The First Time, Chapter 4
Title: The First Time
Rating: Mild R
A/N: Don't have too much to say tonight. It's been a looong week, and a looong weekend. I love my friends dearly, but I wish they'd stop getting married for about 5 minutes so I (and my bank account) could take a breath. But at least the wedding this weekend ended happily, not tragically, since as far as I know, my friend and her new hubby are not on the mafia's hit list. Phew!
Here's the next chapter. Have a good week, everyone!
Read Chapter 1 here
Read Chapter 2 here
Read Chapter 3 here
Chapter 4
The first time she thinks about killing El Gordo, she wakes up in a cold sweat.
She has no idea what has woken her from a dead sleep, but she feels clammy and shaky and disoriented. She pushes up on her elbows, and is almost immediately aware of a presence next to her.
For three seconds, for three precious, amazing seconds, before her mind catches up to the reality which is now her world, she thinks it’s Silvia. She sighs and turns to embrace the redhead, knowing she’ll fall back to sleep immediately if she’s holding her.
Except when she turns, Pepa finds a blonde head peaking out over the covers instead.
Suddenly, the night before comes crashing back to her. The Italian dance club, the tequila, the loud, driving music. And the attractive woman eying her across the dance floor, who was making no secret about her interest in Pepa or her intentions.
And Pepa, who had spent the last several months cultivating a lifestyle where nothing mattered, especially when there was enough to drink (and there usually was), was perfectly willing to play along. She slunk over to the blonde, and they began to dance, twining around each other, in a way that left little doubt where the evening was headed.
And now the woman is sleeping next to Pepa. Pepa freezes, apart from the trembling that’s beginning in her limbs, and tries to assess the situation. She tries to remain calm. But there is a woman sleeping next to her and it isn’t Silvia and she has to leave. Now.
Pepa pokes the woman.
“Hey.”
The only response she gets is a sigh.
Pepa pokes her again, harder.
“Hey!”
This time the blonde cracks one eye open.
“What?” she asks in a groggy voice.
The shaking inside Pepa intensifies.
“You have to go,” Pepa informs her.
“What? Are you crazy? It’s the middle of the night,” the woman mumbles. She stuffs her head under the pillow.
By now, Pepa’s alarmed by the feeling that’s gripping her. She doesn’t know what it is, but she knows she can’t control it and she doesn’t know what it’s going to make her do. She doesn’t want to hurt this woman who is clearly about to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
She yanks the pillow off the blonde’s head.
“You have to go. Now. Right. Now.” She shakes her shoulder.
The woman opens her eyes, sleepy and confused. But then she takes one look at Pepa’s face, and Pepa thinks her own expression must be awful because it’s enough to propel her to a sitting position and to swing her legs out of bed.
“Okay, okay. Take it easy. I’m going.”
Pepa, for her part, hugs her knees to her chest, and presses her forehead to her knees, as the woman locates her clothes scattered around the room. She rocks slightly.
Please go, please go, please go.
She can hear the woman walking toward the door, but then stops.
“Hey, listen, are you okay?” she ventures.
Pepa knows she means well, but the question puts her over the edge. She can’t listen to her voice. It’s not the right voice. It’s not the voice that sounds like honey and laughter and makes her feel like she’s just won the lotto. And that’s the only voice Pepa wants to hear right now.
Pepa springs out of bed, and in two steps, grabs the woman by the upper arm.
“Please,” she says through gritted teeth. “Get out.” She spins her, none too gently, and propels her toward the door. She roughly pulls it open, ignoring the woman’s protests, and escorts her through it.
The air is chilly on Pepa’s bare skin, and she knows she should care that she’s standing outside naked, but she doesn’t.
She catches the woman’s bewildered expression as she turns to go back inside.
“I’m sorry,” Pepa offers lamely. “I’m…sorry.” It’s the best she can do.
She walks back inside, shuts the door, and then collapses against it, sliding down to the floor.
Everything she has been working so hard to keep at bay hits her at once, all the feelings that she promised herself she would ignore.
And she had been doing so well. She has been succeeding at not feeling a damn thing. For months.
Until tonight.
Because tonight, she had just woken up and thought Silvia was beside her. And for three seconds, for three fucking seconds, Pepa had been immeasurably, profoundly, perfectly happy. Because she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that she could turn toward Silvia, put her arms around her, and the redhead would burrow into her, mouth open against the crook of her shoulder. If she were really lucky, Silvia would wake just enough to sigh contentedly and lean up for a lazy kiss, before falling immediately back to sleep. And Pepa, absurdly pleased, would hold her close, and have no trouble falling back to sleep either.
But that didn’t happen. It will never happen again. Because it was taken away from her, ripped away on the day she was supposed to get her happy ending.
She had promised to keep Silvia safe forever, and she couldn’t manage to do it for one day. Not one fucking day.
Instead, her wife died in her arms. Her beautiful, amazing wife had asked for a childhood song, looked up at Pepa, and had taken her last breath.
Pepa slams her head back against the door, clenches her fists, and a scream rips out of her that even she recognizes is inhuman. The pain and guilt come rushing at her, and it’s not long before Pepa is hyperventilating between wrenching sobs. She can barely breathe and her stomach is heaving dangerously. She crawls up onto her hands and knees before her stomach betrays her, and then she collapses on her side, unable and unwilling to move.
She lies there, with her face against the cool floor and a bitter taste in her mouth, staring unseeingly at the far wall. She is gasping, trembling hard, and there seems to be no end to the tears coming from her eyes. She does nothing to stop them as they stain the wood beneath her. All she can do is press her hands against the floor, and hope for it to swallow her.
She does not know how long she lies there.
Minutes?
Hours?
The horrible shaking does eventually subside, and the tears dry up. Her stomach stops rolling, and her breathing slowly returns to normal. She tries to sit up, and finds that she can. She takes long gulps of air.
And for the first time in a long time, she feels like she’s thinking clearly. The comfortable emptiness that has been her companion for months is gone, but in its place is a new resolve.
She has a purpose at last, a goal. There are people out there responsible for what’s happened to her. For what happened to Silvia. One person, really. And it is time he understood there are consequences for fucking up Pepa Miranda’s entire life.
It is time El Gordo paid.