Romancing the Pain - Part 1
Title: Romancing the Pain
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Pepa/Silvia
Summary: Post episode 104 as well as my last fic, Come Back to Me. It’s basically its sequel; the events that occur after Silvia was released from the hospital.
A/N: This is not gonna be a happy ride guys. Obviously, the title gives it away. Whoops. Our girls have to deal with the reality of what happened and no this does not lead to cotton candy and ponies. Bear with the angst for now.
The reason why I’m writing a sequel and going against my better instincts not to, was because after I finished Come Back to Me, the reality of Silvia actually being dead kinda hit me hard again. That and the fact that my brain hates me and likes to do the exact opposite of what I say. And since for me, writing is a form of therapy, this is its end result. Like it or hate it, I thought I’d share with you guys.
ROMANCING THE PAIN - Part 1
Pepa wandered throughout the empty house, her bare feet making no sound against the floor. A beer bottle was clutched between slender fingers, its contents half-empty. Condensation from the cold beer speckled the glass with droplets that pooled and fell, sliding down the bottle to descend silently onto the ground.
A flex of an arm; a flick of a wrist. Pepa pressed the rim of the bottle to her parted lips, allowing the cool liquid to slide onto her tongue. There it gathered for the briefest moments, washing over taste buds and tickling them with its crisp sharp taste before tricking down a gratefully dry throat.
Pepa sighed in apparent relief as she maneuvered her way to the living room, propping herself down onto the couch. She leaned back heavily against the cushions, taking refuge in its soft comfort. Another sigh escaped her lips but she paused momentarily, frozen on the couch as her eyes captured the image of a growing collection of empty bottles strewn on the coffee table.
Pepa felt her eyes water and scatterings of tears squeezed out of the corners of her eyes, only to make their descent down hollow cheeks. She suppressed a sob and threw back another mouthful of beer, desperate for the numbness it would bring to her shattered nerves. The lanky brunette wanted nothing more than an ounce of comfort. A brief solitary reprieve from the hell she was thrust into. She wanted the alcohol to flow through her veins, seeking out raw nerves that would be coated under a temporary layer of forgetfulness and lack of feeling.
Of course, her wife could achieve the same thing. Silvia could sooth away all of Pepa’s pain and sorrow. All that was needed was a whisper of a touch against Pepa’s arm, a twinkle of a look directed in Pepa’s direction, a ghost of a kiss against Pepa’s temple. Silvia had that effect on the taller woman. Always had. Always will.
But Silvia was not here. Silvia, smart and brilliant as she was, could not ease the overwhelming ache that resided in the core of Pepa’s being. Nor could her wife lift the burdening weight that had settled upon Pepa’s shoulders. A weight that grew immensely heavier with each passing day, pressing down muscles that quivered and shook under its intensity. No, Silvia could not fix it. Because Silvia was dealing with her own. Dealing with the aftermath of that day.
**********
It had all began to spiral downhill after Silvia’s return from the hospital. Oh, reality had evaded them for a good week or so, that much was certain. It kept its distance, waiting, planning its perfect moment for its grand entrance. So for that week, it watched as Pepa attended to Silvia’s every need despite the redhead’s protests. Pepa made sure Silvia was comfortable. Made sure she ate three square meals a day. Made sure those meals included Silvia’s favorite dishes even if she had to call in favors. Helped her wife change her bandages and clean around the wound. Gave Silvia her pain medication.
In return, Silvia showered Pepa with kisses. Lavished attention onto the taller woman. Held her in her arms and recounted the many childhood memories they shared together. Made love to Pepa despite Pepa’s half-hearted attempts to say that she could wait. Despite the throbbing from her wound. Because Silvia loved Pepa. It was just that simple.
But reality could not resist touching them with its presence. It lingered around them, over them during that week. Both women felt its ominous manifestation for it lurked in their doorways, in the little intimate gestures they gave each other, in their every unconscious thought. It finally reared its ugly head when Pepa had her first nightmare of that day. The taller woman had awoken, screaming and shaking, tossing blankets off her as if it were an animal ready to eat her alive. Beads of sweat had anointed Pepa’s forehead and strands of messy black hair were plastered to a wet, tear stained cheek.
Silvia had been jolted awake from Pepa’s frantic movements and her soul-tearing scream. She immediately reached out for her wife, a gesture that was natural as it was almost unconscious. She received an armful of a violently shaking Pepa who hiccupped against the unsteady flow of tears and the tremors that vibrated throughout tired muscles. Pepa had clung onto Silvia with a desperation that frightened them both. She remained in Silvia’s arms for the rest of the night, gripping Silvia tightly whenever the redhead slightly moved. Neither went back to sleep. Sleep was a luxury they realized that they could not afford. Sleep meant walking into the embrace of terror and nightmares. So they simply held each other, thankful for the darkness that enveloped them and the room. Thankful for the darkness because neither wanted the other to see her cry. Neither wanted to see in the other’s eyes that reality and its harshness, its bold, arrogant smirk had finally arrived at their doorstep.
*************
Pepa forced herself out of her troubled thoughts. That was all she had left these days. Troubled thoughts. Unsettled thoughts. Painful thoughts. A simple reminder, the smallest memory that her mind dug up without warning of that day was enough to drive Pepa mad. She shook her head purposefully, attempting to clear thoughts that she knew would refuse to leave. She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece instead. Almost dusk. She turned her head to the front door, as was routine for the past two weeks. Waiting. Waiting for Silvia to return. And where was her wife?
Pepa lifted the bottle to her lips, draining its remaining contents.