Fic: Baby Girl, I'm a Blur - Chapter 7
Title: Baby Girl, I'm a Blur
Author: interpol_ice
Fandom: Skins - Second Generation
Pairing: Naomi Campbell/Emily Fitch
Rating: T (naughty naught-T! not exactly T)
Summary: Naomi Campbell and the complications of having a twin for a
girlfriend. Distracting flashbacks and a lovesick mind keep her from telling
the night's story straight.
In this comedy of errors, the first thing that got right was letting Naomi
narrate. [Pre-Season 4]
CHAPTER 1 - How We'd Be (You and Me)
CHAPTER 2 - Swim or Die Without
CHAPTER 3 - Try Me On To See If I Fit
CHAPTER 4 - Lover Undercover
CHAPTER 5 - Pretty ODDyssey (X, Y & Z Units Away From Home)
CHAPTER 6 - Pretty ODDyssey (Here, You Can Be Anything)
Author's Notes: Hullo! I'm not dead! Just back from a monthlong
hiatus. Divided narration again. Effy's back to clear things up for some
people. You'll get to have a little Naomi in the end, so don't worry about
not getting any exposure from them... XD
Okay, so I know it's been over a month since my last update (unacceptable!
Unacceptable!) and I know I'm a total facking loser because of that. I
apologise again for the delay. This chapter was difficult to write. Took me
forever to get it right and it got pretty frustrating for me at many points.
New semester at college got pretty shitty real fast. Busy. Busy busy. And
the last thing that I want is for you guys to read a hurried update. So,
anyway, I'm finally done with it. *VICTORY WARCRY!* And here's a prize for
all your waiting. Another long one. And another long one in a week. I cut
this original chap short because it was getting too long. Another long one
in a week, that I can promise. Plus, I'll be posting a short one-shot soon.
Be on the look-out for that one too. So yeah, extra treats for you! XD
Thanks to my readers who constantly review. I really love you guys. You know
who you are. *happydances with you* Lovin' your love, people. :)
P.S. You can also blame the World Cup for eating up a shit-load of my time.
Congratulations, Spain! XD
EXPECT: Fights and Flights! That's déjà vu to you! A Surprise Visit
to Elizabeth's! Panda's back... with a proposal! And a Parental Unit in the
form of Gina Campbell! She'll be handing out sex appeal advice (oh, you
don't want to miss this). It'd be my pleasure for you to proceed! Enjoy!
Baby Girl, I'm a Blur
by interpol_ice
Chapter 7: Strange Bedfellows
= = = *** = = =
*
= = = ** EFFY ** = = =
*
Katie has spent half an hour sweeping the club, looking for the slightest
signs of Emily or Naomi. That's half an hour of Katie thrashing about. Half
an hour of being perched on top of a corner booth sofa, my legs (lady-
crossed at the knees) snug between two couples who are eating each other's
faces off. Half an hour of me, my gum and my chain-smoking, watching Katie
tear her way through collective body heat.
And when Katie comes back to me, no Emily or Naomi in tow, that's half an
hour wasted.
So now, Katie's red in the face and looking downright furious that it
rattles me somewhat. Katie's as pissed off as pissed off can get. Like
Panda's taken off Katie’s knickers and made them play Twister with her.
You know, getting them in even more of a twist.
= = = = = = = =
When I finally catch Katie stationary, she's chatting up this burly-looking
bloke. Possibly into opening the manhole cover. Because Katie's good at
keeping that seduce, use, and dispose cycle in motion.
And I only recognise that because I'm fucking ace at that sick art as well.
We have things in common, me and Katie.
= = = = = = = =
I climb out onto the parking lot with what's-his-face eyeing me. And of
course, like any other member of the primitive male species, he would be. I
know I'm fit. And between it being a gift or a curse to me, I'd say I
haven't decided yet.
He gives me a predictable once-over, his stare staying a little too long at
my tits. His eyes travel north and before they can reach my face, I hide
behind my hair. He nods appreciatively (looking a tad constipated all the
while). Sort of how Cook does it.
But no, at least Cook's an appealing shithead (appealing enough for me to
fuck him). At least Cook can pull off being a tit.
I ignore him and the guy proceeds to look about for Katie. He spots the redhead
making her way towards the main street. Figures. Like she'd wait up for me.
Patience and decency don't exist in her vocabulary.
He whips toward her, reaching Katie in three, big strides. "Oi! Not so fast
princess," he says, grabbing her by the shoulder and spinning her around.
And the instant he did that you just know that Katie's going to give this
poor sod hell.
"Come on now, don't be such a cunt, babe. A simple sign of gratitude would
suffice," he coaxes, trying to touch Katie's fucking elbow, giving Katie the
incentive to swat his hand away. And you can hear it. The little smack the
contact makes.
"Thank you," Katie complies in an irritated fashion. "You can fuck off now.
Like, seriously, yeah?" she says, looking at him expectantly, pointing him
to the manhole.
"I just gave you a hand. All I'm asking is for you to give me one in
return," the boy huffs, red in the face. Possibly from the exertion.
Possibly from Katie's impossibility.
"Sorry? A hand?" Katie asks, looking like she's tasted something vile.
The boy nods a yes with the most absurd grin on his face. Like he thinks
he's the cleverest lad in all the land.
Katie throws her head back and she laughs this outrageous laugh that's so
distinctly Katie. A conspiratorial smirk is on my lips as well. Oh, this
fucker is going to get it.
She's making a fool out of him and this, of course, ticks the boy off. He
says, in standard Class A hissy fit, "Who the fuck do you think you are?"
So, in the end, this tosser gets what he asks for. Katie does give him a
hand.
(In the form of her fist flying faster than a speeding bullet.)
It's not exactly the one he was hoping for. And his face wasn't the exact
body part he would've wanted that hand to have come into contact with.
But still, a hand nonetheless.
What's-his-face is on the ground, clutching at his nose, yelping in pain.
Katie has violent tendencies. I attest. I attest.
And you know what they say about kicking them while they're down.
"I'm Katie fucking Fitch! Who the fuck are you?"
Wow.
Just... Wow.
The wanker tries getting up but Katie stomps a foot on his chest so that
he's pinned between cement and two-inch heel. She isn't done with him yet.
"What? Just because you got us out doesn't mean you're gonna get lucky
tonight, fucking tosser. That's right, it takes more than that to get me to
fuck you. Get that, Lancelot? Chivalry's dead."
Then she turns on her heel. She struts away. Fierce like it's Fashion Week
in Parisian Hell.
= = = = = = = =
I've given up temporarily, on getting her attention. She's been ignoring me
and trying to shake me off ever since Emily's gone MIA.
She tries ringing Emily. "Where the fuck is she?" she asks no one in
particular, holding her mobile against her ear with one hand and checking
her nails on the other. When she's done making sure her manicure's still
pristine, her face contorts. She must've realised that Emily has yet to
answer.
"Bitch," Katie seethes.
She shoves her mobile back into her purse angrily, because she couldn't
quite get it right the first time. Katie notes the empty street. "Why aren't
there any fucking taxis?"
I lift my head off the lamppost I'm leaning against. Knowing very well that
question wasn't directed at me either, but I answer anyway. "They've gone on
strike," I reply, not bothering to hide the sarcasm.
Because an hour ago she was grinding her arse against me and now she's
treating me like she didn't just stick her tongue down my throat. And it
kind of sucks, you know, being smack dab in the middle of her mood swings.
What did I do this time?
She rolls her eyes at me and continues to sashay down the pavement. Like she
has such a fucking purpose or something. And I just watch her. Feeling a
sort of hopelessness. For some reason unknown to me, Katie refuses to listen
to a word I say.
Further down the street, a car comes along and Katie disappears in an
insanely bright light coming from it. It's all thousand-watt-too-fucking-
bright for a quick moment and when the driver shifts into a low beam, my
vision is restored. I find Katie's arm stretched. She has her thumb
hitchhiker up.
I cross my arms, not liking the looks of this at all. I call out to her,
"You don't know where some smarmy old twat is going to take you, okay?"
Oh, dear shite. I sound like I care.
Okay, now that everyone's on about women empowerment and chicks having grown
a pair, girls have taken it upon themselves to be well-learned in the art of
self-defence. So, the point is that in the present contemporary world, women
are fucking tough.
I should know. I hit people in the head with rocks.
And so what if Katie could beat the absolute fuck out of anyone if she so
chooses? It still wouldn't hurt to take extra caution every once in a while.
Especially in scenarios involving too-fast cars and faceless strangers.
God forbid something happens if I let her get in that vehicle.
So it comes to this moment when we just stare at each other. I plead
silently, with my eyes. Because sometimes my big blues convey so much more
than I could ever say.
For a second there, I see signs of her resolve breaking. But as predicted,
her will to resist conquers anyway and she shakes her head, snapping herself
out of it. "Whatever," Katie dismisses, her eyes following the flashy,
silver Audi Sportback that's pulling in beside the pavement.
The heavily tinted front seat window rolls down so Katie leans into the
opening to have words with the driver. A little while after, Katie retracts,
turns around to throw me a smug look. "Cheers Eff," she says, reaching for
the door handle.
That's it. I charge my way over to the stupid Audi like a woman possessed.
Just as the car door's a quarter open, I slam it back shut with a kick.
Katie stares dumbly at her hand suspended in mid-air for a second and then
her head snaps towards me, looking absolutely scandalised.
I don't care that I acted out of line. I don't care if the driver's
screaming something really shitting crude at us (I don't know what it is
exactly but it sure has the words fuck, door, paint, car, scratch, and
bitch). I don't care if Katie doesn't even want my help. I just don't
fucking care.
It just happens. I grab her by the wrist and Katie starts struggling against
my grip. But I hold on tighter, instinctively. Jesus, I don't know what it
is about her that gets me this way.
And I think I don't ever want to find out.
The driver rolls his windows back up and he throttles out into the next
universe. And Katie watches this, helpless. She turns back to me, and I
naturally come to think, 'if looks could kill...'
"What the fuck? I need to get home!"
"And what makes you so sure he was going to take you there?" I ask hastily,
trying to keep her still. But then she doubles her effort, her free hand
grabbing at my arm, desperately trying to pull it off.
"Since when did you start caring about my safety?"
How about when I almost killed you? How's that for caring?
"Oh, fuck you! I'm trying here, Katie. Open your eyes. Maybe then you'd
actually see that I do, in fact, give a fuck."
And after that... it's quiet.
Katie: human dynamo extraordinaire, Fitch fireball, she freezes at my
outburst. And it takes some time for me to get used to the static, to the
stillness. My stomach drops and my head feels as if someone's giving it a
good thrashing and shit--this exponentially growing anxiety is something I
just can't deal with right now.
"Fuck's sake, Eff. You've done enough already. Look at me. What have I got
left? You just love this, don't you? You love seeing me miserable," she
says. And it sort of hurts, listening to the way she's keeping her voice
from cracking.
So that's what she's been thinking? All this time? That I'm a fucking
sadist? Great. That's just real nice of her now, isn't it? "That's not
true," I let out feebly. It being the only answer I could come up with.
"Oh, yeah?" she snaps. "Everybody else has left me alone. I'm expecting you
to fuck off now as well."
My grip goes slack. She takes advantage of this and pulls her arm out of my
hold, giving me a defiant look afterwards.
And if this were any other lifetime, I wouldn't have known better. I
would've fucking left. But this isn't any other lifetime. I do know better.
In fact, I know too much. And I know what this look is. It's a chink in her
armour.
This look from her. It's what gives her away. She's probably unaware about
what she's doing, but despite the big show of pushing me away, she's
actually daring me. Daring me to stay.
So I'll just have to take her up on that.
= = = = = = = =
Taxi count so far: nil. Thus the five blocks Katie and I have covered in
complete silence. No talk of directions or destinations, no sounds from us.
It's just the night making its usual hum.
= = = = = = = =
The pavement.
It's on the fucking pavement where it happens. Where Katie stops to look at
the playground across the street. Where she gets this look on her face that
tells me she's reliving a memory of her youth.
The pavement.
Where I'm reminded that Katie Fitch is a really, really attractive girl.
My eyes are trained on her lips. Because I feel she's about to say something
and I'm here, just waiting for whatever it is.
"Our lives were never wheels. 'Sometimes you're up, sometimes you're down.'
That sort of shit? Well, me and Emily... We're a seesaw."
That's a strange metaphor. One that I hope she'd explain to me sometime
soon. Katie misses Emily, though. That much is obvious.
It has gotten really cold and we're both hugging ourselves for warmth. I
start shaking, thinking I could use a sweater just like Katie's. But then
she does something that's very funny. I honestly don't what was going on
through her head for her to abruptly pull the sweater's collar over her nose
in an act I can only perceive as Katie smelling her twin's sweater.
Katie's button-nose and her mouth pop back out again. She has this faraway
look in her eyes. Her voice is distant, head completely else. "I was only up
when she was down."
She doesn't say it or anything. But now, I'm sure I get her message.
Emily's up. Way up. And this time, Katie's the one who has to give way.
Katie's the one who has to stay down.
"I'm pretty shit, you know. For treating her that way for years."
She looks up at me, like she expects me to accept that as the truth. That
she's 'pretty shit'. Or to come up with some type of comfort. That she isn't
'pretty shit'... just pretty.
I know this is the part where I have to say something right.
But that's proving to be a problem. It's just that Katie's being too raw,
too honest, being too vulnerable and beautiful. How could I not want to...
= = = = = = = =
It catches the both of us by surprise. That I'm kissing her without the
slightest bit of reservation.
But I shouldn't be. Surprised, I mean. Not when all that went through my
mind the whole night was if she'd still taste the same. Mint and alcohol
sting. A sharp tang that almost cuts. That almost hurts.
When I try to I push my luck by trying to part her lips with my tongue, she
pushes me away.
To be real honest, I didn't anticipate her to react that way. I scold myself
for not seeing it coming.
"Jesus fucking Christ!" Katie yells once her mouth is free of mine. She
shoves me away roughly. Rough enough that I lose my balance, a sudden mess
of flailing limbs. It's a good thing that I pelt forward while stepping a
foot back at the same time (increasing my centre of shitting gravity, just
so you know). Otherwise, I would've fallen flat on my arse.
It's horrible. She's walking away and I'm panicking and I don't know what to
fucking do so I'm just standing there, shouting things that I might not
remember in the morning.
I scramble after her, my boots suddenly feeling very chunky, hitting each
other between every step. "Katie, wait," I call. "Look, I didn't mean to-"
Katie whips around, fires her words like bullets. "Go away, you psychotic,
twat-fucking, bimbo tramp."
I have to ignore her insults. It's not going to solve anything. I fucking
have to.
"Katie, please. Please, can you just stop and fucking listen?"
"Just so we're clear," she starts dangerously, trying to cut me open with
her eyes. I'm not shaken. I cut her back with a stare just as hard. I want
to know...
What? What do you want us to be clear about, Katie?
She opens her mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. But then she settles with a
purse of her lips, completely stopping herself from saying those things I
wanted so badly to know.
I watch in disbelief as her shoulders slump. Katie then tells me, in an
unreal, dismissive manner, "Please, Eff... Please leave me be. Just turn
around and keep walking. Don't stop 'til you see the fucking sun rise."
I pull my lips back in, believing it best to shut up. Then, I don't mean to,
but I shake my head from side to side once. A slow and slight left-to-right.
So subtle, you would've missed it.
Katiekins didn't miss that though. She caught that full-fucking-on.
Katie rolls her eyes the same time she breathes in a lungful. She holds it,
and stares back at me with narrowed eyes, menacingly, ready to release
something that's going to catch me off my guard again. So I brace myself.
And I really think that I could take whatever it is she's going to throw at
me... well, that is until she growls.
Katie Fitch fucking growls.
And it paralyses me like I'm a fucking Pokémon.
Bollocking shit.
Shit.
Shit.
By the time I regain any sort of rationality back, Katie's already across
the street, passing by the swing-sets at a hurried pace.
Move, Stonem. Get off your arse. Fucking move already!
I bolt after her, on the other side of the street in a heartbeat. Once I'm
near enough I make an effort to be quiet, trying to slow down my heavy
breathing, trying to mute my footsteps. But she senses that I'm still hot on
her tail anyway so she swings round to face me again.
"Fucking... Just lay off, for God's sake!" she shouts hysterically, before
running off in the opposite direction.
And my, she runs fast for a girl who has two-inch heels on.
I call out her name the way you would if you saw someone too close to the
edge of a lethal drop. Or someone you saw stepping right into the path of a
fucking two-storey bus.
And just in time, right as we round the parking lot, divine intervention
happens. Katie's left heel gives way. Her ankle buckles and she stumbles to
the side before catching herself at the last possible moment.
"Oh great, fantastic. Bust down on me now, would you?" Katie says to her
shoes like they have little ears that could actually listen. "Fucking
inconvenience," she mutters under her breath, bending down to slip her
Louboutins ("Should've known these were fake.") off. "Such a shitty night."
Katie sighs, tired and fed up. Tells me, right away, "I'm not like that.
Okay?"
Not gay, she must mean.
"I'm not either," I return, too defensive-sounding for my liking.
Just because I kissed her back. Just because I'd like to kiss her again.
Just because I did try to kiss her again. Fuck that. I'm not a raging
lesbian now or anything.
And I realise, a bit too late, that the same thing goes for Katie.
Stop being stupid, Stonem. Just because she kissed you doesn't mean she's a
lesbian either.
It's exceedingly frustrating. That I can't figure out her motives. I'm not
getting her right. Not reading her right.
So I can't do anything but ask, really. Because it doesn't make sense to me
at all. One minute we were fine, the next she's telling me to wank off
elsewhere. I just don't get it.
"Then why did you-"
She interrupts, raises her voice so that it drowns out the last words: kiss
me. And Katie says simply, with a noncommittal shrug of her shoulders, "I
just felt like it." In a tone that seems to make her answer more reasonable.
Because it (her answer) wasn't enough of that (reasonable) to start with.
Just felt like it? No. No shitting way. Fuck you, Katie Fitch.
"You're unbelievable," I puff out. To make things even worse, against my
better judgment I add, "And you used to give Emily a hard time."
For being gay. For fucking Naomi. For kissing a girl. Katie, you fucking hypocrite.
And I know that I've struck a chord. Katie stops dead. And you can see all
these subliminal emotions play across her face.
"Cut the shit. Now."
She says it with this... finality. And I don't know what's wrong with me
because here she is, handing out a shit-load of hints and I just couldn't
fucking take any.
I persist. "But-" (get shot down again)
"You love Freddie more..." she says, like an accusation. It's out of the
blue. Out of every fucking shade of it. I mean, what the fuck does he have
to do with anything? Really, what?
Everything, the secret, honest part of me whispers.
Right away, I tell that part to shut up.
And I do shut up. I can't say a thing.
"Okay. Like, I get it, Eff," she says to me, gently, like someone's flicked
a switch off in her somewhere. And I don't fucking know how to react to that.
Katie claps her hands together and that gets me out of my head. "Great," she
says, tinged with a fake kind of chipper. She goes the extra mile, proposes,
"So can we please be friends now?"
She isn't even smiling.
And for fuck's sake. I wish she'd at least sound like she means it.
Okay then, if this is how she wants to play it... Surface-level chums. Then
that's fine by me. My punishment, after all, is that Katie gets to make the
rules.
I start going forward. And it isn't long before she's padding up beside me,
barefoot. She's carrying her broken-down shoes in one hand and placing the
other one on my shoulder. "Friends, yes?"
You know, I find it insanely hilarious. That if a robber came up and put a
knife against my throat and asked, "Your money, yes?" I wouldn't notice the
difference.
"Come on, Katie," I say, chuckling. "Let's get you home."
I take her hand off my shoulder and make her hook arms with me. And even
though Katie seems somewhat apprehensive about it, she lets me do it. "You
don't even know where I live."
"Course I don't," I reply, having thoughts about our linked arms. It's only
now that I finally appreciate how soft Emily's sweater is. Then I say to
Katie, with the most wicked grin I have in my arsenal, "Exactly why I'm
counting on you to lead the way... friend."
Katie's eyebrows rise comically. She then breaks into an easy laugh. Look at
her, and all the acts she's putting up, attempting to hide the fact that I
just got her absolutely smitten.
Like I said, everyone loves me.
"Fine," she concedes. "But you carry my shoes." Katie says, dumping her
heels into my arms.
= = = = = = = =
The Fitches live in Number 11. Eleven. I find it fascinating how this
symmetry follows them about. First they get 11 in their address. A perfectly
symmetrical number. Next, they have twins, a perfect example of biological
symmetry.
And you'd think that they'd all live in everlasting harmony because of that.
It's such a pity though, that this symmetry isn't helping with their whole
family chi at all.
"So like... This is where I live," she says, motioning blandly at the house
with her hand.
"And Emily," I supply, feeling a bit of an idiot for telling her that in a
reminding tone. Kind of, oh you have another arm, you know. That kind of
reminding tone.
"Right," Katie says, drawing it out unsurely. Like this moment could be a
hundred times more awkward than it already is. "I'm going in then, see you
around," she tells me, taking out her keys (they're jingling in a way that
doesn't remind of Christmas at all).
This it then? See you the fuck around? Is that all Katie?
"Wait, this isn't fair."
Katie stops at the doorknob and sighs. The line of her shoulders she held
with such conviction is gone and replaced by a defeated drop. She turns back
towards me, arms crossed, round face looking like that of a child's.
"When's it ever going to be fair, Effy?" she asks me. And from the looks of
it, she knows exactly what the answer is.
Maybe it's never supposed to be fair. Not with Katie. It's never been fair
with Emily. With anyone. Life's a seesaw. You stay up at someone else's
expense.
I should at least try, though. At least, in the future, I'd be able to say
that I did everything I could on that night.
So I gulp down my nervousness, my hesitance, my scared-shittedness. Because,
fuck it, I'm at this girl's doorstep and there's this one last thing that I
have to do. And I tell her when it's going to be fair again.
"When I apologise. Properly."
Katie steps toward me curiously, showing me that she'd like to hear me out.
"I don't want this to be a lousy one-off. I want us to still be mates
tomorrow. And the next day. And the day after that. I need to know you and
I... That we're okay."
Katie stands there, studying me with hard eyes. Then, with a casual shrug of
her shoulders, she says to me, "Go ahead then."
Which catches me completely off guard. Again. "What? Now?"
"Yes. When else?"
Right. When else?
A pause. And still, nothing from me.
"So?"
So... The most expectant of so's.
"So I'm sorry."
It wasn't given enough pre-meditation than I would've liked it to. So it
comes out lamely. Flat. Like a plane that didn't have enough road for take
off.
Technically, I sort of blew it just then. I pretty much expect Katie to yell
at me again before slamming her (and Emily's, I supply, out of fucking habit
now) front door in my face.
This time around though, Katie just shuts her eyes tight, drowned in an
intense concentration. It takes her about five to think everything through
and when she seems to have settled on a decision, she squares her shoulders.
Katie opens her eyes, looks softly into mine, and she says "I forgive you."
I don't believe it. I want to but I don't. "That simple?"
A look of disbelief is on her face. "Yes," she says, almost sounding
annoyed. "Yes, I forgive you, silly cow."
And I dunno. This was too easy. I can't possibly be let off the hook like
this. It just can't fucking be.
"You have a pretty twisted way of showing it," I remark, different sorts of
incredulous.
"Yeah, because twisted suits you," she says, with a trace of s smirk. "It
suits us."
Us. She just said us. Fuck me but I don't even know what to make of that.
Katie takes a couple steps forward until she's right in front of me, close
enough that I could see the brown of her eyes. "I forgive you, Eff," she
says, before kissing me lightly on the cheek (that shouldn't be burning this
way after she did that).
She pulls away, looking back at me amused. Perhaps it's my speechlessness.
Katie's smiling this lopsided smile that I never get to see on her and it
instantly comforts me. After that, Katie says, "Remember, we're cool now.
We're mates."
I can't come up with a sound response. So she hugs me, like she hasn't hated
me for the past nine months. "We're mates now," she repeats like she reckons
I didn't get it on the first run. She's hugging me tight and warm. And she's
so soft. Unbelievable.
We let go of each other slowly. I study her face, the changes in it. And in
her lips I can see that whatever shit that's gone on between us is accounted
for and stored away someplace only God knows (just like receipts).
Everything about her says, 'It's okay now.'
That's when I'm finally struck by the reflex to smile.
I spot a shift in her eyes. They're dancing. Like a lava lamp of many brown
hues. It amazes me how easy it is to drop into this light and happy mood.
With her, of all people...
I'm floating. I'm glad. Exhausted but glad.
And so is Katie because she's yawning with the corner of her lips up. Katie
looks around, sees that it's still very dark, then takes her phone out,
checks the time. "It's late. Late in the sense that it's too early," she
says with a small, tired smile.
"I'd let you sleep in, you know. But Mum's gonna think I'm joining the lezza
bandwagon as well. Wouldn't want to risk that," Katie says to me, looking
truly apologetic that it warms my heart a bit.
Just a bit...
Katie is backing away slowly. "You better get going."
"You're right, I should."
"Thanks," she says, shyly.
"You're welcome."
"Now fuck off."
A few steps into the 'fuck off' phase, I remember one thing.
"Hey!" I call, turning around. I see her standing at the open doorframe.
"Seriously Katie, you should stop with the leopard print. It makes people
dizzy and confused. I mean, you did see what it made Cook do, didn't you?"
She flashes me a smile that's too-sweet-that-it-isn't-sweet-anymore and in
typical Katie Fitch fashion, she flips me off.
So this is what it's like then? Being real friends with this girl.
This.
This I could use.
= = = = = = = =
I snap my book of Greek mythology shut, not being able to read it as
attentively as I wanted to. It's late in the morning and I haven't slept a
wink. Been up thinking of other stuff, wanting to distract myself.
Well, it hasn't worked.
I thought I'd feel settled. But everything that happened last night and
earlier this morning made things even more incomprehensible. Why'd she kiss
me? What was with all her mood swings? Why did I kiss her again? And what
exactly did she mean when she mentioned Freddie?
Too many questions. Too many fucking variables to manipulate.
Then my door opens out of some unknown accord that reveals itself to me a
second later as Katie Fitch. She's already well-rested and well-showered and
as always, well-dressed.
Well, I don't mean to be insecure or anything, but I'm not any of those
things at the moment. So, as you can see, Effy Stonem isn't that awesome in
the mornings.
"Hi Effy! A pleasant morning to you!" she greets me brightly, sweeping her
gaze around Tony's room right after.
"How'd you know where I live?" I ask, saying that instead of pleasantries
because this, in fact, is like an invasion of privacy.
"Oh please, everyone knows where you live, alright?" Katie informs me,
eyeing the wall behind me (the 'Daily Sex' vandal brings so much of my
character to Tony's room).
And then Thomas and Panda (the truth-bearers) arrive. And Thomas... Well,
Thomas is piggybacking Panda.
Oh. Of course.
Hansel and Gretel. Left their trail of breadcrumbs like the clever children
they were raised to be.
I give Katie a for a second, you got me there look. She just smirks at me in
return. She caught me off guard for a moment, she's smug about that. And we
all know that wasn't the first time she's gotten me like that.
Oh, Katie. So full of surprises.
"Mornin', Eff!" Panda cheers, throwing her hands up in the air, then she
starts wobbling above Thomas who is now making a supreme effort to keep the
both of them from falling all over each other. Looks like he wasn't ready
for Panda's sudden, enthusiastic movements.
"G'morning to you too, Panda." I greet back. Thank God she's got her arms
around Thomas again. Because she might've fallen and whacked her head
against the many sharp corners of the room. And Panda going any crazier than
she already is... well, that's just unthinkable.
I lower my gaze and focus on Thomas. He's breathing a bit audibly and his
lips are dry. Could use a little water or something. "Thomas," I nod. He
mirrors my greeting back at me with his eyes closed and when he opens them I
immediately give him a questioning look.
"She wanted me to do the piggyback," Thomas explains. Maybe he thinks that
it's normal here in England. For boyfriends to piggyback their eighteen-
year-old girlfriends up an entire flight of stairs. Clearly, somebody needs
to show this boy where the borders of sanity are.
"Right," I say, still thinking that he really needs to drink something.
"Hey, Thomas, if you want, there's still plenty of juice in the fridge," I
start, getting up with intentions of pouring him a glass or two.
"No, it's alright. You don't need to get up, Effy," he insists.
"Oh, well then. You can help yourself, right Thomas? Fridge is in the
kitchen."
Thomas nods, taking in my instructions. After Panda dismounts him
(reluctantly) he opens the door out, faces me, says, "Thank you," before
leaving in an understandable rush.
I turn to Panda, "What's up, Panda Pops?"
"I wanted to see you, silly!" Panda answers, smacking me playfully on the
shoulder. "Oh! And we ran into Katie at the pharmacy."
"What were you doing in the pharmacy?" I ask, directing it at whoever would
answer first.
Panda proves she's extra alert, speaking up before Katie can. "Got Tommo to
buy some cream. Useful stuff, that. Besides being excellent for wanks, it's
actually a pretty wow way to keep your nipples safe. Read that on Cosmo."
"Sorry?" Katie cuts in suddenly. "Did you just say nipples?"
"Yeah, I just said nipples. I can even say nipples in French! Tommo taught
me! Anyway, he's training for a 15 mile race! That means a lot of friction
is going to be generated from his shirt to his nipples. Chaffed nipples are
a no-no!"
In the battle against nipple chafe, Panda's fucking commander in chief.
Friends, that there's what you call, 'dedication'.
Panda's lost in her own thoughts for a while. When she does finally zone
back in, she addresses Katie, "Hey, Katie. Why were you at the pharmacy
again?"
Katie, who has taken the seat at Tony's study corner, looks dumbstruck for a
moment. "Umm. Well... We ran out of vitamin C. I went out to buy some."
Something's off. It's in the way she refuses to look at either of us. And
Panda senses it too. Chooses to dismiss it instead because she finds
flinging herself onto my bed so much more interesting.
"Eff! I've got a proposition!" she squeals, looking at me with round eyes. I
know that face. She's going to ask for a crazy favour.
"Out with it, Panda Pops," I demand, wanting to know where this is going.
Panda sucks her lips in, as if she gains power from that action. "I was
thinking we go visit Lizzy Poo. You, me, Tommo... Katie too if she wants."
She shifts on the bed to face Katie. "Would you like to come, Katie? It's
gonna be loads swell! My Auntie Lizzie has a cheetah-skin couch. I think
you'd like that."
Katie looks unsure but says, "Sure, I'd love to," anyway.
I haven't even given my consent yet and she's already inviting the rest of
the Brady Bunch. Real sweet of you, Panda.
"Doesn't your aunt live like, really far away?" I question.
"Yeah, 'bout that. See, I was also thinking that you could drive us there.
It's all sorted. Auntie Lizzie's going to cover for gas and everything...
All expenses paid, Eff. Hakuna Matata, no worries!"
I frown disbelievingly at her. "She said that?"
"Yes, she really did," she answers impatiently. "You know I can't come up
with that shit on my own, Eff." Then she must remember that she's asking for
a favour because her expression turns imploring. "Please, please, please?
With cherries, sprinkles and a pizza pie on top?"
It's fun to watch Panda squirm in anticipation. My best friend's an over-
grown child. It makes life less bleak... and rather fucking wonderful.
"What the heck," I start, noting how Panda's mad grin has affected me. "We
could all use some time in the country."
At that, Panda whoops and gets to her feet. She starts bouncing. "Whizzer!
Whizzer! Whiiiz-zer! You're the best, Eff!" she says, jumping up and down on
my bed like it's obviously a trampoline.
While she's busy testing the limits of my mattress springs, I get an idea.
"Hey, why don't we invite Emily and Naomi as well?" I suggest, holding
Katie's stare while I'm at it because I know she'd want for Emily to come
too.
Panda stops bouncing. She face-palms herself with such comic finesse that I
allow myself to chuckle. "Of course, Emily and Naomi! Oh Eff, I never got to
tell you Tommo and I had a dandy double date with them just last night!"
She pauses to close her eyes, as if memories of the previous evening are
flashing behind her eyelids. She sighs happily. "Good times, good times."
As Panda's doing this, Katie catches my stare. We exchange entertained
smiles. And this change in disposition... it feels as if Katie and I have
overcome something.
Panda's eyes snap open, telling me she's done with her trip down memory
lane. "Good thing you brought them up. Otherwise I'd have forgotten
completely. Blasted memory's as sharp as a fucking chew toy."
This is why I love Panda. To bits and fucking pieces.
"Cool," I say, my hand digging under the covers, searching for my phone. I
pull it out and quickly thumb in their invite.
"There, just sent them a text. All sorted."
The door flies open, then Thomas appears, bursting into the room like he's
fucking on something. He turns to me, looking incredibly guilty. He starts
apologising for drinking up all the mango juice.
I tell him it's fine. Panda tells him I agreed to drive them to Aunt Lizzie's.
Katie tells him that she, Emily and Naomi are coming along as well.
Thomas' collective answer to all three of us? Well, weirdly channelling
Panda with this sort of new-found high that I can probably just attribute to
the mango juice, he blurts out:
"Aunt Lizzie's the best! She makes ripper scones!"
= = = = = = = =
*
= = = ** NAOMI ** = = =
*
Pop!
Fucking toaster. It probably thinks it's a bad-ass missile launcher. You're
not supposed to fucking chuck the bread out onto the kitchen tile, you sorry
excuse of a kitchen appliance.
I pick the two crispy slices up and I blow at them as if that would reduce
their germ percentage or whatever. I figure, 'fuck it' then I place them
carefully on a plate.
Then I check the eggs. They're lovely.
And not just because they're heart-shaped.
If you really want to know, I woke up this morning feeling very much in love
(you all know who to blame). So I decided to try out those stupid heart-
shaped moulds Mum so happened to win at this silly game at a carnival two
months ago.
"Fucking hell," I mumble, sniggering at the frying pan. Can't exactly help
laughing at the looks of them, you know. I would very much like to take a
picture and have it framed and hang it above my future fireplace. That's how
perfectly ridiculous these eggs are looking.
Oh fuck. Those sound like footsteps. Someone's awake. I just hope to God it
isn't...
"Mum!" I cry out in relief, thanking Lord Almighty it's not Emily.
"Cripes, kitchen smells marvelous! Aww, love, making breakfast for the lot
of us. How decent of you. My, have I raised you right."
"This is Emily's," I say, instantly shattering her "my spawn is making me
breakfast" dreams.
"Hmmm. So she is here. Because I wasn't really sure if you snuck her home
again. Then again, it was a bit loud in your room this morning. And it did
sound like someone fell off the bed. Was that you, darling?"
"You can shut up now, Mum."
(And yes, that was me.)
Mum comes over and stands right behind me. She peeks over my shoulder and I
immediately want to die of embarrassment because this isn't just some tiny
test paper you could shield your body with from some wanky cheat who copies
off of everyone's Maths homework.
"Heart-shaped sunny side-ups!" she exclaims. Kind of like that time when I
brought home my Arts and Crafts project and she went, "A cardboard tube
giraffe!"
At least back then, being able to make cardboard giraffes was sort of like a
big deal. I mean, these are just eggs. And besides them being heart-shaped,
they're actually pretty normal and not the stuff of fuss-overs.
If only Mum could get with the program...
"That's just lovely, dear. And they're all intact! I always fuck the yolk
up. Didn't know you had it in you, Naomi."
They're done cooking and Mum slips the plate of toast conveniently into my
field of vision, making it easy for me to get a hearty (pun had to happen,
mate) helping of eggs on it.
Okay, so maybe I could use a little maternal help.
I shut the stove off then take the plate from Mum and carefully set it at
the middle of the breakfast tray. When I'm done slaving over every little
detail, I straighten up and consider the set-up, double-checking to see if I
missed anything.
Mum beats me to it, though. "Emily prefers marmalade, like Paddington Bear."
Upon hearing that, I lunge for the cabinet containing all our preserves. I
gingerly take out a jar half full (a testament to Emily's preference) and
rush back to the tray, removing the raspberry jam from the ensemble and
replacing it with the orange marmalade.
I shoot Mum a thankful grin for proposing the switch. She's made breakfast
for Emily and me way too many times already. And since she's already here
and all, might as well take whatever advice I can from the master. I hold
the tray up for further (and more superior) inspection.
"Sunny D, loaded with sugar and additives--what have I told you about
Inorganic Food? Really fucking synthetic, that... Nonetheless, still
sunshine in a glass. So, orange juice, check. Bacon and eggs, check. Bread
and butter, check. Marmalade, check." She pauses, eyeing a certain member of
the meal curiously. "Sausages?"
"What? Emily likes sausages."
"Why, of course she does," she says, flashing me a knowing smile.
"Mum, please stop with the phallic symbols and shit," I say whilst keeping
still, careful not to spill 'sunshine in a glass' over everything.
"Well, you seem to have it all covered. Hurry along then, your lady awaits."
Oh God, must she keep teasing me like this? I mean, I am grateful that she's
in love with the fact that Emily and I are in love... but there's such a
thing as too much support and acceptance, you know? She hangs a fucking
rainbow-coloured flag outside our house for Christ's sake. Who else in
Bristol does that?
I'm telling you, mum's a complete nutter about it sometimes. I have a sneaking
suspicion that she conceived me especially to be her bouncing baby gay.
I try to move away as fast as I can. It's too early for Mum to be making me
feel this weird.
"Wait!"
I pause, not risking to turn around. "What is it now?" I whine.
She appears beside me, carrying a vase full of fake roses (that the naked
guy forgot to take along with him). She pulls out the longest one and I'm
about to protest against any more of her corny ideas before she places the
stem between my teeth to shut me up and to "up your sex appeal a couple more
notches" at the same time.
Awww, Christ.
Remember what I said about maternal help? Well, I'd like to fucking take
that back now, thank you very much.
"You're good to go now, kiddo."
= = = = = = = =
My fingers can't seem to contain their excitement. They're already mid-
digit-deep in the curtains, sensitive to the heat making its way through the
window. I grab fistfuls of the cotton and yank the two sides farther apart,
letting the sunlight stand in as a silent alarm clock. I pick the tray up
from the desk I've left it on and make my way to the side of my bed.
With her breakfast in hand, and a swell in my chest, I watch my sun rise.
She groans and stretches her arms out, kicking the sheets off while she's at
it. Then she proceeds to roll over a couple of times and it's so adorable
that I really want to get on that bed and cuddle with her like no tomorrow.
Tempting as it is, I brush the fantasy aside. I wait until she's done with
her ritualistic morning exercise before setting the breakfast tray on the
bed.
Emily takes one look at me and laughs. It must be the fake rose that's stuck
in between my teeth
So much for upping my sex appeal...
She sounds a little sleepy so I take the flower out of my mouth and tickle
her face with it, into a higher state of consciousness. "Wakey, wakey," I
say in fucking sing-song all of a sudden.
"Alright, alright. I'm up," she assures me so I stop harassing her with the
fake rose and use it to point at the awesome meal I've set beside her
instead.
"Breakfast in bed." she observes. And that wide grin of hers tells me how
much I've made her happy just now. "Kinky," Emily says to me with a wink,
her voice an extra kind of hoarse that I absolutely love.
She sits up to fix her hair, tucking red trails behind her ears. She picks
up a piece of toast with the egg sitting gloriously on top of it. Emily
studies it with intrigued eyes.
"Heart-shaped eggs. You love me that much, eh?"
"Guilty as charged, Ems," I say humourously, grabbing her other piece of
toast. I slap a generous amount of marmalade on it already.
Emily giggles happily before crunching into the egg-toast combo. She starts
chewing and I'm sitting there already content with watching the way her
mouth moves. How her jaw tenses up. Or how those breadcrumbs stick to her
lips. Fuck, do I want to lick them off.
She swallows. Then smiles and says to me, "Yum."
Yum.
Emily takes another bite. "I always love how you do me-" she stops suddenly,
in mid-chew. She plays back what she just said, gulps guiltily and then, "I
mean, my eggs. Yeah, I love how you do my eggs."
I laugh as I brush her hair back to uncover her ear. I kiss it and keep my
lips there, whispering, "You're really fucking lovely, you know."
She swallows again. Only harder this time. Hard enough that I could hear it.
My phone goes off all of a sudden and the both of us turn our heads to the
disturbance that has stopped vibrating on the bookshelf. I get up, careful
not to make the bed shift so much, mindful of the fruits of my sweat and
tears on the tray.
I reach the shelf, grab my phone and read the message.
:: in 4 an xcursion? pandas place. noon. bring ur wife. ::
Okay, confession: It was really hard holding back a grin when I read,
"bring ur wife."
It just makes my heart fucking huge, you know. Oh, Elizabeth Stonem,
you are such a supportive friend. I might even make you my Best Man
someday (in June, because Emily says it's a lucky month to marry in).
Emily must've noticed my expression. It sparks her curiosity. "Who's it
from?"
"Effy," I reply, setting my phone back on the shelf. Emily raises her
eyebrows, a silent question. So, to answer, I say, "She has a surprise for
us."
Her mouth is full but she still asks, "Really? What?"
"I said 'surprise', Emily. Means 'I have no fucking clue' in case you didn't
know."
Emily's looking pretty sly as she takes Rocco, the raccoon beanie baby, off
the headboard. I kind of predict that she'd fling it at me so I duck just in
time and it knocks my fake cricket trophy (that I never really cared about)
down instead.
"You have shit aim," I tell her, straightening up once the coast is clear. I
stick my tongue out.
"Oh, well, lucky you then," Emily says, back to eating her toast in peace.
As much as I'd like to stay here and have Emily to myself all day, it'll be
noon in two hours. Emily and I have to get ready if we want to make it in
time.
So I take off my Andy Warhol tee (the one with all the soup cans bearing my
last name) right then and there and I'm quite pleased that Emily's ogling at
my tits. Soon enough, her tongue comes darting out to moisten her lips, like
she's real hungry for something.
"Eat up, Ems," I say, grabbing the last piece of marmalade-laden toast. I
take a teasing bite. Then I make that sound very much like the people on
cooking programmes make when they're tasting the crap that they magically
pull out from under the counter. You know, those bordering-inappropriate
moans and groans while they're munching on fucking Christmas Ham like
somebody's giving them the fuck of their lives on national television.
I still get such a kick when I get Emily like this. It's so unbelievable.
She's that kid with the glazed eyes, looking into the window of a sweetshop,
wishing and waiting.
Emily's mouth is slightly ajar so I think it funny to plug it shut with the
toast. Her teeth sink in obediently and she grabs hold of the toast herself.
I let go, playfully ruffling her hair afterwards, as if to say, 'good girl'.
Then I hop off the bed to head for the bathroom.
"I'll be in the shower. Knock if you want to join the party."
= = = *** = = =
A/N: Done and done! Phew! Hope that wasn't too dragging for you all! Comment
if you've been missing me! XD I'll be updating in a week. In the meantime,
drop me your love, drop me your hate, or whatever random thing you want to
tell me (like what you had with your coffee this morning, that kind of shit)
because I'd love to know how you guys are. Thanks for the time and the read!
*BIGHUGS everyone!*
NEXT: Another visit to Elizabeth's! The other ELIZABETH... Panda's flesh and
blood! PEOPLE getting DOWN and DIIIIRTY and WET (... pseudo smut ...)!
Experience the magic that Auntie Lizzie's country pile can offer. Can you
feel it, kids? Chapter 8 is gonna be great!
Be back before you know it, bbs. :D
Chapter 8 found here:
(next)