Ultimatum

Another day in the books. Finn's gruff voice echoed from behind, "Lock up, Em. Keys are yours tonight."

"Sure thing boss."

I nodded, tucking the keys into my pocket.

First, I do the Tattoo Equipment Tango. Yep, that's what I call it. It's like a choreographed dance where I make sure all the needles are safely stashed away, the machines are turned off and nestled in their places, and the ink bottles are sealed tight. It's a delicate balance, a dance between artistry and responsibility.

Next comes the Artful Cleanse. You'd think being surrounded by ink all day would leave things perpetually messy, but nope – I've gotten a knack for keeping this place shipshape. I grabbed a cloth and wiped down the counters, sweeping away the colorful debris of the day's work. It's a little therapeutic, I won't lie.

Last but not least, we have the Closing Ritual. This one's my favorite. I walk around, checking all the corners and nooks, making sure every ink droplet has been accounted for. I locked the drawers, adjusted the chairs, and glanced one last time at the mural on the wall – a masterpiece that showcased the studio's creative soul. The familiar buzz of the neon sign flickered as I stepped onto the empty street, the fading sun casting long shadows.

I quickened my pace, my heart skipping a beat. A rustling sound made me glance over my shoulder. An alley cat darted across the road, but the unease still clung to me. Shaking off the feeling, I turned the corner onto Elm Street.

Halfway home, a prickling sensation crawled up my spine. Someone was behind me, matching my steps. I picked up my pace, my footsteps echoing louder in my ears. The town seemed quieter, shadows darker.

My heart raced, pounding against my ribs. Every sound seemed magnified, every shadow a potential threat. My apartment building loomed ahead, a beacon of safety.

With a surge of adrenaline, I sprinted the last few yards to my building's entrance. Fumbling for my keys, I finally managed to unlock the door and slip inside. Breathing heavily, I leaned against the wall, relief flooding over me.

I glanced back out the glass door, expecting to see someone there, but the street was empty. Was it just my imagination playing tricks on me? Or had someone really been following me?

Shaking my head, I stepped into the elevator and jabbed the button for my floor. As the doors closed, I couldn't help but wonder.

***

I closed the door behind me, bone-tired after another long day. My eyes went to my parents, sitting there in the living room, all poised and proper, like they were waiting for the Queen to drop by. My stomach did a flip – something told me this wasn't going to be a casual chat about the weather.

"Just where have you been all day Emmaline?" mom stormed.

That wasn't my name. But when she got angry, she'd just about call me anything from Emeralda to...Emmaline. Whatever made her sound more strict. And clearly, she was angry. I don't know why they cared. They'd never bothered about my attendance on other days, so why now?

My mom's dramatic flair was hard to miss – there was a crumpled newspaper dramatically thrown onto the table, right where I couldn't ignore it.

My bleary eyes focused on the headline: "Alcott's Finest Daughter Makes Waves in the Wee Hours: A Night with the Unconventional Crowd." Oh, for the love of all things sane. The picture showed me, looking half asleep, sandwiched between the Banksy-parody from the other night and a hobo who'd probably seen more of life than all of us put together.

I scanned the article, and there it was – the elephant in the room, the divorce rumors about my parents. The reporter had a field day, speculating about whether my mom's maiden name, Evans, was reappearing in the social scene as a sign of an impending split. Gotta love the media, always trying to make sense of things that were none of their damn business.

"Rumors of a strained marriage have plagued the Reynolds-Evans power couple," the article sneered, as if our private lives were some juicy daytime soap opera. And then came the zinger – the implication that my little dive bar rendezvous could jeopardize my dad's mayoral campaign. Fantastic, just fantastic.

I could practically see my mom's emotions flicker across her face like a series of rapidly changing emojis – annoyance, concern, and a dash of disappointment for good measure.

"Emma, do you realize the position your father is in right now? This sort of scandal is the last thing he needs during his campaign."

My dad, silent throughout the whole affair, finally spoke up.

"We've been trying to keep things civil for your sake, but actions like these..." His voice trailed off, disappointment etched into every line on his face.

I bit back a retort, feeling the weight of their expectations crushing down on me.

They didn't know where I was working at least, and I was keeping it that way. No way in hell were they going to find out I'd swapped art school for a tattoo joint. I mean, can you even imagine their reaction? It would be like a nuclear explosion of parental fury.

"Emma," mom said, "our image is at stake here. What will people say if they find out one of our daughters dropped out?"

"Look, you've got to decide what you want. You either fall in line, or you walk away." she declared.

Her ultimatum hit me like a punch to the gut. Fall in line or move out? Seriously? I felt trapped, suffocated. My gut twisted. I felt like I'd been sucker-punched. Hurt and frustration tangled up inside me. They didn't get it – didn't get that I was trying to find my own path, even if it meant straying from the one they'd mapped out for me.

Rolling my eyes, I snatched the paper and tossed it back onto the table. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. I'm the screw-up in this perfect little family, right?"

With a muttered excuse, I stormed off to my room, slamming the door behind me. And there she was, my twin sister Ellie, perched on my bed like a smug cat who'd just eaten a canary.

She laughed – that annoying, grating sound that always managed to get under my skin. "Well, well, look who's in the hot seat now. Mom and Dad giving you the 'shape up or ship out' speech?"

I shot her a glare that could've melted steel. "You're hilarious, you know that? Just because you've got your life sorted doesn't mean you get to be a bitch about it."

Ellie shrugged, that infuriating grin still plastered on her face. "Hey, just trying to save you some packing time. If you don't head back to school, you might as well start filling those suitcases."

My blood boiled. How dare she? I yanked the covers over my head and curling into a ball. I could practically feel her eyes rolling as she sauntered out, leaving me seething and alone with my thoughts.

Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring the world around me. I blinked them back furiously, but it was no use. One escaped, and then another, until I was sitting there, cheeks wet and heart heavy. It was like a dam had burst, and there was no stopping the flood of emotions that came crashing through.

The room felt suffocating, like the walls were closing in on me. I needed air, I needed space, I needed to escape the suffocating grip of their ultimatum. With shaky breaths, I got up from my bed and stumbled towards the window. I pushed it open, letting in a rush of cool air that washed over my tear-streaked face.

I leaned against the window frame, gazing out at the night sky. The stars twinkled above, a reminder that there was a world beyond these four walls, a world where my dreams could still take flight. The tears kept falling, but in that moment, I made a silent promise to myself – I wouldn't let their expectations hold me back.

As the tears dried on my cheeks, a spark of determination ignited within me. Their words might have shaken me, but they wouldn't break me. I wiped away the last of my tears, my heart still heavy but now infused with a newfound strength. It was time to face the choice head-on, to find my own path, no matter how hard it might be. I buried my face in my hands, the tears soaking into my palms. It wasn't fair. All I wanted was to pursue my passion, to make my mark in the artworld. But here I was, feeling like I was letting them down, like I was failing to live up to their image of success. I shouldn't even care, so why did I?

As I tucked myself back into bed, anger simmering beneath my skin, exhaustion finally caught up with me. I closed my eyes, shutting out the world and its endless expectations. Screw them, screw their image, and screw whatever path they thought I should follow.

With a huff, I let sleep carry me away, determined to dream of a life where I called the shots, where ink and art were my canvas, and where my decisions were mine alone.