Author's Note: I intended it to be longer, but I just had to end it where I did. You'll understand when you get to it. It is longer than the last, as promised... not by too much though. I'm sorry, I know, you want more. But hey, each chapter is getting longer than the last, so there is hope. Enjoy.
"Her what?" You ask, taken aback.
"Her boyfriend." Cooks states slowly, eyeing you from across the room.
You blink rapidly, trying to make sense of this new information.
She can't have a boyfriend. No – no fucking way.
"You're fucking with me, right?" You almost plead.
"Sorry, Naoms." He says with a small shake of his head.
No – It's not true.
"I don't believe you." You say defiantly, shaking your head, as you look out the window and see the sun dipping low in the sky. "How do you know?" Your eyes drift back to Cook. "Besides," You pause for a second, deep in thought. "I've never even seen her with a guy."
He chuckles lightly. "Oh – right. I forgot you keep tabs on her."
You shoot daggers at him with your eyes.
"I'm no a fucking stalker, Cook!" You yell, pointing your finger at him, then cross your arms over your chest in a huff.
"Easy, Blondie." He waves his hands in surrender. "Just taking the piss."
"Yeah - thanks, Cook." You say with a scowl. "I really appreciate it."
"No worries, Mate." He replies with another chuckle.
"So, you still haven't told me how you came across this information." You raise your eyebrows and wait, arms still crossed, as Cook pours himself another shot and tips it into his mouth.
He places the glass down and turns to face you, leaning the small of his back against the counter, his forearms resting on the edge on either side of him.
"Katie told me."
"Katie?" You repeat, incredulously.
"Yeah. She told me the last time we – "
"Thanks!" You interrupt him, holding a hand up. "I don't need the fucking visual."
"Suit yourself." He says with a wide grin. "But you're missing out."
"Sure I am." You roll your eyes. "So – that's your idea of pillow talk, then? Discussing the girl you're fucking's, sister?" You ask with one eyebrow raised, a smirk creeping onto your face.
"Well, it's not like I started the fooking conversation." He says, with a scowl of his own now.
"So, what did she say exactly?" You ask, all joking gone, hoping it turns out to be some kind of gross misunderstanding.
"Oh, fook, Blondie." He says looking to the ceiling. "I can't remember it all."
"Please, Cook." You beg. "Just give me something."
He looks at you and sighs. "Alright, alright." Looking to the ceiling again, in concentration, he says, "She said something about this guy that Emily was with years ago, coming back into the picture recently" He looks at you with sympathy.
Your heart sinks.
"Right." You say quietly.
Your eyes drop to the floor as your shoulders slump and your eyebrows loosely knit together.
She's straight.
You sigh heavily and shake your head, causing the room to spin violently.
I'm going to be sick!
"You alright, Naoms? Cook comes over and crouches in front of you, resting his hand lightly on your shoulder, concern etched on his face.
You look him in the eye and request the only thing that can help this situation.
"I need a fucking drink!"
He smiles his boyish grin and makes his way to the counter, grabs the tequila and a shot glass, and heads back towards you. He takes a seat next to you, fills the tiny glass and hands it to you.
"Thanks." You say as you bypass the shot glass and pull the bottle from his hand, taking a long swig.
"Easy, Mate." He says, taping the bottle gripped firmly in your hand. "Jose takes no prisoners."
"Right." You say quietly as you glance down at the bottle.
You take another swig and hand it back to Cook as you look around your flat. At the opened liquor bottles strewn across the counter that separates your quaint kitchen from your lounge room. At the magazines piled haphazardly on the coffee table, the one that Cook pushes to the side of the room every time he drinks to prevent him from stubbing his toe in his drunken stupor. You look at the near-invisible stain on the carpet where you spilt a glass of Pinot Grigio, last New Years. And at the photos hung on the walls – walls that feel as though they are closing in on you. Suddenly this space that feels so safe to you, so comforting - is too fucking small.
"Let's go out!" You practically shout, causing Cook to jump slightly, and look at you stunned.
"You sure, Blondie?" He asks, confirming, as the smile slowly spreads across his face.
You stand up quickly, forgetting, momentarily, just how drunk you are. Your legs wobble beneath you for a second as you turn to Cook.
"Yes, I'm fucking sure. I need to forget this day ever happened. And you are going to help me." You head off down the hall to your bedroom, calling over your shoulder to Cook. "Get dressed. We leave in ten."
Thirty-five minutes later, after you hastily threw together an outfit, traced on some eyeliner and touched up your mascara, you're following Cook through the doors to the club that he frequents, trying desperately to forget about Emily and this boyfriend of hers.
The sound hits you like a wave as you enter. The music forcing thoughts of Emily from your mind as you delve deeper into the crowded room. The lights are dim, and the air, thick with body heat.
Perfect.
Cook carves his way through the mass of bodies, to the VIP room, as you follow along the constricted path he creates. The bouncer guarding the entrance to the room takes one look at you and Cook and steps to the side.
He turns to Cook. "Been a while, Mate" He shouts over the music.
"Yeah. Been doing the rounds." Cook yells back. "Gotta share the Cookie." He adds with his arms out wide.
"No doubt." The bouncer replies with a chuckle. "Well, have a good one." He says as he opens the door.
"Cheers, Mate." Says Cook, as he claps the man on the shoulder and enters the room.
You enter the room to find it has the same lighting as the main dance floor, but the music is a decibel, or two, lower. As you look around you notice there are booths lining the side walls, and a bar along the back. There is also a lot fewer people crashing into you, and inadvertently showering you in their sweat. In all, it still has that same clubbing feel to it, without the irritation factor.
Your eyes are still scanning the space when you notice Cook throw his arms in the air and make a bee-line for the booth in the farthest corner. You wander after him and hesitate, only for the briefest of moments, as she looks at you. Those penetrating, blue eyes, that cut through you like razors. She's sat at the booth alone, with a cigarette perched lightly between her fingers, motionless, except for the smoke wafting gently around her. Her eyes shift from you to Cook.
"Princess." He says with a nod of his head.
"Cook." Her eyes turn back to you. "Naomi." She moves her eyes, pointedly, down the length of your body and back up again. You can almost feel your skin slicing under her scrutiny. Then, in a sort of casual statement, she adds, "You look like shit." Before taking a drag of her cigarette and letting the smoke flow from her parted lips.
"Always a pleasure, Effy." You say with feigned politeness. "You know just what to say to make a girl feel special."
She merely shrugs, so slightly you could almost miss it, with a bored expression on her face.
"So." Her eyes target Cook now, as he callously tries to peek a glance up her near-non-existent skirt. "What can I do for you?"
"Well," He somehow manages to tear his eyes away from her thighs. "Blondie here," he says tilting his head towards you briefly. "Wants to rid herself of the last six hours of her life. And I thought, who better to help, than you."
She eyes you again, completely bored with the situation, it seems.
"So, you're in need of supplies?" She places the cigarette to her lips again, slowly pulling the smoke into her lungs, her eyes still on you, burning through you.
"You bet, Love." Cook answers for you, with a smile.
"What's your toxin, then?" She looks to Cook, finally, and you can't help but feel relieved.
"Whatever you've got."
She reaches for her purse that's nestled beside her smooth thigh, opens the black, leather pouch and removes a small, clear bag, filled with three white pills. She leans forward, holding it between her index and middle fingers, and hands it to Cook over the table.
He takes the bag, exchanging it for cash.
"Cheers, Princess." He says as he opens it and removes a pill, holding it out to you. "Ladies first."
You hold out your hand, and he drops it onto your palm. Eyeing the tiny object, you look from Cook to Effy, a silent question in your eyes.
"It's alright, it's just MDMA." She answers flatly, reading your mind.
You take a moment to decide if you really want to do this.
Fuck it!
You pop the pill into your mouth as Effy hands you her vodka and coke to wash it down. Cook proceeds to do the same, followed by Effy. It's been a long time since you've had the drug, at least a couple of years. The last time was when Cook spiked your drink and locked you in a room with some head-case. You shudder at the thought. Then decide to buy a drink to kill time while the drugs kick in.
On your way back from the bar, you see a vaguely familiar-looking girl with blonde hair bobbing her way towards your booth. You reach the table a few seconds later and stand next to her as she shouts.
"Effy, this place is brill!" She practically jumps up and down, she's so excited, like a fucking kid at Disneyland. "The DJ played the song I wanted and everything."
She hadn't noticed you standing there until Effy looks at you, talking to the girl, "You remember Naomi, don't you Panda?" A small smirk gracing her lips.
You're confused now, because you're sure you've never met this girl before.
"I'm sorry – I don't think – "
"Oh, wizzer!" She shouts, cutting you off mid-sentence. "I haven't seen you since we did the funky gibbon that time." She's grinning like a fucking mental patient.
"The what?" You ask, thoroughly lost, until you realise you've heard that before.
Wizzer - you know that, Naomi.
The drugs are kicking in and your mind is spacing.
How do you know that?
Suddenly memories of you ferociously kissing a girl in a darkened room appear in your mind. Horrid images of you tearing each others clothes off in a drug-induced state.
"You probably don't remember much." She says, with a dopey smile. "You were pretty wasted."
Oh, fuck!
Your stomach drops as you realise just who this girl is. You look to Effy, who's looking at you with mild amusement, then to Cook, who is starting to howl with laughter.
You place your drink on the table and say, "Cook! A fucking word, please." As you reach past Panda and grab his arm, dragging him over to the bar.
"Oi – Easy, Blondie." He says with a wide smile.
"Cook. What the fuck!" You fume. "I cannot be here with that girl!" You look at him with panic.
"It's alright, Mate." He says, soothing.
"No, it's fucking not!" You shout as your voice pitches higher. "You know what happened last time I was on drugs around her, Cook." You say with an accusing tone. "I can't fucking do that again. Not with her." You look over Cook's shoulder as you eye the girl, then back to him "She's fucking mental."
"Jesus, Blondie." He says with one eyebrow raised. "Didn't realise she was that fooking bad in the sack."
"That's not what I fucking meant." You scowl at him.
"So she is good then?" He says with a grin as he looks over his shoulder at the girl.
"That's not – Cook!" You slap him, hard, on the arm, getting his attention. "Fuck sake!"
"Sorry, Naoms." He says with a chuckle, as he turns back to you. "Look. I promise I'll do my best to prevent you from dipping your fingers tonight, yeah."
You cringe at his choice of words and sigh heavily, feeling the effects of the drugs building.
"You fucking better." You point your finger in his face, threatening, before heading back to the booth.
On the way over you see Panda twirling around wildly with her arms outstretched, like she's playing a part in Singing In The fucking Rain. You lock eyes with Cook, mouthing, 'Fucking mental', and he smiles in understanding.
The moment you reach the table Panda stops spinning and grabs your arm.
"We should dance!" She shouts, right in your face, like she doesn't realise just how close you really are to her.
The drugs are coursing through you now. The music is reverberating off the walls and into your body, your heart beating in time with the bass. Your breathing quickens and your mind floats. You need to move – to dance. You need to be surrounded by an ocean of bodies, moving with the beat. You grab your drink and down it in one go, slamming the empty glass back on the table.
Fuck it.
You take Panda's hand off your arm and hold it in yours, pulling her behind you, heading out the door toward the dance floor.
Once on the floor, crushed up amongst a sea of strangers, you face Panda and let the music move you. You raise your arms above your head, close your eyes – and feel. Feel the rhythm, feel the heat, feel Panda's hands on your hips. Not a thought in your mind. You stay like this for what seems like an eternity.
You open your eyes and see Panda smiling back at you. You return the gesture, feeling euphoric, as you turn around, letting Panda press up against your back, her hands finding your hips again. You close your eyes and cover her hands with yours, sliding them up to your stomach, losing yourself in the moment.
You open your eyes and look around, unfocussed. Then you see it - a flash of red in the distance.
Emily!
You tear Panda's hands off your body and start pushing through the condensed crowd.
"Emily!" You scream over the music. "EMILY!"
You search for her frantically, unsure as why you are in such a panic. You just know that you have to find her - have to tell her how you feel. You turn around in circles, glancing left and right, searching endlessly. The beat of the music quickens, the strobe lights pulse faster and faster.
Suddenly you feel a hand softly touch your shoulder and you spin around.
Emily.
The intensity of the strobe lights, coupled with the drugs, cause your eyes to remain unfocused. The intermittent flashes forcing you to close your eyes continually.
"There's so much I want to tell you!" You shout over the music. "I just – I don't know - " You squint your eyes as you try to open them and look at her. "I know you have a boyfriend – but I just fucking can't –"
Oh, fucking hell!
You can't form a sentence, so you do the only thing you can think of. You kiss her.
And it's completely – not - everything you thought it would be.
It's erratic and forced. She pushes her tongue into your mouth, causing you to almost gag. You grab her shoulders and shove her away from you, holding her at arms length. Blinking excessively, you allow your eyes to adjust. The strobes have ceased, and in the opaque light you slowly focus on the girl standing before you. The red hair you expected to see has been replaced with blonde. Those deep, brown eyes you longed to look into are blue and wide with anticipation.
"Oh, wizzer!" Shouts Panda. "We're gonna make monkey again."
Your face morphs from confusion to sheer terror.
"Oh Fu - "
You don't get a chance to finish, as darkness envelopes you, and the drugs take over.
Pain.
That's the first sensation you become aware of. Your head feels like it has an axe buried in it. You can feel the warmth of the sun shining onto you as you slowly gain consciousness. You roll onto your back and carefully place a hand on your head, making sure there really isn't a fucking axe there. Your ears are ringing slightly, your mouth is dry, and your teeth feel like there is a layer of fur on them.
Jesus fucking Christ!
You haven't attempted to open your eyes yet, sensing that the sun will be a bit too much for you right now. As you lay there, mustering the energy to get up, you hear a strange noise mixed in with the ringing. You focus your ears on the sound. It's a soft hum at first, but it gradually gets louder as you concentrate. And you realise at once what it is – snoring.
You carefully peel open your eyes, squinting painfully as the sun burns into them. Once you have adjusted to the light, you turn your head apprehensively and hold your breath, scared at what you will find.
You can't believe your eyes. Your heart rate increases as you start to panic.
No!
You close them tightly and pray that when you open them, the image will be gone.
It's not.
Her blonde hair is splayed over the pillow, her naked back facing up. The sheet resting just below the small of her back, with her right arm and leg hanging off the bed. Facing away from you and snoring like a fucking locomotive is,
Panda!
"COOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOK!"
