The Darkest Parts of Me

Patricia was a student fresh out of high school in America. It seemed like not too long ago that she packed her things, said so-long to her parents, and was on her way to Spain where she would go into college and spend the rest of her life.

She was just on her way to turning 19, and she couldn’t be more excited. She missed her parents dearly, but she was happy to be in her most favorite country.

She watched the commotion of Spain’s World Cup win die down over the past week or so, and now she stood in a deserted street, surrounded by nothing but broken down buildings. It was rural areas like this that caught most of her attention; she found the destruction to be utterly fascinating.

She sighed out loud as she watched the storm loom over Madrid, the capital city of Spain. The wind kicked up dirt as drops gently began to sprinkle on her, wetting her brown hair and grey shirt.

Looking up at the sky with her hands still tucked away in her pockets, she only wished it would rain more. If she loved anything, it was the rain. It was simply magical in a sense.

Patricia took a deep breath, her eyelids covering her brown eyes as she blinked slowly.

“Watcha doing out here all by yourself?” a foreign voice asked her, causing he to flinch. She didn’t dare look at whoever it was, for fear they might attack her. After all, it was getting dark, and she really shouldn’t be in such a deserted area at this time.

“Just watching the storm,” she replied nervously.

She could distinct the voice as male, it couldn’t be confused with a woman. It was clean, smooth, masculine Spanish.

“You’re going to get all wet,” he added and she merely nodded, thinking he was looking at her.

“I don’t mind, I like the rain,” she said, looking up from her feet at the continually cloud collecting sky. Rain dropped directly on her nose and she crossed her eyes to see it, feeling slightly stupid before the man standing next to her brushed it off.

“You’re going to get a cold,” he warned with a slight chuckle.

She finally gathered enough courage to look over at him, and what she saw nearly gave her a heart attack. She couldn’t even stutter out words as she looked over the tall striker, Fernando Torres. There was a knot in her throat, air barely squeaking through as she stood, speechless.

“You seem surprised,” he said. All she could do was nod her head. “That’s alright, I get that a lot,” he said, turning back to look out over the horizon. There was a loud clap of thunder and Fernando closed his eyes, enjoying the cool breeze that blew over his face.

“How could I not be surprised, I’m standing next to THE Fernando Torres,” she finally managed to choke out smoothly.

“Yet you manage to stay uncannily calm,” he commented, causing her to blush.

She was a big fan, but she wasn’t that omg I’m going to mob you kind of person. She respected their space, hoping that it would get her somewhere in the long run.

“Well, I’m glad you’re just not all over me, I felt like I could be around you when I passed you on my way home,” he added, taking a deep breath, feeling the rain trickle onto his own freckled face.

“I respect people’s space,” she admitted, peeking out of the corner of her eye to get a glimpse of his face and she couldn’t help but squeal on the inside. No matter how much she wanted to be all over him, she restrained herself, rather well in fact.

“Congratulations on your win, by the way,” she added, talking about the world cup. He cracked a grin and laughed lightly.

“Thanks,” he simply said. He’d heard it thrown at him all day every day for a week, not that he minded. He was proud of it, who wouldn’t be? At least people recognized it was a big deal, internationally, too.

“Well, I guess I should be going before it really starts raining, and you should probably head home, too. It was nice to meet you…” he trailed, prompting for a name.

“Patricia,” she offered quietly and he smiled again, causing her to smile as well, even though she could only catch it from the corner of her eye.

“Nice meeting you, Patricia. Maybe we’ll cross paths again, someday,” he said and turned on his heel to walk down the abandoned street to head home. She stood still, exhaling a much held breath and she sighed, that same smile still plastered against her face in contentment as she stood still, her left hand hooked onto her right elbow.

Her once brilliant smile faded into a small grin as it began to rain instead of sprinkle. She turned on her heel as well and headed back down the street, passing numerous people with umbrellas, jackets, and other things to protect them from the rain.

It was a typical summer storm, nothing out of the ordinary, yet they acted like the world was going to end, some of them at least. Patricia’s brown hair began to wrinkle as it continued to get rained on, not that she minded.

The butterflies continued to rape her stomach at just the thought of being within five feet of the infamous Nando Torres.

She turned the corner and walked through the gates of her apartment complex, pulling out her keys as she climbed two flights of stairs to the third floor, walked down the open hallway to her apartment and shoved the bronze key gently into the keyhole, turning it to find it already unlocked.

Marina must be home, she thought to herself. Her roommate, or apartment sharer, sat sprawled on the couch, magazine pressed to her face and Patricia couldn’t help but laugh.

Marina had moved with Patricia. They’d known each other since middle school and have been best of friends since then.

Patricia ambled into the kitchen at the smell of food. There sat a pot of homemade soup for supper. Patricia looked over at Marina and thanked the sleeping girl silently before filling her bowl and went into the main room, flipping the television on to whatever she could find, which happened to be a game show, and she slipped her shoes off, pulling her feet up onto the chair as she curled up with her steaming dinner.

Marina shifted on the couch, rolling slightly so that the magazine fell off her face. Patricia laughed and bit her lips closed, trying to keep her amusement down as Marina’s blue eyes opened.

“Oh, you’re home,” she said and sat up, stretching and yawned.

“Yeah, I didn’t want to wake you, thank you for dinner, by the way,” Patricia stated, blowing on her spoonful before sticking it in her mouth, chewing the chicken and green chili that inhabited it. Marina made the best chicken and green chili soup. She remembered when they lived back in the US she always won for spiciest, yet best tasting soup of their graduating class competitions. There were no comparisons.

“I have the craziest story today, and you might flip out and attack me, but I must tell you,” Patricia stated as Marina got up to get another bowl of soup.

“Oh really? It’s so interesting that I might attack you? You’re not feeling giddy, are you? Did you spot a sexy guy?” she asked, her gentle giggling was heard from the kitchen before she returned to the main room, curling up on the couch.

“Oh, I’m pretty sure you might dislike me for a little while, since you to tend to get just a tad jealous,” Patricia teased, sipping up the rest of the broth before standing to put her bowl and spoon in the dishwasher.

“My curiosity is killing me, you must tell me why I will be so very jealous of you,” Marina replied.

“I spoke and stood next to Fernando Torres.”