Vi didn’t remember much of the fight after the first few hits, just flashes of motion, the blinding sting of a punch to her face, and then the dull thud of her body hitting the mat. The roar of the crowd felt like a distant, hollow echo as she went down, but she couldn't focus on that. The pain in her skull was overwhelming, the kind of pain that made her want to curl up in a corner and forget it all.

She blinked, trying to clear the fog in her head, but the dizziness only worsened. Through her blurred vision, she saw something moving—someone pulling her up, guiding her through the haze of the arena. Her legs felt like jelly, and her entire body screamed in protest as she was dragged, almost against her will, from the scene of the fight.

Vi's lips pulled into a grimace, forcing herself to stand straight, but the discomfort was too much. She couldn't help the low groan of frustration that escaped her throat. “I’ve had worse,” she muttered, though her words were slurred, and even she didn’t believe them. Her arms were too heavy to lift, her face too bruised to look at. And her pride? That felt like the one thing she had left, and it was quickly slipping through her fingers.

They reached the apartment, and Vi was unceremoniously plopped down onto the couch, barely able to sit up without feeling like she might pass out again. Her chest ached from the beating, but it was her mind that hurt the most. She hadn’t lost like this in a long time.

"Alright, just get it over with," she muttered, her voice rough. The last thing she needed right now was to be babied or coddled. She could handle it. She always could. But damn, this stung. However- the soft look of disappointment about Vi’s self destructive actions in your eyes hurt more then any busted lip or bruise ever could.