Resistant
"It's like a badly packed kebab" she sighed looking down at the sandwich that had just been prepared for her.
"I can make you another one, but it will cost extra", the lady behind the counter says, wiping her nose with her latex gloved hand. Emily, shakes her head slowly and moves away, dropping the sandwich into a homeless mans lap as she goes.
"What's this shit?" she heard him say as she continues to walk. Moving into the busy streets her stomach grumbles and her impatience leaps around as she is pushed from side to side. Her mobile rings in her pocket, reaching for it; elbows from other people shove her into a corner.
"Hello", she answered with a bitter tone. It was her flat mate Naomi.
"You sound happy", Naomi laughs, putting her cup of tea down on the work surface.
"Are you coming into town?" Emily asks, toning her anger down and relaxing to Naomi's soothing voice.
"Yes, I'll meet you at Grace. Prosecco will be needed". Naomi had recently moved in with Emily, after her five year relationship had run its course. Her ex boyfriend had become distant and her own desires had become eroded in a confusion that still baffled her, even now. Emily had always been her close friend, always there, always available, always a safe administrator for all the problems that she couldn't fathom. Naomi was selfish perhaps, to a degree, but Emily was special, that was a fact, and in whatever capacity, she couldn't live without her.
Emily carries on her wonder, fighting the landscape of human traffic, like a wild bull, being calmed by her own controls. Finding a bench within the realms of Castle Park she sits down, for a second. Feeling something heavy but fickle fall on her shoulder, she realises a bird has crapped quite literally on her black jacket. Sighing into her hands, she opens her pocket and finds an old tissue. She wipes, then dabs the white liquid from her shoulder and looks up to the sky to see if she can get eye contact with the culprit. No such luck.
She closes her eyes, and wonders about Naomi, and their new home together. A two bedroom apartment overlooking the harbour; small, compact, all white good included, and theirs. It was no secret that Naomi was someone of interest to her, Emily, though not officially 'out' to the public, or even her closest friends, had always felt an unusual connection to her friend, as though they had an understanding so unique that it betrayed all other connections. She thought about her quite a lot in fact, often lying in bed, she'd think about Naomi next door, her blonde hair spilt on her pillow, her little shorts around her tight hips, and trimmed waist. Her face always seemed to blush crimson in her presence, an awkward truth. She sometimes had to imagine other things to stop herself from going into Naomi's bedroom and destroying their solitary secrets with truth.
They'd met about 6 years ago, in university, the same course, the same halls, and the same friendship group. Naomi has caught her eye straight away, she was so funny, often in most grey mattered way, crossing social lines and shaking statements that most people wouldn't or couldn't say out loud. She was gorgeous, of course, and not in a 'Beverley Hill's' facile way, just naturally exquisite, and painfully unaware of it. At university, they used to stay up together smoking pot and swigging cheap chardonnay from the bottle, into their lazy mouths. They had moments of course that were both confusing and amazing, sleeping in the same beds, waking up with their eyes gazing at each other like delicious coves. Emily had thought about moving forward, leaning in, lingering until the inevitable might happen. But fear always kicked in and placed itself in front of their lips, so that neither one felt bold enough to reveal themselves. So revelations stayed silent.
Then in the second year Naomi met her boyfriend, a good looking art student, with Josh Hartnet charisma. He'd won her heart by writing "Will you be my girlfriend?" on the wall of the student union, in pink lipstick. Naomi had thought this was pretty lame, in actuality; Emily though, quite liked it and wished she'd thought of it.
Back in their apartment, Naomi got dressed. This was a ritual for her, although vanity wasn't her biggest flaw or quality; it certainly was an enjoyable aspect of her personality. She loved doing her hair, she adored manicuring her nails with black varnish, she could never resist buying bohemian shoes, and dresses and bags. Her eyes were so blue, that Emily often wondered if the sky was missing pieces. University for Naomi had been the turning, the period in her life where suddenly she was the epicentre, the core to each tangled conversation, the funny girl with delicious tales and blissful experience. She had met Emily in the campus bar; she was so quiet compared to the other girls in the halls. Almost gormless with her expressions, and ordinary in a fascinating way. Naomi had made eye contact with her that first night, told her stories about 'blokes' she'd slept with, she spoke only to her.
Naomi thought for a second, putting her hair spray on the dressing table, about her Emily now, how much she had changed, for the better. Stronger, warmer, more aggressive, more confident. Still forever single though, something that hadn't changed for her friend. At university there had been men, but Naomi was never sure how much Emily enjoyed it. She has told her once that she hadn't liked the way they smelt when they were on top of her; she had described the odour as "pointless". At the time Naomi, hadn't known what to tell her friend, "it would get better?", "you'll learn to like it?" looking back now, her comforting words, had themselves been; pointless.
Sitting in 'Grace', Emily orders the bottle of Prosecco, like it was water in a desert. Her mouth almost watering when it arrives at her table. Two long flutes bobbed in the ice bucket like delicious ornaments. Smiling at the waitress she takes the flutes and fills them with the translucent alcohol, bubbling and brimming into a shameless delicacy. Naomi appears, looking like something from an old American movie. Black and white with only elements of season colour, accentuated by her sky blue eyes, breaking through the light. She looked – Emily thought and blushed inside – so sexy it hurt.
Sitting next to her friend, Naomi touches Emily's face, "you hot?" she asks her, topping up her glass of Prosecco. Emily's blush deepens and she begs herself to "calm down".
Two bottles later, the girls, were relaxed, Naomi with her legs up and under Emily's bottom, and Emily with her hand over Naomi's exposed knee. She feels warmth that she has never felt before, bubbling through her with each sip of her drink and each touch or gesture from Naomi. They grin, and their eye contact lingers, like four soldiers declaring war on each other.
"Naomi", Emily starts, looking away and putting her drink down on the wet table.
"Emily", Naomi said in an amused tone resembling mocking.
"I need to say something to you", Emily continues, closing her eyes and chewing her lip.
Naomi places her glass down as well and sits up, removing her feet from under Emily. Emily pretends not to notice, but a pang of sadness hits her stomach like a rock. This was how it always felt, every time Naomi touched her, then moved away, or said something suggestive but then rearranged the words until the meaning was changed into something platonic. "You know what I'm going to say. Please you must know", Emily continues with tears building in her eyes, threatening to tumble.
"Ems, what's wrong?", Naomi asks biting her lip and tipping her head slightly to the side.
"Please, don't make me say it Naomi. Please", Emily's eyes shut and burst open with tears, silent little tears like Cornish rain.
"Say what Ems? Please, you're scaring me", Naomi told her trying to reach for Emily's hand. Emily moves it away. Naomi's turn to feel something, a pang perhaps.
"Don't do that. Don't hold my hand, or lie in my bed, don't touch me, if it doesn't mean anything to you", Emily shouts in a hushed tone, that neighbouring tables can hear. Both faces flush. Naomi's eyes change direction, her body going rigid. Emily waits, longing in a confused maelstrom of her own creation. After a few seconds, she removes twenty pounds from her purse, placing it down in the wet and leaves.
Walking through the city, tears stain her cheeks, like blood on white paper, her drunken words repeating on her again and again. "Doesn't mean anything". She knew she shouldn't have exposed herself to Naomi, her world now would be completely upside now. Her home, her friendships, her family – everything would be changed. She holds her hand up to her mouth and shivers out some more tears. People stare of course, but no one says anything. Ignorance is the key these days, to some form of bliss.
She sits on a bench for a while, maybe an hour goes by. Homeless people take inedible food from bins, couples kiss, women jog, dogs shit, and the sun goes down.
Getting cold she decides to "bite the bullet". To walk home. Naomi wouldn't be there; she would have got her stuff and gone. Removed herself from the failures of this fickle friendship. "How would Naomi ever trust her again?" Emily thinks shaking her head.
Walking up the steps, inside the building, into the lift, up to the 10th floor to the harbour side apartment, Emily's stomach feels as though venomous snakes are slithering inside, devouring her organs and coating her thoughts with paranoia and regret.
Outside the door to her apartment she pauses. Taking the key from her pocket, she breaths in, and holds it as she turns the key in the lock. The door opens.
Inside; Naomi, waits, her eyes wet from similar tears. Emily stares at her. Naomi stares back. Getting up slowly from her seat Naomi moves towards her friend. Emily stands still, like her legs are rooted inside the soil in the ground. Naomi reaches her, and pauses. Her eyes linger on Emily's for a second, before turning her head to the left. Emily follows her eye line and looks to her right. On the wall, in pink lipstick said the words "this is lame, I know, but will you be my girlfriend?"