Disclaimer #1: This is fan fiction. Terapia d’urgenza belongs to Rai2. No copyright infringement is intended by borrowing its characters for a little while. No monetary gain whatsoever is being made. All I’m trying is to spread the love for velvet jackets, sort through the cliffhanger debris and prevent further lesbian parking lot trauma.
Disclaimer #2: This is a story about women. In love. With each other. But I guess you already knew that. – If this is not your cup of tea, rest assured that I prefer coffee and that you needn’t read this. If this is illegal where you live, please be careful. – Also, I can’t believe that after ten years of writing fiction online, I still have to apologize for my contents. If fuchsia bras qualify as NSFW in your book, I guess this story might rate as PG-13 upwards.
Additional note: This story is as of yet unfinished. It will be written and posted in parts, updated weekly, Friday night at 9 p.m. (GMT+1). You know that my time is limited, and that my time management sucks, but I’ll try to keep it up.
She had always imagined that she would be quicker in such a situation. Braver. But instead she stared at the small, metallic circle pointed at her and at the darkness it surrounded, unable to breathe.
She could see the finger tremble against the trigger, making a flash of light reflect off the side of the gun, and she jerked backwards instinctively. Images flashed through her mind in rapid sequences —
Looking down at her scuffed, dirty shoes as she hid among the wines that arched above her. She held her breath, feeling the sun on her bare arms while she waited, alert to every sound. The wines were dense enough to hide her small frame from her friends whose voices rang out from across the yard, in glee at having discovered another or in frustration at having been caught.
Her mother, chiding her for having ruined her new patent leather shoes in the vineyard.
Her parents, their backs towards her as they walked up to Giacomo, who held the door open for them, her mother’s heels on the gravel of the entryway, and then the car disappearing through the iron gate, Giacomo at the helm, to another ball or another ceremony.
Again, watching her parents being driven away, but the sensation of loss replaced with one of freedom, the sharp memory of the chloral scented water of the pool against her lips and Eduige, her French private tutor, on a chair by the pool. And later, Eduige’s legs wrapped around hers in the water and the steps leading out of the pool slipping from her shaky grasp.
Her father’s silence and her mother’s disdain, later that summer, and no more French lessons and instead, preparatory classes in Latin with a priest from the library.
The day after she had moved into her Milan apartment, her birthday in a new city, the hesitant sunbeams showing off the unwashed state of the windows, and she had watched them move along the floor, waiting for a call from her parents that never came.
And a few years later, that same room, another phone, and once more, watching the shadows shift along the walls while she waited. But Vera didn’t call, not the first night, neither the second. She had waited the whole week, refusing to believe that Vera would shun her not just in public, but also in private. They had always met with discretion, always away from work, something they could have continued that way. But the phone remained mute and she studied every scratch in its display. Vera’s call never came.
That same phone and Esther, kicking the receiver off the charging station with a foot. The ringing stopped, or so Marina thought, distracted by the generous glimpse of Esther’s thigh bared in the movement. Her own bathrobe was really much too short for Esther. – “Enough of that,” Esther declared with decisiveness, and Marina recognized the small, breathless chill that ran down her spine at the demanding tone. Then Esther’s arms were already around her, lifting her up from behind. She yelped in surprise and Esther’s laugh reverberated against her neck .“Marina, I lift men twice your size every day…”
— The metallic circle wavered slightly and through the fog in her limbs, Marina was aware of Esther next to her. She didn’t dare to turn to look at her now, but she remembered her earlier expression, the hurt in her eyes. But she couldn’t think of that now, or of herself. She couldn’t think about romance when others had died without ever knowing it, without being able to do something as normal as playing chess.
The mother’s eyes were as dark as the small round encircled by the metal.
The arms were wrapped around her before the shot rang out and she knew they were falling. It was dark and she wondered whether this wasn’t supposed to hurt, falling, and being hit. It was cold, but there were Esther’s arms, the scent of her that was more familiar already than she wanted it to be. She should probably tell her that the bathrobe was too short for her, but then, she didn’t want Esther to stop wearing it…
The scent of the muddy earth around her was something that she would remember to her last day. The thin leaves of grass were already sprinkled with dew at this hour and slick with something else, something too warm for this night. She couldn’t see, her face pressed against Marina’s neck, searching for that faint pulse over the sound of her hammering heart.
She hadn’t managed to tackle Marina in time, if only she had been half a second quicker… Her hands searched for the wound, an automatic move: identify, gauge size, apply pressure – but it was so dark out here, and there was a woman breathing nearby who held a gun and she needed to get help. If it wasn’t too late already, but that was a thought that was impossible.
Marina wouldn’t die.
That was not an option.
The blood that spilled from her mouth indicated a punctured lung and Esther had to stop the bleeding, she had to —
She cursed her own hands that felt stiff as she searched for Marina’s phone, crossing her fingers that Marina carried it in her pocket, and not in her bag.
Precious second ticked by until Esther became aware of the small, rectangular shape pressed against her thigh.
Never lessening the pressure on Marina’s ribs, Esther fumbled for the phone. Speed Dial #2 was the hospital admission desk, she knew that.
“We need help, damn it!”
Where were those teens that used to loiter around the hospital parking lot at night?
— “Do you want me to tell Teresa you’ll be a little late for your shared morning coffee?” Marina, closing the clasp of her bra.
Esther answered belatedly. “Do you want to give her a heart attack?” And if Marina didn’t stop that slow, sensual movement of sliding the fuchsia strap up her arms…
“Call her from my phone.” A thin blouse slid over Marina’s shoulders, the unbuttoned gap teasing Esther further. “Admission is speed dial #2”
“I only have the hospital on #8.” Esther picked up the phone without looking at it. “At least you don’t have it at #1.”
Marina turned around and smiled. “#1 is something else.” A small mist of perfume clouded her features momentarily.
“Your family?” Esther guessed as Marina combed her hair behind her ears with her fingers.
Marina shook her head, still smiling. “The delivery line of Eduardo’s.”
Esther dragged her eyes up to Marina’s face. “You’re kidding.”
Marina shrugged. “You liked their food,” she reminded Esther while she drew a coffee from the silver, futuristic machine that occupied half the kitchen counter and had probably cost more than a car.
Esther looked at the barely unpacked three-course-dinner next to it. Ah, that’s where her shirt had ended up. “Marina, we barely tried it.”
“Next time,” Marina said with a wink. She held out a steaming cup of coffee to Esther. “I promise.” Her lips grazed Esther’s neck in passing, lingering for a moment longer.
Esther closed her eyes with a warning sigh. “Marina…”
Marina chuckled against her skin. “Do you think Teresa will be jealous if she finds out you share morning coffee with me now?”
— But Marina didn’t move. She hung limply in Esther’s grasp, long since beyond consciousness.