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“Ladies and gentlemen, for our final fight of the night…”
Muscled shoulders rolling back, neck cracking side to side.
“…we have the vicious Ryze…”
Practice swings, bandages tightened around red-stained knuckles.
“…against our reigning champion…”
Gate opening, blinding lights with deafening cheers.
“…Cerberus.”
Daughter of the “hound of the underground.” Seems fitting.
Crack!
Vi’s head aches in protest as she turns back towards her opponent, who is turned towards the roaring crowd, basking in the pride of landing a hit on her. She chuckles at his nonchalance. Never let your guard down. Cheering hands are quickly lowered as they watch all the money they bet to win hit the ground, head hitting the concrete wall on his way down on his knees. Vi stands behind him, clasped hands the only indicator of the hit she had just strategically placed. She backs up, whether to catch her breath or give them a show she has no idea. Ryze stands, angrier than ever, upper lip quickly turning crimson.
Vi makes a “come here” motion with her fingers, and the real fight begins. Dodge. Punch. Block. Repeat. This dance comes easy to her, but it feels different knowing it’s not to survive anymore. She doesn’t know who she’s fighting, and she doesn’t care. She doesn’t feel the need to learn her opponents anymore, not like when she first started. They’re all the same, punching bags made of fragile flesh and full of blood. Copper is all she can taste anymore.
He (finally) lands another hit on her, metal on his knuckles reopening the wound on her cheek. It never has time to fully heal, not in her line of “business.” Sometimes she forgets this is how she earns her meager living, the reason she has a roof over her head being the same thing she was forced to use to protect her family all those years ago.
Vi lets out a yell, a war cry. She lunges, ready to end this fight and go back to her small room. Not “home” to her, never home. Her fist collides with his jaw, ear, nose, stomach, anywhere she can reach, tiring him out. He tries to block but she is quick, quicker than he is despite the muscle packed tight on her frame. She uses it to her advantage, hitting at what feels like the speed of light. The crowd’s volume raises steadily, ready to witness her win. With one final blow placed going up under his jaw, her opponent hits the ground so loudly it reminds Vi of the pounding in her skull. She lingers for a moment, looks at him and indulges in the positive attention. She just won some rich kids more money than she’s ever even seen in one place. Bile rises in her throat and the taste of victory turns bitter. She turns and leaves.
…
Her plan, truthfully, was to just go back to her one-room apartment, far enough away so she doesn’t have to look at The Last Drop, a building full of traitors and hypocrites who shit on Vander’s legacy and harass his daughter. Fuck that.
The problem was Loris was already at the pit exit, handing her water and guiding her to the bar to celebrate. She glares at the cup like it offended her and ignores it, pushing his gentle hand away before it can make contact with her shoulder. No touch. Not today. She mutters a “thanks” towards her sort-of friend and walks ahead of him to stride into the bar, her recent stomping grounds. She has to make an appearance, she tells herself, collect her winnings and pretend she can find joy in the mere act of making it another day in her life.
The first few drinks are free, “winners special,” he says, but she wins so often that she never carries her money on her here. It’s just her regular at this point. The first two burn her throat, the clink of her glass against Loris’ piercing and reflecting light blinding. Then the real fun begins. Admirers buy the next couple, stronger than what she started with. Her vision is less focused, now, and distantly she thinks that it would be real easy for someone to poison her here. She doesn’t think she would mind very much.
At some point, when her mind is weak and body is relaxed (something that has never happened naturally), someone grabs her hand and leads her out into the crowd of sweaty bodies, some dark and bass-heavy tune leading their movements. Vi can’t tell if the lights are really strobing like that or if she’s just drunker than she thought, but it makes it seem as if the world is in stop-motion.
She gets a glimpse of blue hair and the world stops.
She freezes in her place amongst the frantically moving wave of people she is surrounded by, a contrast. Dark in light, ice in fire, steady in unsteady, suffering in a world of playfulness. She stares, stares at the midnight blue that seems to be brighter than everything around it. Her dance partner notices this, and gives her a confused look. It is so painfully familiar that Vi feels tempted to reach out, to feel skin under her fingers and check for truth with her lips. She forgets that the alcohol is blurring her wants and needs, and has to stop her hand before it makes contact. A face she intimately knows and doesn’t understand looks back at her, and suddenly it is gone, like a bandage ripped off. There is just a stranger with blue hair standing in front of her, and she can’t stand the sight of it. She turns and walks back to the bar.
Someone took her seat. The thought shouldn’t bother her as much as it does, but for some reason it gets under her skin. In her place is a younger-looking man, tall and handsome and clean. He looks like a piltie and she can’t stand it. She reaches over him to tap the bar, signaling her desperate need for another. The action makes the perfect stranger turn to look at her. Fuuuuuuck.
”What can I do for you, darlin?” Ew. Who the fuck says that anymore, is he secretly eighty years old? Jesus. He is wearing a filthy smirk, much dirtier than the rest of his appearance and it makes her feel a deep discomfort. She takes a breath, searching for her composure, but finds it elusive in her intoxicated state.
”You’re in my spot.” Well, there goes any hope of civility. Something in her claims she would be just as irritable sober, but she ignores it. She glares at him, hoping to intimidate, and his revolting smile grows wider.
“Finders keepers,” he claims, sharp teeth peeking out from his dangerously curling lips. Sensing her growing frustration, he continues, “But, you know, I might be persuaded to give it back.” On some level, Vi does know she is attractive, in a grimy, dirty little secret way. Her hard worked for physique never seems to turn away women, that’s for sure. Not that she lets anyone touch her nowadays, anyway. But something about this man, how he is acting like she owes him something, like he is above her in some way like some dumbass rich boy with a superiority complex, how he is looking at Vi like she’s prey, she feels nauseous.
She lands the hit before she has a chance to think about it. He clutches his cheek dramatically, even though she didn’t hit him that hard come on, and under his uncalloused fingers she can see a growing purple bruise, and the drunken part of her with no impulse control feels a sort of satisfaction seeing her stain on a representation of all things she is not. An arm wraps around her wrist and she almost pulls away before she sees Loris, and he drags her out before she can get hit back, both of them stumbling the whole way.
…
She is back in her room by some miracle, ears ringing but finally alone once more. It’s been too long for her to find anything but a sad sort of comfort in her solitude, knowing the only person in the room who she has let down is herself.
Vi sits on her bare mattress, devoid of any blanket or pillow. The latter was too soft for her, so it laid tossed on the floor, discarded and stepped on. The former, however, was never used to keep out the cold. Instead, it was torn apart little by little in place of bandages, a quick fix when she bled more than usual after a fight. Now, there is nothing of it left, and she doesn’t want to admit how many of those injuries came from her carelessness more than an enemy.
She thinks back to the blue-haired figure in the club, wonders what would’ve happened if she had let the stranger take her to a dark alley, touch her, have the only piece of herself she still has for herself. A name comes to mind, one that she’s been trying to block out since she woke up from her last fitful sleep: Caitlyn. It is so much more than a name, it is damnation, it is ownership over her. Vi is the flame and Caitlyn is the fall and together the fighter and the girl trapped in her memory create nothing less than Hell. She wonders if she would have been able to picture her face over the stranger’s, pretend she is giving herself up to someone truly above her in more than just rank. The hound dog and her master.
”You know I wouldn’t take anything from you, Vi,” the girl in her mind speaks aloud. She doesn’t dare open her eyes, knowing the girl with chains around Vi’s neck wouldn’t be found. So in her drunken state, eyes closed and head spinning, she speaks back.
”Doesn’t matter, Cupcake, you own me now,” she lets out a self-pitying chuckle, the action bringing a pain in her side to her attention. She touches it gingerly, and elects to ignore it when her hand doesn’t return sticky. She can still taste blood, though. Blood and bile and something sweet.
”Then why are you doing this to yourself?” Vi’s mind is always pretty good at making her favorite figment sound concerned, like the gentle girl she fell for, not the new version she hears scared whispers of. Almost as if on cue, she leans over, eyes squeezed shut, and vomits in the space between her feet. She opens her eyes, carefully, never straying from the floor, and stumbles over to the small sink against the wall, empty of the water she cannot afford, unlabeled glass bottles lining the edges.
“Because you’re not here.” She finally looks up into the cracked mirror, vision still hazy but it is clear that the room is devoid of life except for what little is left inside her. She exhales loudly, staring into her own face, searching for something. She finds nothing but disappointment and black eye paint surrounding emptiness and gives up. She turns to her punching bag, the one thing in this place that truly belongs to her, and braces herself for a sleepless night, fists raised.
…
Jinx finds her days later. Jinx Jinx Jinx Jinx. A stranger that she remembers what it feels like to hold as a child, the way she cries and the way her laughs sound, what it felt like to use another name for her.
Over the next few days, she starts to relearn the sister hidden behind the stranger. Paint starts to come off of her face and she has something to live for again, she thinks.
Even if she can’t save Vander, Vi thinks that maybe she found her family again.
…
They are at the camp, and Vi feels in her bones just out of place she is. She looks at the people surrounding her. Happy, fulfilled, whole. She starts to crave it, then the ghost of a girl in her mind comes back that she refuses to give up and she pushes down the urge. She will not be whole if she has to leave her behind, become a lost puppy with no master. Vi will choose to be a slave to someone in the distance over leaving her past self behind every time, if she must. No matter how much she itches to be free, part of it feels like betrayal against the betrayer.
…
Vi searches for trouble when she leaves the camp, and all she finds is a memory.
She lands on her back and closes her eyes the moment she hears a familiar voice.
“Vi?” The figment stutters out, just as soft as Vi’s mind usually creates her, refusing to meet the new version of the real girl. But this one isn’t real, so she can bask in it a little longer. She leaves her eyes closed and responds,
”I need you to go away, I’m trying to figure out what’s going on out here.”
The nonexistent girl on top of her lets out an angry huff. Vi ignores it in hopes she can open her eyes soon, but for now she still hears breathing, shocked that her hallucination is staying for so long, so lifelike.
”That’s it? You’re not even going to look at me, Violet?” the last word is spoken like an accusation, and before Vi can respond to this new and unusual conversation, she feels her imagination use her shoulder to grab and push herself up off the ground.
The touch is searing. Vi is a flame and yet she has never known she could burn so instantly, so strong. She feels herself falling in her mind, frozen in hopes that her brain will satiate her burning and please let her be touched again, all she needs is for it to feel real just once. Her eyes are still shut and she senses a presence looming over her, just as tall as she remembers it. She wonders if she will be found here by whoever is staked nearby, eyes scrunched closed and laying in the dirt, allowing any attacker to strike her down without a fight.
“Open your eyes, Vi, please,” her false love begs, and what is she if not a loyal mutt? She opens them, slowly, unsure, and what she sees makes her jump up to her feet.
Before her is Cait, standing cautious and open and pleading, in a uniform Vi’s mind had never come up with before. No, this can’t be right, why is her mind torturing her so? Giving her everything she wants until it is ripped away?
A thought comes to mind- something about this feels wrong. Vi wants this new ghost of Caitlyn gone, suddenly, and blinks rapidly in desperate hopes that she will disappear once they reopen. But her life isn’t that easy. Distantly, she feels her hands beginning to shake, torn between backing away and drawing herself closer. She feels the bright lights of the pit on her, setting Vi up against her own imagined version of the girl she loves. Every atom in her body is screaming at her to fight. The tension pulls and pulls at her until she is about ready to snap. She hears a distant chant of her own voice, every version of her yelling in unison: Caitlyn. Caitlyn. Caitlyn. Caitlyn. Caitlyn. Caitlyn. Caitlyn. Caitlyn. Caitlyn. Caitlyn.
Caitlyn. Violet. Lovers. Enemies. Danger. Fight.
Vi’s chest starts to heave, breath escaping all too quickly and lungs running to chase it down. It still manages to slip out of her, leaving her empty of everything but the simmering in her bones, growing into a roaring blaze that demands satisfaction, begs for payment in blood and ash. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees her opponent take a step forward, making her stumble back, fists raised.
”Vi. I’m not going to hurt you,” she says, and the sound sends a sharp pain through her head, in one ear out the other. Another step closer. Vi can’t breathe. Another step, an arm reached out in comfort. Tears well up in Vi’s eyes, feeling reality break apart in all of her senses. Why, oh why can’t she be free of it? What has she done to the universe that she is forced to beg in front of a shadow of her master, doomed to never see the real thing? Lights flash and she is in the pit again, blinded and unable to see clearly.
She feels herself speaking, heaving out words that she doesn’t quite have the oxygen to fully form, “No, no, no, no, no.” She is unable to say anything else, feeling her own voice betray her. Just like she herself was betrayed.
“What’s going on Vi? You can trust me, I promise,” the words reach their hands into Vi’s chest and tear her heart, piece by piece. Trust? Trust something that won’t last? Trust her own mind that seems to want her dead? She needs to solidify it. She cannot start to believe, to trust.
”You’re not real,” she thinks she says, but comes out as a pained yell. She watches as her love that does not exist draws closer until-
Contact. It burns and there is brightness behind her eyes and Vi will not be touched.
Her fist collides with the face of a ghost. Before it has time to recover, stumbling back, shocked and hurt, she lunges again. And again. Over and over, some hitting, some dodged as her brain wises up and gives her an opponent that knows how to dodge. It feels too real, so she keeps going until maybe Caitlyn will turn to dust, and Vi will be certain she was never there.
The fire under her skin burns hotter, and it fuels the burning girl that is Vi. Her hands get sticky, and she for a moment thinks that she has the capacity to kill something that isn’t really there. Some hits land, some are dodged, but never once do her opponent’s hands have the intent to harm. She wonders if whoever was pit against her even wants to fight her, because they’re just taking it. Then she remembers exactly who she’s imagining. Her mind screams at her to stop and take what she wants before it’s too late and the hallucination disappears, but the other part of it just wants to be alone again, wants it gone.
Her knuckles ache and her mind spins and all Vi can do is fight. Between hits, in those brief moments before skin collides with skin and pain blossoms between them, she hears a voice speaking, begging, “‘Vi, Vi I’m real, I’m here, it’s me, please stop.” Something about the desperation in those last words makes her pause, fist in the air ready to strike.
”No, you’re not her. You never are. Just go away.” The lights get brighter until the girl opposite her fades in the distance, and she stumbles back at the sudden blindness. She senses movement from a direction she can’t see, braces herself and…
A hand is on her face. Gentle, cradling, warm. Vi burns.
”Violet?”
She feebly tries to push away but the hand remains. It brands her, reminds her of her place. The white light fades away, and Vi is frozen. A face comes into view, bruised and bloody but the most beautiful thing Vi has ever seen. She is shaking, now, more than she ever was before. Her legs collapse under her but Caitlyn follows. Her skin is on Vi’s and her hands are holding her face and she is looking at her covered in worry and she doesn’t want to hope but maybe-
“I’m here.”
Vi becomes aware of three things at once:
1. Her hands sit on her lap, vibrating, ready for a fight again.
2. She is tired and her body aches so she cannot do anything but let her face be held.
3. Caitlyn is real.
The final realization feels like falling, again. Except this time she hits the ground. The finality of it all makes tears well up in her eyes and once again all her breath seems to expel at once, only to return in short bursts. This is not Hell, she realizes, but home.
It is terrifying and the hands on her face wipe the tears away.
”Caitlyn?”
She has never seen the girl look so relieved. Her battered mouth forms the smallest of smiles, and Vi breaks. She sobs. She folds over herself and cries for all the times she has never allowed herself to do so. She cries for her former self, for her actions, and for the girl in front of her. She cries because she doesn’t know what else to do. Cait moves closer like she is approaching the scared stray dog that Vi is until their knees are touching and her hands are all over her, carding through dark, dirty hair like it isn’t staining her perfect image, inside and out. Vi feels all of it like it is the last thing she will ever experience.
”Vi, darling, please look at me,” Cait whispers, comforting and beautiful and she tilts Vi’s head up with her fingers, a barely-there touch until their eyes meet. There is silence between them. It is perfect. Vi could look at her image forever.
They are reunited and now Vi is the flame and Caitlyn is a star and together they make nothing less than the Sun.
There will be a time for more later, Vi begs any entity that would hear, but for now she stares at her love like she still believes she will turn to dust. They have an army to stop, after all.