Hi :) erm im not really sure what this is apart from just insomnia at 3am on a stupid school night. I have no idea where this is going just some thoughts that spewed onto page. I hope you like it anyway.
Also i'm sorry about the high levels of swearing at the beginning it gets a little more censored as it goes along I think. Also I dont have spell check so...

everyone does these so here goes- Disclaimer: Dont own skins, for entertainment purposes only.

Emily

I'm in a rut. A huge fucking cavern of secret loneliness, self destructiveness, hopelessness and every other negative 'ness' you can think of. A clash of crappy situations, crappy people and crappy debilitating pasts. The problem is is that whilst i realise this mess im in I can't do a single thing about it. They say ignorance is bliss right? And whilst those cliched thrown around expressions usually irritate me to no end, i do begrudgingly see the sense in that particular one. I know what I am, what I'm doing is not okay, not healthy. But it's escapism at its finest. It would all be sunsets and chocolate flavoured apples if only I wasn't so painfully aware that I was a raging fuck up. If only I could not care. Caring is exhausting. Caring is simultaneously my downful, the thing that keeps me from moving on, moving out, away, into someone new. But it is also that single fragile thread that goes to my heart, the black and white flag signalling the only reminder of my own perservering sense of humanity. Its human to care. Very fucking human. Which is also very bloody irritating. Hence the whole rut situation.

I moved to America, you know the free land, the dream land. The place where people care just enough for you not to be too bored, but never enough to pry into your private life. You take what you need without needing to give what precious little you have left of your soul back. Best of both right? I knew I didn't really mean that, not truthfully, again with this self-aware bollocks. Sure I knew keeping people at arms length meant they had all the room they'd need to take a swipe and never hit me. I might get left with a graze, but I would have never cared enough about them and vice versa for it to do any real damage. But it also meant that they also would never care enough to step forward. Neither to take me in their arms nor to kick me in the balls, figuratively speaking of course. My fear of reaching out was due mainly to my expectations, or a lack thereof. My dingy past shattered my expectations of people, and I guess of life too. Why should people care about me? I mean lets be honest and I'm not having a pity party but I really am not special. I don't have that PhD in Philosophy that I'd always admired my year 8 teacher for having. Nor was I a paramedic: an everyday martyr, where saving lives and making a difference was just part of the job. Something I'd yearned to be after watching Casulaty. No, my life in reality more closely resembled those you see on Jeremy Kyle. Allbeit a non chavy, less incestual version of. But one thing I could take from that show was that atleast i have more than one functional brain cell. But then I think of people like Stephen Fry, Ernest Hemmingway, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. Smart or dumb; the world doesn't care, it will still find a way to fuck you over.

I find that I can bury these thoughts to the back of my mind when mindless mundane tasks fill my time. Its a never ending monotomy of unpaid bills, the van breaking down, coffee spilling on my only clean work shirt, taking out the rubbish. Its a long and boring list of unfortunate events that are my life. And as sad as this sounds, well yeah it is pretty sad, is that my only current form of solace is golden brown, fury, and named Marcel. And considering that I have met people that have named their dogs after Lord Of The Rings characters (yes Frodo was one of them...), I don't think Marcel is particularly odd, especially since I got him in France. I was in a new country a different world, I needed some form of comfort. One which didn't make fun of my poor attempts at speaking French. Well he couldn't voice it at any rate. I'd spent 4 years there after haing moved there for a 'fresh start' when I was 18. Funny that. It still haven't let it stick in my brain that it doesn't matter how many borders or seas you cross, the one thing that remains painfully constant is the one thing you were wishing to change. No I'm the same scared, lonely, pathetic girl I was back 'home.' The only thing that's different is the layers that I can hide myself with.

"Hey Emsie, need more SM STAT" was said from behind me, followed by a click of their manicured fingers.

"Huh" I asked distracted, not even looking over my shoulder from where I was grabbing a straw for the customer's 'Tropical Paradise' flavoured smoothie I had just made.

The issue wasn't just that she'd called me Emsie.. urgh, as she so insistently does. Or the usual annoyance thats caused by the unhelpfully named drinks the shops sells. The names of the drinks in this shop are not self explanatory. It's not something simple like an apple and bannana smoothie, instead the names are Mediterranean Mania, Tropical Paradise, Lucious Rainbow, Island Ice, Exotic Blend etc. The result of this is that I have to look up every time what fruit goes in which, and my enthusiasm for this job does not allow me to invest time to simply remember the recipe off by heart.

No, it was more that my fellow co-worker had recently, due to an increasing demand of more healthy alternatives to coffee, insisted on using 'shorthand,' as she'd called it, to save time and 'increase productivity.' So whenever she talked to me now whilst we were working, she abbreviated every word she could. I still hadn't quite gotten all these crazy language shortcuts down so had no idea what the hell SM meant.

"Skinny Milk Emsie, Skinny Milk! SM SM ! Got it?" Liz replied.

"Right" I sighed. "Yeah I got it" I said whilst handing over the guy's Tropical Paradise with a smile on my face.

To which he replied; "Thanks, have a good day." He smiled back, his genuinely, and promptly left the shop. I watched him leave feeling a quite welcome sense of contentment wash over me. I guess there is still a little hope left for humanity.

I turned around, back into the bussle of life, and into the back of the shop to get the skinny milk. Oh no sorry SM. Maybe if I try to tailor my thoughts a little it might stick. Yeah, maybe a little optimism might be okay. Little steps and all.


I'd just finished my shift at 'Lucious Bar' and having no other plans meant I could savour the walk back to my flat. I guess I was also vaguely hoping that something interesting would happen, I didn't feel like being holed up in the flat especially since I knew my flatmate wasn't in at the moment. So I lit up a fag and walked lesuirely down the street, to which Marcel gave a little bark in what I knew was dissapproval.

Yeah Marcel went with me everywhere, including sticking to my heel even at work. You'd think that Mark, the guy that runs the bar and is subsequently my boss, would never allow that. Indeed it didn't go down very well when I first started, but actually Marcel can be the most passive dog in the world when needs be. He's a service dog, I have problems with my heart, so actually he's more useful than anything. He can open doors, grab stuff in his mouth to pass to me which is very fucking handy. And to be honest none of the customers can see him behind the counter anyway, and even if they did he's a brown and white Border Collie. You know, the type of dog where even Alistair Campbell turns into gooey mush after laying eyes on him. I walked passed the local park and decided despite his judgemental ways Marcel really deserved to go for a walk, he really was a fucking great companion.

I liked America. It was so different from England, and not neccessarily in a bad way I guess. But different culture, different world. Even the chocolate tasted different. In many ways this was such a relief; the reason I moved was to forget right? Trouble is when a place is different its like a constant comparative inside my head. I often found myself making note of completely pointless things; like how bright everything was here. Okay that didn't make sense. It's obviously much sunnier here than back in the Uk, and the roads and pavements are a lighter colour so just walking around was fucking blinding. The American sweets though were pretty amazing, and if you ask my flatmate he'd say; 'the huge arse portions are fucking mint Emiliokins!'

I guess that's Cook for you. The most irritating, impulsive, reckless, funny, and oddly charming person I have ever met. But really if you can get passed the twattish exterior you find that he's also incredibly loyal, gives surprisingly good advice -not that he ever acts upon it himself- and can actually be incredibly kind. Whilst he isn't the most emotionally available guy, he is exactly what I need; someone who has my back no matter what.

We met about a year ago when I was working behind the bar at a club called 'The Long Ivory.' He came in wearing one of his polo t-shirts done up to the top, a beer already in hand raised above his head in a kind of salute, and a huge Cook grin plastered his face. Then he shouted; "Cook's 'ere ladies!" I remember rolling my eyes and going back to serving people- I was used to people like him, and generally, in a place like this; they were really annoying and persistent.

It wasn't very long later when he came up to me and leant on the bar whilst eyeing up all the women around him, that smirk still in place. He finally turns to me and gives me the same fuck-eyes he's been giving everyone else.

"10 effin tequi's babe"

"Sure thing" I replied, not giving him much attention, which must have been what made him more interested. On one level Cook's the most simple guy you'll ever meet; he thinks he's God's gift. So, of course when any girl doesn't start drooling after his oh so very not sexy smirks then immediately you have his attention.

After clearly not getting the reaction he expected Cook asked whilst wriggling his eyesbrows suggestively: "What's the matter with you? Wanna hand getting rid of some of that tension love? A tongue maybe? I'm not fussy."

"Just because someone isn't attracted to you doesn't mean there's anything wrong with them. Ever thought you're just not as good as you think you are?" I replied more bored than angry.

"yer not a muff muncher are ya babe?"

"None of you're fucking business."

He holds his hands up and says; "S'alright with me babe, I'm down with having you to myself."

Thoroughly unimpressed I reply; "That's really not gonna happen."

"Come on lets willy waggle, you need to taste some pure 100% English meat babe, we gotta stick together."

"You're absolutely repulsive." I just give him a cold stare and slide over a tray with the 10 shots on it.

"Mmm playing hard to get, I get it" And with that he downs 5 of the shots one after the other, "Ahh.. Good fucking stuff this is Muff Monkey" He winks and strolls off into the action.

I sigh. 'Fucks sakes'


Chapter Title: Night Time by The xx