What is Easy Chapter 3: Holding On
Title: What is Easy
Chapter: 3
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
Chapter 2: We Three
a/n: Just a short chapter because I have to go home now.
How do you ask someone how they died.
I mean it’s rather rude.
Sort of like asking an adult how old they are I suppose. I mean you couldn’t just go up to them and directly ask them, ello mate how’d you off yourself. You’d probably get your ass kicked.
You couldn’t work it into the conversation either, for a place filled with suicide cases it was a pretty Taboo subject.
Even in limbo I couldn’t seem to break this weaker Fitch persona of mine, so deeply engrained into me. Katie wasn’t here, so in theory I should just be myself, the person I am around Naomi. If I could do that, then perhaps I would be brave enough to ask the question I’m dying to ask them both.
How did you kill yourself?
I think the reason I didn’t ask was not because I was afraid I’d lose there friendship for getting personal, but because I would have to answer in kind. I would have to revisit a day of my life that I most certainly wasn’t ready to.
So as we dropped onto the broken down couch side by side, I kept my mouth firmly shut.
As per drunken routine Matt produced from his pocket a slightly battered box of fags. Some death exclusive brand that was as dull as everything else.
Charlotte took one, Matt took one, I didn't even get offered one. Unsurprisingly. Even alive I had stayed away from fags, that was always more Naomi's thing.
Naomi's thing. Oh fuck it.
Grabbing the pack out of Matt's hand I removed the last one, tossing the empty packet behind us, and onto an altogether larger pile of bottles and packets.
When you're dead it's hard to care.
Lighting the end up I brought it to my lips, much to the shock of my two companions. A year without partaking, and now all of a sudden I wanted one.
One drag, followed by another, followed by another. God the taste as so familiar, so addicting, so Naomi. Or Naomi as she tasted the first time I kissed her, all those years ago.
"Fuck Em's, slow down girl"
I wasn't going to slow down, I needed to hang to her in any way I could. I didn't want to forget her like I had forgotten so many of my other memories.
Next
Chapter 4: Through tired Eyes
Chapter: 3
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
Chapter 2: We Three
a/n: Just a short chapter because I have to go home now.
How do you ask someone how they died.
I mean it’s rather rude.
Sort of like asking an adult how old they are I suppose. I mean you couldn’t just go up to them and directly ask them, ello mate how’d you off yourself. You’d probably get your ass kicked.
You couldn’t work it into the conversation either, for a place filled with suicide cases it was a pretty Taboo subject.
Even in limbo I couldn’t seem to break this weaker Fitch persona of mine, so deeply engrained into me. Katie wasn’t here, so in theory I should just be myself, the person I am around Naomi. If I could do that, then perhaps I would be brave enough to ask the question I’m dying to ask them both.
How did you kill yourself?
I think the reason I didn’t ask was not because I was afraid I’d lose there friendship for getting personal, but because I would have to answer in kind. I would have to revisit a day of my life that I most certainly wasn’t ready to.
So as we dropped onto the broken down couch side by side, I kept my mouth firmly shut.
As per drunken routine Matt produced from his pocket a slightly battered box of fags. Some death exclusive brand that was as dull as everything else.
Charlotte took one, Matt took one, I didn't even get offered one. Unsurprisingly. Even alive I had stayed away from fags, that was always more Naomi's thing.
Naomi's thing. Oh fuck it.
Grabbing the pack out of Matt's hand I removed the last one, tossing the empty packet behind us, and onto an altogether larger pile of bottles and packets.
When you're dead it's hard to care.
Lighting the end up I brought it to my lips, much to the shock of my two companions. A year without partaking, and now all of a sudden I wanted one.
One drag, followed by another, followed by another. God the taste as so familiar, so addicting, so Naomi. Or Naomi as she tasted the first time I kissed her, all those years ago.
"Fuck Em's, slow down girl"
I wasn't going to slow down, I needed to hang to her in any way I could. I didn't want to forget her like I had forgotten so many of my other memories.
Next
Chapter 4: Through tired Eyes