zoonerz

The Butterfly Effect - Part 19

2010-01-09T15:16:40Z

Title: The Butterfly Effect - Part 19
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Pepa/Silvia
A/N: You know, a heart can be broken, but it goes on beating all the same. (Fannie Flagg)

Read Part 1 here.
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Read Part 18 here.

~ Pepa ~

I hadn’t really intended to stay. I guess if I had given it any thought at all, I had thought that I’d cool my heels in Sevilla for a few days, then head back home. But every time I thought about getting in the car and driving those six hours back to Madrid, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. What was there for me? Nothing.

I didn’t feel like walking through my life, facing mom and dad, Paco and Lola, like everything was fine, and I also didn’t feel like explaining why it wasn’t. Besides, down here I was more than 10 hours away from Silvia—the farther the better as far as I was concerned. The last thing I wanted was to run into her and the new idiot boyfriend. Just thinking about it made my stomach turn to ice.

So that’s how I ended up looking for an apartment in the last days of December. It was pretty slim pickings. No one plans a move over Christmas holidays if they can help it so there weren’t many places available. After two days of solid searching, I finally found a dingy bachelor that had been empty for three months. It wasn’t hard to see why—cracked, grey linoleum in the kitchen, rust stains in the bathtub, a kitchen cupboard missing a handle. But what did I care? A shitbox apartment went perfectly with my shitbox car and my shitbox life. I signed the lease for January 1st. Happy fucking new year to me.

I guess things weren’t all bad. I’d been lucky enough to meet Cristina, who’d been letting me stay with her for the past week despite the embarrassing incident that first night we met. I had been absolutely mortified about it but the next morning she’d carried on like nothing had happened. Maybe strangers got drunk, made out with her, then dissolved into tears on top of her every week. Or maybe she was just being really kind.

We spent New Year’s Eve together at Chica Busca Chica, and I worked like mad to avoid thoughts of Silvia and what she might be doing with Javier. Lots of alcohol and lots of dancing seemed to do it. The trick was to never stop for an instant, to always be talking, laughing, moving, drinking, smoking, anything. Never stop, just keep going. That night when we got back to Cristina’s place, things went more smoothly than before. It was one more activity to keep me from thinking of her.

Cristina and I spent New Year’s Day—or what little of it we managed to see after sleeping off righteous hangovers—sprawled out in chairs, mainlining espresso. I wanted to move into my new apartment but I had no place to sit, no place to sleep, and all the stores were closed. Shopping had to wait until January 2nd.

When we hit the thrift shops the next day, we had to search for a while but I finally found a great little futon. Alright, so it wasn’t great but it would do. I had signed a lease on a shitbox, remember? Who needed great? Cristina helped me haul the frame and lumpy mattress up two flights of stairs and into my cramped single room. Then we christened it, which I guess made the futon and the apartment officially mine.

*****

A month had gone by since I’d moved into my new place and I’d finally had a phone installed. I called Paco and Lola to let them know where I was and to give them my number, and I asked them to pass the message to mom and dad. I didn’t feel like calling them myself to hear a lecture about how I should come home or how what I was doing was dangerous or who knows what else. I just couldn’t face it.

Mariana had given me a job tending bar at Chica Busca Chica, which was a hell of lot better than my old job at the pizzeria. The tips were still great but no more horny old men pinching my ass. Instead it was hot women slipping me their phone number.

Working nights suited me. There was a surreal quality to constantly moving through darkness—an inky sky above me on the street, heavy shadows in the dimly lit club. It felt like a world apart, unconnected to my real life. Daylight was a bitch.

Even after stretching the darkness by going home with someone, it would always end eventually. There were always hours of light that followed me, hours where I’d be awake and alone in my apartment, the sun taunting me with its insufferable cheeriness. I covered the windows with heavy blankets to block it out. Even so, sleep evaded me. I would stare at the water stains in the ceiling for hours at a time, doing nothing but listening to music and going through the events of the last year and a half over and over again.

There were so many ways things could have gone differently, and I’d imagine them all, ticking them off in my head one by one then starting all over again. What if...I’d never asked Silvia to that party? What if she had said no? What if there had been no kids with fireworks? What if I hadn’t kissed her that night at the park? What if I’d punched Juan at prom? What if I’d gone to Barcelona even when Silvia asked me not to? What if the jerk with a big mouth had been a nice guy, or sober, or had gone to a different school? The possibilities were endless.

I also ran through the scenarios in which Silvia and I might never have been together. What if Paco and Lola had never met or they had broken up after a year of dating? What if I was five years older than Silvia and we’d never gone to high school together? What if Lola had a brother instead of a sister? But as much as I hated how I felt, I couldn’t ever bring myself to wish that our relationship had never happened. It killed me to think that with the flap of a butterfly’s wings changing one tiny detail we might never have been at all.

Another question that I circled again and again was whether or not I truly loved Silvia. If I did—if it wasn’t just infatuation or some silly teenaged crush—I’d want her to be happy, right? I’d want good things for her. But I didn’t want that. I wanted her to be miserable and hurting without me. I wanted her to be aching to pick up the phone and tell me she’d made a mistake. I wanted her to suffer the way I had suffered, the way I suffered still.

So I didn’t wish her happiness with Javier—not one bit. I guess that made me a petty jerk, in addition to someone who never loved her. But the thing is, if I never really loved her, then why did it hurt so much even now?

It felt like a huge iron anvil sat constantly on my chest, squeezing the air out of me. At any moment, it seemed as if the pressure would split my sternum in two. I would lie there imagining the bliss of that cracking release, my breastbone splintering into two free pieces, my breath coming easy once more. The release never came.

The days I did sleep, the heaviness tormented me even in my dreams. In one, I found myself on a bare mattress at the bottom of a deep, square pit. The stubs of several burnt candles stood like sentinels in pools of hardened wax, and dozens of old white-bordered photographs were scattered all around me. Moisture slicked the earthen walls and the reek of damp filled my nostrils. I didn’t know how I had gotten there or why I was there—until clods of dark dirt began raining down upon me. In a great burst of panic, it all became clear. I was being buried alive.

Some days, the thin mercy of a blade was all that kept me sane.

*****

It was 10 o’clock on a Friday morning. I’d just gotten home and was sitting on the bed smoking a joint, hoping it would help me sleep, when someone knocked on the door. Who the hell could that be? I didn’t bring girls back to my apartment. For starters, the décor wasn’t exactly suitable for entertaining, but I also didn’t feel like sharing. I liked having a place that was only mine. So unless one of them had decided to track me down, it wasn’t a girl.

Shit. I hoped it wasn’t my super. I quickly extinguished the joint and fanned the room with my hands. The knocking came again.

“Pepa?” My brother’s familiar voice floated through the door, taking me totally by surprise. I gave the room one last frantic fan with my hands as I opened the door on Paco with a big cardboard box in his hands. A smile split his face.

“Sister! It is the right place. I- I-...” He gestured with the box. “I brought some of your things from home that we- I- we thought you might need.”

Like an idiot, I stood in the doorway without saying anything. Paco was here? In Sevilla? At my apartment?

“Uh.. Pepa?”

I snapped out of it. “Sorry! Hi. Yeah. Um, come in…” I stepped aside to let my brother pass. He shot his chin out in a timid gesture as he walked by me and made as if to put the box in the main living area, but stopped and headed towards the kitchen counter. Then he reconsidered, looking around helplessly and taking another couple of steps this way and that. Finally, he placed the box on the floor next to the door and patted the top of it gently. He straightened up and put his hands on his hips.

“This is a nice- nice place. Pepa.” He looked quickly at me and back to the room, a forced smile on his face.

I snorted and looked around. The day’s sunlight shone weakly around the edges of the blanket over the window, leaving the futon, with its rumpled sheets, in a murky gloom. My duffel bag was my dresser. A few nails in the wall served as my closet. Next to several messy stacks of CDs, a shiny silver stereo sat plugged into the far wall—the one decent thing in the apartment. It had been a splurge purchase last week with the first of my tips from the bar.

“It’s a dump.”

Paco shrugged and pulled a face. “But- but- it’s a nice du—”

I slung an arm around his shoulder and finally cracked a smile. “C’mon, brother. Let’s go get breakfast. You’re buying.”

*****

The waitress slid our loaded plates across the table and left us to it. The heavenly smell of greasy bacon, buttered toast, and eggs with fat yellow yolks wafted up and combined with the sharp aroma of fresh coffee to nearly make me swoon.

“Oh my God, Paco. This looks so good.”

He smiled at me and picked up his fork.

“So how are you?” he asked casually.

“I’m good. Everything’s good.”

“Mmm hmm. And you’re…settling in?”

“Yep. I’ve got the apartment. Which you’ve seen,” I said, taking a bite of egg and gesturing across the table at Paco with my fork. “And um…” I moved the egg around in my mouth and swallowed. “And I’ve got a job.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I’m bartending at a club downtown.” I barrelled on before Paco could say anything else. “You know, it’s a job. But I actually kind of like it, and the tips are pretty good so I’m doing alright. It’s not forever though. Just until I figure out what I want to do.”

“Yes. Uh-huh. Uh-huh.” Paco peered over his coffee at me and scratched the side of his face. “What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know. That’s what I just said. It’s a job until I figure things out.”

“Why, uh, why did you come here?”

I shovelled some eggs onto my toast and shrugged. “Just wanted a change, I guess. There wasn’t much holding me in Madrid and I thought it might be nice to be in Andalusia for a while.”

“Yes- yes. I can see how Andalusia would be nice.” Paco set his coffee down, started to pick it up again, then left it on the table with his hands wrapped around it. “Sister, you know if there was anything you wan- you know you could- you could- if there was anything you wanted to tell me, I- well, you could tell me.”

I stopped chewing and met his eyes. Did he know? About me and Silvia? I mentally shook my head. No, that was just me being paranoid. Not that I cared if he did know. He was my brother and Silvia wasn’t my girlfriend anymore. I was done protecting her secrets. But I just couldn’t bring myself to get into it. Not now.

“There’s nothing.”

“Not that there- It’s just- We wondered why you had left so suddenly. Is all. And we wondered if you… might come home.” He ducked his eyes and started pushing the bacon around on his plate with his fork.

I sighed heavily and looked out the window at the people passing on the sidewalk—a guy in dark jeans and a golf shirt talking on his cell, a harried mom dragging a squirming kid. A young couple holding hands. I shook my head. “I can’t, Paco. I know you don’t understand and I can’t really explain it to you. But I just need to be here right now.”

He patted my hand. “OK, sister. OK. Eat up, eh?”

*****

The Butterfly Effect - Part 18

2010-01-03T23:12:49Z

Title: The Butterfly Effect - Part 18
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Pepa/Silvia
A/N: Fresh from the brain oven, just for you.

Read Part 1 here.
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Read Part 17 here.

~ Cristina ~

I knew from the minute I laid eyes on her that she would never belong to me, not in any true way. Yet I also knew I would love her anyway. You might doubt that I could intuit such things from a first glance—but then maybe you’ve never met Pepa Miranda.

She sat at the bar of Chica Busca Chica nursing both a beer and a cigarette. In later weeks, she’d own this place. Her swaggering confidence and fierce smile would become legendary, or at least what passed for legend in the young, single—and sometimes not-so-single—lesbian crowd in Sevilla.

But not that first night. That night, despite the black leather jacket and the fuck-you face, she looked worn out. I watched her trace endless patterns in the wet circles on the bartop, her hand pausing only long enough to take angry pulls from her bottle. As she drained the last of the beer and held the bottle in front of her face to confirm that it was empty, she beckoned to the bartender by raising and flicking her first two fingers held close together. The gesture caused an unexpected rush of warmth between my legs.

“I’ll get it,” I said to Mariana, throwing down some bills and sliding in beside the stranger. I leaned towards her, making myself heard over the music. “I’m Cristina. I thought you looked like you could use a beer. And a friend.”

“Pepa,” she replied. “Thanks. I’ll take the beer.”

“Ouch. Just the beer? Not the friend?” I joked.

The beginnings of a wry smile appeared on her face. “Sorry, that’s not what I meant.” She stuck her hand out. “It’s nice to meet you, Cristina.”

“Likewise.”

We fell into an easy conversation, and I quickly learned she was new to Sevilla by way of Madrid, having just graduated from high school earlier that year. She was all of 18. At 24, I felt positively ancient in comparison. Young as she was, though, Pepa never seemed like a kid to me. Maybe it was the pain I always saw burning like a dark flame in her eyes. I knew a thing or two about pain, what it could do to a person.

Pepa bought the next round, flicking her fingers once again to call Mariana. Dios, this girl had no idea what she was doing to me.

“Do you like to dance, Pepa?” I lifted my beer from the bar and began moving my hips in time to the music. I thought I saw something sad and wistful flicker across her face but then it was gone and she set her mouth in a pursed smile.

“Yeah, let’s go,” she said, grabbing her bottle in one hand, my hand in the other, and leading me to the dance floor.

Pepa could move. There was an unstudied sensuality and an animal grace in everything she did, but on the dance floor she seemed made of pure electricity. She took both our bottles and set them down on a nearby table so we could dance unimpeded. Then she shook off her jacket and tossed it over a stool, hardly breaking the hold on my hand as she pulled her arm out of the sleeve to grab me once more.

Pulling me close, she put her thigh between my legs and began moving us together in a sinuous dance. Sparks flew wherever she touched me, from the fingers she trailed down my arms to our hips that bumped in rhythm to the music. Even the intent gaze she fixed on me felt hot on my skin. I wanted her as much as I’d ever wanted anyone.

Time disappeared as I lost myself in the pounding beat and Pepa’s touch. We danced and drank, drank and danced until the DJ spun the first slow song of the evening. As the languid pulse of the song floated out over the floor, Pepa pulled me into her arms, both our bodies damp with sweat. Her hands swirled in lazy circles on the small of my back in time to the music. I could feel her thigh pressing insistently against my center as she ducked her head, her lips grazing against my neck just below my ear.

“Pepa.”

“Mmmmm.”

“Do you want to get out of here?”

She pulled back slightly and assessed me with hooded eyes. Then she kissed me with a sweetness that took me by surprise. She made no other response but the kiss said everything I needed to know. We grabbed our jackets and hit the street, the cool night air like a slap against our heated bodies.

Pepa started things in the back seat of the cab, her kisses becoming more urgent, her hands more insistent with every block that we drove. We spilled out of the cab in front of my building and stumbled through the lobby into the elevator, kissing and groping through the ride up eight floors. It was all I could do to find my key and unlock the door.

Inside, we shrugged our jackets to the floor and fell about as we kicked off our boots, Pepa cursing for the time it took to unlace her Docs. It wasn’t until we lay on my bed, our half-naked bodies entwined, that I began to sense something wasn’t right. Pepa’s eyes were screwed tightly shut and her caresses were now almost rough. I began to notice that the mewling whimpers escaping her throat more closely resembled cries of discomfort, not pleasure.

I pushed on her shoulders and pulled my head back. She stopped moving but kept her eyes closed. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Nothing’s wrong,” she insisted. “I thought we were doing something here.”

“Pepa, open your eyes.”

Her nostrils flared as she slowly looked at me, her eyes shining.

“What’s wrong?” I asked again, cupping her cheek.

She flounced off me, sitting heavily on the side of the bed. “Nothing’s wrong, Cristina. I told you. Are you not into this now?”

“Not like this.”

“What are you talking about?”

I slid a hand over her bare shoulder and suddenly the charade was up. She lurched with the effort of holding back tears. “Fuck, I’m sorry,” she whispered hoarsely.

“It’s OK. There’s nothing to apologize for.”

“I’m sorry!” She banged her fists on her knees then again against her forehead. “I- I was dancing with you and kissing you and- and I came back here like we were going to— I’m sorry.”

“Sssshhhh. It’s OK, Pepa. Really.”

“No, it’s not OK!”

I could hear the panic rising in her voice. I slid in behind her and wrapped my arms around her waist, feeling the tension that thrummed through her body. “Don’t worry about me. Everything is fine with me.”

She broke free of my arms and stood quickly, spinning to face me.

“I should go,” she said, unable to look at me.

“Why?”

She searched the floor for her shirt and quickly threw it on. “Just... I should go. You’re being so nice to me and you don’t even know me!” She picked up her bra and headed towards the living room for her jacket and boots, still not meeting my eyes. I jumped off the bed and grabbed her by the arm.

“Pepa, stay. It’s almost 2 o’clock in the morning. It’ll be hard to get a cab now. And how far is your place anyway? How long would it take you to get home?”

She stood very still, her mouth held in a straight line as she looked at the clothes in her hands. “I don’t.... Shit, Cristina, I don’t have a place, OK? I just got here yesterday morning. I slept in my car last night.”

“Oh.” I looked away for a second and back again, nodding imperceptibly. “I guess that settles it then. You’ll stay.”

She still didn’t move so I gently removed the articles of clothing from her hands and lay them on the couch. Then I took her hand and led her back to the bedroom, where I slipped on a t-shirt and settled us both in the bed. We slept.

****

Continue to Part 19

The Butterfly Effect - Part 17

2010-01-02T01:10:04Z

Title: The Butterfly Effect - Part 17
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Pepa/Silvia
A/N: This chapter is dedicated to all the lovelies who made my Christmas brighter by smooching me under the mistletoe: vickiheartpepsi, av8rwinn, selinakris, girlechicky2k, ponyo08, and angie005. A shout-out is also due to those who shared candy canes (booglebee), flowers (yiker), and fruitcake (circadream09).

And many, many thanks to all who have read and commented so far. Your feedback and support help keep me going. Besos!

When last we posted, Pepa had just been unceremoniously dumped by the love of her life at the family Christmas dinner. And so begins section 2 of our story...

Read Part 1 here.
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Read Part 16 here.

~ Pepa ~

Everyone always talks about how great it is to fall in love. All the books, all the movies and TV shows—they all make it out to be this wonderful miracle. But where are you falling to? Did you ever think of that? No one ever mentions what it feels like when you finally stop falling and slam into the ground.

After Silvia left the laundry room, I remember almost nothing else of that Christmas night. Presumably I went back into the living room and sat with the others to finish out the evening. After that, I must have gone back to the house with my parents. I vaguely remember stuffing some clothes and CDs into a duffel, throwing it all in the backseat of my car, and peeling out of the driveway without a word to anyone. I guess I headed south because that’s where I ended up.

I suppose it was instinct that turned my wheels towards Huelva, a place of comfort and familiarity. But somewhere on that long drive to my hometown, the accelerator pushed down hard, I came to a sickening realization: Huelva was now tainted for me. The beach, my old school, the house where I used to live—everywhere Silvia and I had been and everything I had shown her would remind me of her. The memory of sitting with her in the giant’s chair—me holding her hand, her kissing my cheek at the edge of the sea—drove a spear of pain under my ribs that nearly took my breath away. No, I couldn’t go back there.

As my headlights burned into the blackness around me, the other thing I realized was that Huelva was nowhere near big enough. I needed a place I could lose myself, some place I could dissolve into nothingness with no one to stop me—and that’s how I ended up in Sevilla. By the time I arrived in the city, it was nearly 6am. I’d been driving all night.

I pulled into a mall parking lot, deserted in the early morning, and chose a spot as far from the stores, lights, and road as I could find. The car shuddered and went still as I cut the engine, the sudden silence fizzing in my ears.

I had no plan. I had been driving for the sake of driving, just to do something. Now I was at a loss. I had wanted to run as far away as possible from the monstrous ache that filled me up and threatened to splinter my bones, but fuck if it didn’t come with me. My breath came in heavy spurts.

I fished into my front pocket and stared at the silver ring I pulled out, the thin band glowing dully in the muted grey light of dawn. Tilting it slightly, I read the inscription inside: siempre. That August night on the beach in Huelva, it’s what Silvia had told me—that she’d love me forever. Like a fool, I had believed her. The ring was to have been her Christmas present and my promise to her. Not anymore.

How could I not have seen this coming? Pepa, I love you but I can’t hold your hand. Pepa, I love you but I can’t go to prom with you. Pepa, I love you but I need to study for my exams. God, I was an idiot. And Silvia was a liar. I flipped open the glove compartment, threw the ring in, and slammed the door shut. That done, I climbed into the backseat to get what sleep would come.

*****

~ Lola ~

Pepa had been gone for more than three weeks, but at least she had called us a couple of days after she left to say she was alright. I asked when she might be coming back. She said she didn’t know. When Paco pressed her for more details — Why had she left? What was she doing in Sevilla? — she said she was on a borrowed cell phone and couldn’t talk any longer.

Paco fretted constantly about her. At night, he would sit on the sofa and pretend to watch TV but the whole time he was running his hands up and down his thighs, tugging on his beard, scratching his ears. He imagined Pepa all alone in a big city with nowhere to live. As a cop, he knew all too well what dangers lurked on the streets. To be honest, my worries were the same though I downplayed them so as not to add to my husband’s fears.

“She’s 18, Paco. I know it’s hard to wrap your head around because she’s your little sister but she’s an adult now. And she’s lived in Madrid. She knows her way around a big city.”

“But where is she staying, Lola? What- what is she doing for money? We haven’t heard from her in more than two weeks.”

“You know she’s always been very independent and she’s capable of taking care of herself.”

“But why doesn’t she call? What if something has happened to her and that’s why she hasn’t called! How would we ever know? And- and- and why would she just run away like that? I don’t understand.”

The secret was wearing on me. I knew the answer to Pepa’s sudden disappearance, or at least the broad strokes of the story. In the last few weeks, I had started to resent both her and my sister—Pepa for leaving her family in the lurch and worrying everyone to death, my sister for what appeared to be a very callous ending to a relationship, the effects of which were rippling out to all of us. Most of all, I resented the fact that I had to keep their secret for them, though of course the sentiment was ridiculous. They hadn’t asked me to stay quiet. I’d chosen that for myself.

But I couldn’t stand to see Paco so worked up any longer. I had been loyal to my sister and respected her actions for nearly a year. Now her actions were causing the family pain, causing my husband pain. He deserved the truth.

“Pacito, I have something I need to tell you.” I put my hand over his to stop his fidgeting, and he looked up at me in surprise. “I know why your sister left.”

“You- you do?”

“It’s because of Silvia.”

“Silvia?” A blank look conveyed his confusion.

“Pepa and Silvia... they’ve been... well, I think they’ve been seeing each other.”

“Seeing each other?” Paco squinted his eyes as if looking into a bright light and put his hand to his head. “I- I- I don’t understand.”

“They’ve been in a relationship with each other. Dating each other.”

“Dating each other?”

“Dating. Girlfriends. I know this comes as a surprise to you but I think they’ve been very much in love for a long time. But the night we had dinner here at our house for Christmas, Silvia broke up with Pepa. It was...well, it was very hurtful to Pepa, and I think she ran away so she wouldn’t have to deal with it.”

“But... Silvia has a boyfriend,” my husband protested.

“She does now. But Pepa didn’t know that. That’s how they broke up. I’m telling you, Pepa was really upset that night.” I flashed back to Pepa’s face as Silvia had walked away. Upset was hardly the word for it. Her heartbreak had been painfully evident.

“That was the night she left.”

“Yes.”

Paco was silent for long seconds, thinking through all I had shared with him. “How do you know all this?” he asked sharply.

“I didn’t know for sure until the dinner—though I’ve certainly had my suspicions for a while. I started noticing things around this time last year, I guess, though who knows how long they were together before that. The night of the dinner was what confirmed it for me. I overhead a fight they had, a fight where Silvia said she couldn’t be with Pepa anymore.”

“A year?” Paco asked incredulously. “You suspected for a year and you never told me?”

“I’m sorry. At the time, I thought I was doing the right thing. Pepa and Silvia obviously chose not to tell us about their relationship—I only knew by guessing—so I decided if they wanted to keep it a secret, I wouldn’t be the one to spill the beans.”

“Why didn’t they tell us?”

“I don’t know, cariño. I really don’t. I’d like to think we’re both pretty open-minded people. I was hurt that Silvia didn’t confide in me about it.” Paco slowly nodded, clearly still processing, then his eyes flashed at a sudden thought.

“Your dad—”

“Doesn’t know,” I interjected. “And I see no reason to tell him now. Agreed?” Paco again nodded slowly.

“So Pepa and Silvia...” My husband knocked his index fingers against each other repeatedly.

“Si.”

“My sister. And your sister.”

“Si.”

Paco puffed his cheeks out, scratched his chin, and released a heavy sigh.

“And your sister...broke up...with my sister?”

“Si.”

“And that’s why Pepa ran away.”

“Si.”

“But we still don’t know where Pepa is or what she’s doing.”

“She’ll call, Paco. She will. I think she just needs some time away, to put some distance between her and what happened.”

“I hope you’re right.” I hoped so, too.

*****

Continue to Part 18

The Butterfly Effect - Part 16

2009-12-24T02:58:14Z

Title: The Butterfly Effect - Part 16
Rating: R for language / mature themes
Pairing: Pepa/Silvia
A/N: Right then. This chapter is kinda the end. Well, the end of Section 1. I do have Section 2 floating around in my head. I just don’t know when, if ever, I’ll get around to writing it. I make no promises.

I know you’re not going to like the way things go in this chapter. I apologize in advance. If you wish to beat with me sticks, can I ask that they be small sticks?

If, on the other hand, you can see your way past the events in the story for a moment or two, I’m standing under the mistletoe here. *whistles, toes the ground* Purely a locational coincidence, mind you. I mean, I didn’t hang this mistletoe here and then stand under it on purpose. No. Never.

Aaaanywaaaay....to all those who celebrate, Merry Christmas! And on to the story...

Read Part 1 here.
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Read Part 15 here.

*****

~ Lola ~

The doorbell rang and I opened the door to find Paco’s parents, arms heavy with gifts and wine, with Pepa just behind them. There were kisses and warm hugs and wishes of Feliz Navidad all around as the little group made their way into the house, shedding their coats and scarves for me to hang beside the door. As Pepa shrugged off her jacket, I could see her eyes searching past the entryway into the kitchen.

“Feliz Navidad, hermana!” Paco made his way to the door and wrapped Pepa in a bear hug. Pepa squealed and hugged her brother back.

“Mom, Dad, how are you? Come in, come in,” Paco said. “You guys are the last ones here. Everyone else is in the living room already.”

I breathed a little sigh of relief at everyone’s upbeat mood. I had hoped that things wouldn’t be awkward at tonight’s dinner but everything seemed fine. I followed everyone into the living room to join the others.

“Tita!” Sara ran up and hugged Pepa around the waist. Pepa squeezed her back with a grin but the Feliz Navidad died on her lips as she caught sight of the boy standing awkwardly in chinos and a pressed shirt next to Silvia. My dad, his chest puffed with pride, stepped up to make introductions. “Pepa, have you met Silvia’s boyfriend, Javier?”

Pepa had gone totally still and her eyes slid blankly to Silvia, who looked away. Oh God. Pepa hadn’t known about Javier. I had been surprised when Silvia had called me last week to say she was bringing the boy to dinner, but since I wasn’t supposed to know about her and Pepa I couldn’t ask what had changed. I just assumed they had broken up sometime this fall, or they had agreed to this somehow, perhaps as a cover. But if Pepa hadn’t known—dear Lord, what had my sister been thinking?

Pepa shook Javier’s hand with a curt smile. “Nice to meet you,” she said, her voice a dull contrast to her words. Her eyes were still on Silvia and Silvia’s eyes were still on the floor.

Christmas dinner that year was one of the longest, most uncomfortable meals I have ever endured. Pepa sat brittle as glass, looking for all the world as if she would shatter if someone passed her the salt the wrong way. She picked away at her food, casting baleful glances that flickered between Silvia, Javier, and the goose on her plate. I noticed she drank more wine than was probably good.

Across the table, two spots of colour high on Silvia’s cheeks betrayed the light mood my sister was trying to maintain. A cardboard smile sat pasted to her face and she avoided Pepa’s eyes, slipping her hand into Javier’s under the table, an action that did not go unnoticed by Pepa.

I was the only who saw it all unfolding and I had to pretend that I didn’t. The men were of no help to me. My dad was holding court, brandishing his wine and telling stories of Christmases past while Paco and his father chimed right in with appreciative laughs and stories of their own. Once again, I conjured up images of coconuts. Hello? Would you men like to buy a clue?

Javier sat twitching beside my sister like a rabbit lost in the woods. I think he sensed something wasn’t quite right but he didn’t know what it was. I almost felt sorry for him.

After dinner, when the chairs had been pushed back and the dishes cleared, everyone retired to the living room for more wine and conversation. I grabbed the soiled napkins and placemats to take to the laundry room, intending to toss them into the basket to deal with tomorrow. To keep my laundry area neat, I had set up a small room divider to one side that did a good job of hiding piles of dirty laundry waiting to be washed, the drying racks, the soap and fabric softener. When I tossed the pile of linen behind the screen, I missed the mark. A couple of stray napkins hit the floor, so I bent down to pick them up and as I was down there, Pepa pulled Silvia through the door, oblivious to my presence.

My first instinct was to hunker down further and keep quiet. It’s not that I wanted to spy but I knew they would both be embarrassed if they were discovered. Pepa swung the door shut quickly and turned almost instantly to place a harsh kiss on my sister’s lips, trying to pull her in tight. Silvia pushed back hard, throwing Pepa off her.

“What are you doing? We’re in my sister’s house,” she hissed, her eyes blazing and colour rising fast in her face.

“That’s never stopped us before.”

“I have a boyfriend.”

“Javier,” Pepa sneered.

“Yes, Javier.”

“Have you told the poor boy that he’s dating a dyke?”

Silvia flinched, then spread both hands and pressed them down in front of herself as if she could dampen the sound of what Pepa was saying. “How many times do I have to tell you? I am not—” She caught the angry tumble of words coming out of her mouth and started again, slower, quieter. “I am not gay.”

“You could have fooled me,” Pepa retorted, her words slicing through the air. “All those times you called out my name while I was fucking you...”

“Stop it, Pepa!”

“Me stop it? You’re the one who won’t return my calls. You’re the one who brought that... that... that stupid guy home trying to make some sort of heterosexual statement to your family. And you didn’t even tell me!” Pepa was panting with the effort to control the emotions pouring out of her.

“But it doesn’t matter… because I know you love me. Not him. Me.” These last words were spoken with such abject vulnerability that I felt a sudden urge to wrap my arms around the girl and keep her safe, despite my shock at her earlier harsh statements.

Silvia’s body was unnaturally still, as though she had stopped breathing, frozen in a moment of agony. She looked at Pepa, who held her gaze in a sorrowful challenge, defying Silvia to deny what she just said.

Silvia broke the gaze, let loose her breath, and shook her head. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“Silvia! Silvia, I’m sorry.” Pepa’s hand darted out to touch my sister’s arm but Silvia jerked away. “I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll keep us a secret for as long as you like. I swear I’ll never tell anyone or ask to hold your hand. Just please. Please. Don’t leave me.”

The seconds passed with excruciating slowness. I wished to God I’d never come in here.

“I can’t do this.”

With that small sentence, my sister turned her back, opened the door, and walked away.

The next day, I was the only one who was not surprised when Paco’s dad called to say that Pepa was gone.

*****

Continue to Part 17

The Butterfly Effect - Part 15

2009-12-23T02:09:32Z

Title: The Butterfly Effect - Part 15
Rating: R for language / mature themes
Pairing: Pepa/Silvia
A/N: Hmmm, there's not much to say by way of introduction for this installment. Except to say that I love and appreciate comments. But you knew that. Of course you knew that.

Read Part 1 here.
:
:
Read Part 14 here.

*****

~ Silvia ~

We tumbled into the backseat of a cab and I gave the driver my address on campus before turning my full attention to the dark-haired beauty sitting next to me.

“Hi,” I said slyly.

“Hi.”

My hand trailed lazily along Pepa’s denimed leg, tracing a light pattern on her inner thigh. My girlfriend didn’t move a muscle. I think she might even have been holding her breath. It was obvious she didn’t know how to react—we were in a cab, and I’d spent the last 13 months making it clear that this was not a place I wanted to be affectionate.

But things were different tonight. Maybe it was the beer or where we’d just come from. Maybe it was the pleasure I felt at meeting such great new friends. Or maybe it was that I was finally realizing that here in Barcelona I could be whoever I wanted to be. The reason didn’t matter.

I leaned in slowly, watching the hope and anticipation play across Pepa’s face, revelling in the power I had to make her happy. It was so easy. As easy as leaning across the backseat of a car. I kissed her then, and not gently either. It was a kiss full of hunger, a kiss that told Pepa I wanted her and I wasn’t about to wait.

That was all it took to break the spell she was under. Suddenly she was kissing me back, her hands tangling in my hair while my own hands continued their explorations up her thigh. I knew the cabbie was stealing glances at us in his rearview mirror—and I didn’t care one bit. Who the hell was he anyway? I was kissing my girlfriend and that’s all there was to it. A weight I didn’t even know I’d been carrying inside my chest had disappeared, and I felt so light that if it weren’t for the roof of the cab holding me in place, I swear I would have drifted away into the night sky and taken Pepa with me.

Before I knew it, we were rolling to a stop. Pepa and I reluctantly disengaged while she grabbed a bunch of bills out of her jeans’ pockets and passed them up to the front. “Keep the change, buddy,” she said with a grin. He held up the bills and smiled in return. “Thanks! Have a great night.”

Pepa jumped out and offered her hand to help me from the car. She pulled a bit too hard as I stood up and I fell into her, laughing into her neck as my arms went around her waist. “You know you paid that cab driver way too much.”

“I know. I was feeling generous.”

“Is that so?”

“Yep. I’m in a good mood. I really don’t know why.”

“No?”

“Mmmm, it might have something to do with being kissed by a certain gorgeous redhead. But I’m not sure. I think I’d have to try it again to see.”

I slid my arms up from Pepa’s waist to around her neck and gave her a slow kiss full of all the seduction I could muster. She broke away and pursed her lips as if deep in thought. “Huh. Yeah. I think....um, what was the question?”

We both giggled as we turned to walk towards my dorm, my hand fitting naturally into hers. Thank goodness Maria was away visiting her parents this weekend. Pepa and I had the room all to ourselves. My mind raced with thoughts of what lay ahead, of everything that had happened already tonight, of how free I felt! I swung Pepa’s hand, feeling giddy and wanting to shout at the top of my lungs about it. As we walked down the paved path, we passed under a streetlamp casting a warm yellow glow. “Pepa, thank you so much for tak—”

“Fucking dykes!”

My breath caught like I’d been punched in the gut. I hadn’t even seen the three boys coming toward us on the path, all of them obviously drunk and now sniggering in amusement. I felt Pepa stiffen beside me. “What did you say, asshole?”

I pulled at her sleeve. “Pepa, don’t. Let’s just keep going.”

“Yeah, don’t Pepa,” the guy in the front said in a mocking baby voice, waving his hands beside his face. I realized too late the mistake I had made in using her name. Pepa’s fists clenched at her sides and she stepped closer to the sandy-haired boy, who swayed slightly on his feet. “I asked you...what you said...asshole,” she menaced.

“I said, ‘Suck this, lezzie.’” He grabbed his crotch for emphasis and laughed, his friends joining in. Pepa’s fist came out of nowhere, connecting with a crunch. “Wrong answer,” she said evenly.

The boy wheeled back, trying to regain his balance. As he found his footing, he put his hands to his face then pulled them away, gazing in astonishment at the blood. “You fuggen bidch. You brog my node.”

“That’s what you get for disrespecting my girlfriend. Just remember that. And if you ever do it again, I’ll break something else.”

The boy came forward as if he would attack Pepa but his friends grabbed him and started pulling him away. With venom in his eyes, he stood panting at us, wiping at the blood that flowed from his nose. Pepa stood her ground, daring him to try something. Finally, he spit on the ground and walked away.

Pepa turned towards me, sagging a little as the fight left her. “You OK?”

“What the fuck was that, Pepa?”

“Just some drunk guys. Don’t worry about it.”

“No, I mean you! Punching him? Breaking his nose?”

She reeled back. “What the hell did you want me to do? Just let him say all that shit?”

“There were three of them! What if they all decided to jump on us? Jesus Christ, Pepa! Use your head for once.”

“I was protecting you, in case you didn’t notice.”

“Joder. This would never have happened if I hadn’t been holding your hand.”

“Those guys were assholes and they were drunk. It wasn’t our fault!” I looked into Pepa’s stricken face and saw no comfort there. I turned and started walking quickly back to my room. Pepa ran to catch me, grabbing my elbow, but I shook loose of her grip.

“Don’t. Just don’t touch me.”

“Silvia, we need to talk about this.”

“No, we need to go back to my room, OK? That’s what we need to do.”

We walked the rest of the way in strained silence. Though we did talk later that night about the incident—Pepa apologized for hitting the guy and I apologized for overreacting—in the end it didn’t matter that Maria was gone for the weekend. The mood was ruined.

*****

Wednesday mornings I had a 10 o’clock biology class. As I headed towards the lecture hall, I smiled inwardly, thinking of last year’s biology class and all the time I had spent ‘tutoring’ Pepa. It really was too bad about last weekend. We’d missed a perfect chance to be together, which didn’t come all that often since Maria was around most of the time. I was still a little shaken by what had happened on the path, but maybe Pepa was right—not everyone was an asshole. It was just an unfortunate incident with unfortunate timing. I tried to focus on how wonderful I’d felt earlier that evening.

We had already called Julia and Ramona to arrange to have dinner with them this coming weekend. I’m glad they offered to have us over to their place because I didn’t want to go to a restaurant, the four of us like that. Julia and Ramona—well, they looked gay to me—and I really didn’t feel up to dealing with that in public. Not now anyway. Maybe in a couple of weeks, after all of this had faded away a bit.

Besides, if we were at their apartment, I’d have a chance to talk to them more privately. At first I hadn’t been crazy about Pepa’s idea to ask them about their experiences as a couple, but the more I thought about it, the more I decided it would be good. I was interested to hear if they had encountered any assholes of their own and what they had done about it.

“Hey, I know you.” I looked up from my musings, startled to see the sandy-haired boy from that night, now with two black eyes, looking at me unkindly. “You’re that dyke, aren’t you?”

I clenched my jaw and kept walking.

“Don’t run away, pelirroja.” He fell in beside me, his oily voice spilling into my ear. “I just want to talk to you... now that your butchy girlfriend isn’t here.” I fixed my eyes on the path ahead of me, willing him to go away, though I could feel his unwelcome gaze like a sticky film on my skin as he matched my pace.

“What are you fucking her for anyway? You are fucking her, right?” I hunched my shoulders against his invasive words, feeling my face go scarlet with anger and shame, and hating myself for the way my blushing advertised that he was getting to me. “Maybe what you really want is a nice dick, huh? A pretty girl like you... a lezzie? I bet you’re not. I bet you just need a good fuck with a dick like mine to change your mind.”

“Fuck you,” I gritted out. It was all I could think of to say. Where was Pepa now? Where was her ‘protection’ when the consequences of what she’d done had caught up with me?

My pursuer stopped on the path and yelled at my back as I continued to walk. “Yes, pelirroja, that’s what I want!” A shudder ran through me as I heard him chuckle to himself. “I’ll be seeing you around.”

I picked my way carefully down the broad stairs of the tiered lecture hall. I was trembling so much I thought for sure I would stumble. Having made it safely to my usual seat in the third row, I dropped my bag on the floor between my feet and took a deep breath, instructing myself to calm down. But the scene kept playing over and over again in my head—the low pitch of his voice snaking its way down my back, the way he walked so close to me saying such awful things.

I focused on taking my notebook out of my bag, then my pen. I carefully placed both items on the small writing shelf in front of me, then opened the notebook to a fresh page, smoothing the paper over and over again with my shaking hands.

“Hey, are you alright?” Javier startled me as he folded into the seat beside me.

“Oh. Yeah, sure. Just had a little too much caffeine this morning, I guess.” I creased my face with a smile and forced a little laugh, deliberately shaking my pen in my friend’s face to deflect attention away from the shaking I couldn’t actually stop.

“Well, careful there. I can’t have my study partner too hopped up on stimulants or she won’t be able to take proper notes.”

“Don’t worry. I’m ready! I could take notes forever. And if not, there’s always your notes.”

Javier laughed. “Oh, is that how it works?”

I nodded, a genuine emotion creeping into my smile. The rest of our conversation was cut short as the professor took his spot at the podium and began his talk. I managed to scribble a lot down, as I always did, but I couldn’t have vouched for the usefulness or accuracy of what I’d written—my attention was definitely divided. I kept circling back to the boy and what he’d said. He said he’d see me around. Where? When? Did he know who I was? It occurred to me that after this class was done, I had to walk the same path back to the dorm that I’d taken to get here. And I would be alone.

The sound of books closing and feet shuffling rose through the hall as the prof gave out next week’s reading assignment. I grabbed Javier by the arm. “Where are you headed now? Do you want to walk with me back to the dorm?”

A warm smile reached his dark brown eyes. “I was going to grab an early lunch. Maybe you’d like to join me?”

“Sure, that would be nice.” Anything so that I didn’t have to walk across campus by myself.

*****

~ Pepa ~

I could have killed that guy who yelled at us the night we came back from the bar. Seriously. I apologized to Silvia for punching him, but fuck! She’s lucky that all I did was break his nose. I wasn’t sorry at all. I was only sorry I couldn’t have made it more painful for him.

It had started out as such a perfect night. The bar, the dancing, playing pool, meeting Julia and Ramona. You could practically feel Silvia letting go of something she’d been gripping so tightly. And then she started making out with me in the cab! She never did that. I knew then that we’d crossed an important line. God, I was so happy.

But that asshole had to go and ruin everything. If only we’d been five minutes earlier. Or five minutes later. Or he’d never been born. Silvia and I would have had amazing sex that night and we’d be on our way to being an actual couple—a couple that could hold hands walking down the street!

Instead, we’d had a fight. Oh sure, we made up. I did my best to comfort Silvia and explain to her that those guys were the exception, not the rule. Plenty of people—most people—didn’t care if we held hands, and we couldn’t let a couple of jerks ruin things for us.

In the end, Silvia and I both apologized for our reactions though inwardly I was still seething at drunk dude. Why were we apologizing to each other when he was the one who caused the problem in the first place? He should be the one apologizing. As Silvia and I lay together in her narrow bed that night, her head resting in the crook of my shoulder, I envisioned the many ways I could make him sorry. In my fantasies, he was on his knees, begging for mercy and blubbering a million apologies.

That night cost us. Earlier in the evening, we’d been moving forward to a more open future. Now we were back to square one, and Silvia was clammed up tight. If it’s possible, she was even more paranoid than before.

I came up to visit the following weekend and we had dinner at Julia and Ramona’s apartment. We had a great time, and Silvia even talked to our friends about what had happened. After empathizing with us about how awful it must have been, they backed me up in saying that such events were rare. Julia and Ramona had been together for three years, they were out to everyone they knew, and they were affectionate in public. They never had any problems.

The four of us went to the bar again after dinner, and despite a repeat of the beer and the dancing and the pool, the joy of the week before was missing. We had fun but it’s like there was a ceiling above us. We could only rise so high. Or maybe that’s just how it seemed to me.

I came up to visit one more time. It was mid-November by then, and Silvia explained that she had exams coming up soon. She was worried about doing well—both her scholarship and her chances of getting into med school depended on good marks—and she really needed to focus on her studies. It would better if I didn’t visit again until after exams were over. She’d be home at Christmas.

That didn’t sit too well with me, of course. It was hard enough getting through each week, waiting for that moment when I could get into my beautiful wreck of car and burn up the pavement on my way to her door. I lived for the weekends with her. Didn’t she live for them, too? I tried not to psych myself out about it. School was important to Silvia. Really important. I knew that. So I did my best to respect her wishes.

It’s true that a couple of times I found myself sitting in my car, gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white, debating about whether I should just turn the key in the ignition and drive up to Barcelona anyway. I imagined showing up on her doorstep, giving her a big hug, and telling her that I couldn’t bear to be away from her for so long. Wouldn’t she like that surprise? But then I imagined her frown and the way she’d get mad at me for ignoring what she’d asked me to do. I didn’t go.

We talked on the phone a couple of times a week, but the talks got shorter and then less frequent. She said she was under a lot of pressure at school. She had a tough course load, and she was worried about one class in particular that was taught by a prof with a reputation for unleashing killer exams on first-year students. By mid-December, I was having a hard time reaching her on the phone. I left repeated messages with Maria but Silvia never called me back. Maybe Maria was forgetting to tell her that I’d called.

Shit on a stick. I had never looked forward to Christmas so much in all my life, though it wasn’t because I cared one bit about presents or carols or decorations. All I cared about was seeing Silvia again and having her be done with those stupid exams.

*****

Continue to Part 16

The Butterfly Effect - Part 14

2009-12-16T01:17:26Z

Title: The Butterfly Effect - Part 14
Rating: R for language / mature themes
Pairing: Pepa/Silvia

A/N:
*Ahem* The first order of business is.... the official unveiling of the Elisa_Trapt Ficity Fic Statue. *pulls sheet off with a flourish* Ta da!

This statue was commissioned and created for elisa_trapt for services rendered in the keeping of all things fictional and butterfly-like on track and making sense! Thank you, o beta.

And now, on to the story.

Read Part 1 here.
:
:
Read Part 13 here.

*****

~ Pepa ~

Joder, Silvia was stubborn! I had let myself believe that when Silvia went away to school, things would be different for us. She’d be away from her family, away from all the people we went to school with. I thought she’d loosen up about us. But she didn’t.

Well, that’s not entirely true. She was a little better, but the difference was small. I still wanted to hold her hand walking down the street and she still said no. She wouldn’t even tell her roommate about us—as if Maria didn’t know! I was there at the dorm every freaking weekend. I know Maria didn’t buy the story of “best friends” and “sisters-in-law.”

Sometimes I’d shoot Maria a look of apology when Silvia’s back was turned, and Maria would just shrug. She didn’t care —which is exactly what I tried to tell Silvia. Her roommate couldn’t have cared less who she was sleeping with. But no, Silvia was convinced she’d be all freaked out because they shared a room. Sometimes I wanted to throttle Silvia. That was in between the times I wanted to make out with her, of course. She was still as beautiful as ever. And I was still in love with her. Stupidly achingly head over heels in love with her.

*****

I’d been bugging Silvia for weeks about going to a women’s bar in downtown Barcelona that I’d heard about. I thought if she could actually see a whole bunch of other lesbians—real lesbians, out in the real world, just being themselves and doing their thing—that maybe she wouldn’t feel so isolated, like we were the only two girls on the planet who liked to kiss each other. We could have a few drinks, dance a little, have some fun. She had finally agreed, and I was over the moon with excitement. You have no idea.

Silvia was looking smoking hot in a short, flared skirt, scoop-necked top, and a pair of flats. With her hair done simply and just a little bit of make-up, she practically glowed. She had no idea how good she looked, which only added to her appeal. I was wearing my usual jeans, ripped at the knees, with a thick black leather belt, a black tank, and my Docs.

I know Silvia was nervous so I held her hand, pulling her behind me as we opened the door and were greeted by the muted sound of a thumping bass from deep within the club. The girl working the door was also wearing a tank top. Hers was to show off the many tattoos that graced her arms. She grinned at us with a face full of piercings.

“800 each,” she yelled over the music. I handed her money for two and she stamped the back of our hands with smiley faces. “Have fun,” she said, giving Silvia a friendly wink as we passed by.

Inside, the club was packed with women. As I moved slowly through the crowd, I felt Silvia close behind me, gripping my hand fiercely. I leaned down to whisper in her ear. “You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” she said with more conviction than I knew she felt. “Just a lot of people here.”

“Yeah, isn’t it great? Look at all these women, Silvia. A whole room, a whole building, full of people like us!”

I manoeuvred us over to the bar and ordered us each a beer. I handed Silvia her bottle. “Do you want to just watch for a while?” I offered. Silvia nodded, so we found a spot along one of the walls and stood sipping our drinks. Every so often, I’d look over at Silvia to see how she was doing. I could tell from the look on her face she was taking it all in and processing it. My little scientist. Assess, analyze, categorize—that was her way.

My beer was done and I wanted another. “I’m going to get another drink. How’s yours?” Silvia held up her bottle, still half full, for me to see. “Alright, I’ll be back in a minute,” I said. That she chose to stay where she was and wait for me, rather than coming with me, was a good sign.

When I got back, I gave Silvia a kiss. She smiled at me. Another good sign. “Hey Red, do you like playing pool?”

She shook her head. “I’ve never played.”

“What?” I leaned back, my mouth hanging open in exaggerated astonishment. “Well, that’s something we definitely have to fix. There are some tables on the other side of the club. I saw them when I was getting my drink. Let’s go play.”

I took her hand again and led her to a group of three pool tables. Two were in use but luckily the third was open, and I quickly claimed it. Yeah, I know—teaching a girl how to play pool, leaning over her from behind, guiding her arms and hands, telling her how to move her stick—cliché, right? But cliché or not, it was hot. I poured on the flirt and had Silvia giggling and blushing all over the place. This bar idea? Best idea I ever had.

“Hi there.” Silvia and I looked up from a shot we had only half been concentrating on to see a cute woman with short dark hair smiling at us.

“You guys want to play doubles?” She gestured to a slender blonde beside her, who waved at us in greeting. I looked at Silvia to check it with her and she nodded in agreement.

“Sure. I’m Pepa,” I said, offering my hand. “Julia,” the dark-haired woman replied with a shake. “And this is my girlfriend Ramona.”

“Hi, Ramona. Nice to meet you,” I smiled, shaking the blonde’s hand as well. “This is Silvia,” I said, putting my hand on the small of Silvia’s back. After we finished up introductions, I racked the balls again and flipped a coin to see who would break. Julia won the toss.

“I should tell you,” Silvia said, “that I’m not very good. This is my first time playing. Pepa was just teaching me tonight.”

“I saw part of your lesson.” Julia winked as she settled her fingers on the felt and prepared her break shot. Silvia blushed and bit her lip. “No worries,” Julia continued. “We’re not competitive. We just want to have some fun.” A clean, hard shot split the balls well and sunk the three ball. “Looks like we’re solids,” she grinned.

As the game progressed, Julia and Ramona kept up a steady stream of conversation. “We haven’t seen you in here before,” Ramona said.

“We haven’t been here before,” I countered. “We’re from Madrid. Silvia’s going to school here and I’m just up on weekends to visit.”

“Ooooh, long-distance relationship. How’s it going?”

I gave the redhead a questioning look. “Actually, I think it’s going alright, wouldn’t you say?” Silvia quirked her mouth up at one end, leaned in and planted a quick kiss on my lips. “I’d say so,” she said teasingly.

Julia and Ramona both laughed. “You guys are adorable. Seriously. We should hang out sometime. Grab dinner or something next time you’re in the city.”

Silvia and I gave each other meaningful looks. “We’d like that,” I said, articulating what I knew we were both thinking.

*****

The rest of the night passed quickly playing pool with Julia and Ramona, and later, dancing in the press of bodies at the center of the club until we were exhausted. By 1 a.m., I was ready for a seat and a cold beer. Julia and I headed to the bar to buy the drinks while Silvia and Ramona scouted for stools. Success! As we made our way back to our girlfriends, we saw that they had managed to snag two spots.

“You’re good, you know that?” I murmured in Silvia’s ear as I passed her a sweating bottle. She looked pleased with herself. “Yes, I know. Here, you take the stool.”

“Don’t you want it?”

“I’m not that tired, Pepa. I know you really want to sit down.”

I couldn’t argue and slid my butt onto the cracked leatherette. It felt so good just to get off my feet for a minute. I was tired but not so tired that I didn’t have the energy to snake my arm around Silvia’s waist and pull her into me between my legs. She leaned against my thigh, my leg tingling in the spot was touching me.

“Are you having a good night, princesa?”

“You know I am.”

“Just wanted to be sure.”

Silvia laced the fingers of her free hand in mine where it rested on her stomach. “You’re sweet, Pepa. You’re a sweet, sweet girl.”

“And you love me?”

Silvia chuckled and tilted her head back to kiss me on the cheek. “Yes, I do.”

As she turned her head back, I nuzzled her hair aside and kissed the back of her neck, tasting the salty tang of sweat. The muscles in her stomach jumped under our hands. I think I might have moaned in response, though it was hard to say with the music as loud as it was.

Silvia turned around completely and pierced me with a look before covering my mouth with hers, her hands sliding around my hips. Just as suddenly as she started the kiss, she broke it off and moved her mouth next to my ear. “I’ve had a great night tonight. But let’s go back to my room.”

I moved off the stool, pushing Silvia forward. “Anything you say, pelirroja.” I tapped Julia on the arm to get her attention and leaned in to shout, motioning over my shoulder with my thumb. “We’re heading out.”

Julia looked from me to Silvia and smiled. “Yeah, yeah, you two.” She shooed us off. “We’ll see you again. Call us, OK? You’ve got our number.”

“Definitely. It was great to meet you. Bye, Ramona.” Silvia and I both waved good-bye to our new friends, then made our way through the club and onto the street to hail a cab.

*****

Continue to Part 15

The Butterfly Effect - Part 13

2009-12-02T01:42:05Z

Title: The Butterfly Effect - Part 13
Rating: R for language / mature themes
Pairing: Pepa/Silvia

A/N:
Aaaaaand here am I again with another chapter. Comments? I LOVE comments!

Read Part 1 here.
:
:
Read Part 12 here.

*****

~ Silvia ~

I’ll never forget that August weekend in Huelva with Pepa—the pure joy of it, all that we did, all that we promised. We’d come through a couple of rough patches in the spring and early summer, but after prom and the discussion on the picnic table, we were stronger than ever. Maybe it was knowing we were done with high school once and for all. We were both 18 then and I think we felt ourselves shifting gears, easing into the new lives we would lead. I felt so grown up when I thought about heading to university in Barcelona. I knew I would still be a student but I would be a pre-med student. Pre-med led to medical school, and that led to becoming a doctor. I could picture it so clearly. My adult life was beckoning me, and it thrilled me and scared me all at the same time.

Layered over the excitement of things to come was my summer with Pepa—warm nights spent holding her hand, playful kisses stolen in quiet corners. It felt like I’d swallowed the sun. Whenever I was with Pepa or thinking about her, there was a warmth that spread all through me, a feeling of light that radiated out my fingers and toes. When Lola asked us to join her and Paco on their annual trip to Pepa’s hometown, it seemed like the universe was on our side, gently nudging us together.

And Lola gave us our own room! That freaked me out at first because I thought it meant that Lola knew about me and Pepa. But as Pepa pointed out, there really was no other practical room arrangement. Besides which, she said, as cool as Lola was, she probably would not set up her baby sister to have sex with her girlfriend, who happened to be her sister-in-law, on a family trip. There were just all kinds of things weird with that scenario. In fact, Pepa continued, the fact that Lola put us in a room together indicated that she didn’t know about us, because otherwise she wouldn’t be so casual about giving us the opportunity to “screw each other silly”—Pepa’s words. I had to admit her logic was sound, and breathed a sigh of relief.

Still, when we got to the room on Thursday night, I could hardly believe our luck. The one thing Pepa and I never got to do was sleep together—I mean literally sleep. We never got to fall asleep in each other’s arms, never got to spend the whole unhurried night together and then wake up to each other in the morning. We’d had that once, the night of my birthday, the first time we had ever been together, then never again. My sister had no idea what a gift she had given us.

That first night, just before sleep, Pepa spooned me, her lanky frame easily enveloping me. Her hand brushed lazily over my stomach as she nuzzled my ear. “Sweet dreams, pelirroja.” I laid my hand over hers, feeling the solidity of her body behind me, taking in the warm scent of her skin, and knew there was no place on earth I’d rather be.

As we made our way to breakfast with the others the next morning, the sun already hung fat and orange in a clear blue sky, promising a hot day ahead. Pepa had plans to show me around Huelva while Lola, Paco and Sara spent the day at the beach.

First stop: her old school. We wandered around the schoolyard, deserted now in August, and Pepa pointed out the spot where she’d given Julio a bloody nose, the swings where she had jumped off in mid-arc and broken her arm, the pitch where she had played soccer. At each spot, I could so clearly see a little dark-haired girl, wild and energetic, doing all of the things she told me about.

Without even realizing it, I took Pepa’s hand as we walked. She looked at me in momentary shock, then quickly recovered and flashed me the biggest grin I’d seen on her face in a long time. I smiled back tentatively, unsure of myself still, but loving what I saw in her eyes. I caught a glimpse of how things might be for us in Barcelona, away from everyone we knew. Maybe I could do this.

Pepa drew me towards a row of windows in the back and let go of my hand to shield her eyes as she tried to peer into the building. “This was my fourth grade classroom.” She looked down the wall and walked over to the door set just inside a shallow entryway. She tugged on the handle and it opened. Hunching her shoulders in surprise and delight, she beckoned me to come quietly. We slipped into the cool corridor, our eyes struggling to adjust after the bright sunlight outside.

Pepa held a finger to her lips and tiptoed towards the classroom door. There was no one inside. She wandered the room, her hands sliding over desks and walls, a faraway look in her eyes. “This was my last year in Huelva, before we moved to Madrid.” She stopped beside a desk, next to last in the third row. “I sat here.”

I cocked my head and contemplated her standing beside the tiny desk. “Did you stick gum underneath there?”

“Yes,” she grinned.

“Did you carve your initials in it somewhere?”

“Yes.”

“Was it too small for your long legs, even then?”

“Yes! You know me too well.”

“I remember what you were like when you moved to Madrid.” We smiled at each other, caught up in memories of ourselves as we were back then, two skinny little kids, one with long red braids, one with glossy dark hair. One cautious, one daring. One who liked to follow the rules and one who liked to break them. “As I recall, you were pretty obnoxious,” I said drily.

“Me?! You were the brat, Red. You were always the princesa. Had to have things your way all the time. You made the rules, explained them in great detail, and had a fit if they weren’t followed.”

“And yet...” I put my hands out palms up and shrugged. “You adored me anyway.”

Pepa threw her head back and laughed. After a moment, she levelled her gaze at me, setting butterflies to dancing in my stomach. “No argument there.” She moved towards the door, darting in to steal a kiss from me on the way. “We better go before someone finds us here.”

For the rest of the day, we toured the places that had been important to Pepa as a kid—the shop where Paco would take her to buy candy, the park where she climbed trees, her old house, the laneway where she had fought mock battles with the neighbours’ kids. I loved every minute of it.

Evening found us sitting around a bonfire on the beach with my sister, Paco and Sara. I kicked off my sandals, relishing the feel of the cool sand between my toes. Conversation was slow and muted as it tends to be around a fire, each of us lost in contemplating the dancing flames of red and orange, blue and green. After a couple of lazy hours, Pepa slid forward to the edge of her seat. “I want to take Silvia to see the chair.” Paco’s smile appeared to flicker in the darkness through the flames as he nodded.

“I want to see the chair, too!” Sara piped in, her eager voice straining over the tiredness she was fighting.

“No, cariño,” Lola hushed her. “It’s too late for you to go.”

“But Pepa and Silvia are going! I want to see the chair with them.”

“Yes, they’re going and they’re grown-ups. They can stay up late. Your dad will take you to see the chair tomorrow.” Lola looked pointedly at Paco. “Right, Dad?” My brother-in-law nodded. “Yes, we’ll go tomorrow, Sarita. I promise,” he said.

Pepa stood and motioned for me to follow. “You two have fun,” Lola said. “I don’t know how much longer we’ll be out here so I’ll say good night now.”

“Good night, Lola. We’ll see you in the morning,” I said. “Good night, Paco. And good night, Sarita,” I said in a sing-song voice, kneeling next to the little girl. My niece pouted in her seat. “Aw, are you going to be mean and not say good night to me? Your favourite aunt?”

“Hey!” Pepa laughed. “What does that make me?”

“Her second favourite.” I winked at Pepa, who smiled back at me. Sara folded her arms over her chest and stared into the fire.

“Sara...” Lola started in a warning tone of voice. I waved my hand at my sister and tsked quietly to indicate she should hold off on reprimanding her sleepy daughter.

“Alright then, little one. Good night, sleep tight, see you in the morning light.” I stood up and turned to go.

“Don’t let the bedbugs bite.” At the sound of Sara’s tiny voice laced with apology, I looked back and blew her a kiss; Pepa did the same. Sara threw her head back against her chair and kicked her legs out, still frustrated but now resigned to staying by the fire. We gave Lola and Paco a final wave and headed into the darkness, bumping into each other lightly as we made our way down the beach.

“You do know I have no idea what the chair is or where you’re taking me, right?”

Pepa grinned at me in the dark. “I wouldn’t have to take you to see it if you already knew, now would I?”

“But Paco knows what it is?”

“Sure, he knows. Lola, too. It’s really cool, Silvia. I think you’ll like it. Paco was the one who showed it to me when I was little. I used to come down here all the time and pretend I was in a giant’s house.” In her voice, I could hear the childish delight that had been with us all day and my heart swelled with love for her all over again. We were now well away from Lola and Paco, the fire just a pinpoint of brightness on the shore behind us. I took Pepa’s hand in both of mine and leaned against her. “I can’t wait,” I said.

We rounded a rocky promontory that jutted out almost to the shoreline and came upon a little curve of beach secluded by the cliff we just passed and another rock formation on the other side. The nearly full moon shone down, bathing the area in a cool, milky light. The only sound was the soft shushing of the waves on the sand. Pepa just stood and stared, I think as taken aback by the beauty of the place as I was. “I don’t usually come here at night,” she explained. “It’s beautiful. And there!” She pointed to a shape in the rock. “There’s the chair.”

Tugging me by the hand, she led me to the spot where a sheer rock face came down to meet a low shelf that jutted out at a right angle to it. “Do you see?” Pepa asked. “That’s the back of the chair and that’s the seat. And that—” She motioned to a hump of rock to one side of the shelf. “That’s the arm. And do you see the steps that go up so you can sit?”

I laughed, caught up in Pepa’s excitement. She was already running up the uneven tiers of rock that formed the steps, and I followed, still holding her hand. When we got to the ‘seat’, we turned around to face the sea. Pepa sunk down to the rock with her legs crossed and I copied her actions. The two of us sat with our fingers entwined, watching the moon appear to dance on the water. Pepa leaned over and whispered in my ear, “We’re sitting in the giant’s chair, pelirroja.”

“Oh Pepa, I love you,” I sighed, kissing her gently on the cheek.

“So you like it?”

“Yes, I love it. It’s wonderful. Thank you for bringing me here.” We sat for another few minutes, listening to the waves wash endlessly in and out.

“There’s only one thing,” Pepa said, her voice serious.

“Yes?” I felt a finger of worry make its way down my spine.

“The chair...”

“Yes?”

“It’s not that comfortable for sitting in.”

Pepa started to giggle and I pushed her over. “You goof. You had me worried.”

“Did I?”

“A little.”

“There’s nothing to worry about, Red. It’s just you and me. And I love you.” Pepa looked up at me with a gentle smile. “C’mon. Let’s go sit on the sand. It’s softer.” She stood and pulled me to my feet, then led me back down the steps.

*****

Continue to Part 14

The Butterfly Effect - Part 12

2009-11-26T15:23:11Z

Title: The Butterfly Effect - Part 12
Rating: R for language / mature themes
Pairing: Pepa/Silvia

A/N:
Absence? What absence? I don't know what you're talking about. *posts and runs away*

Read Part 1 here.
:
:
Read Part 11 here.

*****

~ Pepa ~

Whoever sang that song about the summertime and easy living obviously had rich parents. That sure as hell wasn’t me. Now that school was done, I was working two jobs. The first job was on a grounds crew with the city parks department. I spent my days mowing, trimming, raking, weeding, watering, and hauling. As in ass. Oh, and emptying overflowing garbage cans. Not exactly glamourous but I kind of liked it. I got to be outside all day and I liked the physical work. I was getting a great tan and some nice biceps (both of which Silvia admired, so bonus points there) plus it was a city job so the pay was pretty good.

Evenings and weekends, I waited tables at Miguel’s Pizzeria. The hourly wage sucked, my butt got pinched at least once every night by some horny old man, and I went home after every shift stinking of pepperoni, but the tips were awesome. And that’s what it came down to—the money. I was saving up to buy a car so I could visit Silvia when she went away to school in September.

I had my eye on a faded red Honda hatchback that sat like a sorry little ladybug on the edge of the used car lot. I’d already been down there to check it out a few times. The radio didn’t work and it had no CD player. The stick for the turn signal hung limply off the steering column—with a little jiggling you could get the right turn signal to come on, but the left was a hopeless cause. There was a dark stain in the cloth of the passenger seat that really didn’t bear thinking about, and the windows took hard cranking to roll up and down. The whole car shuddered like a sick dog if you took it over 108 kilometres an hour. It was a straight-up piece of junk, but it was going to be my piece of junk. And it was going to carry me to Silvia in Barcelona. For that, I was in love with it and couldn’t wait for the day when I plunked down my cash and got to drive it home.

Of course, working two jobs didn’t leave a whole lot of time for socializing, which really sucked. On the one hand, I wanted to spend as much time with Silvia as possible before she left for school. On the other hand, if I didn’t work the summer, I wouldn’t see her at all come September. So I worked.

Silvia was working a job, too, waiting tables like me, but at a different restaurant. We commiserated together about the grabby old men, but agreed that they were always the best tippers so what could you do. It was only for the summer anyway. Then I would kiss her and grab her ass, and she would say that I was going to have to leave her a mighty big tip if I wanted to play like that. Then I’d say that there’d been no complaints about the "tips" I’d given her so far—wink, wink—and she would blush but kiss me back harder and say that she had to agree: I tipped very, very well. It became our little joke.

Silvia was working for different reasons—she was saving money for school. She’d known for ages that she wanted to be a doctor. The year of pre-med coming up was just the first of what would be many years of schooling. I didn’t have any definite plans. I could have gone to university, I suppose, but what would I study? I thought taking some time off would be better. I wanted to kick around a little, see what the world was like.

Paco kept telling me I should sign up at the academy and become a police officer, like him. But he was careful about when he said that now because he’d learned the hard way that if Lola was within earshot the comment would earn him a smack upside the head for giving me "bad ideas." Wasn’t it bad enough that her dad and her husband were cops, Lola asked, but now Paco wanted to bring his sister—her lovely and innocent sister-in-law—into his dangerous way of life? Did she really need someone else to worry about? No, she did not, and she would appreciate it if Paco would stop trying to recruit me.

Lola was the best. While I thought her concern for me was misplaced (lovely? innocent?), I appreciated her protective streak. Silvia was lucky to have her as a big sister. I think Lola would have been totally cool knowing about me and Silvia, and sometimes I wished I could confide in her myself. She was kind of like a big sister to me, too. But I never could convince Silvia that Lola wouldn’t rat us out to Don Lorenzo.

Anyway, I wasn’t interested in becoming a cop. Too many rules for me. I was just going to see what came up. I could keep my jobs with the grounds crew and pizzeria past the summer if I wanted, and spend the rest of my time driving up to see Silvia at school. That was all the future I needed for the moment.

*****

~ Lola ~

Paco and I were taking Sarita to Huelva for our annual long weekend trip to the beach. Paco grew up in the area and he liked to go back each summer, I think both to convince himself that it was the same as he remembered it and to keep tabs on everything that had changed. He says he doesn’t miss living there but there’s a softness that enters his face every time we hit the outskirts of the city, and I can tell he’s no longer driving on the highway but instead is making his way along the pathways of nostalgia. I’m pretty fond of the place myself, considering it’s where Paco and I first met.

This year I had the idea to invite Silvia and Pepa to come with us. I knew they had both been working hard waiting tables and could use a little break. I also knew that Huelva was as important to Pepa as it was to her brother, and that if I was right about her and Silvia, she’d want to show my sister. Why I was playing cupid in this way, I couldn’t really say. Maybe I suffered from nostalgia myself, Huelva bringing back all those heady memories of my first dates with Paco and stirring up sympathetic twinges for the young love I saw in Pepa and Silvia. If I wanted to be logical about it, I could say that I’d asked them along for Sara, who was so excited about both her aunts travelling with us that she could barely sleep at night for thinking about it.

I’d broached the idea carefully with Paco, not sure how he’d feel about changing what traditionally had been a trip for just the three of us into a bigger family affair. But I shouldn’t have worried. He loved the idea of going back to Huelva with his sister, and agreed that she and Silvia would be great company for Sara, and that all five of us would have a wonderful time.

So here we were in Huelva, checking into the inn late on Thursday night. Paco, Sara and I were taking one room, and the girls were sharing another. When I first made the reservations, I had panicked a little. I hadn’t really thought this through to see that Pepa and Silvia would share a room. Alone. Together. I was all for being a supportive big sister—even if it was a secret support—but I thought that was a little much. I felt like I was pushing them into something or condoning something I didn’t really want to be involved in or think about. But in the end, what choice did I have? We couldn’t all stay in the same room, and since Paco, Sara and I were a family unit, that just left the girls on their own.

As we hauled our luggage into the rooms, I did my best to be casual and not think about this evening’s sleeping arrangements. If Pepa and Silvia felt self-conscious about sharing a room, they were certainly doing a good job of hiding it. Or maybe they were just as tired as I was. After six hours in the car sitting next to an eight-year-old who never stopped talking, they were probably looking forward to some quiet and some rest. At least I hoped they were.

*****

Continue to Part 13

The Butterfly Effect - Part 11

2009-10-27T01:40:44Z

Title: The Butterfly Effect - Part 11
Rating: R for language / mature themes
Pairing: Pepa/Silvia

A/N:
Sorry for the delay in posting. I appreciate everyone who continues to read and comment! I hope y'all like this new chapter.
<3

Read Part 1 here.
:
:
Read Part 10 here.

*****

~ Silvia ~

Only hints of the burning June sun filtered through the trees as Pepa and I sat side by side on the picnic table, our picnic table as we had come to call it, with our feet on the bench. I remembered with startling detail the first night we’d come here, how we sat just like this, how we drank cool beer from the bottle and talked about school. That was nine months ago when we’d been nothing more than friends. We had kissed for the first time—almost by accident but surely not—over by the trees. Pepa told me later she’d been waiting to kiss me for a long time. That night, it had felt like the stars were spinning in the sky.

Then we’d fallen in love. It felt so natural to fall in love with her, and yet sometimes it caught me by surprise, the strength and the beauty of it shaking me all the way through. Pepa was my first—my first everything. My first kiss, my first love, my first relationship, my first lover.

I’d called her late this morning, braving the bite of her hangover, to suggest we go the park. To talk. She had sighed deeply on the other end of the phone and I could instantly picture the way she was standing there in the shorts and tank top she slept in, her eyes squinting against the day’s light while she dragged her fingers through her hair. But she had said yes.

So now here we were. I hardly knew where to start.

“Pepa—”

“Silvia, don’t. Let me go first, OK? I’m sorry about last night. I drank way too much and I acted like an idiot. I know that. It’s just—” She looked away, biting her lip as if unsure of what to say. “It was our prom. I know I shouldn’t care—it was just one night, right?—but I kept seeing you talking and laughing with everybody else and I wanted to be with you so badly. I wanted to dance with you.”

“I wanted to be with you, too.”

“You did?” She looked genuinely surprised.

“Of course, Pepa. What did you think? That I spent the whole night totally unaware of how beautiful you looked on the other side of the room? You should know by now—I’m like a compass and you’re magnetic north. I feel the pull of you no matter where you are.”

“You never looked at me.”

“I did. A couple of times that you didn’t see. But mostly I didn’t trust myself not to give something away.”

“What about later? You just left me there,” she said, dejection creeping into her voice.

“I know,” I sighed, regret welling up inside me. I put my hand on her forearm and turned my body slightly so I could touch my left knee to her right. “I’m sorry. You seemed so angry and then I got angry. And I was afraid—my friends were right there, watching everything. I didn’t know what to do. I panicked. And anyway, that’s what we had agreed, right? That I would go with my friends and you would go with yours and we wouldn’t see each other?”

“Yeah,” she said dully, though I could hear a swirl of emotions fighting to break through. All at once, her face crumpled and she began to cry.

“Pepa, querida. What is it?”

She worked hard to rein in the tears, taking a deep breath and tilting her head up. “I love you so much, Silvia. Sometimes I don’t think you know how much.”

Her words pricked me, and I was filled with an ache as huge as the trees that surrounded us. I ached because I loved her and she doubted it. I ached because she was hurting. I took her into my arms like a child and rubbed her back, wanting to make everything alright. “Oh Pepa, I love you, cariño. I do. So much. So very, very much,” I said, hot tears of my own threatening behind my eyes. “Please don’t ever doubt that.”

Pepa buried her head in my neck and cried again. For a while, neither of us spoke. I just held her and rocked her while she wept, placing kisses in her hair. Finally she stopped and abruptly sat up, wiping her face. “Fuck! What is it with me and this park and crying?” she said, half laughing, half sniffling.

She rubbed her knees and looked out over the grass. I took her hand and held it, lacing her fingers with mine as her breathing slowly returned to normal. She inhaled sharply and then blurted out, “So you love me?”

“Yes, of course I do. I’m sorry that you even have to ask.”

“Then what are we doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why do we still have to hide, Silvia? I don’t...it doesn’t feel good to me to hide the way we do. We’re not doing anything wrong!”

“I know that,” I said, treading carefully on this ground we’d covered so many times before. I dreaded having this conversation again but obviously we needed to. I had to somehow explain to Pepa why I struggled, had to make her see that despite the struggle I still loved her more than anything or anyone.

“I think it’s easier for you,” I started out tentatively. “You’re in a relationship with a girl and you’re gay. It fits with what you know about yourself. It makes sense.”

“So we don’t make sense for you?”

“Pepa, please. Don’t twist my words around. I’m trying to explain how I’m feeling.”

“Sorry,” she said quietly.

“Yes, we make sense. You and I make sense. The one thing that I keep coming back to and that I know without a doubt to be true is that I love you. It’s just that I don’t know what the bigger picture is for me. What does the fact that I love you say about who I am? Am I gay? Because I’m not really attracted to any other girls. But there aren’t too many guys that really turn my crank either. So I don’t know. Maybe I’m just frigid, you know? Like, it’s just hard to turn me on.”

Pepa rolled her eyes. “Silvia, are you honestly going to sit there and look me in the eye and tell me that you’re frigid?” She gave me a knowing look, wordlessly referring to all the times we had kissed each other senseless, all the times we had fallen into bed, hardly able to get our clothes off in the heat of the moment, all the times I had brushed against her just dying to be touched. “C’mon. That’s hardly been my experience with you.”

“Yeah, OK.” I gave a little laugh. “You have a point. So frigid isn’t the word I’m looking for. But like, like...”

“You have really high standards?” Pepa teased. “There aren’t many people who can please you?”

“Yeah. Maybe that’s it.” I grinned at her.

“Nothing wrong with that.”

“No.”

“Silvia, I understand what you’re saying,” she said, getting serious again. “But I still don’t know what any of it has to do with whether you tell people about us or not.”

“Well, part of it is that if we tell people, everyone’s just going to assume I’m gay. And that’s not who I am.”

“Who cares what they think? You know who you are. I know who you are. That’s all that matters.”

“You’re so strong, Pepa, in ways that I’m not. It matters to me what people say. I know I shouldn’t care, but I do. And that’s what scares me the most. I’m afraid that if people know and they start talking that I won’t be strong enough to stand up to it or ignore it. That I’ll let go of you instead. And I don’t want that. I can’t risk that. Do you understand?

“I don’t want to keep us a secret because I don’t love you,” I continued. “In a roundabout, fucked up way, it’s actually because I love you so much that I feel the need to hide—the more I love you, the more I hide because the less I want to risk losing you.”

Shit. That sounded dumb even to my own ears, and yet it was true. In speaking it, I think I finally put my finger on why the fear gripped me the way it did. I was weak. I knew that when people started pointing fingers and making fun of me, I would deny what Pepa meant to me. I would deny all of it.

As the last of my words faded away, nervousness started to jangle its way through me, buzzing my hands and feet, making me sweat. Or maybe it was the sickening realization that when push came to shove, I was likely to walk away from Pepa when she needed me most. Hadn’t I already proven that last night? I’d walked away, choosing the approval of my friends over the girl I loved. What kind of person did that?

Quiet settled around us so thickly I thought my ears might pop. Maybe I would lose Pepa right here and now after everything I’d just said. But God, I hoped not. I wanted to be with her. I really did. I wished it could just be the two of us always, with nobody else around, so that we never had to talk about this or think about this or wonder what if.

She stared off into the distance, her face inscrutable, and an agonizing minute ticked slowly by. I thought I might scream from the weight of the silence that lay between us. I wanted her to say something, anything.

At last she turned towards me. “Red?”

“Yeah?”

“I just need to know one thing.” Her heavy gaze held mine, and I prayed for that one question to be a good one, something that meant we could still be together.

“Are you with me?” she asked.

I smiled, my eyes closing briefly with the relief that washed through me. I took Pepa’s right hand and placed a gentle kiss on the palm before laying it over my heart. My own hands held hers tightly to me. I silently willed her to feel the steady pounding in my chest, the ebb and flow of me that belonged to her and no one else.

“I am, Pepa. I’m with you.”

*****

Continue to Part 12

The Butterfly Effect - Part 10

2009-10-13T01:30:57Z

Title: The Butterfly Effect - Part 10
Rating: R for language / mature themes
Pairing: Pepa/Silvia

A/N:
Wow! Next chapter posted the day after the last one. That's a record for me! Buuuuut not likely to happen again. I just happened to have some free time today and I good idea of what I wanted to say.

Based on some of the comments on the last chapter, a few of you may be inclined to throw rotten tomatoes at me for what happens in this chapter. *ducks behind laptop* I'm ready! Read and fire away!! Of course, throwing nice things is also appreciated. :) As always, I love to know that you think.

Read Part 1 here.
:
:
Read Part 9 here.

*****

~ Pepa ~

I hadn’t realized until I stood up so quickly from the table how drunk I really was. Now I sat in a bathroom stall, pants around my ankles, and felt the room wobble ominously. Jesus fucking Christ! I wanted to punch somebody. I wanted to cry. I wanted to hurl. My head in my hands, I focused on suppressing all three urges.

I finally emerged from the stall and stood at the sink, splashing water on my face and using my hands to wipe it away. I stared into the mirror, contemplating the angry set of my mouth. What a fucking loser I was. Here I was boo-hooing in the bathroom because my girlfriend was dancing with somebody else. I loved Silvia but maybe the problem was I loved her too much. It opened me up to feeling like a train wreck over the smallest, stupidest things. Obviously she didn’t care. She didn’t think it was a big deal to dance with somebody else. Maybe...maybe she didn’t love me as much as I loved her. The thought sent a fresh blast of hurt careening through my chest. Fuck, Miranda, pull yourself together! Stop thinking about it.

The door to the bathroom opened and two girls from my class entered. At the sight of me, they slowed up slightly and made faces like there was a bad smell in the room. I curled my lip and fake lunged at them, making them jump. I laughed.

“What the hell, Miranda?” the taller one said, recovering from being startled to sneer at me. “Nice pants, by the way.”

“Yeah, fuck you very much,” I said evenly as I threw the bathroom door open and walked out. A perfect night. Just perfect.

As I meandered down the hall, in no hurry to return to the room and the temptation to clock Juan, Guillermo came around the corner.

“There you are!” he grinned. “We were looking for you. We’re just getting ready to head to the hotel now.” He slowed down, his smile dropping. “Hey, are you OK?”

Was I OK? Hell no. I needed to forget. I needed obliteration. And maybe Guillermo was just the guy to deliver.

I grabbed him by the collar and pulled him in for a bruising kiss. “Whoa,” was all he managed to croak out as we broke apart.

“You like me, don’t you, Guillermo?” An aggressive seduction in my voice masked the sharp edge of despair that lay just below the surface. “Do you want to fuck me?” I pulled him into me again by the back of his neck, my hand wandering down to his crotch where I felt him stiffen instantly against me. God, boys were so easy.

His eyes went round with surprise but he recovered quickly, returning my advances with a clumsy eagerness, his tongue down my throat in a second. After a minute, he pulled back and rasped, “The hotel. We were just heading to the hotel.”

“Forget the hotel. I don’t want to wait that long.” He inhaled sharply and gave me a lopsided grin as I grabbed him by the hand and led him running down the hall. We crashed through the front doors and down the concrete steps, slowing to a brisk walk as we made our way down the side of the building and around to the back.

Once there, he pushed me up against the rough brick exterior, pinning me with his hips as his mouth covered mine. Guillermo worked first at undoing the buttons on my vest but he soon gave up on that as being too slow. Instead, he pulled at my shirt, untucking it from my pants so his hands could roam freely up my torso to my breasts. I gripped his hair hard as he sucked on my neck, wanting to lose myself in our fierce coupling, waiting for the moment I would dissolve into forgetfulness.

But it wasn’t working. Instead of making me forget, it was only reminding me further of what I really wanted.

His rough lips were not Silvia’s sweet lips. His coarse hands were not Silvia’s gentle ones, with the power to take my breath away. All at once, I knew what a pointless mistake this had been. Nothing was going to erase the pelirroja from my head. I pounded Guillermo’s shoulder with my fist, trying to push him away. “Get off me! Get the fuck off me!”

He stumbled back a step, his mouth hanging open in confusion and disbelief. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Fuck, Guillermo, just go! I can’t do this. Get the fuck out of here.” We stared panting at each other, caught in a momentary impasse. I continued a little quieter but no less forcefully. “Please, just leave me alone.”

Finally he glanced away, squinting his eyes at nothing in particular, then swung his head back, swiping angrily at his mouth. “You’re crazy, Miranda. You know that? Fucking crazy.”

As Guillermo stalked off, all the events of the past few hours came crashing down on me. I put my hands on my knees in an effort to stop their violent shaking and slid my back down the wall. A howling pain pushed its way through my chest and squeezed the breath from me. I wanted Silvia. I loved Silvia. And she was inside with someone else because she didn’t want to be seen with me. Juan—who was nobody! just some random fucking guy—got to dance with her in his arms and that was cool with everyone, including Silvia, because Juan had a dick and I didn’t.

I leaned sideways and vomited onto the cracked pavement, hardly knowing if it was the heaving of my stomach or the strain of my sobbing that wracked my body so mercilessly. The puking over with, I sat down hard against the wall, pulled my knees to my chest, and cried until I was empty.

*****

I don’t know how much time had passed when I finally pulled myself together and pushed up off the pavement, feeling agonizingly tired and hollow. As I came back around the side of the building to the main entrance, I wiped at my face and ran my fingers through my hair but my guess was that it wasn’t much use—I probably looked as crappy as I felt.

Just as I was approaching the walkway to the front, the doors swung open and a bunch of girls flowed out in a giggling stream, talking and gesturing exuberantly in their shining dresses and curled hair.

“Silvia!” I cried out, having spotted her in the group talking animatedly to her friend Vittoria. Her head turned instantly to where I stood and her smile faltered ever so slightly, the tiny gesture of ...what? disapproval? dismay? ... piercing my heart like a knife.

She said something quietly to Vittoria, who flicked her eyes at me before continuing on with the other girls to the parking lot, leaving Silvia alone on the sidewalk.

“Silvia,” I exhaled with relief, falling forward to hug her. I needed the comfort of her arms, just for a minute, for a second. She pushed me back, blocking the embrace.

“What are you doing?” she hissed.

“I just need... I wanted to....” I swayed on my feet, feeling so goddamn tired. I tried to form the words that would tell Silvia everything but they refused to come together in my fogged brain.

“You’re drunk! And what happened to you? Your clothes are a mess.” Silvia eyed me warily, taking in my rumpled and untucked shirt, the way the top buttons of my vest hung open.

“I saw you,” I finally sneered. Silvia’s head snapped back like she’d been slapped.

“What?”

“I saw you. Dancing with Juan.”

“So what.”

“So I don’t want to share you!”

“For Christ’s sake, Pepa, keep your voice down.” She cast her eyes nervously in the direction of her friends, who were climbing into a waiting limo. “And you’re not sharing me. It was just a dance. He asked me to. What was I supposed to say?”

“You could have said ‘no.’”

“For what reason? Juan’s a nice guy. And it was just a dance. It meant nothing.”

“His hands were all over you!”

“We are not having this conversation right here right now,” she gritted out. “Do you understand me?” With that, she spun and walked away, her high heels tapping angrily on the asphalt.

“Silvia!” I called after her, my voice a desperate mixture of sorrow and anger. “Silvia, dammit!” But she kept right on walking. She didn’t even turn her head, didn’t even wave a dismissive hand in my direction. She just walked away like I wasn’t even there.

*****

Continue to Part 11

The Butterfly Effect - Part 9

2009-10-11T15:27:27Z

Title: The Butterfly Effect - Part 9
Rating: R for language / mature themes
Pairing: Pepa/Silvia

A/N:
Next chapter up -- and only one week since the last one! *pumps fist* Getting better, getting better.

Hugs and kisses to everyone who continues to read and comment. I've had a few "what the hell am I doing?" moments recently so your encouragement really helps keep me going.

Read Part 1 here.
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:
Read Part 8 here.

*****

~ Pepa ~

Silvia and I had decided not to come to prom together. We agreed that each of us would come with our separate groups of friends and we would pretend, as we’d been pretending all through the school year, that there was nothing between us beyond a passing friendship born of our siblings’ marriage to each other.

Well, let’s be honest. Silvia had decided all of that. I had protested and argued against it, but knew from the start it was a pointless battle. Silvia got her way in this, as she always did. Ever since we had started seeing each other nine months ago, there had only been two options available to me: be with Silvia and keep my mouth shut, or come out to everyone about our relationship and have the relationship disappear. Tell me you wouldn’t have picked the first one.

I don’t know why Silvia was so scared to admit to people she loved me. I kept telling her being gay was no big deal anymore. It was 1996! She kept telling me she wasn’t gay. So bi, then. Whatever. Still no big deal. Then she’d tell me she didn’t think she was bisexual either. I couldn’t figure her out—though honestly? As long as she liked kissing me, I didn’t care too much what she called or didn’t call herself. But the part about telling people about us...

I think it started with keeping the secret from her dad. It’s true Don Lorenzo wouldn’t have been too happy to know his daughter was dating me, so I totally understand why we started sneaking around. And if we had to keep our relationship from Don Lorenzo, then Silvia thought she had to keep it from Lola and Paco, too, because they might tell him. But from that, the whole thing became this gigantic ball of secrecy that somehow rolled over into every other aspect of our lives. We couldn’t tell Silvia’s friends. We couldn’t tell my friends. We couldn’t touch in public. All these things we couldn’t do—they all started with that first and biggest lie to Silvia’s dad.

Sometimes keeping quiet made me so angry I thought I might explode, and sometimes it just made me really sad. How do you deal with the fact that the person you love most in the world is embarrassed to be seen with you? We had fought about it more than once, but in the end I always caved. Like I did about prom. At the end of the day, being sad and angry some of the time but having Silvia was better than having no Silvia at all.

Don’t get me wrong. Most of the time things were fantastic. Blissful, even. I loved Silvia beyond belief, and being near her filled me up with such happiness that I felt like a balloon, light as air and floating everywhere I went. So I was happy, too. It was just times like tonight when I really wished things were different. I would have killed to have walked into this room with a radiant Silvia on my arm.

In the crowd I hung around with, prom was considered righteously stupid. It wasn’t cool to admit you might actually have wanted to come or that it might be possible to have a good time once here. Still, I couldn’t help but notice that all of them—Adriana, Carla, Guillermo, Alejandro, Ramon and the rest—they were all spiffed up, hair coiffed, corsages pinned. They cared more than they let on.

The reception hall our graduating class had rented for the evening was decorated entirely in shades of blue and silver, from the streamers and balloons down to the little centrepieces at each round table. I sat in snug black pants and a fitted grey vest over a dark lavender shirt, my right leg bouncing frenetically under the table as I tried not to stare at Silvia talking and laughing with her friends on the other side of the room.

In a pale green strapless gown, her hair falling in shimmering copper waves down her back, she was hands down the most beautiful girl in the room. I imagined her wanting to dance with me so much that she no longer cared who knew about us. I pictured her walking across the dance floor to meet me and me taking her into my arms to move in time to the music. In my mind, I smelled her hair and felt the warmth of her slender body against mine and whispered into her ear how much I loved her.

“Who are you staring at over there?”

“What?” I shook my attention back to the table, to Guillermo, who was looking at me with a curious expression on his face.

“I said, What’s so interesting over on the other side of the room?”

“Nothing, nothing.” I smiled nervously. “It’s just...nothing.”

Guillermo pointed a finger at me. “No, no, wait! You were going to say something.”

I sighed, puffing up the hair that curved over my face. “It’s nothing. It’s just....it’s just....Silvia Castro, my sister-in-law. I promised my brother I’d keep an eye on her tonight. Apparently her sister—Paco’s wife—thinks she might get into some kind of trouble. Or something. I don’t know.” I rolled my eyes, covering the awkward ending to my little lie.

He snorted loudly and jerked his chin in Silvia’s direction. “That uptight priss? What kind of trouble could she get into—having one too many glasses of apple juice?”

“Don’t be an asshole.”

“Dude, I’m just saying you can probably stop watching Little Miss Sunshine like a hawk because she’s not going to do shit.”

I paused, thinking about what he said, weighing my options. “You’re probably right.”

“Yeah, I am.”

I stared at the centerpiece, my fingers tapping harshly on the white tablecloth. “Yeah, fuck it,” I said quietly. Then a little louder: “I’m not watching her all night.”

“Well, alright,” Guillermo crooned, laying out his palm for me to slap.

I gave him five, tossed Silvia one last glance, then took a deep breath before turning back to the table. “What have you got to drink?”

*****

Two hours later and I was feeling alright. I had forgotten how much fun these friends of mine could be. Why had I neglected them so much this year? We were having a good time, laughing and being loud and obnoxious, getting dirty looks from some of the other tables. Just like old times. Even the ridiculous bouncy music had stopped bothering me.

And Guillermo. I think Guillermo was hitting on me, but even that was kind of funny. I wanted to take his hand and say, “Dude. Dooooood. You are so barking up the wrong tree.” The thought made me laugh. Doooood. I sniggered again and he asked me what was so funny. “Nothing, man. Life. Life is funny.” I patted his hand twice, adding a flourish at the end. This struck us both as hilarity of the highest order so I repeated the action. Then he did it to me. Tap tap, flourish. We killed ourselves laughing.

Off in the distance, I heard the dance music fade and stop, then the breathy voice of the DJ coming over the mike. “We’re gonna....sloooow things down a little....right now...This classic tune... is for all of you....in the graduating class....of 1996.” Several high-pitched whoops of approval sounded out around the room as the dance floor cleared and couples began moving into the open space to sway to the tune of Forever Young by Alphaville.

I stopped laughing. I’d had forgotten about the slow songs.

I scanned the darkened room for Silvia, needing desperately to see her though I knew there was no way she would let me dance with her, not to a slow song.

Then I saw her—being led by the hand to the dance floor. By Juan. I watched them start to dance, Silvia appearing to giggle at something Juan said, Juan’s hands in the small of her back. I saw how he dipped his fingers ever so slightly lower and then back up, testing the waters, and how Silvia didn’t protest.

Anger, hot and pointless, flooded through me, mixing with the alcohol until all I could do was stare stupidly at my fists clenching and unclenching on the tabletop. My brain went blank, refusing to form any coherent thought except to show me an endlessly looping image: Silvia. Juan. Dancing. Juan. Silvia. Dancing. I pushed myself up from the table and stumbled from the room before I did something my girlfriend would only hate me for later.

*****

Continue to Part 10

The Butterfly Effect - Part 8

2009-10-04T19:36:05Z

Title: The Butterfly Effect - Part 8
Rating: R for language / mature themes
Pairing: Pepa/Silvia

A/N:
Forgive me, LJ, for it's been two weeks since my last post. *makes sign of the PepSi cross*

Sorry for the delay. Hope y'all haven't lost interest in this little story by now. In this chapter: PepSi go uht-oh. Please leave a comment and let me know what you think.

Read Part 1 here.
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Read Part 7 here.

*****

~ Silvia ~

I cracked one eye open and peered at the clock on my bedside table for the second time that morning. 11:08. Though I should probably have been concerned that we’d slept so late, at the moment I couldn’t be bothered getting worked up about it. Once again, I lay curled next to Pepa, her skin smooth and warm under the hand I had draped over her stomach. I smiled, remembering why we were so tired.

“Silvia, cariño? Are you awake?” I jerked at the unexpected sound of my dad’s voice and his knuckles rapping insistently at my bedroom door. Pepa snapped awake in an instant, her eyes round with panic. She started to scramble from the bed, already scanning the floor for her clothes, but I grabbed her wrist then put my finger to my lips and shook my head in a silent indication that she shouldn’t worry. My own heart was galloping like a herd of wild horses from being startled but I knew the door was locked. Thank God I had remembered this time!

“Si, Papa, I’m awake. I’ll be down in a couple of minutes.”

“Do you want breakfast?”

“Sure. That would be nice.”

Pepa and I held our breaths as we listened to the sound of my father’s receding footsteps. In a minute, we heard him opening cupboards in the kitchen. I exhaled, giggling with relief, and greeted Pepa with a warm kiss. “Buenos dias. For the second time today.”

“Silvia! Oh my God. Your dad...” She gestured wildly at the door. “How are you so calm about all this?”

“Don’t worry—the door was locked. He couldn’t have come in.” I leaned in for another kiss but Pepa pulled back, staring at me blankly.

“No, it wasn’t, Silvia. The door wasn’t locked.”

“Qué?” A sharp pang of fear hit my stomach.

“I got up to go to the bathroom when you were sleeping. I didn’t lock it when I came back.”

“Qué?”

“I unlocked the door when I went out but I guess I was tired -- I didn’t think of it when I came back. I just remembered now when I heard your dad’s voice.”

“Oh God, Pepa. Do you know what could have happened?”

“Yes, I know!"

My hands started to shake, belatedly processing the danger we’d been in.

“But hey,” Pepa said in a soothing tone, wrapping her arms around me. “He didn’t come in. Nothing happened. We’re alright.” She placed a gentle kiss on my forehead and another on the tip of my nose. “Right?” she checked with me.

The fear of just how close we’d come to being discovered lingered unpleasantly, but I pushed it away and nodded my agreement. “We should get dressed. My dad’s expecting us in the kitchen soon.”

Pepa gave me another kiss and jumped out of bed to find her clothes. Reaching into my dresser, I tossed her a bundle from the drawer. “Why don’t you wear those? They’re a little long on me so they might just fit you.” She shook out the sleep pants and held them up, smiling approvingly. “And you can wear the t-shirt I gave you earlier.” I slipped on a similar outfit and we eyed each other with broad grins.

“I’m wearing your pyjamas, red.”

“I know.”

“I like that.”

“Well, don’t like it too much,” I said, wagging a finger at her in mock admonishment. “You have to behave yourself downstairs.”

“Whatever you say, princesa. I’ll be good.”

Our eyes locked, remembering an earlier conversation where those words had been spoken, and everything those words had led to. Pepa’s dark eyes narrowed as she moved towards me, her hands smoothing around my waist. Desire spiked through me so sharply that my knees wobbled and I had to close my eyes. Dear God, we were never going to get to the kitchen at this rate. With reluctant hands, I peeled myself out of my girlfriend’s embrace, took a deep breath to compose myself, and headed downstairs to face my father. Pepa wasn’t far behind.

*****

~ Don Lorenzo ~

Dios, I was tired. I’d spent all night and the better part of the morning dealing with the fresh murder of an Italian diplomat. It had all the markings of a mafia hit, and an Italian mafia hit at that. But why a diplomat? The case promised to be a thorny one politically and already the red tape was tightening around us. I’d directed my men to work as quickly as they could in collecting evidence and following up leads, even in the middle of the night, so we could learn as much as possible before our hands were tied. Even so, I’d spent hours on the phone with various government officials, appeasing, reassuring, negotiating.

I scrubbed my face with my hands and sighed, then got to work pulling pans out of the cupboard. What I needed was some food and then sleep. I hadn’t eaten in nearly 12 hours, unless you could count five cups of coffee and a roll of Tums.

“Buenos dias, Papa.” Silvia walked into the kitchen wearing her pyjamas with Pepa trailing behind her. “Are you just getting home?”

“Si. It was a long night at the precinct. We were dealing with the murder of a foreign diplomat,” I said, kissing my daughter on the forehead and nodding at Pepa. “But seems someone else had a long night too, eh, sleepyhead? You don’t usually sleep so late on the weekends.”

With a sullen look, Pepa slung herself into a chair at the kitchen table and tucked her legs beneath her. I counselled myself to have patience. As annoyed as I was with Pepa’s brooding demeanour, I knew much of my irritation had to do with my lack of sleep. Silvia followed her sister-in-law to the table and sat down across from her.

“Uh, Pepa and I finished watching the movie and then we stayed up talking.”

“I see. I guess the two of you were quite engrossed in your conversation,” I drawled, fixing both girls with a stern look as I cracked some eggs into a pan on the stove. “So engrossed that you forgot to call Pepa’s parents and let them know she would be staying the night.”

Silvia and Pepa eyed each other guiltily across the table while the tall girl chewed her lip. Good. Let her squirm a little. She really needed to start thinking about someone other than herself for a change. “Don Lorenzo...,” she started.

I held up my hand to silence her. “Apparently your mother called the house here at about midnight when you hadn’t come home yet. Didn’t you hear the phone ring?”

“No- no, sir,” Pepa stammered.

“After she didn’t get an answer here, she called me on my cell. Luckily I was able to tell her that you were with Silvia. But perhaps you could call her now so she can stop worrying, eh? Like a good daughter.” I arched an eyebrow, emphasizing the sarcasm of my last words.

“Yes, Don Lorenzo.” Pepa uncurled her long limbs and headed to the living room to make the phone call home.

“So cariño, did you have a good birthday?” I turned my attention back to my daughter, doing my best to layer a bright note over the fatigue in my voice as I stirred the eggs.

“Si, si,” she said nodding, her fingers playing with the corner of the placemat. “It was, uh...very memorable. Lots of great presents.”

Silvia seemed tired herself. Well, I supposed that was to be expected. I remembered back to sleepovers she’d had when she was smaller, when she and two or three other little girls would exhaust themselves whispering and giggling long into the night. Silvia had always been a touch grumpy the mornings after. It seemed some things hadn’t changed, even though Silvia was technically an adult now. The thought made me smile. I was glad my daughter wasn’t all the way grown up just yet.

“I’m glad,” I said, flipping the bacon then gesturing towards the cupboard. “Silvia, would you mind setting the table, please? And despite how Pepa could have been a bit more responsible about it, I’m glad she was able to keep you company.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Me too,” she agreed thoughtfully, grabbing plates and cutlery to set out on the table. “It was...um, good. Good not to be alone overnight.”

I felt a twinge of guilt at her words. I really did feel awful that I’d had to leave her on her birthday night. Not that I would have spent any more time with her because she and Pepa had been watching that movie and then she probably would have headed to bed. But I knew what it was like to go to sleep in an empty house. It helped just to know there was someone else down the hall.

“So what are you going to do today?”

“I don’t know. I thought...I thought maybe I’d go to the mall.” Silvia opened the fridge to grab the ketchup and juice. “With Pepa.” Just then, the girl in question walked back into the room. “Pepa, I was just telling my dad that we might go to the mall today. Do you want to? Go to the mall, I mean.”

“Sure.” She pulled at the t-shirt she was wearing. “I’ll just have to stop home first and get some clean clothes.”

“Dad, can we have the car for the day? Since you’ll be sleeping anyway?”

“I don’t see why not. As long as you’re careful.” I nodded at them both. “Dig in, girls. The eggs are going to get cold.”

*****

~ Pepa ~

Damn. I looked over at Silvia, who sat in stony faced silence in the passenger seat. I was driving her dad’s car to the park, back to that picnic table in the corner so we could have some place private to talk. Wouldn’t the old man just blow a gasket if he knew it was me driving his car. But Silvia had asked me to when we left the mall.

It had been a fantastic night and morning. I’d made love to Silvia twice, and twice fallen asleep with her in my arms. That right there was all the heaven I could ever ask for. Plus we’d made it through breakfast with her dad, and even though Don Lorenzo had been a little pissy with me, everything was cool. He had no idea I could still smell his daughter on my hands as I ate the bacon and eggs he had made us. The thought made me grin as I slowed to make a corner. I looked to Silvia, wanting to share the laugh, but my grin faded as I remembered she was mad.

We’d gone to the mall like she wanted. Silvia was more of a shopper than I was. She liked to look at everything just for the sake of looking, liked trying on all kinds of stuff just to see it. Me, I went to the mall if I needed something specific. I found that specific thing and bought it. Sometimes I bought three of them so I wouldn’t have to compare and ponder and decide.

So was I a little bored? Yeah. I mean, there had been that one store where Silvia had let me kiss her in the changing room. That had been alright. I could have handled more of that. But for the most part, I was bored.

We were walking down the main row of shops on the second floor when I’d reached out for her hand without even thinking about it. It wasn’t until Silvia flinched and tore her hand away that I even realized what I had done. But, oh boy. Trouble. How could things go so wrong so fast? One minute we’re fucking in her bed and the next minute I’m in the doghouse.

I eased the car down the gravel lane to the picnic table and turned off the ignition. The ticking of the engine was the only sound. I heaved a sigh and opened the door. If she had something to say, she could come find me. I stood facing the trees, my back to the car, feeling my own anger beginning to rise.

“We need to talk,” she said to my back.

“So talk.”

“How could you have left the door unlocked this morning? Do you have any idea what would have happened if my dad had walked in on us? Pepa, look at me!” I turned around reluctantly and steeled my jaw.

“And then at the mall today -- someone could have seen us. You’re being so careless!”

“I’m sorry about the lock thing, Silvia. It’s not like I did it on purpose. I sure as hell didn’t want your dad finding us together either because it’s my ass he would have kicked and you know it. But the mall? Shit, Silvia! No one saw us. It was, like, two seconds ‘cause you dropped my hand as soon as I touched you. And besides, who’s going to see us at the mall anyway?”

“It could be anyone! Someone from school might be there, or a friend of Lola’s, or someone my dad works with. All it takes is one person to see something and spread a rumour.”

“It’s not a rumour -- it’s the truth!” I cried out, my voice betraying the anger that had surged within me. “You’re my girlfriend, Silvia. Aren’t you?”

“Yes, but—”

“Girlfriends hold hands! Especially... Especially after last night. I don’t understand what’s so wrong with that.” I leaned towards her, my voice dropping. “You want to know what I think? I think you’re ashamed. Of me. Of what we are to each other.”

“No!”

“Well, you sure as hell act like it.”

“I’m just being sensible! I’m protecting us.”

“From what, Silvia? I don’t need protecting. I just need to know that you’re in this with me.”

Silvia’s shoulders slumped and a pained look etched its way across her face, the fight suddenly gone out of her.

“I am, Pepa. I’m right here. Right here with you.” Silvia took my hand and placed it over her heart, holding it there with both of her own hands. Her voice strained through the tears that had begun to fall. “And I’m so in love with you... I— Please... let’s not fight.”

I couldn’t stand to see Silvia cry, especially knowing I was the cause. In an instant my anger was gone, replaced with an instinct to shield her, look after her. I took her into my arms, feeling the light weight of her bones, how slender and fragile she seemed as she wet my shoulder with her tears. “Shhhh shhhh, don’t cry, princesa. I’m sorry. I love you, too—you know I do. I’m sorry.”

*****

Continue to Part 9

The Butterfly Effect - Part 7

2009-09-20T23:35:35Z

Title: The Butterfly Effect - Part 7
Rating: R
Pairing: Pepa/Silvia

A/N:
Next installment of my off-canon teen fic is now up! This one goes out to everyone in our little fandom for being so awesome through the events of the last week -- you know what I'm talking 'bout. You guys rock. Besos!

Read Part 1 here.
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:
Read Part 6 here.

*****

~ Silvia ~

I woke to find myself curled up alongside Pepa, one arm thrown across her ribcage. It was kind of a strange sensation—waking up with someone in my bed—but as I listened to Pepa’s steady heartbeat, watched the even rise and fall of her chest, felt the warmth of her skin against me, I decided I rather liked it.

I peered at the clock on my bedside table. Only 5:37. Early still. I glanced at the door to the bedroom, wondering if my dad was home and cursing myself for not remembering to lock the door last night. Wouldn’t that be great if he checked in on me, as he sometimes did after a late night, only to find me wrapped around a naked Pepa. Dios.

I eased out of bed as slowly as I could and crept over to the dresser, opening the middle drawer gently. I winced as the drawer scraped open but Pepa was oblivious. She rolled over on her side and continued sleeping. Pulling out a t-shirt and throwing it on, I searched the floor for my underwear and pulled those on too, smiling when I thought of the way they had been removed the night before and who had removed them.

I tiptoed to the door and slipped out of the room. My dad’s bedroom door was open and the bed wasn’t slept in so that probably meant he wasn’t home. At this time of the morning, though, it could also mean he was just getting in and hadn’t gone to bed yet. I did a quick check of the rest of the house just to be sure—Pepa and I were still alone.

I detoured to the bathroom, my mind beginning to process the events of last night. I’d had sex! I grinned a stupid grin, feeling rather worldly and proud of my new status as a non-virgin. I held my hands out in front of me, flipping them palms up and back down again several times. These hands, which up until now had been pretty ordinary, were now hands that had touched Pepa. I sighed, remembering the exquisite softness between her legs, the way my fingers had trailed through her slick heat and the look on her face when I did it. These hands had brought Pepa to orgasm!

Oh, and the feel of Pepa’s hands on me! If someone had told me before last night that Pepa’s fingers between my legs would feel so much different from my own, I wouldn’t have believed it. Fingers are fingers, right? Wrong! The sensations were leagues different, and better. Now I knew what my friends had been talking about all those times they had blathered on about the boys they’d been fooling around with. I couldn’t wait to tell them what had happened.

I was instantly brought up short as I remembered that I couldn’t tell them. For what must have been the millionth time, I ran through the handful of comments my friends had made about gay people, snippets of dialogue I had carefully catalogued and remembered. There was the time Vittoria had snickered condescendingly while describing the two women walking hand in hand at the mall. Freaks was the word she had used. There was the time Marta had elbowed me and rolled her eyes as Stella had walked by us in the hall, whispering to me how butchy she was and how everybody knew what that meant. There was the time in math class when Carlos had called Mario a faggot and everyone had laughed while Mario looked like he wished he could disappear into the floor.

I burned with embarrassment—all those comments and disgusted looks, all that contempt, would be turned on me if they only knew. I was dating a girl. I’d had sex with a girl. Sex. With a girl. I tried to understand the implications of those words but all I kept coming back to was that it was Pepa. I had slept with Pepa. Somehow that seemed like a different statement. I loved Pepa more than anyone or anything, I had wanted to sleep with her, and I finally did. And it was...oh God, it was amazing. Better than I had ever imagined. Did I regret it? No. A hundred times no. How could I ever regret something that made me feel so complete, so loved?

But these other feelings wouldn’t leave me alone.

Back in the room, Pepa was still sleeping soundly, curled adorably at the side of the bed, one hand under her cheek. I sat on the floor next to her and watched her sleep, thinking about her—about us—and what would be different now.

I sat there for a good twenty minutes, trying to make all my emotions fit into logical places, and it just wouldn’t work. In the end, all I knew for sure was that my heart adored this dark-haired girl who lay sleeping in my bed and I wanted nothing more than to be with her in every way. I crept around to the other side of the bed and crawled in behind her, fitting my body to hers.

*****

~ Pepa ~

I felt Silvia curl her warm body against me, her arm coming around my waist. “Mmmm,” I murmured, stirring groggily. What a way to wake up in the morning—with a beautiful redhead wrapping herself around me. I could get used to this.

“Buenos dias,” she whispered, kissing my ear.

I smiled sleepily and pressed back into her arms. “Buenos dias, guapa. What time is it?”

“Almost six-thirty.”

“Six-thirty?? Why are we up so early?”

“I just checked the house to see if my dad was home—”

“Is he?” My muscles tensed involuntarily as I remembered we were in Silvia’s house, naked in Silvia’s bed, and that Don Lorenzo might make an appearance at any time.

“No.” I let out a grateful breath. “And then I was awake. I was thinking about last night,” she continued.

“Si?” I rolled over to face her, waking up quickly at the undercurrent in her voice. Please God, let her be alright with this. I noticed she was wearing a t-shirt now and wondered what it meant. I gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, my fingers lingering on her cheek. “What were you thinking? Is... is everything OK?”

“I love you, Pepa,” she said, caressing my arm. “And I love... what we did.”

“But?”

“There’s no but.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m positive. It was wonderful... It was more than wonderful. It was... it was perfect.”

I breathed a small sigh of relief. “I thought so, too. Perfect. Just like you.” I tilted her chin towards me and gave her a warm kiss. “Hey, you brushed your teeth!”

She shrugged. “I was in the bathroom.”

“Well, now I have to go brush mine.” I threw off the sheets and headed for the door.

“Pepa!”

“What?”

“Would you like to put some clothes on before you go marching out into the hall?”

I looked down. “Oh yeah. But your dad’s not here anyway, so what does it matter?”

“He’s not here now but he could come home at any minute.”

“Good point.”

I searched the floor for my underwear while Silvia grabbed me one of her t-shirts and tossed it to me. I caught it, inhaling her scent as I did. First, waking up to Silvia pressed against me, then learning that she thought our night together was perfect, and now a t-shirt that smelled like her? And I got to wear it? This morning just kept getting better.

“Pepa!”

I stopped with my hand on the doorknob. “What?!”

“You don’t have a toothbrush here.”

“So I’ll use my finger.”

“Why don’t I get you a toothbrush? We have extras in the cupboard.”

I stared at her in silence.

“What?” she finally said.

“Can I go now? Have we covered everything?”

Silvia rolled her eyes and followed me down the hall to the bathroom.

*****

I leaned over the sink, rinsing the last of the toothpaste from my mouth, and caught sight of Silvia in the mirror. She was standing behind me, her eyes roaming downwards.

“Are you looking at my ass, Castro?”

Caught in the act, she blinked rapidly and looked away. “Maybe,” she said, trying hard to tamp down the smile that was tugging at the corners of her lips.

“Maybe?” I quirked an eyebrow into the mirror.

“OK, yes. I was looking at your ass, Miranda.”

“And?” I turned around to face her.

“And what?”

“And what do you think?”

She paused, a crooked grin working its way across her face. “I think your ass is hot,” she said, her eyes pinning me like a butterfly to a board.

Ooooh, the saucy pelirroja was coming out to play! Most people thought Silvia was all sweet and innocent just because she got good grades and didn’t talk back to adults. And while I couldn’t deny that she was sweet, there was also another side to her—a brazen side—that few people ever saw. When she wanted to, Silvia could have a smart mouth that matched mine any day of the week. It always made me go a bit weak in the knees and this little display was no exception.

Silvia closed the gap between us until she was standing as close as she could be without actually touching me. With her head cocked and her lips slightly parted, she looked up at me like I was a box of chocolates and she couldn’t decide which one to eat first. She leaned in slowly towards me, her mouth approaching mine millimetre by millimetre until she was so close I could feel her breath.

Our lips were just about to touch when Silvia turned away abruptly and headed towards the door, leaving me with what I’m sure was a ridiculous expression of surprise on my face. Just as she was walking away, she smiled at me, then slapped me hard on the butt and took off running down the hallway.

“Oh! You are so dead, Castro!” In a split second, I was in hot pursuit of my madly giggling quarry. She ducked into her bedroom and tried to slam the door in my face but I was too quick, blocking it open with my hand. She’d abandoned the door and was running to the bed when I caught her from behind and lifted her, squealing, off the floor.

“You think you can just leave me hanging like that and get away with it? Huh?” The only response was more squealing. “Do I have to tickle you again?”

“No! No, I’ll be good. I promise.” She stood back down and turned to face me, a few final giggles fading away on her lips. “I swear I’ll be good.”

Something in the way she said those last words set my heart to beating faster. She moved closer to me, her hands coming to rest on my hips, her lips approaching mine. “Do you like me when I’m good, Pepa?” I swallowed. Jesus, where the fuck did she learn this? Fire raced beneath my skin.

“What’s that saying, red? When she was good she was very, very good but when she was bad she was better?”

“I don’t think that’s quite the way it goes, cariño,” she said hoarsely. “But I like it anyway.” Her hands, fingers fanned wide, were now under my t-shirt, now sliding beneath the waistband of my underwear to grab my bare ass.

I couldn’t think of a single thing to say—all my words had left me. So instead, I kissed her. And it was very, very good.

*****

Continue to Part 8.

The Butterfly Effect - Part 6

2009-09-13T22:44:42Z

Title: The Butterfly Effect - Part 6
Rating: R
Pairing: Pepa/Silvia

A/N:
Here's the next installment of my off-canon teen fic. For those who have been waiting patiently (or not so patiently!) for this part, I hope you like it. Leave a comment and let me know what you think!

Another tip of the hat goes to elisa_trapt on this chapter.

Read Part 1 here.
Read Part 2 here.
Read Part 3 here.
Read Part 4 here.
Read Part 5 here.

*****

~ Silvia ~

Pepa trailed me into my bedroom, our fingers still entwined, as I reached behind her to close the door. Her eyes never left me as I stepped back several feet and let go of her hand. We hadn’t said a word since leaving the living room, and I still couldn’t find the courage to speak. Did she know why I had brought her here? That I intended more than just our usual caresses?

I didn’t know what to do except show her. I swallowed and slowly lifted my shirt over my head. I watched her eyes travel down my chest, a muscle jumping in her jaw, before she looked back at me. I raised my chin slightly and somehow she understood that I wanted her to copy me. She lifted her own shirt over her head and threw it aside.

A jittery smile pulled at my lips as I removed my bra and let it fall. Pepa matched the action with her own, her eyes once again roaming my body. She stepped forward, arms coming out to embrace me as she’d done so many times before at this stage. But I stopped her with a show of hands.

She pulled up, her questioning eyes boring into me. I had to look away from the intensity of her gaze, as with trembling hands I unbuttoned my jeans and slowly lowered the zipper. Then I slid the denim over my hips and down my legs, before stepping out of them completely. All that remained was my underwear.

I heard her exhale noisily but she didn’t move to take off her own jeans. A spurt of panic set my heart galloping and I looked nervously into her face only to realize that’s what she had been waiting for, to make eye contact. Watching me, she quickly removed her pants and straightened up, her lips parting slightly as her hands curled at her sides.

I felt terribly self-conscious standing there almost naked. I wanted to bury myself in Pepa’s arms just to keep her from staring. Instead, I pulled back the covers on the bed and got in, holding up the edge of the sheet in a silent invitation.

*****

~ Pepa ~

I moved into the space she had left for me in the bed, the sheets settling softly around us like a cocoon. We lay on our sides facing each other and I stroked her hair, unravelled by how beautiful she looked in that moment, my eyes taking in the delicate line of her jaw, the smattering of pale freckles on her nose, the perfect pink curl of her ear, the copper glow of the hair sifting through my fingers.

“You’re shaking,” I said quietly, concern colouring my voice.

“I love you,” she whispered, her words barely more than a breath. Her left hand hovered at my waist, her fingertips grazing me so lightly it felt like snowflakes melting on my skin.

“I love you, too. So much.”

Her eyes searched mine as she struggled with what she wanted to say next, her face a map of uncertainty. “I want...,” she paused and closed her eyes, looking away from me and taking an unsteady breath. She opened her eyes again. “I want to be with you,” she exhaled.

I swallowed hard, my stomach tightening at her words and all they meant. “I want that, too.”

Silvia shifted her body closer to me in the narrow bed, tangling her legs in mine, and kissed me with a sweetness that sent me soaring. Dios, the power this girl had over me was astounding. It sometimes seemed like I was the one leading the way through our relationship, but really, whether she knew it or not, Silvia was the one in control. I would have done anything for her.

And so I was determined to make this night special for Silvia. This wasn’t going to be a furtive five-minute affair, like the way I had lost my virginity in the back seat of an ancient Volkswagen Rabbit. No, we had all night and I intended to use every second of it. That meant starting slow, moving through territory familiar to both of us from the long and heated make-out sessions of the last few months—though we had never before had our jeans off, never before had so few clothes between us. Our naked legs sliding smoothly against each other added a dizzying sensation to the already intoxicating mix.

Time stretched and looped like warm taffy being pulled apart. I honestly don’t know how long we explored each other with mouths and hands, lavishing attention on shoulders, breasts and bellies over a symphony of sighs. But after a while, I gathered my courage to go further.

I lay along Silvia’s left side, one leg thrown over hers, my hand massaging warm circles under her right breast as we kissed. I slid my hand slowly lower, over her ribs, down her stomach to her hip, pausing to circle there several times before once again moving lower, along the top of her thigh. My heart was pounding in my chest, my hand trembling, but I kept going, spreading my hand flat to smooth it down her leg almost to the knee, then worked my way back up the inside of her thigh.

“Pepa,” she said, breaking our kiss, a note of uncertainty creeping into her voice. I stopped my hand, my heart caught in my throat. Was she changing her mind? God, I hoped not. I’d stop if she wanted me to—of course I would—but I wanted this, wanted her so much I thought I might die. “Pepa, I don’t know what to do.”

I kissed her lightly, my hand tracing gentle circles on her thigh. “You know as much as I do, Silvia.” Her eyebrows knit together as she contemplated my words. “I’ve never— I’ve never been with a girl before. It’s my first time, too,” I explained, touching my forehead to hers. “So we’ll learn together. Si?”

And it was true. I had only my instincts and a sense of what I liked on myself to guide me. I hoped it would be enough. I wanted so badly to please her.

She kissed me in agreement, her mouth as sweet as any berry. I let my hand continue its slow and careful journey, caressing the soft skin on the inside of her leg before making my way to her center. I cupped her gently outside her underwear, feeling the heat of her through the fabric as she tilted her hips slightly towards me. Every heartbeat felt like a moment flash frozen in time, time stopping and starting as the significance of what we were doing hammered me.

With my breath dragging raggedly through my lungs, I slowly smoothed my hand up to her stomach and slid my fingertips just underneath the waistband of her panties. I paused, almost afraid to go further, wanting so much to get this moment right, this first moment for everything that would follow.

But fear or no, I also wanted this more than I had ever wanted anything and soon my fingers were gliding down through her curls to once again cup her and hold her, my hand rocking gently. I looked into her impossibly dark eyes and saw reflected my unspoken question and her silent consent. She nodded almost imperceptibly, one hand kneading my back.

I closed my eyes and kissed her deeply as I eased my fingers through her wetness for the first time. The contact in that initial second was like an electric shock jolting through me. I twitched uncontrollably, my eyes fluttering, and moaned sharply into her mouth, matching the sound she made. Desire surged in my stomach, rising up behind my breasts and descending between my legs so strongly I thought I might achieve my own release just from this, from the blissful softness that was the feeling of Silvia beneath my hand.

I stopped stroking her only long enough to ask if I could remove her underwear, and she nodded wordlessly, tugging at my waistband to indicate I should remove mine, too. After shedding the final barriers between us, I lowered myself between her hips, desperate to feel her full nakedness against my own, and kissed her with all the love I possessed.

I gave her everything there was to give—the light of the stars, the heat of the sun, the surge and pull of the salty ocean tides. I held back nothing. I let go utterly, opening myself wide to the rapture of our bodies moving together, letting love course through me to flow out my fingertips and mouth and skin.

Many minutes later, a week, a month of perfect minutes, I watched as wonder and joy broke across her face while she shuddered beneath me, my heart so full I thought it might stop beating.

“You are so beautiful,” I murmured against her lips. “So very, very beautiful.” I covered her mouth in tiny kisses, feeling her body jerk with a long series of aftershocks that made my own muscles twitch in sympathy and longing.

“Oh Pepa,” she breathed into my mouth, her voice fracturing. “I love you so much.” She gripped me tightly, pulling me down and wrapping herself around me with a strength that should no longer have surprised me, but did.

“I can’t hold— Silvia, I’ll crush you.”

“I don’t care. I just want to be as close to you as I can be.”

*****

~ Silvia ~

I didn’t know.

I didn’t know that it was possible to love Pepa more than I already did.

I didn’t know it would feel like the light was splitting me wide open when I watched the ecstasy suffuse her face and knew that I was the one taking her there.

I didn’t know I could feel so vulnerable and so safe all at the same time.

I just didn’t know.

But then I did.

*****

Continue to Part 7

The Butterfly Effect - Part 5

2009-09-11T03:30:39Z

Title: The Butterfly Effect - Part 5
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Pepa/Silvia

A/N:
Here's the next installment of my off-canon teen fic. Thanks to all who have commented so far. And a special shout out and dedication to elisa_trapt for beta reading this chapter.

Read Part 1 here.
Read Part 2 here.
Read Part 3 here.
Read Part 4 here.

*****

~ Silvia ~

Half an hour later, Pepa and I sat sprawled side by side on the couch, a blanket over us, as we watched the movie. Pepa leaned over and whispered, “She’s cute, don’t you think?”

“Who?”

She jutted her chin at the screen.

“Gwyneth Paltrow?”

Pepa nodded her head enthusiastically. I looked to the screen and considered the slender blonde more carefully.

“I don’t know. I guess.” I shrugged my shoulders. Was I supposed to think she was cute?

Pepa raised an eyebrow. “You seriously don’t like that? Well, who do you think is cute then?”

“That guy.” I pointed at Jeremy Sisto.

Pepa looked at me for a long moment. “Oh,” she finally said, turning back to the TV.

The silence that followed sat like an itchy weight on my chest. I felt like I’d made a foolish mistake, though what that mistake was I couldn’t really say. Was I not supposed to think any guys were cute? I slid my hand into hers under the blanket, hoping to make amends. “Actually, you’re the one I think is cute.”

She turned her head and smiled but it was a half-hearted gesture. She patted my hand and continued watching the movie with a studied show of concentration. It was clear I’d messed up somehow. I had hurt her feelings and now I was getting her tough girl act. “Pe—”

“Silvia!”

I jumped at the sound of my dad’s voice coming over the back of the couch. Oh shit. What had he heard? How long had he been standing there? Pepa’s hand was still on top of mine under the blanket.

“Silvia, sweetheart, sorry to interrupt your movie,” he said, coming around the side of the sofa while I hit pause on the remote with my free hand. My heart banged painfully in my chest. “I’ve just been paged—they need me down at the precinct tonight. I’ll probably be gone until morning.”

“Uh-huh.” Oh God oh God oh God. Could he see where my other hand was?

“I hate to leave you on your birthday, though. Will you be OK here by yourself?”

I blinked nervously, positive that at any moment he was going to see something in the way were sitting too close to each other—we were sitting too close to each other, weren’t we?—and he would pull the blanket away and see our hands and he would know and start to yell.

“Sure, dad. Pepa’s here anyway and...” A crazy thought flashed through my brain. Before I could censor it or stop myself, it was tumbling out. “Um, do you think she could stay over? Since you’ll be gone? That way I won’t be by myself. On my birthday.”

Did those words really just come out of my mouth? I tried to breathe normally. I didn’t dare look at Pepa. This was surely it. My dad was going to lose it.

He smiled widely. “That’s a great idea. She can keep you company.” He nodded at her. “Si, Pepa?” A stunned Pepa nodded slowly back.

“Wonderful. Then it’s all settled. I’ll see you in the morning, hija,” he said kissing the top of my head. I listened to him walk to the kitchen, heard him gather his keys, heard him open the back door and close it behind him. In all that time, I don’t think I breathed once.

“Joder, Silvia,” Pepa said in a stage whisper. “Did you just...?”

I nodded like a bobble-headed doll, an enormous grin nearly cracking my face in half. I couldn’t believe it either.

“Well, good,” she said flouncing back on the couch and crossing her feet on the coffee table. “Now we can finally watch this movie in peace!” She stared at the TV. “Silvia?”

“What?”

“Can you press play, please?”

“Are you telling me, Pepa, that you honestly want to watch a movie right now?”

“Que si, isn’t that why we rented it?” she said, batting her eyelashes.

“You are such a faker!” I dove in to grab her but she blocked me easily and threw me back on the couch, tickling me around my ribs. In a matter of seconds, I was breathless and crying with laughter. “Sto... St... St... P-Pe...”

“What’s that, red? I can’t quite hear you.”

“Stoo... Stoo... Pe... Stooooopppp.”

“Ohhhh, stop! Well, why didn’t you say so?”

Once again, she flopped back on the couch and put her feet up, pretending to hunt for the remote. Still giddy from the laughter and Pepa’s touch, I decided that this time I would really call her bluff. I sat up and crawled over to her, then threw one knee over her lap, straddling her legs.

Pepa bit her bottom lip and I watched her hazel eyes go dark. She might have been taller and stronger than me, but I understood in that moment that there were ways I had power, too. Pressing my hands against the back of the couch on either side of her head, I leaned in and gave her a slow, lingering kiss, fire flaring in my belly as our lips made contact. I heard her whimper.

I broke the kiss to stroke her face, tightening my legs around hers as our breathing grew shaky. Her capable hands, fingers spread wide, glided up my back to pull me closer. Our lips met again and again, each kiss like a white flash of heat in a dark sky.

The movie and our earlier awkward moment were a hazy memory. Who needed Gwyneth Paltrow or Jeremy Sisto when I had Pepa, making me feel like this? She was all that I wanted. All I had ever wanted these last six months and more. I was so in love with her I thought sometimes I might drown in it. There was no reason not to show her.

I pulled back, a hitch in my breath, as I realized the decision I had just made. She scanned my face, confusion and concern warring in her features. I rubbed my hands slowly over her arms and looked into her eyes. Yes, it was the right decision.

I backed off her lap and stood up, incapable of saying anything despite the full-blown bewilderment now showing on Pepa’s face. Instead, I took her hand and pulled her to me, then led her slowly up the stairs to my bedroom.

*****

Continue to Part 6

The Butterfly Effect - Part 4

2009-09-06T00:04:49Z

Title: The Butterfly Effect - Part 4
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Pepa/Silvia

A/N:
Here’s the next installment of my off-canon teen fic. Sorry it’s taken so long to post—real life, holidays and all that. You understand, right?

Please let me know if you like it. *toes the ground shyly* I’m getting jittery and comments are the only known cure. *grabbing the front of your shirt* You need to comment! Please! *ahem* Sorry, kinda lost it there. So...on with the story.

P.S. Did they ever say on the show what Silvia's mom's name was? I just made one up. Sorry if I got it wrong.

Read Part 1 here.
Read Part 2 here.
Read Part 3 here.

*****

~ Don Lorenzo ~

My youngest child was turning 18. My little Silvita. Where had the time gone? It seemed like only yesterday that the nurse had placed a tiny bundle of blankets in my arms and told me I had a second daughter, a sister for Lola. I had looked into her baby’s blue eyes, stroked the peach fuzz on her head that told me she would be a redhead, and fallen instantly in love.

And now here she was, turning the corner into adulthood. I would have said she was getting ready to take her place in the world except that she seemed to already move through it with a grace and maturity I was nowhere close to having at her age.

How much I wished Ana had been there to see what a beautiful young woman her daughter had become. Silvia was so much like her mother in so many ways. But my wife had been dead for nine years, taken from us far too soon.

Did you know? Cancer starts with one cell that somehow goes bad. One single, tiny cell. Then it multiplies, turning into two cells, a handful of cells, a tumour. In the days and weeks following Ana’s diagnosis, and the long dark months after her death, I was obsessed with the idea of that single cell. One small change—the flap of a butterfly’s wings—and it would never have gone rogue. Never eaten its way through my wife’s body. Never taken the light from my life. I had wished with a fervour sickening in its futility that I could go back in time, root out that one cell and obliterate it like the terrorist it was. But as I had learned all too painfully, life doesn’t work like that.

I raised Silvia the best I could on my own. I did all I could to protect her and keep her safe. I know it wasn’t everything she needed but they were the meagre gifts I had to offer. And love, of course. I loved her, though I know I was no replacement for a mother’s affection.

Lola was the one who filled in the gaps in my parenting with womanly nurturing. She was the one, for example, who talked Silvia through the trials of her changing body and the turbulent moods of adolescence. Thank God for that! I might be a cop, I might face down thieves and rapists and murderers every day of the week, but the thought of discussing the facts of life with my little girl—I couldn’t even conceive of it. It terrified me.

I know I relied on Lola more than I should have while Silvia was growing up—after all, Lola had lost her mother too. Expecting her help in raising a younger sibling was an unfair burden, though it was one she seemed to shoulder willingly. God had blessed me in both my children.

Silvia was a smart girl. She got top grades in school and had applied to some of the best universities in the country. She wanted to be a doctor. Silvia was also beautiful and charming, if I may say so without sounding too much like a boastful father. Eh, who cares! I’ll say it anyway. The only thing that seemed to be missing for her was a beau. I couldn’t understand why the boys hadn’t been lining up at our door. I would have had to drive most of them away as unsuitable for Silvita, but still—where were they?

I asked Lola if Silvia had anyone special in her life. She said no, but there was a funny look on her face. I think she knew something she wasn’t telling me. There was a boy hanging around somewhere, I was sure of it. I wished I knew who it was because I wanted to check him out. Make sure he was good enough for Silvia. Find out his intentions. Make it clear he's not to trifle with my little girl. But then, if he was a good one, I’d slap him on the back and shake his hand, man to man. I was looking forward to that day.

I planned a party for Silvia and told her she could invite anyone she liked. I was fishing, it’s true. I’d hoped she would invite the boy. But no, she didn’t even invite any friends from school. She said she wanted just a small family party—me, Lola, Paco, Sara, and Pepa.

Pepa. I don’t know why that girl got under my skin. Even when she was a child, I had never been fond of her. Maybe it was the smirk that seemed to permanently adorn her face. Such insolence! And where did it come from? Her parents were decent, hard-working people. Paco was a fine son-in-law, a good husband and father. He was coming up well at the precinct, proving himself a leader among the men—the officers, I should say. Can’t forget the female recruits.

But Pepa was a mystery. A brash, obstinate, difficult mystery. She and Silvia had been spending a lot of time together in the last year. I wasn’t terribly happy about it but I had to smile because it was Silvia all over—helping her sister-in-law with her studies when she must have known it was a hopeless cause. Such a generous spirit my daughter has.

*****

~ Silvia ~

It was my 18th birthday, a birthday I won’t ever forget. Dad threw me a little party. He had wanted me to invite friends from school but I didn’t want the family get-together to be a big deal. Well, truth be told I was just trying to keep my worlds separate.

Pepa and I had been together for almost six months and I was insanely happy. It’s hard to describe how I felt when I looked at her, the deep rush of warmth that engulfed me. I loved spending time with her, loved just being close to her. I was in love with her, I knew, and she had told me she loved me too. And the other feelings, the physical stuff—I blushed just to think of all that I wanted to do with her. Waves of desire washed through me every time she was nearby. I wanted to be touching her all the time. It was crazy.

The thing is, we hadn’t told anyone. Not Lola, not Paco, not my friends. I didn’t want anyone to know. What would they think? What if Lola got mad? What if my friends thought it was gross? Pepa didn’t care. She wanted to be open about it, but I couldn’t do it. I was too afraid of what would happen.

So there was my regular life and there was my life with Pepa, and I couldn’t mix the two. My friends were taking me out for my birthday in a couple of days but Pepa couldn’t come to that. She wasn’t part of my circle and it would have been weird for me to invite her. I didn’t want her there anyway. It felt like such a risk to hang out with all of them at the same time. Even when she wasn’t around, I lived in terror of slipping up and doing or saying something my friends might think was suspicious. I couldn’t have handled pretending there was nothing between us while Pepa sat right next to me, even if I could have come up with a believable reason to include her.

No, my chance to celebrate my birthday with Pepa was at the family party, but obviously if she was there my friends couldn’t come too. So I told my dad I wanted a small party and he didn’t question why. I felt bad about lying to him all the time, but what else could I do?

It was a nice get-together, actually, with just the six of us. Dad had everybody over to the house and made his famous paella for dinner. Lola had made me a carrot cake—my favourite—for dessert. Sara piped in that she had helped with the icing and everyone congratulated her on a job well done, which made her grin from ear to ear.

After dinner, I opened my presents. My dad had bought me a computer, he said to have for when I went away to school in the fall. I was stunned at the extravagance of his gift, and by the surprised looks on everyone else’s faces, I think they were too. But he said it was important for my studies if I was to become a “famous and successful doctor” (his words, not mine) and I had earned it.

Lola, Paco and Sara gave me clothes and a couple of books. I knew it was Lola who had bought their gift because every piece of clothing suited me perfectly, and the books were ones that I had been anxious to read. I kissed and hugged them all, thanking everyone sincerely for their generosity.

When it came time to open Pepa’s gift, I tried to keep my hands from trembling. I knew she wouldn’t give me something in front of the family that might reveal our secret, but I was nervous anyway, my heart fluttering in my chest like a bird. I don’t know why.

The package was thin and square and felt light in my hands. As I peeled away the wrapping paper, I caught a glimpse of colour that soon showed itself to be a print of an inky night sky in washes of navy, dark lavender, and deep turquoise. The stars were a smattering of cool white dots and the hint of a bright moon hung over the silhouettes of trees.

I knew instantly what it was—that night in the park, the night we had first discovered our feelings might run deeper than friendship. I ran my fingers lightly over the pattern, imagining the picnic table that sat invisible under the trees. “I love it, Pepa. Thank you.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. It’s beautiful. I’m going to hang it in my room.”

I stood up and gave her a kiss on either cheek and a quick hug, conscious of everyone’s eyes on us.

After the gifts had been opened, we all sat and talked for a time but it wasn’t too long before Paco and Lola said they had to go. It was getting late and Sara, all protests to the contrary, needed to get to bed. Pepa was sticking around to watch a movie with me, and since my dad wasn’t terribly interested in seeing Moonlight and Valentino, he was heading to his den.

“Happy birthday, hija. Did you have a good time?”

“Si, it was a wonderful birthday. Thank you for the dinner. And the computer! I still can’t believe you bought me that.”

“Eighteen is a big birthday. You’re an adult now, after all. It needed a big gift.” He hugged me and kissed me on the forehead. “Your mother would be so proud of you, Silvia. And I’m proud of you, too. Such a beautiful young woman you’ve become.”

He left the room, wishing us fun with the movie, and then there was silence. I turned around to face Pepa across the living room and we just stood there, looking at each other. I wanted to wrap my arms around her but knew that I couldn’t, not in the living room, not with my dad just down the hall.

She stepped a little closer, her hands stuffed into her jeans. “Are you OK?” she asked softly.

“Yeah. Why?”

“The stuff about your mom.”

“You’re sweet, Pepa.” I took the chance of caressing her cheek briefly before dropping my hand. “Yeah, I’m OK. I wish she was here but I wish the same thing at every birthday. It doesn’t change anything.”

“I’m sorry.”

“But you’re here,” I smiled. “This is my first birthday with you, which makes it wonderful.”

“I’ve been to your birthdays before,” she said, playing dumb at my meaning.

“Not since... well, not since... you know.”

“Since what?”

“You know. Don’t make me say it.”

“Since you kissed me, you mean?” she whispered teasingly, her head tilting to one side.

“Si, since the stars. And as I recall, you were the one who kissed me, Miranda,” I whispered back.

“Oh, but as I recall you were the one who told me not to stop, pelirroja.”

Oh God, this flirting was going to get me worked up. We had to stop. I picked up the DVD case and held it up. “Ready for Moonlight and Valentino?”

Pepa just smiled and nodded, her eyes burning through me.

*****

Continue to Part 5

The Butterfly Effect - Part 3

2009-08-27T00:40:59Z

Title: The Butterfly Effect - Part 3
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Pepa/Silvia

A/N: After my many protestations and comments against straying from canon, I’ve decided to go rogue. Yes, it’s true – I’ve gone anti-canon!

Here's part 3 of my AU teen PepSi story. It may not be what you were expecting. To be honest, it wasn't entirely what I was expecting either. Even though I have the whole story mapped out in my head, it's fascinating me to how things change as the words spill onto the page. I hope you like it but I'm open to feedback either way. Lay it all on me. :D

Read Part 1 here.
Read Part 2 here.

*****

~ Pepa ~

All that fall and into the winter, I continued to ‘study’ under Silvia’s careful guidance. Every week we had a tutoring session, sometimes two if we thought we could get away with it. I think my parents were pleased that I was buckling down and really making an effort with my schoolwork.

When the end of semester rolled around and report cards went out, they couldn’t understand how my grade had managed to drop instead of come up. I think they wrote me off as totally hopeless then—if not even one-on-one tutoring with a straight-A student like Silvia could help me. If they only knew! I was learning my lessons very, very well.

I was learning the copper shimmer of Silvia’s hair in sunlight and the pounding rhythm of her heart beneath my ear. I learned that she loved thunderstorms, spring rolls, and making lists. She had a fear of sharks but not spiders, preferred dogs over cats, wanted to someday own either a Dalmatian or a border collie. Her favourite colour was navy blue because it was the colour of the night sky. She wanted to be a doctor.

I was studying the reassuring shape of her hands, the salty taste of the freckles on her shoulders, the way we fit together like two spoons when we held each other and the world seemed to spin away. She had a tiny white scar near her left instep from when she was eight and had stepped barefoot on a sharp rock. Her favourite movie was The Princess Bride and she’d seen it 29 times, once with me. I was her first kiss.

We were together every minute we could steal away. In addition to the study session cover, Silvia had a whole collection of other stories to tell her dad when she wanted to spend time with me, and she doled them out one by one, being careful never to repeat the same story too often or too many times in a row. Me, I just told my parents I was going out.

At Christmas, I confessed to Silvia that I was in love with her, and in a voice thick with emotion she told me she felt the same. Our kisses that day were incandescent, filling me up with light and heat and an ache so sweet I nearly cried. I was 17 and Silvia Castro was my girl. I wanted to tell the world.

But during all those weeks and months and in the time that followed, no one knew about us. Even after everything that happened later—the Christmas dinner the following year and all that led up to it—no one ever knew. That was the way she wanted it.

*****

~ Lola ~

My little sister was in love. That much was obvious. She glowed with the kind of deep-seated joy that comes only from being in love or being pregnant. And I know she wasn’t pregnant because what was also obvious was who she was in love with. All you had to do was see the way Pepa lit up like a Roman candle every time Silvia walked into a room, the way Silvia’s body turned like a plant towards light whenever Pepa was near.

So yes, it was there for anyone to see—except, apparently, for the men! It’s a mystery to me how the human race manages to perpetuate itself when one half of it is so completely and utterly clueless about matters of the heart. My dad and Paco had no idea. Not one inkling.

Sometimes I just wanted to grab the two of them, knock their heads together like coconuts, and say, Look! Open your eyes and see what’s happening right in front of you. But of course I never did. Pepa and Silvia had their reasons, whatever those reasons might have been, for keeping their relationship a secret and I respected that. It wasn’t my place to bring it out in the open if they didn’t want it there.

I can’t say I blamed them given the reaction they were likely to get from my dad. Still, it hurt a little that Silvia felt she had to keep it from me, too. We had always been close, despite the twelve years between us. I guess losing a parent can do that.

Silvia was only nine years old when our mom died. By that time, I wasn’t living at home anymore. Paco and I were newly married and living in a tiny apartment over on Calle de Ferraz. But in those first weeks after mom’s death, I came back to the house every night. Dad was a wreck, throwing himself into his work and trying his best to avoid the painful echoes of an empty house, a house with pictures of happier times hanging on the wall and a little girl who looked so much like her mother. I know he wanted to be there for Silvia, and for me too, but it was all he could do to keep himself together, let alone us.

So I was the one who put Silvia to bed and held her as she cried herself to sleep every night. She never spoke any words, just sobbed and sobbed until she could hardly breathe, resting her head against my chest, trembling like a little bird in my arms. Sometimes a few of my own tears would fall, splashing into her hair as we rocked together and I sang her lullabies our mom used to sing. Night after night, she would cry until she had exhausted herself and fallen asleep. Night after night, I would brush the damp hair from her face and give her a kiss as I pulled up the covers. Then one night I came and there were no more tears. She crawled into my arms as she normally did but lay there so still and quiet that I could hear our hearts beating. I knew then that, despite everything, she would be alright.

Those weeks together transformed us, though. In many ways, I became the mother Silvia had lost. I looked out for her. Tried my best to comfort her when she needed comfort, guide her when she needed guidance. I always thought she’d come to me when she fell in love for the first time.

Maybe she thought I wouldn’t understand because she’d fallen in love with a girl. And fallen in love with not just any girl, but with the wild and impetuous Pepa Miranda no less. Her sister-in-law. OK, it was a little bit weird and a lot complicated. I’m not going to lie. When I first figured out what was going on, I wasn’t sure I liked it. But as I continued to watch Silvia bloom under Pepa’s adoring gaze, I realized I couldn’t begrudge my sister a single bit of happiness. Love is love wherever you find it, and she had found it. There was no mistaking that.

*****

Continue to Part 4.

The Butterfly Effect - Part 2

2009-08-23T15:51:29Z

Title: The Butterfly Effect - Part 2
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Pepa/Silvia

A/N: After my many protestations and comments against straying from canon, I’ve decided to go rogue. Yes, it’s true – I’ve gone anti-canon!

Here's the second installment of my slightly AU teen PepSi story. Love it? Hate it? Tell me what you think.

Read Part 1 here.

*****

~ Pepa ~

Monday morning couldn’t come soon enough for me. Not only would I get to see Silvia — who had filled my every waking thought from the minute I’d dropped her off on Saturday night to now — but she had promised me a plan. A plan for spending time alone together.

The number one problem was Silvia’s dad. He never liked it when Silvia and I hung out together, even though, up until now, those occasions had actually been few and far between. There’s no way he would approve of us seeing each other as friends several times a week, let alone as anything else.

I dialled the combination on my locker and swung the door open. A folded piece of three-ring binder paper was lying on top of the messy pile of books and clothes inside. Silvia must have dropped it through the grill in the door this morning.

Hi Pepa:

How was your Sunday? My visit to my aunt’s place was boring. I don’t really like my cousins because all they do is talk non-stop about stupid stuff. Ugh. But in the car on the way there and back I had lots of time to think of a plan. Here it is: I will say I am tutoring you in biology!!

I’ll tell my dad that we have biology class together (which we do) and that you need extra help. He will totally believe that. (Sorry.) Then you can come over to my house. Or I can go to your house. Or whatever.

What do you think??

S.

I had to admit it was a pretty good idea. I was barely passing biology and Silvia was acing it. It would make perfect sense for her to be my tutor. I tore a page from my notebook and scribbled my reply, intending to pass it to her before the start of second period, our shared bio class.

Silvia:

You are brilliant! But you already know that. When’s my first lesson?

xo
P.

*****

I was bored. Seriously bored. It was Tuesday night and we were in Silvia’s kitchen, sitting next to each other at a little round table, books and binders and highlighters spread everywhere. Silvia was going on about cell splitting or spitting or whatever the hell was in the labelled diagram she was pointing out to me. Blah blah blah nucleus blah blah membrane. Yawn.

It was bad enough that I had to sit through a whole 60 minutes of this science junk every day at school, but now Silvia thought she was actually going to tutor me in it? Didn’t she remember this was just an excuse for us to spend time together?

Under the table, I moved my leg a little closer to hers, bumping our knees together softly. She kept right on talking. I bumped her again, this time leaving my knee touching hers. No response. So I pressed into her a little harder.

“Pepa, are you even listening to me?”

I shook my head and grinned, taking this opportunity to put my hand on her knee. But the grin died on my face as Silvia flung my hand off and hissed at me to stop. “What are you doing?”

“Um, touching you?”

“My dad is in the other room! He could walk in at any minute, and if he catches us, we’re dead meat. Comprendes?”

“Silvia, I thought this whole tutoring thing was supposed to be a cover," I said, keeping my voice low. "You know, like, fake? I don’t really want to study biology.”

“It is a cover. But it’s like being a cop on an assignment. My dad told me when you’re working undercover, you have to become the person whose name and story you’ve adopted. You can’t just pretend or they’ll find you out. It won’t be believable.”

“I’d like to be undercover with you.”

Silvia’s eyes went wide as she registered the innuendo of what I’d just said. Her anger dissipated as quickly as it had flared and in its place dark crimson embarrassment flooded her face. She ducked her head, a nervous hand tucking a strand of non-existent stray hair behind her ear.

Shit. Me and my big mouth. I could tell I’d scared her with the idea of beds and covers and us being under them. After all, I’d had months and months of dreaming to understand that’s what I wanted, but for all I knew, this had just started for her five days ago.

“Silvia—”

The look she gave me as she raised her head was not the look I was expecting. I’m not sure it was what she was expecting either. But there was no mistaking the piercing shot of desire that radiated from her eyes and face before it disappeared into nervousness once more.

“Ten more minutes of studying,” she said, checking her watch. “Then we can say we’re done and go hang out in my room. Vale?”

“Vale,” I nodded. I could handle ten minutes. Especially if Silvia’s room was at the end of them.

*****

When at last we made our way up the stairs to Silvia’s room and closed the door, an uneasy silence descended. I’d been in her room a few times when we were kids, but not in a long time and not since we’d started... started what? Dating? Fooling around? I wasn’t sure what we were doing. So far we hadn’t talked about it.

Silvia had put her hands in her back pockets and stood rocking on her heels, chewing on her bottom lip. Damn, she was cute. All the awkwardness I’d been feeling suddenly lifted and I walked over to her, put my arms around her, and gave her a soft kiss. “Hey,” I whispered.

I felt her body relax into mine. “Hey,” she smiled.

“Will you show me your room, pelirroja?”

She nodded and pulled me by the hand over to her desk where a bunch of snapshots were tucked into the edges of her bulletin board. A grinning, young Silvia, her hair in messy copper braids, riding piggyback on Lola. Sara as a baby. Silvia and three other girls from school, standing in a row, laughing. Don Lorenzo in a narrow suit and tie, his arm around Silvia’s mom, both of them beaming at the camera.

“Your dad looks so happy there. And so young. It’s hard to believe.”

“That photo was taken just after they were married.”

“Your mom was beautiful.”

“Yes, she was.”

“You must miss her, huh?”

“I really do, Pepa.” She tucked her arm in mine and leaned against me. “Almost every day I wish she was here to talk to about stuff that’s going on. There are things I want to share with her. Stuff I need advice on.”

“Do you think you would have told her about... this? About us?”

Silvia gave this some serious thought, her forehead crinkling and lips pursing. Finally she sighed. “I don’t know. It’s still so new.”

I nodded, not sure what to make of her response, and filed the moment away to think about later.

I moved over to her stereo and CD collection, running my fingers over the spines as I read the titles. Ace of Base. Boyzone. Backstreet Boys. Paula Abdul. Joey Lawrence? “I swear to God, Castro, you have the worst music collection ever,” I snorted, lightening the mood.

“You’re obnoxious, Miranda,” she shot back, punching me hard in the bicep. Dios! She had quite the right hook. I’d have to remember that.

“Maybe so, but you wouldn’t want me any other way,” I smirked, ignoring the smarting in my arm in favour of leaning over and capturing her lips in a kiss. Soon that one kiss led to another and things were just getting interesting when a knock on the door sent us flying apart like a bomb had exploded between us.

“Silvia?” Don Lorenzo called through the door.

“Si, Papa. We’re in here.” She flashed her eyes at me in a silent message to act casual. As if I needed to be told. The door opened to reveal her dad, still in dress pants and a button-down shirt, a loosened tie his one concession to being home from work. I put what I hoped was an innocent smile on my face.

“Hola, cariño.” He inclined his head to me with exaggerated politeness. “Pepa.”

“Hola, Don Lorenzo.”

“Dad, Pepa and I have finished studying and we’re just going to listen to some music for a little while.”

“Vale. But only until 10 o’clock, eh? It’s a school night.”

“Vale.”

I watched the door close and continued staring at it for several long seconds after Don Lorenzo was gone, wanting to make sure it wouldn’t re-open. “Doesn’t that thing have a lock?”

Silvia moved over to the doorknob and pushed it in, taking care not to make any noise that her dad might hear. “As a matter of fact, it does,” she said, looking at her watch. “And we’ve got two hours.”

*****

Continue to Part 3

The Butterfly Effect - Part 1

2009-08-22T04:45:45Z

Title: The Butterfly Effect - Part 1
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Pepa/Silvia

A/N: After my many protestations and comments against straying from canon, I’ve decided to go rogue. Yes, it’s true – I’ve gone anti-canon!

For a couple of weeks, I have been trying to write a fic about Pepa & Silvia’s first kiss at Sara’s communion. It just wasn’t coming together. I couldn’t seem to bring the girls to where they needed to be for things to feel authentic and match the TV storyline. Then one night, this other story came fully fledged into my head. I stayed up until the wee hours of the morning taking notes—and the whole thing felt real to me, despite the fact that it strays from the LHDP version of events.

So with that I give you the first instalment of a slightly AU version of PepSi: The Teen Years. Please let me know what you think. I read and appreciate every last comment. Besos!

*****

~ Pepa ~

I’m a big believer in the butterfly effect—you know, that theory that says a butterfly flapping its wings in Madrid can cause an earthquake in California? The tiniest, most inconsequential, things trigger a chain of events that end up changing your life forever. That’s how it was with me and Silvia.

One day, Silvia tucked her hair behind her ear. The next thing you know...well, I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s start at the beginning.

Silvia and I were standing in the hall at school, talking before class started. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear like I’d seen her do a thousand times before. Except this time it was as if I’d been struck by lightning—the beauty of the gesture, the way her wrist turned, the way her fingers curled and curved around her ear—it all seared through me. I blurted out an invitation to a party that was happening that Friday. She accepted. And by a roundabout route, we ended up on a picnic table together, looking at the stars.

We’d been laying on the picnic table, arms linked at the elbow, mellowed out from some good weed, for a long time. I was feeling pretty good. Calm. Happy. At that moment, it didn’t matter that Silvia wasn’t in love with me the way I was with her. It was enough just to be close to her, to feel connected to her through the things we had said and shared earlier that night. I was glad she was family because it meant I’d have her around for a long time.

A loud bang startled us both and we sat suddenly upright. I peered into the darkness of the park trying to make out where the sound might have come from and who or what might have caused it. Disentangling myself from Silvia’s arm and hopping from the table, I stepped a few feet into the shadows, straining my ears for any further noise.

A second boom sounded off in the distance, making me jump. A third crack quickly followed, then a high whistle rose in pitch until the sound dropped away. Just some kids with fireworks. I let out a noisy sigh of relief and turned back, crashing into Silvia who had somehow come up behind me without my noticing. I had to grab her to keep us both from falling over as we struggled to keep our balance.

I laughed, apologizing for my clumsiness. She apologized for scaring me. And the whole time this was happening we were hanging onto each other. I knew I should let go but my hands refused to obey the commands my brain was sending. Strangely, Silvia didn’t let go either.

Our laughter died away, leaving an awkward silence, but still we held on. Was I going crazy or was something happening here? Our eyes locked. I searched her face for any clue as to what I should do next but couldn’t get a read on anything. My heart was pounding like a cannon, my hands trembling so much I thought for sure she’d say something. Every last particle in my body longed to kiss her.

So I did.

My brain was screaming, “Danger! Don’t do it!” But it was too late. I had already leaned in and pressed my lips softly to hers, holding them there for a second, two seconds, three, before she broke away.

“Pepa.”

“Shit! I’m sorry! I’m sorry. I’ll stop. I don’t know what I was doing—”

Silvia grabbed my hands to stop me from waving them around and looked me in the eye. In her face, I saw only warmth and gentleness. Not disgust. Not anger. “Pepa, I wanted to tell you something.” She paused for a split second. “But it wasn’t stop.”

“Oh.” The meaning of her words took a minute to sink in. “What did you want to tell me?”

“I don’t remember now,” she said, a puzzled look furrowing her brow.

A smile quirked at the corner of my mouth, and I couldn’t help it—I burst out laughing. Soon we were both giggling, hanging on to each other to keep from falling over. I suddenly realized we were touching again and Silvia must have had the same thought because the giggles quickly faded away. My stomach tightened painfully as she looked at me with dark eyes.

“But it wasn’t stop,” she repeated softly.

As we kissed again, my heart leapt with the certainty that this time she was kissing me back. The pelirroja was kissing me back. I’d been dreaming of this moment for a long time, never quite believing that it would really happen. But here I was, and it was better than my wildest imaginings. I was sinking into heavenly softness.

When we finally broke apart, she smiled shyly and slid her arms around my waist, laying her head on my shoulder. How different this embrace was from the one we had shared earlier against the car, and yet how much the same. I held her against me as tightly as I dared, feeling her breath tickling my neck, burying my nose in her hair. The sky spun around us, a kaleidoscope of stars burning patterns in the darkness. For the second time that night, I felt at peace.

*****

The next night, Saturday night, we came back to the same spot in the park but this time we never left the car. We spent hours making out in the front seat, hours I spent memorizing the shape of her mouth, the faint taste of her butterscotch lip gloss, the soft warmth of her breath mingling with mine.

Since then, I’ve been kissed a lot of times by a lot of people but nothing has ever matched those first sweet nights with Silvia. It felt like I was flying. It felt like I was moving underwater, our bodies swaying slowly in a warm current.

When I drove her home just after midnight, we held hands between the seats, letting go only as we pulled into her driveway. She sighed heavily and turned a sad face to me. “I really want to kiss you good night, Pepa, but I can’t—in case my dad is watching. He’s already mad that we went to another ‘party’ tonight.”

I knew she was right but all I wanted to do was sample her butterscotch flavour one more time. We stared at each other for an impossibly long time until I finally took a deep breath and broke the spell.

“What are you doing tomorrow?”

“We’re going to visit my aunt—my mom’s sister—in Avila. We’ll be gone all day.” She grimaced apologetically.

“When can I see you again?”

“I’ll see you at school on Monday.”

“No, I mean when I can see you alone?” The question earned me a little smile.

“I don’t know. We’ll have to think of an excuse or something. My dad will start getting suspicious if I say I’m going out with you every night. He won’t like it.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“Pepa, you know what I mean. He thinks you’re a bad influence on me.”

“Well, I guess maybe now I am,” I said, waggling my eyebrows and curling my tongue around my top lip suggestively. Silvia blushed a charming shade of pink and ducked her eyes, but she was smiling.

“I’ll think of something. A way we can spend time together. I’ll let you know on Monday.” She paused with her hand on the door handle. “Good night,” she whispered. “I’m kissing you in my mind right now.”

“Sweet dreams, Red. I’m kissing you, too.

*****

Continue to Part 2

Seventeen (Part 3)

2009-08-09T15:55:15Z

Title: Seventeen (Part 3)
Rating: R for language.
Pairing: Pepa/Silvia

A/N: Last chapter in this little story. By now, Silvia’s heart and body are clutching her ticket for the clue train, but her conscious mind still has no idea. Comments welcome, as always.

Read Part 1 here.
Read Part 2 here.

~~

I bang down my beer bottle and jump off the table, walking quickly towards the car. I head to the far side and lean up against the hood, my back to Silvia so she can’t see me struggling to control all the hurt and anger and frustration that are ripping me up. I’m breathing heavily through my nose, my fists clenched tight, my jaw working to hold in the tears that sit at the back of my throat. Goddammit, Miranda! Don’t do this.

After a short while, I hear her move off the table, hear her steps on the gravel behind me. Then she’s standing in front of me.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Everything.

She doesn’t say a word, just looks at me so... so... so patiently that I have to choke back a sob.

“Your dad... My parents... I feel... Paco told me...” You. The words won’t come, the emotions warring inside me shredding any coherent thought.

“Fucking shit! I’m sorry. It’s Friday night, we’re supposed to be having fun and all I’m doing is being a big downer.” I swipe angrily at the tears squeezing out of my eyes, embarrassment burning my cheeks.

Part of me wants to break down, to let go and allow the whole sorry tale of my life to spill out, to dissolve into the darkness that envelops us. Another voice tells me I’ve got to keep it together, to pretend that I don’t care, and in pretending, to make it come true.

And then she’s there, curling her arms around me, sliding her hands underneath my jacket to rub soothingly up and down my back.“It’s OK, cariño. You can cry if you want to.”

Did she just call me cariño? With her simple offer of kindness, I feel something inside me slide loose. The tears come hot and fast and I cling to the girl in my arms as if she’s all that holds me in place while the world comes undone.

Through it all, Silvia’s hands rub over my back, calming and settling me as she shushes softly in my ear. There’s a quiet strength in her actions that lays me bare, touches the pain in my chest and wraps it over with warmth. I wonder where she learned to comfort someone—comfort me—so effortlessly or whether she was simply born knowing how. Right then I know that there’s no falling for Silvia anymore, because I’ve already fallen all the way. I am helplessly, irreversibly in love with her.

I pull one arm back to wipe my wet face and Silvia gives me a sweet, sad smile, concern reflected in her eyes. She doesn’t move out of my arms. I feel her fingers riffling the close-shaved hair at the nape of my neck, running through the texture of it over and over.

“This feels so cool, Pepa! I wish I could have shaved hair.”

“We could go get your hair buzzed tonight! We’ll tell your dad we got drunk, cut off all your hair and got matching tattoos. Whaddya say?”

Somehow the image of a red-faced Don Lorenzo stamping his feet in outrage at a shorn and tattooed Silvia cracks us up. She buries her face in my shoulder, her body shaking in laughter against me. When she looks up, a big smile on her face, my heart hitches painfully. But all she does is kiss me on the cheek and walk back to the picnic table.

“Hey, pelirroja.”

“Qué.”

“Are we gonna go to this party or what?”

She shrugs.

“I’ll tell you what I’m thinking. I’m thinking I’ve just finished a beer and probably shouldn’t be driving anywhere just yet.” I join her at the picnic table. “I’m thinking we’ve got more beer here we could drink aaaaaand we’ve got this.” I pull a joint from the inside pocket of my jacket and wave it at her. “Plus, the people here,” I point to her and me, “are nicer to hang out with than the people at the party.”

She narrows her eyes at me, pretending suspicion. “Did you ever plan on taking me to this party?”

“Siiiii. We can still go if you want. But it’ll probably be boring. And stupid.”

“Gosh, when you make it sound like so much fun it’s hard to say no! But no. Let’s stay here then.”

I take off my jacket and fold it in half length-wise, laying it across the short end of the picnic table to use as a pillow. Then I lie down on the tabletop and slap the empty space beside me, inviting the redhead to join me. We smoke, looking up at the stars that stud the dark sky, at the moon hanging huge and white over the treetops, talking about school and music, my dad, her dad, a movie I saw, a book she read.

“Pepa?”

“Hmmm.”

“I don’t really want to sleep with Juan,” she confesses quietly. “I don’t want to kiss him either.”

“Then don’t.”

“But he’s a nice guy. And cute, right?”

“Why did you agree to go out with him anyway?”

“He asked me. And I’d never dated anyone before, and I’m 17. All my friends are dating guys. I mean, you’ve slept with how many?”

“Three.”

“Three. I feel like such a, such a ... a loser sometimes. Everybody thinks I’m just a goody two-shoes, all uptight and everything, that I never drink or smoke or swear or do anything fun, anything normal. And I guess I just wanted to show that I’m not like that.” She stops, suddenly unsure of herself.

“You didn’t not take me to the party tonight because you’re ashamed of hanging out with me in front of your friends, are you?”

“No! No way.” I rise up on one elbow, curving my body towards her so I can see her face. “Silvia, I don’t think you’re uptight. I do think you have a righteous temper...” She slaps me in the gut and I flinch, giggling a bit. “But you’re not uptight.”

I settle back on the table, one arm behind my head. “And you are definitely not a loser.” I pause, taking in the vastness of the inky sky. “And anybody who thinks otherwise? I say fuck ‘em.”

“But I don’t, Pepa. That’s how I got my reputation in the first place,” she deadpans.

It takes me a second but when I get the joke, I turn my head to see her eyes sparkling and we both burst out laughing again. I feel a warm glow settle inside me as her happiness sounds through the air.

“Alright then, anybody who thinks otherwise, you send them over to me. I’ll punch their lights out for you.” This elicits a fresh round of giggles.

When our laughter finally dies down, Silvia gives a contented sigh and slips her arm through mine. “Thank you, Pepa.” We lay like that, elbows linked, for a long time without saying a word. For the first time in ages, I feel at peace. And I can definitely smell the moon in her hair.

~~

Seventeen (Part 2)

2009-08-03T18:45:26Z

Title: Seventeen (Part 2)
Rating: R for language
Pairing: Pepa/Silvia

A/N: Mad props to junebuggy01 for her teenager PepSi series. I’m totally loving the BFF sexual tension that runs through each chapter. But what if it happened a little differently? In my version, Silvia has yet to buy a ticket for the clue train and Pepa is a girl in pain.

Read Part 1 here.

~~

Poe is playing on the radio as we drive through the darkening streets. I know it’s not Silvia’s favourite kind of music but screw it, it’s what’s on. And I love this song. It makes me feel slinky and powerful, in a middle finger kind of way. I grip the steering wheel tighter and feel a buzz settling in my veins.

I can do it to you gently
I can do it with an animal's grace
I can do it with precision
I can do it with gourmet taste

I peel away from the stop sign, wheels squealing, the back end fishtailing, trying to appease this jangling feeling inside of me. I’m all alone with my sister-in-law, who just happens to be the most beautiful girl I’ve ever laid eyes on—also, the prettiest smelling, the one with the warmest hugs, and the one whose temper can cut me down at the knees.

“Pepa!” Silvia scolds me for my show of juvenile recklessness, gripping the door handle like she’s falling from a 747. But there’s also a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

I flash her a wide grin. “Tranquilo, pelirroja. I’m just having a little fun.”

It’s only lately that I’ve come to realize—or maybe it’s that I’ve only recently admitted to myself—that I’ve been falling for Silvia since we were five years old. Falling like a fool because she’s straight and doesn’t have a clue how I think about her. And would probably be freaked out if she did.

I can do it in a church
I can do it any time or place
I can do it like an angel
To quiet down your rage

Joder.

“Silvia, it’s kind of early to be going to the party. Things won’t get going there for another couple of hours so we have some time to kill. I thought maybe we could go down to the park and hang out, vale?”

It’s the truth—there’ll be no party to speak of until at least 10 o’clock—but I’m not sure what she’ll think of my proposal. We could go to a coffee shop or a restaurant, kill time in a place with lights, with other people around.

“Whatever.”

Relief gushes through me and I mentally smack myself in the head. Of course she’s not going to think it’s a weird thing to suggest. You’re just two girls, friends, sisters-in-law, hanging out for a couple of hours on a Friday night. And being worried that she’ll think it’s a big deal is a giveaway that you think it’s a big deal, Miranda, and she might start thinking it’s weird that you’re acting weird about it. Fuck! I need to just chill already. The circles in this logic are making me dizzy.

I turn slowly into the park and ease the car down the gravel lane, driving towards the back where I know there’s a picnic table in a quiet corner, tucked away from the curious eyes of any evening dog walkers or joggers. I pull up next to the table and cut the engine. A park lamp off in the distance sends a pale wash of orange light our way, faintly illuminating the trees before fading out in the grass.

Silvia and I both step out and slam our doors. But instead of heading to the picnic table, I pop the trunk and duck around to the back of the car. Silvia’s eyes follow me, an unspoken question on her face. With a flourish, I produce four bottles of Mahou from the back. “Refreshments are served, señorita.”

“Where’d you get that?”

“Out of my dad’s fridge. As long as I return the empties, he never notices.”

I plunk the beer on the table and hop up, spreading my feet wide on the bench as Silvia joins me. I grab a bottle—good, they’re still cold—and screw off the top, passing it to the redhead. She hesitates for a moment, and I can tell she’s torn, her dad’s admonishments still ringing in her ears. But then she offers me a shy smile, my heart skipping a beat in the way she’s looking at me, and I understand that she trusts me. She accepts the bottle.

In the pass off, Silvia’s pinkie finger brushes my hand and my heart skips yet another beat, something flaring in my stomach. Or lower. All of a sudden, the remaining bottles of beer are the most fascinating thing I’ve ever seen in my life. I busy my hands opening my own drink and gulp down a few swallows, enjoying that first sharp taste.

For a while, we don’t say much, both of us gazing off into the darkness, drinking our beer. I am hyper-aware of the way her denim-clad leg is sitting mere inches from mine, every cell in my body yearning towards that gap, a gap so small yet so impossibly wide. I mentally shift my leg closer, over and over, wondering what she would do, terrified of finding out. Controlling the twitch of my legs and hands is almost painful and I knock back my drink, waiting for the way it will smooth my rough edges.

This is agony, pure and utter agony. But at the same time, I want this moment to go on forever, want to stay right here with Silvia and never leave. How fucked up is that? I must enjoy being tortured, because if I know nothing can come of what I feel, why else would I manoeuvre us into these situations?

I remind myself that I have to be careful. Once a truth comes out, it can’t ever be pushed back in. If Silvia found out I had feelings for her and things went sour between us or got awkward or whatever, I couldn’t just walk away. Her sister is married to my brother! I’d still have to see her at every family dinner, every birthday party, every Christmas from now until eternity.

So I know I shouldn’t even be entertaining thoughts about her, shouldn’t be wondering what it would feel like to kiss her. It’s not worth the risk. But shit! Telling myself not to think about her is like telling myself not to picture a pink elephant. It can’t be done. And there’s this stupid, restless part of me that wants her to know. Just in case I’m wrong.

The silence extends all around us, a quiet so deep I can hear the soft sound of her breathing, the wet gurgle of the beer as she tilts the bottle, the way she swallows. I take a deep breath of my own and swear I can smell the moon in her hair. What’s she thinking about right now?

It’s Silvia who finally speaks.

“Did I tell you? Juan left me flowers by my locker on Wednesday.”

She was thinking of Juan? I feel a little dagger prick my heart. “Yeah, you told me. That was nice of him.”

“Do you think I should sleep with him?” she asks, cocking her head and squinting one eye at me.

I choke on the beer I’m swallowing, spraying the liquid unceremoniously in Silvia’s direction. Smooth, Pepa, really smooth. I wipe my mouth and try to gauge the confused look the redhead is giving me. Time to cover tracks.

“For giving you flowers? No, Silvia,” I say scornfully. “I don’t think so. It’s got to be more important than that.” Fuck me if that guy is going to get laid for something I did.

“Why do you sleep with the guys you sleep with?”

Shit! Why are we talking about this? Of all the things we could be discussing, we’re somehow talking about the guys I’ve been with.

“I don’t know. It’s different, I guess.”

“Why is it different?”

“It just is, OK? It doesn’t ... it doesn’t mean anything. To me. It’s just sex, that’s all.”

I can feel Silvia appraising this response, studying me to see if I’ll say more, so I turn my face to stone and take another drink. She shrugs and tips her own bottle back. “Well, I haven’t even kissed him yet so I guess it’s a stupid question.”

She hasn’t kissed him yet? She hasn’t kissed him yet? At this news, I feel the tiniest glimmer of something that might be hope or delight or disbelief, I can’t say which, and against my better judgement, I decide to steer the conversation in a new direction.

“Speaking of kissing, have you heard about Elise and Stella?”

“What about them?”

“What do you mean, what about them? They’re dykes! They’re together. A couple.”

“Nooo,” says Silvia, her mouth a round O of surprise. “Si?” And then, “You shouldn’t call them that.”

“What, dykes? That’s what they are, aren’t they?”

“Still. It’s not nice.”

“OK, how about rug munchers? I bet they lick each oth...”

“Don’t be disgusting, Pepa.”

Disgusting. I take a long swill of my beer, relishing the cool tang as it slides down my throat, pushing aside the emotions that are razoring my insides. Well, it’s my own damn fault for bringing it up in the first place. But at least I have an answer of sorts.

~~

Continue to Part 3

Seventeen (Part 1)

2009-08-03T02:38:36Z

Title: Seventeen (Part 1)
Rating: R for language
Pairing: Pepa/Silvia

A/N: Mad props to junebuggy01 for her teenager PepSi series. I’m totally loving the BFF sexual tension that runs through each chapter. But what if it happened a little differently? In my version, Silvia has yet to buy a ticket for the clue train and Pepa is a girl in pain.

Seventeen

I’m feelin’ kinda loose, I’m feelin’ kinda mean
I’ve been feeling kinda wild since I turned seventeen
Or is it madness?
Tell me where can a woman find any kind of peace
When does the fury and the agony cease
Oh, how long have I got to say please

~~~

I was picking her up at 8 o’clock. I don’t know what I’d been thinking when I’d invited Silvia to this party tonight, a party with all my stoner friends where all we’d do is sit around and drink, smoke up, roll our black-lined eyes in boredom to show how cool we were, and make out with each other in the corners of the room. I’d regretted asking her even as I was saying the words. So you could have knocked me over with a feather when she said yes. Shit on a stick.

I pull into the drive, turn off the ignition, and exhale sharply to dispel some of my nervousness. My gut is burning, my hands trembling. Geez, Miranda, pull yourself together. It’s just Silvia. It’s just a stupid party. I take another deep breath and open the car door, taking comfort in the solid feel of my boots and the weight of my leather jacket as I step out.

I saunter up to the door with all the nonchalance I can muster and rap twice. Immediately, the door swings open to reveal a grinning Silvia. “Hola!”

With a glance I take in the clear glow of her face, the shine of her lipgloss, the way her hair spills loose over her shoulders. In another surreptitious look, I register a gauzy green top that dips in a v-neck and clings to her waist, a well-fitted pair of jeans, and preppy white Keds. She looks great. I mean really great. But dios, they’re going to eat her alive tonight.

“Hola,” I say in what I hope is an even, casual tone.

She grabs my hand and starts dragging me towards the step, pulling the door behind her. “Let’s go before my dad...”

“Silvia?” Don Lorenzo appears at the door. Mierda.

“Si, Papa,” she says with false brightness. “Pepa and I were just leaving.”

The man eyeballs me, sizing up my ripped jeans and shaved hair, the car keys in my hand.

“Listen, Miranda. I don’t know why Silvita wants to go to a party with you and your, your friends,” he spits out this last word with disdain. “But I’m warning you. No drinking, no drugs ...”

“Papa!”

“...And if anything happens to Silvia, it’s on your head. You understand?”

I meet and hold his gaze for two long heartbeats before coolly replying. “I understand.”

“Dad, I’m 17! I think I can take care of myself,” Silvia interjects, colour rising in her cheeks.

“Yes, I know, cariño. You’re very responsible.” Don Lorenzo pauses for a fraction of a second, flicking his gaze at me. Yeah, I get it, old man. Your daughter’s the responsible one. I’m the fuck-up. “But nonetheless, if you end up anywhere you don’t want to be, you call me, OK?” he asks, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Si, Papa, si,” Silvia sighs.

As we head towards the car, I let go of the breath I didn’t know I’d been holding and re-square my shoulders.

“Lo siento, Pepa. My dad ...”

“Don’t worry about it. It wasn’t that bad. And it’s done now.”

It’s done. I push the anger into the stone of pain inside my chest and turn my attention to the cool evening air, the redhead sliding into the front seat of my brother’s car, and just what the hell I’m going to do now.

Paperwork (Part 4 of 4)

2009-07-30T17:03:35Z

Title: Paperwork (Part 4 of 4)
Rating: NC-17 for sexytimes
Pairing: Pepa/Silvia

A/N: This story takes place in the year between the end of Season 6 and the start of Season 7, about 4 months after Pepa & Silvia started living together.

Final chapter. I'm not entirely sure the style fits with the other 3 pieces but it is what it is, so I'm putting it out there. Thanks *tons* to everyone who has commented on the story so far. I really appreciate your encouragement and feedback.

Read Part 1 here.
Read Part 2 here.
Read Part 3 here.

~~~

As I sit in Pepa’s lap at the kitchen table, both of us giddy and giggling, I am filled with a fierce joy for all that we share. She buries her face in my shoulder as I bestow loud, playful kisses to the top of her head. Outside the window, the sun is dipping below the horizon, blushing the sky pink with the last light of day. The last light of day! I remember where I read that earlier today.

With one arm draped around Pepa’s neck, I use my free hand to tug the note out of my pocket, where it’s been sitting warm against my hip all afternoon and evening. I unfold it before us, holding it so we both can see it.

She crooks a smile at me. “I was thinking about you today,” she confesses. “And I was just taken with this urge to tell you everything I was feeling in that moment, how you occupy my mind when I’m definitely supposed to be focused on other things.” Another smile.

“I just wrote it all down. I know it all sort of runs together—I never was much of a writer—but I hope ... I hope you know how much I adore you. And want you. How much I want you.” These last words whispered hoarsely, her hazel eyes meeting mine in a piercing glance from behind dark bangs.

I swallow hard as the woman I love rises, takes my hand and draws me down the hallway. When we get to the bedroom, I’m once again taken aback by the sight before me. Though really, how could I not have known that Pepa would leave no detail unaccounted for?

Like every other room in the house, this one has been filled with flowers. Red roses, yellow roses, pink and white, a profusion of blooms stretching from wall to wall. There are also candles here, dozens of them covering the dressers, the window sills and floor. As Pepa takes a moment to light them all, a warm glow builds and flows around the bed.

Silently she returns to me, kissing me deeply, undressing us both in the wavering light.

I step into her arms, pressing myself full length against her, revelling in the feel of our nakedness together, all over, all at once. I am lost in the heavy softness of her breasts against me, in her nipples like warm pebbles on my skin, in the jut of her hipbone in the palm of my hand, in the soft scratch of her curls against my leg, in the strength of her hands on the small of my back. I am drunk on the scent of her dark hair and smooth skin, turned inside out by the rising smell of her sex. I lick the hollows of her collarbone, tasting the sheen of her, bite down on the supple flesh of her shoulders, listen to her breath quicken.

She walks me to the bed, laying me down, covering me with the weight and heat of her body. There is nothing outside of this moment. I am wet for her, hollowed out for her, waiting, now and always, for her to fill me up. Want surges through me like a drug, fogging my brain, my body hypnotized by the touch of her fingers. It is all for her.

She descends, tonguing her way down my neck and chest, tracing wet circles around my breasts before capturing a nipple in the divine heat of her mouth. Her hands roam my body, palming over the curve of my stomach, gently fingering the scar there, acknowledging and loving this broken part of me.

How often I have looked in the mirror since that shot—the shot that changed everything—hating the ugliness of puckered skin that angled across me, the harsh curving line that spoke of all I had lost. But Pepa’s reverence for the full measure of who I am and all I have been through makes me feel whole again, and beautiful.

Her hands caress my thighs, sweeping inward along sensitive skin to tangle in the curls she finds there. “Te quiero, princesa, and all of your red hair,” a quiet smile playing on her lips, her eyes shining.

In an instant she has parted me, her glorious fingers running slowly up and down the length of me, taking my breath away. Though by now she has touched me countless times in this way, each time is new, each contact, first contact. She slides her fingers lower and pauses, silently asking permission to enter, wanting me to want it, to reach for it.

“Pepa.” Her name a moan, a request.

At her name, she eases into me, pushing her strong fingers deep inside, crying out as though she were the one being penetrated. “Dios, you feel so good, Silvia. So good. I love being inside you,” her voice nearly breaking.

Her hand slides out, fingertips teasing at the edges, before smoothly entering me once more, her thrust starting slow but ending powerfully, bringing with it a sharp burst of pleasure. Again and again she pushes into me, her tempo increasing slowly as a deep flush spreads across my cheeks and chest. When she starts thumbing my clit in rhythm to her stroking, I can feel my orgasm building like a flood inside me, rising, rising, rising.

She stops before I hit the peak.

My eyes snap open in surprise. “Pepa.” Her name a question, a plea, a protest.

“Ssshhhh,” she whispers, caressing my thighs, my belly, lavishing more attention on my breasts before returning between my legs. Her fingers are everywhere, gliding over me and through me, massaging me, fucking me, my body a swirl of sensations. Once more, I feel myself building to release.

Again she stops, this time crawling up to paint my breasts with her wet hands, her mouth following to lick and taste while I groan in my frustration and need. “Sssshhh. Trust me, pelirroja.”

And so I do, I do, giving myself over to everything she is, to everything she is doing.

The third time she touches me there is liquid fire between my legs. I arch into her, no longer surprised when she brings me right to the edge and then backs away, leaving an aching emptiness where her fingers have been.

When she starts her rhythm once more, I feel the familiar wave building, cresting, towering above me as if to drown me. “Si, pelirroja, si,” she urges me on in a low voice, this time not stopping, but taking me all the way through to the other side. The orgasm, when it finally comes, rips through me like nothing I’ve ever known, a guttural cry torn from my throat, my body jerking hard.

Her fingers lay still inside of me, my body rippling and pulsing around them as the aftershocks pass one by one. When I open my eyes, it is to see her gazing at me with a look of such naked adoration that I can only cry. Slowly easing her hand from my center, she kisses me and holds me and whispers to me, loving me by the last light of day.

~~

Paperwork (Part 3 of 4)

2009-07-28T00:08:33Z

Title: Paperwork (Part 3 of 4)
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Pepa/Silvia

A/N: This story takes place in the year between the end of Season 6 and the start of Season 7, about 4 months after Pepa & Silvia started living together.

Hope you enjoy this next installment. I think the next chapter will probably be the end -- but I'm struggling with it, so it might take a while.

Read Part 1 here.
Read Part 2 here.

~~~

Dinner over, plates pushed aside, Pepa and I sit enjoying the last of the vino amid the perfume of a thousand petals. I’m still in a bit of a daze over the grandness of her act. Every last flower in Madrid must be sitting in our house right now.

“Hey Silvia, do you remember back in senior year when Juan Gomez left that bunch of bluebells in front of your locker?”

“I haven’t thought of that in ages! What a surprise that was,” I giggle. “We’d only been dating a couple of weeks. Tu sabes, I never really took Juan for a bouquet kind of guy. Not like you and all of these.” I sweep my arm around the room, taking in the blooms that surround us. And then suddenly it hits me.

“Pepa?”

“Si.”

“Those flowers weren’t from Juan, were they?”

She shrugs self-consciously, avoiding my eyes, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. Emotions pile one on top of the other inside my heart. Oh, Pepa.

I conjure up an image of the way she was then, at 17. Faded jeans, a rip in each knee, worn with black 8-hole Doc Martens that she affectionately referred to as her shit-kickers. A tight, black vest over a white t-shirt—even then, she loved her vests. Her hair was much shorter than it is now, shaved at the back, but a curve still hung over her eyes. Whenever she was near, I would catch the mingled scent of cigarettes, CK One, and her leather jacket.

To most everyone in the school, she was a smart-mouthed punk, sullen and moody. I knew different, knew how vulnerable she could be under all that swagger. But before that time we kissed at Sara’s communion, I never thought...

The flowers had not come with a note but I’d just assumed Juan had left them. I mean, who else would they be from, right? When I’d thanked him, he had looked a little stunned—but all teenage boys look a little stunned when it comes to the romantic stuff. I had chalked it up to adolescent nervousness and the dorkiness of boys.

I swear, for someone who went to med school, I can be really dense sometimes.

As I realize what might truly have been going on with Pepa that year, my heart flutters. Why had we never talked about this before?

“You liked me—like that—back then?”

Pepa shoots me an incredulous look. “Do you seriously have to ask me that, roja?”

I take a few minutes to ponder this shift in our shared history, filtering the past through a new lens.

“For how long?”

“Siiiiince...” She squints and looks up at the ceiling, using her thumb to touch the fingers on one hand as she counts in her head. She levels her gaze back at me. “Yeah, since forever.”

I blink rapidly several times, a strange warmth beginning to spread from my fingers and toes.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You looked so happy that day when you told me Juan had given them to you, I couldn’t bear to say anything. Besides, a part of me was relieved you would never found out the truth.”

“I didn’t mean about the flowers. Well, yes, about the flowers. But I mean, why didn’t you tell me how you felt?”

“Gee, Silvia," she says archly. "For starters, there was no evidence you had any interest in girls in general—or in me specifically—and believe me, I looked for evidence. Second, your dad wasn’t exactly fond of me and would have gladly kicked my ass from here to next week if I so much as laid a finger on you. Oh wait! That’s what he did do."

“But Pepa...” My thought trails off unfinished as I round the table to take her face in my hands and place a kiss on her lips full of all the love and gentleness I can give her. There’s so much I could say, so many questions I could ask, but for now I settle on, “I’m so glad you didn’t need evidence this time around.” I know they are the right words when Pepa tilts her head back and laughs, pulling me giggling into her arms.

Continue to Part 4

Just Sayin'

2009-07-27T16:51:49Z

*Warning: Season 8 spoilers ahead*

Has anyone else noticed the uncanny similarities between Los Hombres and a show about a certain warrior princess?

Check this out:

Four-letter name, ends in an 'a'
Tall, dark and deadly
Not afraid to kick. your. ass.
Good with a weapon
Megawatt smile
Fondness for breastplates/vests (hee hee)
~~Has an older brother whom she adores~~
Has a colourful past
Popular with both the men and the ladies
Head over heels for a nerdy little redhead
Redhead has ~~an older~~ a sister (Lola/Lila)
Redhead's father none too fond of tall, dark & deadly; accuses TDD of corrupting redhead
Redhead has a niece named Sara

(Are there more?)

And yes, I realize Gabrielle was more of a blonde for most of the series but she did veer into red for a while there.

Reincarnation was a recurring theme on Xena, and it was always made clear that Xena & Gabs were soulmates who spent many lifetimes together. All I'm sayin' is maybe Pepa & Silvia are the current incarnation. Wouldn't that make for some mashup fic goodness? *cough* raven_bard *cough*

I know it would make a GREAT video & if I had any talent in that area whatsoever, I'd give it a go myself. I can name at least half a dozen scenes that could be mirrored across the shows. But alas, video is not my thing.

As a parting thought, I'd just like to say that if we do think of PepSi as the modern day X&G, then we know they can't ever be separated, no matter what the writers do to poor Silvia.

"Even in death... "