Sister Cities

Part 34: Caitlyn

I'm gnashing my teeth

Like a child of Cain

If this is a prison, I'm willing to buy my own chain

________________________________________________________________________________

The Firelights have to pester Vi even more than they had to pester Ekko to get her to take a break that evening. When they finally succeed, she detours to punch the wall and scowls when everyone's heads turn. I follow her into the fort.

There's not much room in here lengthwise, but they raised the upright cot to its full height, so we can both sit straight with our legs tucked in. She's not pleased when she realizes I'm beside her.

"You're supposed to be behind the wall," she says. "If anyone gets in, they'll shoot this thing up first."

"Is that why you didn't want to rest?"

The question seems to deeply offend her. "No. I don't like sitting on my ass when there's important shit to be doing, like aiding a coup."

"How can you aid a coup if you're exhausted?"

"I can handle a couple days without sleep. It's not like it's hard."

Her fists clench and unclench on her knees. She and Ekko eventually washed up at the sink in the corner and changed their bloody clothes, but the incident with the wall just now has made some of her own blood appear on her taped hands.

"What would happen if you went a couple days without hitting something?" I ask. "Would you explode?"

That softens her expression a bit. "Probably."

Outside, they're telling funny stories about Snake, and their overlapping comments and laughter are loud enough that I feel comfortable asking, "Why do you like it so much? Hitting, I mean. I understand why you would feel the need with opponents, but that was a stone wall. It doesn't fix anything— all it does is hurt you."

Vi's gaze shifts to the floor.

My stomach drops. "Is that the point?" I ask. "To hurt you?"

She shrugs.

"Why?"

"I don't know," she mumbles. "Feels like comeuppance, I guess. It's the same with opponents sometimes. It's like I'm paying my debt."

Her debt for what she did to Powder? Shit.

"That isn't healthy," I say.

"Wow, doc," she says. "You're real fucking smart, aren't you?"

We look at each other. Some of the purple strands in her eyes have disappeared.

"I'm sorry for being condescending," I say after a moment. "Of course you knew that already. But you don't have to be so severe."

"Because you're better than me and I owe you my respect, is that it?"

It seems she's going to maintain a complex about that for a while, despite what I said the other night. I can't blame her. "Because I'm not better than you," I say. "Because I care about you, and I never mean to attack you."

She looks at the ground again, waiting out a quieter stretch of conversation outside. I watch her.

"I'm sorry," she mutters.

I pick up her hand, gently, and draw it toward me to kiss her bloody knuckles. Her eyes widen and move to mine, uncomprehending; her fingers are curled loosely, and I hold still for a moment, feeling the coarse fabric against my lips, until she suddenly tenses and tears her hand away.