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Assistant: Title: Hello Darlin’
        Author: Walkingdownadarkalley Walkingdownadarkalley 
        Chapter: 6/14 
        Summary: It all started when Powder put up a wedding invitation on the fridge.I asked her not to mention Caitlyn, yet she openly recalls old stories and memories in a fond manner, a way to tease me. Each one is a stab to the heart, but over the years the pain numbed down to a dull, muted ache.ORSeveral years after a break up and zero communication, Vi gets a sudden invite to her ex’s wedding in London. Powder encourages her to go, but Vi isn’t sure she’s ready to see Caitlyn after things ended badly.
        Contents: Chapter 6: I'll Drive You Home
    

    

        
          
          
            Vi recounts her year in rehab and the beginning to her sobriety journey once she finally returns home. Meanwhile, the second phase of the bachelorette party ends, and the sisters look after the main bachelorette.
          
        

      
        
          TW to the beginning half of this chapter. It covers Vi's time in rehab, though it's mostly just a summary and doesn't get into any crazy, gory details. Brief mentions of withdrawal symptoms and seizures. Everything works out though and her and Powder have a nice conversation.I will put in bold when the section about rehab ends, and like last time, a summary at the end of the chapter for those who choose to skip it.Take care of y'all <3
            
            (See the end of the chapter for  more notes.)
            
      
  

  
  
    
    
  I went to rehab. 
 
  For just over a year, I shared a room with an old woman named Marge who laughed at nothing and liked to snoop through my stuff. The little stuff they actually 
  
    did 
  
  let me bring. 
 
  A picture of me and Powder at her high school graduation, not framed. 
 
  One notebook and pencil.
 
  Basic toiletries and clothing.
 
  A necklace Caitlyn gave me one year for Christmas.
 
  Cash for vending machines.
 
  Band-Aids, my preferred fabric kind, for when I inevitably bit my fingernails too much.
 
  It wasn’t a hard transition for me, as rehab proved to be remarkably similar to juvie, but the staff there actually give a rat's ass about helping you get better. And no uniforms. When I was in juvie, it was mostly for petty crimes that others got away with, but I didn’t for some reason. Some kind of bias I’m sure, but I never really could place my finger on it. Regardless, as I was constantly going in and out, Powder was luckily well taken care of by the owner of the adoption center we were in for awhile. Nice guy; tall, gruff, could beat the sh@t outta you, but won’t. He taught me to box, taught me how to not get my nose broken, and that if I did, to not blow my nose afterwards ‘cause that’ll make my eyes swell shut. 
 
  He vouched for me a lot, got me out of that shithole every time, and eventually got me to start actually caring about the consequences of my actions. Helped me grow up, helped me get my head in the game so I could properly take care of Powder when we left the system. 
 
  I thought about him a lot in rehab.
 
  I didn’t know what he was up to now, as we never really checked back in after I aged out of it and took Powder with me. Hell, he could be dead from a stroke or something and I didn’t even know it. If he was, I thought about him looking down on me, and what he’d think. Disappointed that I landed myself in rehab in the first place? Or proud I was finally dedicated to getting some help? I wasn’t always sure. 
 
  He came up in my memories often while I went through desperate nights of withdrawal symptoms. That first month I slept maybe a total amount of 20 hours. He’d show up, a hallucination I’d see every now and then, there to scold me into behaving, to remember why I was there, and how much Powder and I still needed each other. I became an insomniac, suffered a few more seizures at seemingly random times, and had constant headaches. The more time that went by, and the more medication they had me testing out (seeing which one was a proper fit), the less the symptoms got. Thankfully. Yes, thank 
  
    God
  
  .
 
  Powder visited often and came additionally for family therapy once a week. Personally, I was too scared to talk to this therapist the first couple of times, not exactly comfortable opening up about why I was there– even though she had my entire history written down and pinned to her clipboard. Eventually they broke me though, and Powder and I spent more time and tears on those moments than I think we have anywhere else. It made sense she was truly hurt by me, because I truly did hurt her, and I had a lot of atonement to work after. 
 
  On days she visited just for fun though, she’d update me about her school, bring me a candy bar, or show me a video she filmed of a new do-dad she’d made from soda cans and paper clips. We’d mostly just talk, sometimes inside on rainy days, but often outside as we made circles in the courtyard. She’d remark often how my hair was getting too long, as I didn’t ever think to cut it. But it was true. The shorn side of my head was getting dangerously grown out– to the point where you could just barely grab onto the hair on that side of my head and pull. 
 
  “Think I should let it grow out all the way? Get everything the same length?” I asked one day, but Powder sputtered in disgust.
 
  “Absolutely 
  
    not
  
  . You and complete long hair don’t mix.”
 
  “And why is that?” I snorted, almost offended at her quick and absolute response. “I could pull it off.”
 
  She turned to look at me more directly. “When have you 
  
    ever 
  
  had long hair?”
 
  I thought about it, scratching my scalp as I was now naturally playing with it, dye pretty faded too, and my dark brown roots pretty grown out. I played memories through college, then high school, when I originally shaved half my head on impulse. But even in middle school and before that I had a weird shaggy pixie that never got too much longer than my ears. The nape of my neck always remained exposed too, no memories of hair tickling down my back coming to the surface. Just constant wiping of sweat from the short cut with my palm. It dawned on me that this was likely the longest my hair had ever been. I hummed.
 
  “Good point,” I admitted, then shrugged. “What about an undercut?”
 
  “You wanna abandon your half ‘n half punk lesbian look?” Powder gasped dramatically. “I don’t know if I’d recognize you.”
 
  “Right, sure,” I laughed. “I’ll get more piercings then; to keep the punk status you’ve given me. How's that?”
 
  She shrunk her eyes into a squint and rubbed her face in thought, looking up at me. “Y’know what,” she started. “I think you’d look good with a lip piercing, or 
  
    ooh
  
  – maybe an eyebrow one. Next to the scar to make it look more 
  
    metal
  
  .”
 
  “I thought I was supposed to be 
  
    punk
  
  ,” I teased back, a smile on my face.
 
  She groaned. “You know what I mean.”
 
  I did end up getting more piercings though. Several I gave to myself while going through some kind of manic episode with a sewing needle I found in a portable kit left behind by some forgetful nurse in a bin of crafting supplies somewhere. But it wasn’t anything crazy, I just gave myself more ear piercings, convincing Powder to bring me small studs on her next visit so the holes wouldn’t close up. Got a lot of blood on my hands when I attempted another one through my upper ear on the opposite side of where I already had the space occupied. Only one of them closed up and I had even more holes on my head. 
  
    Nice
  
  . Staff noticed after a while and took the kit away from me, scolding me for a short two hours.
 
  I got more when I left rehab, treating myself to a tongue piercing that I regretted immediately. I didn’t really think about the healing process and how many of my favorite foods that I missed so desperately would be off limits for me for a while
  . However, I wasn’t about to lose to the pain, so I stuck through it and kept the piercing. 
 
  I got that undercut too, but it was more so small patches of a close shave on the sides of my head where the rest of my hair grew into a weird kind of mullet. I liked it, so I guess that’s all that matters. By that point too my red hair was all grown out and cut off, back to my natural color of brown. I had plans to redye once I settled at home, excited like a child would be. 
 
  Rehab was rather uneventful honestly. Therapy, pills, exercise, food, one hour of TV per day, sleep. And Powder, of course.
 
  What I came home to was my room, just as I left it, but filled to the brim with empty beer bottles and cans. The smell was putrid and made me wrinkle my nose, loudly exclaiming and dropping the bag I had in my hand. Powder laughed openly at me, and it was easy to deduce that this was her doing. She freely told me she did this right after I left, having already been saving my empty drinks for 
  
    months
  
   before I landed myself in the hospital. Whether or not that ever happened, she was 
  
    still 
  
  going to throw this trash in my room, shame me into seeing the reality. But coming home to it after a year away was seeing it through a new lens. Sure, it would’ve stung if things had gone differently, but having dealt with withdrawals, differing medication, therapy, and Marge, it just made me sad. I expected to feel defensive, maybe angry at myself, yelling at the mess Powder made to an empty room, letting her hear it through the wall. But now, I was just sad. By now that phase of my life felt like eons ago, having worked out the knot in the rope until it laid flat again. I couldn’t even imagine drinking that much in just a few months, and I didn’t even remember how many I 
  
    did 
  
  drink in just one night. Truthfully, and naturally, I didn’t remember much from that period, and I honestly don’t care to. I don’t want to think about the part of me that tortured my sister and threatened my life. 
 
  It was a new chapter.
 
  And despite being home, I didn’t clean up the bottles and cans. Not for another few months. My process of growth and journey to sobriety wasn’t done, not at all, not even close. I spent many nights, evenings, afternoons, mornings, forcing myself to sit in that room and count the cans and bottles. Anytime I had a breakdown, a craving, I reminded myself of my mistakes to correct the urges. I put more of myself into my work and bought a punching bag for the basement. So, after counting as many cans as I could stand, when my anger at myself started to boil, I’d go downstairs and let out the frustration on the punching bag. Often, I wouldn’t even put wraps or gloves on, staining it with dark blood when I got too into it and didn’t realize. 
 
  Exercise became my new and favorite coping mechanism.
 
  My bag kept getting more and more worn down, but I refused to get a new one, as I now had a strong emotional and personal attachment to this one. 
 
  And when I thought I was ready, we threw out the cans and bottles and invited friends over to welcome me back home from the Hell I created for myself and pulled myself out of in return. 
 .
  [end of TW]

  .
 
  
    “Vi!!”
  
 
  I turned around from where I found a temporary safe spot at the bar with my sister. 
 We had been chatting about phase one of the party and laughing (mostly Powder, mostly at me) about how insistent Cassandra was in tearing my past few years of living to pieces. It had been three hours of pure Hell. But then Powder spilled that she told Caitlyn about my little… misadventures, confirming my suspicions that she was the reason Caitlyn knew I had gone sober.  
  I somewhat scolded her at first, the way friends do instead of how parents do. We were both adults now, my motherly side having been packed away in the back of the closet for a long time now. I shoved her shoulder slightly and frowned at her, irritated that she'd go divulging my own personal information like she knew what was best for me. But I got over myself rather quickly, as Powder was quite the master at distracting me, and I quite frankly had no room to be mad at her about my own sh@tty behavior. The loud music that killed my eardrums helped with that too. It was hard to have a conversation if you couldn’t even hear yourself think, not to mention drag queens in all kinds of feathers and sequences were wading around and teasing patrons, like they so often do. 
 
  I 
  
    love
  
   mean drag queens. 
 
  In another life I surely was one. I never cared for fancy dress or makeup, but becoming someone new for a night and getting paid to dance around and be mean to customers? That sounds like my kind of gig. So yes, I always tipped a drag queen when she performed. Mad respect. Lord knows the heels alone would kill me after just a single night.
 
  My drag persona probably wore cheap dirty flip flops.
 
  Powder and I had turned to this very topic of conversation after a while. She was looking me over like she’d never seen me before and needed to size me up, trying to decide what my drag name would be. She came up with a few good ones that were puns that made me almost snort out my drink (water, obviously). I wasn’t sure how long we spent sitting there just having a laugh, our backs turned to the dancefloor for the majority of it. Though sometimes Powder would orient herself to look outward and people watch, knowing I’d swivel around to match so I could see who she was making fun of. She couldn’t dance herself that well but that never stopped her from being absolutely villainous to innocent clubbers who were none the wiser to her prying eyes.
 
  A couple of times Caitlyn caught my glance. She was in the center of it all, like the whole crowd was revolving around her. She certainly did light up the room with those pearly whites of hers, especially when her grinning was so 
  
    genuine
  
  . I was shameless in my watching every time her bouncing came into view. Her friends were laughing right along with her, sometimes taking her hand and twirling her or simply mouthing along to the song lyrics. A few times I saw a friend retrieve a few shot glasses of something orange-ish (Fireball no doubt). Caitlyn and three to four of her other friends would all down the shot on the count of three. She’d laugh at herself and wipe her mouth with the back of her hand as she steadily fell further back down into the inebriation that made her puke not too long ago. 
 
  “
  
    Jesus
  
  ,” Powder laughed loudly next to me after we watched the second shot disappear from the group's glasses. Though Cait was already quite drunk (even with the incident outside), she seemed to be taking it slow now, only taking the shots when offered with a respectable amount of time in between each one. “Guess she ain’t driving tonight.”
 
  “Did she drive?” I asked, just on instinct as I guess I didn’t really know how Caitlyn had gotten to the restaurant. Europe was so small I just figured everyone walked everywhere.
 
  “I think I heard her mention a car or something on the walk over. It’d still be parked at the restaurant if that’s the case,” Powder swigged her own drink, switching to a plain old soda after she found her sweet-tipsy spot, and didn’t want to push it. “Man, she is gonna have the most insane parking ticket…”
 
  My sister chuckled again, her attention severed as she started to twirl the ice in her glass around and our topic of conversation slowly started to float in other directions, ending up facing the bar again. It was a little while before I heard my name called out behind me, cutting me off mid sentence in a story I was telling, turning on my swivel stool to see who it was. But I couldn’t spin fast enough, a hand coming to lay on my arm quickly instead, leaving me no choice but to look up and over my shoulder. 
 
  “Vi! Here you are! We ‘aven’t seen you out dancin’ 
  
    at all!”
  
 
  Caitlyn leaned on my shoulder again, beaming, drunk, happy, let loose. She was putting most of her weight on me, popping her hip out as she was favoring that over properly standing. She was 
  
    undoubtedly
  
   in a 
  
    much
  
   better mood, her cheeks pleasantly flushed and a string of hair brushing over her nose every now and then.
 
  “
  
    Yeah
  
  , I’m not sure if you remember,” I politely laughed, ignoring how her hand burned on my shoulder, the sleeves of my jacket still over her arms. “I'm not much of a dancer.”
 
  “
  
    Ooh I remember
  
  ,” Caitlyn teased, then giggled to herself, like she told an inside joke only she understood. “
  
    C’mon!
  
   Juss 
  
    one 
  
  dance? For
  
     old times sake?”
  
 
  A million taunts and sarcastic words were in my mouth by the time she next blinked, but none were responses befitting a soon-to-be married woman. Sure, they’d work wonders on any single woman. But one wasn’t standing in front of me, was there? I tightly smiled as I thought of something else to say, some kind of nice way to turn her down so my sister couldn’t get any blackmail footage for future use. 
 
  “Looks like your friends are missing you,” I said, pointing with my index finger past her on the hand still holding my glass. With my nod in their direction Caitlyn briefly turned to see that her friends were indeed trying to call her back over, shouting something that no one could understand over the noise.
 
  Caitlyn groaned and scrunched her nose at me, and I’m sure it was dawning on her that my stubbornness hadn’t changed much since she last saw me. Eventually though, she relented with an irritated and exaggerated sigh, throwing her head back for a second. 
 
  “
  
    Fine
  
  ,” she grumbled. “Next time.”
 
  She stated her final words like it was a fact and that made a grin break out onto my face, deciding it’d be alright to send her off with one more stupid joke.
 
  “Planning on having another bachelorette party already, Cait?”
 
  She snorted and stumbled on her heels a little as the curtains of her hair surrounded her face when she glanced down. Caitlyn just punched my shoulder weakly and made some noncommittal comment that I didn’t quite catch as she maneuvered her way back to her gaggle of girls with open arms. 
 
  “
  
    Wow
  
  ,” Powder scoffed her knowing look basically in my face as I watched the woman go.
 
  “What?” I asked, offended simply by my sister’s mocking tone.
 
  “She was 
  
    soooo
  
   flirting with you.”
 
  “What–” my face immediately flared up the color of my hair. “She was 
  
    not!
  
   She’s drunk!”
 
  “And 
  
    you 
  
  were flirting 
  
    back
  
  .”
 
  
    “I was not! Powder! Stop 
  
  reading into 
  
    every 
  
  little thing,” I shouted. But she laughed at me, shrugging before finishing her soda.
 
  “Whatever you have to tell yourself to make yourself feel better.”
 
  .
 
  Maybe an hour passed, not more than that, before Caitlyn and her friends were finding my sister and I at the bar again. They were all giggling, some more gone than others, and all giving each other kisses as goodbyes. They lingered around us, not regarding us at first until a few of the women gave Powder and I awkward hugs as they expressed their joy in 
  
    finally 
  
  being able to meet us. We tried to politely say our farewells too, but the loud club still trumped our voices. The easily distracted and inebriated group had short attention spans anyways. Eventually it was just us two, Caitlyn, and Martha left hovering at the bar.
 
  “You alright to get home, Caitlyn?” Martha asked, to which Caitlyn nodded and reassured her friend with little doubt. They hugged, and quickly Martha kissed her cheek and parted ways before we could say anything more. 
 
  “You’re not driving, are you?” I asked Caitlyn, walking with her outside to get away from the noise as her party was swiftly coming to a close. 
 
  “
  
    No, no
  
  ,” Caitlyn shook her head, digging around in her purse before pulling out her phone. “I think I’m gonna try n' call a cab…”
 
  I squinted at her as I watched her struggle to unlock her phone and properly read notifications on her screen. Despite the fact I knew she was a fully grown adult in her hometown, something in the back of my mind and deep within my gut didn’t enjoy the thought of Caitlyn making the trek back to her place drunk and alone.
 
  I’d made that walk many times, and none of them were safe. Sometimes I was lucky to get home without incident, other times, I wasn’t as fortunate. And it wouldn’t be fair if something were to happen to Cait on the night before her wedding. 
 
  So I did what I thought was right.
 
  I snatched her phone right from her hand.
 
  “Nope,” I said, definitive, cutting her off before she could complain. “We’ll take you back.”
 
  “Vi, it’s really no–”
 
  “
  
    Ah
  
  – 
  
    ah
  
  –” I stopped her again, much to her chagrin. “C’mon, let's head back to your car.”
 
  “You won’t take no fur an answer, will you?” Caitlyn lowered her brow in a furrow of seriousness. 
 
  “You already know the answer to that,” I smiled. Gingerly I maneuvered Caitlyn’s phone back into her purse that was slung over her shoulder, putting it away and safely out of harm's way. I indicated for her to follow along, hoping Powder or her would actually remember the way back to the restaurant. Because I sure didn’t. 
 
  She groaned and puffed a piece of hair out of her face before she mumbled a reluctant agreement. Powder made no comment, a little out of it in her tipsy state, and enjoying the quiet peace in her head. That, and I was sure she was leaving Caitlyn and I to talk alone on purpose. 
  
    The cheeky girl.
  
   But all too soon we were a trio of girls walking the late night London streets and it wasn’t long until Caitlyn started to use me for balance again. She was quick to start prattling on about nothing in particular, I guess feeling rather talkative about her last night of freedom. Powder chimed in with a few half present witty remarks that made Cait laugh a little too loudly. She continued on about things her friends did and said that I missed, how it was nice to go dancing again after so long, and how she was 
  
    really 
  
  regretting her choice in shoes for the night. Powder joked that I should give her a piggyback ride, much to my disapproval and flaming red cheeks, but luckily Caitlyn was too distracted by a broken and left behind necklace on the sidewalk from another supposed party-goer. 
 
  Eventually the girls led us successfully back to Caitlyn’s car, though I was sure we had to have walked in a few circles at times. My sense of direction was alright, but I think it was fair to argue that my mind was 
  
    a bit
  
   preoccupied. I don’t know what kind of car it was other than the fact that it was small, lightly colored, and impeccably clean. She fumbled around in her purse for a moment before finding the keys and plopping them into my open palm. With that, getting her to lay down in the backseat was an easy enough venture. Powder climbed into the driver's seat on accident, forgetting the whole
  
     ‘they drive on the other side of the road’
  
   thing, and she laughed at herself, a drunken Caitlyn joining in with a snort. Correcting that little mistake, I sparked the car to life and sent out a silent prayer that I would quickly get used to the opposite feeling that was making my very sober self feel like I wasn’t. I sucked in a large breath, held it, then looked back at Cait in the rearview mirror. 
 
  “Hey Pow, hand her this so she can type in her address.”
 
  I gave my phone to my sister, who followed my instructions sloppily, nearly dropping the phone under the seat as she passed it back. And when Caitlyn took ahold of it, she squinted at the screen as she typed, but then she whined.
 
  “You've got no ssservice!” she complained, then flung her hand out to return the phone.
 
  “
  
    F@ck
  
  ,” I cursed, looking over the device myself. “
  
    Must’ve run out of data…
  
  ”
 
  “Well 
  
    hey
  
  , issa–kay ‘cause I can jus’ give you directions–!”
 
  Caitlyn’s voice was uplifting and joyful, a bit goofy, and she kept biting her lip when she laughed. I couldn’t help but get a little star struck each time I saw her do that, but I was doing my d@mnedest to keep myself focused. I looked at the woman again in the mirror before resigning to just turning around to regard her. She was without a seatbelt as she had crammed her long limbs in with her as she laid on her back. Her arms were outstretched as she drew mindless patterns on her car ceiling (the part that dipped lower as it met the car window) with her long nails, and her lips were puckered with thought but also amusement from the silly sound she could make. 
 
  “Think you’re up for that, Cait?” I asked, doubtful that she wouldn’t fall asleep during the ride.
 
  “
  
    Awww
  
   ‘ave some faith, Vi!” she giggled as her nose scrunched up, but she continued to mess with the short fuzzy material that made up the interior. 
 
  “Just saying,” I chuckled. “If we get lost and you end up sleeping in your car for the night, it’s not my fault.”
 
  
    “Oh, yeah, sure, sure
  
  ,” she rolled her eyes and stuck out her tongue at me, finally glancing over to look at me before I turned around and put the car in reverse.
 
  .
 
  When we finally rolled up to her apartment complex, the first thing that came to mind was 
  
    ‘how would her fiancée
  
  
     
  
  
    feel about two strange girls bringing her partner home drunk?’
  
 
  But we both quickly found out that wasn’t going to be an issue.
 
  Caitlyn had never moved out of her one bedroom apartment, we learned. Though most of her belongings were now in Victoria’s home (which I’m assuming they basically called their own), it was clear at least 
  
    someone 
  
  indeed lived in Caitlyn’s apartment. Dishes in the sink, unfolded blankets on the couch, pictures on the walls. Caitlyn’s own little hideaway– her grasping at the straws of her old life. I tried not to think too much about why the pair hadn’t made that part of their relationship official before tying the knot. I didn’t know anything about their situation, and it didn’t necessarily mean anything that Caitlyn decided to keep a separate residence. Or at least that’s what I was repeating to myself so my imagination wouldn’t get the better of me.
 
  Neither of us commented on it as we both held her hand while walking up the stairs. She hadn’t thought of taking her shoes off, because she either didn’t want to get her feet dirty, or because she simply forgot that was an option, we weren’t sure. But Caitlyn eventually managed to gracefully stumble through her apartment door and towards her room. Powder left us then, saying she’d be right back, off to do god-knows-what. I couldn’t forewarn her to remain polite while in someone else's home, because Caitlyn nearly fell at Powder’s sudden departure. 
 
  She led me to her bedroom where she promptly fell face first into the bed, like I often did, and that similarity almost made me smile. Her feet stood dangling off the edge, and I took the liberty of freeing them from their heeled prison, setting them against the wall and by the door. 
 
  “C’mon,” I tapped her calf a few times, urging her not to fall asleep just yet. “You wanna get changed for bed?”
 
  She groaned at me, seemingly already comfortable and unwilling to move. 
  
    Man I’d been there. 
  
  I was about ready to ask her again until she managed out a reluctant 
  
    ‘yes’
  
   muffled by her comforter.
 
  “You wanna get them or shall I?”
 
  It felt pertinent I asked before rifling around in her dresser. Just good manners. No matter how her mother tried to claim I didn’t have any, when it came to the women of my life, I was first and foremost a gentleman. She couldn’t say that wasn’t true, I was 
  
    damn 
  
  sure of it. But Caitlyn only grumbled again, and I took that as enough of an answer instead of prompting her over and over again.
 
  On habit I crouched to open the bottom drawer, where I always knew she used to keep her pajama sets (I always thought it was adorable she insisted on owning sets of designated pjs while I just wore an old raggedy tee shirt). I was actually surprised to find that she still stored them there. But I brushed it away, grabbing the first set on top. A pink, satin pair of pants and a tank top. They hadn’t pilled in the slightest, and looked almost brand new, but I knew that was simply due to Caitlyn’s obsessive nature in keeping all of her things nicely taken care of. I plopped them down next to her and told her I’d wait outside, to which she finally opened back up her eyes to see what selection I made. She yawned and made some sort of positive noise, signaling me to go.
 
  While I waited outside her closed door, the silence of the place ate away at me. I didn’t usually enjoy quiet places. I was too in danger of letting my mind wander, which was getting increasingly easier these days. Powder couldn’t even be heard fussing with things in the distance, which I found suspicious. But before I could wander off myself to go find my sister, I heard Caitlyn faintly yell 
  
    ‘okay!’
  
   from inside her room, and I pushed my way back inside.
 
  I found her prone again on her bed, funnily squirming her way under her comforter this time and letting out a sigh of relief as she relaxed against her pillows. Cautiously I reentered, thinking to myself about the other things I thought I could recall being a part of her nighttime routine. It dawned on me then that she was still wearing makeup, and I padded quietly over to her nightstand.
 
  I sat down next to her, careful as to try and not disturb her. She was tucked all cozy in her covers, her arms and shoulders gone underneath them and a small, content smile on her at ease face. She watched me with a focused stare as I fiddled with a number of different things, trying to quickly sift through the products I found on her nightstand, and feeling victorious when I spotted a pack of makeup wipes. I turned to her, finally getting a good look at how comfortable and happy she seemed, and it made my heart ache. Good and bad. Primarily good in that moment, just so pleased to see the woman I reluctantly cared for in a good place. All I ever wanted was her happiness, and anytime I saw her getting what she so rightfully deserved, it made me feel like maybe everything was going to be okay.
 
  “Let’s get your makeup off now, okay?” I said, keeping my voice low and soft so as to not disrupt the peace of the air in the room. She nodded at me and made some kind of affirmative noise before closing her eyes.
 
  As gently as I could, I pressed the cold wipe to her eyelid, moving to get rid of her eye shadow first. She never wore too much makeup, so this wouldn’t be too hard of a task, but nonetheless I kept my focus lasered in and steady, never severed. Caitlyn remained still and quiet as I worked over both eyes, successfully removing her eye shadow and eye liner. I scrubbed a little bit along her lashes to try and get some of that mascara out, but I didn’t push too hard, worried about irritating her eye. It was good enough for a night's sleep. 
 
  Next I took a clean part of the wipe and readied to wipe down her lips. 
 
  “Eyes are done,” I kept her informed. “Gonna get your lips now, alright?”
 
  When she looked up at me I had to remind myself to breathe, disalarmed at how disarming her gaze was in that moment. I felt stupid for ever actually forgetting. How many times would I have to fall into her intense eyes to fully remember how powerful they were? Her actually being able to watch me take care of her like this was intimately familiar, and I wrinkled my brow in an attempt to stay focused on the task at hand. Pushing away arising feelings of times I had done this in the past and vice versa was harder than I thought, but I fought fiercely to stay in the moment and not allow dead (or so I told myself) feelings to arise. 
 
  Caitlyn kept her face neutral as I worked, but as she watched me diligently remove her lipstick, her lips started to turn into a subtle smile. I was happy to stop staring at her lips, for obvious reasons, as just looking at them did something to me. It made me feel pathetic, but again, I pressed it down as best as I could.
 
  I finally got a new wipe to finish up removing her foundation, which was nothing more than what looked like a tinted moisturizer and a bit of filler for her eyebrows. But when I started to softly wipe her cheeks clean, she started to talk. 
 
  “
  
    ‘M really glad you came…
  
  ” she whispered, and those words stopped me in my tracks.
 
  “You… are?” I dared to ask, my words hardly making it out of my mouth. 
 
  “Yeah…I mean it,” she clarified. “Is really, 
  
    really 
  
  nice tah see you agann.”
 
  My breath shuddered as I exhaled from my nose. I made nervous eye contact before I had to look away, trying to regain my footing from her sudden admission. Her emotions were certainly on a roller coaster tonight, dragging me along with her. I had half the mind to be irritated at her for forcing me to feel all these things as she acted so curiously around me. One moment she was mad and screaming at me, another ignoring me, then one more begging me to dance. I had no clue what this woman was thinking, how she was truly feeling, if anything had been a lie, and I really didn’t know what to make of it. It felt almost as if she was playing football with my heart, just kicking the ball over and over again at the net for it to only hit the goal post and bounce back in her direction for her to kick once more. A twisted cycle, and I couldn’t organize a single thought for the life of me. 
 
  “Well… that’s…” I tried, but cleared my throat and started over. “I’m glad to hear it… since y’know… you didn’t seem very thrilled at the beginning.”
 
  Caitlyn groaned dramatically at herself, suddenly pulling the covers up over her face, interrupting my work. My hand hovered awkwardly there as she hid for a few seconds in what looked like embarrassment. She didn’t stay under there forever, thankfully, as I guess she was still feeling childishly playful like she often did when she was wasted. Her hands covered her eyes for a second more which then was followed by another grumble before I finally was able to get back to cleaning her cheeks of tint. 
 
  “
  
    Aaughh
  
   ’m 
  
    so 
  
  stupid,” she giggled and chastised herself, looking at the ceiling, like she couldn’t bear to look at me for the time being. “I was juss 
  
    so shocked.
  
   I 
  
    really 
  
  didn’ espect to see you there… I wasn’… mentally prepared yet, I s’ppose…”
 
  “You didn’t…” I paused, moving to start cleaning her chin. “You didn’t invite us…?”
 
  I asked the question cautiously, but I desperately wanted an answer. Ever since our little spat and her surprised expression earlier that night, I was indeed confused myself. She acted like she had no clue we were going to be there, even though I was clearly under the impression she was the one who invited us there in the first place. Which left a mystery in its wake. Because if she didn’t invite us, who did? It was her party, she made the guest list, I could only assume. So who on Earth would want to catch her (and me, for a matter of fact) off guard like that? What kind of sick joke was it? What could there have been to benefit? Too many questions, and not enough answers. 
 
  Caitlyn shook her head, finally looking at me again. “I fffought about it… but… I was worried maybe it wss too much…” Her hands emerged from under the blankets, going to rest on her lap in the free air as her fingers started to fidget and pick at the dead skin around her nails. “I figured gettin’ my wedding invite would be shockin’ ‘nough… I didn’ wanna… y’know…”
 
  I watched her shrug as she was carefully eyeing her own hands now, only having the strength to make eye contact with me for a passing moment. I was grateful to be honest, because I had 
  
    much
  
   less strength than her in that regard, trying my best to absorb myself in my duty of cleaning her face. Scrubbing the wipe softly through her eyebrows, I was near the finish line. When I was confident I got all the product out, I took the trash I made and tossed it into the nearby bin in the corner. My brain neverminded her last comment, unable to come up with something proper to say in response.
 
  “Alright, all nice and clean now,” I said, grabbing a little bottle that I hoped was moisturizer. Certainly looked like it, certainly smelled like it. But the label was so vague as to what it actually was. All I could see was that it was for all skin types and some hard to pronounce ingredients. Either way, Caitlyn watched me and didn’t stop me as I unscrewed the cap. The logical part of my brain reasoned that Caitlyn could probably do all this herself, but the deprived part of me sickly thought…
  
     well… since I’ve already taken off her makeup for her, I might as well commit.
  
 
  When I next touched her face, so gently that it was hard to tell if I was even touching her, she closed her eyes. I was convincing myself I was imagining Caitlyn leaning slightly into my fingertips, that I hallucinated a satisfied little hum as she was practically already asleep. Her drunken brain had removed her filter completely, and she didn’t know what she was doing, I tried to say to myself. If it had been Jayce taking care of her before her wedding night to make sure she gets a good night's sleep, she’d surely do the same, right? It wasn’t romantic in any way, was it? Even so, the thought of Jayce acting in my place still made me feel sick.
 
  Softly I rubbed the white cream into her skin until it was all absorbed and her face had that fresh, shiny look you get when you just get out of the shower all clean and supple. A smile was still very prominent on her face, and it was only when I took my hand away that she opened her eyes again to watch me screw on the moisturizer cap. I almost felt like I was taking care of an elderly grandparent, or a sick child, instead of a drunk person. But they all three were essentially the same, right?
 
  Poor motor functions, bad coordination, memory issues, and sometimes you p@ss yourself.
 
  Powder chose that moment to come barreling in, flooding the dark room with light from where she entered: the living room. In her hand she had a few bottles, presumably from Cait’s bathroom medicine cabinet. I made a mental note to apologize to sober Caitlyn for the snooping my sister most definitely did when she had the chance. Caitlyn winced and whined at the bright light, the door facing the foot of the bed and directly hitting her sensitive eyes that had since adjusted to the dark room. On instinct, I scooted and leaned a bit in a way to block the light from her face, and her sigh of relief was the only indicator to myself that I had even done that good deed for her as well.
 
  “Looks like you got the whole kit n’ caboodle here,” Powder said, coming to stand next to where I was sitting on her bed. “Aspirin, iBuprofen, Advil, Pepto Bismol…”
 
  She listed the different meds to help Caitlyn with the inevitable hangover she was sure to experience the following morning and sat them down when she was done. Powder took the liberty of dragging over the small trash can from the corner next to the bed and sat a glass of water down for her that I failed to see until then she had also grabbed.
 
  “
  
    Wow
  
  , so kind of you, Pow,” I teased in a low, soft voice. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”
 
  “F@ck off,” she responded tiredly, repressing a yawn. “I’m gonna get a cab, don’t take too long.”
 
  She slapped my shoulder half assed-ly as she left the room, closing the offending door behind her. Not too long after I heard the sound of the front door open and close too, still I was yet to move from my post. Quickly, I ran over a mental checklist of things she could need, and one last little detail came to mind.
 
  “Here, let’s plug your phone in and make sure you got your alarms set,” I gestured my hand for her to give me her phone, which was still safe in her purse that haphazardly landed next to her in bed. I watched her grumble as she dug around to find it, then slapped it in my open palm. “Open it for me first?”
 
  “You know the password,” Caitlyn spoke through a yawn, like it was no big deal, starting to cuddle down deeper and deeper.
 
  “I– I do?” I stuttered aloud but got no more of a response than a quiet hum as I realized what she meant. She hadn’t changed her password in all this time. We used to know each other's passwords, if we could remember, as we kept all our important login info in the same shared google doc. It was a bit stunning, if I’m honest, thinking surely, she would’ve used a new password with the (I’m sure) countless phones she’s had since our breakup. But she decided to keep it.
 
  
    Don’t read into it. Don’t read into it. 
  
  
    Don’t read into it.
  
 
  
    Except…
  
 
  It was hard not to when the password was 516-516. A funny little numerical code for my name that Caitlyn came up with. Or she read it somewhere. Either way. It matched how you spell the number 6 in roman numerals.
 
  V for five.
 
  I for one.
 
  VI for six.
 
  And cutely enough, I had the roman numeral tattooed under my cheek for about a year or two before Caitlyn and I even met.
 
  Perhaps it was just easy to remember. Just three numbers twice. Simple, right? 
 
  I forced my mind away as I typed it in and maneuvered my way to her clock app and looked at her many (labeled) alarms. I noticed there wasn’t one created for waking up on the morning of her wedding yet, so I just decided to make a new one.
 
  “When do you wanna get up?”
 
  “Mmmmm,” Caitlyn shifted around, mumbling with her mouth closed as she thought aloud. Her eyes opened slightly and stared dazed at the ceiling for a bit, then she got comfortable on her side, facing me, bringing the blankets up over her shoulders. “Seven.”
 
  “Still an early bird, huh?” I said softly, the tease just coming out from habit. It was too easy to joke and flirt with her, especially with all the history there. I was falling back into old habits that now are very much classified as bad habits. But before I could psych myself out, I heard Caitlyn huff out some laughter.
 
  “You remembered every little detail about me, huh?”
 
  I set the alarm and looked down at her just as she finished the sentence. She was looking up at me, a conniving smile tightly wound like she was waiting for me to blush and get defensive. Pulling my leg, making me embarrassed. She was still so good at it. 
 
  And I did blush, almost choked too, but I managed to quickly 
  
    ‘save’
  
   myself.
 
  “Only because it seems like you still have me memorized too,” I chuckled lightly. “Still remember just how to push my buttons.”
 
  I really shouldn’t have, but I ended that sentiment by poking her forehead. It made my fingertip tingle, remembering itself how it felt when I was cleaning up Caitlyn’s face just moments earlier, and how I used to be allowed to caress her cheeks whenever I wanted. I think I was subconsciously and selfishly trying to get as much of that touch as I appropriately could before it was lost to me forever. And she laughed, a bit louder this time in her chest, and she waved at my hand, too slow to have actually gotten to smack it. 
 
  “Hey, stop it!” she giggled, hair falling in her face that she tried to blow away. “Is that so bad?” Caitlyn asked me, referring to my last point. “Some things are just hard to forget– like how you like your coffee black 
  
    but
  
   sometimes with sugar.”
 
  “When I’m feeling spicy,” I joked, and her nose wrinkled in a large smile.
 
  “That’s right,” she confirmed. “Or how you’d always want to get a dog even though you’re allergic.”
 
  “A tragedy,” I sighed dramatically, again winning a grin from Caitlyn as my prize. I couldn’t help but play along to her fun banter, my heart absolutely swelling with the confirmation that she 
  
    remembered. 
  
  She kept that stupid information up in that head of hers when she knew she didn’t have to. When she could’ve gotten rid of it to save space for more important things. 
  
    But she held onto them.
  
   Whether or not she tried to forget at some point but couldn’t, or she simply wouldn’t forget, that was up for debate. But either way I was falling further down the hole that led to nowhere but Caitlyn Kiramman. Her blue eyes, her rosy cheeks, pearly teeth, silky hair, sweet personality… helplessly prone, I couldn’t stop myself from indulging in the warm feeling in my heart that she had suddenly and miraculously kickstarted again after years of being still. 
 
  “And how you’d always forget to wrap your hands at the gym, so you’d bust up your knuckles too much, despite 
  
    all
  
   the times I reminded you,” she rolled her eyes at me, but with no real venom in her words, a playful smile still so plain on her expression. 
 
  “It’s not fun unless you spill a little blood!” I sillily defended myself, trying to mask a laugh, yet she didn’t try to hide hers at all. 
 
  “It wasn’t fun watching you hurt yourself, you tw@t!” this time her laugh was whole bodied. “I mean, look!” Suddenly, without my expecting it, she grabbed my hand and held it close to her face, as if to inspect it. “I can still see all the scar tissue– and by the looks of it, after all this time you 
  
    still
  
   don’t take my advice. They’re so much more beaten up than I remember! Did you fight a bear or something?”
 
  Caitlyn was making herself laugh now, rubbing her thumbs over my knuckles before she looked to me for a response. I was a little stagnant, startled by the sudden contact, and how she wasn’t letting go. In fact, she almost seemed to squeeze my hand with both of hers.
 
  “Maybe just a few,” I barely managed to get that little quip out, almost missing my chance to smoothly volleyball back in our little fake spat. 
 
  In lieu of a jest back, she merely stared at me, softly smiling, feeling my roughed up, worn hand in her perfect, smooth ones. And just like that for a moment she really looked at me, 
  
    really
  
   looked, like she hadn’t had a chance all evening. But she tore her eyes away soon enough, before I could say anything stupid and ruin the moment. She focused back on my hand, still letting her thumbs examine the bumps and scars aplenty there. 
 
  “I remember when you’d come home with your hands all busted up and I’d clean them for you so you wouldn’t get an infection…” she said, fondly, quieter, almost like she was talking to herself. So I didn’t dare interrupt her, staying frozen in my spot,
  
     oh-so curious
  
   about where her memories had taken her. “And when I’d get them all wrapped up, you’d ask if I could 
  
    ‘kiss them better’ 
  
  in that 
  
    ridiculous
  
  , childish voice you use on me.” She giggled softly, more so as a flash of teeth than any kind of sound. “And those puppy eyes, 
  
    ugh,
  
   I just 
  
    hate 
  
  how well those work on me.”
 
  Caitlyn paused, her bottom lip disappearing for a moment as it coincided with the thoughts churning around in her still drug swarmed mind. She looked as if she was considering something, but then remembered something kind, something reassuring, and something sweet. I wanted nothing more in that moment to ask her what it was, what she was thinking about, but I never got the opportunity, nor was I ever able to summon the courage.
 
  Even if I did, even if I could, it wouldn’t have mattered, because Caitlyn chose that exact moment to bring my knuckles to her lips, softly and kindly pressing a lingering kiss to my skin, setting it positively ablaze. And it seemed to linger, like time itself had slowed down and I was seeing the world through slow-motion. I could feel her lips smile against my skin, see as she closed her eyes and her eyelashes touched her cheeks, and hear how she inhaled with her nose against the top of my hand. She held me close for a while, pulling back to once again look fondly at my hand before she tightened her grip for a moment, then ultimately let go as her eyes found mine again. Nearly closed, she looked wrecked and exhausted, but utterly content. She yawned in my awe-struck face, still unable to move, and she muttered one more thing to me while she got fully comfortable to sleep and completely close her eyes.
 
  
    “Thanks…”
  
 
  .
 
  I don’t know how long I had to have been sitting there, staring at her as she fell quickly asleep. Long enough, surely, that it was creepy. But I didn’t mean it to be. Her memory and sharing of such about our past life was shocking enough, but to 
  
    kiss 
  
  me? On the night before 
  
    her f@ck@ng wedding?
  
 
  
    Sure, 
  
  just a kiss on my knuckle, but a kiss nonetheless. She wouldn’t do that with Jayce.
  
     No way.
  
   But for some godforsaken reason, she decided to do so with her ex-girlfriend
  , alone, while she was taking care of her, and making sure she got to bed alright. That was 
  
    intimate.
  
   That was some romantic comedy b@llsh@t. I had seen enough crappy movies with Powder to recognize it a mile away. And perhaps maybe that’s all it was. Maybe in Caitlyn’s head, that was still f@ck@d up on whiskey (lest you forget), she was just romanticizing the past, remembering it in a way someone would before saying goodbye. Maybe that was her closure. The kind we never got. We never did say goodbye to one another. We had our fight and that was it.
 
  Maybe… just maybe this was her finally saying goodbye.
 
  It made my heart giddy but sad at the same time, and it twisted something in my chest that I couldn’t place. A suffocating feeling, the same one I had when I first came home to find all of Caitlyn’s things gone. It was immobilizing. I couldn’t tell if I wanted to be upset at her for it or pass out with the amount of blood rapidly passing through my heart. 
 
  A text from Powder startled me awake from my trance, but luckily spared Caitlyn as she had peacefully and finally drifted off. I jumped slightly, then fished the phone from my pocket to read:
 
  Powder 
  
    (11:56pm)
  
   

  
    Cab guy says he’s gonna charge an extra 10 quid if you don’t get ur ass down here
  
 
  Hurriedly I put my phone back away, opting not to respond and just get moving. But before I stood, 
  
    I don’t know what compelled me,
  
   I took one more look to the raven-haired girl lying beside me. Breathing deeply, and her lips parted slightly. Without further thought, my brain finally fried from all the emotional exhaustion it could take in one evening, my hand moved. As softly as I could, and with just the tips of my fingers, I brushed some stray hair from her face, leaving it clear. But then I leaned forward, hesitated, and simply as if I was on autopilot, gently kissed her forehead.
 
  I whispered, having realized I hadn’t said this yet, and as if I was saying my own goodbye:
 
  
    “Congratulations.” 
  

  
  

    
      
        
        
          Vi spent a year in rehab with a roommate named Marge. She adjusted fine but dealt with several withdrawal symptoms such as several more (but less serious) seizures, insomnia, and hallucinations of the orphanage owner from where her and her sister stayed after their parents died. Powder often came to visit for fun and also for therapy sessions. During one of their visits Powder remarks that Vi's hair has gotten too long. Vi suggests she gets an undercut and more piercings. The latter of which Vi gave herself in her ears with a lost sewing needle, only to then be scolded by staff. She got a tongue piercing and that undercut when she got home. She also discovered Powder had trashed her room with all the bottles and cans of the last few months of Vi's drinking while she'd been away. She didn't clean them up until months later when she felt ready.'
User: Summarize the chapter based on the content provided, ensuring to follow the set format and emphasize key aspects within the specified length.
User: Summarize the chapter based on the content provided, ensuring to follow the set format and emphasize key aspects within the specified length.
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