The First Time, Chapter 3
Title: The First Time
Rating: Mild R
A/N: "How we remember, what we remember, and why we remember form the most personal map of our individuality." - Christina Baldwin
Read Chapter 1 here
Read Chapter 2 here
Chapter 3
The first time she remembers anything about what happened right after Silvia died, Pepa is in a bar in a forgettable town in Italy, and it is the last thing she is expecting. Most of the last few weeks have been forgettable. She doesn’t even really know how she got here. Every time the bus stopped, she simply bought another ticket, not overly concerned where it would take her.
And now she is here, nursing her third or fourth or fifth beer of the night, in a dark corner of the bar. Her posture screams “leave me alone,” and so far, the bartender has been the only one brave enough to approach her.
But that changes when some cocky guy from across the room, encouraged by his buddies, saunters up to her.
“Can I buy you a drink?” he asks in Italian, in a tone implying that he rarely hears “no” to that question. He’s well-practiced.
Pepa flicks her eyes at him, and then back to her bottle.
Not even slightly deterred, the guy comes closer.
“Hey, I’m sorry. How rude of me. My name’s Emilio. What’s yours?”
Pepa doesn’t even look up. “Get lost.”
Emilio, however, is not as well-practiced at getting the message.
“Come on now. That’s not very friendly. I just want to be friends,” he says in hurt puppy dog tone.
Pepa, what little patience she has these days rapidly dwindling, stands up fast, turning on him, intending to intimidate him. She can tell that she’s taller than him by at least a head, and figures she can bully him into leaving her alone. But as she stands, she knocks into the stool next to her, and it hits the floor with a sharp bang. It sounds like a gunshot.
And the memories that her mind has so far repressed come rushing at her.
Clutching Silvia. Don Lorenzo beside her. Sweat and tears. Blood. So much blood. Far-off sirens and shouting. Someone trying to make her get up, trying to pull her away from her wife. But she cannot let go, she must not let go. Silvia needs her. She needs her. Pepa knows she can save her, there’s still time. She holds her gently, like always, rocking her. I’m here, Silvia. I’m here, Pelirroja. Don’t worry. But now there are arms, strong arms. Aitor? It’s getting harder to resist. They’re pulling at her. Making her let go. No. No no no. Nononononono. Someone is screaming. Unlike anything she’s heard before. It is moments before she realizes she is the one screaming. She fights the hold on her arms like a wild banshee. Turns to bite at the fingers around her arms. Loud cursing behind her. The hold loosens. She falls back to the floor. Covers Silvia’s body with her own, protecting her. Everything’s fine. Everything’s going to be fine. Fine. Just wait. Help is coming. But then…someone again behind her. She turns. Too late. A sudden sharp prick in her right arm. And then…blackness.
Pepa freezes, paralyzed. She does not want these memories. She wants to get rid of them, shove them back to wherever they came from. Lock them away. Someone else can have them. She claws at her head with her fingernails, digging them into her scalp.
Emilio looks at her, slightly concerned. But he is also perhaps thinking this is his opportunity since she hasn’t come at him.
“Hey, are you okay?” he asks, and reaches out his hand to touch her arm. Pepa’s reaction is swift and accurate. She blocks his hand with hers, and with the other one, she delivers a punch straight to his nose. There’s a crunch, and then he’s howling in pain.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” he screams.
Pepa stares at him, not at all sure what just happened. But the bartender is shouting at her, and Emilio’s friends are headed her way, and she knows she must leave quickly.
She takes one last look at Emilio, hands cupped around his nose, before she takes off for the front door, escaping into the cool night air.
She does not stop until she sees the welcoming sign of another bar.