That raging upset was what kept Vi awake at night. The gnawing of her gut, sharp pains in her chest, lungs shriveled so small they were incapable of taking in any air, compromised in their squished position as she lay curled in a ball. She heard once that raising your arms above your head allowed your lungs to fully expand, allowing you more breath. But the simple range of motion would uncover herself from her tightly-knit knot, and she wasn’t willing to be compromised.
She could still feel the crushing weight of the rubble and debris crushing her teenage body, arms still lean and torso still thin. She hadn't even grown into herself yet, young and fifteen and so incredibly stupid. She felt that pressure, in her chest and in her heart, because she knew what she did. She knew what she’d caused, and what that meant for her.
Even if it wasn’t Vi who delivered the ending blow, it was his blood on her hands. Their blood. She knew better than this. Vander had told her explicitly what whatever went down, it was on her . She was the one who said run, who said jump, who said take what they could. So they ran as fast as they could, and they jumped like hell, and they grabbed all the shit they could. She was responsible for Vander, who tried to take her place in Silco’s layer. She was responsible for losing Mylo and Claggor, she was responsible for costing Powder her entire family.
Those were the things that kept her up at night, and she didn’t tell anyone. She knew it was deserved. No matter if it was a decade ago, a day ago, a minute, or fifty years. It didn’t matter if she was dead and gone and the building had since been restored, or that Jinx had found her family, or that Vi had her wife. It didn’t matter because time wouldn’t fix the facts. Whatever went down, it would be on her. And it would continue to be on her until the end of time.
In her crumpled ball, she was safe. Vi didn’t have to look at the walls around her, sound and structured. She didn’t have to see the plush carpet, tailored to the space. She didn’t have to see the closet full of fitted, comfortable clothing. She didn’t have to see her gorgeous, smart-as-hell, wife, who was a goddamn Kiramman . Because she knew if she saw any of the good things in her life, she’d tear them apart just like she’d torn apart her family.
Her breathing grew ragged, and the longer she had her blankets thrown off, the colder she became. Her skin erupted in goosebumps, but she didn’t move. Hot breath puffed against her bicep, which was pressed up to her slowly swelling and flattening cheek, air getting trapped before harshly letting out. This was what she was reduced to. A partial panic attack at strange hours of the night. Vi accepted that she wasn’t someone Caitlyn deserved to love. She was so fucking smart, intelligent, remarkable. She was kind and compassionate, and forever empathetic. She was also one of the scariest people she’d ever met. There was a look in her eye that she’d get, and Vi’d do anything she said right then. She was truly brilliant.
She didn’t deserve to fall in love with a murderer. And if she wasn’t so selfish, she’d leave Caitlyn. But she wasn’t that strong. She couldn’t ruin the only good thing in her life, she was too loyal, too dependent. Without her, Vi was sure she’d spiral. Go back to that damn pit fighting job, get swallowed in the bottom of a mug, and forget all the shit she ever did until it was dancing behind her eyelids. That wasn’t living, but then again, neither was her family, so it seemed a fitting fate.
All these horrid, awful truths crested and crashed in her whirlwind of a mind like a storming beach in the middle of a rainy season. Each peak was angry and powerful, the appearance nothing compared to the raging undertow it hid beneath. That’s what she felt like. Caitlyn might have fallen for her outside, but the battles that went down inside would be the thing to ultimately end their little life together. She knew it would. It was just a matter of how and when.
But if Vi had learned one thing about herself in the past years, it was that she was a coward. She was that same stringy fifteen year old idiot who craved for someone to be proud of her. She was that same sad little girl who hopped along building roofs and boxed against a stupid arcade game machine and who cried about her parents on nights not unlike this one. If Vi had learned one thing about herself, it was that she was never able to say no to what was right in front of her.
“Cait?” She choked out quietly, sniffling. She hadn’t even realized she’d been crying until then, “Cait, wake up” Her voice was muffled and small, as shaky as the rest of her.
Slowly, she watched Caitlyn stir. Her wife always was a light sleeper, when she did sleep. And that was a big if.
“Violet..?” Caitlyn asked groggily, sitting up a bit. Her navy hair was braided loosely back out of her face, and her left eye was bare - or what was left of it. Just a pale, scarred socket, all fused strangely. Still stupidly beautiful. “Vi, love, what do you need?”
Previously on her stomach, she was now pushing herself up with her forearms, before fully sitting up. When she observed her form, she let out a seemingly pained breath. Warm hands found her goosebumps skin, heated by sleep and blankets. It was a luxury due to her regularly shitty circulation, and she couldn't help but fold into the touch.
“I’m a horrible person, Cupcake” She stated shakily, burying her face up into Caitlyn’s muscled shoulder. Immediately gunning for the logical approach as usual, she clicked on the lamp on the bedside table and extracted the brute from her arms a bit and tilted up her chin.
“Put your hand on my chest, here” Caitlyn guided, taking her wife’s hand and propping it against her lower collarbone. She mirrored Vi once she complied, “Feel my heartbeat, as I feel yours. Breath deeply in, lock your eyes with mine. Shut them as you exhale. Do that for me, darling. You can”
The little encouragement did well for her, and she was able to feel the faint flutter of the blue-haired woman’s heart in front of her, right under her palm. Focusing on lining up her breathing with her eye movements, she fell into a calming rhythm. After a few minutes of that, she was back to a regular breathing pattern. That seemed to appease Caitlyn, and she cupped Vi’s face with such care, thumbs gently brushing her cheeks.
“Sweetheart, eyes on me. Are you still in this with me, hmm? Still here with me?”
“Y-yes” She responded, and swallowed, clearing her choked-up throat, “Yes, I’m still here with you”
“Where are we right now, love?”
“Our bed. In our house, in Piltover” She was rewarded with more gently pets to her cheeks.
“Good, good. And who am I?” Each question was gentle and prompted, and slowly, the answers tumbled out of her, voice steady.
“You’re…you’re Caitlyn. Cupcake. You’re my wife” Caitlyn smiled and pulled her closer, generously kissing her head, and cradling her.
“So, so good, my darling. Last one; who are you?” This required thought, because who knew how to answer that truly? But she tried her best.
“I’m Vi. Violet Kiramman. I’m your wife. I’m a Zaunite” Again, she received nods and praises, and was pulled into a fierce hug.
When she pulled away, Caitlyn brushed some cold sweat off her brow and a few red locks out of her face. She must’ve looked a mess, sweaty and teary-eyed, with bedhead and dark circles under bloodshot corneas. She felt somehow worse then she looked, though her wife didn’t seem to care about her appearance.
She tugged her arm slightly, standing and smoothing her nightdress. “Up, come on”
“Where- Cait, where are we going?”
She dismissed her, wrapping herself in a soft robe before tucking a blanket around Vi’s shoulders, and taking her by her elbow, getting her to stand and leading her out of the bedroom, switching on hall lights as needed. They weaved through the corridors before arriving in Caitlyn’s office. She sat her and her wife down on the lounge and fished for something out of her desk drawer. A small purple notebook was retrieved, the edges gilded and golden. But on the inside, it was just a regular blank-ruled notebook. She handed it to the brawler.
“I want you to write down your thoughts. How you feel” She said, and thrust a pen into her hands. It seemed as if she was handling this whole situation with care, yes, but also logic, as she usually did. An emotional response was rare for Cait, she knew that. It was often overwhelming for her, and it didn’t show a lack of caring. “I know you’re not ready to talk about it, and I respect it. No one will read this but you, unless you give me explicit permission, which I am not entitled to unless I think you’re going to hurt yourself”
She sounds like a damn therapist , Vi thought. But maybe that wouldn’t be so bad to indulge in. Carefully, she thumbed the pages of the notebook, lost in thought. It would be nice to articulate everything, get it written down somewhere. Things tend to got stuck and lost when floating aimlessly around her head. But seeing it all laid out in front of her could be…alright.
“I-” Once more she hesitated, pulling her blanket closer and crossing her legs under her. It was hard to let go of her pride, but it was necessary. “Alright. I can…I can try it, I guess”
That seemed to please the other woman, and she got a comforting hand rubbing her forearm, and a kiss to the head. Vi absentmindedly clicked the pen between her fingers, blowing out a breath. She didn’t know how to start, or how she was gonna get through it without another sort of panic attack/emotional shutdown thing, but she’d have to try as she’d promised.
“I’m proud of you, Violet. I’m going to go start some tea, and get you a sleeping pill. I’ll be right back”
And then Vi was alone with her thoughts and the notebook, and she started writing. At first it was strange, and felt a little too juvenile. Like she was a little girl, scrawling crushes and scribbled hearts in the margins of a diary, not that she’d ever done that when she really was a little girl. But after the first page or so, the words sort of flowed out of her. Her right hand ached, and she took a sip of piping hot tea that at some point had been placed in front of her. Caitlyn sat quietly on the other end of the sofa, minding her own business thankfully, nose deep in a novel.
When the sleeping pill kicked in, she was six pages in with a massive hand cramp, but a surprisingly lighter heart. She still felt awful, and scared of ruining this life that her and her wife had built together, but making sense of her emotions had lightened the load on her consciousness a bit. It was a comforting thought that no one but her ever had to read it. Her eyes were a little wet, but could you blame her? There was nothing like rationalizing the suicide mission that’d ended up costing most all her family their lives in the middle of the night. Still, she had her Cait’s embracing arms and soft neck to push into when she grew tired, and by the time she drifted off, she was being carried to bed.
Briefly, her mind flashed to when she was fourteen and had fallen asleep on the couch at a party held at The Last Drop. She remembered reawakening slightly as Vander tucked her silently into her bed. She could still hear the laughter from the next room.
Now, she had Caitlyn’s soft breath to lull her into sleep. Nothing felt so bad.