly silent. When they pulled into the long driveway of their mansion, Caitlyn didn’t wait for her mother to say anything else. She got out of the car and headed straight for the door, the weight of her mother’s words crushing her with every step.

As she entered the house, Caitlyn didn’t go to the kitchen or her room. Instead, she headed straight for the bathroom. She stared at herself in the mirror, her reflection pale and hollow, her body screaming for sustenance.

But all she could hear was her mother’s voice echoing in her head: You embarrassed me. You failed.

Caitlyn leaned heavily against the sink, tears welling in her eyes. She didn’t know how much longer she could keep this up, but quitting wasn’t an option. Failure wasn’t an option.

Taking a shaky breath, she wiped her eyes, steeled herself, and went to her room to prepare for another sleepless night of studying and planning. There was no time for weakness. Not in this family.