shout if you wanna get off the ride
This was written for lastficauthor, with the prompt 'chess piece' (literal or metaphorical) and I wrote, of course, Skins - but from Sophia's POV. Most of my comments were good; got a couple saying I didn't answer the prompt, and that makes sense, I think I made it a bit too subtle. Anyway, without further ado:
"I had to tell a lie to come here," Naomi says suddenly. There aren't fireworks going off beneath her eyelids, there are bombs. [Sophia (Sophia/Naomi, Emily/Naomi), Skins, PG-13]
shout if you wanna get off the ride
“Sophia,” her mother begins conversationally over dinner, “there’s an open day Saturday, at Goldsmiths. I want you to go.”
Sophia sits forward, her shoulders hunched, eyes downcast. Her fork stabs aimlessly at her food. She tries to speak but her tongue feels severed.
“I know you want to be an artist,” her mother continues, “but that’s nonsense. I’m sure you’re good at plenty else. Art is not an acceptable career choice, I’m afraid. Look at your father - he was noble, a good man - sacrificing his life for his country-”
Her bones are brittle and weak under her skin, tired and compact, like sandcastles; she’s waiting for them to crumble, to be swept away by the tide. She is waiting to be nothing at all.
She searches her throat with her hand, swallowing once. She finds her voice. “I know, mum,” she replies wearily, glancing at the framed photo hanging above the mantle. “I know.”
“Maybe you’ll find it useful.”
“Fat chance,” Sophia mutters under her breath. “Sounds good, mum,” she says louder, rubbing at her eyes. “I think I’ll go to bed.”
“Good night, dear, see you in the morning.”
She dreams of stars that night, and she is the sun, with great clusters of galaxies pulsing beneath her fingertips, the solar system circling slowly around her heart; oceans, miles of boundless, expansive sea, blue waves tipped in pastel foam, crashing against daunting cliffs, their lines etched in dark streaks of charcoal; horses, grazing on hilltops, breaking into a gallop over grassy plains and rugged miles of dirt, kicking up showers of dust behind them with their hooves-
Sophia dreams of freedom.
---
So she’s at this stupid open day.
She’s looking around - she’s not even fucking sure what she’s actually supposed to be doing here - and her eyes skim past the throngs of excited teenagers, giggling and happy until-
-she recognizes someone. She taps their shoulder.
The girl turns around.
“Aren’t you - don’t you go to Roundview?” Sophia asks, feeling foolish. She switches her weight to her left foot, bringing up a fingernail to worry between her teeth.
“Yeah,” the girl says, sounding surprised. “I’m Naomi. You’re there as well?”
“Yeah,” Sophia says, relief flooding through her. “Yeah, I’m Sophia.”
“Well then,” Naomi says, “It’s nearly over, anyway. Why don’t we talk for a bit, and then get the fuck out of here?”
Sophia smiles. It’s honest.
---
“She wants to go to Mexico,” Naomi’s telling her on the train, her head thrown back against the seat, eyes closed. Sophia notices the pale lines of her collarbone and the smoothness of her neck. “Take a year off. And I - I want more than that, you know? I want to study and be someone, someone who fights for things; there are issues-”
“Like?” Sophia says, wishing she could listen to the girl talk forever.
Naomi doesn’t answer, and lapses into careful silence.
Sophia waits.
“I had to tell a lie to come here,” Naomi says suddenly, interrupting her own train of thought.
Sophia looks over. She grabs the seat with both of her hands, feeling her palms press against the plastic.
Naomi switches her gaze to staring out the window.
“Oh,” Sophia says. She glances down. Their hands are so close, fingers nearly touching - she could move her hand right now and place it on top of Naomi’s, to comfort her-
Naomi gets there first. She takes Sophia’s hand, linking their fingers together. “This is my stop,” she says coyly. “Do you want to - come?”
Sophia blushes, but she’s having so much fun, and Naomi is so, so lovely, she can’t refuse-
Naomi opens the door to her house, and slams Sophia against the wall, kissing her fiercely; her hands go to Sophia’s waist, pushing her shirt up, finding the button on her shorts, and Sophia’s breathless, her knees buckling, and there aren’t fireworks going off beneath her eyelids, there are bombs - Hiroshima - nuclear missiles, clouds of black smoke in the shape of mushrooms, ash raining down for hundreds of miles-
This isn’t passion. This is an explosion. This is the moment where two people destroy themselves, and everyone in their path.
---
(I’m showing her, Naomi murmurs in her sleep. Emily can’t control me.
Sophia doesn’t hear.)
---
You don’t expect stuff to just happen, Sophia writes later, sketching it out in a little book.
She never wants to forget this.
I should’ve told Naomi how easy it is for me to love someone.
---
The last time she sees Naomi she is at a club - it’s someone’s birthday, she doesn’t know whose - she took some pills, bought them from Naomi in the first place - and now she’s stumbling up the stairs, one hand held to her head, and there’s Naomi, leaning against the side, kissing a pretty redheaded girl and giggling every so often, and they look like the two happiest people on earth-
It makes her sick.
She trips up to the balcony, and looks down on the pack of movement, the dancing, grinding bodies - lifts herself onto the railing - and then-
Falling, she thinks, falling feels like flying.
And then she hits the ground.
---
Posters are set up around the school, in memoriam.
Emily notices her looking on the second day.
“It’s horrible, isn’t it,” she says, after allowing Naomi a minute of silence. “It’s horrible.”
“Yeah,” Naomi agrees, her voice a bruise in the back of her throat.
“Her mother,” Emily continues, turning away - her life is already moving on. “How could her mother not have realized?”
“That’s just how it is sometimes, Em,” Naomi murmurs, staring at the flyer, her heart contracting painfully in her chest. “People use other people. People get hurt. People change and forget to tell each other.”
“Well,” Emily says after a moment, and tugs on her hand, “it’s got nothing to do with us, yeah? Come on. We’ll be late for class.”
“Yeah,” Naomi echoes, following after her, dragging Sophia’s memory like a chain. “Yeah.”
"I had to tell a lie to come here," Naomi says suddenly. There aren't fireworks going off beneath her eyelids, there are bombs. [Sophia (Sophia/Naomi, Emily/Naomi), Skins, PG-13]
shout if you wanna get off the ride
“Sophia,” her mother begins conversationally over dinner, “there’s an open day Saturday, at Goldsmiths. I want you to go.”
Sophia sits forward, her shoulders hunched, eyes downcast. Her fork stabs aimlessly at her food. She tries to speak but her tongue feels severed.
“I know you want to be an artist,” her mother continues, “but that’s nonsense. I’m sure you’re good at plenty else. Art is not an acceptable career choice, I’m afraid. Look at your father - he was noble, a good man - sacrificing his life for his country-”
Her bones are brittle and weak under her skin, tired and compact, like sandcastles; she’s waiting for them to crumble, to be swept away by the tide. She is waiting to be nothing at all.
She searches her throat with her hand, swallowing once. She finds her voice. “I know, mum,” she replies wearily, glancing at the framed photo hanging above the mantle. “I know.”
“Maybe you’ll find it useful.”
“Fat chance,” Sophia mutters under her breath. “Sounds good, mum,” she says louder, rubbing at her eyes. “I think I’ll go to bed.”
“Good night, dear, see you in the morning.”
She dreams of stars that night, and she is the sun, with great clusters of galaxies pulsing beneath her fingertips, the solar system circling slowly around her heart; oceans, miles of boundless, expansive sea, blue waves tipped in pastel foam, crashing against daunting cliffs, their lines etched in dark streaks of charcoal; horses, grazing on hilltops, breaking into a gallop over grassy plains and rugged miles of dirt, kicking up showers of dust behind them with their hooves-
Sophia dreams of freedom.
---
So she’s at this stupid open day.
She’s looking around - she’s not even fucking sure what she’s actually supposed to be doing here - and her eyes skim past the throngs of excited teenagers, giggling and happy until-
-she recognizes someone. She taps their shoulder.
The girl turns around.
“Aren’t you - don’t you go to Roundview?” Sophia asks, feeling foolish. She switches her weight to her left foot, bringing up a fingernail to worry between her teeth.
“Yeah,” the girl says, sounding surprised. “I’m Naomi. You’re there as well?”
“Yeah,” Sophia says, relief flooding through her. “Yeah, I’m Sophia.”
“Well then,” Naomi says, “It’s nearly over, anyway. Why don’t we talk for a bit, and then get the fuck out of here?”
Sophia smiles. It’s honest.
---
“She wants to go to Mexico,” Naomi’s telling her on the train, her head thrown back against the seat, eyes closed. Sophia notices the pale lines of her collarbone and the smoothness of her neck. “Take a year off. And I - I want more than that, you know? I want to study and be someone, someone who fights for things; there are issues-”
“Like?” Sophia says, wishing she could listen to the girl talk forever.
Naomi doesn’t answer, and lapses into careful silence.
Sophia waits.
“I had to tell a lie to come here,” Naomi says suddenly, interrupting her own train of thought.
Sophia looks over. She grabs the seat with both of her hands, feeling her palms press against the plastic.
Naomi switches her gaze to staring out the window.
“Oh,” Sophia says. She glances down. Their hands are so close, fingers nearly touching - she could move her hand right now and place it on top of Naomi’s, to comfort her-
Naomi gets there first. She takes Sophia’s hand, linking their fingers together. “This is my stop,” she says coyly. “Do you want to - come?”
Sophia blushes, but she’s having so much fun, and Naomi is so, so lovely, she can’t refuse-
Naomi opens the door to her house, and slams Sophia against the wall, kissing her fiercely; her hands go to Sophia’s waist, pushing her shirt up, finding the button on her shorts, and Sophia’s breathless, her knees buckling, and there aren’t fireworks going off beneath her eyelids, there are bombs - Hiroshima - nuclear missiles, clouds of black smoke in the shape of mushrooms, ash raining down for hundreds of miles-
This isn’t passion. This is an explosion. This is the moment where two people destroy themselves, and everyone in their path.
---
(I’m showing her, Naomi murmurs in her sleep. Emily can’t control me.
Sophia doesn’t hear.)
---
You don’t expect stuff to just happen, Sophia writes later, sketching it out in a little book.
She never wants to forget this.
I should’ve told Naomi how easy it is for me to love someone.
---
The last time she sees Naomi she is at a club - it’s someone’s birthday, she doesn’t know whose - she took some pills, bought them from Naomi in the first place - and now she’s stumbling up the stairs, one hand held to her head, and there’s Naomi, leaning against the side, kissing a pretty redheaded girl and giggling every so often, and they look like the two happiest people on earth-
It makes her sick.
She trips up to the balcony, and looks down on the pack of movement, the dancing, grinding bodies - lifts herself onto the railing - and then-
Falling, she thinks, falling feels like flying.
And then she hits the ground.
---
Posters are set up around the school, in memoriam.
Emily notices her looking on the second day.
“It’s horrible, isn’t it,” she says, after allowing Naomi a minute of silence. “It’s horrible.”
“Yeah,” Naomi agrees, her voice a bruise in the back of her throat.
“Her mother,” Emily continues, turning away - her life is already moving on. “How could her mother not have realized?”
“That’s just how it is sometimes, Em,” Naomi murmurs, staring at the flyer, her heart contracting painfully in her chest. “People use other people. People get hurt. People change and forget to tell each other.”
“Well,” Emily says after a moment, and tugs on her hand, “it’s got nothing to do with us, yeah? Come on. We’ll be late for class.”
“Yeah,” Naomi echoes, following after her, dragging Sophia’s memory like a chain. “Yeah.”