ECHOES (sing me a love song and i'll sing it right back to you)
Eskimo Jo

Disclaimer: The names of all characters contained here-in are the property of Skins, Company Pictures, & Channel4. No infringements of these copyrights are intended, and are used here without permission.

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Motion is darker and hotter and more suffocating than she ever remembers it being. They're all sitting around a table, yelling a conversation above the thumping music and casually drinking. It's rather grown-up, she thinks. If maybe they'd been at a better club not surrounded by teenagers, that is. Michelle is bookending the lot of them, shouting something quite frankly boring in Katie's general direction. The two of them seem to have some odd sort of connection and it's a little unnerving. Naomi leans back, out of Michelle's line of wild gesticulation and finds Cook already relaxing there too. On his other side is Katie, and beside her, the unmistakable Emily Fitch. They've barely said more than a sentence to each other since the night began and it's precisely the kind of awkward, stifling situation she was hoping to avoid. Effy wasn't interested in joining them tonight, understandably, but Tony mentioned coming along later if he felt like it. Cook glances over at her, bringing his drink to his mouth and guzzling almost half of it down. He grins and Naomi just rolls her eyes, choosing to look over at Katie's animated response to whatever bollocks she and Michelle are talking. Emily's easy to see, as she is on the other end, sitting like the other head of the table, complimentary to Michelle. Or perhaps rivalling. She looks just as equally bored and tired. Before she has much time to think about it, Cook's shoved what's left of his drink smack into her face, obviously a sort of invitation to finish it. She takes it cautiously and raises an eyebrow at him. He laughs.

"Don't worry, Naomikins! Neck it. It's clean, man," he affirms with a smirk and a sniff and she's not sure if that was supposed to make it seem more genuine. Regardless, the assurance fails, but she drinks anyway. Who really cares? Drugs or not, this night couldn't get any stranger. In a matter of seconds suddenly Cook is participating in the girls' conversation, leaning forward and simultaneously waving wildly towards the bar, which is rather useless considering the crowd blocking any view of the bartenders. Michelle pauses, and looks sideways at her, a questioning furrow of her brow breaking out across her face. Naomi shrugs and slides the empty glass onto the table. The older girl scoots closer, her left hand slipping under the tabletop to rest on Naomi's thigh, giving her a quick squeeze. She feels relieved that her girlfriend has finally noticed her discomfort, or boredom. Michelle's attention turns back to the conversation as she says something to Katie and laughs, never moving her hand. However, as soon as her chuckle dies out, she leans back and over. Her grasp is slightly tighter, and Naomi can feel the warm breath along the curve of her neck and ear.

"I'll get you a drink; what do you want?" she asks in a particularly sultry way considering the banality of the question. "My treat." Her voice is gravelly and Naomi feels the sound vibrate towards her toes in a pleasant way. But she remembers Emily at the other side of the table and immediately feels hot and uncomfortable. She fidgets briefly, studiously avoiding looking in Emily's direction before turning to Michelle. "Rum?"

Michelle smiles, genuinely and without ulterior motives. "Done." She slides out from the table and snakes her way through the crowd, disappearing from sight. Only then does Naomi chance a look at Emily, offering a small, shy smile. Emily returns the gesture, but stiffly. Katie starts up about something else and Naomi has to try her damnedest to even give the slightest shit what she's talking about. Somehow both Emily and Cook are suddenly chatting up a storm with her and Naomi feels like she's right fucking back in college, sitting quietly and ticking off all the possible ways she could blow up the venue in order to end this night already.

When Michelle returns, she has Tony with her and a grin plastered on her face. "Look who I found!"

No one of their year recognise Tony and they all wave hello politely, no one really knowing who this lanky boy is. He catches on pretty quickly and goes around introducing himself to her friends. For the first time all evening, Naomi finds herself on the verge of laughter at Katie's stunned face; her mouth hanging half-open and her stare fixated on the Stonem boy. He sits down purposely close to Emily, and that damn sly smile slips over his features as he talks to the Fitch twins. Stupid, clueless Tony, Naomi thinks, and smiles. She realises though that she's staring at Emily when Michelle interrupts her thoughts by sliding a cold rum and coke in front of her, but she doesn't sit down. Naomi looks up, gauging whatever the hell is going on in her girlfriend's head. She's sipping on her drink and watching Emily and Tony as well, but unlike Naomi, she seems a little dazed; confused even. Something snaps her out of it as a thundering bassline rocks the walls. A smile stretches over her face.

"Tune! I'm going to dance," she tells the blonde and wanders off, drink in-hand towards the throbbing dancefloor. Emily giggles loudly at something Tony says and Naomi feels completely isolated from whatever is going on. First her girlfriend fucks off, then everything is turned upside down. Tony and Emily? She stands up, and punches Cook lightly. "Bar?" He shakes his head and she realises he's holding her drink, and it's half empty already.

Prick.

She smirks and scoffs good-naturedly. She weaves a path towards the bar, resting her elbows on it and waits to be served. An extraordinary 7 quid later, she has her drink. It's cooler over here, not so suffocating. She wanders further into the noise to the main room and from her vantage point, she picks out Michelle dancing away. Sipping her drink, she watches, suddenly rapt with the fluid movements of her girlfriend writhing to the overwhelming beats, the sub-bass infiltrating her senses completely. There are other people around her but Naomi isn't concerned about any strangers. She knows Michelle better than that. Her loose black top drapes over her, the lack of material allowing Naomi to rake her eyes up the smooth skin of Michelle's waist, her hot pink bra glowing in the UV lights. A small smile creeps across her lips unexpectedly and a flush of warmth begins to spread out from her abdomen as she watches the brunette's movements. It's hypnotizing and suddenly Naomi feels hot for an entirely different reason than before.

"She's really pretty."

The voice makes Naomi jump and she looks over to see Emily beside her, staring in the same direction. "Yeah," Naomi agrees and scans the crowd again to find her girlfriend. They stand in silence, allowing the music to penetrate their skin and rewire their heartbeats. Naomi takes a rather large gulp of her drink. She's not sure whether this moment is incredibly awkward or just incredibly strange. Probably both.

"Not really your type though, huh?" Emily asks eventually as the song seamlessly transitions into another.

For some reason, Naomi finds the question to be scornful and she's on the defensive before she can even recognise it. There's still so much unresolved tension between she and Emily. "The hell's that supposed to mean?" Pretty girls and Naomi don't go together? She's not sure if it's supposed to have been so snide, but Naomi feels as if it's berating her for something and she's not sure what. The confusion just makes her more irritated.

Emily shrugs, immune to Naomi's little outbursts by now, even after all these years. "Just saying is all. She's... You know what I mean, Naoms. Different than I would have thought you'd go for."

"Oh, leave it," Naomi snaps. "She's clever, and gorgeous, and... You don't even know her."

"Naomi, Jesus. Relax. And, I know enough. Trust me."

Naomi glares down at the twin, trying to figure out what that comment was supposed to mean. She wants to inform Emily that they have not been together for nearly 2 years, and as such, Emily has no say in who Naomi feels like dating. But the words never come out of course. She's forced into a familiar submissive silence. It's sort of comforting in a way. A disturbing, nostalgic kinda way. "Whatever."

"Don't 'whatever' me. Even after years, I know you, Naomi. You haven't changed. And I know what all this," she gestures towards Michelle, "is about so drop the act." Emily isn't even remotely joking and it upsets Naomi.

Michelle is making her way off the dancefloor and spots Naomi and Emily. She breezes up to them and runs a hand down Naomi's arm. She's so close Naomi can feel the heat coming off her in waves, the slight sheen of sweat re-activating her perfume and it travels right up her nostrils and straight to her core. And all she can feel is insanely awkward since Emily is still beside her. Michelle's smirking suggestively, as if she's reading her mind easily. She swallows hard.

"Great track, yeah?" Michelle asks them both, as if the last few seconds of tension hadn't even happened. Emily nods, and purses her lips. The blonde knows she's likely just as uncomfortable, and a little part of her is excited by that. She still has the power to get under Emily's skin. She grins to herself, trying to ignore the near-constant tug of her body towards Michelle. If only to be polite to Emily, of course. Part of her feels like it's being torn in half. Michelle grabs Naomi's drink and tilts it back, running her tongue over her lips very intentionally and Naomi is simply rapt by the action. Emily shifts uncomfortably, now caught in the unfortunate position of knowing she should leave but not having a polite way to excuse herself at the moment. Naomi chuckles inside her mind, feeling strangely confident now that she seems to wield the power for once. Michelle stretches back and pushes the empty glass onto the bar, watching both girls intently. If Naomi didn't know better, she'd suspect Michelle had something entirely filthy going through her head at this exact second, and it isn't simply about Naomi. The blonde glances at Emily then back at Michelle, who meets her gaze steadily. Without a second thought, Naomi grasps her hand and turns to Emily abruptly.

"We're going to get some fresh air." Her voice sounds hard and strained even to her own ears, but she doesn't have much time to consider why as Michelle tugs on her hand insistently and she's being pulled outside into the warm summer night. Naomi stumbles, suddenly feeling the liquor hitting her system full-force. The world is a little woozy and blurry now, but Michelle is there in front of her. That much she knows for certain. They hustle to a dark corner of an alcove around the side of the warehouse, away from the brightly lit patio, and Naomi wastes no time pouncing. She slams Michelle up against the cold stone wall, ignoring any protests that may have arisen. She doesn't suspect Michelle has any anyway. Her mouth moves greedily against the other girl's warm neck, feeling the heat and pulse under the thin skin. Naomi registers roving hands against her hot skin as Michelle's want is just as apparent as her own, nailing digging in and drawing their bodies flush together. It isn't the first time Naomi thanks God or whatever for Michelle's tendency to wear these sorts of tops. Her own eager hands slide easily over hips and curves, snaking up to press into soft breasts, before slipping one further down. Michelle pulls Naomi's mouth away with both hands, and kisses her firmly, and a little desperately instead.

It's odd, a little disconcerting almost, cos they had never behaved like this before. In the loo, sure. But never quite like this, outside, like wild animals. Naomi experienced it with Emily; that completely overwhelming desire, an uncontrollable urge to just get as filthy and close as possible regardless of location. It's sucking up all her energy and her senses are in overdrive as she feels Michelle's tongue slick in her mouth and their bodies undulating in perfect synchrony. Her knees feel weak and she tries to pass it off as the alcohol, but knows better. She pushes up against the older girl to compensate.

Never. They'd never done this before, not like this. It feels both fiercely familiar and equally bizarre.

It's ripping her in two.

She returns with furious determination to Michelle's neck, sucking and biting in exactly the right way to evoke a series of moans that she knows Michelle keeps well-hidden. All she feels is fingers raking through her short hair, nails dragging down her arms, around, everywhere. Naomi's fingers find their under the waistband of her girlfriend's jeans, easily finding what she was seeking. A simultaneous moan bubbles to the surface, and suddenly Naomi is struck with the image of Emily. And it's not just a fleeting picture; it sticks and floats in front of her eyes, blocking out reality with a ghostly, disturbing kind of nostalgia. So she squeezes her eyes shut, finds Michelle's lips with her own on instinct alone and draws the older girl's bottom lip between her teeth as her fingers rub, probably a little rougher than necessary, against Michelle's clit. It feels almost inhumanly satisfying but Emily's face refuses to stop swimming in front of her closed eyelids, every pant or moan Michelle makes is transformed into that huskier Fitch sound instead. Bile begins rising in Naomi's throat because she's not high, she's knows what's happening in reality. She's more than aware that it is actually Michelle she's fucking so ungracefully against a nightclub wall, but bloody Emily keeps pervading her senses, gripping on and refusing to let go. The feeling of being torn in half only gets stronger and stronger with every minuscule movement; every passing second feels like another sharp stabbing pain in her chest, tearing it right through the core.

Michelle clings to Naomi's top, almost frantically, as her hips buck up of their own free will, her head thrown back allowing Naomi ample access to the ultra-sensitive skin along her neck. She's close. Visions of Emily may be assaulting her senses, but she can read Michelle's responses like second nature. She braces a thigh between Michelle's legs, surprising herself at the passing realisation of her own remarkable wetness against her pants. Fucks sake. The knowledge only makes things a million times worse, because she's not even sure what exactly is turning her on to such a degree. Michelle or Emily? The fact she's unsure provides enough motivation for vomit to rise even higher. It should be Chelle. Please let it be Chelle, she pleads with herself but to no avail because nothing ceases, not the images nor the confusion.

She can't, can't can't. It's too, too fucking much. It's frenzied and hard, aggressive and desperate even but holy fuck does it sting with raw honesty, scraping roughly against her heart. Burning desire, but coupled with the agony of confusion. She can't reconcile the resounding feeling rushing through her body with the illusions floating in her vision. It's borderline insanity, she thinks. It fucking feels like it. The immensity of it all is terrifying, and its questionable origins are even more devastating. And it's all too fucking familiar.

She snaps before anything has the chance to spill out of her. She roughly pushes back, yanking her hand out of a very astonished Michelle's pants and steps back, putting cool riverside air between them. The image of Emily vanishes just as abruptly and she only sees her girlfriend, standing against the stone wall, still breathing heavily but so bewildered that it only works to break Naomi's heart further.

"I'm sorry," Naomi blurts out in a voice that sounds both timid and desperate. Michelle fixes up her jeans and the glistening of unshed tears is unmistakable in her eyes. For what seems like a very long minute, she refuses to meet Naomi's gaze.

"Was it...," she trails off, unsure if it's a question she should even be asking. "Did I do something?" Sometimes Naomi forgets how fragile Michelle is on the subject of sex. How, regardless of how talented she is, she's still stupidly self-conscious. No doubt a leftover gift from Tony. Fucking Tony. The blonde shakes her head defiantly and watches Michelle's composure return in bits and her imploring gaze now burning holes into Naomi. "What the fuck then?"

"I can't," Naomi manages to stutter. She thought once the visions of Emily faded, she wouldn't feel so anxious and torn, but having to explain herself seems only to have increased the sensation ten-fold. She just wants to collapse into a heap, block out the world and forget all about the last 10 minutes. Michelle Richardson is not the kind of person to just let things slide however. She's never let Naomi get away with anything in the course of both their brief friendship and current relationship. The guilt rips at her chest with strong, ragged claws and she chokes out a breath.

"Chelle," she pleads, "I can't. I don't...know. I just..." The words aren't even forming sentences any longer as her emotions are finally breaking through her valiant resolve. She can't talk about Emily, she's terrified of what that means. "It's me," she finally chokes out, barely restraining a sob of regret. Michelle just stares at her for a moment before her face softens.

She shakes her head almost sadly. "Jesus, Nome. How much have you had to drink? You're a mess tonight." Quite unexpectedly, Michelle reaches out, takes both her hands and pulls the younger girl close, wrapping her arms around heaving shoulders. Naomi isn't sure if it's honest ignorance, but she doesn't argue with Michelle's assertion about the cause of her uncharacteristic breakdown. Maybe the alcohol was a mitigating factor. No way to know for certain really. Yeah? The blonde grabs onto loose fabric and buries her face in Michelle's warmth, the older girl's pulse strong and sure against her cheek. The tears spring free eventually.

Naomi doesn't see Emily emerge from the club, wander around, spot the girls and stare curiously. Michelle does notice however, and holds Naomi tighter, whispers calming nonsense in her ear, but doesn't take her eyes off Emily. The redhead meets the hardened stare and takes a moment to process the scene. Michelle doesn't have to say a word, the look in her eyes is warning enough for Emily not to interfere. Emily hesitates, obviously considering her options, but eventually her shoulders sag in admission of defeat. She gives up and turns back towards the club, with a troubled, knowing look in her eyes.

"I love you," Michelle whispers insistently like it's the easiest, most natural thing in the world, and a racking sob jars Naomi's body. It's not right. She can't say that; they've never said it before. It shouldn't be like this.

She pushes out of Michelle's embrace abruptly again. "I can't, Chelle," she states, verging on the cusp of desperation, willing her to just understand.

The other girl scowls momentarily. "You can't? Can't what? What's that even mean?" For her part, Michelle is bordering on livid now. It's a bumpy roller-coaster ride with Naomi most days, but this- this is just ludicrous.

"Don't." Naomi says it harshly; it's a strong warning. They both know it's not something that would be pleasant, but it may be necessary. Please don't make me say it, her eyes plead. But it's dark outside and Naomi's face is half-hidden from the barely perfunctory lighting so there's no way to know if Michelle sees the begging there. Don't make me do this.

"Don't?" Michelle scoffs derisively. "Right. It's fine. I get it. You think I'm stupid?" She shrugs, but that small movement alone is obviously full of resentment and anger. "Go on. Go see her then." She waves towards the smoking patio out back, no doubt where Emily is loitering.

The strict demand almost knocks Naomi off her feet as she physically feels the impact of those words. Michelle knows; she's always known. "That's not it," Naomi argues weakly. It's a half-truth at any rate. She doesn't want to go see Emily. She just can't unsee her at the moment. There's a very definite difference but the explanation seems far too complex for her to work out for herself, let alone drunkenly explain it to her furious girlfriend. "That's not what I want."

An eyebrow is raised in disbelief. This encounter is illuminating all too well the legend of fierce bitch Michelle Richardson. Even Katie Fitch may have found a challenge here. She's almost inhumanely cold and hard, in attitude of course. I can only be figurative cos Naomi's pretty certain she couldn't actually touch her right now if her life depended on it. There's just too large a wall there, the space between them increasing exponentially with every passing minute.

"What do you want then, Nome?"

I don't know! That seems like the most truthful thought she's had all night long. Because really, she's pretty fucking sure that she has what she wants, needs even, but then she always wants more. Or maybe it's that she has too much. Like when you're in the newsagent's staring at the extensive selection of different sweets and you want them all, and you can't have them all but there's just too much choice. It's debilitating. And irritating for anyone who's never had such a problem before. How ungrateful can a person be?

"You." The word finally manages to make it past her lips, but it's so quiet and hesitant that it's almost a question.

"Do you love me then?"

Naomi is immediately struck with the brutality and unfairness of the question. As if that's really something you just bluntly ask another person. To her, there are two options. Lie and say yes, or say no and break her heart. She didn't really consider that normally there was a third option: saying yes and meaning it. "Please, Chelle." Avoidance may be a fourth option. But Michelle stands firm, her eyes piercing even in the darkness, challenging and dangerous. She's not accepting distractions. "I can't..."

The barely audible and unfinished statement hangs heavily in the air between their bodies. The older girl appears to wait a little bit longer for Naomi to expound on the idea, but when nothing is forthcoming, she clenches her eyes shut for a moment, her mouth set in a hard, unhappy line. When she opens them again, nothing has changed. Eventually, with Naomi staring at her like a deer caught in headlights, she shakes her head, pain etching itself across her features so deeply that it's plainly visible in the shadows.

A slight sneer arises, but the disappointed kind rather than the spiteful kind. "Can't," she repeats in apparent acceptance. The word rolls around, bouncing off the stone and back again. "Okay." But Michelle sounds the furthest thing from okay, and she looks completely rattled. "I've done this before. I won't make the same mistake twice."

Naomi has a suspicion that Michelle is speaking about Tony. She's not sure why, but the words are said in a longingly nostalgic kind of way that the older girl only adopts when speaking about her college years. And Naomi's well aware how that epic love story ended up.

Michelle sloppily points over her shoulder, waving around inaccurately. "I'm just gonna... go, yeah? I'm heading back to London tomorrow."

The terror rises in Naomi's mind, screaming and shouting at her, deafening her inside as Michelle turns her back. She attempts to take some kind of action, to stop Michelle's determined movement away but she's frozen again. Just like fucking always. "Chelle," she tries, sounding more manic that she would have liked. "Chelle!"

The brunette doesn't even pause, or turn back. She offers only a flippant wave goodbye over her shoulder as she heads towards the road. It almost looks as if she gave her the finger.

"Michelle!"

The effort is clearly futile now.

It takes until Michelle is completely out of sight before Naomi regains the function of her legs. She doesn't run however. She's never been much of a runner towards things, and she's not really accustomed to people running from her. She turns instead, feeling eyes on her. Emily's standing 20 feet away, just staring. Her mouth quirks into a sad smile, far too sad a smile for someone who is even remotely pleased with the situation. She walks closer to Naomi, cocking her head to the side, studying everything.

"You're fucked," she states plainly.

Naomi isn't sure what exactly is fucked up this time. Emily could be referring to many, many ways in which Naomi feels fucked. She tilts her head back, gazing into the clear night sky and releases a huge sigh. The breath itself trembles with emotion. "Emily." It comes out with unhappy resignation as she faces the redhead.

"Fucked," Emily repeats more staunchly, her gaze turning to one of pity and remorse. "Completely."

Naomi bows her head in reluctant acceptance of her fate. Emily's hand slips into her cold, sweaty one and she does her best to stop from flinching at the contact.

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The taxi ride seems longer than normal and despite the occasional comforting pat of Emily's hand, Naomi continues to merely stare silently at the blur of passing streetlamps and the occasional teenager stumbling drunkenly towards someplace else. She feels like she needs to explain it all to Emily, as if she owes her that even though she's fully aware that it's not really a requirement. But of course she opts instead for silence and Emily doesn't push. For once, Naomi muses and almost chuckles at the ridiculousness of the entire situation. Now that she really does want to talk, Emily doesn't pry incessantly. And there's no hope in hell that the blonde will volunteer any information. She's not sure if she's ever shared anything without -sometimes relentless- coaxing.

The car pulls up in front of Gina's house and Naomi immediately launches herself out onto the pavement. She sways a little and braces against the roof as she waits for Emily. But Emily never follows her out. Ducking down, Naomi peers in and blinks. It's the only thing she can think to do because she'd pretty much assumed what was going to happen tonight.

Emily just stares back, her brown eyes seeming larger and softer than usual in the dimness. "Where's Michelle, Naoms?"

Then it all clicks. Her girlfriend, possibly but most likely ex-girlfriend, is probably inside that very house. In her bed. Maybe she's not though. Emily tilts her head and presses her lips into a sad line. "Go to bed, Naomi. Ring me in the morning, yeah?"

"But–," the blonde starts but is interrupted by the flimsy wave from Emily.

Red hair floats around her shoulder as she shakes her head. "Tomorrow."

She doesn't say anything more before reaching over and pulling the taxi door closed much to Naomi's surprise. She watches it speed off in the direction of Katie's place. When the tail lights eventually fade from sight, she sighs loudly. It has always been something she suspected, but now it was completely evident without question: Emily Fitch is a better person than she could ever be. Glancing up at the bedroom window of her mother's home, she feels anxiety creep under her skin. She blames the chilly night air for the trembling that begins in her limbs and slowly works its way along her spine.

...

The room is dark by the time she eventually manages to summon the courage to open her own bedroom door. She can hear breathing off to the side and she has no doubt who it is. It's still rather surprising that Michelle would be here, she thinks. She must know people still in Bristol that she would have rather spent the night with. Naomi shuffles across the floor so she doesn't trip over any cloaked hazards. Stripping down, she slides in next to the only warmth in the entire room. Her over-sensitive hearing picks up on the change in breathing from the other girl. Michelle's awake, at least partially so. But she doesn't say anything, doesn't even move as Naomi settles down into the pillows. God, it's so fucking familiar. She'd never wanted to be back to this dark, hurtful place, but like a rubber-band, time seems to be snapping back on itself. She doesn't see a haunting vision of Emily now. Just the spectre of her own continual failure.

The uncertainty and anxiousness keep Naomi awake most of the night, even once Michelle has fallen back into a deep sleep.

When she awakens the next morning, the sun is beaming through the window, covering everything with a pleasant warm glow and Naomi wonders if it's an omen. She catches herself crossing her fingers in a wish. She sits up and manages to be shocked again, that Michelle is still next to her. She may be turned away, but she's still here and that's something. Sliding back down under the duvet, she quietly watches the rise and fall of the older girl's bare skin. Steady. Constant. A concept Naomi has difficulty with yet Michelle seems to possess in abundance.

"Chelle?" she tries softly, hoping that the bright morning is indeed a good omen of the day to come.

The response takes a while to drift into the air, and it's almost too quiet. It's unsettling how distinctly un-Michelle-like it sounds. "Don't."

And it's eerily familiar to their previous night's argument. A simple command. Maybe words are too much, too complicated and imprecise. Naomi reckons that is one of her biggest problems really. There just aren't enough words, and she doesn't have the ability to weave those ones she has the same way someone like Effy does, into intricate designs full of meaning and consequence. Naomi's visceral, tactile, clumsy. Useless with words when they actually do mean something but clever with them when they're meaningless. Not like Michelle who bathes in languages, wraps herself in human communication, dances words along her tongue even in awkward social situations. They're opposites in that way: Michelle needs to hear words, Naomi has difficulty forming them. But even then, Michelle occasionally fails too, especially when everything becomes complicated and Naomi thinks back to their first night, how Michelle had behaved, kissed her as a way to beg for acceptance, attention, love. Sometimes it's fine; these strings of verbs and nouns are fucking cumbersome. She reaches out tentatively and runs her fingers along the smooth dip of Michelle's waist. It's heavy enough to imply intent but light enough to be hesitant, as if she can pass the apologies pumping through her blood out through her fingertips. She allows this invisible regret a moment to seep in. Michelle does nothing, ignoring the attempt but to her credit, she doesn't flinch away either. Naomi lets out a laboured breath and flops onto her back again.

Hopeless. Emily was right. She's fucked. Can't want what she has, can't have what she wants. It strikes her rather abruptly that at this moment, she wants Michelle more than ever. Her chest is tight and heavy, her heartbeats seemingly calling out for an answer. The echo is never returned. She just pleads silently for things to revert back, time to reverse and reconcile. If there's some deity up there, perving on her private thoughts, maybe it'll help her out. Maybe she just always wants what she can't have, and that's just the way it will always be. She rolls over so they lie back to back, but she doesn't consider ways to rectify the situation. She just wallows in the lies that the sunshine told her.

...

Michelle is gone when she reawakens. Somehow she'd managed not only to fall back asleep, but to sleep so soundly that it allowed the other girl a perfect escape. She rolls over quickly, glancing at the floor. Her clothes are no longer strewn over the chair, everything is packed up neatly in the pink overnight bag. Naomi is astonished at how heavy she must have been sleeping for Michelle to not only sneak away, but pack all her things as well. The only good sign is that she's not actually on a train back to London yet. She's somewhere in Bristol.

Pulling on a jumper and jeans, she goes about her usual morning routine, almost convincing herself that if maybe she pretends things are okay, they are. Her brush catches in a tangle from the previous night's experience outside Motion. She winces but not from the tug of her hair. Unsurprisingly, Gina is nowhere to be found in the house when she sits down at the kitchen table for some breakfast. She pulls out her mobile finally and curses the shaking of her fingers already. She hovers over Michelle's number but resists. Instead she scrolls through to find Effy's.

It rings. Endlessly. Fucking Effy. She tries Tony and gets his aggravatingly cocky answerphone message. She hangs up. Next comes Sid. There's no answer there either. Fuck's sake. She begins texting him a message, asking if he's seen Michelle. It shouldn't be shocking when she receives no response to that either. She feels as if the entire world has got some memo not to communicate with Naomi Campbell because she's a giant sloppy useless cunt. It's down to the two people most embroiled in her personal drama. Truth be told, she's not really feeling up to speaking with Emily now that she's no longer off her face. It's pathetic really when she realises she just wants Michelle to come by and they can lie about in bed and watch a DVD with the volume down low. Something easy, comfortable and quite frankly with a minimum of talking so she can quell the throbbing of her hangover.

Chelle. She presses talk. Ringing. It's on the 5th ring by the time she gets an answer.

"What?" No hullo, no pleasantries. In fact, Michelle doesn't seem at all pleased which shouldn't be as surprising as it is. But her voice cracks in a way that makes Naomi feel incredibly guilty. Either she had just been, or she was about to, cry. In all honesty, Naomi is a little taken aback.

She hesitates. "Chelle, please. Can you just–?"

"Can I what, Naomi? What can I do for you?" There is the nasty side of Michelle that thus far Naomi's been fairly lucky not to have directed at her specifically. She knew it existed, but that really it was for emergencies only, mostly Tony-related ones, so said Effy. Sort of.

Naomi has no response. She wants to plead perhaps, but restrains herself. She doesn't reckon it'll do much good any how. Not at this stage. She fucked it up and begging now is just too beneath them both.

"You just don't get it, do you?" Michelle asks sadly. She sighs and the younger girl can hear the waver in it. "I can't do any more. I've said it all. It's your turn."

"Chelle, c'mon," Naomi tries. It's a pretty ineffective tactic. "You know I–."

Michelle interrupts again. It's sort of a good thing since Naomi hadn't really thought much beyond those words anyway. "I don't. Not anymore. I don't know anything."

"Please don't do this."

She can hear the deep intake of breath on the other end of the line. "What are we doing, Nome?" It's not very reassuring to realise they're probably equally confused and fumbling. The blind leading the blind.

The blonde doesn't have an answer. She's never really had a clue. She glances up, searching the spackled ceiling for an answer that doesn't exist. The silence says enough for Michelle and the line goes dead. There's a hesitation moving the mobile from her ear, as if in a second the line will reconnect and all will be forgiven. It doesn't happen however and eventually Naomi, defeated, ends her side of the call. She flips through her contacts and settles on the only person she both blames and feels most comfortable with in this situation.

As it rings through to Emily's mobile, she wipes a few tears angrily from her cheek and takes a deep breath. She won't cry. She won't. Not yet. She needs distraction. She needs to talk. She needs Emily.

.


.

They've been doing nothing really for the better part of an hour. Just wandering around the streets of Bristol, chatting like old friends which should feel rather disconcerting considering their still very palpable history. Nothing has been said about the events of the previous night and it's a nice intermission. Naomi knows that it will come to that in time, but for now, she feels like she's reconnecting with a part of her own past that had been such a strong influence, in perhaps the wrong ways. She feels like things are settling into place. Maybe there's a new future. Emily strolls beside her, munching on a Frosties cereal bar and sipping a Coke, and occasionally pausing to say something either terribly insightful and mature, or completely cheeky. This is nice. Like in college when they'd spend hours lolling about on her bedroom floor, talking nonsense and simply enjoying each other's company. Before it all went to shit. Naomi tosses her coffee cup into a nearby bin as they round the corner to her street.

"So Cook and your sister, yeah? What's that like?"

Emily chuckles and scrunches up her wrapper. "Mental. Never seen two people worse or better for each other. It's a gas really."

Naomi considers the comments. "So they get on then?"

Emily stares at her curiously for a moment. "Of course. Really well. What's the point otherwise?" She pauses in thought. "Most of the time anyway. It can be rough sometimes. It is Katie, right."

"Right," Naomi agrees distractedly. She kicks at some pebbles along the pavement and watches them roll away. Emily takes the opportunity to finally press the subject that they have both been avoiding.

"That's just what happens, though. It's hard sometimes. Doesn't mean it's hopeless."

Naomi eyes latch onto Emily's quickly, picking up on the change in direction of the conversation as they walk up to the front gate of her mother's house. "Doesn't it?" She sighs and looks to the sky, taking a seat on the front wall. Emily slides down beside her, watching the blonde sadly.

"Where's Michelle?"

The name appears to sting Naomi and she winces at the sound. She presses her lips together and shakes her head slowly. A shrug of her shoulders is her only response. Emily nods to herself and gazes into the distance.

"Maybe it's better, Naoms. She's not really, like, the right kind of person for you."

The suggestion achieves its desired reaction and Naomi spins to glare at Emily, who is still looking elsewhere. "Don't say that. You don't know. You can't know that." Her tone is incredibly defensive and indignant, yet the sadness she's been holding in all afternoon suddenly seems to choke her up by the end of her last sentence.

There's a hint of a smirk on Emily's lips that Naomi can see from her angle. It's a little infuriating honestly. She was testing. Naomi groans at the realisation. "Christ, Ems." Emily sips her Coke again with a weakly suppressed, cheeky grin. Eventually she turns to the blonde.

"What happened last night?" She waits for a moment. "She left you."

Naomi shrugs. "Yeah, that's about it."

"But what did you do?" There's not really much point in arguing with the assumption, because, as usual, it was Naomi's fault. She should just wear a placard that says "Blame it on me", sign a contract at the beginning of every new relationship that informs the other party that if things get fucked up, it's probably going to be her fault. It would save a lot of time most likely. She sighs, even longer than before.

"I couldn't do it," she states.

Emily takes a moment to think about the response. "Oh." She knows. It's just a habit, a pattern that Naomi follows and there's not really much sense in assuming otherwise. Think horses, not zebras when you hear hoof beats and all that.

The blonde gives a small nod, assuring Emily that whatever she's thinking is probably correct. It was a little peculiar in a way. Both Michelle and Naomi seemed to have their own inabilities. But whereas Michelle's seemed to be manifested more often in the physical side, Naomi's were emotional. Stilted, either way.

Emily finally breaks the silence. "Why not?"

She's answered with yet another shrug and a sigh from Naomi. Useless. She feels useless all over again. Emily shifts a little in her seat.

"Do you really not love her, or are you just afraid to let yourself love her?" she asks softly, prodding Naomi a little bit more.

Naomi scoffs immediately, as if the assertion is preposterous. In her eyes, it kind of is. Love can't be held back by pure will alone.

There's a small chuckle from the redhead and Naomi realises she must have said that last bit out loud. Her face flushes but Emily either doesn't notice, or pretends not to see. "Naoms, if you're anything, it's inhumanly wilful. You do get that right?" She pauses and bites down on her bottom lip briefly as she stares out at the street. "Especially when you're scared." The sadness is all too clear in the comment. "Sometimes I think maybe your name should be one of the synonyms for 'repression' in the dictionary."

Naomi turns to stare at Emily, who is still blankly gazing across the street. "Shut up."

Emily shrugs, unconvinced by Naomi's obviously persuasive argument. "Think about it. I've never met anyone as scared to feel happiness as much as you. Not everything good causes pain, you know." She pauses and shrugs again. "Most of it does. But you're so conflicted even now, it's..." She trails off and part of Naomi wants to hear the rest of Emily's impromptu psychoanalysis. The other half of her would rather not be made aware of yet another shortcoming of her personality, especially from an ex-girlfriend. She considers her mother: her lasting inability to really let them be a family, the fear of it falling to pieces again and how their happiness always seemed purposely placed just out of reach. Usually thanks to perpetual distractions and feeble, often false, justifications. Emily turns to her then, and offers a small smile.

"You've got to let it go."

The snort that erupts from Naomi is sudden and loud enough to cause Emily to jump a little in her seat. "You're letting your Psychology course get to your head."

Emily glances down and fiddles with her Coke can tab, refusing to respond to the comment. "See, wilful. Stubborn as an ass."

The accusation silences Naomi's protests and she chews her lip in thought, looking across the street. She wants to pick Emily's brain about what is supposed to happen next. Is she supposed to try to get Michelle back? Should she take it as a learning experience and move on with new wisdom under her belt? Is Emily hinting at something else? Fucking hell. They sit in companionable silence for a few more minutes, with Naomi's thoughts cascading through her consciousness relentlessly before Emily sighs.

"I know you, Naomi. Better than you do, probably." Naomi turns to meet Emily's imploring gaze. Her heart flutters, but for an odd reason she can't place. It feels like anxiety, as if she's predicted what's about to happen. "I've seen your honesty and I've seen your lies. So tell me, do you really not love Michelle?"

Naomi turns away first and focuses intently on picking fuzz off her leggings. She flicks away the invisible pieces of lint in a steady beat, as if it's a terribly oft practised habit. She wants to say no, she thinks; admit that she really could love Michelle. But then she's constantly reminded that it's Emily that she'd be admitting it to. Instead, she waffles about the subject.

"Do you think you can love two people at the same time?" Her eyes fix pointedly on Emily, and she witnesses those familiar brown eyes widen almost imperceptibly. It only takes a second for Emily to regain her admirable composure.

She takes a swig of her Coke before answering. "Sure. But I don't think it's really all that common. You have to differentiate." She looks hard at the blonde, as if trying to give her some very important piece of advice. "Between what is now, and what was."

Naomi bows her head in acceptance but doesn't say a word. Emily reaches down and takes Naomi's cold hand. "You shouldn't just think you love something cos it can't hurt you anymore, and pretend you don't love something else cos it still can." She threads their fingers together and sighs. "I'll always love you too," she admits softly after a long pause. "In a way. You broke me, stripped me completely helpless though. But you're my first love, Naoms. You'll always be. That doesn't change no matter how many people I love from now on."

"Forever?" Naomi ventures hesitantly, remembering what she had asked so many years ago at the airport. Emily nods minutely and smiles a little wider. "And that's okay?" That's the real question Naomi wants answered, if everything she's feeling is allowed. It could change everything. She sees a glimmer of hope twinkling in what used to be a dark, chaotic tangle of frustration and indecision.

Emily laughs and looks up at the sky, before stealing a glance at Naomi's anxious face. She knocks their shoulders together jovially. "Of course it is, you stupid cow. It's love. It's always okay." The blonde grins in response and squeezes Emily's hand tighter, leaning against her. After a moment of silence though, her mood darkens again.

"Ems... What if, hypothetically speaking yeah, I saw your face whilst I was fucking Chelle that night at Motion? What the fuck is that?"

Emily chokes on the sip of Coke she'd taken in and coughs for a second, patting herself on the chest. She pins Naomi with an intense glare. "That... was probably a drunken panic attack. Christ, Naomi. I don't know. It obviously wasn't something you wanted to see or else everything wouldn't have gone to pot like it did, yeah?" She pauses. "You are such a twat. I thought it was just a college phase."

"So it's not-?"

"No!" Emily interrupts. "Not everything has a great, deep meaning. Sometimes you're just fucked up and overwhelmed." She smirks again, "And you seem quite... prone to that."

Naomi leans back against the fence and considers Emily's arguments. They seem reasonable, possible even. More than possible, really. Most likely. She looks down, rejoins their hands and wonders if maybe things are just always going to be strange and backwards, like she's watching her own life through a mirror. She twists their palms together tighter as a warmth settles into her body. But she realises that Emily's right again because that love they had in college, she doesn't feel that anymore. Something else resides there, a sort of lingering comfort, an understanding. It replaces doubt and fear. Her heartbeat doesn't speed up or flutter when they touch and there are none of those pleasant butterflies flitting about in her stomach. She doesn't feel that heat pooling deep inside her. None of that anxiety. But even so, there's the magnetism, like she never wants to let Emily go. It's just nice. Right. It's just Naomi and Emily, how maybe they had always been meant to be after all.

"You'd better get an A* in Psychology," Naomi muses with a smile.

Emily's lips spread into a contented smile. "You'd better get your girlfriend back."

"Yeah," Naomi sighs, unsure about the potential for that. They sit there, each gazing just beyond. Content in silence and companionship, until a scuffling of feet causes them both to turn.

.


TBC