#i know the self hate gonna go crazy today lets goooooo

[princesssmars]

yet again vi stumbles onto your doorstep, and yet again you can't turn her away.

youd never seen her until she moved into the apartment next to yours a few weeks back, sloppily dyed hair and melancholy face drawing your attention faster than you'd like to admit.

you'd heard her through the walls sometimes, the distinct clinking of bottles and thudding of relentless training on a punching bag.

the first time she'd interacted with you was when you were tiredly coming in after a long day at work, the woman drunkely stumbling up the stairs and letting out a rather loud wolf whistle. You decided to ignore it with a roll of your eyes until you heard the sounds of stumbling and cursing, turning around to see she'd fallen flat on her face as soon as the sound stopped coming out of her mouth.

obviously, being an extremely good person, you helped the wobbly woman into your apartment and forced her to dit down on your toilet seat while you got out some med supplies to patch up the scratch on her cheek. her eyes wer droopy as you wiped at the scar, barely flinching at the alcohol you put on the wound.

"janna, how much alcohol do you have in you?"

"hmmmmm just enough to have a good night."

"i wouldnt call immediately eating shit after catcalling someone a good night, vi."

"how'd'you know my name?"

"its written on your face, sweetheart."

maybe you shouldnt have been such a good person, because now this brute has stuck herself to you side. whenever she has a injury from wherever she gets them from, she bangs her fist on your door and blinks at your annoyed form until you begrudgingly let her in to fix her up.

she's not the worst, at least when shes not drunk out of her mind. you ask about why after tour first meeting she marked over the tattoo on her face, or the alcohol problem, something youre accustomed to in zaun but uncommon to see in someone still so young, but she just grumbles and shrugs off the questions. eventually you manage to worm out of her that someone close to her used to make really good drinks. you dont ask any more about it.

soon enough she finally decides to let you in on whats causing all these mysterious bumps and scrapes on her bidy, inviting you down to the fighting pits to watch her have a go. you figure if she's not dead yet she must be pretty good and damn is she good. you're slightly grateful that she does in fact have the brawn to back up that short tempered brain of hers, taunting her opponents before knocking them out in less than a minute.

maybe you can see why she was so conifent when catcalling you. just maybe.

shes still closed off but open to talking to you the more time you spend together, spending the night at yours more than once and finally seeming to calm in your presence, the neon flashing lights outside bring out the shapes and lines of her face as she stares at your ceiling above. being such a good neighbor you even sneak into her apartment one day and help clean up just a little bit. she didnt bring it up but the next time you needed to patch her up you opened your cabinet to see a bran new medkit.

but then like a switch is flicked she starts on a downward spiral, spending more and more time at the bar after her wins at the bar and having to get helped on her feet to get back into her apartment. seeing a nasty cut running down her arm during one of these trips you try to switch the woman from her friend over to you before she growls and rushes into her apartment, slamming the door in both of your faces.

you look to the man in silence. he only has a sad look on his face, shaking his head before heading back down the stairs.

you dont see her again for another ewweeks, until you hear the telltalesound of her falling on her ass outsie the door. you press you ear up against the door to hear what she does and start to get worried when she makes no noises. sneakily as you can, you undo your door locks and open your door to see what shes doing, only to see that sloppily dyed hair still laying on the ground, bottle clutched in one hand as her other forearm rests over her eyes.

you let out a full body sigh and internally reprimand yourself for starting to give a shit about someone before going into 'on' mode and hauling her into your apartment, which was definitely no small task. she doesnt fight you as you struggle to lift her up. you dont know ifits because shes familiar to the feel of your hands or too sloshed to worry about whos handling her. you can only stomp down the worry as you get to work.

you throw away the empty bottle, seatting at her hand that unconsciously reaches for it. when she glares at you you struggle the urge to throw her ass in the shower and turn on the chilled water, but decide thats bit the best route of action tonight. you manage to make her drink some water from the sink, take off her boots and jacket and plop down onto your bed. you rally wished youd saved up enough for a pull-out couch.

just when you turn away to put up her jacket and prepare something for you both to eat her hand locks into a grip on yours, large bruised and callused palm completely encircling your wrist as she weakly tugs you back towards her. you slowly sit back down and sit still as her head rubs into the side of your leg. the neon lights keep flashing as she visibly struggles with something before opening her eyes. the room flashes red, then purple, then blue and her hand grips yours tighter.

"'m sorry."

"its fine, vi. just fall asleep."