6. talk of romance
9411 / 50000
Um, I can't quite believe there are over a hundred people following this comm now. Just, wtf. Anyway, this part is - IDK, kind of pointless and self-indulgent, and I think I hate it? I've also already resorted to the time-honoured NaNo tradition of padding my wordcount by stealing other people's words. Further notes at the end of the chapter.
6. talk of romance
Naomi.
1267 words
"I'm fairly sure this is one of the signs of the apocalypse," Naomi says. On the TV screen are two blond twins with improbably high hair, wearing gaudy suits and failing spectacularly to sing a Ricky Martin song in tune. "Pestilence, probably." Naomi would be inclined to think that she's hallucinating, but she is sadly sober, as she has been for most of the last few weeks. The last time Naomi and Emily got drunk at a party and started messing around in a bedroom, Naomi had ended up hurting Emily's still-healing rib. Since then they'd started staying in, which is why Naomi's sitting in the Fitches' living room and suffering through The X Factor.
At least Emily's parents and irritating brother are out.
"I can switch over if you'd rather watch Bruce Forsyth make some terrible jokes for a bit."
"No, it's fine," Naomi says with a theatrical sigh. "Honestly, the things I do for you. I hope you realise I'm expecting repayment in sexual favours."
Emily smiles. "You know it's kind of hard for me to manoeuvre in my current condition."
"That's all right," Naomi says. "I'm keeping a tally."
Laughing softly, Emily rests her head against Naomi's shoulder. "Not long till the cast's off, anyway."
"I can hardly wait," she says in a joking tone, but she means it. She's hated seeing Emily injured, hobbling around on crutches--although in the last couple of weeks Emily's got the hang of using crutches and started recklessly swinging around, like she doesn't even care if she gets hurt again--and she can't wait to go back to normal again. It's been sort of like their lives have been on hold while Emily gets better, and having less opportunity to go out and have fun has meant more opportunity to stay in and talk about things. Things like university, and the future, and every time that Naomi's wanted to point out that they've not even been together for four months yet, she remembers watching in horror as Emily crashed her moped, and she makes herself bite her tongue.
She shakes her head; she doesn't want to think about it today.
On the telly they start repeating clips from all the performances, and the whole thing is just as hideous as it was the first time around.
"Oh my God," Naomi says, rubbing her temples. "Please turn it off."
"You mean to say that you don't want any more John and Edward in your life?" Emily says. "I'm shocked. Shocked."
Naomi nearly elbows her in the ribs, before she remembers that she shouldn't be doing that sort of thing. "I mean it, Em, I'd rather eat my own head than watch any more of this."
"It wasn't that bad."
For a moment Naomi considers, trying to find a silver lining, then shrugs. "I suppose the girl on before was quite fit." When Emily raises her eyebrows in surprise, Naomi feels her face growing hot. "What? You don't agree?"
"No, it's just, that's the first time you've ever acknowledged that you fancy a girl who isn't me."
"Oh," Naomi says. She hadn't realised. "Well, sorry. I guess you're not that special after all."
"Whatever," Emily says with an exaggerated shrug. "If this means you've like, resolved your whole sexual identity crisis, I'm quite relieved. It was getting boring."
"Fuck off. It's not like it's that long since you were saying you're not gay, and you're about as heterosexual as John Barrowman," Naomi says, and Emily laughs.
The programme is nearly over, and Dermot O'Leary starts telling everyone that they can switch over to ITV2 for The Xtra Factor, as if the last two hours haven't been torture enough. Naomi leans over Emily, trying not to squash her rib, and grabs the remote control, pressing the off button with perhaps more force than is strictly necessary. She sighs in relief.
"I feel like I need to recite some Shakespeare or something to regrow all the brain cells I just lost."
"Brain cells don't grow back once they're dead."
Fuck, that's depressing. "It's just an expression."
"All right, then," Emily say, sitting back and looking at expectantly at Naomi. "Impress me with your knowledge of Shakespeare."
"Seriously?"
"Yeah, seriously. I'm waiting."
"Fine." Naomi takes a deep breath and wonders if she can remember all the words to her favourite sonnet.
"My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun
Coral is far more red than her lips' red
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white
But no such roses see I in her cheeks
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath which from my mistress reeks--"
"That's delightful," Emily says. "You really know how to charm a girl."
"I haven't finished yet," Naomi says, and she continues.
"I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound
I grant I never saw a goddess go
My mistress when she walks treads on the ground
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied by false compare."
For a moment, Emily says nothing, just sits there lost in thought.
"See," Naomi says, "it is romantic. But it's about real love--realistic love--not this, like, bullshit overblown Romeo and Juliet love, you know."
"I like Romeo and Juliet," Emily says. "I mean, okay, it doesn't exactly end happily ever after, but don't you think love should be like that? You know, two people against the world, so in love they'd rather die than be apart?"
Naomi shrugs. "But that's not real life, is it? Romeo and Juliet wouldn't have lasted." Emily frowns at her, obviously annoyed, and Naomi can't figure out what she's done wrong.
"Look, I know they only knew each other for about a week--"
"Four days," Naomi says.
"Whatever. The point is, that's what love's meant to feel like. Not that whole, 'well, I guess my girlfriend's breath smells but she's all right anyway' thing."
"That's not what the poem's about," Naomi says, trying and failing not to get angry. "Can we fucking drop this? Or, you know, at the very least stop pretending we're talking about Shakespeare."
"Fine," Emily says, folding her arms, but it's obvious she's still fuming. Naomi sighs; she doesn't know how it's possible that this evening was more fun when they were watching Simon Cowell being a dick on TV.
"Hey," Naomi says, leaning over and kissing Emily softly on the lips. "I love you, okay? And, all right, I wouldn't commit suicide if you died tomorrow, but that's just because I'd be too busy checking really thoroughly that you were actually dead."
The beginnings of a smile starts to form on Emily's lips. "Can we rewind this conversation ten minutes and you can just compare me to a summer's day instead?"
"I don't know that one," Naomi says, and when Emily starts to frown she hastily adds, "I mean, thou art more fair and more temperate."
"That's better," Emily says, and she cuddles up to Naomi, kissing her lightly along her jaw. The position's a bit awkward, with Emily's cast getting in the way, but Naomi doesn't care. They kiss for a few minutes, and then, reluctantly, Naomi pulls away.
"I should probably go," she says. "Your parents will be back soon."
"I don't care," Emily says, pulling her closer. "Just stay for a little longer."
"Okay," Naomi says, kissing her lightly. "I'll stay, just for a while longer."
---
Notes: The sonnet quoted is #130, and if I fucked it up it's because I did it from memory and can't be bothered to get my Complete Works out to check. :D "Romeo and Juliet wouldn't have lasted" is shamelessly stolen from The Demon's Lexicon by Sarah Rees Brennan.
If you're outside the UK and unfamiliar with our delightful X Factor contestants, allow me to introduce you to the phenomenon that is JEDWARD. (I am so, so sorry.) The other contestant referred to is Lucie Jones.