FIC: disintegration [3/4]
Title: Disintegration
Author: Eskimo Jo
Rating: T
Warning: Substance addiction/use, language, sexual situations.
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.
Full notes in Part 1
It's been about 42 hours since she's had a drink, and she feels strangely fine. Just more evidence that she wasn't an addict, didn't have a problem and everyone was just over-reacting. Regardless, she feels good about her accomplishment, and even more pleased about the sparkle in Emily's eyes. She'd forgotten that the numbing worked both ways: on the good and bad, and the good was slowly seeping back as well. But she's insanely restless. Goa is soon and she's yet to pack a thing. Emily's almost completely ready, and constantly pushing for Naomi to hurry up and do the same. They talk about it at the supper table every meal and Gina is constantly piping up with her own suggestions. Emily brushes over the fact that her parents won't be accompanying her to the airport since they're in Spain but she smiles at Gina and admits that it's all right because at least one mum is there.
But there's something else missing and it's nagging at Naomi constantly. It has nothing to do with the resistance to packing, or the deep down fear of going to Goa, because Naomi reminds herself that those things actually don't exist. She's just imagining them out of habit. Pure habit. She's gaining ground, catching up. But she's still checking her mobile like it's her new addiction. The texts she wants to see never come. There's no word from Cook, and despite both herself and Katie trying to track him down, they fail to figure out where he's being held. There are far too many prisons in England. It nags at her conscience, when she's lying awake at night, as if it's a responsibility that she has, and that's she failing amazingly at. But more than Cook, she thinks about Effy and her disappearance. There had been no time before the funeral to go round the Stonem's and check up on her. Katie mentioned going by once, but leaving soon after when there was no answer.
The listlessness inside Naomi propels her out of the house, to walk aimlessly while Emily is shopping for more gear for their holiday or out with Katie. She chooses different neighbourhoods each time,
struggling to place inebriated memories and recall anything of value. Without really making a decision, she knows eventually where she'll end up.
Bristol seems foreign somehow as she walks up the road to Effy's house. It's grey and miserable like always, the people seem to be the same, everything looks the same, the buildings, the streets, the parks.
Yet nothing really feels... real. Like any moment, she'll be surrounded by cameras with some loudmouth American twat yelling about how he's taking the piss. Freddie will be there too, grinning and Cook will give him a high-five and they'll all be standing around laughing at her and her sodding miserable mess of a life. Because friends aren't supposed to just die, doctors aren't supposed to be mental, and everyone else is not allowed to just leave. It's all some part of a cruel joke. Absolutely.
When she rounds the bend, her hopes fall. There is no television crew to mock her. No Cook. No Freddie. All she sees is more grey, and Effy Stonem's front door about 10 paces away, her front garden
piled high with debris. The gate squeaks open and she surveys the large rubbish bins overflowing with broken objects and mess. A dismantled bed frame lies in pieces, providing a suitable sort of bench. Though everything is damp, it smells like smoke and burnt wood. Musky and abandoned. She rings the doorbell twice and is somewhat surprised at the absolute silence surrounding her. It's eerie and her skin starts to crawl. She glances quickly over her shoulder, paranoid about baseball bat-wielding psychopaths. The garden is still empty. She knocks this time, perhaps the buzzer is just broken, like everything else.
No sound, no movement. The sky has opened up again and a light drizzle is slowly coating everything in sight. Without really understanding why, she takes a seat on the pile of wood that was once Effy's bed. She can tell by the carvings of initials and filthy words in the headboard, some of which were done by her own hand. She traces her fingers over a ridiculous 'EF+NC' engraving. It had seemed cool at the time, sitting on Effy's bed, half in the bag with a pocket knife passing between the two of them. Effy had laughed, in a kind of maniacal way in retrospect, at Naomi's complete lack of creativity. She had then taken her cigarette and burned a spot on the lop-sided heart accompanying the letters, her laugh dying quickly. Of course, then just as randomly as that action, Effy had run off to Italy after a total of 3 days in Bristol.
Naomi lights her own cigarette this time, inhaling slowly, savouring it until it's burning hot enough then plunging it against the little “+” sign between the initials. She can't explain why, even to herself.
There's suddenly a creak of the heavy door and she glances up to see an unfamiliar boy shuffling into the garden. He's watching her, almost indifferently, as if it's a normal occurrence to see strangers loitering in the yard in the rain. His shaggy hair pokes out from under his cap and he offers a hesitant, confused sort of smile in greeting. Pulling out his earbuds, he steps down to the front walk.
She wonders if this is Tony Stonem. He's certainly nothing like she expected. While Katie Fitch may not have impeccable taste in boys, she had been quite adamant about how fit Effy's mental brother had
been. This boy was not up to Katie's standards. He looked more the type to spend his days alone on the internet, not chatting up ladies. But then, Effy had mentioned only briefly that the accident had changed him. Honestly, Effy could have made everyone's lives a hell of a lot easier had she just divulged a little bit more. Then Naomi wouldn't be sat, in the wet, on a broken bed, waiting for a friend who may or may not ever be coming home as some strange boy struggled with something to say.
Clearing her throat, she attempts to get his attention. It works, sort of. He turns to her. “Hello.”
Seriously? That's it? She nods, “Hi.”
Appearing to change his mind, he turns back around, shoves a key back into the lock, fiddling with it unsuccessfully. He jams the key in a final time and gives it a good shake until the lock releases. The
door opens and she resists the urge to lean forward and peer into the house. As he steps inside, he mumbles something that she can't make out.
“Pardon?”
He turns, finally out of the rain. “I said, are you waiting for something?” He pushes his glasses up with a finger before shaking the rain from his hair like a dog. Naomi sneers slightly.
“Yeah, Effy.”
He shifts, obviously uncomfortable. “Uh yeah, right. She's not coming back.” He shrugs, “You know.”
But Naomi doesn't know. She doesn't have a fucking clue what's going on and it's starting to piss her off. The rain starts to hit her with fat drops of cold water. This is bullshit. She stands and moves towards the doorway. She pushes her way past the boy who is barely taller than her. She could take him in a fight, she reckons. Her breath catches though as she enters front foyer. It's empty, almost. Some bottles litter the floor. A large crack has spidered across the wall. Stepping into the front room, there's nothing but a few more bottles, a chair, a half collapsed table and an old painting. It still smells like fire still, but she can't see any charred walls.
Turning to the boy again, she pins him with her best glare. “What are you doing here? Are you a squatter?” His hands are shoved in his jeans pockets, and he rocks back on his heels, almost impatiently.
He chuckles and slips the key out of his pocket. “Anthea asked me to help clear it out. Saw you sitting on Eff's bed and remembered something else.”
Naomi seems to consider this news for a moment and just continues to look around slowly. He breaks the silence again. “You know Effy's been sectioned, yeah?”
The news shouldn't be surprising, and it shouldn't hurt as much as it does. The bitch could have at least mentioned that in her voicemail. It still didn't make any fucking sense though. She wants to ask him if he's fucking with her, but he's gone towards what used to be a familiar kitchen. There are some empty boxes that he picks up and makes his way towards the stairs. Naomi finally moves and follows, curious about the state of the rest of the house.
It's just as barren as the front hall. The stranger is placing a bunch of odds and ends into one of the boxes. A photoframe with no photo, some candles, little figurines that had been apparently thrown around the room. Effy's room echoes with each movement. A few floor pillows are stacked where her bed used to be. She softly pokes at a pair of Effy's old plimsolls with her toes, feeling uncomfortable to be standing in this room, empty as it is. Like someone is slowly erasing parts of her life, her memories one by one. Everyone was disappearing. Soon she'd be left with nothing but dreary, grey sky.
“I called the hospital,” she offers to the stranger. “They said Effy wasn't there.”
He turns around, almost like her had forgotten she was standing there. “Um, yeah. She's not in Bristol anymore. They've gone to London. Better resources or some bollocks.” He sounds resentful for some reason. Naomi doesn't know who this is or why he would be upset about the Stonems moving. He seemed like just another neighbourhood kid. “But that's it, right? Everyone leaves in the end.” He tosses a wooden elephant into the box with so much force that it bounces back out again and the trunk breaks off as it hits the floor. He kicks it towards the rubbish bin in the corner. Naomi eyes the broken item curiously, and as if he catches her gaze, he shrugs and speaks again.
“It's not like she'll miss it if she doesn't remember it existed.” It's supposed to be a justification for his actions apparently, but the words seem heavy and layered with another meaning that Naomi can't grasp, like he's not really talking about the elephant at all.
She's curious now. “You're from Bristol?”
“Unfortunately,” comes the grumbled reply. “You too, I'm guessing.”
She nods and he lets out a short, disdainful chuckle. “Figures. Bloody lonely place.” Without warning, he just drops the box to the ground. “Fuck it.” He fishes in his pockets for a moment. “Spliff?” And
without waiting for her reply, he falls onto the pillows and sparks his lighter, dragging slowly on the joint. She tentatively sits down beside him and he passes it to her silently. They don't say anything until the spliff is almost gone, content to merely exist in the empty space, wandering inside their own heads. Naomi shifts and catches a glimpse of something underneath the edge of the pillow. She fishes it out and sees it's a torn photograph of some other unfamiliar boy. The boy beside her glances over at it and lets out a derisive huff.
“Everyone leaves.” He snatches it from her hands and tosses it away. “Mates, dads, girlfriends. Fucking everyone.” She merely stares at him, squinting and trying to make sense of his meaning.
“You could too. I mean, like, go after them.” She wants to push the subject, remind herself that it's not as hopeless as this boy seems to think it is.
He's staring at the opposite wall, blankly but a disbelieving half-smile creeps over his face. “Nah. Sometimes you can never catch up once they're gone. Doesn't matter.”
“Why not?” She's curious how he can be so sure.
Shaking his head, he flicks ash off the joint before inhaling deeply, slowly exhaling, making her wait for a response. “Cos sometimes, by the time you catch up, if you do, you can't really remember who they were to begin with cos all the time it's been about catching up, yeah. Then other times, you can catch up to them, remember all that shit, chase them all over the fucking world, literally, but... I dunno. Your heart just lags behind and it never quite keeps up with how fast you're running. And theirs too. Or whatever. It's fucked either way.”
“Deep,” Naomi states, with a chuckle. He glances over at her and smiles, shaking his head. He offers her the remaining bud and she takes one last drag before squishing it out on the floorboards. “Some girl broke your heart then?”
He shrugs again, and she's beginning to think that he's got some sort of tick cos he sure does it a lot.
“Among other things.”
She leans her head back against the wall, staring at the ceiling. “Yeah, me too.” The truth slips out before she can stop it. It was unexpected because, all this time, she had thought her heart was finally healing, almost better. But now, at this moment, it feels more broken than ever. Empty and cracked. Even with the knowledge of Emily waiting at home, somehow it feels as if everything is slipping away, the truth hiding, lurking, somewhere just beyond her vision.
It's probably just the weed, she reminds herself. Yeah, it's just the drugs making her paranoid and stupid. But she can't help thinking about the boy's words about the heart never quite catching up even though it seems like everything else is on track.
He rises from the pillows and picks up the box again, throwing more items into it without much care.
“I'm used to getting left behind,” he mumbles. His brown eyes meet hers, and she struck with some odd sense of connection, a sad camaraderie. (Just the drugs, she says again in her mind.) She bites her tongue before she can agree. Huffs instead, pretending to be bored, or annoyed. Whichever works.
Fucking wanker. What does he know anyway? Sad sack. She stands up too, her foot prickling with pins and needles.
The box is full and the room completely empty then. Naomi picks up the pillows under her arms and follows the boy down the stairs. He places the box on top of another near the door. She leans the
pillows against the wall alongside them.
“I can give you the number for Effy's place in London,” he suggests as they stand at the door. “But it's at home.”
Naomi nods, unsure what he's trying to say until he pulls out his mobile. “Give me your number and I'll text you.”
She recites it, feeling strange. It's the first time she's been asked for (and actually given) her number to any male in ages. Or any person, for that matter. “What's your name anyway?”
She can kind of see why he's so lonely. His awkward and almost blunt way of talking isn't exactly a charming trait. “Naomi.” He nods and types it into his phone. He looks at her for a moment, and before she has the chance to ask, he extends his hand.
“Sid.” She shakes his hand, the oddly formal gesture feeling out of place and he quickly busies himself with his phone again.
Hers vibrates almost immediately afterwards. She plucks it from her bag and sees the new number.
“Just checking,” he says, an almost embarrassed smile passing over his face. She clicks to save the number.
“Nice to meet you, Sid,” she states. “Thanks for the, erm, drugs.” She wants to say 'talk' but she reckons that makes her seem just as pathetic as he is.
“Anytime.” A forced laugh comes out of his mouth.
She opens the door, grimacing at the weather, before turning back. “Text me that number, yeah?”
He nods again. “Yeah.”
“Cool.” She turns and leaves before it gets any more awkward. Effy's gate snaps closed behind her. The cool rain washes away some of the weird sense of gloomy connection she felt. She makes a note to ask Katie who the fuck Sid is.
At the time it happens, Naomi doesn't realise it's their last full-on fight. She had returned from Effy's hours ago, and received not one but three text messages from Sid with varying degrees of awkwardness. But now she has the number of the Stonem's flat in London now.
She's sitting in her bedroom when Emily enters. She's just ended a conversation with Anthea Stonem. It wasn't Effy, but it was close enough and the strain and fatigue in the other woman's voice somehow put Naomi more at ease than her own mum's forced cheerfulness and Emily's constant reassurance. There was a reason to be upset, to be struggling. It wasn't just in her own mind. Regardless, Anthea had seemed almost pleased to chat with someone who even remotely understood the situation.
There's no preamble beforehand, at least none that Naomi is aware of. She's sober and her head is pounding from the weight of her last conversation. Effy's not speaking again. Again? Naomi's not sure she understands that comment but she only assumes it's a very bad sign. Meanwhile Emily is scowling about something and all Naomi desires is a warm bed and cuddly, quiet, happy girlfriend.
“Are you ever going to stop lying to me?” she asks, quite harshly. The accusation is not lost on Naomi, muddled as she may feel. Emily swings the bedroom door closed with a loud slam, and Naomi flinches so hard that she nearly slips off the edge of the bed.
“I don't know what you're going on about now, Ems, but can we just-.”
“Just what? Leave it?” Emily interjects. Her lack of patience is already obvious. “Where were you this afternoon?”
Naomi runs a hand over her face and sighs. “Seriously, Em. Let it be.”
But she knows better than to think, even to entertain the idea for a second, that Emily will ever just let it be anymore. She's broken the redhead's trust far too many times, and far too devastatingly to ever be afforded the benefit of the doubt again. And that knowledge disgusts her suddenly because they're not supposed to be like this anymore. Things are supposed to be fixed and better and not full of anger and mistrust. It's fucking bullshit, is what it is. She doesn't deserve to be treated like some ASBO twat. She's not on some sort of fucking probation.
“No, Naoms. I need to know. I'm worried about you.”
Naomi shrugs, a familiar gesture, and stands, pulling down the duvet and sliding under the covers.
Emily's still standing, hands on hips, in the middle of the bedroom floor when Naomi reaches over and turns out the bedside lamp. She knows she's not making things any better for herself, but for some reason, she doesn't want to tell Emily. Partly because she shouldn't have to lay out her minute-by-minute activities and partly because she's not sure Emily would understand. This issue with Effy is her own to cope with; her own to handle. It's hers and no one else's. Maybe it's a remnant from being an only child that she still has a problem sharing what's hers but she doesn't really see the need to let
Emily in on the problem this time.
She can hear Emily stomping around to the other side of the bed and the cold rush of air lets her know that she has company under the duvet. “Tell me, please, Naomi.”
Naomi squeezes her eyes shut, willing the annoyance to go away. “Why? It's nothing.”
“If it's nothing, why can't you tell me?” Emily always was a quick one. Her tone is making it crystal clear that Naomi's pathetic evasions are teetering precariously between irritating and downright
infuriating.
“Just because, okay?” She's bloody tired of arguing all the time. “I wasn't at the fucking pub, if that's your damn problem.” She clenches her eyes shut even tighter as if pure strength alone will catapult her into unconsciousness.
“Oh, because I'm concerned about you, it's suddenly the worst thing ever?”
Naomi tries to bury her face into the pillow but finds that breathing becomes too difficult that way. She concedes. “You're not worried. You're looking for something I've done wrong again so you can punish me. Don't you think we've both had enough? For Christ's sake, Ems.”
A small hand snaps out and yanks Naomi onto her back, her eyes opening reluctantly to stare a darkened ceiling. Emily's there in a few more seconds, hovering above her. Even in the dark, Naomi can see the fight in her eyes. “You're so full of shit,” she snarls, and Naomi is taken aback by the sound.
But something about the way Emily is over her, and that look in her eyes makes her feel less scared than she thinks she should be.
“You do this all the time to me, Naoms. It's killing me.”
There it is. The breaking point. Emily's body instantly becomes less rigid with the admission, but she doesn't back away. Naomi wants to feel bad about this, wants to feel apologetic but she can't help but feel Emily brought it on herself. All these arguments, this resentment and tension, they're not her doing anymore. There is however, despite her attempts at the contrary, a niggling of guilt worming around in the recesses of her mind. Despite how it may appear, she doesn't enjoy having Emily so unhappy. She doesn't like not being trusted, or having these rows every week. She misses the days when all it took was a smile to inspire a similar one on Emily's face. Now everything is layered with justifications and explanations. Too many fucking words.
It's killing them both.
It can't go on like this forever. She takes a deep breath.“I just went for a walk, around Effy's neighbourhood.”
Emily rolls onto her side then, relinquishing any physical control she had of the situation. “And?”
Naomi huffs. Of course it couldn't have been that easy. “And nothing. I went for a walk, then I came home.”
“Did you see her?”
There had always been some sort of odd tension when Naomi spoke of Effy to Emily. She'd never been able to place the reason why, but it had already irritated her slightly. It's almost as if, maybe due to their friendship or Effy's track-record, Emily believes Effy will steal Naomi away. It's a ridiculous concept really, and Naomi does recognise her own tendency to run to Effy when things with Emily become complicated. But that's just friendship, she figures. Maybe if Emily didn't push, Naomi wouldn't run.
“No. She wasn't there.” It's the truth.
“So you checked then.” The accusation, whatever it means, strikes a chord of annoyance within the blonde.
Naomi withholds a sad chuckle as Emily's issues come to the forefront. “Yeah. Of course. She's our friend.” Naomi makes sure to stress the word 'our'. It probably won't make a difference but it's worth a shot. Emily shakes her head, and Naomi's not sure if she's disagreeing with the observation or Naomi's actions anymore; always hiding, keeping secrets, even innocuous ones. Effy's friends really are dropping like flies. She winces inwardly at the thought. The redhead shuffles around, a defeated sort of posture obvious in her shoulders, even lying in bed. It kills Naomi a little bit too.
“Don't think I've forgotten, Naoms,” Emily whispers, sounding fatigued. Naomi hopes this isn't about Sophia, or some weird issue with hanging out with Effy last summer. “You loved me since you were 12.”
Oh.
“What does that even mean to you? You says things, Naomi. Say wonderful things to me when you need to but you never follow up. I just don't understand.”
“I meant it,” Naomi assures her, but it comes out a little less convincing than she had planned. “I mean it.” She chooses not to remind Emily about the fact it's killing her.
“You said all those things. All the things you did, cos you were scared, cos you wanted to push me away. Why are you still scared? Why are you still pushing me away? I thought you were finally telling the truth.”
“Ems...”
Emily sighs again, sinking further into the bedsheets. “Love changes people, yeah?” Naomi nods in affirmation. “That means I've been changing you for 6 years. Christ, what have I done?” Her voice is broken and lost. Emily runs a hand over her face. “What have you done?” It's horrible: the idea that maybe they've done this to each other, like they are each others' Frankensteins. It's supposed to make people better. Maybe this feeling she's always had of being torn was just Emily rearranging her parts. Like stripping her of her lungs when she couldn't breathe; zapping Naomi with electrodes to jump-start her brain; ripping out a piece of her own fiercely beating heart, sewing it to a piece of Naomi's soul. At this point, they're so tightly sutured to each other that even the smallest tear would cause unimaginable pain, she reckons. But they're so, so tangled... It needs to give for both of them.
As final fights go, it's pretty anti-climatic. For anyone else, and in fact for Naomi herself, it hardly seems like the kind of thing to end a relationship over. Merely a spat, the usual kind of disagreement that had pervaded their relationship for a year now.
Maybe that's entirely the point.
An hour later, they're having sex and the incident is pushed aside, like it can't hurt them. Like it never happened. Two hours later, in the middle of the night almost, Naomi finally begins packing her suitcase for Goa, as Emily watches, still naked in bed and smiling.
PART 4
-----------------------
Author: Eskimo Jo
Rating: T
Warning: Substance addiction/use, language, sexual situations.
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.
Full notes in Part 1
It's been about 42 hours since she's had a drink, and she feels strangely fine. Just more evidence that she wasn't an addict, didn't have a problem and everyone was just over-reacting. Regardless, she feels good about her accomplishment, and even more pleased about the sparkle in Emily's eyes. She'd forgotten that the numbing worked both ways: on the good and bad, and the good was slowly seeping back as well. But she's insanely restless. Goa is soon and she's yet to pack a thing. Emily's almost completely ready, and constantly pushing for Naomi to hurry up and do the same. They talk about it at the supper table every meal and Gina is constantly piping up with her own suggestions. Emily brushes over the fact that her parents won't be accompanying her to the airport since they're in Spain but she smiles at Gina and admits that it's all right because at least one mum is there.
But there's something else missing and it's nagging at Naomi constantly. It has nothing to do with the resistance to packing, or the deep down fear of going to Goa, because Naomi reminds herself that those things actually don't exist. She's just imagining them out of habit. Pure habit. She's gaining ground, catching up. But she's still checking her mobile like it's her new addiction. The texts she wants to see never come. There's no word from Cook, and despite both herself and Katie trying to track him down, they fail to figure out where he's being held. There are far too many prisons in England. It nags at her conscience, when she's lying awake at night, as if it's a responsibility that she has, and that's she failing amazingly at. But more than Cook, she thinks about Effy and her disappearance. There had been no time before the funeral to go round the Stonem's and check up on her. Katie mentioned going by once, but leaving soon after when there was no answer.
The listlessness inside Naomi propels her out of the house, to walk aimlessly while Emily is shopping for more gear for their holiday or out with Katie. She chooses different neighbourhoods each time,
struggling to place inebriated memories and recall anything of value. Without really making a decision, she knows eventually where she'll end up.
Bristol seems foreign somehow as she walks up the road to Effy's house. It's grey and miserable like always, the people seem to be the same, everything looks the same, the buildings, the streets, the parks.
Yet nothing really feels... real. Like any moment, she'll be surrounded by cameras with some loudmouth American twat yelling about how he's taking the piss. Freddie will be there too, grinning and Cook will give him a high-five and they'll all be standing around laughing at her and her sodding miserable mess of a life. Because friends aren't supposed to just die, doctors aren't supposed to be mental, and everyone else is not allowed to just leave. It's all some part of a cruel joke. Absolutely.
When she rounds the bend, her hopes fall. There is no television crew to mock her. No Cook. No Freddie. All she sees is more grey, and Effy Stonem's front door about 10 paces away, her front garden
piled high with debris. The gate squeaks open and she surveys the large rubbish bins overflowing with broken objects and mess. A dismantled bed frame lies in pieces, providing a suitable sort of bench. Though everything is damp, it smells like smoke and burnt wood. Musky and abandoned. She rings the doorbell twice and is somewhat surprised at the absolute silence surrounding her. It's eerie and her skin starts to crawl. She glances quickly over her shoulder, paranoid about baseball bat-wielding psychopaths. The garden is still empty. She knocks this time, perhaps the buzzer is just broken, like everything else.
No sound, no movement. The sky has opened up again and a light drizzle is slowly coating everything in sight. Without really understanding why, she takes a seat on the pile of wood that was once Effy's bed. She can tell by the carvings of initials and filthy words in the headboard, some of which were done by her own hand. She traces her fingers over a ridiculous 'EF+NC' engraving. It had seemed cool at the time, sitting on Effy's bed, half in the bag with a pocket knife passing between the two of them. Effy had laughed, in a kind of maniacal way in retrospect, at Naomi's complete lack of creativity. She had then taken her cigarette and burned a spot on the lop-sided heart accompanying the letters, her laugh dying quickly. Of course, then just as randomly as that action, Effy had run off to Italy after a total of 3 days in Bristol.
Naomi lights her own cigarette this time, inhaling slowly, savouring it until it's burning hot enough then plunging it against the little “+” sign between the initials. She can't explain why, even to herself.
There's suddenly a creak of the heavy door and she glances up to see an unfamiliar boy shuffling into the garden. He's watching her, almost indifferently, as if it's a normal occurrence to see strangers loitering in the yard in the rain. His shaggy hair pokes out from under his cap and he offers a hesitant, confused sort of smile in greeting. Pulling out his earbuds, he steps down to the front walk.
She wonders if this is Tony Stonem. He's certainly nothing like she expected. While Katie Fitch may not have impeccable taste in boys, she had been quite adamant about how fit Effy's mental brother had
been. This boy was not up to Katie's standards. He looked more the type to spend his days alone on the internet, not chatting up ladies. But then, Effy had mentioned only briefly that the accident had changed him. Honestly, Effy could have made everyone's lives a hell of a lot easier had she just divulged a little bit more. Then Naomi wouldn't be sat, in the wet, on a broken bed, waiting for a friend who may or may not ever be coming home as some strange boy struggled with something to say.
Clearing her throat, she attempts to get his attention. It works, sort of. He turns to her. “Hello.”
Seriously? That's it? She nods, “Hi.”
Appearing to change his mind, he turns back around, shoves a key back into the lock, fiddling with it unsuccessfully. He jams the key in a final time and gives it a good shake until the lock releases. The
door opens and she resists the urge to lean forward and peer into the house. As he steps inside, he mumbles something that she can't make out.
“Pardon?”
He turns, finally out of the rain. “I said, are you waiting for something?” He pushes his glasses up with a finger before shaking the rain from his hair like a dog. Naomi sneers slightly.
“Yeah, Effy.”
He shifts, obviously uncomfortable. “Uh yeah, right. She's not coming back.” He shrugs, “You know.”
But Naomi doesn't know. She doesn't have a fucking clue what's going on and it's starting to piss her off. The rain starts to hit her with fat drops of cold water. This is bullshit. She stands and moves towards the doorway. She pushes her way past the boy who is barely taller than her. She could take him in a fight, she reckons. Her breath catches though as she enters front foyer. It's empty, almost. Some bottles litter the floor. A large crack has spidered across the wall. Stepping into the front room, there's nothing but a few more bottles, a chair, a half collapsed table and an old painting. It still smells like fire still, but she can't see any charred walls.
Turning to the boy again, she pins him with her best glare. “What are you doing here? Are you a squatter?” His hands are shoved in his jeans pockets, and he rocks back on his heels, almost impatiently.
He chuckles and slips the key out of his pocket. “Anthea asked me to help clear it out. Saw you sitting on Eff's bed and remembered something else.”
Naomi seems to consider this news for a moment and just continues to look around slowly. He breaks the silence again. “You know Effy's been sectioned, yeah?”
The news shouldn't be surprising, and it shouldn't hurt as much as it does. The bitch could have at least mentioned that in her voicemail. It still didn't make any fucking sense though. She wants to ask him if he's fucking with her, but he's gone towards what used to be a familiar kitchen. There are some empty boxes that he picks up and makes his way towards the stairs. Naomi finally moves and follows, curious about the state of the rest of the house.
It's just as barren as the front hall. The stranger is placing a bunch of odds and ends into one of the boxes. A photoframe with no photo, some candles, little figurines that had been apparently thrown around the room. Effy's room echoes with each movement. A few floor pillows are stacked where her bed used to be. She softly pokes at a pair of Effy's old plimsolls with her toes, feeling uncomfortable to be standing in this room, empty as it is. Like someone is slowly erasing parts of her life, her memories one by one. Everyone was disappearing. Soon she'd be left with nothing but dreary, grey sky.
“I called the hospital,” she offers to the stranger. “They said Effy wasn't there.”
He turns around, almost like her had forgotten she was standing there. “Um, yeah. She's not in Bristol anymore. They've gone to London. Better resources or some bollocks.” He sounds resentful for some reason. Naomi doesn't know who this is or why he would be upset about the Stonems moving. He seemed like just another neighbourhood kid. “But that's it, right? Everyone leaves in the end.” He tosses a wooden elephant into the box with so much force that it bounces back out again and the trunk breaks off as it hits the floor. He kicks it towards the rubbish bin in the corner. Naomi eyes the broken item curiously, and as if he catches her gaze, he shrugs and speaks again.
“It's not like she'll miss it if she doesn't remember it existed.” It's supposed to be a justification for his actions apparently, but the words seem heavy and layered with another meaning that Naomi can't grasp, like he's not really talking about the elephant at all.
She's curious now. “You're from Bristol?”
“Unfortunately,” comes the grumbled reply. “You too, I'm guessing.”
She nods and he lets out a short, disdainful chuckle. “Figures. Bloody lonely place.” Without warning, he just drops the box to the ground. “Fuck it.” He fishes in his pockets for a moment. “Spliff?” And
without waiting for her reply, he falls onto the pillows and sparks his lighter, dragging slowly on the joint. She tentatively sits down beside him and he passes it to her silently. They don't say anything until the spliff is almost gone, content to merely exist in the empty space, wandering inside their own heads. Naomi shifts and catches a glimpse of something underneath the edge of the pillow. She fishes it out and sees it's a torn photograph of some other unfamiliar boy. The boy beside her glances over at it and lets out a derisive huff.
“Everyone leaves.” He snatches it from her hands and tosses it away. “Mates, dads, girlfriends. Fucking everyone.” She merely stares at him, squinting and trying to make sense of his meaning.
“You could too. I mean, like, go after them.” She wants to push the subject, remind herself that it's not as hopeless as this boy seems to think it is.
He's staring at the opposite wall, blankly but a disbelieving half-smile creeps over his face. “Nah. Sometimes you can never catch up once they're gone. Doesn't matter.”
“Why not?” She's curious how he can be so sure.
Shaking his head, he flicks ash off the joint before inhaling deeply, slowly exhaling, making her wait for a response. “Cos sometimes, by the time you catch up, if you do, you can't really remember who they were to begin with cos all the time it's been about catching up, yeah. Then other times, you can catch up to them, remember all that shit, chase them all over the fucking world, literally, but... I dunno. Your heart just lags behind and it never quite keeps up with how fast you're running. And theirs too. Or whatever. It's fucked either way.”
“Deep,” Naomi states, with a chuckle. He glances over at her and smiles, shaking his head. He offers her the remaining bud and she takes one last drag before squishing it out on the floorboards. “Some girl broke your heart then?”
He shrugs again, and she's beginning to think that he's got some sort of tick cos he sure does it a lot.
“Among other things.”
She leans her head back against the wall, staring at the ceiling. “Yeah, me too.” The truth slips out before she can stop it. It was unexpected because, all this time, she had thought her heart was finally healing, almost better. But now, at this moment, it feels more broken than ever. Empty and cracked. Even with the knowledge of Emily waiting at home, somehow it feels as if everything is slipping away, the truth hiding, lurking, somewhere just beyond her vision.
It's probably just the weed, she reminds herself. Yeah, it's just the drugs making her paranoid and stupid. But she can't help thinking about the boy's words about the heart never quite catching up even though it seems like everything else is on track.
He rises from the pillows and picks up the box again, throwing more items into it without much care.
“I'm used to getting left behind,” he mumbles. His brown eyes meet hers, and she struck with some odd sense of connection, a sad camaraderie. (Just the drugs, she says again in her mind.) She bites her tongue before she can agree. Huffs instead, pretending to be bored, or annoyed. Whichever works.
Fucking wanker. What does he know anyway? Sad sack. She stands up too, her foot prickling with pins and needles.
The box is full and the room completely empty then. Naomi picks up the pillows under her arms and follows the boy down the stairs. He places the box on top of another near the door. She leans the
pillows against the wall alongside them.
“I can give you the number for Effy's place in London,” he suggests as they stand at the door. “But it's at home.”
Naomi nods, unsure what he's trying to say until he pulls out his mobile. “Give me your number and I'll text you.”
She recites it, feeling strange. It's the first time she's been asked for (and actually given) her number to any male in ages. Or any person, for that matter. “What's your name anyway?”
She can kind of see why he's so lonely. His awkward and almost blunt way of talking isn't exactly a charming trait. “Naomi.” He nods and types it into his phone. He looks at her for a moment, and before she has the chance to ask, he extends his hand.
“Sid.” She shakes his hand, the oddly formal gesture feeling out of place and he quickly busies himself with his phone again.
Hers vibrates almost immediately afterwards. She plucks it from her bag and sees the new number.
“Just checking,” he says, an almost embarrassed smile passing over his face. She clicks to save the number.
“Nice to meet you, Sid,” she states. “Thanks for the, erm, drugs.” She wants to say 'talk' but she reckons that makes her seem just as pathetic as he is.
“Anytime.” A forced laugh comes out of his mouth.
She opens the door, grimacing at the weather, before turning back. “Text me that number, yeah?”
He nods again. “Yeah.”
“Cool.” She turns and leaves before it gets any more awkward. Effy's gate snaps closed behind her. The cool rain washes away some of the weird sense of gloomy connection she felt. She makes a note to ask Katie who the fuck Sid is.
At the time it happens, Naomi doesn't realise it's their last full-on fight. She had returned from Effy's hours ago, and received not one but three text messages from Sid with varying degrees of awkwardness. But now she has the number of the Stonem's flat in London now.
She's sitting in her bedroom when Emily enters. She's just ended a conversation with Anthea Stonem. It wasn't Effy, but it was close enough and the strain and fatigue in the other woman's voice somehow put Naomi more at ease than her own mum's forced cheerfulness and Emily's constant reassurance. There was a reason to be upset, to be struggling. It wasn't just in her own mind. Regardless, Anthea had seemed almost pleased to chat with someone who even remotely understood the situation.
There's no preamble beforehand, at least none that Naomi is aware of. She's sober and her head is pounding from the weight of her last conversation. Effy's not speaking again. Again? Naomi's not sure she understands that comment but she only assumes it's a very bad sign. Meanwhile Emily is scowling about something and all Naomi desires is a warm bed and cuddly, quiet, happy girlfriend.
“Are you ever going to stop lying to me?” she asks, quite harshly. The accusation is not lost on Naomi, muddled as she may feel. Emily swings the bedroom door closed with a loud slam, and Naomi flinches so hard that she nearly slips off the edge of the bed.
“I don't know what you're going on about now, Ems, but can we just-.”
“Just what? Leave it?” Emily interjects. Her lack of patience is already obvious. “Where were you this afternoon?”
Naomi runs a hand over her face and sighs. “Seriously, Em. Let it be.”
But she knows better than to think, even to entertain the idea for a second, that Emily will ever just let it be anymore. She's broken the redhead's trust far too many times, and far too devastatingly to ever be afforded the benefit of the doubt again. And that knowledge disgusts her suddenly because they're not supposed to be like this anymore. Things are supposed to be fixed and better and not full of anger and mistrust. It's fucking bullshit, is what it is. She doesn't deserve to be treated like some ASBO twat. She's not on some sort of fucking probation.
“No, Naoms. I need to know. I'm worried about you.”
Naomi shrugs, a familiar gesture, and stands, pulling down the duvet and sliding under the covers.
Emily's still standing, hands on hips, in the middle of the bedroom floor when Naomi reaches over and turns out the bedside lamp. She knows she's not making things any better for herself, but for some reason, she doesn't want to tell Emily. Partly because she shouldn't have to lay out her minute-by-minute activities and partly because she's not sure Emily would understand. This issue with Effy is her own to cope with; her own to handle. It's hers and no one else's. Maybe it's a remnant from being an only child that she still has a problem sharing what's hers but she doesn't really see the need to let
Emily in on the problem this time.
She can hear Emily stomping around to the other side of the bed and the cold rush of air lets her know that she has company under the duvet. “Tell me, please, Naomi.”
Naomi squeezes her eyes shut, willing the annoyance to go away. “Why? It's nothing.”
“If it's nothing, why can't you tell me?” Emily always was a quick one. Her tone is making it crystal clear that Naomi's pathetic evasions are teetering precariously between irritating and downright
infuriating.
“Just because, okay?” She's bloody tired of arguing all the time. “I wasn't at the fucking pub, if that's your damn problem.” She clenches her eyes shut even tighter as if pure strength alone will catapult her into unconsciousness.
“Oh, because I'm concerned about you, it's suddenly the worst thing ever?”
Naomi tries to bury her face into the pillow but finds that breathing becomes too difficult that way. She concedes. “You're not worried. You're looking for something I've done wrong again so you can punish me. Don't you think we've both had enough? For Christ's sake, Ems.”
A small hand snaps out and yanks Naomi onto her back, her eyes opening reluctantly to stare a darkened ceiling. Emily's there in a few more seconds, hovering above her. Even in the dark, Naomi can see the fight in her eyes. “You're so full of shit,” she snarls, and Naomi is taken aback by the sound.
But something about the way Emily is over her, and that look in her eyes makes her feel less scared than she thinks she should be.
“You do this all the time to me, Naoms. It's killing me.”
There it is. The breaking point. Emily's body instantly becomes less rigid with the admission, but she doesn't back away. Naomi wants to feel bad about this, wants to feel apologetic but she can't help but feel Emily brought it on herself. All these arguments, this resentment and tension, they're not her doing anymore. There is however, despite her attempts at the contrary, a niggling of guilt worming around in the recesses of her mind. Despite how it may appear, she doesn't enjoy having Emily so unhappy. She doesn't like not being trusted, or having these rows every week. She misses the days when all it took was a smile to inspire a similar one on Emily's face. Now everything is layered with justifications and explanations. Too many fucking words.
It's killing them both.
It can't go on like this forever. She takes a deep breath.“I just went for a walk, around Effy's neighbourhood.”
Emily rolls onto her side then, relinquishing any physical control she had of the situation. “And?”
Naomi huffs. Of course it couldn't have been that easy. “And nothing. I went for a walk, then I came home.”
“Did you see her?”
There had always been some sort of odd tension when Naomi spoke of Effy to Emily. She'd never been able to place the reason why, but it had already irritated her slightly. It's almost as if, maybe due to their friendship or Effy's track-record, Emily believes Effy will steal Naomi away. It's a ridiculous concept really, and Naomi does recognise her own tendency to run to Effy when things with Emily become complicated. But that's just friendship, she figures. Maybe if Emily didn't push, Naomi wouldn't run.
“No. She wasn't there.” It's the truth.
“So you checked then.” The accusation, whatever it means, strikes a chord of annoyance within the blonde.
Naomi withholds a sad chuckle as Emily's issues come to the forefront. “Yeah. Of course. She's our friend.” Naomi makes sure to stress the word 'our'. It probably won't make a difference but it's worth a shot. Emily shakes her head, and Naomi's not sure if she's disagreeing with the observation or Naomi's actions anymore; always hiding, keeping secrets, even innocuous ones. Effy's friends really are dropping like flies. She winces inwardly at the thought. The redhead shuffles around, a defeated sort of posture obvious in her shoulders, even lying in bed. It kills Naomi a little bit too.
“Don't think I've forgotten, Naoms,” Emily whispers, sounding fatigued. Naomi hopes this isn't about Sophia, or some weird issue with hanging out with Effy last summer. “You loved me since you were 12.”
Oh.
“What does that even mean to you? You says things, Naomi. Say wonderful things to me when you need to but you never follow up. I just don't understand.”
“I meant it,” Naomi assures her, but it comes out a little less convincing than she had planned. “I mean it.” She chooses not to remind Emily about the fact it's killing her.
“You said all those things. All the things you did, cos you were scared, cos you wanted to push me away. Why are you still scared? Why are you still pushing me away? I thought you were finally telling the truth.”
“Ems...”
Emily sighs again, sinking further into the bedsheets. “Love changes people, yeah?” Naomi nods in affirmation. “That means I've been changing you for 6 years. Christ, what have I done?” Her voice is broken and lost. Emily runs a hand over her face. “What have you done?” It's horrible: the idea that maybe they've done this to each other, like they are each others' Frankensteins. It's supposed to make people better. Maybe this feeling she's always had of being torn was just Emily rearranging her parts. Like stripping her of her lungs when she couldn't breathe; zapping Naomi with electrodes to jump-start her brain; ripping out a piece of her own fiercely beating heart, sewing it to a piece of Naomi's soul. At this point, they're so tightly sutured to each other that even the smallest tear would cause unimaginable pain, she reckons. But they're so, so tangled... It needs to give for both of them.
As final fights go, it's pretty anti-climatic. For anyone else, and in fact for Naomi herself, it hardly seems like the kind of thing to end a relationship over. Merely a spat, the usual kind of disagreement that had pervaded their relationship for a year now.
Maybe that's entirely the point.
An hour later, they're having sex and the incident is pushed aside, like it can't hurt them. Like it never happened. Two hours later, in the middle of the night almost, Naomi finally begins packing her suitcase for Goa, as Emily watches, still naked in bed and smiling.
PART 4
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