A/N: Hi. How are you? Doing well, are we? I hope so. Because, my friends, it's Yuri on Ice bomb week. From now until Friday, it's just the two of us. I sure do hope you enjoy this week. I know I will. But because it's been a couple weeks, how about a quick recap? If you're reading this in the future, feel free to skip this bit. If you're reading this in real time…
So, Victor's making his comeback. Violet's not sure how to feel about it. And the night before, she toasted to the Russian gods. Now, we're at the morning after. Enjoy, friends.
I hate when I angry drink. When I angry drink, I don't stop until I pass out. And when that happens, I feel like absolute shit the next morning. Violet, I love you, but what the hell, man? You're still pissed. You're painfully hungover. You have a full day of practice today. And to make matters worse, you're short a bottle of Russian vodka. That's not something you can come by so easily. Just fantastic. As much as I want to curl up in bed and go back to sleep, I can't miss practice. Not so close to competition. Come on, Violet. Out of bed. Into the shower. Get your one good puking session in. Get your flat white. Get to the Red Room.
The more I can make myself look perfectly fine, the better. Madame can sniff out a hangover from a mile away and she'd kick my ass for this. Especially if she knows I was angry drinking. That kind of shit has damn near killed me once before. And Madame was the one to find me. I will never ever put her through something like that ever again.
Alright. Sweats, coffee, skates, aspirin, stomach meds. I should be good. Do I put on a little bit of makeup, too? Or would that tip her off too much? Yeah. What the hell? Just enough to cover the dark circles and poor choices. I dug around in my makeup bag for my good bottle of concealer that could hide anything and covered up the hellish dark circles. I looked like I fell asleep with black makeup on. Not happening. I may have gotten trashed last night, but I could still manage to be a responsible adult. My bright white bedding would not see a stitch of mascara.
Knock, knock.
Eww...If you could knock quieter, dude, that'd be cool. Maybe I should get one of those signs new parents get for their babies. Instead of saying I have a newborn and work nights, it could say cranky bitch that likes to drink her feelings went on a bender last night. If you could not knock so loud, that'd be best for all involved. Most importantly, the poor baby that's teething and had a little too much whiskey on her gums.
"Violet?" Gene called out, "Hello?"
"Dammit, Gene!" I threw on a pair of big sunglasses, "Could you not?"
"Sorry," he brought it down to a whisper, "Hard night last night, sweetheart?"
"Yeah," I grabbed my bag and threw it over my shoulder, "And I'm thoroughly hating myself for it. Could we keep this between us?"
"Sure," Gene swore, wrapping his arms around me, "You poor baby. Let me guess. You don't want Celestino to know?"
"Worse."
He thought on it for a second, "Victor?"
"He knows," I rolled my eyes, keeping them shut until the room stopped spinning, "Like I give two shits if Victor knows I've been drinking anymore."
"Who would be worse than Victor and Celestino?" Gene wondered, getting the door for me?"
"The Madame," I told him, "She's got a stick up her ass about that kind of thing. The amount of times I've seen her pump girls full of vitamin B must be a record of some sort. Myself included. She doesn't like that kind of energy on her stage."
"That's understandable," he shrugged it off. Easy for him to say. He's not in my boat. As the elevator opened, the universe continued to take the most massive shit on me.
"Dobroye utro," Yakov greeted me. Awesome. Just awesome. Hungover, pissed off beyond belief, and now, Yakov to top it all off! Absolutely wonderful...
"Morning, Yakov," I extended the same courtesy, "I'm assuming you're looking for Victor."
"Yes," he nodded, "With qualifiers on Saturday, he needs to get in all the practice he can get right now."
"Well," I corrected him, "You overshot. Victor's a floor down."
"Oh," Yakov didn't like being told he was wrong. Even more when it's me. I guess I could feel a little good about that, "Don't let me keep you."
"I'm on my way to practice anyway," I pointed out, "It won't kill us to share an elevator."
"I know that," he growled, pouting on the back wall.
"Dammit, Yakov!" I wasn't dealing with it today, "Do you think you could stow the bitter, angry bullshit for one goddamn floor?"
Both Yakov and Gene froze. I was in no mood to deal with anyone. If that makes me a bitch, then so be it! I needed some coffee and I needed it now. The three of us rode the elevator for fifteen long and painfully uncomfortable seconds. Once Yakov got off the elevator, things were back to being calm and quiet again. Things were a little less angry.
"Hey, Vi..." Gene worried as we left the lobby, "Are you..."
"Gene," I put a finger up, "You know what kind of mood I'm in and how messy that question is for me."
"Right," he bit his tongue. Good. I just wanted a quiet cab ride from here to the Red Room. Was that too much to ask for? Although, I did feel bad about being such a bitch to Gene. Not so much to Yakov. He had it coming. But Gene? Gene didn't deserve that. Later.
For now, I had a dance practice to get to. I hope to God that Madame's bloodhound senses were off today. That'd be fantastic. I tossed my bag on the table and got hit with a sudden flashback to when I still danced here. Angry drinking wasn't always the cause, but depressed and disgusted drinking would usually be the culprit. And always after a long night of Ernie making me escort.
"Good morning, Violet," Madame picked up on my sunshiny demeanor, "I'd ask you how you are, but that face gives everything away."
"Thanks, Madame," I finished my latte, "You know how to make me feel better, don't you?"
"Hey," she snapped, shoving her finger in my face, "What have I always told you about that attitude?"
"There's only room for one bitch in here," I remembered, "And it's not me?"
"Exactly," Madame ranted, "And you know I'm not dealing with whatever bitchy attitude crawled in your ass today."
"Sorry, Madame," I jumped behind the bar. Eleven o'clock in the morning is late enough to start, isn't it? And a screwdriver would absolutely hit the spot right now.
"Violet Isabella," she scolded, "What do you think you're doing?"
"Having some orange juice."
"Bullshit," Madame saw through me, "What else is going in that orange juice?"
"Nothing," I lied, sneaking a shot of Russia's finest into my glass.
"A little early, don't you think?"
"If I pair it with some avocado toast," I figured, "I can call it brunch."
"Whatever," Madame caved, "As long as you can keep yourself on your feet."
"Thank you." A quick screwdriver and I was right as rain again.
"Now," she wondered, "What's eating you, baby? You've been a bundle of joy since you got here. And I'm sure it's not nothing."
"Victor pissed me off," I came clean, "His royal highness couldn't stay out of his warm spotlight for too long."
"So, he's making a return, too?"
"Ran into his old coach in the elevator this morning," I finished my drink, debating on making another one.
"So?" Madame shrugged, "That doesn't mean anything. Maybe he was just in the neighborhood."
"All the way from Russia..."
"Oh," she changed her tune real quick, "Maybe not in the neighborhood."
"He's making it official Saturday," I grumbled, "His timing couldn't be better."
"Then, shouldn't we get to work?" Madame suggested, "The judges won't have any other choice than to look at you."
Strangely enough, that was all it took to light a fire in my belly. For the rest of practice, all I could focus on was how much it sucked to be in Victor's shadow. All I wanted was to feel the warm glow of sunshine on my face. Was that too much to ask for? After all I've been through and after Victor got his year of traveling the world and the crowd eating him up, I thought he'd be able to extend the same goddamn courtesy. Would that really be so difficult? Did his ego need that much stroking?"
"Alright, Vi," Madame called it, "You need to tighten up your moves just a touch more and go cool off. Other than that, I think we're done here. Kiss Celestino for me."
"Do that yourself," I threw my bag over my shoulder, "Doesn't he have to drop Yurio off yet? Or did he get him a new teacher?"
"I still get Yurio," she assured, "But Chris has been the one dropping him off lately. And he's always wearing oven mitts for some reason. I don't ask."
"Yurio's a biter," I clarified, "And if Chris gets too close, Yurio won't hesitate."
"Have I mentioned how much I adore your son?"
"Maybe once or twice." That was enough to bring a smile to my face, "I'll see you later, Madame."
"Bye, baby."
That felt good while it lasted. Only one thing could center me better than a good dance practice. I'm hot and sweaty. I could use the cold, unforgiving ice to take me down a bit. With qualifiers on Saturday, the extra practice won't kill me. Maybe I could stay a little longer after Celestino tells me I can go home. As long as I don't end up with stress fractures, I doubt he'll have a problem with it.
"Morning, Violet," Celestino greeted me, "Come va?"
"I'm in a mood, Coach," I threw my bag on the bench, fighting every desire I had to go home, "I need you to put on the Cell Block Tango please."
"Are you sure?" he wondered, "That's not on your set list."
"Like I said," I slipped my feet into my skates, "I'm in a mood and I need to skate it off if that's ok with you."
"Alright," Celestino let me go. He knew I was in a not so good place not to piss me off any further. Besides, my set list was second nature to me. Who knows? Maybe it'll do a girl some good to get a few things off my chest. Where better to vent my anger than out on the ice? Skating worked so much better than therapy. Hopefully, the ice will cure what the vodka didn't.
Which brings me to know. My current desire and ability to kill a man. No warning shots. No poison. No knives. Just him and me. My hands around his neck. The satisfaction of watching the life drain from his eyes. His limp body falling to the ground...
No. I couldn't kill someone. If it came down to it. Unless there was proper provocation. If someone was trying to hurt me or God forbid one of my boys, then I don't think I'd hesitate. Even though I couldn't kill a man in the literal sense, I sure as hell wouldn't mind kicking one's ass to the damn moon right about now.
What the hell, Victor? We're best friends. We have been for quite some time. I'd think we'd tell each other everything. Especially something as big as a freakin' comeback! Did you think I wouldn't want to hear that? Did you think it'd distract me from my own? Because not telling me has been more of a distraction. Did you think I wouldn't be happy for you?
Honestly, as of right now, I don't think I am. I know I should be and it's a shitty thing for me to say, but I'm not. Clearly. If it was bad enough for me to go on last night's bender. Victor's comeback totally blindsided me and that's absolute bullshit. I had no idea he even wanted to skate professionally ever again. I bet that once I told him how I wanted to do it, that made him think he had to one-up me. Heaven forbid if Violet wants to have something to call her own.
When the song came to an end, I fell onto the ice, just to add a little drama to my performance. Totally not because the six spins I did and the sitting spin I finished with didn't make me want to throw up or anything. Nope. I was in top physical condition this morning. Well...Afternoon, but now's not the time for semantics. Ok. I needed a trash can. And I need it now. I doubled over the edge and let out the most pleasant puke I've had today. I wasn't expecting another fit like this today. Maybe this was another case of less hangover, more real sick. Of course, to no surprise, this set Celestino's radar off.
"Violet?" he ran his hand down my back, "Stai bene, bambina?"
"I'm fine," I shook it off, pulling myself back together, "I'm good."
"If it's any consolation," Celestino praised, "You did very well today. Whatever had you so upset, whoever pissed you off, I hope they don't run into you in a dark alley."
"Thanks, Coach." Despite my feeling like shit, I've never felt so ready for qualifiers. I got enough out of my system. And I will absolutely, without a doubt, wipe the floor with Victor if I have to.
After practice, I started taking a walk. How do I kill the rest of my afternoon? Well...With the way I was feeling, I could probably go back to Cosmos...No. Fool me once. Not stepping foot back in that place. Don't get me wrong. Willam was a sweetheart and a damn good friend when need be, but I have visions of Vietnam like flashbacks and quite frankly, I didn't need to deal with that.
Although, my aching joints were telling me to go home. I am too young for my body to feel this old! It'll be fine. I had my hot tub for a reason. I just need to go home and soak for a while. Something tells me it'll be a while before I move again. Instead, I walked into my condo, straight to my bedroom, and flopped down on my bed. That sleep I was in such desperate need for? That decided to come first. Not that I'm complaining. A good, long nap was exactly what I needed.
When I woke up, I immediately put my black bikini on and slipped into my hot tub with a very cold lemonade in my hand. No vodka tonight. The little bit I had this morning was just enough to kill the pain. Oh, the jets...The jets know what spots hurt. They hit them every time. Like a heat seeking missile for my pain. This was definitely worth the extra money.
Knock, knock.
That sucked a little less than this morning. Oh, yeah. That nap was totally needed, "It's open!"
"Dobryy vecher dorogaya (Good evening, darling)," Victor walked in.
"Hi, Victor!" I yelled back, "On the balcony."
"I should've known," he came out, "Feeling ok?"
"Fine," I still wanted to punch his perfect face, but life's too short to hold grudges.
"Good," Victor chirped, "Hey, I'm cooking tonight. Care to join us?"
"Thanks, but no, thanks, sweetie," I turned him down, "I got Indian food on its way. I appreciate the offer, though."
"Ok," he wasn't quite sure what to make of that. It's a rarity I ever turn down Victor's cooking. Honestly, I didn't want to be in the same, uncomfortable room with him. I'm not ready for something like that. I didn't even have food on the way. Right now, since I felt sufficiently like a fully cooked noodle, I think it's time to go to bed.
A/N: So, in case it wasn't painstakingly obvious, Violet's a tad salty. And a bit on the sick side. And we all know how Victor gets when he finds out she's sick. But she turned down his cooking. You know a dog is truly sick when it doesn't eat. It's fine. Totally fine. See you tomorrow! xx