Tequila and Cigarettes

Text Me

It had been days after Valaria gave you her number, every night you came home from your shift at the bar you would see the little folded up piece of paper with her number on your night stand. It felt like it was taunting you, trying to get you to text Valeria, trying to coax you into having a conversation with her via text, on your own time, and not as a customer and bartender. But as friends. Maybe more.

But each time you picked up your phone and placed her number into your contacts you couldn't help but feel overwhelmed. Almost suffocated. 'Was this a smart idea? What if she doesn't want to talk to you? What if she gave you her number purely out of pity?'  Those were all the thoughts that ran in your head whenever you even tried to think about texting her.

But eventually, one night (4 days after she gave you her number to be exact), you sent her a text. Something simple. Causal. Letting her know who it was. (Something that google said to do when you searched up 'How to text someone")

'Hey this is Y/N from the bar downtown, this is valeria right?'

Your fingers hovered the 'send' button. It was now or never right?

You sent it and that was that. No explosion, no big hooray, just a ping letting you know it sent.

You place your phone down on your nightstand, decided to take a shower, and leave your room. 'If she wants to talk she'll send a message.' You kept telling yourself as you turned the hot water on in your small bathroom and prepared to take a nice hot shower.

——————

Valeria was in her room.

What she was doing she had no idea.

It had been a somewhat long day. Idiot members of Las Almas that made her almost want to punch them until they collapsed, Task Force 141 being nosey and trying to get information on Las Almas and almost busting their plans, traffic jams that left her with road rage, and much more she didn't want to waste time thinking about. Overall today was just hell (and she wasn't even going to mention how the dunken donuts employee messed up her order and instead of giving her the iced americano SHE PAID AND SPECIFICALLY ASKED FOR she instead got a stupid iced coffee.)

So what did she do on this less than kind day? She laid in her bed. Looking at the ceiling. Thinking. Not about one specific topic but on many. How the weather was, past conversations she had, what she should do this weekend. Simple things.

Did she like doing this? 'Yes.' She always told herself. After spending a day with goldfishes that could hardly tell the difference between an AK 47 and pistol she has to be alone. It was her way of recharging. Getting ready for a new day.

But she always knew she didn't like this little ritual of hers. Looking up at the ceiling blank face like a crazy person could only entertain you for so long. Oftentimes her mind would wander into the dark crevices of her past, the inky black spaces she had tried so long to forget and clean out of existence. All the what could have been, what she could have said, what she should have done and said, what she did end up saying, etc...

Sometimes it got so bad she would bury her head into the pillows, trying to forget everything, trying to distract both her and her mind from everything she has done with her and others lives. Sometimes, even if most people think it's impossible, she feels guilt. For everything she's caused. For all the people she wronged who had nothing to do with her. 'I'm sorry,' she wants to say 'I'm sorry for everything. Forgive me for what I've done.'

In the end however she would always tell herself to stop begging for forgiveness like a child. What's done is done, and as much as she wants to at times she cant change that. 'A dog who weeps after it kills is no better than a dog that doesn't.' She often told herself. A comfort in a way. A twisted and dark comfort.

As she closed her eyes and tried thinking about more positive things, happy things, normal things, she felt her phone ping.

She opened her eyes as she slid her hand under her pillow to retrieve her phone. She tried thinking about who it was and what the hell they wanted.

But as she looked at her screen she was surprised. It was Y/N, The pretty bartender she often talked to when she felt in the mood for a shot. With all honesty she had forgotten she gave Y/N her number, she had gotten a bit too drunk that night to fully process what she did. She had felt bold then but now she didn't know what to exactly say.

She decided to reply in a straightforward way, maybe she had a chance with this pretty bartender that had eyes that made Valeria wish she could paint so she could capture the color of them, the way they looked when they bounced from place to place.

'Sure is. How are you?'

She sent the text and waited for a reply. She ended up waiting for 20 minutes. And when she felt her phone ping again she quickly opened the message.

'I'm doing good, you?"

Valeria felt a small smile spread over her face. She knew that this was the start to something special.
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A/N: Sorry for such the short chap! It's exam season for me. Felt like writing light angst for Val, will update soon tho! ╰(*'︶'*)╯♡