Tangled Guilt & Tired Eyes
The afternoon sun coated the backyard in a warm, golden glow as Vi watched Caitlyn dash through the sprinklers with Powder, Mylo, and Claggor. Their laughter mingled with the steady hiss of water, each joyous shout and playful splash weaving a tapestry of carefree delight. For Vi, every moment of that scene affirmed something deeply important - Caitlyn wasn’t isolating herself from her family; she was embracing it, blending her world with Vi’s.
And for Vi, family meant everything.
Lost in her thoughts, Vi’s gaze lingered on Caitlyn as she ran, her heart swelling with both affection and quiet gratitude. The back door creaked open, peeling Vi from her trance, and Vander poked his head out, his tone gentle but insistent.
“Vi, can we have a chat?” he asked, his eyes warm yet serious.
Vi blinked, reluctantly tearing herself away from the idyllic scene for a moment. She nodded, her eyes still drifting toward Caitlyn with a soft smile before she rose and stepped inside, curious to hear what Vander had to say and grateful that this day of family and shared laughter was only beginning.
Vi followed Vander into the quiet kitchen, her steps hesitant and slow as if unsure of the conversation that was about to unfold. The gentle buzz of the air conditioner in the living room wafted into the kitchen, filling the quiet settling between them. Vander, already reaching for a cup of coffee, glanced back over his shoulder with a soft, knowing look. He leaned casually against the counter as she pulled out a chair, the scrape of it against the tiled floor barely audible.
Sitting down slowly, Vi placed her hands on the tabletop, trying not to read too much into the change of atmosphere. “Vi,” Vander's voice broke through the stillness, warm and earnest, yet laced with concern. “How are you holding up with all this? I know it’s not exactly ordinary for someone your age to go through everything that’s been thrown at you, especially with the past year you’ve had. I’m just… I guess I’m just a bit worried about you, kiddo.”
Vi met his gaze uncertainly, the weight of his words settling over her. She wasn’t sure where to begin or how much to say. Before she could form an answer, Vander continued, his voice softening even further.
“I understand if you’re feeling overwhelmed today of all days,” he said, his eyes shifting to the calendar on the wall behind him. The calendar read October 14th. “It’s been one year since Sarah passed.”
At the sound of his words, Vi’s eyes inadvertently drifted to the calendar; tears began falling without her realising it. Startled by the sudden vulnerability, she quickly wiped them away, her voice catching as she forced out, “I’m doing okay…”
Vander reached out and gently squeezed her hand. “You’re allowed to cry, Kiddo. It’s natural, and it’s okay to feel the pain.”
Vi quickly brushed his hand away, her tone tight. “I don’t want to put that on you, not after everything I’ve already put you through last year. I’d rather just talk about it with Olivia.”
Vander’s eyes softened with understanding. He nodded quietly before moving around the counter and resting his hand on Vi’s shoulder. “Of course,” he said gently. “Just know that I’m incredibly proud of you, Violet. In the past twelve months, despite all the ups and downs, you’ve made so much progress. You have such a good heart—you always see the best in everyone, even when it’s hard to do so.”
He paused, his gaze earnest as it met hers. “And I’ll always see the best in you, too.”
Without hesitation, Vi wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. “Thanks… Dad,” she whispered, the words coming out more naturally than she expected.
Vander pulled back slightly, a look of surprise softening into a warm smile. She’d always called him “Vander,” but now hearing “Dad” brought an unexpected tenderness to his eyes. As Vi instinctively wiped away the tears that kept falling - not wanting to show the side of herself she usually kept hidden away in her room - she felt Vander’s comforting presence allowing herself to be real, to feel every bit of the bittersweet truth in his words.
After a quiet moment or two of shared silence, Vander cleared his throat, breaking the hush. Vi sensed there was more unspoken weight in the air, shifting in her seat, a playful glint in her eyes. “You seem like you’ve got more on your mind, Old man. So, out with it.”
Vander’s warm smile deepened for just a second before he shifted his stance and moved back around to the other side of the counter, as if gathering his thoughts. His gaze drifted away, and Vi knew he was thinking of something important—something he hadn’t yet put into words. For a long heartbeat, the kitchen held its quiet tension before he spoke again, this time carefully broaching the next subject.
Vander leaned against the counter at the kitchen island, his eyes narrowing as he addressed Vi. “You do know it was incredibly stupid to basically kidnap Caitlyn last night, right?”
“Ah” Vi looked down at her hands, resting her head on the counter as if burdened by the weight of the memory of this morning’s phone call with Mel. “Yes,” she replied flatly.
Vander sighed deeply, his voice softening with concern. “There’s an even bigger risk, you know, considering she’s the Princess of England. You need to think a lot harder about your actions now. It’s not just on you; it reflects on Caitlyn, too, and by extension, the Royal family of England”
Vi’s cheeks flushed as she nodded slowly. “Shit, way to lay it on thick,” she murmured.
Vander folded his arms and raised an eyebrow, his tone a blend of concern and gentle amusement. “I’m being serious, Vi.”
I know, I’m sorry. We just… we didn’t really think about that - we were both just caught up in the moment.”
Vander shook his head slowly, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You're lucky Grayson owes me a few favours,” he said, his tone mixing amused reproach with a note of genuine care.
Vi mumbled a quiet, “Yeah,” her voice barely audible, as she pressed her hands a little tighter on the counter.
Vander cleared his throat, his tone shifting to something more teasing. “Look, I don’t need the full details of what happened with Caitlyn last night,” he said with a wry smile. “Because I basically heard the whole thing.” He murmured to himself, but just audible enough for Vi to catch it, her face flushing a deep red, eyes darting away in embarrassment. Vander continued, his voice softening with genuine concern, “But please, tell me you’re being safe with each other.”
Vi’s throat constricted for a moment, clearly unaccustomed to such open scrutiny. She managed a small, shaky reply, “Yeah, yeah we were – well are… promise, and sorry.”
Vander couldn’t help but laugh gently at her obvious discomfort before his expression grew tender again. “It’s alright, Violet - I like seeing you like this. Happy. It reminds me of your mother.”
For a heartbeat, Vi’s eyes shimmered with a mix of gratitude and lingering sadness, a wistful sigh escaping her as she nodded weakly. Then, gathering herself, she stood up, clearly itching to get back to Caitlyn and the backyard chaos—any more awkward conversations with Vander were more than she could bear. With a half-mocking, half-earnest tone, she called out, “Is that everything you wanted to get off your chest, Dad?”
Vander’s smile faltered, and his expression softened into a solemn look. “One more thing,” he said quietly.
Vi huffed sarcastically before planting herself back into the seat. Moments later, Vander reached up to the cupboard above the refrigerator and pulled out a small, worn envelope. He slid it across the counter toward her.
Curious and a bit perplexed, Vi opened the envelope. Her eyes widened as she discovered roughly $5,000 tucked inside. She looked back up at Vander, shock evident in her gaze, and managed a trembling, “What’s all this for?”
Vander’s tone was gentle as he explained, “ saved it up a while ago to put towards a car for your 18th birthday, but after last year, I didn’t know when to give it to you—” His words trailed off as he saw Vi’s face go pale.
“18th?” Vi’s voice rose slightly in disbelief. Her eyes darted to the calendar on the wall. There, marked in bold, was “Vi’s 19th”—exactly two weeks after the anniversary of Sarah’s death. In that instant, everything clicked into painful focus.
A surge of raw emotion overtook her. Vi sprang from the seat, slamming the envelope onto the counter. “I missed my eighteenth? Are you fucking kidding me? What more did she want to take from me?” she burst out, her voice a mix of anger and despair.
Vander was taken aback by her outburst; he’d expected concern or sorrow, but not such seething anger. As their eyes met, Vi’s anger faltered, replaced by a deep, aching grief. She realised that in the chaos of her sorrow for Sarah, she had let an entire birthday slip away—an important milestone that she and Powder had talked about for so long.
Unable to bear the intensity of her emotions at that moment, Vi excused herself. “Nah, fuck this,” she mumbled, her voice trembling as she rushed upstairs, leaving behind the harsh clatter of the counter and Vander’s worried gaze.
Up in her bedroom, within the safe confines of its familiar walls, the floodgates opened. Alone now, the grief she’d held back began to spiral out of control, each tear a reminder of the birthday lost and the parts of herself that had been sacrificed along the way.
She began pacing the length of the room, each measured step echoing the chaos within her mind, as if trying to chase away the pressure building in her lungs. As she walked, her thoughts tumbled over one another in a relentless torrent—memories of Sarah, that toxic presence who had unravelled her family, blazed sharply through her mind like wildfire. In a burst of frustration, Vi abruptly threw her hands up as if she could physically dispel the searing recollections. Her pacing grew erratic, her steps faltering as the overwhelming emotions threatened to consume her. With each turn around the room, her heart pounded harder, and her hands repeatedly clenched and unclenched as if trying to grasp at something solid. Finally, unable to hold back the flood any longer, Vi sank in front of her bed. Barely feeling the cold hard flooring beneath her as her mind tumbled into darkness.
Grief in its darkest form is a current out in the open sea – You can’t get help cause no one is around, and so instead, you’re left to blame yourself for getting stuck there in the first place. You didn’t do enough – and now they’re gone. You can’t just start showing up for them now, and it feels like it's all on you. You didn’t do enough. So, you sink. And you let the current pull you under. Deeper and deeper. You let the waves hold you down and throw you into the sea floor as the sand picks up and fogs your clear sight. The surface is no longer visible, just sand filling your lungs as you keep yourself locked in the prison of the past.
Vi lay there in the quiet solitude of her room, feeling the grief roll in like the relentless waves - each surge pulling her back to a time she barely remembered. The sorrow struck harder than usual, every tear and sigh a vivid reminder of the person she had once been - a self, lost in the darkness a year ago. Back then, she had transformed herself so completely for Sarah, moulding her identity in a desperate effort to keep her close. Now, the anger over that loss and the bitterness of having sacrificed pieces of her true self mingled with an overwhelming sadness.
The pain from her past mingled with a fresh anxiety, and with each passing moment, the weight of what the future might hold with Caitlyn pressed down on her. She found herself spiralling in silent dread—fearful that her blossoming affection for Caitlyn would inevitably invite the same public scrutiny that had once shattered her life. Being outed at school had been a cataclysmic event, one that had not only unravelled her but also left deep scars on her family. Now, with Caitlyn by her side, the inevitable possibility of being exposed to the entire world loomed large—a threat that sent shivers of apprehension coursing through her. Yet, even as that fear gnawed at her, Vi fought hard not to compare her current actions with Caitlyn to the compromises she’d made for Sarah in the past. The thought of changing herself again—of losing the true identity she’d fought so hard to reclaim—was almost unbearable. But in her heart, the terror of losing someone she loved like Caitlyn far outweighed the fear of losing herself.
Vi drew her knees tightly to her chest, tears streaming down her face as she struggled to breathe through the overwhelming sorrow. The quiet of her room was punctuated only by the soft sound of her heavy, ragged breaths. In the midst of her despair, she felt a gentle pressure at her side—a pair of arms pulling her to the right. Almost instinctively, she was drawn into a tight embrace.
As the warmth of the hug enveloped her, Vi immediately recognized the subtle, familiar scent of Caitlyn’s perfume. It was a comforting sign that she wasn’t alone. In that tender cocoon, Caitlyn’s whispered words broke through the haze of tears: “It’s alright, darling—let it out. I’m here.”
Slowly, Vi’s sniffles subsided, and she lifted her tear-filled eyes to meet Caitlyn’s caring gaze. Softly, Caitlyn murmured, “Vander filled me in, so if you don’t feel like talking, that’s okay. But if you do, I’m here to listen.” Caitlyn’s snaked hand around Vi’s shoulders found its way to her hair and began gently stroking through the pink locks, twirling them softly as she kept her eyes fixated on the powder blue ones in front of her.
Before Caitlyn could continue, Vi sensed her words teetering on the edge of awkward rambling—a danger Vi knew all too well. In a swift, silent plea for comfort and understanding, Vi closed the gap between them, pressing her lips to Caitlyn’s in a desperate, gentle kiss. Caitlyn melted into the kiss, her resistance crumbling under the warmth and assurance of Vi’s embrace. After a heartbeat that stretched into an eternity, Caitlyn slowly pulled back so that their eyes could meet again, both silently sharing a universe of unspoken emotions.
Vi’s heart pounded in the quiet that followed as she allowed herself a small, trembling smile. Gently, she rested her head on Caitlyn’s shoulder, a silent confession that actions spoke louder than words. In that tender, fragile moment, her voice, thick with raw emotion, finally broke the silence. “I missed my own fucking eighteenth Cait,” she admitted, the words a mixture of sorrow, anger, and vulnerability.
“I let someone change me because I thought that’s what you had to do for love. She made me believe I wasn’t capable of finding love on my own—moulded me into the perfect person for her. And because of that, I lost everything… everyone who was close to me. I pushed them all away to please her, and what does she do to thank me? She fucking kills herself – lets me deal with all the bullshit on my own. Like I always did.”
Her words faltered, and her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I want to be angry at her, I really do, but I just can’t be. It’s not fair”
Caitlyn’s gaze never wavered, silently urging Vi to continue. Gathering herself, Vi’s voice grew raw with emotion. “My eighteenth was supposed to be a celebration of all we’ve been through as a family. But I fucked it up because I couldn’t deal with my emotions properly. I lost a whole fucking year of my life. For fuck’s sake, my parents died when I was nine, and I handled it better than this.”
At that, Caitlyn’s hand moved to gently hush Vi, her touch both soothing and reassuring. After a long, weighted pause, Vi’s voice dropped to a trembling whisper, “What do I do, Cait? It’s all my fault. How do I fix this?”
Caitlyn’s eyes filled with gentle understanding as she leaned in closer. “Oh, darling, you don’t have to fix a thing right now,” she murmured softly, her voice thick with tenderness. “But what you should do is rest.”
Without another word, Caitlyn rose and extended her hand, drawing Vi into a comforting embrace. “Right now, all you need to do is lie down and sleep, darling.”
Vi protested softly, “I’m fine,” but Caitlyn wasn’t having it. With gentle determination, she cupped Vi’s wet cheeks in both hands and placed soft, lingering kisses on them as if trying to wash away the remnants of pain. Slowly, she guided Vi toward the bed, her voice a tender murmur as she said, “Please, darling, you’re exhausted—just rest. I’ll be right here next to you.”
Caitlyn pulled the blanket over Vi with careful precision, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. Then, with a quiet urgency, she slipped off the edge of the bed and hurried over to the record player. Knowing how the gentle hum of music eased Vi into sleep, she selected the “Madman Across the Water” vinyl by Elton John. Soon, the soft, familiar strains of “Tiny Dancer” began to fill the room, its melody a comforting caress.
Caitlyn climbed back into bed on the other side, snuggling close to Vi. She pressed delicate kisses to the nape of Vi’s neck and the top of her scalp, each touch a silent promise of care. Finally, she settled with Vi’s head resting tenderly under her chin, her protective embrace speaking louder than words. In that quiet, music-wrapped moment, all that mattered was the safe, shared warmth between them.