What is Easy Chapter 5 : Routine
Title: What is Easy
Chapter: 5
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. Italics is Naomi.
Previous
Prologue
Chapter 1:One Year On
Chapter 2: We Three
Chapter 3: Holding On
Chapter 4: Through Tired Eyes
Chapter 5: Routine
Have you ever wanted something so badly. You focus on nothing else but that which you want. A single minded determination. Well I did.
I wanted Naomi. I wanted the memories of Naomi, of her smell, her touch the things I had lost so long ago, only for them to return to me one night, three short weeks ago.
The dream had knocked me for six, and for days my world was one of colour, blue and blonde with the florally scent of the perfume I loved so much. Inhaling deeply, I was disgusted when a greasy, sickly smell filled the room. Not the intoxicating smell I had hoped for.
A groan escaped my lips as I slammed the tray onto the nearest table. Nobody moved a muscle, not even the owner of the grotty little café I called work. He just ignored me as he placed some strange concoction on a plate. Closing my eyes I took in another breath.
Still the same old overpowering, disgusting smell.
I was going crazy. Slowly but surely this place was taking over me, turning me like everybody else. Emotionless wrecks floating through there existence here. I think Naomi was the only thing allowing me to live at relatively normal life, allowing me to stave of the inherent depression that most people seemed to have.
Not that everybody was depressed, there were some who liked it here a hell of a lot more than there real lives. All for reasons that I think I will never understand. Why would you want to be stuck here, the land where it was impossible to smile. Not even the barest upturn of the mouth.
The muscles in my mouth twitched, yet nothing. Not even a blatant outright attempt , straining to pull even the corners up. Nothing. Well except the strange looks that I received from my boss as he caught my expression, teeth bared.
Another sigh escaped my lips.
I remembered my smile before, just barely. I remembered hers vividly. The smile that haunted my dreams, that made my heart skip a beat. The smile I had destroyed.
“Fitch get a move on, stop pulling stupid faces”
A roll of my eyes was the only recognition I gave him. Why he needed me to get a move on was beyond me. There was one customer, and if my assumptions were correct he would be the only customer for the rest of the day.
Dead people just didn’t seem to be keen eaters. Drinkers yes. But not eaters.
Shoving the dirty plates onto my tray, I moved them swiftly towards the sink. The same thing I did every day, and would be doing every day for the rest of forever.
I f I knew the afterlife was going to be this exiting I’d have done it earlier.
Placing the last plate on the draining board, was to me satisfying. Well as satisfying as anything was ever going to get. Only the finishing of the washing up meant that I now had nothing to do for the next two hours, while the only customer picked at the food in front of him, only to leave in exactly three hours having only consumed a lettuce leaf or two.
It was the same routine every day, and he had never once finished his salad. I had once thought about telling him to put some oils on it, accenting the s, exactly the way Naomi and I used to. God those days seemed centuries ago, and I found myself wanting oilz preferably on a salad.
Perhaps he would let me have a break.
Or not, as the gentle tinkling of the bell suggested that we had customers. Highly suspicious if you asked me.
Or not so suspicious, because the voices indicated not a customer but friends. Matt and Summer. Jokingly teasing each other, goading each other on to talk to me first, whispered words meant so I couldn’t hear. I knew exactly what they were saying. They were worried about me and they had some hare brained plan or other to get me as Matt had put it many times ‘back to normal’.
“Matt, Summer. Can I help you at all.”
Calm, natural, they wouldn’t know I was onto them.
I however wonder what scheme they had concocted this time. Matt’s last idea, cliff diving had been shot down by me immediately, as had Matt’s hiking idea. At least he tried and that had to count for something.
“A road trip”
Summers voice held a hint of excitement, an assurance that I would like the idea, and a certain pride in the whole scheme of it. Defiantly Summer’s Idea this time.
A road trip. Us three out on the road in Summer’s beat up old car, no destination, no reasons. Just because. I could not find any reason not to. I needed something different, some time away from this repetition and a road trip was the perfect idea.
“let’s do it.”
Next
Chapter 6: Illusion by the roadside.
Chapter: 5
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. Italics is Naomi.
Previous
Prologue
Chapter 1:One Year On
Chapter 2: We Three
Chapter 3: Holding On
Chapter 4: Through Tired Eyes
Chapter 5: Routine
Have you ever wanted something so badly. You focus on nothing else but that which you want. A single minded determination. Well I did.
I wanted Naomi. I wanted the memories of Naomi, of her smell, her touch the things I had lost so long ago, only for them to return to me one night, three short weeks ago.
The dream had knocked me for six, and for days my world was one of colour, blue and blonde with the florally scent of the perfume I loved so much. Inhaling deeply, I was disgusted when a greasy, sickly smell filled the room. Not the intoxicating smell I had hoped for.
A groan escaped my lips as I slammed the tray onto the nearest table. Nobody moved a muscle, not even the owner of the grotty little café I called work. He just ignored me as he placed some strange concoction on a plate. Closing my eyes I took in another breath.
Still the same old overpowering, disgusting smell.
I was going crazy. Slowly but surely this place was taking over me, turning me like everybody else. Emotionless wrecks floating through there existence here. I think Naomi was the only thing allowing me to live at relatively normal life, allowing me to stave of the inherent depression that most people seemed to have.
Not that everybody was depressed, there were some who liked it here a hell of a lot more than there real lives. All for reasons that I think I will never understand. Why would you want to be stuck here, the land where it was impossible to smile. Not even the barest upturn of the mouth.
The muscles in my mouth twitched, yet nothing. Not even a blatant outright attempt , straining to pull even the corners up. Nothing. Well except the strange looks that I received from my boss as he caught my expression, teeth bared.
Another sigh escaped my lips.
I remembered my smile before, just barely. I remembered hers vividly. The smile that haunted my dreams, that made my heart skip a beat. The smile I had destroyed.
“Fitch get a move on, stop pulling stupid faces”
A roll of my eyes was the only recognition I gave him. Why he needed me to get a move on was beyond me. There was one customer, and if my assumptions were correct he would be the only customer for the rest of the day.
Dead people just didn’t seem to be keen eaters. Drinkers yes. But not eaters.
Shoving the dirty plates onto my tray, I moved them swiftly towards the sink. The same thing I did every day, and would be doing every day for the rest of forever.
I f I knew the afterlife was going to be this exiting I’d have done it earlier.
Placing the last plate on the draining board, was to me satisfying. Well as satisfying as anything was ever going to get. Only the finishing of the washing up meant that I now had nothing to do for the next two hours, while the only customer picked at the food in front of him, only to leave in exactly three hours having only consumed a lettuce leaf or two.
It was the same routine every day, and he had never once finished his salad. I had once thought about telling him to put some oils on it, accenting the s, exactly the way Naomi and I used to. God those days seemed centuries ago, and I found myself wanting oilz preferably on a salad.
Perhaps he would let me have a break.
Or not, as the gentle tinkling of the bell suggested that we had customers. Highly suspicious if you asked me.
Or not so suspicious, because the voices indicated not a customer but friends. Matt and Summer. Jokingly teasing each other, goading each other on to talk to me first, whispered words meant so I couldn’t hear. I knew exactly what they were saying. They were worried about me and they had some hare brained plan or other to get me as Matt had put it many times ‘back to normal’.
“Matt, Summer. Can I help you at all.”
Calm, natural, they wouldn’t know I was onto them.
I however wonder what scheme they had concocted this time. Matt’s last idea, cliff diving had been shot down by me immediately, as had Matt’s hiking idea. At least he tried and that had to count for something.
“A road trip”
Summers voice held a hint of excitement, an assurance that I would like the idea, and a certain pride in the whole scheme of it. Defiantly Summer’s Idea this time.
A road trip. Us three out on the road in Summer’s beat up old car, no destination, no reasons. Just because. I could not find any reason not to. I needed something different, some time away from this repetition and a road trip was the perfect idea.
“let’s do it.”
Next
Chapter 6: Illusion by the roadside.