Nuclear War
Naomi/Emily skins_holiday gift for bangel17.
Sorry it's so late.
1. Showers.
Emily likes showers because they're quicker, and she doesn't like “sitting in her own filth”; Naomi likes baths because everyone is in a rush these days, and it's not that much of a problem to get up ten minutes earlier to run a bath.
Naomi sets the pen down beside the pad of paper and sighs. It's a start. She goes to run a bath just to prove a point; soaks in it and tries to think of the other eleven things she's set herself as homework. It shouldn't be this hard to think of reasons they were doomed, because they were so hopelessly one-legged and uneven from the start; the very definition of incompatibility, but it never seemed to matter when they needed it to most.
Mrs Fitch almost makes the list, but they were doomed long before she became an issue, and any new girl that Emily fucks isn’t going to manage to put a spanner in Mrs Fitch's Straight Daughter Plan any more than Naomi could have, even if she tried - if she'd had the time to try. Her day teeters dangerously on the edge of moping so she calls Effy.
'Moping again?'
'Something like that.'
'I’ve got drugs and a bottle of vodka.’
'Please,' Naomi says, and hangs up, and she likes that talking to Effy requires very little words and very little effort, because as much as Naomi likes using her voice, there's nothing worse than talking for the sake of talking. Emily likes to talk sometimes, when it's not needed - that should go on the list, probably.
----
She feels like she’s been rescued. It's a stupid thing to be thinking, she wasn't in any clear and present danger, she wasn't lost at sea or anything --no matter how adrift she fucking felt-- she didn’t need rescuing - It doesn’t stop things from feeling that way. And life without Emily is a bit like magic eye, once someone shows you the picture, you can never ever stop seeing it - Though to Naomi’s merit she has gotten better at not noticing things in shops that Emily might like, or indeed spotting something leopard print and immediately thinking of Katie.
2. Katie Fucking Fitch.
Katie makes the list indefinitely, the stupid closed mind bullying control-freak bitch, Naomi thinks, but just writes Katie fucking Fitch instead (out of laziness), like it’s her unofficial middle name and it may as well be. She makes the list solely for the sheer amount of times Katie has inadvertently (or purposefully for that matter) minge-blocked her, or because she steals Emily’s things, Emily’s things that Naomi bought her, or for…whatever, it doesn’t matter; Katie was against them from the start; she makes the list for being the only person who is glad that this is over, other than Emily who would probably be tap dancing on Naomi’s grave were she to die. It’s probably why it’s such a shock that when the doorbell rings and her mum shouts “It’s for you - It’s not Emily, it’s the other one…” and Naomi bounds down the stairs in disbelief.
‘Do you have your own room or do you all just sleep in baskets on the floor or something?’ Katie asks and thrusts a bottle of vodka in her hand. 'Get us some glasses, and some mixer --I'm not fucking Emily, I can't drink this shit straight-- Oh, and ice if you hippie slags have actually heard of a freezer, yeah, I know it's a big ask - So where's your room or your basket...whatever.' and Naomi just staggers roughly towards the kitchen and says hoarsely ‘First on the left, top of the stairs,’ and Katie nods.
‘Do I fucking want to know?’ Katie says, and points at the hand drawn list on the wall. ‘List of your sexual fantasies?’ Katie smirks, and grabs the cup off her, taking a swig and spitting it back into the cup. ‘What the fuck is this? It tastes like piss - I’d rather drink it straight.’
‘It’s elderflower cordial,’ Naomi says quietly, and Katie goes back to staring-out the Nelson Mandela poster or whatever the fuck she’s doing. ‘Why are you here?’
‘Aren’t you meant to be like, clever?’ Katie says and it’s definitely more of an accusation than a compliment.
‘Tell me what you want,’ Naomi sighs and sits down on the bed and sips at her vodka and elderflower, and god, it does taste like piss but she’s not about to go giving Katie credit where credit’s due now.
‘My sister, thicko,’ Katie says and takes another grimacing sip of her drink.
‘Oh fuck off, really - It’s fucking bad enough, thanks. I don’t need you to come here making things worse,’ Naomi sighs and doesn’t want to look at her, so just looks at her socks instead.
‘Oh shit. This…fuck’s sake,’ Katie mutters and downs the rest of her drink before mumbling, ‘I need your help.’ Naomi wants to point out the great number of things that are inherently wrong about the situation, but she mainly just wants to know why the fuck Katie’s here, and failing that still here, when she’s being anything but forthcoming.
‘What?’
‘Jesus you really are dense; I need your help with my sister,’ and Katie crosses her arms in an attempt to be intimidating but it’s not going to work in the slightest.
‘Did you not hear?’ Naomi says faux-nicely, ‘We split up, no…no, she split up with me,’ she says pointedly and raises her eyebrows once like a warning shot.
‘No shit Sherlock - She wants you back,’ Katie swigs from the bottle and grimaces; hands the bottle over to Naomi, they’re both well past the need for mixer at this point.
‘She said that, did she?’
‘Not in so many words,’ Katie shrugs, ‘It’s a fucking twin thing alright, she doesn’t need to say it.’
‘Thanks Katie, but I don’t want her back, so we’ve hit a snag here really, thanks for you time,’ Naomi says the last part staring Katie dead in the eye, and that’s a fucking lesson in intimidation.
‘Well you must be lonely if you’re hanging out with Effy fucking Stonem,’ Katie counters, rather ineffectively.
‘She’s actually a good friend, aside from her excellent aim with a rock,’ Naomi mumbles and Katie looks wounded, and it’s probably the first time Naomi’s wished she could take back something she’s said, honestly and truthfully just unsay the words, then Katie just shrugs it off.
‘You can do a lot better,’ Katie says very quietly and it’s horrible to watch, like someone’s knocked the wind out of her. Naomi shoves the bottle in her hands roughly and Katie nods appreciatively before taking an inhuman gulp. They drink together in silence for a while, and Katie eventually sits on the bed next to her, after evaluating that Naomi probably isn’t going to make a pass at her or whatever.
‘So what’s your genius plan then?’
‘I don’t know do I? When have I ever had a plan?’ Katie laughs, and Naomi begrudgingly laughs along with her.
‘I don’t want to get back with your sister, Katie - She…I don’t think we can undo this,’ Naomi says sadly, and she would like to be capable of that kind of forgiveness, but she’s just not Jesus and she doesn’t have it in her to be that blind in her absolution.
‘Why?’ Katie says stubbornly, like it was her who’d broken up with Naomi.
‘What do you mean why?’ Naomi asks, but is met with nothing but an eye-roll from Katie. ‘I haven’t changed, Katie - I’m not going to…’
‘You’ve been a cunt since day one, babes and Emily’s still on you like a fucking rash.’ Naomi nods because she realises the only person who’s actually changed in this situation is Emily, everything else is exactly as it was a year ago; it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that that’s the issue here. Katie seems satisfied enough with the response she’s gotten and stands up; unruffles the creases in her clothes.
‘Well I’m getting out of here, fucking pronto, before you brainwash me into thinking a poncho is like, acceptable or something…’
‘I don’t own a poncho,’ Naomi says, following Katie to the door.
‘Then there’s hope for you yet, yeah?’ Katie smirks.
‘Any chance of you not being a total cunt in future then Katiekins?’ Naomi asks leaning against the door in a relaxed and over-confident way that is designed purely to piss Katie off.
‘To Emily maybe, but don’t push your fucking luck babe…’ She says directly to Naomi, who just nods, like she didn’t expect anything less from her. ‘I should get a fucking peace prize for this you hopeless hippy cow.’
‘I’ll put a word in,’ Naomi smirks and flips her off, Katie flips her off in turn; it shouldn’t feel like a handshake, but it does.
----
It takes her an entire pot of tea to make the decision of axing Katie from the list, it doesn’t come easily. Naomi can’t deny Katie’s begrudging co-operation though, and eventually her name gets a big red line through it, they’ve finally got something to agree on, even if it was the only thing tying them together in the first place. She gives herself conditions; if the list isn’t done by Monday, she will give up on it completely; she doesn’t know what that means for her and Emily, but it’s probably nothing good.
Naomi tries her hardest to come up with something meaningful, but Emily has an awful way of twisting the bad things into good things without really trying.
Going to lake probably isn’t the best idea, but it’s all she can think of to help her think of something that Emily won’t somehow twist into a plus point. It should surprise her that Emily’s there, but it doesn’t; nothing much surprises her any more. She has far too much pride to either say something or leave, and pushes her bike loudly against the tree to announce her arrival.
‘Thought this was my secret place?’ Emily says in a strange tone, half way between malice and softness. She has her knees drawn to her chest and is looking out at the lake, she gives Naomi the courtesy of turning her head to talk to her, but that’s about it, and she slowly turns back around.
‘Then you should learn how to keep a secret, shouldn’t you?’ Naomi mumbles, and reaches into her bag, withdrawing a packet of cigarettes with a lighter hastily attached by an elastic band. Naomi smokes two cigarettes and looks anywhere but Emily.
‘I’ve missed you, y’know,’ Emily says with a sigh, and doesn’t turn around, which makes her much more unreadable than usual, and it’s not fair; it’s not fair in the slightest.
‘It was your decision, Emily,’ Naomi says in her best cautionary tone, and stares into the back of Emily’s skull wishing it alight.
‘It was never a choice,’ Emily says, spinning round so rapidly Naomi has to stop herself from flinching; there’s rules to this, to their arguing and she’s not about to break one, lest she lose.
‘I never put a gun to your head,’ Naomi says with an eyebrow raise.
‘Didn’t you?’ Emily snaps, and she’s so different, she’s so fucking different from that girl from middle school; Naomi looks at her and it’s not someone she recognises -- her hair’s so bright it’s almost accusatory, and if that has changed in the extremes it forces Naomi to think of all the other unseen things that have no doubt evolved into something strange and unfamiliar. ‘I used to think you were clever,’ Emily says, and it hurts Naomi for whatever unknown reason.
‘Well you were wrong about me in a lot of ways, obviously,’ and Naomi goes as far as to think that she’s missed this, this constant back-and-forth that was once played affectionately and always ended in sex, but it’s changed again (And Naomi begins to doubt the likelihood of anything ever staying the same;) and now it’s cold, and snippy, and almost aggressive.
‘Yeah so you know the capital of Somalia, but you’ve got the emotional intelligence of fucking James, and even he’s had his first girlfriend and not managed to fuck things up quite so royally,’ Emily snaps and leans forward and snatches a cigarette off you, something Old Emily would never have done - It makes Naomi realise just how close they are sitting, or how they’ve slowly been moving closer to one another against their will.
‘I’m sure I’ve fucked up in about a million ways, you’re going to have to be more specific,’ Naomi mutters and looks away, looks at anything that isn’t Emily’s fucking eyes or she’s going to weaken her defences involuntarily, and it will no doubt ruin everything.
‘No!’ Emily almost shouts and Naomi flinches this time, and a flock of blackbirds squawk loudly and flee from the branch they were perching on.
‘Excuse me?’ Naomi says in the closest impersonation of incredulity she can muster.
‘That’s the point, Naomi - If you can’t fucking see where we went wrong before, you’re never going to fucking see it - I don’t want to…I’m not,’ Emily starts and then just sighs. ‘The definition of insanity is repeating the same actions over and over and expecting different results; I’m insane, Naomi - I don’t want to be insane any more. I’m not saying that I’m never going to make another mistake again, but for once I’d like to make a mistake that I learn from instead of just repeating, and repeating, and, oh you fucking get the point…’ Emily huffs and turns away again, like looking at Naomi would in itself be something regrettable.
‘Well I’m glad you’re so invested in your psychology homework,’ Naomi says snidely, because she can’t possibly win, and a cheap shot is her only option. It hurts her, a weird throbbing pain that clenches between her ribs, it’s a pain of recognition, the pain of knowing defeat; their relationship was horribly cyclical, the almost scheduled push and pull of it, the stasis that was married to the step forward, and the reluctant, yet inevitable step back. It taunts her how their relationship never changed, existed in a tiny frozen world away from everyone else, and even time itself, and how it always seemed like a good thing, like a constant - and now everything has morphed and changed so rapidly away from the starting point, that it seems ridiculous that they didn’t see the flaws earlier - Things have to change, Naomi thinks, or they just can’t keep up.
‘You haven’t fucking changed a bit,’ Emily says quietly, and shakes her head, and Naomi feels like she’s let Emily down, like she’s failed an exam she didn’t even know she was sitting. There’s a silence that lasts seven minutes, Naomi counts the revolutions on her watch before she says something.
‘When I was eleven, I had this group of friends at school and we used to have mud wars against the boys and catch insects, and we were sure, dead fucking certain we were all going to be explorers, and we’d lead a mission to discover a new island no one had ever ever seen before and live there together like the Swiss Family Robinson or some shite,’ Naomi mutters and smokes some more, Emily is looking at her with a tentative smile and something like interest so she continues.
‘And then summer holidays came and it was the big one right? The one before we’d all go to big-school, and we were going to have all sorts of adventures and stuff, and Mum decided that we should have a family adventure with her new hippy boyfriend who was called fucking Basil or Parsley or some other fucking ridiculous name he got off a spice rack, and we went to live in a tipi in Wales for six weeks.’ Emily looks a little apprehensive about just where this story is going, but nods for Naomi to continue, and it’s something positive, at least, even if Naomi’s almost forgotten the point of this story herself.
‘It was almost an adventure - I just learned to have adventures on my own, how to be friends with adults, really fucking irresponsible adults who taught me how to use a bow and arrow, but mostly I just went for walks on my own, and sometimes I’d miss my friends a bit and really wanted them to write but how the fuck would they address it? Naomi Campbell, Some Fucking Forest, Wales? And then mum and fucking Sage had a row about him bunking up with some minger with hairy armpits in tipi twelve, and we came home. It was great at first, I could have given a shit that mum was in one of those weird moods where she accidentally put vinegar on my bran flakes and slept until Emmerdale, but I didn’t because I was going to have some fucking fabulous adventures with my mates, except when I got back they weren’t my mates any more, they weren’t even the same people, they were talking about boys, and reading Sugar Magazine, and going to the cinema to see films about sex with jokes in they wouldn’t even get the punchlines of until about 2003.’
‘Your point?’
‘I don’t like it -being left behind-- I don’t like going away and coming back to find that everything’s fucking changed except you y’know? And that’s what this feels like, except I’ve not been anywhere and one day I just woke up and everything was fucking different; everything but me.’ Naomi says sadly, and is painfully aware it’s the most she’s ever spoken but she’s sick of it, never having any words to say anything, never painting the right pictures, but it’s all she has left - It’s the only feeling in all of this that she recognises.
‘Ever think that maybe you’re the problem? That you’re the common factor in all of this?’ Emily asks, and Naomi remembers when Emily never spoke, and was a bit of a doormat, maybe a bit of that Emily would be nice right now.
‘So everything’s my fault? There’s loads of stuff that’s changed irreversibly that’s completely out of my fucking hands…’
‘Change is good,’ Emily says very plainly.
‘Oh fuck off, don’t give me that shit Emily - Do you get all your fucking endless wisdom off T-shirts? What next? Are you going to tell me Shit Happens?’
‘Shit does happen, Naomi and you’ve got to fucking adapt - When I was eleven we were at the supermarket with mum, and she asked us if we wanted any ice-cream, and Katie said we wanted chocolate, and I stood up really tall and said actually I fucking hate chocolate and I would like strawberry, and mum just shrugged and said she could just get neopolitan and carried on shopping, but Katie gave me this horrible look like, how dare I like a different ice-cream flavour from her, and it hurt like hell; still, I’m glad I got used to it, it’s the only fucking look she gives me these days.’
‘Right is Jackanory fucking done for the day? Because I’ve got shit to do,’ Naomi mutters.
‘Oh fuck off, you started this with your little fucking woodland retreat allegory which was about as thinly veiled as some Katie’s fucking knickers you cunt…’
‘I was trying to fucking explain myself to you, not that you ever fucking attempt to understand a word that comes out of my mouth, I may as well be speaking fucking Hindi.’
‘Don’t fucking say I never tried with you Naomi, I made excuses for all of your shitty behaviour until one day there just weren’t anymore excuses to make, I literally couldn’t think of one good reason to put up with your hot and cold bull shit for one more fucking day…’ Ignorance is a strange thing, Naomi had literally ignored it until it hits her square in the chest and she just looks at Emily, as if waiting for instructions on what to do next.
‘Naomi I don’t want to argue with you…’
‘Then don’t,’ Naomi counters and Emily’s lips are on hers before she’s even finished the words and she’s been pinned to the ground in a kiss that feels more like a tackle than anything else. Naomi’s made thousands of mistakes, the majority of them not even in the last year or so, but this mistake sets itself apart purely in awareness; all the other mistakes seemed like a good idea at the time, but this one, she just can’t tell - she can’t differentiate between whether this will bridge the gap or tear them apart; it doesn’t feel like a good idea, but it’s a mistake she wants to make regardless.
The regret isn’t as instant as she thought it would be, she puts it off until morning, in that strange grey light of dawn when she hears a bike clatter.
‘What the fuck?’ She mumbles sleepily, and looks up to see Emily mounting her bike.
‘Adapt or get left behind Naomi,’ Emily says in shockingly harsh tone that seems to even surprise herself.
‘How very Darwinian of you,’ Naomi mutters.
‘It was never a choice. I thought you might understand that - If you ever…oh forget it, If I hold my breath for you Naomi, I’ll turn fucking blue…’ and with that Emily cycles off until Naomi can’t see her any longer.
‘Be brave,’ Naomi mutters to herself mockingly and lights her last cigarette. ‘And want me back…’
----
How To Win A War.
It’s one of Roundview’s more inspired projects, and usually she’d probably find some moral reason to object, dozens maybe, but she just sniffs loudly and stares at the paper. She spends her free time in the library researching war statistics, military wins, famous wars, epic defeats, and the causes of war. By the time she’s waiting in the queue to give her presentation though, all she can think of is stupid Emily and her stupid obsession with that woman who was in all those films before Emily was even born, and that one with the computer:
‘The only winning move is not to play,’ She mumbles to herself and puts her presentation back in her bag.
‘The only certain way to win a war is to not participate in the first place,’ she states clearly then sits back down. The teacher smiles but casts her a slightly threatening ‘See me after class,’ and Naomi sighs and stares out the window and waits for her cigarette break.
‘I see where you were going with it, but you’ve failed to understand what was asked,’ Rose says and looks at Naomi over the rim of her glasses, and as a rule Naomi actually likes Rose, she’s old and a little eccentric, and she seems to actually know what she’s talking about most of the time - which seems to be a rare quality in the Roundview tutors.
‘I haven’t failed to understand anything…’ Naomi says bluntly.
‘The project was about how to win a war, and I think you’ll agree you have to be in it to win it…’
‘That’s the lottery.’
‘Yes, certainly, well, still applicable, no?’ Naomi nods ruefully.
‘You can’t win a war, not really…’ Naomi says chewing on a nail.
‘So World War Two wasn’t a success in your books then?’ Rose asks and finally sits down, takes a tin from her pocket and starts rolling a cigarette.
‘No. Too many casualties.’
‘So Hitler would have made a good world leader in your opinion?’
‘Alright…alright, I get your point,’ Naomi sighs and swings her legs off the table.
‘Some things are worth fighting for it would seem,’ Rose says, and licks the paper carefully.
‘Name one.’
‘Belief, freedom, equality…love, I dare say,’ she smiles and puts the cigarette behind her ear. ‘When you fight for what you believe; when you write your Amnesty letters, when you boycott sweatshops and what have you, you’re waging a war, Naomi.’
‘I’ve never thought about it like that,’ Naomi says and kicks herself off the table.
‘Clearly - Remember that some things are worth getting hurt over - It helps to have another point of view. Anyway I feel we’re not talking about socio-economic change anymore, and that’s not really my area of expertise - Hand in your research, and I won’t fail you.’ Naomi nods, and follows Rose out.
----
‘Oh, you’re not a completely hopeless case then,’ Katie says, answering the door and looking her up and down.
‘I’m flattered - I think.’
‘Don’t be - I was betting against you, you twat,’ Katie’s smile lasts long enough for Naomi to know that she’s done good, but is fleeting enough to tell Naomi that one gesture isn’t going to change everything. ‘I’ll get her - You better fuck off anyway, the pair of you, Mum’s in the shower…’
‘Right,’ Naomi nods, and waits. Emily’s face looks confused at Naomi’s presence in her doorway, and Naomi realises just how much she’s fucked Emily over that she didn’t think Naomi was capable of apologies, and that any kind of redemption was utterly hopeless, then Emily just smiles quietly, undoes it all and closes the door behind her.
‘Naomi, this doesn’t…’
‘Fix everything, I know, but I was hoping it fixes something.’ Emily grins and threads her fingers into Naomi’s.
‘I got you this - It’s your favourite right?’ Naomi says, and hands over a tub of strawberry ice cream.
‘Can we eat in the bunker?’ Emily asks. The bunker is the name Emily gave to Naomi’s bed when they play ‘Nuclear Wars,’ - a slightly morbid game of Emily’s invention where they pull the duvet over their heads and read by torchlight, play twenty questions, or listen to music (and if Naomi’s being honest, more often than not, they fuck); and they pretend they’re the only people left on earth and no one else can get to them. Sometimes it stifles Naomi, and it all gets too much, then all she has to do is pull back the duvet, and the outside world exists again.
‘Look I got this - for reading,’ Emily says and holds up her keys to show Naomi a dangling pig keyring with lights beaming out of its nostrils. Naomi smiles gently.
The rest of the walk passes quietly, in a comfortable silence that Naomi has missed.
‘I’ll get the tea,’ Naomi says and Emily goes upstairs, and when she goes back upstairs, Emily’s face is sticking out of the side of the duvet.
‘Are you coming or not? This war’s not going to declare itself,’ Emily says and gives Naomi a cheeky grin.
‘Obviously,’ Naomi says, and climbs inside.
Sorry it's so late.
1. Showers.
Emily likes showers because they're quicker, and she doesn't like “sitting in her own filth”; Naomi likes baths because everyone is in a rush these days, and it's not that much of a problem to get up ten minutes earlier to run a bath.
Naomi sets the pen down beside the pad of paper and sighs. It's a start. She goes to run a bath just to prove a point; soaks in it and tries to think of the other eleven things she's set herself as homework. It shouldn't be this hard to think of reasons they were doomed, because they were so hopelessly one-legged and uneven from the start; the very definition of incompatibility, but it never seemed to matter when they needed it to most.
Mrs Fitch almost makes the list, but they were doomed long before she became an issue, and any new girl that Emily fucks isn’t going to manage to put a spanner in Mrs Fitch's Straight Daughter Plan any more than Naomi could have, even if she tried - if she'd had the time to try. Her day teeters dangerously on the edge of moping so she calls Effy.
'Moping again?'
'Something like that.'
'I’ve got drugs and a bottle of vodka.’
'Please,' Naomi says, and hangs up, and she likes that talking to Effy requires very little words and very little effort, because as much as Naomi likes using her voice, there's nothing worse than talking for the sake of talking. Emily likes to talk sometimes, when it's not needed - that should go on the list, probably.
----
She feels like she’s been rescued. It's a stupid thing to be thinking, she wasn't in any clear and present danger, she wasn't lost at sea or anything --no matter how adrift she fucking felt-- she didn’t need rescuing - It doesn’t stop things from feeling that way. And life without Emily is a bit like magic eye, once someone shows you the picture, you can never ever stop seeing it - Though to Naomi’s merit she has gotten better at not noticing things in shops that Emily might like, or indeed spotting something leopard print and immediately thinking of Katie.
2. Katie Fucking Fitch.
Katie makes the list indefinitely, the stupid closed mind bullying control-freak bitch, Naomi thinks, but just writes Katie fucking Fitch instead (out of laziness), like it’s her unofficial middle name and it may as well be. She makes the list solely for the sheer amount of times Katie has inadvertently (or purposefully for that matter) minge-blocked her, or because she steals Emily’s things, Emily’s things that Naomi bought her, or for…whatever, it doesn’t matter; Katie was against them from the start; she makes the list for being the only person who is glad that this is over, other than Emily who would probably be tap dancing on Naomi’s grave were she to die. It’s probably why it’s such a shock that when the doorbell rings and her mum shouts “It’s for you - It’s not Emily, it’s the other one…” and Naomi bounds down the stairs in disbelief.
‘Do you have your own room or do you all just sleep in baskets on the floor or something?’ Katie asks and thrusts a bottle of vodka in her hand. 'Get us some glasses, and some mixer --I'm not fucking Emily, I can't drink this shit straight-- Oh, and ice if you hippie slags have actually heard of a freezer, yeah, I know it's a big ask - So where's your room or your basket...whatever.' and Naomi just staggers roughly towards the kitchen and says hoarsely ‘First on the left, top of the stairs,’ and Katie nods.
‘Do I fucking want to know?’ Katie says, and points at the hand drawn list on the wall. ‘List of your sexual fantasies?’ Katie smirks, and grabs the cup off her, taking a swig and spitting it back into the cup. ‘What the fuck is this? It tastes like piss - I’d rather drink it straight.’
‘It’s elderflower cordial,’ Naomi says quietly, and Katie goes back to staring-out the Nelson Mandela poster or whatever the fuck she’s doing. ‘Why are you here?’
‘Aren’t you meant to be like, clever?’ Katie says and it’s definitely more of an accusation than a compliment.
‘Tell me what you want,’ Naomi sighs and sits down on the bed and sips at her vodka and elderflower, and god, it does taste like piss but she’s not about to go giving Katie credit where credit’s due now.
‘My sister, thicko,’ Katie says and takes another grimacing sip of her drink.
‘Oh fuck off, really - It’s fucking bad enough, thanks. I don’t need you to come here making things worse,’ Naomi sighs and doesn’t want to look at her, so just looks at her socks instead.
‘Oh shit. This…fuck’s sake,’ Katie mutters and downs the rest of her drink before mumbling, ‘I need your help.’ Naomi wants to point out the great number of things that are inherently wrong about the situation, but she mainly just wants to know why the fuck Katie’s here, and failing that still here, when she’s being anything but forthcoming.
‘What?’
‘Jesus you really are dense; I need your help with my sister,’ and Katie crosses her arms in an attempt to be intimidating but it’s not going to work in the slightest.
‘Did you not hear?’ Naomi says faux-nicely, ‘We split up, no…no, she split up with me,’ she says pointedly and raises her eyebrows once like a warning shot.
‘No shit Sherlock - She wants you back,’ Katie swigs from the bottle and grimaces; hands the bottle over to Naomi, they’re both well past the need for mixer at this point.
‘She said that, did she?’
‘Not in so many words,’ Katie shrugs, ‘It’s a fucking twin thing alright, she doesn’t need to say it.’
‘Thanks Katie, but I don’t want her back, so we’ve hit a snag here really, thanks for you time,’ Naomi says the last part staring Katie dead in the eye, and that’s a fucking lesson in intimidation.
‘Well you must be lonely if you’re hanging out with Effy fucking Stonem,’ Katie counters, rather ineffectively.
‘She’s actually a good friend, aside from her excellent aim with a rock,’ Naomi mumbles and Katie looks wounded, and it’s probably the first time Naomi’s wished she could take back something she’s said, honestly and truthfully just unsay the words, then Katie just shrugs it off.
‘You can do a lot better,’ Katie says very quietly and it’s horrible to watch, like someone’s knocked the wind out of her. Naomi shoves the bottle in her hands roughly and Katie nods appreciatively before taking an inhuman gulp. They drink together in silence for a while, and Katie eventually sits on the bed next to her, after evaluating that Naomi probably isn’t going to make a pass at her or whatever.
‘So what’s your genius plan then?’
‘I don’t know do I? When have I ever had a plan?’ Katie laughs, and Naomi begrudgingly laughs along with her.
‘I don’t want to get back with your sister, Katie - She…I don’t think we can undo this,’ Naomi says sadly, and she would like to be capable of that kind of forgiveness, but she’s just not Jesus and she doesn’t have it in her to be that blind in her absolution.
‘Why?’ Katie says stubbornly, like it was her who’d broken up with Naomi.
‘What do you mean why?’ Naomi asks, but is met with nothing but an eye-roll from Katie. ‘I haven’t changed, Katie - I’m not going to…’
‘You’ve been a cunt since day one, babes and Emily’s still on you like a fucking rash.’ Naomi nods because she realises the only person who’s actually changed in this situation is Emily, everything else is exactly as it was a year ago; it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that that’s the issue here. Katie seems satisfied enough with the response she’s gotten and stands up; unruffles the creases in her clothes.
‘Well I’m getting out of here, fucking pronto, before you brainwash me into thinking a poncho is like, acceptable or something…’
‘I don’t own a poncho,’ Naomi says, following Katie to the door.
‘Then there’s hope for you yet, yeah?’ Katie smirks.
‘Any chance of you not being a total cunt in future then Katiekins?’ Naomi asks leaning against the door in a relaxed and over-confident way that is designed purely to piss Katie off.
‘To Emily maybe, but don’t push your fucking luck babe…’ She says directly to Naomi, who just nods, like she didn’t expect anything less from her. ‘I should get a fucking peace prize for this you hopeless hippy cow.’
‘I’ll put a word in,’ Naomi smirks and flips her off, Katie flips her off in turn; it shouldn’t feel like a handshake, but it does.
----
It takes her an entire pot of tea to make the decision of axing Katie from the list, it doesn’t come easily. Naomi can’t deny Katie’s begrudging co-operation though, and eventually her name gets a big red line through it, they’ve finally got something to agree on, even if it was the only thing tying them together in the first place. She gives herself conditions; if the list isn’t done by Monday, she will give up on it completely; she doesn’t know what that means for her and Emily, but it’s probably nothing good.
Naomi tries her hardest to come up with something meaningful, but Emily has an awful way of twisting the bad things into good things without really trying.
Going to lake probably isn’t the best idea, but it’s all she can think of to help her think of something that Emily won’t somehow twist into a plus point. It should surprise her that Emily’s there, but it doesn’t; nothing much surprises her any more. She has far too much pride to either say something or leave, and pushes her bike loudly against the tree to announce her arrival.
‘Thought this was my secret place?’ Emily says in a strange tone, half way between malice and softness. She has her knees drawn to her chest and is looking out at the lake, she gives Naomi the courtesy of turning her head to talk to her, but that’s about it, and she slowly turns back around.
‘Then you should learn how to keep a secret, shouldn’t you?’ Naomi mumbles, and reaches into her bag, withdrawing a packet of cigarettes with a lighter hastily attached by an elastic band. Naomi smokes two cigarettes and looks anywhere but Emily.
‘I’ve missed you, y’know,’ Emily says with a sigh, and doesn’t turn around, which makes her much more unreadable than usual, and it’s not fair; it’s not fair in the slightest.
‘It was your decision, Emily,’ Naomi says in her best cautionary tone, and stares into the back of Emily’s skull wishing it alight.
‘It was never a choice,’ Emily says, spinning round so rapidly Naomi has to stop herself from flinching; there’s rules to this, to their arguing and she’s not about to break one, lest she lose.
‘I never put a gun to your head,’ Naomi says with an eyebrow raise.
‘Didn’t you?’ Emily snaps, and she’s so different, she’s so fucking different from that girl from middle school; Naomi looks at her and it’s not someone she recognises -- her hair’s so bright it’s almost accusatory, and if that has changed in the extremes it forces Naomi to think of all the other unseen things that have no doubt evolved into something strange and unfamiliar. ‘I used to think you were clever,’ Emily says, and it hurts Naomi for whatever unknown reason.
‘Well you were wrong about me in a lot of ways, obviously,’ and Naomi goes as far as to think that she’s missed this, this constant back-and-forth that was once played affectionately and always ended in sex, but it’s changed again (And Naomi begins to doubt the likelihood of anything ever staying the same;) and now it’s cold, and snippy, and almost aggressive.
‘Yeah so you know the capital of Somalia, but you’ve got the emotional intelligence of fucking James, and even he’s had his first girlfriend and not managed to fuck things up quite so royally,’ Emily snaps and leans forward and snatches a cigarette off you, something Old Emily would never have done - It makes Naomi realise just how close they are sitting, or how they’ve slowly been moving closer to one another against their will.
‘I’m sure I’ve fucked up in about a million ways, you’re going to have to be more specific,’ Naomi mutters and looks away, looks at anything that isn’t Emily’s fucking eyes or she’s going to weaken her defences involuntarily, and it will no doubt ruin everything.
‘No!’ Emily almost shouts and Naomi flinches this time, and a flock of blackbirds squawk loudly and flee from the branch they were perching on.
‘Excuse me?’ Naomi says in the closest impersonation of incredulity she can muster.
‘That’s the point, Naomi - If you can’t fucking see where we went wrong before, you’re never going to fucking see it - I don’t want to…I’m not,’ Emily starts and then just sighs. ‘The definition of insanity is repeating the same actions over and over and expecting different results; I’m insane, Naomi - I don’t want to be insane any more. I’m not saying that I’m never going to make another mistake again, but for once I’d like to make a mistake that I learn from instead of just repeating, and repeating, and, oh you fucking get the point…’ Emily huffs and turns away again, like looking at Naomi would in itself be something regrettable.
‘Well I’m glad you’re so invested in your psychology homework,’ Naomi says snidely, because she can’t possibly win, and a cheap shot is her only option. It hurts her, a weird throbbing pain that clenches between her ribs, it’s a pain of recognition, the pain of knowing defeat; their relationship was horribly cyclical, the almost scheduled push and pull of it, the stasis that was married to the step forward, and the reluctant, yet inevitable step back. It taunts her how their relationship never changed, existed in a tiny frozen world away from everyone else, and even time itself, and how it always seemed like a good thing, like a constant - and now everything has morphed and changed so rapidly away from the starting point, that it seems ridiculous that they didn’t see the flaws earlier - Things have to change, Naomi thinks, or they just can’t keep up.
‘You haven’t fucking changed a bit,’ Emily says quietly, and shakes her head, and Naomi feels like she’s let Emily down, like she’s failed an exam she didn’t even know she was sitting. There’s a silence that lasts seven minutes, Naomi counts the revolutions on her watch before she says something.
‘When I was eleven, I had this group of friends at school and we used to have mud wars against the boys and catch insects, and we were sure, dead fucking certain we were all going to be explorers, and we’d lead a mission to discover a new island no one had ever ever seen before and live there together like the Swiss Family Robinson or some shite,’ Naomi mutters and smokes some more, Emily is looking at her with a tentative smile and something like interest so she continues.
‘And then summer holidays came and it was the big one right? The one before we’d all go to big-school, and we were going to have all sorts of adventures and stuff, and Mum decided that we should have a family adventure with her new hippy boyfriend who was called fucking Basil or Parsley or some other fucking ridiculous name he got off a spice rack, and we went to live in a tipi in Wales for six weeks.’ Emily looks a little apprehensive about just where this story is going, but nods for Naomi to continue, and it’s something positive, at least, even if Naomi’s almost forgotten the point of this story herself.
‘It was almost an adventure - I just learned to have adventures on my own, how to be friends with adults, really fucking irresponsible adults who taught me how to use a bow and arrow, but mostly I just went for walks on my own, and sometimes I’d miss my friends a bit and really wanted them to write but how the fuck would they address it? Naomi Campbell, Some Fucking Forest, Wales? And then mum and fucking Sage had a row about him bunking up with some minger with hairy armpits in tipi twelve, and we came home. It was great at first, I could have given a shit that mum was in one of those weird moods where she accidentally put vinegar on my bran flakes and slept until Emmerdale, but I didn’t because I was going to have some fucking fabulous adventures with my mates, except when I got back they weren’t my mates any more, they weren’t even the same people, they were talking about boys, and reading Sugar Magazine, and going to the cinema to see films about sex with jokes in they wouldn’t even get the punchlines of until about 2003.’
‘Your point?’
‘I don’t like it -being left behind-- I don’t like going away and coming back to find that everything’s fucking changed except you y’know? And that’s what this feels like, except I’ve not been anywhere and one day I just woke up and everything was fucking different; everything but me.’ Naomi says sadly, and is painfully aware it’s the most she’s ever spoken but she’s sick of it, never having any words to say anything, never painting the right pictures, but it’s all she has left - It’s the only feeling in all of this that she recognises.
‘Ever think that maybe you’re the problem? That you’re the common factor in all of this?’ Emily asks, and Naomi remembers when Emily never spoke, and was a bit of a doormat, maybe a bit of that Emily would be nice right now.
‘So everything’s my fault? There’s loads of stuff that’s changed irreversibly that’s completely out of my fucking hands…’
‘Change is good,’ Emily says very plainly.
‘Oh fuck off, don’t give me that shit Emily - Do you get all your fucking endless wisdom off T-shirts? What next? Are you going to tell me Shit Happens?’
‘Shit does happen, Naomi and you’ve got to fucking adapt - When I was eleven we were at the supermarket with mum, and she asked us if we wanted any ice-cream, and Katie said we wanted chocolate, and I stood up really tall and said actually I fucking hate chocolate and I would like strawberry, and mum just shrugged and said she could just get neopolitan and carried on shopping, but Katie gave me this horrible look like, how dare I like a different ice-cream flavour from her, and it hurt like hell; still, I’m glad I got used to it, it’s the only fucking look she gives me these days.’
‘Right is Jackanory fucking done for the day? Because I’ve got shit to do,’ Naomi mutters.
‘Oh fuck off, you started this with your little fucking woodland retreat allegory which was about as thinly veiled as some Katie’s fucking knickers you cunt…’
‘I was trying to fucking explain myself to you, not that you ever fucking attempt to understand a word that comes out of my mouth, I may as well be speaking fucking Hindi.’
‘Don’t fucking say I never tried with you Naomi, I made excuses for all of your shitty behaviour until one day there just weren’t anymore excuses to make, I literally couldn’t think of one good reason to put up with your hot and cold bull shit for one more fucking day…’ Ignorance is a strange thing, Naomi had literally ignored it until it hits her square in the chest and she just looks at Emily, as if waiting for instructions on what to do next.
‘Naomi I don’t want to argue with you…’
‘Then don’t,’ Naomi counters and Emily’s lips are on hers before she’s even finished the words and she’s been pinned to the ground in a kiss that feels more like a tackle than anything else. Naomi’s made thousands of mistakes, the majority of them not even in the last year or so, but this mistake sets itself apart purely in awareness; all the other mistakes seemed like a good idea at the time, but this one, she just can’t tell - she can’t differentiate between whether this will bridge the gap or tear them apart; it doesn’t feel like a good idea, but it’s a mistake she wants to make regardless.
The regret isn’t as instant as she thought it would be, she puts it off until morning, in that strange grey light of dawn when she hears a bike clatter.
‘What the fuck?’ She mumbles sleepily, and looks up to see Emily mounting her bike.
‘Adapt or get left behind Naomi,’ Emily says in shockingly harsh tone that seems to even surprise herself.
‘How very Darwinian of you,’ Naomi mutters.
‘It was never a choice. I thought you might understand that - If you ever…oh forget it, If I hold my breath for you Naomi, I’ll turn fucking blue…’ and with that Emily cycles off until Naomi can’t see her any longer.
‘Be brave,’ Naomi mutters to herself mockingly and lights her last cigarette. ‘And want me back…’
----
How To Win A War.
It’s one of Roundview’s more inspired projects, and usually she’d probably find some moral reason to object, dozens maybe, but she just sniffs loudly and stares at the paper. She spends her free time in the library researching war statistics, military wins, famous wars, epic defeats, and the causes of war. By the time she’s waiting in the queue to give her presentation though, all she can think of is stupid Emily and her stupid obsession with that woman who was in all those films before Emily was even born, and that one with the computer:
‘The only winning move is not to play,’ She mumbles to herself and puts her presentation back in her bag.
‘The only certain way to win a war is to not participate in the first place,’ she states clearly then sits back down. The teacher smiles but casts her a slightly threatening ‘See me after class,’ and Naomi sighs and stares out the window and waits for her cigarette break.
‘I see where you were going with it, but you’ve failed to understand what was asked,’ Rose says and looks at Naomi over the rim of her glasses, and as a rule Naomi actually likes Rose, she’s old and a little eccentric, and she seems to actually know what she’s talking about most of the time - which seems to be a rare quality in the Roundview tutors.
‘I haven’t failed to understand anything…’ Naomi says bluntly.
‘The project was about how to win a war, and I think you’ll agree you have to be in it to win it…’
‘That’s the lottery.’
‘Yes, certainly, well, still applicable, no?’ Naomi nods ruefully.
‘You can’t win a war, not really…’ Naomi says chewing on a nail.
‘So World War Two wasn’t a success in your books then?’ Rose asks and finally sits down, takes a tin from her pocket and starts rolling a cigarette.
‘No. Too many casualties.’
‘So Hitler would have made a good world leader in your opinion?’
‘Alright…alright, I get your point,’ Naomi sighs and swings her legs off the table.
‘Some things are worth fighting for it would seem,’ Rose says, and licks the paper carefully.
‘Name one.’
‘Belief, freedom, equality…love, I dare say,’ she smiles and puts the cigarette behind her ear. ‘When you fight for what you believe; when you write your Amnesty letters, when you boycott sweatshops and what have you, you’re waging a war, Naomi.’
‘I’ve never thought about it like that,’ Naomi says and kicks herself off the table.
‘Clearly - Remember that some things are worth getting hurt over - It helps to have another point of view. Anyway I feel we’re not talking about socio-economic change anymore, and that’s not really my area of expertise - Hand in your research, and I won’t fail you.’ Naomi nods, and follows Rose out.
----
‘Oh, you’re not a completely hopeless case then,’ Katie says, answering the door and looking her up and down.
‘I’m flattered - I think.’
‘Don’t be - I was betting against you, you twat,’ Katie’s smile lasts long enough for Naomi to know that she’s done good, but is fleeting enough to tell Naomi that one gesture isn’t going to change everything. ‘I’ll get her - You better fuck off anyway, the pair of you, Mum’s in the shower…’
‘Right,’ Naomi nods, and waits. Emily’s face looks confused at Naomi’s presence in her doorway, and Naomi realises just how much she’s fucked Emily over that she didn’t think Naomi was capable of apologies, and that any kind of redemption was utterly hopeless, then Emily just smiles quietly, undoes it all and closes the door behind her.
‘Naomi, this doesn’t…’
‘Fix everything, I know, but I was hoping it fixes something.’ Emily grins and threads her fingers into Naomi’s.
‘I got you this - It’s your favourite right?’ Naomi says, and hands over a tub of strawberry ice cream.
‘Can we eat in the bunker?’ Emily asks. The bunker is the name Emily gave to Naomi’s bed when they play ‘Nuclear Wars,’ - a slightly morbid game of Emily’s invention where they pull the duvet over their heads and read by torchlight, play twenty questions, or listen to music (and if Naomi’s being honest, more often than not, they fuck); and they pretend they’re the only people left on earth and no one else can get to them. Sometimes it stifles Naomi, and it all gets too much, then all she has to do is pull back the duvet, and the outside world exists again.
‘Look I got this - for reading,’ Emily says and holds up her keys to show Naomi a dangling pig keyring with lights beaming out of its nostrils. Naomi smiles gently.
The rest of the walk passes quietly, in a comfortable silence that Naomi has missed.
‘I’ll get the tea,’ Naomi says and Emily goes upstairs, and when she goes back upstairs, Emily’s face is sticking out of the side of the duvet.
‘Are you coming or not? This war’s not going to declare itself,’ Emily says and gives Naomi a cheeky grin.
‘Obviously,’ Naomi says, and climbs inside.