FIC: echoes (sing me a love song & i'll sing it right back to you) [2/7]
echoes (sing me a love song & i'll sing it right back to you)
Author: Eskimo Jo
Rating: M
Warning: language, sexuality.
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.
Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7 || Epilogue I || Epilogue II & Notes
Around the breakfast table, Michelle prods at her bowl of Corn Flakes with an obvious lack of interest. Naomi sits across and tries to swallow what seems like the driest, most disgusting toast in the world. It's almost like a subconscious attempt to scrape the taste of Michelle off her tongue. (It's not exactly working however.) Tony's still passed out upstairs, with his head in a bucket presumably. But the silent spectre of Effy is drinking coffee and hungrily devouring her crumpet whilst trying not to stare too long at either of the girls. They're all startled out of the heavy blanket of silence by Anthea arriving in the kitchen and clanging mugs about. “All right, girls?” she asks, cheerily. Effy smirks as her gaze bounces back and forth between her friends.
“Yeah, thanks,” Michelle mutters, staring intently at her cereal bowl, still only nibbling. Naomi finds herself staring at Michelle as well.
Anthea pours herself a mug of tea, and leans against the countertop. It's the last thing Naomi wants: a trivial morning-after conversation with clueless Anthea. “Tony's a bit ill, isn't he?” she asks with a chuckle and takes a sip of her drink. “Serves him right. Not so young anymore. But it sounded like you lot had fun. Nice change to get out and about.”
She may as well be having the conversation with the kitchen sink for all the participation of the younger girls. However, it doesn't bother Anthea. “You found a place to pass out all right, Michelle? I meant to leave out some bedding. Not really used to having guests that aren't staying with Tony these days.”
Effy winces but Michelle seems to ignore the latter part of the comment, as she's doing with most things right now. “Yeah,” Michelle agrees and looks directly at Naomi who stares back, a flash of warning -or maybe fear- courses through her body momentarily. “I convinced Naomi to share.” The words come out incredibly controlled. No hint of anything else, unless of course Anthea had been paying attention to their faces. Which she wasn't, of course. She had been more interested in adding more sugar into her tea. Effy, however, well, nothing slips past Effy anymore.
Anthea's pushing two slices of brown bread into the toaster. “Oh good on you! She's a bit of a stingy one,” the older woman laughs, oblivious to the silent conversation happening around the table. “Aren't you, Naomi?”
“I guess,” she admits and finally breaks eye contact. It doesn't feel right. It hadn't meant anything. It was just a drunk shag. She doesn't understand why Michelle's taking it so bloody personally. And she certainly can't fathom why they need to be bitter enemies about it. It happened, it's over, whatever. There's no point in admitting that she realises that it obviously meant something different to Michelle. Anthea laughs lightly and floats off into the sitting room to turn on some cooking show that she'll never have any use for. There's the briefest of moments where she wishes her mum was there instead of Anthea. She would have done something, cleared the air even. Instead Naomi has Effy, who seems far more amused watching the spectacle than interested in pushing to a resolution. Groaning in irritation, Naomi pushes back her chair with a loud scrape that rattles her already tender brain and flounces out of the kitchen.
When she reaches her bedroom and closes the door, she realises it still smells like Michelle everywhere and her stomach does a somersault. And not in a bad way. Shit.
It doesn't come as surprise when Michelle stops coming round to the Stonems.
There's no doubt she's still in Tony's life because he mentions her at the supper table every so often, talks about where they hang out that day or whatever other boring-arse rubbish they get up to. All in all, it sounds rather bland, especially for Tony. The only time she perks up during any of these conversations is when he remarks on her staying with her aunt for an extra month or so. Anthea of course questions him intensely about the status of their relationship and Tony has to adamantly protest when she alludes to it being more than friendship. Regardless of his words, the whole situation would imply otherwise and it grates on Naomi for some reason. As she and Effy are clearing the dishes in dutiful silence, the younger girl sidles up close beside her.
“Told you to be careful,” she whispers and then moves away before Naomi has a chance to really respond. As a result, she merely shakes her head.
“You don't know what you're talking about,” Naomi says with resistance. It falls flat when she meets Effy's knowing blue eyes penetrating her own. “Christ, Eff.”
“You're welcome,” the brunette smirks.
And then she's gone, left the room without another word.
The next day, as if Effy's waved her magic wand, Naomi comes home from the library to see Tony and Michelle sitting together on the sofa. The lazy gits never did anything fun. Just sit around watching DVDs and nattering with each other like birds. It's well boring, and even more perplexing.
“You'll like this one, Moany.” Tony states, and points to the DVD case on the table. “Real deep stuff, isn't it, Nips?” He slides an arm around her shoulders and pulls her in.
“Piss off, Tony,” she grumbles and pushes against his chest and Naomi is all too aware that Michelle won't meet her gaze. Giving up, she takes a peek at the box. The film seems to be something about sharks or something and she feels an invisible tug to take a seat with them, if only to appease her curiousity.
“Chelle here has already cried twice,” he announces with a derisive laugh and ruffles her hair. It truthfully seems quite brotherly and Naomi grimaces as she watches them both. Still, there's a dirty, heavy sort of feeling pooling in her chest, hot and tight and not very comfortable at all. It so strikingly similar to times with Emily, with JJ, with all of that. It's a disgusting sort of jealously, just illogical and oozing through her bloodstream. The feeling makes her either want to punch something, or throw up. She takes a deep breath and tries to focus on something besides the dizziness swirling in her brain. It's fucking disorienting, this sudden influx of emotions that she knows very well she shouldn't be having. Not for someone so meaningless in her life. She shakes off the urge to join them rather easily now.
She finally shrugs. “Whatever.” Nice one, Naomi. Brilliant. She turns her back on the supposed non-couple and wanders to her bedroom.
They're both twats anyway.
Unfortunately, her escape is only momentary. Michelle doesn't leave after the film ends and when Naomi wanders downstairs, following the aroma of supper, she's met with all the Stonems and the older girl lounging around the kitchen. Effy's sitting disinterested and silent at the table, patiently waiting for her plate that Anthea is serving out at the moment. Both Michelle and Tony are leaning against the cupboards, chatting to Anthea as she works. Naomi catches Effy's stare and is met with a dispassionate eyeroll from her friend. It's good to know that she's not alone in her irritation. She sidles up to Anthea, plucking a supper plate from the shelf and starts serving herself, trying to ignore the chatter and block Tony and his girlfriend from her peripheral vision. It almost works. That is, until she grabs some cutlery and is on her way out of the room with her food, back to the sanctuary of her bedroom.
“Ah, ah,” Anthea calls out. “Naomi, sit down.”
It's times like these that Naomi strongly wants to remind Anthea that despite how it may appear, she's not actually one of her children and should be given the freedom that comes with paying rent. But instead of making a scene, her shoulders sag and she concedes defeat, taking a seat at the end of a table, perpendicular to Effy. She's pretty certain that all the Stonems are against her, forcing her to relate to Michelle when it's obvious she wants nothing to do with her. Anthea slides Effy's plate over to her and the brunette gazes at it impassively, picking up her fork with mechanical precision, almost robotic. Her eyes belay a very strong awareness however. Naomi picks at her broccoli and tries not to glance up. Every time she does, her gaze automatically falls on Michelle. Out of everything in the room, her interest seems to be immediately and automatically drawn there.
As the older brunette is standing beside Anthea serving herself some veg, Naomi's eyes rake over shape of toned legs, the dip of her waist, travelling down to slender fingers and Naomi's momentarily captivated. Her skin grows warm at the memory of those hands on her body, those legs naked and wrapped around her own. Her cheeks flush of their own accord and it's only when there's a quiet chortle from somewhere on her left that she briskly snaps out of it. Her head snaps around to stare at Effy in annoyance and all she sees is a stupid knowing smirk on her face.
“Shut up,” she whispers fiercely and Effy merely grins to herself and takes a sip of water, shaking her head. Embarrassed at being caught out, the blonde spears some lettuce a little too aggressively and the fork scrapes loudly against the plate, screeching. It makes everyone turn and focus on Naomi. She shrugs indifferently and tries to ignore all the eyes on her, making her face flush again. Effy thinks she's so fucking clever. She's not. She's just a pain in the ass. Naomi chews on her salad with a very definite frown, cutting her eyes at her friend every so often.
Still, she can't stop the memories, the almost real, tactual feeling of that stupid, drunken night. Tony takes a seat to her right and Michelle on his right, as if he's a referee of some sort. Anthea heads the table at the other end and now they're discussing some useless topic. Probably poxy gardening or Big Brother or frivolous budgetary spending by the borough. Naomi can't be bothered listening; she's too focussed on not looking up, not glancing in Michelle's direction. The whole exercise is irritating, and exhausting. Grabbing for her glass of water is a mistake. Inevitably she can see Michelle and she tries not to notice that the brunette is staring at her this time. Like, full on staring. When Naomi meets her eyes, the older girl holds her gaze for a moment, and she seems sad really. But the moment passes quickly and dissipates into thin air as if it had been purely imagined. Still, she feels it. It lingers around them and throughout the meal it happens more than once. Three times she's caught actually. Three. Each time just binds her more snugly in the persistent, tingling feeling, like a noose slowly being tightened.
Naomi clears her plate rather hurriedly and almost races from the room, back to the quiet safety of her solitary bedroom. The rest of her evening is a write-off. Her coursework ends up looking like a monkey shat on her notebook; completely useless. The resentment boils in the pit of her stomach, yet she can't stop thinking about the way Michelle had been looking at her. She tries to push the thoughts aside unsuccessfully. Eventually she gives up with a huff, roughly pushes her textbooks away and promises to work harder tomorrow. She flicks on her laptop, pops in a DVD and tries not think about the plague of uncertainties and possibilities bombarding her mixed-up mind.
“More broadly, this is apparently an antihedonistic morality, directing us to aspirations deemed higher than the gratification of primal impulses and, to that end, mandating the control of sexual appetites or pleasures. In this sense it is an ethic of self-restraint (distinguished from, as we may put it, an ethos of personal liberation and self-expression).
Hence our traditional ethic of decency, when pressed for its implications, can be seen as reflecting or representing two fundamental desiderata: self-control and a kind of civility.”
Naomi groans to herself and snaps her text closed. Stupid fucking arseholes. She normally finds this sort of reading fascinating, hence her reason for taking this summer course but at the moment she has other things on her mind that won't leave her be.
Like bloody Michelle Richardson: someone who, for all intents and purposes, is completely irrelevant to her life yet causes wave after wave of unwanted emotions and caustic memories to surface. Confusion tops the list. But there's that irritating voice in her head that echoes Effy and tells her to be careful. It's the same voice that often reminds her that she'll probably never be able to love anyone again. She's sort of convinced that either she's incapable of it, or alternately, she just incapable of loving anyone except Emily, even after all these years. It's terrifying and depressing and too much too consider most days, and since Michelle's pranced into her life, there are constant reminders about her old life, feelings that are both familiar and foreign. And now she can't get the sodding bitch out of her mind. She hasn't actually been back since the evening Naomi found her and Tony all cuddled up on the sofa watching that documentary, which Naomi has to grudgingly admit was excellent, if completely depressing. She pulls the earbuds from her ears cos this music certainly isn't helping matters. It's too thinky and grainy and staticky. Too much like her mind.
The library is too quiet, this study room even more so. Every so often there's a shuffle of papers, a click of a biro, a throat clearing self-consciously. It's bullshit. Pretentious, wanky bullshit full of spazzes and geeks. She peers down at her notes, trying to gauge if they even make any sense. It doesn't appear that they do. A short, tentative tap on the window draws her attention. Other students appear to be too wrapped in their own studies to notice much. Looking for any distraction however, she turns to the noise. What she sees causes her heart to pump furiously and she's a little dumbfounded.
A certain curly-haired brunette with terribly green eyes is standing on the other side of the glass. Just waiting. It takes a moment for Naomi's muscles to respond and she slowly begins packing her things into her satchel, almost like on auto-pilot. She can't seem to focus on anything at all and the menial task provides some semblance of regularity, of self-control. Even if that concept is the furthest thing from her grasp right now. She manages to miraculously make it to the door, work the latch without embarrassing herself and slip out quietly. Michelle spins around at the sound of the door closing.
She looks nervous and immediately Naomi fears something has happened to the Stonems. So, in addition to her rapidly beating heart, she begins to tremble just a little. Please, not Effy. They would have rang, wouldn't they? Anthea would have. Unless it was all of them... But then how would Michelle know? Jesus fucking Christ. She's about to explode if Michelle doesn't give some hint as to what the hell is going on. Or why she's showing off most of her damn hot pink bra in that top. It's unfair. She's stunning. Still. And it pisses Naomi right off.
“We need to talk,” is all she says and it's positively infuriating how collected she sounds. No hint.
“About?”
“Us.”
Naomi immediately relaxes and let's out a disbelieving scoff, her eyebrow quirking in incredulity. “There isn't an 'us', Michelle,” she sighs and begins to walk away. She's pretty sure they've both made that equally clear these past few weeks but Michelle obviously doesn't like giving up so easily. Her hand reaches out and grabs ahold of Naomi's shirt near the waist and pulls her back. Naomi insolently tugs it from her grasp but stops in her tracks. “What part of one-off don't you get?” She's feeling annoyed by the sudden bombardment of meaning everywhere. Why does everything always have to become such a fucking issue, rife with consequence and importance? She knew there was a reason she preferred those quick shags in club toilets as opposed to... whatever this is. And how the hell did Michelle know where she was revising anyway? See. Too many fucking complications and questions.
“Fine, okay, it was nothing.” There's a fierceness in her tone that causes Naomi to pause momentarily and consider the possibility that the lie is true. “But it's obviously upsetting you.”
Ridiculous. Absolute insanity. “Where do you get off-,” Naomi starts but is interrupted by Michelle's presence incredibly close. She half-expects there to be a fist cocked and threatening her. Nothing like that happens. The brunette merely stands, hands by her sides, twirling the fabric of her blue vest top in her fingers.
“Why did you start it in the pub that night?”
Naomi finds it comforting somehow to realise that she genuinely doesn't understand the question. It's not that she's just pretending, or avoiding it, or over-thinking it. The question simply doesn't make sense. “What?”
Michelle gestures to her feet with a wave. “The feet thing. Footsie. Why bother then?”
“I don't know what...” she trails off with a dawning understanding. Fucking Effy Stonem. She recalls the squirming of her best mate; the curious, cheeky, come-hither looks from Michelle. It's coming together. The whole time seems now like it was some messed up social experiment brought on by the girl she thought was her friend. “That wasn't- Nips, look-.” The second the nickname escapes from her mouth, she knows it's the worst move possible. Michelle's spine stiffens with anger.
“Don't ever call me that. I hate that name.”
“Tony can-.”
“You're not Tony!” She pauses and something akin to anguish washes over her features. It appears as if the name actually physically hurts her. “I can't control him. He doesn't, I mean, can you just respect-- Christ. Please, just don't?” The last question comes out almost desperately and there's an odd wave of guilt through Naomi's body. There's something deeper that she's not privy to about Michelle and Tony's relationship. It's dark, that's all she senses. She doesn't want to hurt this girl. Not now. She nods in acceptance. The misunderstanding, or more correctly, the deception about the flirty games in the pub seems trivial now. She'll let Michelle think it was her. It's fine. She maybe would have done it herself if she'd had the sense and bollocks any way.
“Look, I fancy you, okay Naomi,” Michelle implores hastily. She lifts her gaze to the ceiling and sighs, almost laughing in disbelief. “And it makes no bloody sense to me. You got me off.” She says the last sentence with some sort of reverence, as if it's a difficult task. Then she meets Naomi's stare. “I think you fancy me too.” Almost a wink. Smarmy at best. It's so sudden, all of this. Naomi feels instantly flustered and wobbly. This girl has a way of disarming her with blunt honesty, in much the same way Emily had done with integrity and pure sincerity. She tries to recover her bravado, but feels like it's truly an inadequate weapon against Michelle. She's insistent in a way Naomi had forgotten, in way she hadn't seen since Emily.
The blonde lets out a short laugh. “You're wrong.” She doesn't have much chance of continuing her train of thought because Michelle's lips are on hers, and they're so fucking soft and... good. She can't help but kiss back. Intoxicating perhaps is a better descriptor, cos Naomi can't exactly formulate proper thoughts; she just wants more. It's Michelle who pulls back first.
“Am I?”
Oh.
Naomi looks down with a smile on her face. She can at least admit when she's been bested, especially if it comes in the form of some fit as fuck girl snogging her. There are niggling doubts though. Echoes of an unhappy, unsuccessful past. The running, the lying, the pain, the year of resentment and bitterness, the way, even despite best intentions, it had fallen spectacularly apart. It's all about Emily suddenly. It worms inside whatever pleasant feelings she'd momentarily experienced. It needs to stop before it gets out of hand.
Naomi takes a deep breath and focuses intently on the girl in front of her. “I'm not into experiments. I'm not here for you to play with and then toss aside.”
Michelle is taken aback by the insinuation apparently. “You really think that? Quite honestly, Naomi, if I wanted a bit of fluff, I wouldn't have chosen you. You're hardly low maintenance. I only met you a few weeks ago and I know that already.” Her gaze is hard and serious, but she's obviously exasperated. “For some completely barmy reason that I can't even begin to understand, I fancy you, okay? Can't things ever be simple?”
Naomi's blue eyes widen in shock at the familiar statement. It always seems so much easier when other people say it. The truth spews forth without reservation. “I'm a shit, shit in relationships.” It terrifies Naomi to admit but it may work to dissuade the other girl and that's worth the fear.
Unexpectedly, Michelle breaks into a gentle, coaxing smile. “Whatever. I was with Tony for years, yeah?” It's probably supposed to be reassuring. It isn't. “You can't be any worse.”
Worse? Naomi's struck with the image of Emily's crumpled, heart-broken face when she left her at the airport that final time. How little Michelle knows. The older girl slides her hands into her back pockets and kind of bounces ahead, moving backwards with a grin. “So you going to take me back to yours now?”
Naomi's throat is dry, but her heart is beating faster.
It's taken weeks but her charade has finally fallen apart. It hadn't been the vodka. It had been Michelle all along.
If Tony notices anything, he doesn't say. Not even after Michelle spends the night one particularly rainy evening midweek, in Naomi's bedroom with the stereo on and door shut tightly until breakfast. Effy however keeps staring in that obnoxious way of hers and Naomi feels like she's still part of a science experiment, like they all exist in a Petri dish that Effy occasionally pokes and prods when she feels like having some fun. Considering she's the youngest out of all of them, it's all rather backwards. But, to be honest, she's getting laid by a beautiful girl so it can't be that bad. She should maybe thank Effy if anything. Tony doesn't even try to make any snide remarks when Michelle squeezes in between he and Naomi on the sofa one evening, obviously closer to the blonde. He quirks an eyebrow. That's all. Despite evidence to the contrary, Naomi can't help feeling that Tony's planning something. It makes her skin crawl occasionally and forces her to break whatever innocuous contact she has with Michelle at any given time when he looks at them in that way. Or when he goes out of his way to touch Michelle in front of Naomi in an overly-familiar way. He knows; he must. Because that sly look on his face makes her uncomfortable and why else would it? She has to trust her instincts sometime.
The fact is, Tony Stonem is as good at keeping secrets as his sister.
It's not that is a secret, though. At least not on purpose. She's not going out of her way to delude the Stonems (okay, perhaps Anthea, if she's being fair). It's just that, well, it's not anything definable. It just is, her and Michelle. They're just taking things as they go, and for a girl like Michelle, she doesn't even have to tell Naomi about it cos Naomi's been there once before: uncertain of what everything means, to herself, to other people, if it means anything at all. They choose not to discuss the intricacies of their relationship, the criteria, the consequence. Shoving it into some rigid box at this point feels like pushing things too quickly. It may be more than a rather compatible friends-with-benefits scenario, but what exactly that is escapes them both at the moment. So, the issue lays dormant, yet lingers in the air around them in moments of silence.
Only after Tony and Effy walk through the front door after going to Effy's psychiatry appointment to find Michelle straddling the blonde on the sofa does it become difficult. Michelle scrambles quickly off and wipes her mouth with her hand, glancing apologetically at the siblings, as if she has something to be ashamed about. Stupid girl. It was just snogging. There's something unsettling about Michelle's reaction though and Naomi can't quite figure it out. So she merely stares, half-expectantly, half-annoyed at the brother and sister duo in the front hall.
Tony puts on his best sociopathic smile. “Well, that's quite a new development, isn't it, Starbuck?” His tone is eerily flat as he addresses his sister without taking his eyes off the couple on the sofa before pointedly looking to Michelle herself. “Guess your tongue is good for more than just rolling those R's en français, oui?” The flush of the older girl's cheeks is unmistakable, which is a little amusing in a sense considering she had never actually gone down on Naomi at all. But now it's obvious she'd thought about it despite her tendency to be a bit a bit of a pillow queen on occasion. It wasn't like Naomi was complaining. Things take time. They hadn't really done much of that at all, to be frank. It hadn't really bothered either of them until Tony, in his subtle undermining way, had brought attention to it. Naomi fidgets uncomfortably now and she can feel Michelle tense beside her under Tony's unpleasant stare. It's frustrating because everything had been just fucking fine until now.
He turns and hangs his jacket on the hook, each movement deliberate and seemingly calculated. Effy slips by, with a carrier bag of new prescription tablets rattling around as she moves into the kitchen to sort them out into each day of the week. All she offers is a small, almost sad smile in Naomi's direction as she goes. Without any kind of invitation, Tony makes his way to the sofa and sinks down right next to Michelle, with a sly grin at both of them.
They're all just sitting, staring at the television screen, watching in silence. Michelle shifts slightly closer to the blonde who notices immediately. Her nerves are on edge at the moment, mostly because she has no idea what Tony's intentions are. He doesn't make them wait long as he slinks his arm over the back of the sofa, dragging a finger over Michelle's shoulder, twirling a lock of her hair around it. A smarmy, closed mouth grin spreads over his face as he notes the gooseflesh rising along her skin. Naomi however is almost incredulous at this intrusion. It's bullshit. Who does he think he is? When she finally meets his eyes, they're dark and almost foreboding, threatening perhaps. It's some sort of challenge and Michelle is merely a pawn in Tony's ego exercise. Seems par for the course.
He pushes further, trailing two fingers across her collarbone, practically begging for a reaction from either of them, though the challenge appears to rest on Naomi. This tosser has no respect for boundaries or common sense. This is not normal behaviour. Naomi feels however that taking his warped bait will only make him even happier. She's stubborn, angry at being put into this position. Michelle is getting increasingly uncomfortable and is twisting, flinching away from Tony's progression, but never all-out resisting. It's the oddest thing. She never actually says no to him. Probably because no one ever says no to Tony Stonem.
Continuing his teasing, her runs his fingers back down from her collarbone, glaring at Naomi the entire time. He's testing. So Naomi breaks his gaze to focus more on Michelle, who is possibly about to cry. Her face looks pained and uncomfortable. Only when Tony purposely grazes the side of her breast does she react more tangibly. She stands quickly and is about to jump away when a hand snaps out to grab her. When she looks down, she's obviously surprised to find it's not a masculine hand holding her wrist. Unfalteringly, Naomi meets her eyes. The blonde shifts over, putting herself between Tony and Michelle to put an end to this fucking ridiculous game. She pulls Michelle down again and she can feel the relief course through the body beside her, relaxing far more than she was before. When Naomi glances at Tony, she sees an odd sort of frustration, almost liked she's cock-blocked him from getting off with his ex-girlfriend. She feels rather pleased with herself for taking this step, and even more so when Michelle's hand finds hers and links their fingers together, holding her hand gently on her lap. Naomi squeezes reassuringly and is even further surprised when she feels the older girl's head rest on her shoulder. The moment Tony tries his same sneaky trick on Naomi, she swats him away and follows it up with a rough push against his chest. She's never been someone with a lot of patience.
Then he laughs. It's that Stonem laugh that says, 'I got you. You thought you knew, but you didn't. I'm still in control.' Naomi does nothing but roll her eyes. He sighs with a chuckle. “Just you wait, Moany.”
She supposes it's a warning of some sort but the meaning isn't totally clear. As per usual.
They're all sitting around the supper table, minus Michelle, when Tony drops the bomb. He winks at Naomi right before he does it and she feels the hairs on the back of her neck raise uneasily.
“So, Moany's got a new girlfriend. Isn't that neat, mum?” He asks it so fucking innocently, laced with some sort of bemusement.
Anthea looks up from her plate and takes a bite of potato off her fork, chewing thoughtfully. “Oh that's lovely.” Naomi swallows hard even though she hasn't take a bite. She's not oblivious to the fact Anthea wasn't particularly approving of the occasional times that Naomi had dragged some wasted stranger home from the clubs. Apparently it's a bad influence on Effy, which seems ludicrous really cos Effy isn't 12 years old anymore, and even at 12 she probably had seen much worse. Not to mention Tony's own exploits. How that is any healthier just because he's a boy is baffling. “A real one, yeah? Not one of your...” The older woman doesn't have to finish her sentence. The meaning is crystal clear and having expected it, Naomi manages not to react.
“Yeah, a girlfriend,” Tony supplies like the good boy he is. He sips his milk with a sneer.
“So when are you going to invite her over?” Anthea inquires curiously. “It's a big step for you, isn't it? This girlfriend business.”
Naomi's blue eyes dart quickly through all the people around the table: Tony with that shit-eating grin on his stupid face; Effy carefully spearing a single pea with her fork; Anthea staring at her with some sort of motherly approval. Could she really not have realised? Perhaps Effy was right; her mum is clueless the majority of the time. Makes for easy delusions. Tony sees Naomi about to respond when he butts in.
“She's already been 'round,” he states.
Anthea shrugs and plucks a bit of steak from her plate. “Must not have been whilst I've been in,” she says to Tony.
His eyes narrow slightly. “You definitely have been, mum.”
The comment is working its way around Anthea's head obviously. She's trying to work out when this stranger would have been seen. Clueless, indeed. She chews on her lip briefly as if contemplating some difficult maths problem. “I don't recall...”
“Oh, you'll love this.” The bloody tosspot pauses for fucking dramatic effect or some shit. “It's Chelle.”
Silence descends on the table and it looks as if Anthea's about to just drop her utensils in shock. She stares at Naomi and then back at Tony. “Your Michelle?” Naomi cringes at the sentiment.
Tony glares coldly at Naomi. “Yes, mum. My Michelle.” Anthea follows his gaze and Naomi feels her cheeks redden with the unwanted attention.
The older woman shrugs and shakes her head a little. “Well, she always has been a bit of a slapper, that one,” she states in a soft voice, as if she's angry. Just fucking great. Not only is Anthea pissed off about her seeing Tony's girlfriend -ex-girlfriend- she's also miffed about the girl herself. Lovely. Nothing like starting an uphill climb already at a disadvantage. Any vestige of pleasure Anthea had earlier has miraculously evaporated and been replaced with a sullen disapproval. She stabs another piece of potato roughly. End of conversation. Naomi pushes back from the table, leaving a half-eaten plate of delicious food untouched and marches to her room, avoiding Anthea's unhappy gaze or Tony's for that matter. Bunch of dicks.
Only a few minutes later does she hear a knock on her door and she knows immediately who it is. It's the only person that would both bother to visit her, and respect her privacy. “Come in,” she calls tiredly. Effy slips around the door like quicksilver and closes it softly behind herself, gliding over to the end of Naomi's bed. She scratches her cheek absently as she takes a seat on the edge.
“Your brother is such a prick,” Naomi grumbles as a way of greeting.
Effy snorts, as if it's old news. And it is of course.
“And now your mum hates me or something.”
The brunette shrugs loosely. “It's better,” she says. “No more secrets.”
Somewhat aghast, Naomi goes on the defensive. “I wasn't - I just don't see how it's really any of your mum's business.”
Effy raises an eyebrow. “Or Tony's?”
Naomi swings her legs off the bed and stalks over to her chair, further from Effy, arms crossing over her chest in defiance. “Whatever, Eff. You both knew. Besides,” she pauses, trying to gather her erratic thoughts. “It's weird. It's nothing specific. Christ. She's not even... It's complicated when you have to start questioning yourself. She's - she was...” All this talking around sexuality is pissing Naomi herself off cos it was bad enough going through it once, now she's a catalyst for the same. But even so, she feels like she may actually be talking about herself in third person, and it has nothing to do with an sexual identity crisis.
For a while, all Effy does in response is smile. That big, closed-lipped smirk. She fucking knows, of course. Naomi's not concerned about any internal struggles Michelle may or may not be having; she's preoccupied with her own complexes. It's clearly etched on her face. “You should tell her.”
Naomi is about four seconds away from slapping the younger girl across the face. Her and her cryptic fucking advice. Tell her what? That she's still hung up on what a shitty girlfriend she was the last time around? How she's still pretty damn sure that she won't be much better now? Or maybe that the whole thing is just one massive headfuck. All of those apply, and more probably. Far more that she herself has repressed enough never to have to think about. “That's stupid,” she says, ice lacing her voice. Isn't it?
Almost if asking the exact same question, Effy quirks an eyebrow and tilts her head. “You fancy her.” The whole sentence is stressed in a way that implies far more seriousness and meaning than the words alone would allow. Like, it's not just a crush. And Naomi knows full well that it isn't. Because crushes are for children, not almost-grown-ups.
“Yeah, so?” She's being almost petulant now. Honestly, she just wants Effy to come out with it already.
“Tell her.” Effy's response is the only reward she can receive and it's barely even understandable let alone helpful. “It'll be okay. Change is good.” The younger girl stands slowly, brushes her fringe back like she hasn't a care in the world and just winks. Her and her bloody brother. The only difference is that when Effy does it, it doesn't usually warn of an impending disaster. Usually the opposite. As she is leaving, she stops beside Naomi and places a reassuring hand on her shoulder but says nothing. Within seconds, she's disappeared from the room.
PART 3 >>
Author: Eskimo Jo
Rating: M
Warning: language, sexuality.
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.
Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7 || Epilogue I || Epilogue II & Notes
Around the breakfast table, Michelle prods at her bowl of Corn Flakes with an obvious lack of interest. Naomi sits across and tries to swallow what seems like the driest, most disgusting toast in the world. It's almost like a subconscious attempt to scrape the taste of Michelle off her tongue. (It's not exactly working however.) Tony's still passed out upstairs, with his head in a bucket presumably. But the silent spectre of Effy is drinking coffee and hungrily devouring her crumpet whilst trying not to stare too long at either of the girls. They're all startled out of the heavy blanket of silence by Anthea arriving in the kitchen and clanging mugs about. “All right, girls?” she asks, cheerily. Effy smirks as her gaze bounces back and forth between her friends.
“Yeah, thanks,” Michelle mutters, staring intently at her cereal bowl, still only nibbling. Naomi finds herself staring at Michelle as well.
Anthea pours herself a mug of tea, and leans against the countertop. It's the last thing Naomi wants: a trivial morning-after conversation with clueless Anthea. “Tony's a bit ill, isn't he?” she asks with a chuckle and takes a sip of her drink. “Serves him right. Not so young anymore. But it sounded like you lot had fun. Nice change to get out and about.”
She may as well be having the conversation with the kitchen sink for all the participation of the younger girls. However, it doesn't bother Anthea. “You found a place to pass out all right, Michelle? I meant to leave out some bedding. Not really used to having guests that aren't staying with Tony these days.”
Effy winces but Michelle seems to ignore the latter part of the comment, as she's doing with most things right now. “Yeah,” Michelle agrees and looks directly at Naomi who stares back, a flash of warning -or maybe fear- courses through her body momentarily. “I convinced Naomi to share.” The words come out incredibly controlled. No hint of anything else, unless of course Anthea had been paying attention to their faces. Which she wasn't, of course. She had been more interested in adding more sugar into her tea. Effy, however, well, nothing slips past Effy anymore.
Anthea's pushing two slices of brown bread into the toaster. “Oh good on you! She's a bit of a stingy one,” the older woman laughs, oblivious to the silent conversation happening around the table. “Aren't you, Naomi?”
“I guess,” she admits and finally breaks eye contact. It doesn't feel right. It hadn't meant anything. It was just a drunk shag. She doesn't understand why Michelle's taking it so bloody personally. And she certainly can't fathom why they need to be bitter enemies about it. It happened, it's over, whatever. There's no point in admitting that she realises that it obviously meant something different to Michelle. Anthea laughs lightly and floats off into the sitting room to turn on some cooking show that she'll never have any use for. There's the briefest of moments where she wishes her mum was there instead of Anthea. She would have done something, cleared the air even. Instead Naomi has Effy, who seems far more amused watching the spectacle than interested in pushing to a resolution. Groaning in irritation, Naomi pushes back her chair with a loud scrape that rattles her already tender brain and flounces out of the kitchen.
When she reaches her bedroom and closes the door, she realises it still smells like Michelle everywhere and her stomach does a somersault. And not in a bad way. Shit.
It doesn't come as surprise when Michelle stops coming round to the Stonems.
There's no doubt she's still in Tony's life because he mentions her at the supper table every so often, talks about where they hang out that day or whatever other boring-arse rubbish they get up to. All in all, it sounds rather bland, especially for Tony. The only time she perks up during any of these conversations is when he remarks on her staying with her aunt for an extra month or so. Anthea of course questions him intensely about the status of their relationship and Tony has to adamantly protest when she alludes to it being more than friendship. Regardless of his words, the whole situation would imply otherwise and it grates on Naomi for some reason. As she and Effy are clearing the dishes in dutiful silence, the younger girl sidles up close beside her.
“Told you to be careful,” she whispers and then moves away before Naomi has a chance to really respond. As a result, she merely shakes her head.
“You don't know what you're talking about,” Naomi says with resistance. It falls flat when she meets Effy's knowing blue eyes penetrating her own. “Christ, Eff.”
“You're welcome,” the brunette smirks.
And then she's gone, left the room without another word.
The next day, as if Effy's waved her magic wand, Naomi comes home from the library to see Tony and Michelle sitting together on the sofa. The lazy gits never did anything fun. Just sit around watching DVDs and nattering with each other like birds. It's well boring, and even more perplexing.
“You'll like this one, Moany.” Tony states, and points to the DVD case on the table. “Real deep stuff, isn't it, Nips?” He slides an arm around her shoulders and pulls her in.
“Piss off, Tony,” she grumbles and pushes against his chest and Naomi is all too aware that Michelle won't meet her gaze. Giving up, she takes a peek at the box. The film seems to be something about sharks or something and she feels an invisible tug to take a seat with them, if only to appease her curiousity.
“Chelle here has already cried twice,” he announces with a derisive laugh and ruffles her hair. It truthfully seems quite brotherly and Naomi grimaces as she watches them both. Still, there's a dirty, heavy sort of feeling pooling in her chest, hot and tight and not very comfortable at all. It so strikingly similar to times with Emily, with JJ, with all of that. It's a disgusting sort of jealously, just illogical and oozing through her bloodstream. The feeling makes her either want to punch something, or throw up. She takes a deep breath and tries to focus on something besides the dizziness swirling in her brain. It's fucking disorienting, this sudden influx of emotions that she knows very well she shouldn't be having. Not for someone so meaningless in her life. She shakes off the urge to join them rather easily now.
She finally shrugs. “Whatever.” Nice one, Naomi. Brilliant. She turns her back on the supposed non-couple and wanders to her bedroom.
They're both twats anyway.
Unfortunately, her escape is only momentary. Michelle doesn't leave after the film ends and when Naomi wanders downstairs, following the aroma of supper, she's met with all the Stonems and the older girl lounging around the kitchen. Effy's sitting disinterested and silent at the table, patiently waiting for her plate that Anthea is serving out at the moment. Both Michelle and Tony are leaning against the cupboards, chatting to Anthea as she works. Naomi catches Effy's stare and is met with a dispassionate eyeroll from her friend. It's good to know that she's not alone in her irritation. She sidles up to Anthea, plucking a supper plate from the shelf and starts serving herself, trying to ignore the chatter and block Tony and his girlfriend from her peripheral vision. It almost works. That is, until she grabs some cutlery and is on her way out of the room with her food, back to the sanctuary of her bedroom.
“Ah, ah,” Anthea calls out. “Naomi, sit down.”
It's times like these that Naomi strongly wants to remind Anthea that despite how it may appear, she's not actually one of her children and should be given the freedom that comes with paying rent. But instead of making a scene, her shoulders sag and she concedes defeat, taking a seat at the end of a table, perpendicular to Effy. She's pretty certain that all the Stonems are against her, forcing her to relate to Michelle when it's obvious she wants nothing to do with her. Anthea slides Effy's plate over to her and the brunette gazes at it impassively, picking up her fork with mechanical precision, almost robotic. Her eyes belay a very strong awareness however. Naomi picks at her broccoli and tries not to glance up. Every time she does, her gaze automatically falls on Michelle. Out of everything in the room, her interest seems to be immediately and automatically drawn there.
As the older brunette is standing beside Anthea serving herself some veg, Naomi's eyes rake over shape of toned legs, the dip of her waist, travelling down to slender fingers and Naomi's momentarily captivated. Her skin grows warm at the memory of those hands on her body, those legs naked and wrapped around her own. Her cheeks flush of their own accord and it's only when there's a quiet chortle from somewhere on her left that she briskly snaps out of it. Her head snaps around to stare at Effy in annoyance and all she sees is a stupid knowing smirk on her face.
“Shut up,” she whispers fiercely and Effy merely grins to herself and takes a sip of water, shaking her head. Embarrassed at being caught out, the blonde spears some lettuce a little too aggressively and the fork scrapes loudly against the plate, screeching. It makes everyone turn and focus on Naomi. She shrugs indifferently and tries to ignore all the eyes on her, making her face flush again. Effy thinks she's so fucking clever. She's not. She's just a pain in the ass. Naomi chews on her salad with a very definite frown, cutting her eyes at her friend every so often.
Still, she can't stop the memories, the almost real, tactual feeling of that stupid, drunken night. Tony takes a seat to her right and Michelle on his right, as if he's a referee of some sort. Anthea heads the table at the other end and now they're discussing some useless topic. Probably poxy gardening or Big Brother or frivolous budgetary spending by the borough. Naomi can't be bothered listening; she's too focussed on not looking up, not glancing in Michelle's direction. The whole exercise is irritating, and exhausting. Grabbing for her glass of water is a mistake. Inevitably she can see Michelle and she tries not to notice that the brunette is staring at her this time. Like, full on staring. When Naomi meets her eyes, the older girl holds her gaze for a moment, and she seems sad really. But the moment passes quickly and dissipates into thin air as if it had been purely imagined. Still, she feels it. It lingers around them and throughout the meal it happens more than once. Three times she's caught actually. Three. Each time just binds her more snugly in the persistent, tingling feeling, like a noose slowly being tightened.
Naomi clears her plate rather hurriedly and almost races from the room, back to the quiet safety of her solitary bedroom. The rest of her evening is a write-off. Her coursework ends up looking like a monkey shat on her notebook; completely useless. The resentment boils in the pit of her stomach, yet she can't stop thinking about the way Michelle had been looking at her. She tries to push the thoughts aside unsuccessfully. Eventually she gives up with a huff, roughly pushes her textbooks away and promises to work harder tomorrow. She flicks on her laptop, pops in a DVD and tries not think about the plague of uncertainties and possibilities bombarding her mixed-up mind.
“More broadly, this is apparently an antihedonistic morality, directing us to aspirations deemed higher than the gratification of primal impulses and, to that end, mandating the control of sexual appetites or pleasures. In this sense it is an ethic of self-restraint (distinguished from, as we may put it, an ethos of personal liberation and self-expression).
Hence our traditional ethic of decency, when pressed for its implications, can be seen as reflecting or representing two fundamental desiderata: self-control and a kind of civility.”
Naomi groans to herself and snaps her text closed. Stupid fucking arseholes. She normally finds this sort of reading fascinating, hence her reason for taking this summer course but at the moment she has other things on her mind that won't leave her be.
Like bloody Michelle Richardson: someone who, for all intents and purposes, is completely irrelevant to her life yet causes wave after wave of unwanted emotions and caustic memories to surface. Confusion tops the list. But there's that irritating voice in her head that echoes Effy and tells her to be careful. It's the same voice that often reminds her that she'll probably never be able to love anyone again. She's sort of convinced that either she's incapable of it, or alternately, she just incapable of loving anyone except Emily, even after all these years. It's terrifying and depressing and too much too consider most days, and since Michelle's pranced into her life, there are constant reminders about her old life, feelings that are both familiar and foreign. And now she can't get the sodding bitch out of her mind. She hasn't actually been back since the evening Naomi found her and Tony all cuddled up on the sofa watching that documentary, which Naomi has to grudgingly admit was excellent, if completely depressing. She pulls the earbuds from her ears cos this music certainly isn't helping matters. It's too thinky and grainy and staticky. Too much like her mind.
The library is too quiet, this study room even more so. Every so often there's a shuffle of papers, a click of a biro, a throat clearing self-consciously. It's bullshit. Pretentious, wanky bullshit full of spazzes and geeks. She peers down at her notes, trying to gauge if they even make any sense. It doesn't appear that they do. A short, tentative tap on the window draws her attention. Other students appear to be too wrapped in their own studies to notice much. Looking for any distraction however, she turns to the noise. What she sees causes her heart to pump furiously and she's a little dumbfounded.
A certain curly-haired brunette with terribly green eyes is standing on the other side of the glass. Just waiting. It takes a moment for Naomi's muscles to respond and she slowly begins packing her things into her satchel, almost like on auto-pilot. She can't seem to focus on anything at all and the menial task provides some semblance of regularity, of self-control. Even if that concept is the furthest thing from her grasp right now. She manages to miraculously make it to the door, work the latch without embarrassing herself and slip out quietly. Michelle spins around at the sound of the door closing.
She looks nervous and immediately Naomi fears something has happened to the Stonems. So, in addition to her rapidly beating heart, she begins to tremble just a little. Please, not Effy. They would have rang, wouldn't they? Anthea would have. Unless it was all of them... But then how would Michelle know? Jesus fucking Christ. She's about to explode if Michelle doesn't give some hint as to what the hell is going on. Or why she's showing off most of her damn hot pink bra in that top. It's unfair. She's stunning. Still. And it pisses Naomi right off.
“We need to talk,” is all she says and it's positively infuriating how collected she sounds. No hint.
“About?”
“Us.”
Naomi immediately relaxes and let's out a disbelieving scoff, her eyebrow quirking in incredulity. “There isn't an 'us', Michelle,” she sighs and begins to walk away. She's pretty sure they've both made that equally clear these past few weeks but Michelle obviously doesn't like giving up so easily. Her hand reaches out and grabs ahold of Naomi's shirt near the waist and pulls her back. Naomi insolently tugs it from her grasp but stops in her tracks. “What part of one-off don't you get?” She's feeling annoyed by the sudden bombardment of meaning everywhere. Why does everything always have to become such a fucking issue, rife with consequence and importance? She knew there was a reason she preferred those quick shags in club toilets as opposed to... whatever this is. And how the hell did Michelle know where she was revising anyway? See. Too many fucking complications and questions.
“Fine, okay, it was nothing.” There's a fierceness in her tone that causes Naomi to pause momentarily and consider the possibility that the lie is true. “But it's obviously upsetting you.”
Ridiculous. Absolute insanity. “Where do you get off-,” Naomi starts but is interrupted by Michelle's presence incredibly close. She half-expects there to be a fist cocked and threatening her. Nothing like that happens. The brunette merely stands, hands by her sides, twirling the fabric of her blue vest top in her fingers.
“Why did you start it in the pub that night?”
Naomi finds it comforting somehow to realise that she genuinely doesn't understand the question. It's not that she's just pretending, or avoiding it, or over-thinking it. The question simply doesn't make sense. “What?”
Michelle gestures to her feet with a wave. “The feet thing. Footsie. Why bother then?”
“I don't know what...” she trails off with a dawning understanding. Fucking Effy Stonem. She recalls the squirming of her best mate; the curious, cheeky, come-hither looks from Michelle. It's coming together. The whole time seems now like it was some messed up social experiment brought on by the girl she thought was her friend. “That wasn't- Nips, look-.” The second the nickname escapes from her mouth, she knows it's the worst move possible. Michelle's spine stiffens with anger.
“Don't ever call me that. I hate that name.”
“Tony can-.”
“You're not Tony!” She pauses and something akin to anguish washes over her features. It appears as if the name actually physically hurts her. “I can't control him. He doesn't, I mean, can you just respect-- Christ. Please, just don't?” The last question comes out almost desperately and there's an odd wave of guilt through Naomi's body. There's something deeper that she's not privy to about Michelle and Tony's relationship. It's dark, that's all she senses. She doesn't want to hurt this girl. Not now. She nods in acceptance. The misunderstanding, or more correctly, the deception about the flirty games in the pub seems trivial now. She'll let Michelle think it was her. It's fine. She maybe would have done it herself if she'd had the sense and bollocks any way.
“Look, I fancy you, okay Naomi,” Michelle implores hastily. She lifts her gaze to the ceiling and sighs, almost laughing in disbelief. “And it makes no bloody sense to me. You got me off.” She says the last sentence with some sort of reverence, as if it's a difficult task. Then she meets Naomi's stare. “I think you fancy me too.” Almost a wink. Smarmy at best. It's so sudden, all of this. Naomi feels instantly flustered and wobbly. This girl has a way of disarming her with blunt honesty, in much the same way Emily had done with integrity and pure sincerity. She tries to recover her bravado, but feels like it's truly an inadequate weapon against Michelle. She's insistent in a way Naomi had forgotten, in way she hadn't seen since Emily.
The blonde lets out a short laugh. “You're wrong.” She doesn't have much chance of continuing her train of thought because Michelle's lips are on hers, and they're so fucking soft and... good. She can't help but kiss back. Intoxicating perhaps is a better descriptor, cos Naomi can't exactly formulate proper thoughts; she just wants more. It's Michelle who pulls back first.
“Am I?”
Oh.
Naomi looks down with a smile on her face. She can at least admit when she's been bested, especially if it comes in the form of some fit as fuck girl snogging her. There are niggling doubts though. Echoes of an unhappy, unsuccessful past. The running, the lying, the pain, the year of resentment and bitterness, the way, even despite best intentions, it had fallen spectacularly apart. It's all about Emily suddenly. It worms inside whatever pleasant feelings she'd momentarily experienced. It needs to stop before it gets out of hand.
Naomi takes a deep breath and focuses intently on the girl in front of her. “I'm not into experiments. I'm not here for you to play with and then toss aside.”
Michelle is taken aback by the insinuation apparently. “You really think that? Quite honestly, Naomi, if I wanted a bit of fluff, I wouldn't have chosen you. You're hardly low maintenance. I only met you a few weeks ago and I know that already.” Her gaze is hard and serious, but she's obviously exasperated. “For some completely barmy reason that I can't even begin to understand, I fancy you, okay? Can't things ever be simple?”
Naomi's blue eyes widen in shock at the familiar statement. It always seems so much easier when other people say it. The truth spews forth without reservation. “I'm a shit, shit in relationships.” It terrifies Naomi to admit but it may work to dissuade the other girl and that's worth the fear.
Unexpectedly, Michelle breaks into a gentle, coaxing smile. “Whatever. I was with Tony for years, yeah?” It's probably supposed to be reassuring. It isn't. “You can't be any worse.”
Worse? Naomi's struck with the image of Emily's crumpled, heart-broken face when she left her at the airport that final time. How little Michelle knows. The older girl slides her hands into her back pockets and kind of bounces ahead, moving backwards with a grin. “So you going to take me back to yours now?”
Naomi's throat is dry, but her heart is beating faster.
It's taken weeks but her charade has finally fallen apart. It hadn't been the vodka. It had been Michelle all along.
If Tony notices anything, he doesn't say. Not even after Michelle spends the night one particularly rainy evening midweek, in Naomi's bedroom with the stereo on and door shut tightly until breakfast. Effy however keeps staring in that obnoxious way of hers and Naomi feels like she's still part of a science experiment, like they all exist in a Petri dish that Effy occasionally pokes and prods when she feels like having some fun. Considering she's the youngest out of all of them, it's all rather backwards. But, to be honest, she's getting laid by a beautiful girl so it can't be that bad. She should maybe thank Effy if anything. Tony doesn't even try to make any snide remarks when Michelle squeezes in between he and Naomi on the sofa one evening, obviously closer to the blonde. He quirks an eyebrow. That's all. Despite evidence to the contrary, Naomi can't help feeling that Tony's planning something. It makes her skin crawl occasionally and forces her to break whatever innocuous contact she has with Michelle at any given time when he looks at them in that way. Or when he goes out of his way to touch Michelle in front of Naomi in an overly-familiar way. He knows; he must. Because that sly look on his face makes her uncomfortable and why else would it? She has to trust her instincts sometime.
The fact is, Tony Stonem is as good at keeping secrets as his sister.
It's not that is a secret, though. At least not on purpose. She's not going out of her way to delude the Stonems (okay, perhaps Anthea, if she's being fair). It's just that, well, it's not anything definable. It just is, her and Michelle. They're just taking things as they go, and for a girl like Michelle, she doesn't even have to tell Naomi about it cos Naomi's been there once before: uncertain of what everything means, to herself, to other people, if it means anything at all. They choose not to discuss the intricacies of their relationship, the criteria, the consequence. Shoving it into some rigid box at this point feels like pushing things too quickly. It may be more than a rather compatible friends-with-benefits scenario, but what exactly that is escapes them both at the moment. So, the issue lays dormant, yet lingers in the air around them in moments of silence.
Only after Tony and Effy walk through the front door after going to Effy's psychiatry appointment to find Michelle straddling the blonde on the sofa does it become difficult. Michelle scrambles quickly off and wipes her mouth with her hand, glancing apologetically at the siblings, as if she has something to be ashamed about. Stupid girl. It was just snogging. There's something unsettling about Michelle's reaction though and Naomi can't quite figure it out. So she merely stares, half-expectantly, half-annoyed at the brother and sister duo in the front hall.
Tony puts on his best sociopathic smile. “Well, that's quite a new development, isn't it, Starbuck?” His tone is eerily flat as he addresses his sister without taking his eyes off the couple on the sofa before pointedly looking to Michelle herself. “Guess your tongue is good for more than just rolling those R's en français, oui?” The flush of the older girl's cheeks is unmistakable, which is a little amusing in a sense considering she had never actually gone down on Naomi at all. But now it's obvious she'd thought about it despite her tendency to be a bit a bit of a pillow queen on occasion. It wasn't like Naomi was complaining. Things take time. They hadn't really done much of that at all, to be frank. It hadn't really bothered either of them until Tony, in his subtle undermining way, had brought attention to it. Naomi fidgets uncomfortably now and she can feel Michelle tense beside her under Tony's unpleasant stare. It's frustrating because everything had been just fucking fine until now.
He turns and hangs his jacket on the hook, each movement deliberate and seemingly calculated. Effy slips by, with a carrier bag of new prescription tablets rattling around as she moves into the kitchen to sort them out into each day of the week. All she offers is a small, almost sad smile in Naomi's direction as she goes. Without any kind of invitation, Tony makes his way to the sofa and sinks down right next to Michelle, with a sly grin at both of them.
They're all just sitting, staring at the television screen, watching in silence. Michelle shifts slightly closer to the blonde who notices immediately. Her nerves are on edge at the moment, mostly because she has no idea what Tony's intentions are. He doesn't make them wait long as he slinks his arm over the back of the sofa, dragging a finger over Michelle's shoulder, twirling a lock of her hair around it. A smarmy, closed mouth grin spreads over his face as he notes the gooseflesh rising along her skin. Naomi however is almost incredulous at this intrusion. It's bullshit. Who does he think he is? When she finally meets his eyes, they're dark and almost foreboding, threatening perhaps. It's some sort of challenge and Michelle is merely a pawn in Tony's ego exercise. Seems par for the course.
He pushes further, trailing two fingers across her collarbone, practically begging for a reaction from either of them, though the challenge appears to rest on Naomi. This tosser has no respect for boundaries or common sense. This is not normal behaviour. Naomi feels however that taking his warped bait will only make him even happier. She's stubborn, angry at being put into this position. Michelle is getting increasingly uncomfortable and is twisting, flinching away from Tony's progression, but never all-out resisting. It's the oddest thing. She never actually says no to him. Probably because no one ever says no to Tony Stonem.
Continuing his teasing, her runs his fingers back down from her collarbone, glaring at Naomi the entire time. He's testing. So Naomi breaks his gaze to focus more on Michelle, who is possibly about to cry. Her face looks pained and uncomfortable. Only when Tony purposely grazes the side of her breast does she react more tangibly. She stands quickly and is about to jump away when a hand snaps out to grab her. When she looks down, she's obviously surprised to find it's not a masculine hand holding her wrist. Unfalteringly, Naomi meets her eyes. The blonde shifts over, putting herself between Tony and Michelle to put an end to this fucking ridiculous game. She pulls Michelle down again and she can feel the relief course through the body beside her, relaxing far more than she was before. When Naomi glances at Tony, she sees an odd sort of frustration, almost liked she's cock-blocked him from getting off with his ex-girlfriend. She feels rather pleased with herself for taking this step, and even more so when Michelle's hand finds hers and links their fingers together, holding her hand gently on her lap. Naomi squeezes reassuringly and is even further surprised when she feels the older girl's head rest on her shoulder. The moment Tony tries his same sneaky trick on Naomi, she swats him away and follows it up with a rough push against his chest. She's never been someone with a lot of patience.
Then he laughs. It's that Stonem laugh that says, 'I got you. You thought you knew, but you didn't. I'm still in control.' Naomi does nothing but roll her eyes. He sighs with a chuckle. “Just you wait, Moany.”
She supposes it's a warning of some sort but the meaning isn't totally clear. As per usual.
They're all sitting around the supper table, minus Michelle, when Tony drops the bomb. He winks at Naomi right before he does it and she feels the hairs on the back of her neck raise uneasily.
“So, Moany's got a new girlfriend. Isn't that neat, mum?” He asks it so fucking innocently, laced with some sort of bemusement.
Anthea looks up from her plate and takes a bite of potato off her fork, chewing thoughtfully. “Oh that's lovely.” Naomi swallows hard even though she hasn't take a bite. She's not oblivious to the fact Anthea wasn't particularly approving of the occasional times that Naomi had dragged some wasted stranger home from the clubs. Apparently it's a bad influence on Effy, which seems ludicrous really cos Effy isn't 12 years old anymore, and even at 12 she probably had seen much worse. Not to mention Tony's own exploits. How that is any healthier just because he's a boy is baffling. “A real one, yeah? Not one of your...” The older woman doesn't have to finish her sentence. The meaning is crystal clear and having expected it, Naomi manages not to react.
“Yeah, a girlfriend,” Tony supplies like the good boy he is. He sips his milk with a sneer.
“So when are you going to invite her over?” Anthea inquires curiously. “It's a big step for you, isn't it? This girlfriend business.”
Naomi's blue eyes dart quickly through all the people around the table: Tony with that shit-eating grin on his stupid face; Effy carefully spearing a single pea with her fork; Anthea staring at her with some sort of motherly approval. Could she really not have realised? Perhaps Effy was right; her mum is clueless the majority of the time. Makes for easy delusions. Tony sees Naomi about to respond when he butts in.
“She's already been 'round,” he states.
Anthea shrugs and plucks a bit of steak from her plate. “Must not have been whilst I've been in,” she says to Tony.
His eyes narrow slightly. “You definitely have been, mum.”
The comment is working its way around Anthea's head obviously. She's trying to work out when this stranger would have been seen. Clueless, indeed. She chews on her lip briefly as if contemplating some difficult maths problem. “I don't recall...”
“Oh, you'll love this.” The bloody tosspot pauses for fucking dramatic effect or some shit. “It's Chelle.”
Silence descends on the table and it looks as if Anthea's about to just drop her utensils in shock. She stares at Naomi and then back at Tony. “Your Michelle?” Naomi cringes at the sentiment.
Tony glares coldly at Naomi. “Yes, mum. My Michelle.” Anthea follows his gaze and Naomi feels her cheeks redden with the unwanted attention.
The older woman shrugs and shakes her head a little. “Well, she always has been a bit of a slapper, that one,” she states in a soft voice, as if she's angry. Just fucking great. Not only is Anthea pissed off about her seeing Tony's girlfriend -ex-girlfriend- she's also miffed about the girl herself. Lovely. Nothing like starting an uphill climb already at a disadvantage. Any vestige of pleasure Anthea had earlier has miraculously evaporated and been replaced with a sullen disapproval. She stabs another piece of potato roughly. End of conversation. Naomi pushes back from the table, leaving a half-eaten plate of delicious food untouched and marches to her room, avoiding Anthea's unhappy gaze or Tony's for that matter. Bunch of dicks.
Only a few minutes later does she hear a knock on her door and she knows immediately who it is. It's the only person that would both bother to visit her, and respect her privacy. “Come in,” she calls tiredly. Effy slips around the door like quicksilver and closes it softly behind herself, gliding over to the end of Naomi's bed. She scratches her cheek absently as she takes a seat on the edge.
“Your brother is such a prick,” Naomi grumbles as a way of greeting.
Effy snorts, as if it's old news. And it is of course.
“And now your mum hates me or something.”
The brunette shrugs loosely. “It's better,” she says. “No more secrets.”
Somewhat aghast, Naomi goes on the defensive. “I wasn't - I just don't see how it's really any of your mum's business.”
Effy raises an eyebrow. “Or Tony's?”
Naomi swings her legs off the bed and stalks over to her chair, further from Effy, arms crossing over her chest in defiance. “Whatever, Eff. You both knew. Besides,” she pauses, trying to gather her erratic thoughts. “It's weird. It's nothing specific. Christ. She's not even... It's complicated when you have to start questioning yourself. She's - she was...” All this talking around sexuality is pissing Naomi herself off cos it was bad enough going through it once, now she's a catalyst for the same. But even so, she feels like she may actually be talking about herself in third person, and it has nothing to do with an sexual identity crisis.
For a while, all Effy does in response is smile. That big, closed-lipped smirk. She fucking knows, of course. Naomi's not concerned about any internal struggles Michelle may or may not be having; she's preoccupied with her own complexes. It's clearly etched on her face. “You should tell her.”
Naomi is about four seconds away from slapping the younger girl across the face. Her and her cryptic fucking advice. Tell her what? That she's still hung up on what a shitty girlfriend she was the last time around? How she's still pretty damn sure that she won't be much better now? Or maybe that the whole thing is just one massive headfuck. All of those apply, and more probably. Far more that she herself has repressed enough never to have to think about. “That's stupid,” she says, ice lacing her voice. Isn't it?
Almost if asking the exact same question, Effy quirks an eyebrow and tilts her head. “You fancy her.” The whole sentence is stressed in a way that implies far more seriousness and meaning than the words alone would allow. Like, it's not just a crush. And Naomi knows full well that it isn't. Because crushes are for children, not almost-grown-ups.
“Yeah, so?” She's being almost petulant now. Honestly, she just wants Effy to come out with it already.
“Tell her.” Effy's response is the only reward she can receive and it's barely even understandable let alone helpful. “It'll be okay. Change is good.” The younger girl stands slowly, brushes her fringe back like she hasn't a care in the world and just winks. Her and her bloody brother. The only difference is that when Effy does it, it doesn't usually warn of an impending disaster. Usually the opposite. As she is leaving, she stops beside Naomi and places a reassuring hand on her shoulder but says nothing. Within seconds, she's disappeared from the room.
PART 3 >>