A Man Fires a Rifle for Many Years
“A man fires a rifle for many years, and he goes to war. And afterward he turns the rifle in at the armory, and he believes he’s finished with the rifle. But no matter what else he might do with his hands, love a woman, build a house, change his son’s diaper; his hands remember the rifle.” -Anthony Swofford, Jarhead
***
Caitlyn had a very robust, very foolproof way for determining who out of their cohort was a victim of the mass conscription.
It was an unspoken rule of university life that the start time for an event was only ever the start time if you’d never been to a party before in your life. Or “fashionably late”, as it was aptly titled. Jayce had sent out the invites telling people to start arriving past 7 o’clock, which gave their fellow cadets plenty of time to line their stomachs with an evening meal and maybe sneak in a pre-drink or two before mutilating their livers for the rest of the night.
For those who had been untouched by the Noxus war machine, who were allowed to live out the remainder of their student life in relative normalcy while conflict raged in the east, they still abided by the “better late than never” law. Trailing in in droves as half seven, eight-ish, some only rocking up at gone nine o’clock.
But for the gaggle of party-goers who gathered outside the door at 6:45 sharp, arms clutching everything Jayce had put on the BYO section of his invite, faces timid and shy as they waited for someone to come and let them in, Caitlyn knew exactly where those cadets had been over the past two years.
You can take a person out of the army, but you can’t quite take the army out of the person.
There was a small pang in her heart when she saw the group was much bigger than she expected it to be, too.
As per Jayce’s orders, Vi and Caitlyn had made their way downstairs to help with the rest of the drinks at 6 o’clock, and were surprised to see that the entirety of the downstairs had already been made up. The infamous beer pong table was stacked with cups and tiny white balls ready to go, leaving their dining room table out-of-service for the duration of the night. A light projector had been haphazardly balanced atop the coffee table in the living room, and was spilling intricate hues of purple, blue and pink onto the ceiling, colours blending together into constellations and nebulas above. Heavy bassy music thumped proudly from a large speaker perched in the corner of the room (an expense Jayce had argued a very strong case as to being essential), starting to spout lyrics in a language Vi nor Caitlyn understood.
As they made their way into the kitchen, tonight’s agenda became much more apparent: there was enough alcohol on the breakfast island to sedate a small army. Rows and rows of light and dark liquor, bowls of ice at the ready, with even larger buckets of cold water either side of the island containing assorted canned alcoholic beverages.
Viktor’s state-renowned punch sat in a large bowl front and centre ahead of it all, circled by empty red cups, a single ladle sticking out of the top and disappearing into the murky red coloured liquid. It was a recipe the scientist kept close to his chest, never revealing his secrets to anyone, not once. Vi was determined to get it off of him even if it meant prying it from his cold dead hands.
“Seems our job is already done,” Caitlyn said absentmindedly, her fingertips skating the tabletop as she walked around the island.
Vi cracked open the fridge. Her suspicions were confirmed. There were more than enough large bottles of soft drink already being left to chill, stacked one on top of the other. “Yup.”
Leaning over the counter, Cait plucked a clear bottle of vodka from the neat row and began pouring hearty servings into two cups. Vi passed her the lemonade to top it off with and nodded a thanks as Caitlyn passed over the finished drink. She was wearing a tight black rollneck, the one Vi loved, and a short navy blue pencil skirt which cut off midthigh. An outfit which Vi could not stop staring at.
Vi had opted for a safe but casual option: a simple black shirt with the top few buttons undone, and a pair of dogtooth grey suit trousers. It wouldn’t win any glamour competitions, but it’s what she felt most comfortable in, and she loved the way the upper shirt sleeves hugged her biceps. Of course, Caitlyn loved that too.
“Did you invite anyone?” Vi asked as she took a sip. She grimaced at its strength; pouring stomachable ratios of liquor-to-mixer had never been Caitlyn’s strong suit.
The other girl hummed as she took a sip from her own cup, seemingly unfazed by its overpowering taste of petroleum. “I asked Sarah if she’d be up for it. Got a maybe. You?”
Vi cleared her throat and set the cup down. “Powder, of course. She said she’s gonna try dragging Claggor and Mylo along too.”
Cait offered a thin smile. “It would be nice to see Claggor again.”
“Yeah.” Vi smiled back. The warmth didn’t quite reach her eyes.
Before Caitlyn could pry any further on her brother’s condition, another figure swanned into the kitchen with a beaming grin. “Evening, darlings!” Mel chirped cheerfully, making a beeline straight for the liquor table and plucking up the first bottle she saw.
Cait opened her mouth to offer a greeting, but her face wrinkled in disgust when she saw what Mel had picked up. “Tequila? Really?” she questioned in disbelief.
Flicking a wrist in her direction, Mel shook her head, already lining up three plastic shot glasses for them. The amber liquid sloshed as she ran the open mouth of the bottle over each miniature cup. “Only the best,” she jeered.
“If I’m sick, it’s your fault,” Caitlyn grumbled before reaching for her shot. She knocked it back without hesitation.
Vi didn’t say anything. She nodded an awkward thanks to Mel, chasing back her own shot, savouring the warmth as it dripped down her throat.
***
There really was no party like a Talis party.
By eight o’clock, the place was heaving with people, sweaty bodies packed like sardines within the confines of the living room. The sickly-sweet stench of alcohol hung heavy over their heads, mixing with the bassy thump of the music into a slurred concoction. Some partygoers, mainly the smokers, had overflown into the back garden as always, chatting amongst themselves in small huddled groups as they exchanged lighters and smoke and stories of their days. Quiet gaggles only illuminated by the cherries of their lit cigarettes.
Vi was well on her way when she found her sister and brother sat outside, chatting happily to Jayce, who looked as drunk as Vi felt. He appeared to be explaining a story to them, hands waving frantically, lips moving a million miles an hour while Powder and Mylo watched with morbid curiosity.
But no sign of Claggor.
The booze was slowly seeping through Vi’s body an inch at a time, settling deep in the muscles of her legs first before spreading upwards and outwards. She had a warm, fuzzy feeling in her chest and her cheeks, like a fever you couldn’t quite sweat out.
Cup in hand, she strolled over to her siblings, pulling a crumpled pack of Marlboro Reds from her pocket as she plopped down next to them. “He’s already pulling his Punisher move on you, huh?” Vi drawled sarcastically. She flashed her canines at them all as she stuck a cigarette in her mouth.
“Punisher?” Jayce slurred, turning to Vi. Oh, he was much drunker than he looked. His eyes darted across the other girl’s face as if he wasn’t too sure where he was meant to be looking.
“Yeah, man.” Vi barked a laugh. “When you get drunk, you kinda just rant at people about everything. They’ve been calling it Punisher for ages.”
Hearing this, Jayce stuck his bottom lip out, scowling deeply. “Assholes,” he grumbled, folding his arms across his chest before springing up with newfound life. “I’m gonna go ask Vik about this. Goodbye.”
With that, the boy departed, leaving the three siblings to finally get a word in with each other. “Hey, Pow-Pow,” Vi greeted with a grin as she lit the tip of her cigarette. In a teasing afterthought, she added, “Oh, and you, Mylo.”
Mylo stuck his tongue out but before Vi could react, Powder was leaning across him, pulling a slender cigarette from Vi’s carton.
Vi’s jaw dropped to the floor as she watched her sister put the tip to her mouth and spark up with her own damn lighter. “You shouldn’t be smoking,” she said in disbelief.
Powder waved a hand at Vi’s cup. “You shouldn’t be drinking,” she shot back with just as much sass.
She’s got you there, Vi thought to herself. She tilted her head in a “fair enough” gesture and took another sip from her mystery cocktail.
The three sat together for what felt like hours, talking and catching up about anything and everything. Vi didn’t get the chance to see them all as much as she wanted to; with university, rugby training and her weekend operations, she was spinning a lot of plates simultaneously, and any shift in routine could very well send it all crashing down.
None of them addressed the elephant in the room, though. Or rather, the lack of. Vi didn’t ask why they’d all been able to make it but Claggor couldn’t. It was a conversation for when they were more sober and less likely to say something they’d regret.
After a few more cigarettes shared between them (Mylo had a knack for craving nicotine when he was drinking), Powder finally shoved Vi’s shoulder playfully, urging her to get up. “Alright. Time to play host. Go… talk to people or something, it’s your house.”
Vi huffed in incredulity, standing up and shaking her head. “Really?” she exclaimed. “It’s my damn house and you’re sending me away?”
“Yes. Fuck off.” Powder’s words were said playfully, without any bite.
Shaking her head and chuckling to herself, Vi headed straight back into the house.
***
Caitlyn spotted Vi before Vi spotted Caitlyn. From across the dancefloor, she swanned over, flashing her girlfriend with a suggestive smirk before pulling her into the mass of twisting jumping bodies.
Wine made Caitlyn sad. Beer made her feel sick. But liquor?
Liquor set a blaze in the deep pits of her stomach that only Vi knew how to put out, coiling a spring that her girlfriend only knew how to release.
Taking Vi’s hand, she spun her around so her rigid muscular back was flush up against Cait’s front, the other hand making its way down to her hips. Neither of them knew who was following who as they swayed and bopped to the music; their skin stayed pressed together, moving fluid as one entity.
Cait draped her arm across Vi’s shoulders and ghosted light kisses along the length of her neck. She smelt of stale cigarettes and unknown spirits and cedarwood shower gel but Caitlyn didn’t care because the scent was so, so Vi. She wanted to melt into her flesh, savouring the sensation forever, relishing and basking in her warmth.
Everyone around them dissipated into the distance, their presences going foggy as they bled into the music. For now, it was just Caitlyn and Vi, Vi and Caitlyn, Vi grinding against Caitlyn in that way she knew she liked and Caitlyn kissing Vi in that one spot that drove her wild.
A sudden bony elbow from the side broke Vi out of her lust-filled trance.
Her stance against Caitlyn loosened, shoulders sagging, face twisting into a deep scowl as she shot a dirty look at the boy next to them. Before Caitlyn could open her mouth to tell her to drop it, Vi had already grunted, “Watch it, asshole.”
The boy’s gaze shifted lazily over to them. He looked a couple years younger than them; definitely a first-year. And most definitely drunk, by the way he was swaying about and sweating profusely.
He scoffed right in Vi’s face. “Whatever. Fuckin’ Rupert.”
A sober Vi in the correct state of mind would have laughed straight back at him and brushed it off as no big deal. Everyone had their opinions, even if those opinions were wrong, and even if Vi thought they were dicks.
But drunk Vi?
She was already sizing the boy up, eyes grazing his body up and down like a piece of meat. Yeah, she could take him, easy. Her shoulders squared, hands balled into tight solid fists by her side, gaze going dead-eyed like a shark. Her jaw twitched with anticipation; he hadn’t even realised she was lining up an attack, steps one, three and five already planned out in her head.
Vi would sock the little shit in the face; maybe break his jaw, maybe break her knuckle. Get an icepack, get a beer, then get straight back on the dancefloor. No harm done.
Solid plan.
Before it could come into fruition, however, a hand fluttered into her tunnel vision and placed itself on her chest. Vi’s body relaxed involuntarily.
“Out. Now,” the voice barked at the boy. The music was off now and someone else had switched the lights back on.
The boy spun to face her, face contorting up into confusion. “Huh?” he drawled.
“I heard what you called her.” The person was now shoving him off of the floor and towards the exit. “Get the fuck out. Now.”
With one last final dirty look at Vi, he trotted off towards the front door, tail hanging low between his legs as he left.
The music switched back on. The lights went out again.
But before they were plunged back into atmospheric darkness, Vi caught the briefest flash of Mel Medarda’s eyes as the person who had kicked the boy out of their house.
***
There was a shift in the air between them when they went back up to her room.
Caitlyn laid back on the bed. Vi clambered on top of her, fingers already working at the buttons of her shirt. Like clockwork, a waltz they’d danced a thousand times before.
But even when Vi placed her lips to Caitlyn’s, the way her tongue grazed her bottom lip begging for entrance, there was something beneath it. Something unspoken. Something holding her back.
Her mind was somewhere else.
Caitlyn was the first to pull away. She looked up at Vi, cerulean eye still unconditionally blown black with lust, batting her eyelashes. “You’re not here,” she murmured, fingertips grazing the nape of Vi’s neck as she hovered over her.
A beat of silence. Vi stared at her. Cait stared back. Checkmate: a stand-off.
“I’m fine,” Vi grumbled, leaning into her again.
Vi went to kiss her again, but she ducked out of the way. “Have you been taking your tablets?” Caitlyn asked timidly, voice barely above a whisper.
Her tablets.
Sertraline. Originally fifty milligrams, upped to seventy-five when Vi wasn’t getting any better. Pills that made her pupils blow into saucers, made her jaw clench like she was on amphetamines, gave her whole-body shakes and kept her up at night more than usual. Tablets that made one drink feel like three and prohibited her from orgasming no matter how many times her and Caitlyn tried.
The first two weeks Vi started taking the pills were the worst two weeks of her life. She was given a warning that she might feel lower than normal, but this wasn’t just a low; it was rock fucking bottom. She didn’t want to leave her bed, shower, eat, she didn’t want to do anything that may bear resemblance to a regular person’s routine.
Past the 14-day mark, things began looking up. She remembered waking one morning, feeling as if someone had lifted the black-and-white glasses off of her face and instead replaced them with gyrating kaleidoscopes dancing before her vision. As if her filter, her view of life had been uplifted.
But that’s all it was. An illusion.
The darkness and grey that Vi held within herself, contrasting to the plethora of colours that she saw in the outside world, had been swapped with each other. She was vibrant and animated with this newfound breath of life but she began to see the world for what it was after so many months of turning the other way.
Because the outside world was cold and greyscale and macabre and far from what she remembered.
Vi could take all the tablets she wanted to; every possible combination of SSRI under the sun. It wouldn’t change the fact that she had no control over what happened around her.
It was no wonder she stopped taking the damn pills.
“Yes,” she said untruthfully.
Caitlyn huffed. “You can’t lie to me, Vi. We live together now. If you’ve stopped taking them, I need to know.”
“Does she know?”
Caitlyn’s eyebrows furrowed instantly, staring up at Vi with confusion. Her lips parted. “I’m sorry?”
And then Vi was retreating off of Caitlyn, falling back onto the balls of her feet, ankles tucked up beneath her as she sat up on the bed. Her hands splayed out upward as if she was waiting for something to fall into them, a sheen of sweat already forming in her palms. “Mel. Does she know?”
The other girl sat up, brows still drawn together, the look of confusion replaced with something much more anxious and concerned. “Know what?”
“You know what.” The muscles in Vi’s jaw twitched and feathered. “Does she know it was me?”
Vi saw the exact moment the penny dropped behind Caitlyn’s eye, her gaze softening. She licked her lips and exhaled slowly through her nose. “I don’t think so, Violet. I don’t think she’s even read the file.”
“I killed her Mom, Cait. I killed her Mom and I’m meant to play house with her like that’s something normal.”
“You didn’t kill her mother. You killed a warlord that would have done the same to us had the shoe been on the other foot. You were following orders, orders that Mel’s council had a part in giving out.” Caitlyn’s words were cold, sharp, as if this were a conversation she had rehearsed.
Vi’s gaze averted from her partner’s, flickering to everywhere but her. Reluctantly, she slunk back towards the headrest, electing to stare up at the ceiling with her hands behind her head. “And if she asks?”
A beat of silence. Cait leaned down and pressed a light kiss to Vi’s temple, fingers forking through the other girl’s hair, twirling the ends between her fingertips. “I’ll tell her to read the file. I can’t hide the truth from her, Vi; you know that.”
Vi didn’t say anything after that. She shut her eyes, mind racing and synapses firing with a thousand thoughts a minute, allowing the alcohol and adrenaline to lull her into a tortured slumber.