What is Easy Chapter 2: We Three
Title: What is Easy
Chapter: 2
Pairing: Naomily
Fandom: Skins
Rating: T-Themes of suicide
Summary: I've always been good at screwing up other peoples lives. My parents, Katie's and Naomi's. It's why I had to do it. I had to escape. Only it went from bad to worse, and now I'm stuck in my own personal hell. My own fault really. Wristcutters themes.
Previous
Prologue
Chapter 1:One Year On
To say I was well and truly fucked was an understatement. The table top was covered, the floor around us was covered, and the drinks kept on coming.
Matt and Summer had taken it upon themselves to have a drinking contest, one which I had respectfully declined to take part in. Good job really, I’d never have been able to keep up. Summer could drink the best of them under the table, and Matt was no slouch either.
By the time my one bottle had been drained thoroughly, Matt had disposed of two and Summer a whopping four. It was fascinating to watch.
However like everything else it failed to hold my attention for long, partly due to memories, which where at best extremely hazy. A twin Fitch drinking contest, or something similar. A sigh escaped my lips, before I slid sideways of the chair, using the table to pull myself up.
Dropping a couple of white notes on the table I attempted to navigate the minefield of beer bottles, only to trip and fall at the last moment in a crescendo of smashing bottles unable to hold my weight.
“Shit, fuck” the stream of words that left my mouth after that would have put Katie to shame. I lay there amongst the broken glass, my hand running over a particularly jagged piece, not unlike the one I held in my hands exactly a year ago today. I have no idea why I slid the glass into my pocket, an incontrollable compulsion. I mean why the fuck did I feel the need to take something that reminded me of why I was in this fucking place.
Nobody bothered to come help me, it was difficult to find a person that genuinely cared, hell even I didn’t care. If I saw somebody trip and fall I’d just keep on walking. The barman was however pretty quick to start sweeping up the mess I had just made, without even so much as a sound directed towards me.
Pulling myself from the floor I dusted the remaining pieces of glass from my person. The one good thing about this place. No blood.
Closing my hand tight around the piece in my pocket I headed up the nearest steps and into the warm night air. Hot as hell this place, even at night when it’s supposed to be cooler. No need for jackets, and by the looks of some people no need for any clothes.
Lucky bastards.
Of course I couldn’t join them. Hadn’t been laid in an entire year, not since the night before, yet even more to add to the intrinsic depression associated with this place.
“Fucking of are ya” the voice was decidedly feminine and oh so familiar, followed by a deeper slurred voice, “Wait the fuck up Ems.”
Why should I wait for them, oh yea right because I lived with the two of them, and they where my only friends. “Hurry the fuck up then.”
Something in my tone must have told them not to mess with me because they did speed up, Matt attaching himself to my neck with one of his arms, and using his other to pull Summer towards him. “I won ya know. Stole the competition right out from under her.”
Why did I find that so hard to believe.
A nod from Summer told me that Matt wasn’t lying. Perhaps I had underestimated him. Drinking always seemed to correspond to the severity of the reasons as to why we ended up here, and although I didn’t know the details I knew Summers problems had been of the worst sort. That’s when it occurred to me that for three almost friends, we knew fuck all about each other.
Next
Chapter 3:Holding On
Chapter: 2
Pairing: Naomily
Fandom: Skins
Rating: T-Themes of suicide
Summary: I've always been good at screwing up other peoples lives. My parents, Katie's and Naomi's. It's why I had to do it. I had to escape. Only it went from bad to worse, and now I'm stuck in my own personal hell. My own fault really. Wristcutters themes.
Previous
Prologue
Chapter 1:One Year On
To say I was well and truly fucked was an understatement. The table top was covered, the floor around us was covered, and the drinks kept on coming.
Matt and Summer had taken it upon themselves to have a drinking contest, one which I had respectfully declined to take part in. Good job really, I’d never have been able to keep up. Summer could drink the best of them under the table, and Matt was no slouch either.
By the time my one bottle had been drained thoroughly, Matt had disposed of two and Summer a whopping four. It was fascinating to watch.
However like everything else it failed to hold my attention for long, partly due to memories, which where at best extremely hazy. A twin Fitch drinking contest, or something similar. A sigh escaped my lips, before I slid sideways of the chair, using the table to pull myself up.
Dropping a couple of white notes on the table I attempted to navigate the minefield of beer bottles, only to trip and fall at the last moment in a crescendo of smashing bottles unable to hold my weight.
“Shit, fuck” the stream of words that left my mouth after that would have put Katie to shame. I lay there amongst the broken glass, my hand running over a particularly jagged piece, not unlike the one I held in my hands exactly a year ago today. I have no idea why I slid the glass into my pocket, an incontrollable compulsion. I mean why the fuck did I feel the need to take something that reminded me of why I was in this fucking place.
Nobody bothered to come help me, it was difficult to find a person that genuinely cared, hell even I didn’t care. If I saw somebody trip and fall I’d just keep on walking. The barman was however pretty quick to start sweeping up the mess I had just made, without even so much as a sound directed towards me.
Pulling myself from the floor I dusted the remaining pieces of glass from my person. The one good thing about this place. No blood.
Closing my hand tight around the piece in my pocket I headed up the nearest steps and into the warm night air. Hot as hell this place, even at night when it’s supposed to be cooler. No need for jackets, and by the looks of some people no need for any clothes.
Lucky bastards.
Of course I couldn’t join them. Hadn’t been laid in an entire year, not since the night before, yet even more to add to the intrinsic depression associated with this place.
“Fucking of are ya” the voice was decidedly feminine and oh so familiar, followed by a deeper slurred voice, “Wait the fuck up Ems.”
Why should I wait for them, oh yea right because I lived with the two of them, and they where my only friends. “Hurry the fuck up then.”
Something in my tone must have told them not to mess with me because they did speed up, Matt attaching himself to my neck with one of his arms, and using his other to pull Summer towards him. “I won ya know. Stole the competition right out from under her.”
Why did I find that so hard to believe.
A nod from Summer told me that Matt wasn’t lying. Perhaps I had underestimated him. Drinking always seemed to correspond to the severity of the reasons as to why we ended up here, and although I didn’t know the details I knew Summers problems had been of the worst sort. That’s when it occurred to me that for three almost friends, we knew fuck all about each other.
Next
Chapter 3:Holding On