Dancing in the Dark || 𝔩𝔞 𝔠𝔞𝔰𝔞 𝔡𝔢 𝔭𝔞𝔭𝔢𝔩

dancing in the dark - 1

RAQUEL

Raquel lost a little bit of herself each day following the heist- the greatest embarassment to the Spanish government in existence, one that occurred in her hands. She couldn't go out, she was no longer the respected Inspector she once was, and the glaring eyes of the people followed her wherever she went now. She couldn't take it. All her life, people had looked up to her, respected her, wanted to beher. She'd risen quickly in the police force following her graduation from the academy, and had never looked back. But now they hated her.

Some part of her hated Salva, well Sergio, for making her life this living hell. Never in her life had she been unemployed, not having a purpose for her existence other than Paula. But now Raquel was lost, her mind floating aimlessly in the hours when Paula remained at school. She did everything in her power to keep the news off, to somewhat shelter Paula from the horrors being said about her mother on worldwide television, even in the months following the heist. Raquel couldn't even assist with the manhunt- not that she was even sure she wanted to anymore.

Marivi seemed to pick up on the fact that her daughter was not well- or at least, Raquel found a concerned post-it note. But Marivi never mentioned it to Raquel, who had returned to her old coping mechanisms from her time with Alberto.

Raquel would spend her days dazed, and her nights awake, mind aimlessly working through her thoughts as best they could through the haze of the whiskey. She just wanted to forget. All of it- the frustratingly charismatic Sergio, the self-hated, the failure she was, and Alberto's constant calls, threatening to take Paula away. While they were mostly empty threats, since nothing new had occurred, she hadn't been found guilty, but they certainly didn't make her feel better. And Paula's anger towards her mother as she heard stories from school did nothing to ease Raquel's guilt.

Under any situation closer to normality, Raquel would've loved this time to spend with her daughter, to try to be a better mom. Time to enjoy Marivi's rarer lucid days. But normal had clearly been fucked, and Raquel was so far in over her head, somehow the alcohol was a better option.

In the last four months, Raquel had physically deteriorated from the confidence radiating inspector she once was. Dark circles seemed ever present under her eyes, sembling permanent exhaustion. Even aside from that though, she'd lost some weight, and the constant stream of shit she ingested wasn't exactly doing much for her previous muscle tone.

The doorbell rang clearly throughout the house, bringing Raquel out of her thoughts for the moment. Realizing it was mid-afternoon and she remained in the clothes she slept in, she grimaced and went to answer the door, haphazardly running her fingers through her mussed honey colored hair and shrugging her arms over her chest due to her lack of undergarments.

"Ms. Murillo?" the man asked.

In another lifetime she would have found herself studying his every feature, but now she barely met the man's eyes, embarassed of herself. "Yes?"

"I need you to sign for this." He stated, handing her an official looking envelope and clipboard.

"What is it?"

"I'm not allowed to say. Just sign please."

Glancing upwards at him, Raquel took the pen, loosely scribbling her signature before receding into her home, envelope in hand. She started to shuffle back to her bedroom, the idea that she should perhaps change before Paula returned from school creeping into the back of her mind. But before that could ever be put into action, the glaring words stopped Raquel dead in her tracks, along with her heart.

Marivi turned from the couch. "Are you alright dear? You look quite pale."

Raquel barely turned to face her mother before scampering into her bedroom, tears already escaping the corners of her eyes.

Unfit to be a parent.

Alberto was going to take Paula, her only remaining joy from her. Between her unemployment, and her current status in the eyes of Spain, the case was hopeless at best, even though she was never arrested. But it was over before it even started. The lawyer she hired was nothing in comparison to Alberto's- where it seemed the CNI had been involved. The judge too. He was the same judge, the same motherfucker who ruled that Alberto never hurt her, that she lied. The one who started this whole mess in the first place.

It had taken Raquel so long to put her life back together following her separation from Alberto. But today was like reliving all of those moments again, on a loop. All she could see was his form looming over her, yelling incomprehensibly, drunk as a skunk. She felt oddly powerless, sitting between the best lawyer she could've ever afforded and Paula. She truly tried not to cry, but the voices around her thinned, leaving her unable to focus. She was going to lose Paula. Her only daughter. Her everything. Being in court was truly sobering, but her head was barely there, hands trembling underneath the table, itching for the sweet burn of the whiskey to take it away.

It was like being reborn into her old life- a life of fear. The courtroom was almost a joke. It seemed she'd lost the custody battle of her only child within five minutes of entering the building, another win for Alberto. Raquel clutched at her daughters back, tears coming in wracking sobs as she crumples to the floor in the lobby of the courthouse, hugging her close. Paula barely understands what's happening, and frustrated with the sustained hug, tried to wriggle out of her grasp. Raquel watched her for a moment as she moves away, until she caught the movement of a man in front of her vision, whose hand dips down to hold Paula's.

"Goodbye, Raquel." Alberto's crisp voice rung out.

Raquel looked up from her seat on the floor with teary eyes, unable to formulate any sort of response for the man who had almost single-handedly ruined her.

"I love you to the moon and back Paula." Raquel managed to sob out, knowing she was making such a scene, but unable to care anymore.

Some form of a smile played at Alberto's lips, as he, Paula, and Raquel's sister walked out the doors of the courthouse together, leaving Raquel sprawled on the floor, bawling. She had failed.

She remembered few details following watching Alberto walk away with Paula, not even knowing how she got back to her home. Perhaps the hardest slap in the face of them all was Marivi asking when Paula would be home from school. Raquel wanted to scream that she never would be again, but it's hard to yell at someone incapacitated, even if the anger is rooted from elsewhere.

Rage enveloped Raquel's frame as she strode into her room, ending up with her pacing around her bed, fists balled. As angry as she is though, and as strong as the desire to slap Alberto in his smug face is, the feeling is nothing against the pure self-loathing she feels for herself. If she hadn't turned into a fucking alcoholic, maybe she'd still have her daughter. If she'd swallowed her pride, maybe she could've gotten a job at the fucking grocery store or something. Stocking at night, perhaps. Anything.

As the fight drains out of her, she finds herself staring into her own coffee colored eyes in the mirror, barely even recognizing the excuse for a human being she sees staring blankly back. Absentmindedly, she finds her hand running behind the mirror, hunting for the tiny, sharp, razor. Fucking Sergio. Why her? Why couldn't another inspector have been in charge? She had tried to get off the job, goddamn it. Fucking Prieto and his bullshit.

The razor slides across her arm, a red trail in its wake- a little deeper than Raquel meant to, but she's mentally preoccupied, her body aching for a drink to make her thoughts shut up so badly she barely functions. She creates a second cut, lighter than the first, parallel to it as images of Alberto towering over her flash through her mind, a reminder that Paula, her joy, is gone.

She hasn't cut in years- not since she was married to Alberto. Back when she had no control over anything, she needed to be able to do something for herself, to feel something. Of course Alberto had beat her mercilessly when he figured it out, screaming how weak she was as she curled into the fetal position, razor embedded into her palm. But that didn't matter now. Nothing really did. But Raquel had woken up enough to know that feeling nothing with her new friend whiskey was no longer an option. So as the night stretched on, she created thin red lines along her biceps, torso, thighs, and hips, until she felt woozy enough to fall asleep on the cool tile.

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Hope you guys are enjoying this fic so far!

-WriterAtHeart2020