FIC: Entre Les Overdoses d'Amour (Between Overdoses of Love) [2/3]
Title: Entre Les Overdoses d'Amour (Between Overdoses of Love) [2/3]
Author: eskimo_jo
Disclaimer: The names of all characters contained here-in are the property of Skins, Company Pictures, & Channel4. No infringements of these copyrights are intended, and are used here without permission.
For more information, please see the first part.
Notes: This was a little difficult for me since I feel like I'm on really shaky ground writing Emily. But I wanted to challenge myself and this was the result, for better or worse. So I apologise in advance about it. Not sure I'll dare do it again. I'll leave it to the experts.
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EMILY
She does her best. She always tries extra hard for Naomi. Always has. She pushes herself so far that she reckons that the only thing holding her together are the thin, invisible strands of hope. Then, when those begin to snap, one at a time, she falls apart. Completely and utterly apart. Which is why she fights so hard against that, why she grasps for hope where there is none and winds herself up in it, why she imagines fairytales instead of looking at the ugly truth of reality. She doesn't want to feel that final snap of the last filament.
She's only experienced that once. It was so dark and hopeless there when she realised that you can stop loving someone if you truly want to, if you lose faith in them entirely. Gradually she rediscovered a few threads, sewed pieces of herself together again until she thought it was a strong enough garment to withstand a few cut strands.
But now, she feels that the tension is becoming a little too tight like she's being yanked in two different directions, and any moment they're all just going to give way at once and she'll be ripped and splatter like blood all over the place, soaking into the carpet, forever staining the walls crimson. That's why she just needs to make it work.
It's all or nothing for her. You're either in something, or you're not. You love someone, or you don't. There is no “sort of”. No “maybe”. No qualifications and adverbs. The world in black and white was easier to see, and learning to live in Naomi's domain of constant shades of grey had taken a lot of effort to understand, let alone cope with her never-ending questions about meaning and truth and complications. It was like living in fog with her sometimes. For someone who was so obsessed with right and wrong, Naomi sure didn't apply her politics to her emotional life. The only positive about that situation is that the the truth is so shrouded in a haze that even the silliest kind of hope seems actually plausible. How could anyone know better, right?
Right.
Or at least that's what she reminds herself of when the whole thing just suffocates her with its uncertainty, even after this long. Because, despite everything, she has doubts too. They are often ridiculous and exaggerated, and easily dissipated when Naomi looks at her in just that specific way that still gets her breath caught in her throat. She can see things in Naomi's face that remind her why they are still fighting for this, and the best part is she's pretty fucking certain Naomi has no idea she's so transparent. Always has been.
The girl with the triple-reinforced walls didn't realise they were just made of glass. And Emily's bloody good at peering through them, squinting at the warped images until they become clear. Sure, it takes effort but she likes effort. She likes trying hard for things because the pay-off is so much sweeter in the end. Work, school, relationships: they are all the same.
Give, give, give. She gives until her back aches, her fingers bleed, and her head throbs with the weight of decisions and consequences.
Just as long as there's a little bit of hope to grab ahold of and spin into strength.
And she's perfectly aware that it's not exactly the healthiest method for success because it eats away at her sanity, makes her do things that seem over-the-line, take things a little too far, push people a little too much. She doesn't give up easily though. She sees not what's there, but with the rose-coloured glasses of hope, she sees what could be.
She falls in love with potential.
Unfortunately, when that potential never materializes, and when she accepts this as the only reason for failure, it cuts the ties that bind her together, with each realisation snipping another thread.
Naomi has such beautiful potential.
To do amazing things, makes amazing strides for social welfare, governmental policies, environmental change, and to be an amazing person. But it all takes careful coaxing and trickery to get her girlfriend to see these things about herself. It's a little deceitful really, the way Emily manages to work her way in and around Naomi who at the present seems somewhat addicted to failure. Not in a significant sense, and not like she seeks it out. Just that she seems content to glide around, nursing Cook through his utter wreck of a life and fucking her on the side, and never really trying - a concept Emily has an incredibly difficult time understanding. Naomi's content to just fucking wait for everything, like the world owes her something, like she shouldn't have to ever move from her ivory tower for anything to get done.
That was probably the most infuriating thing: her sense of entitlement, no doubt passed down through the undercurrents of her charged belief system. The world was so unjust, and it should be fair. Therefore, fairness means everyone gets what they deserve and no one has to try for anything. Ever. Things come automatically to those who deserve them. In a perfect, just, karmic world. She misses the point that people who actually do try often do get what they deserve. That's fairness in a sense, Emily thinks.
Emily learnt at around the age of 5 that the world was not even remotely close to being fair, especially if you have Katie Fitch for a twin sister. Get it over it, move on. And she was determined to get everything she should, if she had to work hard for it or not. Naomi would just sit there and wait for Emily to make a move, to give an excuse, push her into that emotional turmoil that was bound to guarantee some sort of result. But to Emily, that attitude, waiting in that hell, was a fate worse than actually doing something. At least, that's how she sees it.
In the past few months, Emily had thought it changed. A shift had taken place that first night she moved in here. While Naomi can still be a stubborn cow when she wants, she isn't quite as stoic with her lovelife anymore (everything else is caught in static it seems). And Emily thinks her heart actually sometimes bursts open with hope when she catches Naomi smiling at her for no reason, or when Naomi's the one waiting for her on a bench near her last lecture, or when they are lying in bed and her fingertips are carefully, almost reverently carving trails over her skin, both absorbing and creating every spark. She wants then to shake her girlfriend and be like, “See, I told you it wouldn't hurt to trust in me. What took you this long?”
But as Naomi slowly (painfully so) grows brighter, Cook continues to slide down into something darker. She's not sure she wants to know how deep the hole is, she's scared to bear witness to that. She's mostly certain it's the same perpetually dark and hopeless place Effy dwelled. And he's got part of Naomi's heart in his teeth, tugging her away from Emily, pulling her down while Emily struggles to pull her up, grabbing with both hands and digging her heels in. It results in Naomi barely moving at all. She sometimes wonders how much hate for herself Naomi has buried deep inside to lead her always back to this darker path every time she seems to take a step away from it.
It's really this reason she's grown to resent Cook sometimes. Other times she's just broken-hearted for him. Fucking up his own life was one thing, but dragging everyone else into his blackhole of misery is another thing altogether, especially when the one person she's ever truly been in love with thinks she can't let go of him. There's jealousy in there: that Naomi seems to love him so freely, without judgment, without fear of reprisal from anyone, without any of those goddamn issues that plagued their own relationship. There's jealousy too in the fact Naomi never gives up on him the way she had given up on herself, and Emily, so many times. It results in some equally beautiful and horrid bond between them that Emily has no access to. She can only ever be a spectator. And there's still the uncomfortable niggling of a thought that there's something more to her girlfriend and Cook beyond being merely best mates, and it's something that she lost out on when they broke up. It worries her sometimes, the way they occasionally glance or snuggle in was that took her years to earn and he got in a matter of months. She wonders what's wrong with her. But then she passes it off always as being in her imagination... but it never quite fades entirely.
She doesn't hate him, couldn't hate him if she tried but she knows he sells drugs instead of working, she knows that he's lying to the only fucking person on the planet that still loves him. It's not her secret to share, and she hates the heavy feeling of keeping something so important from her girlfriend. It feels like they're in college, secretly filling out their own university applications. Despite this, she perseveres because that's all she really knows how to do. She sees the glimmer of a happy future, and wraps herself in it.
But everything is wearing thin now, stretching and being unwound.
Naomi's falling apart at her feet as each day without contact from Cook passes and she's exhausted from holding them both together, physically and mentally. Not to mention she hasn't been to classes in nearly a week now.
It's with a fair helping of guilt that Emily's grateful she wasn't in Naomi's life when Effy died. If the current situation is any indication, she couldn't have handled it. It would have drained her completely. Her breaking point is coming soon and there hasn't even been word on whether or not he's actually dead. She's so fucking scared about what will happen to Naomi if he never returns and so fucking angry that she's not enough for Naomi. So, so angry. At Naomi, at Cook, at everything. But mostly at Naomi for letting her feel this way, and sleeping in Cook's bed, just so that she can see him as soon as he comes home. Other than one night, they've been sleeping apart, she and Katie in what should be the bed she shares with her girlfriend, and Naomi adamantly alone in his.
The only respite is that Katie and Naomi have stopped sniping at each other and kind of exist in a silent peace treaty. It surprises her too that her sister is even still here, and even more that she appears genuinely upset at Cook's disappearing act. She takes comfort in the extra strength that comes from standing by her twin's side. It's a little boost that she had forgotten could have such a profound effect. Without Katie, she honestly wonders if she could have handled it alone. But even then, 'handling it' may be giving her current situation a little too much credit. She's coping, and she's worried about university not just for herself, but she's terrified for Naomi. They are both risking penalties for potentially missing assignments and exams. It doesn't seem to phase Naomi in the slightest and Emily wishes, for once, they could just sit down and talk it all out.
The mattress dips and she knows it's Naomi. Katie is breathing evenly on the other side of the bed, she really could sleep through most things. The taller girl says nothing in the dark but she crawls underneath the duvet, practically hanging off the edge of her bed. She grips Emily's t-shirt tightly in her fist and pulls herself flush against the twin. Emily's not sure what to make of the situation. For the last few days, Naomi hasn't sought out comfort at all despite Emily offering it almost constantly and now she was almost desperately pushing up against her. She's not crying, and not close to being relaxed. Emily can feel the tension in her arms and the way her breathing is coming in short breaths against her cheek.
“Naomi?”
There's no immediate reply from the girl beside her an she lets go of a sigh, wrapping an arm over Naomi's waist, holding her from falling off the bed. Despite their stalemate, she doesn't imagine that Katie will feel particularly generous sharing a bed with Naomi. They only merely tolerate each other.
“Please, Emily,” she croaks, moving her lips urgently along the redhead's pulse point. A week of barely touching Naomi except for heavy and almost awkward comforting hugs and pointless hand-holding has done it's worst and she valiantly represses a shudder of arousal.
“Go to sleep,” she manages to whisper. “I'm here. It's okay.” The moment the words escape, she inwardly cringes. It's not even close to being okay. It's a blatant fucking lie. Emily doesn't like liars. And furthermore, she's not sure how long she'll be able to say that's she's here for Naomi and actually mean it. More than her obvious placating lie, that knowledge makes her want to throw up even as Naomi ignores her words and dances cool fingers under the hem of her t-shirt.
The whole thing is so wrong. Beyond the fact that Cook is missing, and beyond the fact that she's never seen her strong Naomi so goddamn shattered, and even more than the fact her twin sister is asleep, not half a metre away, it's that she doesn't like this kind of comfort. It's false, and no one ever feels better afterward. She pushes Naomi's hands away, with a little more force than necessary.
The action does absolutely nothing to dissuade Naomi who seems to have a one-track mind at the moment. She uses her weight and large frame to gain an advantage, trapping Emily under her and sucking her bottom lip so hard it almost hurts. Fucking Naomi. Emily wishes that she could stop kissing her, but she can't and the blonde is all too aware that they just can't say no each other, no matter how wrong it is. She doesn't even realise her hands are tangled in blonde locks until she attempts to deepen the kiss and it happens easier than expected.
“Fuck's sake!”
Katie's voice rings out piercingly. She launches herself out of the bed with surprising speed, and grabs a pillow. “Shit. Take your pity sex elsewhere next time. Disgusting.”
She is beyond angry, and Emily winces again as her sister slams the bedroom door behind her, no doubt making her way to the sofa right now. Thankfully, the interruption has caused Naomi to cease her onslaught. She merely hovers above her girlfriend, looking perplexed in the dim light. Emily glances over and sees the time being near to dawn.
“It's not pity sex,” a voice says and her attention turns back to the blonde above her. “Is it?”
Emily doesn't know what to say because she thinks that it was going to be exactly that. She wonders when telling the truth became so difficult and she momentarily resents Naomi for placing her in this position once again. She was always between a rock and a hard place. She opts then for a half-truth.
“Dunno.” Maybe.
Naomi's shoulder's slump noticeably and she lowers herself to the mattress beside Emily with a deliberate sigh. Emily knows too well that Naomi is thinking things she's not saying. She never gives Emily the benefit of the doubt that she won't judge her. In fact, she knows Naomi so well by now that she'd even hazard a guess that it has something to do with just wanting to feel close to someone. But if she refuses to say it, Emily will continue to ignore it. She's tired of forcing it out of her girlfriend.
As if reading her thoughts, Naomi mumbles, “I'm sorry.” And Emily knows it's not really an apology for closing herself off as much as it is for her poorly-thought out pity sex attempt.
She just wants that other apology, just once. Something meaningful. Something reassuring.
“Talk to me,” Emily pleads, already knowing it will fall on deaf ears. Her suspicions are correct as Naomi shakes her head and resumes her fingertips' journey across the smooth plane of her her abdomen.
“I just want you to make it go away.”
It maybe should sound sweet, maybe even be a compliment but it makes Emily uncomfortable because that's exactly what she's been trying to do all week, and she knows she can't, and it makes her upset because she should be more than just a person to forget with. Especially since the whole exercise is just for the blonde to forget about bloody Cook. But Naomi's lips are warm and insistent and her hands are equally determined so she relinquishes control again and lets Naomi lead. The groan bubbles up inside of her and she forgets that this is supposed to be comforting Naomi. She claws at the layers between them, desperate to feel hot skin against her own and to feel the low vibrations of Naomi's pleasure reverberating through their bodies. Desperation streams like sweat between them as her teeth collide with soft skin yet it's still like everything is in slow motion; they're frantic but not rushed, dragging it out as long as possible. They are splintering and Emily tries to push thoughts of Cook, and Naomi's motivations for this, out of her head as Naomi rolls a nipple between her fingers, eliciting a series of sparks to shoot right to her toes. She flips Naomi onto her back with practised ease, feeling how ridiculously wet Naomi already is, and burying her fingers deep inside the other girl. She moans in response to her girlfriend, twisting and stroking so agonizingly slowly and grinding herself vigorously against a taut thigh.
This isn't going to solve anything. Emily doesn't quite understand why they still resort to sex to solve problems because it never does; it just delays the inevitable conversation, or it distracts them enough to never talk about it again. She remembers when they would make love for months without it being an alternative to an honest relationship. Those days feel lost. This feels like a huge backslide. But regardless, it's still intoxicating as the first time, all those years ago at the lake. The touch of Naomi's fingers is enough to make her centre feel heavy and warm, and her chest constrict in the most pleasurable way.
But Naomi's taste is altogether something else, and all she can think about at the moment. She follows the familiar path down to the apex of her girlfriend's thighs. It only takes one hesitant, almost regretful, sweep of her tongue through the length of Naomi's folds before she's addicted all over again; lapping and sucking like a starving animal. She can feel her hair being tugged at as her tongue deftly circles Naomi's clit and hips are pushed into her face. With her fingers beginning a rhythmic accompaniment, the sound of fervent moans are enough to tell her that Naomi is close. There's the initial tremble and Naomi's orgasm explodes without much warning, shocking in its intensity.
After a brief respite, where Naomi catches her breath, she pulls Emily up, catching her lips with her own, not giving herself an opportunity to become tired. It's sloppier now but no less determined.
She misses the blonde's lips and tastes Naomi's well-hidden, rare tears sometime in all of this, betraying the girl they fell from. She kisses them back if only to finally taste her weakness. It reminds her not to cry as well, especially as she feels a hot mouth slip down to her tits and further still. Naomi is so slow, so meticulous, tasting every bit of skin before finally laying almost ghostly kisses against her core.
It's not supposed to feel like goodbye but she just can't shake the feeling that it does.
NAOMI
When she eventually forces her eyes open, sunlight is bouncing into the bedroom and casting everything in what should be a warm glow. She's not sure if she's even seen the sun in almost a week. Maybe it's a sign. A good one. But then she reaches over and finds the bed beside her cold and empty. There's no Emily beside her and a lump forms in her throat, unexpectedly. It is ridiculous to be this upset about waking up alone because it's not like it's never happened before.
She waits patiently for the bedroom door to open and her girlfriend to pad in with a bowl of cereal or something edible like she has the past few days. After 5 minutes she realises that isn't going to happen. The clock reads 11:30 AM and she vaguely remembers that she's already missed a lecture today. Oh well. It's not like one more is really going to make much difference now. One more missed class and she'll officially have had a black star week. There's something her mum is bound to be proud of, although under the circumstances, it's reasonable surely. Maybe. But the thing is, her mum has no idea what's happening with Cook right now. She's resisted ringing her. Something about that action makes everything real. Like it did with Effy.
Naomi swings her feet out, finding her slippers easily and dragging her groggy body towards the exit. As she opens the door, she's struck with the rather odd sensation of being entirely alone. The air is calm and there isn't a sound coming from anywhere else in the flat. No Emily, and no Katie. She glances towards the open door of Cook's bedroom and reminds herself that he's not there either. Regardless, she slinks towards the room, and peers in, hoping that by some bit of magic, the last week had just been a nightmare. So much for the sunshine being a good omen.
Flicking on the TV, she relaxes as the sounds of midday BBC News seep through the imposing silence, making it seem not so much like a crypt any longer. She puts the kettle on and slumps down on the sofa to wait to make her tea. The headlines flashing across the screen barely even register however and she feels the itch to ring the police and check in again, as she has multiple times, and her fingers hover over the now familiar numbers. But she resists. If it's bad news that they just forgot to notify her about, she's not sure she'd be able to stomach it without someone next to her.
The last time, with Effy, she and Cook were together. Tied together as soon as the hospital rang the flat number and she received the news. It wasn't exactly as if either were in a state to take care of the other, but somehow they managed to both share the load. This time was different. Yes, Emily is here, thank fuck for that, but she seems more distant than usual and gradually less interested in supporting Naomi the longer this continues. She isn't oblivious to the fact that it is likely painful for Emily as well, and she also can tell something else is wrong but she simply doesn't have the emotional resources to handle that right now as well. A little bit of resentment pools in her gut when she thinks about Emily's shit timing. She ignores the fact that some simple communication could likely clear it all up. That seems like too much effort, too much risk.
So she places the phone down on the table and sits, staring blankly at the television until she hears the click of the kettle.
As she stands, the front door opens and Emily walks in, dropping her school rucksack loudly on the floor. A simultaneous feeling of both relief and annoyance flirts with Naomi's conscience momentarily. She searches for something to gain Emily's attention, fumbling for something better than 'Hello'.
“Where's Katie?” She inadvertently bites her bottom lip, knowing that it wasn't the most pleasant of things to say.
Emily just shrugs and kicks off her trainers. “Out. Shopping somewhere.”
Naomi wants to continue the conversation but there's no point in asking where Emily's been because it's obvious she was at uni, and frankly, it sounds kind of possessive and needy - two characteristics Naomi despises. “How was class?” she asks instead, trying to hide her irritation at Emily's shift back into normal life while Cook is still gone.
She's met again with a shrug and it's really starting to piss Naomi off so she turns and goes to tend to her tea, leaving Emily to sulk or whatever the fuck she's doing. When she returns from the kitchen, Emily's sitting on the sofa with a textbook spread open in her lap. Naomi sips the hot liquid before settling down next to her.
After a moment, Emily speaks. “I missed a quiz, you know.” Her tone is accusatory almost and Naomi is somewhat repulsed by the hidden blame there. She thought they were in this thing together. “I explained it to the coordinator and she said I could sit it on Monday.” She pauses as if there's something left to reproach Naomi for. “Of course, it's all on material from this week.”
“You'll have all weekend to revise then,” she states plainly, unconcerned with her girlfriend's predicament. “You'll do fine.”
Emily closes the textbook firmly but doesn't look at the blonde. “That's not really the point,” she sighs but doesn't elaborate further. Naomi's left to piece together what she thinks Emily's getting at. Probably something about how it's all her fault for being such a tit over Cook and all Cook's fault for being a twat and going missing. She's pretty sure it's not because Emily's concerned about her standing in school.
“It kind of is though,” Naomi argues feebly. “There's more important things to worry about, I think.”
There's an odd sort of sputter that erupts from Emily. “Yeah, because sitting around here doing nothing and going mad with paranoia sure is helping the situation,” she scoffs in disbelief and attempts to rise, but Naomi reaches out and grabs her hand. It's cold.
“Look,” Naomi starts harshly, but softens almost immediately. “I'll help you, okay?” She doesn't really have the faintest idea how since she's useless with Emily's coursework, but it's worth the offer. She can, like, do note cards or something.
“I don't need help, Naomi. I need you to understand.” She finally meets Naomi's eyes, but her expression is unreadable.
“You're making that bloody difficult,” she huffs, reaching the point of annoyance at Emily's behaviour and stupid cryptic fucking sentences. “What the fuck is your problem?” That likely was not the best solution.
Something must snap inside Emily because one moment she's staring Naomi down like prey, and the next she's tossed her rather heavy textbook onto the table with a very loud thud and looks like she's about to explode. Naomi just stares, shocked. “Would you stop being so fucking stubborn? You're losing it, Naomi, and I can't sit here and just watch it happen! I'm tired of this bloody game you play. I can't stand it.” She shakes her head defiantly, scrunching her eyes closed.
There's nothing Naomi can do but let her mouth fall open slightly in confusion because she honestly has no flipping clue what on earth just happened or what Emily is even ranting about. She feels compelled to argue, and even a stronger compulsion to run. But the flat isn't that big, and she knows from experience that it doesn't really accomplish anything. So she stays silent and waits. Waits for Emily to make a move, like always.
But then, almost as if nothing happened, Emily squares her shoulders, stares at some point on the wall beyond and sighs. “Sorry.”
Still a little speechless, Naomi nods mutely.
“Sorry,” Emily tries again. “I think I'm just stressed out about everything.” She sinks back down into the cushions beside her girlfriend and closes her eyes. Naomi feels like that was too easy, like Emily gave in too quickly and her excuse is paper thin. But pushing the issue means possibly facing things she doesn't want to hear so she accepts the flimsy and false apology. She feels the disappointment oozing from Emily; from her gaze to the defeated slump of her shoulders. She's so fucking tired of being a disappointment, like she's confined on some bloody pedestal all the time. Emily's bound to fall victim to shattering disenchantment when she finally accepts that Naomi can't possibly live up to the overwhelming expectations. Everyone always does. Naomi knows she's losing her precarious balance, and she has petrifying doubts about whether Emily will be there, waiting at the bottom, to catch her inevitable fall from grace.
Focussing instead on her well-developed habit of denial, she buries the doubts that were rising just a minute ago and wonders if she should attempt to touch the redhead. It seems like the proper thing to do, but lately touching seems to either lead to awkwardness or sex, and neither of those would help at all. She is desperate to ask for merely a hug but the words never manage to form on her lips. She really just wants reassurance, wants to feel Emily's warm body against hers. Instead, they sit there in silence and Naomi watches the steam rising from her rapidly cooling tea.
In an hour, Emily is gone again, back to classes presumably although she didn't really mention anything on her way out the door. Naomi's just settled back into her programme, surreptitiously glancing at Emily's textbook every so often and wondering if she should surprise her with flashcards, when there is a pounding on the door. Her heart leaps into her throat, and her pulse immediately races with the fantasy that Cook is back. But the knock is too firm, too demanding, too orderly to be his. It sounds official. With trepidation, she inches towards the door, breathes out evenly and summons the courage to open it.
There's a flash of dark burgundy and assorted animal prints as Katie Fitch storms into the flat and promptly drops heaps of shopping bags on the floor. “What took you so bloody long? These are well heavy and I had to carry them up 3 flights of stairs!”
Naomi mutters a confused apology and watches the whirlwind toss bags around until she finds what she's looking for. She pulls out some black fabric from a Selfridges tote and throws it in Naomi's direction. With an easy catch, Naomi stretches it out and finds it's a rather nice black, cowl-neck top. A little much for her personally and she's not sure if Katie wants an opinion on it or to give it to her so she says nothing and just fiddles with the top, holding it up higher.
“It's for you,” Katie states plainly, as if it were an everyday occurrence that she hands out very nice Kookai tops to everyone she doesn't get along with. She goes back to digging in her piles of bags.
Naomi pauses, unsure what this means. “Erm, thanks, but...” She's not certain how to continue the sentence without seeming ungrateful.
“But nothing, Campbell.” Katie catches Naomi's reluctance. “Don't flatter yourself. It was well discounted. And you're wearing it.”
For a moment, Naomi wonders when she became a substitution for Emily. “I don't understand.” It's the truth, and she'd really like to ask what Katie expects in return now. She doesn't want to be some grown-up Barbie doll. She's glad she never had a sister for a reason.
Brown eyes latch onto to her, almost frustrated. “You wouldn't,” she spits, but it's only partly venomous. “It's called 'fashion', Naomi. You should, like, associate yourself with the concept sooner or later.” She gives the blonde a rather blatant disapproving once-over before meeting her eyes again. “Preferably sooner.”
Despite her hard bravado, the behaviour makes Naomi feel small and ugly, and that feeling alone is all too painfully familiar. She realises, with some astonishment, that she hasn't actually felt this brand of embarrassment in quite a long time. She blames the stress of the week for her sudden urge to cry. Emily never judges harshly, and Cook, well, he never gives a fuck about anything let alone her choices in clothing. Katie has an amazing way of just belittling people with a look. She reckons that it's a shame that Katie is so unmotivated and not very clever because she might actually make a good solicitor. Naomi insecurities must rise to the surface because Katie's glare softens slightly.
“Look, I'm not trying to be a bitch or whatever, but it would be nice for my sister to see just what she has. Take her breath away, you know?” Naomi's not sure how to take the statement. She thinks it's kind of a compliment. The moment is lost however as soon as Katie continues with a sneer. “You certainly don't put in the effort yourself.”
She thinks that maybe that's all she wants to hear from Katie's mouth for the rest of evening, at least until Emily comes home and can distract the cunt. She feels the annoyance finally rising in place of shame. It is a much more empowering feeling. Her blue eyes harden on the brunette. “I don't know if it's escaped your notice, Katiekins, but Emily really prefers me without clothes on. They really just get too wet and who really wants to go around positively reeking of sex all day?” She smirks, knowing the graphic image of her sister sweaty and fucking Naomi's brains out will be enough to turn Katie's stomach for at least a few minutes. Not to mention, it's obvious that Katie hasn't had a meaningful relationship since, well, ever. “And really, taking advice from you? I may be a little daft, but no one your age should wear that much leopard print. It ages you prematurely, wouldn't you say?” It works as she expected and she takes delight in the small victory as Katie sets her jaw. Naomi can't help but notice the way Katie turns away, bows her head and self-consciously picks at her blouse in the process. A sliver of guilt creeps up but she squashes it down, reminding herself what the bitch just said.
She doesn't ask for the top back, but instead gathers the rest of her purchases and lugs them into Cook's room, shutting the door behind herself, not looking at Naomi once.
The blonde wonders how it's possible that the trio of them just seem to be stuck in a cycle of constantly hurting each other, for no real reason. Worse still, she sees no other alternative.
About 10 minutes later, Katie emerges, hair tied up in a ponytail and wearing a pair of joggers and a small pink t-shirt with the words “High Maintenance” on it. Naomi can't decide whether that's supposed to be ironic or not. But there is a definite lack of animal print. She sits down next to the blonde on the settee and picks at her nails, letting a saddened sigh loose.
“What?” Naomi snaps, no longer in the mood to play Katie's games.
Katie's head shoots up to face Naomi, and she actually looks mildly offended. “Can't a person breathe?” she snipes back.
“We're going to fall out,” Naomi warns in a low, serious voice.
“Haven't we already?” Katie retorts quickly.
Restraining a huff of irritation, Naomi lets the issue drop for now and chooses not to respond. The silence is a little awkward, and not just because of the argument that happened earlier. She senses that the twin has something important to say, or to ask, and dragging it out is only setting her nerves even further on edge than they already are. She wants to confront Katie, get her to blurt out whatever it is so they can go back to ignoring each other but she lacks the resolve. Facing a Fitch twin was always a bit of an effort, but she had always found Katie monumentally easier to confront since sharp insults usually were all conversations consisted of.
Finally the ice cracks. “Do you love him?”
For a moment, Naomi's not even sure who “he” is and wonders if Katie is high or something. She glances at the TV screen, working out what fit bloke she supposedly fancies. It's nothing but a sweeping landscape scene, across tropical ocean waters. Then she realises it's Cook the twin is referring to. She stifles the disbelief and opts for casual.
“Not the way you're implying,” she states.
“Are you sure?”
“Are you mental?” Naomi rebukes. “Really, Katie, grow up.” This is an absurd conversation to be having, she's sure. And Katie is just staring at her like she's some sort of 50% off tag and she's working out the discounted final price. It's uncomfortable.
Katie shrugs. “I've just never seen you this disorganised and weird. And you're plenty of both on a normal basis.”
There's a brief second where Naomi actually interprets Katie's words as genuine concern. Then she remembers who she's speaking with. “Cook is missing,” she emphasizes. “Imagine Emily went missing and how you'd feel.”
“Not the same.” She sounds so fucking sure of herself and it convinces Naomi that Katie really has no sodding clue about any of their situations at all.
“It totally is. Don't even try this bullshit on me, Katie. We've had our big row for the day and I'm really not keen on another.” She finally lets out an annoyed sigh. “Either leave me be, or go shopping. Get out of my face.”
Katie chews on her lip momentarily as she surveys the blonde with narrowed eyes. “Why are you such an arrogant cunt, Naomi?” She smirks. “It's kind of unbelievable, really, just how intolerable you actually are. I thought it was just a phase.”
The older girl shifts away on the sofa. “Pot, meet kettle,” she quips before shooting Katie an angry glare. It seems to just bounce off of her however and Naomi's defenses falter with the failure of her attack. She really wants to ask when the fuck Katie plans on leaving London because she's certainly over-stayed her welcome but she can't form the words and resolves to merely stare, sort of pointedly in her direction.
“I honestly don't see what my sister sees in a munter like you,” Katie muses, almost indifferently.
“That's a good thing,” Naomi retorts, raising one eyebrow in mute challenge. She senses that their somewhat civil (as best as can be) conversation is about to turn ugly again. She has so many barbs she can sling her way, but she represses the desire quite well. If Katie wants another fucking row, so be it, but she wants to say honestly to Emily that she's not the one who started it.
The brunette shrugs again and Naomi's struck with just how similar the twins could be. “I don't really give a shit about you, or your fucked up life, but if you hurt my sister - again -, I swear to God on my Nana's grave, that I will personally make you seriously regret it.”
Trying to adopt the same bloody blasé attitude, Naomi shrugs as well. “Message received. Watch out or some cheap slapper from Bristol will insult my fashion sense and force me to do vodka shots and K til I pass out, get date-raped and wake up in a stranger's bed the next morning with no memory and a nasty case of genital herpes. How is that going for you anyway?” Naomi put on a false face of concern. “You know it's incurable, yeah?”
She had tried to restrain the malice, but the silly threat and Katie's generally displeasing presence had made it near impossible. Not to mention that all the rage and resentment that had been building for the last week finally had a target, however undeserving under the circumstances. She was so frustrated with Cook's disappearance, Emily's cold behaviour and the fact she was fully aware that she was once again throwing away her entire future (both in a romantic and an educational sense) out of concern for a boy who could care less about his own. And she feels powerless to stop herself. Always so fucking powerless.
The shock of Naomi knowing that private part of her life, a trust that her sister had breached, brings something resembling anger to Katie's face, though Naomi isn't exactly sure. Maybe it's betrayal. There is no snide comeback from the twin. She just grits her teeth and turns away. It doesn't really feel like a victory this time.
Almost before she has time to think, words escape her throat. “Sorry. I didn't mean...” It's so foreign to even her own ears that she's not surprised when Katie looks at her in something resembling awe, mouth half-open and a curious gaze in her eyes. She doesn't elaborate, probably couldn't even if she tried but it seems to be enough.
Katie clears her throat and returns her attention to the television again. “I thought that top would look mint on you,” she offers as some sort of odd acceptance.
There's a heavy kind of silence for a moment. “Thanks.” She means it.
“Ems would love to see it on you. I know she would.”
Naomi's sure that it isn't a come-on and she instantly regrets the words that came out of her mouth in the past few minutes. It's the kind of thing that hits below the belt; it's unfair. It's definitely going to get back to Emily too eventually which is possibly even worse. She knows through Emily, that the whole thing was really rough on Katie for a while, Emily even went home for a few days. And while Katie wasn't a stranger to getting herself into such sketchy situations, she really didn't deserve anything that happened. She wants to tell Katie that she really does mean she's sorry, and that she wouldn't wish that kind of thing on anyone. But the words get lodged somewhere between her throat and tongue. She swallows noticeably instead.
“I just need to be sure,” Katie says softly. “I need to know she's going to be okay.”
This genuine outpouring of concern from Katie strikes Naomi as a little odd, and slightly disconcerting the way it seems as if the twin's ending something, but she doesn't attempt to correct Katie by reminding her that Emily's been doing okay on her own. She's already done enough damage for the day, the week even.
“I love her, Katie.” The words don't feel as strange as she thought they would considering Katie really is the only person other than her mum that has been a witness to that admission. Not even Cook had heard that phrase. She hopes and prays it sounds as serious as she is.
“More than I do?” she asks with the slightest of cheeky smirks.
Naomi wants to shrug because she's really not sure exactly, or how one would even go about calculating that if it was an exact science. “Differently than you do.” She settles for the truth and offers a small, hesitant smile in return.
“That'll do,” she concedes.
Naomi fusses over the remote for a moment before changing the channel and settling down again. She glances over at the brunette. “You're all right, Katie. When you're not being a demanding cow.”
She doesn't meet her eyes, but Naomi can see the smile anyway.
“You're not bad yourself, when you're not taking your freaky, cuntish frustrations out on me.”
Naomi feels momentarily defensive again. “That's cos I knew you could take it,” she rationalizes. It's the truth, as good as.
Finally, Katie looks over at her and nods slightly in understanding. “I know.”
A truce. Finally.
End Part 2. Part 3 is here.
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Author: eskimo_jo
Disclaimer: The names of all characters contained here-in are the property of Skins, Company Pictures, & Channel4. No infringements of these copyrights are intended, and are used here without permission.
For more information, please see the first part.
Notes: This was a little difficult for me since I feel like I'm on really shaky ground writing Emily. But I wanted to challenge myself and this was the result, for better or worse. So I apologise in advance about it. Not sure I'll dare do it again. I'll leave it to the experts.
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EMILY
She does her best. She always tries extra hard for Naomi. Always has. She pushes herself so far that she reckons that the only thing holding her together are the thin, invisible strands of hope. Then, when those begin to snap, one at a time, she falls apart. Completely and utterly apart. Which is why she fights so hard against that, why she grasps for hope where there is none and winds herself up in it, why she imagines fairytales instead of looking at the ugly truth of reality. She doesn't want to feel that final snap of the last filament.
She's only experienced that once. It was so dark and hopeless there when she realised that you can stop loving someone if you truly want to, if you lose faith in them entirely. Gradually she rediscovered a few threads, sewed pieces of herself together again until she thought it was a strong enough garment to withstand a few cut strands.
But now, she feels that the tension is becoming a little too tight like she's being yanked in two different directions, and any moment they're all just going to give way at once and she'll be ripped and splatter like blood all over the place, soaking into the carpet, forever staining the walls crimson. That's why she just needs to make it work.
It's all or nothing for her. You're either in something, or you're not. You love someone, or you don't. There is no “sort of”. No “maybe”. No qualifications and adverbs. The world in black and white was easier to see, and learning to live in Naomi's domain of constant shades of grey had taken a lot of effort to understand, let alone cope with her never-ending questions about meaning and truth and complications. It was like living in fog with her sometimes. For someone who was so obsessed with right and wrong, Naomi sure didn't apply her politics to her emotional life. The only positive about that situation is that the the truth is so shrouded in a haze that even the silliest kind of hope seems actually plausible. How could anyone know better, right?
Right.
Or at least that's what she reminds herself of when the whole thing just suffocates her with its uncertainty, even after this long. Because, despite everything, she has doubts too. They are often ridiculous and exaggerated, and easily dissipated when Naomi looks at her in just that specific way that still gets her breath caught in her throat. She can see things in Naomi's face that remind her why they are still fighting for this, and the best part is she's pretty fucking certain Naomi has no idea she's so transparent. Always has been.
The girl with the triple-reinforced walls didn't realise they were just made of glass. And Emily's bloody good at peering through them, squinting at the warped images until they become clear. Sure, it takes effort but she likes effort. She likes trying hard for things because the pay-off is so much sweeter in the end. Work, school, relationships: they are all the same.
Give, give, give. She gives until her back aches, her fingers bleed, and her head throbs with the weight of decisions and consequences.
Just as long as there's a little bit of hope to grab ahold of and spin into strength.
And she's perfectly aware that it's not exactly the healthiest method for success because it eats away at her sanity, makes her do things that seem over-the-line, take things a little too far, push people a little too much. She doesn't give up easily though. She sees not what's there, but with the rose-coloured glasses of hope, she sees what could be.
She falls in love with potential.
Unfortunately, when that potential never materializes, and when she accepts this as the only reason for failure, it cuts the ties that bind her together, with each realisation snipping another thread.
Naomi has such beautiful potential.
To do amazing things, makes amazing strides for social welfare, governmental policies, environmental change, and to be an amazing person. But it all takes careful coaxing and trickery to get her girlfriend to see these things about herself. It's a little deceitful really, the way Emily manages to work her way in and around Naomi who at the present seems somewhat addicted to failure. Not in a significant sense, and not like she seeks it out. Just that she seems content to glide around, nursing Cook through his utter wreck of a life and fucking her on the side, and never really trying - a concept Emily has an incredibly difficult time understanding. Naomi's content to just fucking wait for everything, like the world owes her something, like she shouldn't have to ever move from her ivory tower for anything to get done.
That was probably the most infuriating thing: her sense of entitlement, no doubt passed down through the undercurrents of her charged belief system. The world was so unjust, and it should be fair. Therefore, fairness means everyone gets what they deserve and no one has to try for anything. Ever. Things come automatically to those who deserve them. In a perfect, just, karmic world. She misses the point that people who actually do try often do get what they deserve. That's fairness in a sense, Emily thinks.
Emily learnt at around the age of 5 that the world was not even remotely close to being fair, especially if you have Katie Fitch for a twin sister. Get it over it, move on. And she was determined to get everything she should, if she had to work hard for it or not. Naomi would just sit there and wait for Emily to make a move, to give an excuse, push her into that emotional turmoil that was bound to guarantee some sort of result. But to Emily, that attitude, waiting in that hell, was a fate worse than actually doing something. At least, that's how she sees it.
In the past few months, Emily had thought it changed. A shift had taken place that first night she moved in here. While Naomi can still be a stubborn cow when she wants, she isn't quite as stoic with her lovelife anymore (everything else is caught in static it seems). And Emily thinks her heart actually sometimes bursts open with hope when she catches Naomi smiling at her for no reason, or when Naomi's the one waiting for her on a bench near her last lecture, or when they are lying in bed and her fingertips are carefully, almost reverently carving trails over her skin, both absorbing and creating every spark. She wants then to shake her girlfriend and be like, “See, I told you it wouldn't hurt to trust in me. What took you this long?”
But as Naomi slowly (painfully so) grows brighter, Cook continues to slide down into something darker. She's not sure she wants to know how deep the hole is, she's scared to bear witness to that. She's mostly certain it's the same perpetually dark and hopeless place Effy dwelled. And he's got part of Naomi's heart in his teeth, tugging her away from Emily, pulling her down while Emily struggles to pull her up, grabbing with both hands and digging her heels in. It results in Naomi barely moving at all. She sometimes wonders how much hate for herself Naomi has buried deep inside to lead her always back to this darker path every time she seems to take a step away from it.
It's really this reason she's grown to resent Cook sometimes. Other times she's just broken-hearted for him. Fucking up his own life was one thing, but dragging everyone else into his blackhole of misery is another thing altogether, especially when the one person she's ever truly been in love with thinks she can't let go of him. There's jealousy in there: that Naomi seems to love him so freely, without judgment, without fear of reprisal from anyone, without any of those goddamn issues that plagued their own relationship. There's jealousy too in the fact Naomi never gives up on him the way she had given up on herself, and Emily, so many times. It results in some equally beautiful and horrid bond between them that Emily has no access to. She can only ever be a spectator. And there's still the uncomfortable niggling of a thought that there's something more to her girlfriend and Cook beyond being merely best mates, and it's something that she lost out on when they broke up. It worries her sometimes, the way they occasionally glance or snuggle in was that took her years to earn and he got in a matter of months. She wonders what's wrong with her. But then she passes it off always as being in her imagination... but it never quite fades entirely.
She doesn't hate him, couldn't hate him if she tried but she knows he sells drugs instead of working, she knows that he's lying to the only fucking person on the planet that still loves him. It's not her secret to share, and she hates the heavy feeling of keeping something so important from her girlfriend. It feels like they're in college, secretly filling out their own university applications. Despite this, she perseveres because that's all she really knows how to do. She sees the glimmer of a happy future, and wraps herself in it.
But everything is wearing thin now, stretching and being unwound.
Naomi's falling apart at her feet as each day without contact from Cook passes and she's exhausted from holding them both together, physically and mentally. Not to mention she hasn't been to classes in nearly a week now.
It's with a fair helping of guilt that Emily's grateful she wasn't in Naomi's life when Effy died. If the current situation is any indication, she couldn't have handled it. It would have drained her completely. Her breaking point is coming soon and there hasn't even been word on whether or not he's actually dead. She's so fucking scared about what will happen to Naomi if he never returns and so fucking angry that she's not enough for Naomi. So, so angry. At Naomi, at Cook, at everything. But mostly at Naomi for letting her feel this way, and sleeping in Cook's bed, just so that she can see him as soon as he comes home. Other than one night, they've been sleeping apart, she and Katie in what should be the bed she shares with her girlfriend, and Naomi adamantly alone in his.
The only respite is that Katie and Naomi have stopped sniping at each other and kind of exist in a silent peace treaty. It surprises her too that her sister is even still here, and even more that she appears genuinely upset at Cook's disappearing act. She takes comfort in the extra strength that comes from standing by her twin's side. It's a little boost that she had forgotten could have such a profound effect. Without Katie, she honestly wonders if she could have handled it alone. But even then, 'handling it' may be giving her current situation a little too much credit. She's coping, and she's worried about university not just for herself, but she's terrified for Naomi. They are both risking penalties for potentially missing assignments and exams. It doesn't seem to phase Naomi in the slightest and Emily wishes, for once, they could just sit down and talk it all out.
The mattress dips and she knows it's Naomi. Katie is breathing evenly on the other side of the bed, she really could sleep through most things. The taller girl says nothing in the dark but she crawls underneath the duvet, practically hanging off the edge of her bed. She grips Emily's t-shirt tightly in her fist and pulls herself flush against the twin. Emily's not sure what to make of the situation. For the last few days, Naomi hasn't sought out comfort at all despite Emily offering it almost constantly and now she was almost desperately pushing up against her. She's not crying, and not close to being relaxed. Emily can feel the tension in her arms and the way her breathing is coming in short breaths against her cheek.
“Naomi?”
There's no immediate reply from the girl beside her an she lets go of a sigh, wrapping an arm over Naomi's waist, holding her from falling off the bed. Despite their stalemate, she doesn't imagine that Katie will feel particularly generous sharing a bed with Naomi. They only merely tolerate each other.
“Please, Emily,” she croaks, moving her lips urgently along the redhead's pulse point. A week of barely touching Naomi except for heavy and almost awkward comforting hugs and pointless hand-holding has done it's worst and she valiantly represses a shudder of arousal.
“Go to sleep,” she manages to whisper. “I'm here. It's okay.” The moment the words escape, she inwardly cringes. It's not even close to being okay. It's a blatant fucking lie. Emily doesn't like liars. And furthermore, she's not sure how long she'll be able to say that's she's here for Naomi and actually mean it. More than her obvious placating lie, that knowledge makes her want to throw up even as Naomi ignores her words and dances cool fingers under the hem of her t-shirt.
The whole thing is so wrong. Beyond the fact that Cook is missing, and beyond the fact that she's never seen her strong Naomi so goddamn shattered, and even more than the fact her twin sister is asleep, not half a metre away, it's that she doesn't like this kind of comfort. It's false, and no one ever feels better afterward. She pushes Naomi's hands away, with a little more force than necessary.
The action does absolutely nothing to dissuade Naomi who seems to have a one-track mind at the moment. She uses her weight and large frame to gain an advantage, trapping Emily under her and sucking her bottom lip so hard it almost hurts. Fucking Naomi. Emily wishes that she could stop kissing her, but she can't and the blonde is all too aware that they just can't say no each other, no matter how wrong it is. She doesn't even realise her hands are tangled in blonde locks until she attempts to deepen the kiss and it happens easier than expected.
“Fuck's sake!”
Katie's voice rings out piercingly. She launches herself out of the bed with surprising speed, and grabs a pillow. “Shit. Take your pity sex elsewhere next time. Disgusting.”
She is beyond angry, and Emily winces again as her sister slams the bedroom door behind her, no doubt making her way to the sofa right now. Thankfully, the interruption has caused Naomi to cease her onslaught. She merely hovers above her girlfriend, looking perplexed in the dim light. Emily glances over and sees the time being near to dawn.
“It's not pity sex,” a voice says and her attention turns back to the blonde above her. “Is it?”
Emily doesn't know what to say because she thinks that it was going to be exactly that. She wonders when telling the truth became so difficult and she momentarily resents Naomi for placing her in this position once again. She was always between a rock and a hard place. She opts then for a half-truth.
“Dunno.” Maybe.
Naomi's shoulder's slump noticeably and she lowers herself to the mattress beside Emily with a deliberate sigh. Emily knows too well that Naomi is thinking things she's not saying. She never gives Emily the benefit of the doubt that she won't judge her. In fact, she knows Naomi so well by now that she'd even hazard a guess that it has something to do with just wanting to feel close to someone. But if she refuses to say it, Emily will continue to ignore it. She's tired of forcing it out of her girlfriend.
As if reading her thoughts, Naomi mumbles, “I'm sorry.” And Emily knows it's not really an apology for closing herself off as much as it is for her poorly-thought out pity sex attempt.
She just wants that other apology, just once. Something meaningful. Something reassuring.
“Talk to me,” Emily pleads, already knowing it will fall on deaf ears. Her suspicions are correct as Naomi shakes her head and resumes her fingertips' journey across the smooth plane of her her abdomen.
“I just want you to make it go away.”
It maybe should sound sweet, maybe even be a compliment but it makes Emily uncomfortable because that's exactly what she's been trying to do all week, and she knows she can't, and it makes her upset because she should be more than just a person to forget with. Especially since the whole exercise is just for the blonde to forget about bloody Cook. But Naomi's lips are warm and insistent and her hands are equally determined so she relinquishes control again and lets Naomi lead. The groan bubbles up inside of her and she forgets that this is supposed to be comforting Naomi. She claws at the layers between them, desperate to feel hot skin against her own and to feel the low vibrations of Naomi's pleasure reverberating through their bodies. Desperation streams like sweat between them as her teeth collide with soft skin yet it's still like everything is in slow motion; they're frantic but not rushed, dragging it out as long as possible. They are splintering and Emily tries to push thoughts of Cook, and Naomi's motivations for this, out of her head as Naomi rolls a nipple between her fingers, eliciting a series of sparks to shoot right to her toes. She flips Naomi onto her back with practised ease, feeling how ridiculously wet Naomi already is, and burying her fingers deep inside the other girl. She moans in response to her girlfriend, twisting and stroking so agonizingly slowly and grinding herself vigorously against a taut thigh.
This isn't going to solve anything. Emily doesn't quite understand why they still resort to sex to solve problems because it never does; it just delays the inevitable conversation, or it distracts them enough to never talk about it again. She remembers when they would make love for months without it being an alternative to an honest relationship. Those days feel lost. This feels like a huge backslide. But regardless, it's still intoxicating as the first time, all those years ago at the lake. The touch of Naomi's fingers is enough to make her centre feel heavy and warm, and her chest constrict in the most pleasurable way.
But Naomi's taste is altogether something else, and all she can think about at the moment. She follows the familiar path down to the apex of her girlfriend's thighs. It only takes one hesitant, almost regretful, sweep of her tongue through the length of Naomi's folds before she's addicted all over again; lapping and sucking like a starving animal. She can feel her hair being tugged at as her tongue deftly circles Naomi's clit and hips are pushed into her face. With her fingers beginning a rhythmic accompaniment, the sound of fervent moans are enough to tell her that Naomi is close. There's the initial tremble and Naomi's orgasm explodes without much warning, shocking in its intensity.
After a brief respite, where Naomi catches her breath, she pulls Emily up, catching her lips with her own, not giving herself an opportunity to become tired. It's sloppier now but no less determined.
She misses the blonde's lips and tastes Naomi's well-hidden, rare tears sometime in all of this, betraying the girl they fell from. She kisses them back if only to finally taste her weakness. It reminds her not to cry as well, especially as she feels a hot mouth slip down to her tits and further still. Naomi is so slow, so meticulous, tasting every bit of skin before finally laying almost ghostly kisses against her core.
It's not supposed to feel like goodbye but she just can't shake the feeling that it does.
NAOMI
When she eventually forces her eyes open, sunlight is bouncing into the bedroom and casting everything in what should be a warm glow. She's not sure if she's even seen the sun in almost a week. Maybe it's a sign. A good one. But then she reaches over and finds the bed beside her cold and empty. There's no Emily beside her and a lump forms in her throat, unexpectedly. It is ridiculous to be this upset about waking up alone because it's not like it's never happened before.
She waits patiently for the bedroom door to open and her girlfriend to pad in with a bowl of cereal or something edible like she has the past few days. After 5 minutes she realises that isn't going to happen. The clock reads 11:30 AM and she vaguely remembers that she's already missed a lecture today. Oh well. It's not like one more is really going to make much difference now. One more missed class and she'll officially have had a black star week. There's something her mum is bound to be proud of, although under the circumstances, it's reasonable surely. Maybe. But the thing is, her mum has no idea what's happening with Cook right now. She's resisted ringing her. Something about that action makes everything real. Like it did with Effy.
Naomi swings her feet out, finding her slippers easily and dragging her groggy body towards the exit. As she opens the door, she's struck with the rather odd sensation of being entirely alone. The air is calm and there isn't a sound coming from anywhere else in the flat. No Emily, and no Katie. She glances towards the open door of Cook's bedroom and reminds herself that he's not there either. Regardless, she slinks towards the room, and peers in, hoping that by some bit of magic, the last week had just been a nightmare. So much for the sunshine being a good omen.
Flicking on the TV, she relaxes as the sounds of midday BBC News seep through the imposing silence, making it seem not so much like a crypt any longer. She puts the kettle on and slumps down on the sofa to wait to make her tea. The headlines flashing across the screen barely even register however and she feels the itch to ring the police and check in again, as she has multiple times, and her fingers hover over the now familiar numbers. But she resists. If it's bad news that they just forgot to notify her about, she's not sure she'd be able to stomach it without someone next to her.
The last time, with Effy, she and Cook were together. Tied together as soon as the hospital rang the flat number and she received the news. It wasn't exactly as if either were in a state to take care of the other, but somehow they managed to both share the load. This time was different. Yes, Emily is here, thank fuck for that, but she seems more distant than usual and gradually less interested in supporting Naomi the longer this continues. She isn't oblivious to the fact that it is likely painful for Emily as well, and she also can tell something else is wrong but she simply doesn't have the emotional resources to handle that right now as well. A little bit of resentment pools in her gut when she thinks about Emily's shit timing. She ignores the fact that some simple communication could likely clear it all up. That seems like too much effort, too much risk.
So she places the phone down on the table and sits, staring blankly at the television until she hears the click of the kettle.
As she stands, the front door opens and Emily walks in, dropping her school rucksack loudly on the floor. A simultaneous feeling of both relief and annoyance flirts with Naomi's conscience momentarily. She searches for something to gain Emily's attention, fumbling for something better than 'Hello'.
“Where's Katie?” She inadvertently bites her bottom lip, knowing that it wasn't the most pleasant of things to say.
Emily just shrugs and kicks off her trainers. “Out. Shopping somewhere.”
Naomi wants to continue the conversation but there's no point in asking where Emily's been because it's obvious she was at uni, and frankly, it sounds kind of possessive and needy - two characteristics Naomi despises. “How was class?” she asks instead, trying to hide her irritation at Emily's shift back into normal life while Cook is still gone.
She's met again with a shrug and it's really starting to piss Naomi off so she turns and goes to tend to her tea, leaving Emily to sulk or whatever the fuck she's doing. When she returns from the kitchen, Emily's sitting on the sofa with a textbook spread open in her lap. Naomi sips the hot liquid before settling down next to her.
After a moment, Emily speaks. “I missed a quiz, you know.” Her tone is accusatory almost and Naomi is somewhat repulsed by the hidden blame there. She thought they were in this thing together. “I explained it to the coordinator and she said I could sit it on Monday.” She pauses as if there's something left to reproach Naomi for. “Of course, it's all on material from this week.”
“You'll have all weekend to revise then,” she states plainly, unconcerned with her girlfriend's predicament. “You'll do fine.”
Emily closes the textbook firmly but doesn't look at the blonde. “That's not really the point,” she sighs but doesn't elaborate further. Naomi's left to piece together what she thinks Emily's getting at. Probably something about how it's all her fault for being such a tit over Cook and all Cook's fault for being a twat and going missing. She's pretty sure it's not because Emily's concerned about her standing in school.
“It kind of is though,” Naomi argues feebly. “There's more important things to worry about, I think.”
There's an odd sort of sputter that erupts from Emily. “Yeah, because sitting around here doing nothing and going mad with paranoia sure is helping the situation,” she scoffs in disbelief and attempts to rise, but Naomi reaches out and grabs her hand. It's cold.
“Look,” Naomi starts harshly, but softens almost immediately. “I'll help you, okay?” She doesn't really have the faintest idea how since she's useless with Emily's coursework, but it's worth the offer. She can, like, do note cards or something.
“I don't need help, Naomi. I need you to understand.” She finally meets Naomi's eyes, but her expression is unreadable.
“You're making that bloody difficult,” she huffs, reaching the point of annoyance at Emily's behaviour and stupid cryptic fucking sentences. “What the fuck is your problem?” That likely was not the best solution.
Something must snap inside Emily because one moment she's staring Naomi down like prey, and the next she's tossed her rather heavy textbook onto the table with a very loud thud and looks like she's about to explode. Naomi just stares, shocked. “Would you stop being so fucking stubborn? You're losing it, Naomi, and I can't sit here and just watch it happen! I'm tired of this bloody game you play. I can't stand it.” She shakes her head defiantly, scrunching her eyes closed.
There's nothing Naomi can do but let her mouth fall open slightly in confusion because she honestly has no flipping clue what on earth just happened or what Emily is even ranting about. She feels compelled to argue, and even a stronger compulsion to run. But the flat isn't that big, and she knows from experience that it doesn't really accomplish anything. So she stays silent and waits. Waits for Emily to make a move, like always.
But then, almost as if nothing happened, Emily squares her shoulders, stares at some point on the wall beyond and sighs. “Sorry.”
Still a little speechless, Naomi nods mutely.
“Sorry,” Emily tries again. “I think I'm just stressed out about everything.” She sinks back down into the cushions beside her girlfriend and closes her eyes. Naomi feels like that was too easy, like Emily gave in too quickly and her excuse is paper thin. But pushing the issue means possibly facing things she doesn't want to hear so she accepts the flimsy and false apology. She feels the disappointment oozing from Emily; from her gaze to the defeated slump of her shoulders. She's so fucking tired of being a disappointment, like she's confined on some bloody pedestal all the time. Emily's bound to fall victim to shattering disenchantment when she finally accepts that Naomi can't possibly live up to the overwhelming expectations. Everyone always does. Naomi knows she's losing her precarious balance, and she has petrifying doubts about whether Emily will be there, waiting at the bottom, to catch her inevitable fall from grace.
Focussing instead on her well-developed habit of denial, she buries the doubts that were rising just a minute ago and wonders if she should attempt to touch the redhead. It seems like the proper thing to do, but lately touching seems to either lead to awkwardness or sex, and neither of those would help at all. She is desperate to ask for merely a hug but the words never manage to form on her lips. She really just wants reassurance, wants to feel Emily's warm body against hers. Instead, they sit there in silence and Naomi watches the steam rising from her rapidly cooling tea.
In an hour, Emily is gone again, back to classes presumably although she didn't really mention anything on her way out the door. Naomi's just settled back into her programme, surreptitiously glancing at Emily's textbook every so often and wondering if she should surprise her with flashcards, when there is a pounding on the door. Her heart leaps into her throat, and her pulse immediately races with the fantasy that Cook is back. But the knock is too firm, too demanding, too orderly to be his. It sounds official. With trepidation, she inches towards the door, breathes out evenly and summons the courage to open it.
There's a flash of dark burgundy and assorted animal prints as Katie Fitch storms into the flat and promptly drops heaps of shopping bags on the floor. “What took you so bloody long? These are well heavy and I had to carry them up 3 flights of stairs!”
Naomi mutters a confused apology and watches the whirlwind toss bags around until she finds what she's looking for. She pulls out some black fabric from a Selfridges tote and throws it in Naomi's direction. With an easy catch, Naomi stretches it out and finds it's a rather nice black, cowl-neck top. A little much for her personally and she's not sure if Katie wants an opinion on it or to give it to her so she says nothing and just fiddles with the top, holding it up higher.
“It's for you,” Katie states plainly, as if it were an everyday occurrence that she hands out very nice Kookai tops to everyone she doesn't get along with. She goes back to digging in her piles of bags.
Naomi pauses, unsure what this means. “Erm, thanks, but...” She's not certain how to continue the sentence without seeming ungrateful.
“But nothing, Campbell.” Katie catches Naomi's reluctance. “Don't flatter yourself. It was well discounted. And you're wearing it.”
For a moment, Naomi wonders when she became a substitution for Emily. “I don't understand.” It's the truth, and she'd really like to ask what Katie expects in return now. She doesn't want to be some grown-up Barbie doll. She's glad she never had a sister for a reason.
Brown eyes latch onto to her, almost frustrated. “You wouldn't,” she spits, but it's only partly venomous. “It's called 'fashion', Naomi. You should, like, associate yourself with the concept sooner or later.” She gives the blonde a rather blatant disapproving once-over before meeting her eyes again. “Preferably sooner.”
Despite her hard bravado, the behaviour makes Naomi feel small and ugly, and that feeling alone is all too painfully familiar. She realises, with some astonishment, that she hasn't actually felt this brand of embarrassment in quite a long time. She blames the stress of the week for her sudden urge to cry. Emily never judges harshly, and Cook, well, he never gives a fuck about anything let alone her choices in clothing. Katie has an amazing way of just belittling people with a look. She reckons that it's a shame that Katie is so unmotivated and not very clever because she might actually make a good solicitor. Naomi insecurities must rise to the surface because Katie's glare softens slightly.
“Look, I'm not trying to be a bitch or whatever, but it would be nice for my sister to see just what she has. Take her breath away, you know?” Naomi's not sure how to take the statement. She thinks it's kind of a compliment. The moment is lost however as soon as Katie continues with a sneer. “You certainly don't put in the effort yourself.”
She thinks that maybe that's all she wants to hear from Katie's mouth for the rest of evening, at least until Emily comes home and can distract the cunt. She feels the annoyance finally rising in place of shame. It is a much more empowering feeling. Her blue eyes harden on the brunette. “I don't know if it's escaped your notice, Katiekins, but Emily really prefers me without clothes on. They really just get too wet and who really wants to go around positively reeking of sex all day?” She smirks, knowing the graphic image of her sister sweaty and fucking Naomi's brains out will be enough to turn Katie's stomach for at least a few minutes. Not to mention, it's obvious that Katie hasn't had a meaningful relationship since, well, ever. “And really, taking advice from you? I may be a little daft, but no one your age should wear that much leopard print. It ages you prematurely, wouldn't you say?” It works as she expected and she takes delight in the small victory as Katie sets her jaw. Naomi can't help but notice the way Katie turns away, bows her head and self-consciously picks at her blouse in the process. A sliver of guilt creeps up but she squashes it down, reminding herself what the bitch just said.
She doesn't ask for the top back, but instead gathers the rest of her purchases and lugs them into Cook's room, shutting the door behind herself, not looking at Naomi once.
The blonde wonders how it's possible that the trio of them just seem to be stuck in a cycle of constantly hurting each other, for no real reason. Worse still, she sees no other alternative.
About 10 minutes later, Katie emerges, hair tied up in a ponytail and wearing a pair of joggers and a small pink t-shirt with the words “High Maintenance” on it. Naomi can't decide whether that's supposed to be ironic or not. But there is a definite lack of animal print. She sits down next to the blonde on the settee and picks at her nails, letting a saddened sigh loose.
“What?” Naomi snaps, no longer in the mood to play Katie's games.
Katie's head shoots up to face Naomi, and she actually looks mildly offended. “Can't a person breathe?” she snipes back.
“We're going to fall out,” Naomi warns in a low, serious voice.
“Haven't we already?” Katie retorts quickly.
Restraining a huff of irritation, Naomi lets the issue drop for now and chooses not to respond. The silence is a little awkward, and not just because of the argument that happened earlier. She senses that the twin has something important to say, or to ask, and dragging it out is only setting her nerves even further on edge than they already are. She wants to confront Katie, get her to blurt out whatever it is so they can go back to ignoring each other but she lacks the resolve. Facing a Fitch twin was always a bit of an effort, but she had always found Katie monumentally easier to confront since sharp insults usually were all conversations consisted of.
Finally the ice cracks. “Do you love him?”
For a moment, Naomi's not even sure who “he” is and wonders if Katie is high or something. She glances at the TV screen, working out what fit bloke she supposedly fancies. It's nothing but a sweeping landscape scene, across tropical ocean waters. Then she realises it's Cook the twin is referring to. She stifles the disbelief and opts for casual.
“Not the way you're implying,” she states.
“Are you sure?”
“Are you mental?” Naomi rebukes. “Really, Katie, grow up.” This is an absurd conversation to be having, she's sure. And Katie is just staring at her like she's some sort of 50% off tag and she's working out the discounted final price. It's uncomfortable.
Katie shrugs. “I've just never seen you this disorganised and weird. And you're plenty of both on a normal basis.”
There's a brief second where Naomi actually interprets Katie's words as genuine concern. Then she remembers who she's speaking with. “Cook is missing,” she emphasizes. “Imagine Emily went missing and how you'd feel.”
“Not the same.” She sounds so fucking sure of herself and it convinces Naomi that Katie really has no sodding clue about any of their situations at all.
“It totally is. Don't even try this bullshit on me, Katie. We've had our big row for the day and I'm really not keen on another.” She finally lets out an annoyed sigh. “Either leave me be, or go shopping. Get out of my face.”
Katie chews on her lip momentarily as she surveys the blonde with narrowed eyes. “Why are you such an arrogant cunt, Naomi?” She smirks. “It's kind of unbelievable, really, just how intolerable you actually are. I thought it was just a phase.”
The older girl shifts away on the sofa. “Pot, meet kettle,” she quips before shooting Katie an angry glare. It seems to just bounce off of her however and Naomi's defenses falter with the failure of her attack. She really wants to ask when the fuck Katie plans on leaving London because she's certainly over-stayed her welcome but she can't form the words and resolves to merely stare, sort of pointedly in her direction.
“I honestly don't see what my sister sees in a munter like you,” Katie muses, almost indifferently.
“That's a good thing,” Naomi retorts, raising one eyebrow in mute challenge. She senses that their somewhat civil (as best as can be) conversation is about to turn ugly again. She has so many barbs she can sling her way, but she represses the desire quite well. If Katie wants another fucking row, so be it, but she wants to say honestly to Emily that she's not the one who started it.
The brunette shrugs again and Naomi's struck with just how similar the twins could be. “I don't really give a shit about you, or your fucked up life, but if you hurt my sister - again -, I swear to God on my Nana's grave, that I will personally make you seriously regret it.”
Trying to adopt the same bloody blasé attitude, Naomi shrugs as well. “Message received. Watch out or some cheap slapper from Bristol will insult my fashion sense and force me to do vodka shots and K til I pass out, get date-raped and wake up in a stranger's bed the next morning with no memory and a nasty case of genital herpes. How is that going for you anyway?” Naomi put on a false face of concern. “You know it's incurable, yeah?”
She had tried to restrain the malice, but the silly threat and Katie's generally displeasing presence had made it near impossible. Not to mention that all the rage and resentment that had been building for the last week finally had a target, however undeserving under the circumstances. She was so frustrated with Cook's disappearance, Emily's cold behaviour and the fact she was fully aware that she was once again throwing away her entire future (both in a romantic and an educational sense) out of concern for a boy who could care less about his own. And she feels powerless to stop herself. Always so fucking powerless.
The shock of Naomi knowing that private part of her life, a trust that her sister had breached, brings something resembling anger to Katie's face, though Naomi isn't exactly sure. Maybe it's betrayal. There is no snide comeback from the twin. She just grits her teeth and turns away. It doesn't really feel like a victory this time.
Almost before she has time to think, words escape her throat. “Sorry. I didn't mean...” It's so foreign to even her own ears that she's not surprised when Katie looks at her in something resembling awe, mouth half-open and a curious gaze in her eyes. She doesn't elaborate, probably couldn't even if she tried but it seems to be enough.
Katie clears her throat and returns her attention to the television again. “I thought that top would look mint on you,” she offers as some sort of odd acceptance.
There's a heavy kind of silence for a moment. “Thanks.” She means it.
“Ems would love to see it on you. I know she would.”
Naomi's sure that it isn't a come-on and she instantly regrets the words that came out of her mouth in the past few minutes. It's the kind of thing that hits below the belt; it's unfair. It's definitely going to get back to Emily too eventually which is possibly even worse. She knows through Emily, that the whole thing was really rough on Katie for a while, Emily even went home for a few days. And while Katie wasn't a stranger to getting herself into such sketchy situations, she really didn't deserve anything that happened. She wants to tell Katie that she really does mean she's sorry, and that she wouldn't wish that kind of thing on anyone. But the words get lodged somewhere between her throat and tongue. She swallows noticeably instead.
“I just need to be sure,” Katie says softly. “I need to know she's going to be okay.”
This genuine outpouring of concern from Katie strikes Naomi as a little odd, and slightly disconcerting the way it seems as if the twin's ending something, but she doesn't attempt to correct Katie by reminding her that Emily's been doing okay on her own. She's already done enough damage for the day, the week even.
“I love her, Katie.” The words don't feel as strange as she thought they would considering Katie really is the only person other than her mum that has been a witness to that admission. Not even Cook had heard that phrase. She hopes and prays it sounds as serious as she is.
“More than I do?” she asks with the slightest of cheeky smirks.
Naomi wants to shrug because she's really not sure exactly, or how one would even go about calculating that if it was an exact science. “Differently than you do.” She settles for the truth and offers a small, hesitant smile in return.
“That'll do,” she concedes.
Naomi fusses over the remote for a moment before changing the channel and settling down again. She glances over at the brunette. “You're all right, Katie. When you're not being a demanding cow.”
She doesn't meet her eyes, but Naomi can see the smile anyway.
“You're not bad yourself, when you're not taking your freaky, cuntish frustrations out on me.”
Naomi feels momentarily defensive again. “That's cos I knew you could take it,” she rationalizes. It's the truth, as good as.
Finally, Katie looks over at her and nods slightly in understanding. “I know.”
A truce. Finally.
End Part 2. Part 3 is here.
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