This is basically my attempt to write Naomily's first kiss. It took several days to write, mostly when I should've been doing college work (whoops), so hopefully it will at least be readable.
Un-beta'd so all mistakes are mine.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Skins, although I do own a cushion similar to the one we see on Naomi's bed at the beginning of 306. Seriously, I squealed the first time I watched that episode.
Another Friday night, another party.
Naomi hated parties. Everyone was always far too drunk, far too loud and far too obnoxious. She didn't know why she even bothered turning up; it wasn't as if she had any friends, just people who knew her name. Even then, those people who new her name were divided into two groups: those who laughed once and got over it, and those who laughed every single time, whilst Naomi waited for them to get the fuck over it.
Anyway, one of the people who didn't laugh (Callum? Calvin?) had told her about a party that was happening at his house on Friday, a party that pretty much everyone in year 10 was invited to. They always were.
These parties seemed to happen every other Friday, and every time Naomi would be invited, and every time Naomi would decline. She honestly didn't see the point in going.
Except there she was, looking up at the big house belonging to Connor, or Callum, or Kevin or whoever the fuck this house belonged to, willing herself to open the door.
Because, the painful truth was, if Naomi was being absolutely honest with herself, she did know why she bothered to turn up.
It was Emily. It had always been Emily. Little Emily Fitch with her big brown eyes.
Emily was another person who never went to these parties, no matter how much her twin begged.
For whatever reason, Emily would always say no. And so Naomi would always say no. Not that Naomi would ever admit that to herself, not really. Not knowingly.
She would always come up with an excuse to why she couldn't go, an excuse that didn't involve Emily's absence. And excuse that wouldn't make her feel disgusted with herself.
But today was different, because when Calvin/Connor/Callum/ asked around in Maths who was going to his party that night, Emily, much to Naomi's surprise, said she would. Her twin, Katie, had squealed in delight, and the boy had punched the air. Naomi wasn't even joking. Who does that? He does, apparently.
And then, before Naomi could stop herself, she told that boy that she was coming too.
"I'll go." She'd said, simply, trying to keep her voice level, and not like her heart was beating 11 times faster than it should be.
She didn't remember the look of superiority on Connor/Kevin/Calvin/Jesus' face when he'd somehow managed to persuade (or so he thought) the only two girls who never wanted to go to parties to come to his, but she did remember the tiny smile Emily gave her, so precious it made her heart flutter. Whatever the fuck that meant.
Naomi pushed open the door to the house, and was nearly bowled over by the sheer force of the noise coming from inside. Grimacing, she stepped over the threshold and into the sweaty abyss.
At that moment, and not for the first time, Naomi felt utter resentment towards Emily. For saying that she'd be there, for not realising what that meant for Naomi, and for not fucking knowing how she made Naomi feel, for not knowing about the hold she had over her.
Yes, Naomi blamed this all on Emily. It was absolutely ridiculous, she thought, seeing as how she'd only spoken to Emily once, and that was to ask her if she had a spare pen in English.
Naomi's heart fluttered again, as she remembered how that was a lie, how she did actually have a pen, how she just wanted to talk to Emily, to make her aware of her existence, to hear her amazing, husky voice spoken directly to her. She wanted Emily to look at her, and really notice her. And when she did, God, it was amazing.
I'm an idiot, Naomi thought, a fucking idiot. This wasn't okay. The feelings she had for Emily were not okay. Emily's presence in her life and in her mind was not okay.
Sighing to herself, Naomi made her way over to the table where the drink would undoubtedly be standing, and from there she scanned the room, searching for the little Christmas elf that was Emily Fitch.
And there she stood for about 30 minutes, looking over to the door every time someone came through, but there was still no sign of Emily.
"Fucking hell," Naomi muttered under her breath. She was wasting her time; Emily clearly wasn't going to show. She made her way back through the party, and was just about to reach for the door handle when it opened quickly, and with great force, hitting her in the face and knocking her to the ground.
"Oh, shit! Sorry!" The loud voice of Katie Fucking Fitch rang in Naomi's ears.
"That was totally your fault though, for standing in a fucking stupid place. You should've got out of the way!"
"Katie!" Naomi's head snapped up. There she was, little Emily Fitch, eyes wide in surprise over what her sister had just said.
"Katie, she's bleeding. We should get her a tissue-"
"Why?" Katie cut through, "it's her fucking fault." With that, she strutted past Naomi - who was still on the floor - and into the party.
Naomi reached her hand up to her face and realised that her nose was bleeding. She still didn't understand why it was her fault, though. Katie was the one who thought it would be a fun idea to high-five her. In the face. With a door.
Okay, that wasn't entirely true, Naomi admitted to herself, but that didn't make her less pissed off.
"I'm so sorry, I swear she didn't mean it," Emily said, sincerely, holding out her hand for Naomi to take so she could pull her up.
Naomi just stared at it, like it was something utterly frightening (which it was); before she slowly reached out her own hand and took it, heart hammering against her chest. With Emily's help, she pulled herself off the floor.
"My nose…" She said, dumbly. Or at least, that was how she felt: dumb.
"Shit, yeah. Let's go find you a tissue or something." Still holding Naomi's hand, Emily led them past the other partygoers, and into the kitchen.
When they got there, it was empty, as the party was mainly happening in the house's (enormous) living room, and Emily quickly located the kitchen roll, which she handed over to Naomi.
"Thanks," was all Naomi could say. The hand that Emily had previously been holding felt like it was on fire, and as she took the kitchen roll, she saw that it was shaking. She hadn't even realised.
"I'm so sorry," Emily said again, as Naomi held the tissue to her nose, waiting for the bleeding to stop.
"It's okay. It wasn't your fault." Naomi blew her nose to get the last of the blood out, and then walked out of the kitchen and into the garden without saying another word.
When she got to the far side of the garden, she sat down on the bench there and put her head in her hands.
"Fuck." Naomi was a little drunk from all the alcohol she had consumed whilst waiting for Emily to arrive. And now Emily was here. And she had held Naomi's hand. She had apologised for her sister and asked her if she was all right.
And she had held Naomi's hand.
And then Naomi had to act like a fucking prick and leave her alone in the kitchen, probably very confused.
Naomi didn't have any friends, but, truth be told, neither did Emily. If her twin was rude, loud, and rather obnoxious, Emily was the exact opposite.
She was a soft, gentle soul, who could tell you whole stories just with her big, expressive eyes. Eye's so full of love and hope. Love that her sister used to her advantage. Love that everybody took for granted. When one of her classmates asked to copy her work, or give them her lunch money, or get out of the seat she was sitting in, she would do it right a way. She was a doormat. Not because she was weak, but because she didn't see the point of arguing.
Naomi knew this. She fucking knew this and yet she still left Emily alone in that party, surrounded by near-strangers, with her sister probably already pissed.
But the thing was, Naomi wasn't like Emily, Naomi was weak. She was a fucking coward. So instead of marching back into the kitchen, grabbing Emily's hand, and dragging her into the garden, she just sat on the bench, head in her hands, waiting for the world to stop spinning.
And there she stayed, for however ever long (she wasn't sure), slightly inebriated, wallowing in her thoughts until-
"Hi!" Naomi looked up to see Emily Fitch making her way across the garden, towards the bench, with a bottle of vodka in her hand. "Is anybody sitting there?" Emily asked, motioning to the spot next to Naomi.
"Obviously not," Naomi replied dryly, looking down at the empty place beside her. She shut her eyes, not sure if she was glad to see Emily here, safely out of the party, or if she wanted Emily to go the fuck away and leave Naomi to her thoughts. Before she could figure out an answer, she felt Emily sit down next to her and offer her some vodka, which Naomi accepted dutifully.
"I don't really go to these parties very often. Are they always so loud?" Emily asked, without looking at Naomi.
"I don't know. I fucking hate parties, the music's shit no matter what the volume is." For reasons unknown to herself, Naomi suddenly felt very grumpy, and she was sure Emily's presence wasn't helping. She took a swig of vodka, praying that Emily would just leave it at that and go away. Home, preferably, away from the lecherous males in their year, and away from Naomi.
"Then why did you come?" Emily asked, gently nudging Naomi with her elbow. Naomi turned to see Emily grinning slightly, probably a little tipsy.
"I dunno, because I felt like it?" Naomi said defensively, as if worried that Emily would be able to figure out the real reason just by looking at her. But there was no way Emily could know, absolutely none. It just wasn't possible.
Yet somehow, from the way Emily was smiling at her, Naomi started to wonder if she did. Had Naomi been obvious? Had she not been casual enough? Or was Emily just really fucking observant?
"Was it worth it?" Emily was still smiling at her. Naomi wished she would stop it. Stop smiling, stop looking at her, stop trying to know her.
"Pardon?" Was all Naomi could muster. Emily's eyes were burning into her skin, and Naomi hated it, and she hated herself, because she fucking liked it. For all her brain ranted and raged about Emily's presence, her heart was beating so fast, and so hard that Naomi crossed her arms, afraid that Emily might see. She liked Emily being here, she liked that Emily was asking her questions, and she liked the way Emily's eyes were staring into her soul, and the way it made her skin feel.
"The party," Emily clarified. "Was it worth it? Coming, I mean."
Naomi shivered. Emily was very close, too close, not close enough.
No. No, don't think that. Stop thinking. Shut the fuck up, brain, Naomi's thoughts were yelling at her, panicking. She wasn't even really sure why. She was a little too drunk to process anything. She wanted to run.
"I don't know," She answered, instead. "Was it?" Emily was so close now, only a couple of inches away from Naomi's face. Naomi shivered, with both her body and her mind screaming entirely different things.
And then Emily kissed her.
Naomi's mind went blank.
Emily Fitch, quiet, shy, gentle Emily Fitch, was kissing her. And Naomi was kissing back.
She swore she didn't mean to. She didn't know what was happening.
Emily Fitch was kissing her.
Naomi's hand came up, and softly touched Emily's cheek, and Emily put her own hands and the back of Naomi's head, holding her, touching her, knowing her.
Naomi didn't understand how it happened, or why it was happening, or even what Emily was feeling, but she knew it was amazing. It was fucking amazing.
Or, at least it was until-
"Emily, what the FUCK do you think you're doing?" Katie's voice cracked through the garden, shattering the air like glass. Emily broke away from Naomi, and Naomi looked up quickly enough to see the look of pure terror on Emily's face: terror that she felt herself, right down to the bone.
"Get away from my sister, you fucking slag!" Katie was now storming across the garden, heading straight towards them. Naomi wanted to run, but there was no way she was going to leave Emily to the wrath of her sister, at least, not yet.
"Get lost, Katie!" Emily's words didn't sound nearly as tough as they probably meant to, her voice was shaking, and she looked like a deer in the headlights.
Naomi didn't know what to do; she literally had no idea. Her brain wasn't working, or the bits that were weren't helping, just telling her that if she'd listened to it, and left the party, she wouldn't even be in this mess in the first place.
"Katie, I-" She barely got the beginning of her sentence out before Katie Fitch punched her in the face, knocking her to the ground, for the second time that night.
"What the FUCK, Katie!" This time, Emily sounded properly furious, Naomi had never heard her sound so angry.
Not that it mattered, because as soon as Naomi got off the floor, she ran. She fucking ran.
Back across the garden, through the kitchen, past the party, and all the way back home, without stopping once to catch her breath.
As soon as she got home, she ran up the stairs, ignoring her mother, into her bedroom, shutting the door from the outside world.
And when the door was closed, she cried. She cried because her head hurt, she cried because she was drunk, she cried because Emily had kissed her, and she because she fucking liked it.
But mostly she cried because that night, she had come face to face with two truths that she wasn't ready to deal with yet, truths that she didn't think she'd ever be ready to deal with.
The first one being that Naomi Campbell was desperately, ridiculously in love with Emily Fitch, and there was nothing she could do about it. She would be in love with Emily Fitch until the day she'd die, which, if Katie Fitch had anything to do with it, would probably be soon.
The other truth, and the much more real, much more terrifying, and much more deeply imbedded truth, was that Naomi Campbell was a fucking coward. A stupid, fucking coward, who couldn't protect Emily, who couldn't defend her from her terrifying twins rage, who couldn't even defend herself.
She knew, from that day, that she would never go chasing after Emily Fitch, and that Emily Fitch would never be hers.
Comments? Thoughts? Opinions? Three different ways of saying the same thing? Seriously though, what do you think?
I re-read it, and I'm not sure if I'm absolutely pleased with it. I think if I'd had more time, and less college work, I could have produced something better.
Please share with me your opinions. As long as they're constructive, though. I do not need to hear your cries of "This fanfic reads like bollocky wank-shite!"