Champagne's For Celebrating (2/?)
Title: Champagne's for celebrating (2/?)
Rating: PG- 13
Disclaimer: I don't own Skins, or anything of any real value. Epic life fail :) Title is taken from the Mayday Parade song of the same name.
Summary: My first A/U fic. Read on :P
A/N: Kinda short and rather rubbish. Next chapter (if there is one) shall be longer and significantly more interesting. Hopefully :)
It's been three days since her interaction with the blonde, and Emily has spent each and every one of them feigning some sort of mild interest in her day-to-day life. Pretending wearily that it isn't defined by apathy or, even worse, a silent yet crippling hatred towards her mere existence. She's been working overtime, willingly spending every possible moment in the dingy bar simply so she doesn't have to be at home. Has looked out for the blonde every night to no avail. Begins to think that she'll never see her again, and isn't quite sure why this thought bothers her so much. Instead, tries to brighten her mood by reminding herself that Katie isn't working tonight.
Emily feels a rush of relief when, 30 minutes into her shift, she spots a flash of peroxide blonde hair. Her hair is tousled, her eyes accentuated by rose coloured rims as though she's been crying, or hasn't slept properly in several days. Perhaps a heartbreaking combination of the two, Emily thinks. Has to bite her tongue to prevent herself from asking the cliched question of ''Are you okay?'' as the blonde approaches the bar, vaguely acknowledges Emily's presence with a slight nod of the head and a quirk of the lips. Mumbles ''Usual'' under her breath as Emily desperately tries to think of a way to strike up some sort of conversation.
She's interrupted, however, by some complete drunken twat stumbling over to the bar. (Emily's seen him before. Distinctly recalls thinking ''What a complete and utter wanker'' last time she saw him.) He orders a pint from a barmaid whose name Emily can't quite remember (hasn't even bothered to learn), before turning to the blonde with a shit-eating grin on his face.
''Alright, Naomi? On your own again, eh? Well, if you ever decide to take me up on that offer, you know where I am, yeah?'' He winks smugly, reaches out clumsily to wrap an arm tight around the blonde's shoulder. She shrugs it off forcefully, narrows her eyes at him and Emily thinks the expression If looks could kill... has never been so relevant as it is in this very moment. Isn't entirely sure whether to be utterly amused or to expect a full on bar fight.
''Right. Well. Thanks. But if it's all the same to you, I'd rather cut off my own fucking arm and beat myself to death with it.'' She smiles sweetly, eyes fixed pointedly on the guy as though she's silently ordering him to fuck off. She probably is, Emily reckons. Can't help but smile slightly to herself as the blonde rolls her eyes dramatically and mutters ''tosser'' to no-one in particular. Thinks that it's utterly adorable, in a hostile, confrontational sort of way. The guy simply laughs loudly, seems to find some sort of sadistic amusement in the blonde's irritation.
''Nice one, blondie!'' He pats her roughly on the back and Emily sees her teeth clench as she pays for her drink. Finds herself being irrationally jealous of the guy simply for knowing the blonde.
Naomi. Emily smiles to herself as she watches her walk away. Thinks pretty name before mentally slapping herself because, honestly, people only ever say that in ridiculous T.V shows. And this is reality, she's rather disheartened to note. Still can't quite stop herself from smiling at being unwittingly saved from yet another night of monotony by a certain striking blonde. Ignores the voice in her head telling her how tragic she is.
The same voice reappears relentlessly throughout the night as Emily finds her gaze glued to the blonde, observing each silent sigh, each roll of the eyes, each sip of her drink. Waits tragically for Naomi to finish her drink just so she has some vague excuse to go over. Mentally congratulates herself when, half an hour or so later, she manages to collect the empty glass without horribly embarrassing herself. Accidentally catches Naomi's eye as she does so and decides that this slight, subtle interaction is the perfect justification for words. Nods slightly towards the wanker from before, who is currently standing shakily on one of the ancient chairs, downing an entire pint as his equally wankerish friends egg him on.
''Friend of yours?'' It's a ridiculous question really, since they are clearly anything but friends. But Emily's far too preoccupied with her fascination to completely comprehend such trivialities. Probably wouldn't even care if she did. Instead, she waits nervously for a split second until the blonde breaks the silence.
''I don't do friends. Incase you hadn't noticed, people are self absorbed cunts.'' Naomi rolls her eyes as though she's pointing out the most obvious fucking thing in the world. It takes Emily only a split second and a lingering thought about her twin to realise that, in fact, Naomi actually is pointing out the most obvious fucking thing in the world. Should probably stop her futile attempt to converse with Naomi, who clearly didn't graduate from charm school, if she even bothered to attend in the first place. Still can't help herself from replying.
''Yeah, I guess. Not everyone though.'' Her lie is strikingly apparent, even to herself, and she hears the blonde scoff slightly. Doesn't dare glance up. Instead finds herself suddenly fascinated with the worn carpet beneath her.
''No. Everyone. Some people are just better at hiding it than others.'' Naomi's so utterly adamant and convinced that Emily can't help but to admire her, even in the midst of her alienating cynicism.
''What about you?'' The words spill out defiantly before she has the chance to catch them, but this time Emily doesn't even bother to mask her intrigue. Drags her gaze from the floor and makes steady, unashamed eye contact with another human being for the first time since she was around 13 years old. Watches the blonde far too intently as she gnaws lightly on her lower lip.
''I don't hide it.'' It's said with a nonchalant shrug of the shoulders and a smile which is probably intended to be sarcastic but, Emily notices, displays the slightest hint of sadness. Wants to somehow erase it, or at least uncover the underlying cause. Thinks that perhaps this may not be as easy as it seems. Still isn't entirely sure why she cares so much about someone she's barely even said three sentences to. Does anyway.