Chapter Text
The sky engulfs her entirety.
Pitch black surrounds Valeria’s senses, she can barely see a foot ahead of her if she tries. She got separated after defaulting on the cartel and betraying the Mexican Special Forces. The screams of Alejandro and Rodolfo ring out like synchronous tornado sirens, much like her father’s voice, or her childhood priests. Loud, imposing, threatening. Her brothers and sisters in arms just moments ago, now chasing after her as if she was a rabid dog in need of being put down.
As she ran, rosary around her neck, dangling and bouncing with each heavy land of her footfalls, she suddenly got pulled back. She gasps as she gets forced back, almost losing her footing, and looks at why.
The cross got stuck in some pipes as she ran. His body, now twisted and warped, stuck in some man made atrocity.
Valeria’s eyes water just the slightest as she tugs on the dainty metal chain, wanting to keep Him in one piece but knowing it’s a piece of jewelry or her life she’s trading at this moment. She’s been in stickier situations, more deadly and daring missions, why can’t she see clearly or think straight?
She spots Rodolfo from the corner of her eye and like a wolf stuck in a beartrap she thrashes, wanting to keep as quiet as possible without getting caught. Sure, she could just take it off her neck, but…
Valeria has no ‘but’ for that. It’s not like she praises His name much anymore. She maybe gives Him thanks once or twice a week if she comes back in one piece. She is nothing but a sinner, living her filth. Her hands are deft and precise in her movements with a knife and gun, her words conniving and deceitful at every turn. Her greed has turned her into a monster, she thinks her Mama would say. She thinks, no, knows she’d burn up into a pile of ash and hiss at getting splashed with holy water now. Her hands will be forever stained with the blood of her brothers and sisters she turned on today in favor of power and money. Not even the entirety of great Neptune's waters could clean her hands of the blood. She will forever reek of iron and gore, forever be the white sheep stained and maimed by her actions. She is no longer pure, so lost and far from the hands of god she’s contorted into the devil’s creature, bristly and coarse hair, horns and slit, deceitful eyes, hardheaded and brash.
She’s a goat, sitting in the fields of hell with the devil’s fellow creation. Demons and the damned, goats and the swine in the pen, being tormented for falling from the light of the Father.
She becomes more desperate as she sees Rodolfo start to scan where she’s stuck, looking for any form of life he has to snub out. If she begged for mercy, would he give her mercy? Would he turn the other way as she struggled with His body and let her run free?
A sickening pop sounds, and the metal starts to distort and twist, leaving behind half of the cross as she gets thrown back from the force of how hard she pulled. Like a deer set free, she bolts, feet lithe and rosary tucked into her shirt this time. The abrasive end of the cross digs into her skin, scratching at her sternum as she makes for it.
But she can’t find the group escorting and hiding the son of La Araña.
She took too long fighting with that stupid cross, her men left her behind. Her life on the line, she chose the religion that’s brought her nothing but pain and fear over her life, safety, and success. She chose the religion that had her sent to wilderness therapy and threatened with things like the foster system and conversion camp, chose the religion that tore at her identity until she was just a reproductive system meant to give some “nice” older man a son, chose the religion that objectified her to bits and sexualized her even though that very action is sinful. She chose the religion that had her sobbing in her bed into a pillow most nights, wondering where she went wrong and why God left her so young. God must hate her, truly.
But a tiny voice in her mind supplies the thought that makes her shiver with chilling anger. Small enough that she can brush it away for now. She can’t think like that right now, she has to run. She has to run, just like she did when her dad found out she got a tattoo on her shoulder, or her mom found her drinking. She has to flee, has to survive one way or another. There’s no use staying in place, waiting for her team, when she knows the chances she runs into another person means running into a soldier with a shoot to kill order on her are higher than Mount Everest. but…
I wasn’t supposed to survive that, was I?
Rodolfo was supposed to shoot her from across the field, leave her for the vultures as she clutched her damned rosary. It had to be some sick divine intervention one or both ways, getting stuck by her rosary and having it snap to get free. Was the devil’s hand in it somewhere? A gut-wrenching deal between God and Satan was made in those seconds she tugged on the cross. Was she given up? Was the snap of the crucifix her deal with the devil? Was she no longer His child, the fruits of His labor?
It certainly lines up with what she was told for years. God wouldn’t love her if she was some woman-loving freak with tattoos and piercings and had no husband or children. God wouldn’t love her if she wasn’t submissive to men, submissive to family. God wouldn’t love her if she cut her hair and dressed more masculinely. God wouldn’t love her being the way He made her.
So she runs, straight into the dead of night, through the mountains. The terrain gets choppy, her feet slip more times than she’d like to count or admit, but she eventually comes close enough to get in range of her fellow defectors. They’re waiting for her next order, wondering where she is.
But before Valeria reaches them in the dead of night, surrounded by life that is unaffected by such human plights, she wonders what could’ve been. Alejandro’s voice, barking orders to look for her and her group, starts to dissipate from her head. Her panic eases, surrounded by mountain ranges and sparse trees and shrubbery. The occasional snapping of twigs doesn’t immediately register as a Vaquero behind her, just another animal surviving in the middle of nowhere.
She sits down under one of the larger trees she finds to rest her sore feet and weary head. Maybe not sleep, but certainly sit for a while. Her hand fishes through the pocket her phone and rosary sit in, phone barely having enough service where she is to get in contact with her group. She calls ahead, telling them to go forward with the plan, but take him farther into the forest. His body cannot be found, under any circumstances. She’ll catch up to them later.
But after, she looks through photos. Her google drive is filled to the brim of the last ten years at minimum, all candid and somewhat blurry photos imported from the dozens of cameras and SD cards she’s gone through before she finally got a phone.
She wonders what could’ve been.
She clicks on an imported video, thumbnail pixelated but she recognizes it immediately. The first video of her and you together. God, it has to be at least fifteen years old. She turns up the audio and her eyes sting with tears she dares not to shed.
“¡Ven aquí! ¡Métete en el cuadro, amorcito!”
“Aye, aye, Okay Valeria!”
Oh.
Oh how she missed your voice. Even if it’s weird, reedy toned, and kind of distorted from the crappy recorder she took it on, she misses it. This video was taken sometime in highschool, for sure.
“Say something, anything, amor.”
“Uh… ¿algo?”
She slaps your arm and giggles with you, her heart aching at the unadulterated laughter and genuine smiles being captured. Her hand grabs at the rosary in her pocket, holding the broken metal of the cross tenderly. In her fury she ruined Him, and there’s no way to save Him now. If she holds it just right, covers the contorted metal, it’s almost like the cross didn’t break.
“Di algo, Valeria.” You urge, turning her hand with the camera to face herself more than you. She gives the same look you gave, almost blue-screened and braindead, and laughs out, muttering the same “¿algo?” before erupting in one more fit of giggles with you. The camera wobbles and quickly drops to the ground, a blur of frames where nothing can be heard but muffled laughter and “¡Mierda!” as she picks the camera up and ends the video.
She scrolls to the next one, the first photo she took of you two, not even a minute after the recording.
Both of you are a little pink from laughter, you have your thick ass glasses from before you started using contacts on and Valeria still has her braces, but she still thinks it’s beautiful. Sure, the hairstyles and clothing options are a little questionable as well, but as she looks at the two bright smiles staring back at her, the clothing and purple and orange bands on her braces mean nothing. All that she sees is two happy smiles, two sets of bright, fresh eyes, and two young people in love.
She wonders if that little girl is still inside her somewhere.
She scrolls through the next video, the thumbnail herself, mouth open and mid-sentence. She opens it and laughs softly. She’s speed walking through the empty hallways of her school after hours. You had to stay late to finish a test or something, and she’s giggling.
“Mamacita se tuvo que quedar hasta tarde por un examen o algo así, ¡me estoy colando para llevármela!”
God, she used to be so bubbly and lively. Back when she had her nenita.
She pushes through a classroom door and gasps, running out immediately. She pushes through the next door and tries to stay quiet, hushed whispers falling from her lips.
“¡Entré al aula equivocada y había una pareja follando!”
“¡De ninguna manera! ¿Viste a quién?”
Valeria gasps and slaps a hand over her mouth, trying to keep calm.
“¡¿Por qué diablos preguntas eso?!”
“¡Para chismes, niña!”
Valeria groans in disbelief, shaking her head.
“This. This is the love of my life.”
“¡Cállate, Val!”
The two girls she barely recognizes laugh a little more and hug, walking out. After a beat of silence you continue as if nothing happened.
“De todos modos, esa prueba fue una completa tontería.”
Valeria just shakes her head once more and the camera dips, the recording ending. Even without these precious videos, she remembers your laugh. A little distorted by time, but she remembers how it sounded in elementary, pipsqueak like and sweet, then in middle and high school, becoming softer and more gentle. The universe could keep her away from you for eternity and she’d still remember the shoe size you wore, the way you liked your tea made, the weird memory tool you used to study, the way your nose scrunched when you were trying not to show your disdain for something, the way your eyes crinkled with the slightest bit of laughter, the way your giggles floated through the air like a religious chant to her, everything. She remembered everything.
The next set of videos and photos she finds makes the tears in her eyes finally spill over, a single droplet falling down her cheek. She wipes it away immediately, she can’t be that vulnerable out here.
The first video in this set is simply labeled, “ FIrst Date!!! ”
They’re in your car, a box of chocolates and some soft drinks sitting on the console. Her hand covers the camera for a moment, stabilizing it before cupping your cheek and kissing you gently. She watches with another set of tears spilling, remembering how soft the moment was.
“Así que pronto me enviarán a terapia en la naturaleza, ¡así que mi amorcito decidió que tenemos nuestra primera cita antes de que me vaya!” The young Valeria explains, popping the two soft drinks and handing one to you. She clinks them together, chuckling softly with you before sipping on them. The video ends there, going straight to a set of photos of the two of you kissing each other's cheeks or silly selfies. The next video shows up, both of your guys’ hair disheveled and cheeks slightly flushed. She smiles to herself, sighing.
“Te amo.”
“Yo también te amo.”
Teen romance, hushed whispers in the car your parents bought for you. Chocolates and drinks bought and hidden from parents and siblings. Lips red and bitten, cheeks flushed and scarlet, eyes wide and innocent, ready to be tainted by the sins of the flesh.
There’s a few more videos and photos before she gets to one she knew was coming. She dreaded watching it. The file is named. “ Partida .”
“Esta es nuestra última semana juntos antes de empezar con lo básico.” She watches her love, her amorcito, sitting beside her. She had told you the day she enlisted, watched as the slightest bit of light drained from your eyes as you thought over all the possibilities that meant for the two hidden high school sweethearts. You clear your throat.
“Y les contaremos a tus padres sobre nuestra relación antes de que te vayas.” You add, looking at Valeria expectantly. The young girl in the video sighs and nods, putting her hands up in defeat.
“Lo sé, lo sé, no lo olvidé.”
“Todo estará bien. Tiene que serlo.”
The two of you kiss, the second and last kiss Valeria caught on video. There were some pictures, some truly lost cameras that may have you two kissing, but this and the first date were it. Thank god it wasn’t short and sweet as she cups your cheek in it, rubbing the fullness under her thumb.
“Te amo.”
“Yo también te amo.”
Valeria doesn’t, or forgets to, turn off the camera, leaving it rolling as the two of you stand up. A minute or two of silence goes by until shouting can be heard. Something is thrown and shattering can be heard. Young Valeria runs back into the room and shakily cuts the recording short. She remembers what happens next all too well.
Her Mama and Papa walk in, Mama holding the newspaper she was reading and Papa holding his belt. She hides the SD card in her pocket, backing up to the corner of her room as her parents scream at the top of their lungs that no daughter of theirs will be so shameful. A rosary is placed into her hand and the empty camera is smashed, stomped on by Papa’s boot, and the other cameras on her shelf, many with the SD cards still in them, are crushed as well.
The girl sobs as she watches all the memories of her amorcito get destroyed. Mama is yelling at her, interrupted by her brother aiding in her parents' destruction of her life, shouting prayers over her head as if she’d never heard them before. She stays still, like a deer in the headlights, until they’ve decided it’s enough.
Her dad marches up to her, shoving the Bible that laid dusty and unused on her shelf into her chest, seething with the anger of a thousand suns. There’s no hate like Christian love.
“Estoy encontrando una manera de darte de baja del nivel básico. Necesitas unirte al convento, niña. ¡Ninguna hija mía será tan pecadora!”
She looks up at the man, the man she used to love and adore. She knew it had changed long ago, when she started looking like her mother and was expected to fill the roles her mother had. But she never knew it would change like this. She simply holds the Bible, not believing for a moment that he’ll find a way to get her unenlisted from the damn military.
As her family leaves, she walks over, tiptoeing and quiet like a mouse, to the mess of debris that is her collection of cameras and recorders. She sifts through the broken plastic, metal, and glass, looking for any SD cards that survived. She can hear her dad through the walls, saying something along the lines of “ I’ve had it with that girl! ”.
She doesn’t believe her father for a moment.
Until a night before she’s supposed to leave for boot camp, and he’s hidden the bag she was taking with her and laid out a new rosary and modest dress for her. She thinks it’s just a bluff. Until her dad forces her to church on Sunday, not letting her look in the back of the car as she gets in the backseat with her brother. She thinks it’s just a bluff. Until after mass the nuns of the nearby convent step up to her and whisk her away, much against her will, to the congregation’s housing.
Maybe it’s not a bluff. She should’ve known it wasn’t a bluff. They’ve done this before, the wilderness therapy and Sunday school. She should’ve known. She just wants to know how the hell her father actually pulled it off.
She’ll never know, she supposes. She still doesn’t know, even as she sits in the mountains. Not like she can do much when Papa died a few years ago and Mama and her brother refuse to talk to her. She’ll never know what got her pulled from basic into the convent.
The convent was a rather blurry set of memories for her. No cameras to aid in her memory, no good memories to remember. Just the screeching of harpies who are oh so holier than thou and the constant and incessant beratement of her identity.
She does remember the night she ran away, however. Deep in the heart of the convent, everyone’s eyes closed as they pray together, she excuses herself for the bathroom and books it. Runs back into town and couch hops with some friends.
She enlists. She hopes she can forget the months of sobbing before the cross on her knees as the other nuns shun her for being so ill-knowledged about the Lord. She climbs in rank, meets bad people. She contorts and twists and morphs from the tainted sheep to the disgusting goat. Which led her to the cartel. Which led her here.
Pining away for a woman who she only remembers and sees through choppy, twenty year old photos and videos. Praying for the first time in years that maybe this will be the time she comes back home to you. Begging herself to leave this stupid shit behind, the blood and gore and anguish and loss, and pick you up again and giggle like the schoolgirls you used to be.
Pining for a chance for what could’ve been.
She scrolls through her photos some more, none of them of the two of you now. No, she hasn’t seen you since the day she tried coming out. She wishes, profusely and constantly, that she never came out before she was eighteen. That way they wouldn’t’ve ruined her life as much as they had.
She stands back up, dusting off her pants and slipping her rosary down her shirt again, and starts walking. She has work to do, a man to kill, and a cartel to take over. She can’t let foolish teen romances get in her way.
But she should call you.
She’ll have the power to find you soon enough, shouldn’t she use it just a little to her benefit? Shouldn’t she be selfish just this once? Shouldn’t she finally break free of her parents and the church?
She’ll make what could’ve been happen.
By the winged seraphs above and horned devilmen below she will make it happen.