A/N: This is my first attempt at a Nathan/OC fanfic, so I hope it's not complete shit? THANK YOU x
There's a big part of her that's considering throwing herself backwards, over the railings and drowning herself in the scummy, litter-filled sea, for it had a good few perks that caught her eye.
1. She'd never have to see Lewis again.
2. She wouldn't have to 'give back' to a community that thought she was scum.
and finally:
3. Death.
Okay, maybe she was being a bit dramatic. You can't really blame her though, she had been desensitised to anything remotely serious since her high school experience had been filled with a mockery of suicide which was majorly offensive and BPAS jokes mainly aimed at her friend Millie, who had gotten pregnant in Year 11 with Samuel 'I own an STD ridden camaro' Lee's kid.
But now, she was somewhere she never actually expected she'd end up: Community Service. Dressed in that rank orange jumpsuit, lined up against the railing with six other offenders like cattle for slaughter. Dehumanisation like this belonged in Wilfred Owen poetry, not a community centre in South East London.
"This is your chance to do something positive." Their probation worker said – he was a broad, black guy with a look of constant irritation on his face "Give something back. You can help people, you can really make a difference to people's lives."
Yeah right, mate, she thought with a smirk, does this lot really look like they want to give back? "That's what community service is all about." He peered around the group with a look of deep thought on his face "There are people who think you're scum. You have an opportunity to show them they're wrong."
"Yeah, but what if they're right?" Pillock chirped up "No offence," he turned to the hardman in a baseball cap, obviously aiming his next statement at him. Emily peered over with excitement, anything that began with 'no offence' would most definitely be offensive "But I think some people are just born criminals."
"Are ya lookin' ta get stabbed?" Hardman snapped back, stepping forwards as if to be threatening but only managing to look as threatening as a baby deer falling over.
"Ya see my point there?"
"It doesn't matter what you've done in the past-" He's interrupted by slut's phone ringing to life. Cue her telling her mate about how shit the first five minutes have been and making his expression harden even more "Hey. Excuse me, hello, I'm still talking here."
"What, I thought you'd finished?" She sent him an exasperated look.
"If my lips are still moving, I'm still talking." He shot back, irritated.
"Yeah, but you coulda been yawning, or chewing." Pillock listed off.
"End the call. Hang up!" He yelled.
"It's just my probation worker." Emily grimaced at the sound of slut chewing her gum as loudly as possible, it made the hairs on her back rise.
"-I'll rip out your throat and shit down your neck." Hardman threatened Pillock once more, managing to make Emily snort as she attempted to sneakily light her fag without the probation worker noticing and dragging out this inspirational speech even longer.
"We need to work as a team here." He tried once more "Hey, that's enough, and put that out!" Fuck. Emily held a finger up, inhaling deeply around the cigarette she'd secretly whipped out, blowing out a puff of smoke "Now!"
"One second!" She exclaimed, inhaling again and puffing out, rinse and repeat, over and over until her lungs burned and her lips were chapped.
"You're goin' to get lung cancer real quick, love." Pillock chirped, despite being held at the collar by the hardman in a baseball cap.
"What're you on about? I'm fit as a fiddle." She coughed, dropping the fag on the ground and stomping on it with the toe of her shoe. Pillock sent her a shit-eating grin, and she sent a mocking grin back, then let her face drop back into deadpan once more. Her resting bitch face was a well-known repellent for most people.
"Can I move to a different group? This isn't gonna work for me." Runner boy asked with a shrug. She'd disliked him the minute he had said 'I shouldn't be here, man' in that self-pitying tone, the cunt. What a dickhead.
"Uh, wot makes you fink you're betta than os?" Chav sneered at him.
"What is that accent?" Pillock suddenly exclaimed.
"Is that for real?" Runner boy smirked.
"Wot, are ya tryin' ta say somethin' then ya."
"It's…That's just a noise. Are we supposed to be able to understand her?" Chav sent Pillock a very reasonable middle finger, and he grinned that really irritating grin of his and flung an arm around the hardman "I think she likes me." Cue the hardman losing his shit and starting to attack the Irish fucktard, managing to make Emily snicker and slut laugh loudly. Seeing two retards brawl probably would be some pure entertainment, like something off the Jeremy Kyle show.
Hardman pushed against the probation worker, while Pillock began to flail, a parody of a fighting stance "Do it, man, do it! I fuckin dare you man! You're a fuckin' pussy bruv! He's takin' the piss!"
Emily wasn't sure how she felt about her group of delinquents, and began to ponder on how they would survive 200 hours together, since group dynamic seemed to not even exist with them. As a bunch of outsiders that were completely different from one another, she wasn't completely sure if they'd survive today with how much fury was emanating from the hardman.
"Argh! There's paint on my cap! This is bullshit!" He suddenly roared, leaping up from where he was crouched at the front of the bench and storming away, lunging his leg out to kick a paint pot over and then a trolley and his little, spaghetti leg only managed to knock it slightly. He did it once more and disappeared around the corner. She hoped he was embarrassed. He was like a man-child.
Moving away from the rat lookalike, there was slut. She had stuck to the stereotype, she was judging a book by its cover, and honestly, she didn't understand the problem with that. If you advertise yourself in a certain way, people will make judgements, that was how society worked. It's your actions that change how people perceive you and slut had been flaunting her tits in the locker room and sending sultry glances at runner boy. Emily was pretty sure she had her on point.
But, in all honesty, she was, overall, pretty; with golden skin and perfectly coiffed hair, a petite frame and tits that all the males of the group had already ogled at, given a double-take and even perhaps a triple take. She managed to make the sodding jumpsuit look reasonable. How? Emily needed answers.
Then, there was Chav. She was pale, with her hair pulled back so tightly it was either like a face-lift or made her appear slightly oriental. She constantly had an expression of disgust or disdain on her face, with her lips pursed and hands clenched into fists, as if ready to land a punch on someone. There was something slightly terrifying about her, in a way, perhaps the idea that if she beat you to death, you would never know what her last words to you would be, since she spoke in tongues, obviously.
Runner boy was easy. Athlete that fucked himself over by dealing whatever he dealt; meth, heroine, steroids, she didn't know. Why would she know? Why would she read the paper or watch the news when she could be watching some comedy that other people thought was scummy but she probably found hilarious? You could tell he was a cool kid by how he tied his jumpsuit at his waist, to show his tank top off. Runner boy was a tall, black guy, with fluffy looking black hair and a constant look of self-absorbed unhappiness on his face, arms crossed, like a child in a strop. He pissed her off the most out of them all, to be completely honest.
Pillock was the kind of guy to grin at you during an argument, aggravating and full of shit; his shit-eating grin made her want to tear his hair out and she had only known him for ten minutes. He was tall - given a few inches by the curly mop of hair on his head - and lanky with a head full of curly, brown hair and a swagger to his walk. He probably thought the world of himself, and didn't seem to hold any shame either. He liked attention, and didn't seem to give two shits whether it was good or bad attention.
Finally, weird kid. He was a stocky, twitchy guy with the palest skin she had seen, almost sickly pale with a guarded expression on his face, as if he was constantly uncomfortable. He stood so straight that Emily was almost convinced that someone had taped a ruler to his back since she had never seen anyone stand like that for as long as he was managing. Not to mention how he had zipped his jumpsuit all the way up to his neck, she assumed that would be uncomfortably tight around the neck – in fact it must be as he kept tugging on it, perhaps from it strangling him or nervousness. She didn't know.
Did Emily fit in with the crowd? She didn't know, maybe? Nobody seemed to really fit in, it was like picking one person from each of the stereotypical high school groups: The popular slutty girls, the chav's, the 'class clowns,' the popular athletic boys, the misfits and the plain Jane's.
So, none of them would ever really fit in, but, what can you do?
"So, I'm guessin' shopliftin?" Pillock tried "No?"
Chav snapped back "Don't act like ya know me cos ya don't."
"I'm just makin' conversation. This is a chance to network with other young offenders. We should be swappin' tips! Brainstormin'. C'mon, what did you do?"
"A girl called me a slag so I just got into a fight."
Hah. Classic.
She's probably one of those 'a fighter, not a lover' kind of girls, ready to whack you in the face and break your nose kind of people, which was a nice change from 'I'll show you my tits for validation' kind of girls. Like Tiffany Dwayne who attended her old college, she was pretty pathetic to be honest, flashing her tits and missing lessons to suck cock. In actual fact, she reminded her a bit (a lot) of Slut.
"Was this on the Jeremy Kyle Show?"
"No, it was down Argos."
"Ah, Argos. You know what you shoulda done? You shoulda got one of them little pens they have and jabbed it in her eye. What about you, weird kid? Don't take this the wrong way or anythin' but you look like a panty sniffer." Emily snickered. Don't take this the wrong way or anything but you look like a proper pervert. Yeah, no offence though, mate, it's all in good fun!
"I'm not a panty sniffer. I'm not a pervert." Even his voice sounded shaky, like he was unsure of what he was saying or like he bristled when spoken to. Honestly, after what the Pillock just said, she wouldn't blame him for bristling. That Irish twat was a right Pillock, hence the nickname. "I tried to burn someone's house down!"
Well, shit.
"Jesus, remind me not to get on your bad side." She commented with a good-hearted grin in his direction, pausing to roll her eyes when he began to stutter out a reply in a panic "Calm down, I'm just dickin' around."
"Wot did you do?" Chav finally asked Pillock.
"Me? Uh, I was done for eating some pick 'n' mix." He exclaimed, making Emily scoff loudly in disbelief, twisting from where she was crouching to raise an eyebrow in his direction "Wha? Don't believe me, four-eyes?" She sent him an incredulous expression.
"Nobody with a right mind would believe that bullshit." She replied idly, slapping some paint on a naked piece of the bench "Dunno who you think you're foolin' mate."
"Ya, that's bollocks." Chav agreed, crossing her arms over her chest.
"It's a bit rude to call out someone in the middle of a really interestin' story, innit, four-eyes? 'Specially with such harsh words. Ever heard o' 'sticks and stones will break my bones but word's will never hurt me' well, that's not true. I'm pretty fuckin' wounded." He adopted a look of pain on his face, clutching at his chest.
"Aw, poor thing." She replied with a pout.
"C'mon, the least you could do is pity me!" He exclaimed, flailing his long, lanky arms out to flap at his sides. She snickered and shook her head, ruffling her dark hair.
"That's not possible, mate. You're like the embodiment of the first person to leave on a cooking show. Pathetic and sad but everyone laughs anyway." Chav barked out a laugh "What can you do, eh?"
"Oh, I was thinkin' you could kiss it better." He winked, making Emily cringe – she was pretty damn sure Lewis wouldn't like her doing that, he's probably tearing the flat apart just thinking of her talking to other men to be honest. She shuddered at the thought only to make Pillock whinge "Okay, okay! Wha's that look supposed to mean? You're real good at hurtin' a man's feelin's!"
"I was just thinking how my boyfriend wouldn't really like me doin' that." She shrugged, smirking at the noise that erupted from his throat.
"You're taken goods? Are ya kiddin' me? Why are all the woman criminals taken? Is this some Bonnie and Clyde shit because this is totally unfair!" He furrowed his brows, then directed his attention to the sky, which was brewing with an oncoming storm, angry black clouds swirled together, filling the white, dim sky of Wertham. Thunder clapped loudly from above them, a warning of what was to come soon, probably "What is goin' on with this weather?"
"How'd that happen?" The probation worker approached, and immediately his face scrunched into a confused exasperation when he gestured to the paint splattered on the ground from the hardman having a strop "I mean, you've been here five minutes. It's painting benches. How'd you screw that up? You tell me because I've got no idea."
"We're really talented screw-ups?" Emily offered with an innocent smirk, when her comment - that would have just gotten her reprimanded – was cut off by a giant crashing noise, startling everybody enough to make them stumble back in shock as the car's alarm went off, ringing loudly.
"That's my car," the probation worker's voice took on a defeated tone, or an innocent one; not as exasperated as his tone beforehand. Like a sad kid that just watched his kite fly away in the wind or dropped his ice-cream cone on the sand.
"Classic!" Pillock laughed giddily.
Emily, who's heart was crashing against her ribcage in pure shock, and a lot from being completely freaked out, turned to peer at her co-offenders, who appeared to be just as freaked out as her. The weird kid had pulled out his shitty camera phone and had started filming this shit, and she spared him a baffled glance before going back to freaking out. She was mainly concerned at the idea that these were car sized hailstones and that they would all be crushed if they didn't find some panic room to curl up in and wait the storm out. She had good music taste; she'd survive.
"Okay, so I'm a little bit freaked out." Pillock exclaimed.
"Shocker!" Emily called back instinctively, ignoring him when he turned to peer at her then back up at the sky, where she was staring at the black cloud, darkening every minute. She let out a pathetic shriek when another sodding car sized hailstone shot through the air and into the garbage disposal bin beside her and weird kid's bench. She caught her foot on the little concrete ledge, and tumbled onto her arse.
Pillock twisted in a way that looked slightly painful and reached a spaghetti arm out for her, she grasped his hand to heave herself up, feeling slightly lightheaded from jumping up so quickly. With the thunder clapping so loudly it made her ears ring, she only managed a shaky nod to him as thanks, which he mouthed something she couldn't read.
"Right, let's go. Everyone inside." The probation worker tried to salvage his calmness, but the situation was too dire for politeness, which she supposed was completely fair when he yelled "Move! Move!" Emily had to qualms about this particular order and took off. Chest still heaving with the shock of the giant fucking hailstones, and still feeling slightly lightheaded.
Each clap of thunder felt like it was tilting the ground as she sprinted – she felt as if she was at constant risk of just losing balance and falling on her face, cracking her skull open and bleeding out here and now. She vaguely thought back to her first thought of drowning herself in the sea and pondered on the idea that she was some kind of psychic. She had a vision that she would die today, from water – frozen water. Bam. She should join the X-Men. Or a Circus. Or a psychiatric hospital.
She shook her head. The world was falling apart around her and here she was, thinking shit to herself. Emily had always wanted her final thoughts or words to be deep shit, meaningful and memorable. Like something from Titanic or Terms of Endearment but really, they'd probably be something from Shaun of the Dead.
"It's locked!" Runner boy yelled. The probation worker shoved forwards, looking kind of strange, hunched like he was, since he was such a big, broad guy. His hand shook terribly and he attempted to find the right key, but with everyone yelling at him, screaming and shouting at him, he couldn't manage it. Emily almost felt bad for the prick, if he hadn't gotten offended at how rude slut was being when there was a prominent risk of death in this situation.
There was a crash-
BAM.
Her heart in her chest, which was already pumping at the speed of light, stopped, when she was thrown back by some unknown force, the breath left her lungs as he she had been winded, she gasped and writhed, wanting to drag her arms up to place her hands on her neck, as if to tear at something holding at it. But her arms were lead, and her voice was lost in her throat.
Her eyes were moist when she managed to crack them open, eardrums ringing, still filled with the noise of clapping thunder and cracking lightening; it sounded as if it still surrounded her, blended in with echoed shrieks and distant yells.
There was nothing. It was just her, it seemed at least, floating in a dark abyss, enveloped by the mere noise of the storm. The force holding her down suddenly lifted and her eyes flashed open properly, allowing her to inhale properly, and she gasped and sucked in deeply, head throbbing as she flailed, reminding her of a fish out of water.
But, unfortunately, the relief she felt was gone quickly, and replaced by a burning electricity that started in her feet and coiled through her body, slowly enough to make a shriek bubble in her chest. It was a quite similar feeling to severe pins and needles in every inch of your body, and it was already a rather unpleasant sensation when it wasn't severe.
And she dropped-
"Where the fuck are my glasses." There was a muffled groan, and it took her a moment to realise it was her own voice. Her body ached like fuck, she wasn't sure she'd be able to move from where she was curled on the wet pavement. Her limbs felt like pure lead, even when lying down and not moving them, not to mention that she was pretty sure the drop onto the concrete had bruised her coccyx since it ached like a bitch.
With extreme cautiousness, Emily opened her eyes and blinked against the vibrancy of the white sky. She hissed and placed her hand over them, willing them to cease their burning – maybe her corneas were damaged or shit. She already had glasses, what's more to the mix?
"I feel really weird." Chav said, dazed.
"No idea why that would be." Emily groaned out, pressing the pads of her palms into her eyes until static appeared behind her lids. She managed to open her eyes quick enough to notice the delightful glare sent in her direction from chav.
"That'll be the lightnin'." Runner boy breathed out, sitting up and massaging his head, eyebrows furrowed in pain and obvious disbelief.
"We should be dead." Weird kid stated in shock.
The positivity of a pyromaniac was truly astounding, Emily thought as she blinked against the brightness "A little reassurance might be nice, you know. 'You're fine,' 'Lookin' good.'" Pillock chimed with a voice thick from, well, whatever shit just happened. Getting hit by lightning was no walk in the park, she now knows. Story to tell the grandkids, that is.
"W-Wanker." The probation worker mumbled out through gritted teeth, face slack and twitching, like he was having a stroke or a seizure or something. Emily couldn't really see too well anyway without her sexy arse Harry Potter spectacles. That was a lie, they were from Specsavers; cheap and did the job at saving her from getting eye surgery, which honestly terrified her. Without them she was like Velma from Scooby-Doo; constantly struggling.
"…Did he just call me a wanker?" Pillock asked, jaw slack and eyes outraged. She snorted into her arms, only to earn a sneer from the Irish bastard "Shut it, four eyes!"
"You can't be mad just 'cause he stated the truth." She shot back, then went back to palming at the ground to try and locate her sodding glasses.
"Is everyone alright?" The probation worker managed to say in a fairly normal tone this time, instead of his mumbo-jumbo voice.
"No, I've gone blind." Everyone's eyes shot to her "Sorry, that came out wrong. Anyone see my glasses anywhere?" There were multiple sighs of exasperation before she felt her glasses hovering slightly above her hand "Cheers, uh," She peered the person beside her, who was chav "Uh…"
"Kelly." Chav told her, unamused, only making her laugh sheepishly with a half-hearted apology under her breath as she placed her glasses back on and blinked to clear her eyes "Are you a'wright?" She asked the probation worker, almost shocking Emily with her compassion and concern for his wellbeing "You're actin' like a freak." And the shock faded.
"Ma-Maybe we should call it a day." He groaned out, face twitching again. She heaved herself to her feet with a grimace in his direction and pondered if this meant they'd have to make up for the hours they lost today or if today's hour counted. She hoped they had to redo them.
"No shit." Slut spat at the probation worker who had finally managed to open the door and shoved past him, stalking into the building and down the corridor to the locker rooms. Pillock whistled lowly, before following, sending the probation worker a bitter glare, probably due to the 'wanker' insult a few moments.
Emily and Kelly somehow fell into step with her as they made their way into the locker room; an awkward, tense silence fell over them, making her feel beyond uncomfortable, tugging on the bracelet Lewis gave her on her wrist, and staring at her shoes, wondering why she bought shoes in vibrant red.
"Sorry I didn't know your name." She finally said. Furrowing her brows when Kelly turned to her, face softer and not as angry as per usual "I don't actually know anyone's names here. I've actually given them all nicknames until I figure out their real ones."
Kelly snorted as they entered the locker room, where runner boy was literally almost ready to leave, weird kid seemed to be struggling with his top button and pillock was doing some weird stretching shit on the ground, only to have Kelly trod on his hand on the way to her locker.
"Oi! These beauties can't be damaged!" He exclaimed, clutching his hand to his chest with a pout then slung an arm around Emily, who was the poor soul that stood closest to him due to the proximity of their lockers and offered her a sultry smirk "Could be a fuckin' hand model, eh, four-eyes?"
"Maybe like one of those before and after photos. 'This is what happened after methamphetamine abuse.'" She replied idly. Runner boy snorted as she smacked his hand away that hovered a few centimetres from her face and flipped him the bird when he grinned wider.
"Y'know, it's been said that when a lass bullies ya, it means they wanta, y'know-" He started thrusting his hips wildly, meeting Emily's eyes, which were unamused, uninterested and mildly disgusted "C'mon four-eyes, your boyfriend can watch too, if tha's what he's into!"
"You're sick." Runner boy spat and stalked out of the locker room.
"Actually, it just means you're a dick." Kelly told him with a scoff, and shifted over to the mirror and began to smooth out her hair with her hairbrush, earning a slightly judgemental look from Slut.
"Well, you could cut the tension in this room with a knife." He stated, and made a beeline for the door, leaving just Emily, Slut and Kelly. Weird kid had left whenever he'd left, he had this tendency to manage to blend in with backgrounds, and since he hardly every spoke up unlike slut or pillock, he was pretty much invisible.
As she dropped her jumpsuit in her locker and began to pull on her leggings and jumper, she turned to Kelly and watched her scrape her hair back into that face-lift style. It reminded her of like visual ASMR, she supposed, some people were into it, other's, not so much.
Suddenly, Kelly wheeled around the face slut, with her eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed in that near-constant sneer "Wot d'ya say?"
"I didn't say anything." Slut replied defensively, grabbing her bag and storming past Kelly with an aggravated expression on her face.
Honestly, Emily was kind of disappointed; she'd been slightly hoping she'd have first row seats to a catfight, since it's known for Kelly to start a brawl over something small, like the Jeremy Kyle worthy incident down at Argos. She had imagined there would be hair pulling, shrieking and some teeth on the floor that had been punched out.
"D'you wanna say that to my face?" Emily stiffened when Kelly turned to her, eyes angry and stepped forward threateningly "I fought you were nice!"
Emily finally came to and snapped "You're hearin' things." She grabbed her rucksack and threw it over her shoulder, stalking past Kelly and into the lobby, where she saw that everyone was beginning to leave. Thank fuck, she was praying that they wouldn't have to wait for their freak of a probation worker.
She wondered if he was alright, despite how rudely she referred to him, since he was the only one to really act like he'd been struck by lightning, unlike the rest of them. They were just like before, and for some of them, slightly more annoying, like pillock, as time went by, he just became more of a bastard.
Emily shuddered as she shoved open the door and into the cool air – it had a dampness to it that it usually did after storms. She dragged her eyes across the landscape, peering curiously at the fist-sized hailstones that were splattered across the asphalt. She huddled in her jumper, pulling the sleeves over her hands and curling her arms to her chest with a shiver.
Suddenly, a hand wrapped around her arm tightly, making her heart leap in her chest and a shriek bubble in her throat as she spun to face her attacker-
"Hiya, love."
"J-Jesus, Lewis." She breathed, swallowing thickly at the familiar face of her boyfriend, then wincing when his hand tightened around her arm "You scared me. What are you doing here?"
"Aren't ya happy to see me?" He raised an eyebrow, lips tugging into that familiar grin that once used to make her light up. Not anymore.
"Of course, I am." She quickly replied, smiling in relief when his crooked grin returned, and leaned into him when he pressed his lips to hers "How did you know we'd finish early, though?"
"Saw you lot going inside after that weird storm." He told her into her neck, sucking gently on the skin, then smirking at her small groan. Feeling his stubble against her smooth skin and his breathy laugh, it almost reminded her of why she had fallen in love with him "Let's get home, yeah?"
Emily nodded shakily "Let's."
A/N: So, this is my first attempt at a Misfits fanfic? I hope that wasn't too out of character? And what do you think of Emily? Is she realistic? Thanks for reading! And I'd really, really appreciate it if you left a comment? They moisturise my skin x