The First Time, Chapter 2
Title: The First Time
Rating: I've decided I'm going with mild R. Does that count?
A/N: Hi everyone! Sorry, I haven't been ignoring you - just got back from a long weekend trip to Las Vegas this afternoon, and I had no Internet when I was there - very tragic! Also tragic, I did not win big and get to quit my job. Shoot. Anyway, my sincere thanks to everyone who has commented so far. Here's the next chapter. With my apologies...Pepa has to go darker before she gets better....
Read Chapter 1 here
Chapter 2
The first time she thinks about leaving San Antonio, it is the morning of Silvia’s funeral.
It has been two days since her entire world exploded, and she has spent the entire time curled up in the spare bedroom at Paco’s, in the dark. The first day she barely remembers, and she is sure that someone, probably Paco, kept her mildly sedated.
If she’d had the ability to talk, she could have told him it wasn’t necessary. She wasn’t going to do anything. She couldn’t move. All she could do was lie curled on her side, her stomach clenched at the painful cramps seizing her. She is surprised she can feel anything at all.
The second day is slightly clearer. The cramps have subsided. She notices someone has at last managed to get her out of her wedding dress, and she vaguely wonders if it was difficult. She can very dimly remember the sound of Lola’s voice softly murmuring to her, and she sees she is in a pair of her brother’s cotton shorts and a t-shirt. She closes her eyes.
On the morning of the funeral, she wakes up knowing everyone outside the bedroom door expects her to say goodbye. They actually expect her to get up and put on a black dress and stand in front of a grave, Silvia’s grave, and say goodbye. As if Silvia is just a school friend moving away. As if it’ll hurt for a little while, sure, but she’ll get over it.
Stranger yet, she almost, almost, thinks she can do it. She thinks that maybe she can get to her feet and get dressed. She thinks she can sit up. Except when she does, she makes the mistake of looking at her hands - the hands that are still faintly red, stained with her wife’s blood. Someone has clearly tried to wash them, but Pepa can still see the redness around her nails, her fingertips, around her wedding ring. And it is her undoing.
Swallowing the scream and the bile, both of which are rising in her throat, she stands up and moves toward the door on less than steady legs. Easing it open, she listens for sounds. Someone’s in the shower, and she can hear voices coming from the kitchen. Lola. Sara. She cannot get out through the front door. But in Sara’s old room there’s a fire escape, and she thinks she can make it there.
She slides through the opening, and quietly padding down the hallway, she is Sara’s room in a matter of moments. Another two minutes and she is free, out on the street, blinking in the bright sunlight. She does not remember the sun ever being so bright.
Pepa stands, not knowing what to do, but knowing she must do something, and quick, because it is only a matter of time before they figure out she is gone.
What she wants to do is find the nearest bus going anywhere and get on, but she understands that she needs supplies. She needs clothes, money. And there is only one place to get those things, as much as she cannot imagine going there.
She begins to walk, bare feet barely feeling the small rocks and hard cement under them. She can imagine that she must look like a homeless person to those she is passing, and she gets some unusual looks, but she neither notices nor cares.
It takes her twenty minutes, but at last she arrives at Silvia’s house. Their house. She looks at it, studies it, oddly detached. Silvia would probably tell her she is in shock, but all Pepa knows is that there is very little energy in her body for anything, least of all feeling. The twenty minute walk has taken just about the last of her strength, and she very nearly gives into the desire to simply curl up on the sidewalk and sleep.
But instead she walks forward, slides the extra key from under the mat, and lets herself in. She stands in the doorway, confused.
She looks around, and for a moment doesn’t know why she is here. Silvia should be here. Where was she?
“Silvia?” she calls tentatively. Where was she? They were going to be late for their flight to Chili. Silvia was never late.
“Silvia, come on, we’ve got to get going!”
There is no answer.
And Pepa stumbles forward when it hits her, fresh and piercing. The only thing that keeps her from falling to her knees is her hand catching herself on the hallway wall.
Silvia isn’t there. Would never be there again.
Pepa whimpers, mouth open. The cramps seize her midsection once again, and Pepa folds her arms over her stomach, grimacing.
She has to get out of here. But there are also things she needs here.
So she does the only thing she knows to get herself together - she thinks about the class she took in the academy on how to deal with gruesome crime scenes. She focuses on what needs to get done, shutting out anything that might cause an emotional response, anything that might distract her from getting the job done.
Pushing herself off the wall, she moves down the hall. She spends the next ten minutes changing into something more suitable, and then gathering her things, clothes, toiletries, the extra gun she keeps in the spare bedroom. She does not look at the futon, still with its tangled sheets, when she walks toward the closet. To do so would be to remember Silvia soft and warm, sleeping tucked against her, and that would be violating her self-imposed rules. So she resolutely grabs her gun, turns, and walks back down the hallway.
And finds Aitor standing in the living room, blocking her way out the door.
She stops short as he looks her over.
“You know,” he says at last. “Everyone told me I was crazy to come over here. No way in hell you’d come back here, of all places. Everyone else thinks you’re wandering the streets somewhere. But I knew. I knew exactly where you’d be.”
Pepa glares at him.
“Get out of my way, Aitor. I’m leaving.”
“Pepa, you can’t leave. Everyone needs you to stay. They’re counting on you.”
“Fuck everyone! Silvia counted on me! She counted on me, and look what happened! No one should count on me, no one!” She’s shouting and breathing hard and she feels light-headed and knows she’s about five seconds away from passing out.
Aitor catches her before she collapses, and presses her to him. She leans against him for a moment, breathing in the scent of his leather jacket, before summoning her last remaining strength and shoving him away.
“I have to go,” she says resolutely. “I have to get out of here.”
“Pepa-”
“Aitor, please. I have to get out of here. This is me asking you, a fucking crazy girl asking a fucking crazy boy, to understand this. Let me go.”
Aitor stares at, weighing the options. At last, he sighs.
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t know.” Pepa is shaking. She cannot stay in this house. The longer she stays, the more she is seeing Silvia. Her crime scene tactic is only going to work for so long.
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
Pepa catches a glance of a framed picture of her and Silvia from a precinct dinner Don Lorenzo insisted they attend. They are both dressed elegantly, hair swept up. They are smiling at each other rather than the camera.
“I don’t know! I don’t know! I don’t know! Aitor, get out of my way!” She tries shoving him, but they both know she doesn’t have the strength right now. He easily restrains her, grabbing her upper arms without hurting her.
“How are you going to get there, Pepa?” he asks, his voice gentle.
“Bus,” she mumbles. It’s not much of a plan.
He sighs again.
“Come on, I’ll drive you.”
Pepa doesn’t think she will ever be able to express her gratitude to him for this simple gesture.
He grabs her bag, leads her out the door, and into his car. Ignoring her protests, he stops and buys a sandwich and a bottle of water, both of which he hands to her. “For the trip,” he says. And when they get to the bus station, he stops her before she gets out of the car. He pulls out his wallet, and removes all the cash he’s carrying. He holds it out to her. She shakes her head.
“Take it,” he says.
“Aitor, I can’t.”
“You’re going to need it.”
“Aitor-”
“Pepa, take it or I swear to God, I will force you to stay in this car and drive you back to Paco’s.”
Pepa takes the money, stuffs it into her pocket.
“Thank you,” she says, and leans over to kiss his cheek.
“Be safe,” he tells her.
Pepa nods and gets out of the car.
With one last look at Aitor’s anxious face, she turns and walks into the bus station. She buys a ticket for a bus headed east.
Rating: I've decided I'm going with mild R. Does that count?
A/N: Hi everyone! Sorry, I haven't been ignoring you - just got back from a long weekend trip to Las Vegas this afternoon, and I had no Internet when I was there - very tragic! Also tragic, I did not win big and get to quit my job. Shoot. Anyway, my sincere thanks to everyone who has commented so far. Here's the next chapter. With my apologies...Pepa has to go darker before she gets better....
Read Chapter 1 here
Chapter 2
The first time she thinks about leaving San Antonio, it is the morning of Silvia’s funeral.
It has been two days since her entire world exploded, and she has spent the entire time curled up in the spare bedroom at Paco’s, in the dark. The first day she barely remembers, and she is sure that someone, probably Paco, kept her mildly sedated.
If she’d had the ability to talk, she could have told him it wasn’t necessary. She wasn’t going to do anything. She couldn’t move. All she could do was lie curled on her side, her stomach clenched at the painful cramps seizing her. She is surprised she can feel anything at all.
The second day is slightly clearer. The cramps have subsided. She notices someone has at last managed to get her out of her wedding dress, and she vaguely wonders if it was difficult. She can very dimly remember the sound of Lola’s voice softly murmuring to her, and she sees she is in a pair of her brother’s cotton shorts and a t-shirt. She closes her eyes.
On the morning of the funeral, she wakes up knowing everyone outside the bedroom door expects her to say goodbye. They actually expect her to get up and put on a black dress and stand in front of a grave, Silvia’s grave, and say goodbye. As if Silvia is just a school friend moving away. As if it’ll hurt for a little while, sure, but she’ll get over it.
Stranger yet, she almost, almost, thinks she can do it. She thinks that maybe she can get to her feet and get dressed. She thinks she can sit up. Except when she does, she makes the mistake of looking at her hands - the hands that are still faintly red, stained with her wife’s blood. Someone has clearly tried to wash them, but Pepa can still see the redness around her nails, her fingertips, around her wedding ring. And it is her undoing.
Swallowing the scream and the bile, both of which are rising in her throat, she stands up and moves toward the door on less than steady legs. Easing it open, she listens for sounds. Someone’s in the shower, and she can hear voices coming from the kitchen. Lola. Sara. She cannot get out through the front door. But in Sara’s old room there’s a fire escape, and she thinks she can make it there.
She slides through the opening, and quietly padding down the hallway, she is Sara’s room in a matter of moments. Another two minutes and she is free, out on the street, blinking in the bright sunlight. She does not remember the sun ever being so bright.
Pepa stands, not knowing what to do, but knowing she must do something, and quick, because it is only a matter of time before they figure out she is gone.
What she wants to do is find the nearest bus going anywhere and get on, but she understands that she needs supplies. She needs clothes, money. And there is only one place to get those things, as much as she cannot imagine going there.
She begins to walk, bare feet barely feeling the small rocks and hard cement under them. She can imagine that she must look like a homeless person to those she is passing, and she gets some unusual looks, but she neither notices nor cares.
It takes her twenty minutes, but at last she arrives at Silvia’s house. Their house. She looks at it, studies it, oddly detached. Silvia would probably tell her she is in shock, but all Pepa knows is that there is very little energy in her body for anything, least of all feeling. The twenty minute walk has taken just about the last of her strength, and she very nearly gives into the desire to simply curl up on the sidewalk and sleep.
But instead she walks forward, slides the extra key from under the mat, and lets herself in. She stands in the doorway, confused.
She looks around, and for a moment doesn’t know why she is here. Silvia should be here. Where was she?
“Silvia?” she calls tentatively. Where was she? They were going to be late for their flight to Chili. Silvia was never late.
“Silvia, come on, we’ve got to get going!”
There is no answer.
And Pepa stumbles forward when it hits her, fresh and piercing. The only thing that keeps her from falling to her knees is her hand catching herself on the hallway wall.
Silvia isn’t there. Would never be there again.
Pepa whimpers, mouth open. The cramps seize her midsection once again, and Pepa folds her arms over her stomach, grimacing.
She has to get out of here. But there are also things she needs here.
So she does the only thing she knows to get herself together - she thinks about the class she took in the academy on how to deal with gruesome crime scenes. She focuses on what needs to get done, shutting out anything that might cause an emotional response, anything that might distract her from getting the job done.
Pushing herself off the wall, she moves down the hall. She spends the next ten minutes changing into something more suitable, and then gathering her things, clothes, toiletries, the extra gun she keeps in the spare bedroom. She does not look at the futon, still with its tangled sheets, when she walks toward the closet. To do so would be to remember Silvia soft and warm, sleeping tucked against her, and that would be violating her self-imposed rules. So she resolutely grabs her gun, turns, and walks back down the hallway.
And finds Aitor standing in the living room, blocking her way out the door.
She stops short as he looks her over.
“You know,” he says at last. “Everyone told me I was crazy to come over here. No way in hell you’d come back here, of all places. Everyone else thinks you’re wandering the streets somewhere. But I knew. I knew exactly where you’d be.”
Pepa glares at him.
“Get out of my way, Aitor. I’m leaving.”
“Pepa, you can’t leave. Everyone needs you to stay. They’re counting on you.”
“Fuck everyone! Silvia counted on me! She counted on me, and look what happened! No one should count on me, no one!” She’s shouting and breathing hard and she feels light-headed and knows she’s about five seconds away from passing out.
Aitor catches her before she collapses, and presses her to him. She leans against him for a moment, breathing in the scent of his leather jacket, before summoning her last remaining strength and shoving him away.
“I have to go,” she says resolutely. “I have to get out of here.”
“Pepa-”
“Aitor, please. I have to get out of here. This is me asking you, a fucking crazy girl asking a fucking crazy boy, to understand this. Let me go.”
Aitor stares at, weighing the options. At last, he sighs.
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t know.” Pepa is shaking. She cannot stay in this house. The longer she stays, the more she is seeing Silvia. Her crime scene tactic is only going to work for so long.
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
Pepa catches a glance of a framed picture of her and Silvia from a precinct dinner Don Lorenzo insisted they attend. They are both dressed elegantly, hair swept up. They are smiling at each other rather than the camera.
“I don’t know! I don’t know! I don’t know! Aitor, get out of my way!” She tries shoving him, but they both know she doesn’t have the strength right now. He easily restrains her, grabbing her upper arms without hurting her.
“How are you going to get there, Pepa?” he asks, his voice gentle.
“Bus,” she mumbles. It’s not much of a plan.
He sighs again.
“Come on, I’ll drive you.”
Pepa doesn’t think she will ever be able to express her gratitude to him for this simple gesture.
He grabs her bag, leads her out the door, and into his car. Ignoring her protests, he stops and buys a sandwich and a bottle of water, both of which he hands to her. “For the trip,” he says. And when they get to the bus station, he stops her before she gets out of the car. He pulls out his wallet, and removes all the cash he’s carrying. He holds it out to her. She shakes her head.
“Take it,” he says.
“Aitor, I can’t.”
“You’re going to need it.”
“Aitor-”
“Pepa, take it or I swear to God, I will force you to stay in this car and drive you back to Paco’s.”
Pepa takes the money, stuffs it into her pocket.
“Thank you,” she says, and leans over to kiss his cheek.
“Be safe,” he tells her.
Pepa nods and gets out of the car.
With one last look at Aitor’s anxious face, she turns and walks into the bus station. She buys a ticket for a bus headed east.