A/N: Right well this is my first story and I might actually be shitting my pants posting this... Big big big shout out to SuperGirl for helping me grow a pair and get the story out there. First chapter or so is background and setting the scene but things pick up dramatically. Also I'm American so if I miss something, don't stone me. Reviews/critiques are entirely welcome but please please be gentle. I'm a baby to the writing world...On with it then!

I don't own skins but I wish I did. all mistakes are entirely mine.

When Words Fail

Ch1

Christ. How the fuck is anyone even alive this early? It'll be the first day back at this glorified shithole of a college and I've barely had enough time to wake up this morning. I had no intention of rolling in on time but my mother, being her bloody chipper self at the crack of fucking dawn, took it upon herself to start off her day by ruining mine. I lost count how many times she came to my room, dangerously close to losing that hand knocking at the door every 5 minutes, until I threatened to tear up her garden out back if she did it again.

I glanced at the clock and internally cringed. I would have absolutely no time to get my coffee and, fuck, was I going to feel it. The only time I ever rolled out of bed without coffee was getting up around mid-afternoon, and let it be known that today was not the case. Nearly falling out of bed, I slumped over to the shower and washed the sleep away, letting the beads of steam spike my nerves, feeling slightly more awake once finished. I rushed through getting ready, grabbing something remotely decent, and with a few lines of make up, I stumbled out the door with my bike at my side. First day impressions, my arse.

It was overcast as the clouds threatened to break out at any moment. Bloody English weather. Would it be too hard to get some sun for once? Felt like a fucking vampire these days. I knew I had a surly look for not even starting the day yet, but whatever. Not my problem. I hopped off the bike after an unenthusiastic ride, staring daggers at anyone who glanced my way as I trudged up the front steps.

Right. Let's get this done.

Doug's voice boomed through the doors with a far too cheery "Welcome back to Roundview! Have a great first day back! Ogie Ogie Ogie!" I gave an eyeroll to make my mother proud at the damned crowds and the ridiculous pep-talk (if one can even be half-arsed to call it that) before I made my way to the lockers. The small hope to get through the day uneventfully was quickly dashed as a large pair of arms swooped around me from nowhere. It registered that I was no longer on the ground before a voice bellowed in my ear.

"NAOMIKINS!" I was spun around once before set down to see that ridiculously giddy smile. Fucking Cook. Clearly shitfaced before 10, the beer reeked on his breath.

"For fuck's sake Cook, can't even let me through the door before trying to get your dick damp?!"

He roared with laughter despite my best scowl. I swear. More often than I believe I'd ever willingly but up with, he made me want to rip my hair out. The boy was basically a walking, (not doubt dirty) talking sex machine that still managed a charming boyish smile despite his vulgarity. I'd never admit it but underneath that sex-fueled tosser mask of a bitch, James Cook was like a brother to me.

At a glance, he looked like a party boy. Drinking, drugs, and sex. But I've seen him when he was down. Trampled on. He just wanted more than anyone else. To try and live a little bit harder than anyone else. And when his life included his sparse but real friends, the protection he gave in turn was astounding. But Cook would never admit it, and the smell of his pint was sickening me at the moment, so I quickly wiped the tug of a smile creeping up on my face.

"Aw babe, no worries, you'll get ya rumble with the cookie monster soon enough."

He wiggled his eyebrows and I gave him a shove, hiding my smirk again at the damn charming grin reserved only for his best mates. Although not right now, I was thrilled to be so close with the lad. Our playfulness was short-lived as another voice came in.

"Too bad for you, Cook, it's not cock she wants. Is it now...babe?"

I flared in anger. I was just fine bickering with him on my own without a commentary from some other bitch. Wait...what did she say?! What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Who the h-

Shit.

Her blue eyes appeared behind him and she had that knowing smirk on, like always. Elizabeth Stonem, as I live and breathe. Why am I not even surprised at this. I'd like to say long time no see, but it would seem forever is too soon. No one understands her fucking cryptic riddles anyway. Whatever, just because I haven't gotten any lately doesn't make me fucking gay. Shallow-ended hypocrites and their pathetic labels. All anyone seems to do nowadays. Dickwads, the lot of them. Not that it was true. Not at all, not a bit. Me, cock-cruncher, not muff-muncher.

Besides she doesn't know me, we don't even talk. Not that she seems to do much of that either. She made me freeze though, she did with everyone. Looking straight in your head, her smirk would practically scream, 'Go on. Lie to me, I dare you. I want to see this.' I gave a discreet grumble and glared at her. I could try and deny it but she wouldn't say anything anyway, just staring back with those damned steel blue eyes and a twitch on her lips. No use wasting my breath, even though it wasn't true.

Jesus Christ, it's too fucking early for this. Cook, knight in shining armor that he is, caught the tension pretty fast, and chuckled easily, "Nah Eff, once she get's a look at mine, she'll be screaming my name every night."

"Shame no one wants a go at your Crayola dick, James." She replied coolly, before she sauntered off looking utterly bored. If there are words to describe Elizabeth Stonem, I swear they have yet to be made. Torrential Bitch comes to mind. Then again so does Vindictive Ally.

Perhaps even Barricaded. Anyway.

Cook turned to me with a devilish grin and remarked, "Oi, no worries babe, when I get my hands on that one," pointing over his shoulder to her, "I'll let you join in. Well worth it for a look at those-"

"Cook! Time to fuck off, yeah?!" I said, exasperated. He chuckled.

"One day you'll be begging for it...later then." He was staring at some poor blondes arse, head swiveling as her hips rolled by, before he even finished talking. I scoffed and walked away. Great. It's only been ten minutes and I was already sick of this place.

I sighed, mentally surrendering all effort seeing as the day hadn't even begun, and pulled out a crumpled sheet. I gave it a glance as I walked before finding what I needed and shoving back in my blue shoulder bag. I had my eyes glued to the wall ticking each locker with a tap of my nail. 693...675... series of numbers floated by until I caught the one I needed. Here we are, 651.

I looked down briefly to glance at a combination on the sheet in my bag when a splash of red caught the corner of my eye, not two steps away.

Oh fuck.

A small girl faced away from me, burrowing through her yellow bag balancing a cup between the two hands. She was in a blue plaid top and black skinnies, some dark grey flats, that all paled under her bright, cherry red hair falling in waves. No leopard print only meant one thing.

Emily Fitch.

I wanted nothing more than to turn on the spot and walk away with some shred of dignity still intact. But, Jesus, it had to happen sometime. I drew in a shaky breath, scolding myself for being such a child. New year, new attitude, right? ...Right? (of course I'm fucking right Jesus...) I turned to face her and cleared my throat to make myself known.

She glanced back, distracted, and started to turn away absent-mindedly when her scattered thoughts then caught up with her eyes. Her red hair whipped back as she did a double take and she jumped, clearly startled as the cup in her hands jumped right out of her grasp.

Now, I was a right bitch in the mornings without it, but I take my coffee contained, ready to drink. So I was less than pleasantly surprised when hers found its way scalding my skin right on my thin...white...see-through...top. I registered her wide eyes matching mine before I staggered back, one hand clutching my chest and the other finding the lockers for support. I hissed, blinking back tears and tried to stay upright. I gave a jarring shudder from the shock.

Her eyes were darting in horror between my shirt and my face as she stumbled forward, stuttering, "Oh my- shit- my god, I'm so, I-I didn't see you! Oh my god I'm sorry! Fuck, I'm so so sorry! Shit!" The pain was blinding and I wanted to tear the burning skin straight off, unable to think of much else as my fingers trembled to match my shudders. I peeled the sopping cover away from my chest and took the chance to glance at her. Her brows were furrowed in frustration- from her own clumsiness, I assume- and she looked desperate for a way to help fix things. She was still gazing at the now-beige shirt, shaking her head.

Her eyes snapped up then to find mine and I stood transfixed. The shudders soothed. An overwhelming tug at my navel was begging me to step closer. Let there be less space between. A flicker in her warm, brown eyes was pulling me- hook, line, sinker.

Wait what? Stop. No.

I let my hand on the locker keep me grounded, violently shaking my thoughts away. I cast my eyes down, scoffing at the situation, only to feel that tug again. I only meant it to be a glare at her, but once I found those brown doe eyes over again, I was stuck, reverted back to my previous, helpless gaze. Locked in place. My chest hurt and my head was spinning lightly. Fucking coffee, I thought, still clutching my shirt. Oh wait, no I had forgot to breathe for a moment there.

Fuck's sake, what's wrong with you! This was never a problem with you and her before! I huffed, tearing my gaze back again before I registered her talking. Had she been doing that long? No, I would've noticed.

"...Naomi? You there?" Was her voice always that deep?

"Huh? Y-Yeah, I'm here." No, it wasn't deep- more husky, with a slight rasp around the edge. Jesus that's distracting.

"Are you alright?" she asked, full of concern. The last time we talked, however brief, it had been small squeaks of conversation. Not anymore. Now it sounded different. It sounded rather se- NO. no.

"I'm fine," I snapped, "I always bathe in scalding coffee, or hadn't you heard?" The sarcasm was a dig but I didn't care. She set her jaw and just looked at me, her soft, brown eyes (fucking STOP it.) giving away nothing. A long, tensioned silence filled the space. Look away Naomi. Stop Staring. Damn it, I could feel her gaze seeping in again as the shudders came back with a vengeance. Fuck, why can't it all stop?

It was then that she spoke, and of course I fucking missed it. My brows furrowed in question.

"...I said take it off. Now." I stood stunned at the authority that came over her. Authority and, well, the request itself. She wasn't serious? When I didn't move, she glided in front of me and her fingers feathered over the buttons, swiftly pulling them apart. I could feel my eyes widen but I still didn't move.

I didn't dare to breathe; I couldn't have- the air had caught in my throat. I didn't miss the way her eyes raked up my chest, following the buttons but darting across every few moments. It was only when I felt her finger brush the skin under the top button that I jumped back, swatting her hand away. I swallowed down a gulp threatening to lodge in my throat and felt my brows furrow again. Her touch was fire on my skin. It's just the coffee, you twat, everything fucking burns...

Shut her down. Right now. Forget the shirt, just stop her.

"The fuck d'you-"

"Stop it. Don't." Her husky voice was stern and sure, but then why were her eyes pleading with me?

She started to unbutton her own blue plaid, exposing the creamy expanse of skin under the collar. She watched me watch her.

Oh hell. Stop fucking staring, Christ. Stop it, stop it, just stop! What's wrong with you?

She glided toward me again and I let her, drawn toward her like a magnet. She kept my gaze locked on hers as she reached up around my neck. My chest was thudding- It's just the coffee...

A chill jolted in my spine as the silky shirt fell off my own shoulders, down my arms. She leaned forward slightly and a wave of strawberry flooded my senses. Christ. I very nearly fell over on the spot but I felt her hands grip my wrists then, burning my skin.

What is this? I can't move. I can't breathe. It's all burning.

Her hands moved from my wrists- gripping them loosely- over my hands, taking the soaked top from my arms. Emily drew back to drape it over her yellow bag and the space suddenly felt empty. I felt bare and exposed, and as a twinge of anxiety arose, I stepped forward to lessen the distance. Don't ask me why I did it. I couldn't tell you. I didn't know. What I could tell you was that her eyes never left mine, not once. So when I stepped toward her, I watched her eyes flicker with something I couldn't quite place and the corner of her mouth tugged upwards slightly, setting a fire under my chest.

It's only the coffee. It's just the coffee...

Her quiet smirk was smug, daunting, as she arched her back and pulled her own blue top off her shoulders. Shit. She was painfully bare and her tongue slipped out over her lips briefly, dragging me back to her smirk. Her lips looked ridiculously soft and smooth; my mind started to wander then, imagining her kis– FUCK. NO. Leave NOW!

Reality jolted me back completely and her sudden proximity was claustrophobic. My eyes flashed wildly around, feeling instantly guilty and caught in the act, even though I knew no one was paying attention. I crossed my arms across my chest and stepped back to leave, my eyes looking across the hall. I set my sights on the stairwell and was about to follow through when my back slammed onto the lockers, a widespread hand splayed across my chest and cooling the skin underneath.

I landed with a gasp escaping my lips and an all too prevalent heat settling in the pit of my stomach. I'm fairly sure my heart had stopped for good. The familiar red locks followed me backwards until her lips were a hair width from my ear and her hand was absolutely melting my chest. I could almost feel her smile. I didn't dare move an inch.

Just breathe Naomi. In and out. Fucking breathe.

The jarring shudders returned, fucking lovely. If I could've looked away I would have. So fast. But I was unwillingly stuck. Her hand released its pressure as she reached downward slightly, her gaze never leaving mine. My puff of relief was short lived as one of her fingers returned and trailed lightly up my torso, making my insides writhe and flooding the skin with goosebumps like fire. She did it so unbearably slow that my lungs were compressing tighter every second. Don't move a damn muscle.

In and...just, umm...fuck. What was I doing?

By the time her finger traveled up through the more, um, personal area, all thoughts and breathing had properly ceased. I was still in a black tank-top but fuck all for the difference it made. I felt a warm cloth press against my pained chest then, undoubtedly her flannel top, but I was more distracted by the husky tones quietly wrapping around my ear.

"I dunno what you're fighting in that beautiful mind of yours, but this should help for now if you'll let it. If you'll let me. It's the least I can do..." she whispered.

She gave the cloth more pressure until my hand took pity on my dumbfounded head and reached up to grab it from her. She pulled back completely then, her eyes glinting and humble, wicked smirk freezing me in place, and I watched her turn to stride down the hall. Her black skinnies were swaying with her hips and a marvelous amount of fair skin showing on her shoulders and arms as her own white tank-top hugged every part of her small frame. She walked around the corner before completely disappearing, leaving me stunned.

Holy hell, Emily Fitch, what have you begun?