A/N: Hello again, lovelies. This time I've got a longer update than usual. Hopefully this brings a little clarity to what went wrong in the relationship between Emily and Naomi in the first place. Remember, read n' review! Frickin' love the reviews. I know, I'm gonna get better at that too. So Circle142, HyperFitched, AssassinsLover and Cookie Monster 1992 - if you're reading this; there's a review coming up soon for ya. I'm pretty new here so I haven't discovered all the awesome stories out there yet, but I'm getting there! You're ALL awesome! R&R n' enjoy!
Chapter 10. This Can't Be Happening
I have memories. Vivid memories. Bright memories that is registered in the back of my mind. That still lives inside it. That breathes every breath I take. But today I'm talking about a certain memory. It's a particular matter. It's a subject. A feeling.
It's hate.
I was eight years old. There was this boy. This boy at school. Josh. We were playing as usual in the school yard during lunch break and I had put on my favourite Ramones t-shirt that my grandmother once had given me. She was a total rocker. Fully autographed. Fully everything. And I loved it. I thought I was the coolest kid on the block walking around with it. I probably was.
I remember it so clearly. It was a sunny Wednesday and Judy, my neighbour, who also happened to be my best friend at the time, was home from school. She had the flu. Puking her guts out once every hour. I remember it because I was terrified to visit her that week. I was petrified that I would catch it if I came near her and since throwing up never have been my cup of tea I choose to stay away as far as I could.
Anyway.
We were playing tag, Josh and I, and he was after me this time. He was chasing me like a lion going after an innocent little antelope on the savannah and I ran like I've never run before. And I was fast. Believe me. I was fast. You know, back in the days where cigarettes wasn't even a word in my vocabulary and the fact that you could even be short of breath was an unknown phenomenon for me.
After what felt like hours of running my legs started to give in. I became a bit tired. A bit slower. And for every single second that I gradually started to slow down he came closer. And closer. And closer. When he finally reached his prey, otherwise known as me, he jumped right at me, causing us both to fall down hard against the concrete, ripping my shirt in two during the fall.
He ended up with a broken nose and his lunch bag scattered out all over his face. I never talked to him again after that incident. I didn't even look at him. And he didn't look at me. He was terrified. I hated him. I truly hated him. I still do.
But the point is.. the matter of this is that hate and fury can result in a series of actions you'd never see coming. And I have experienced a lot of those. A lot.
Friday night. Birthday night. Party night. Cook and I decided it would be a good idea to throw a gigantic birthday party at my mansion to celebrate my 18:th birthday. So we did. And here we are. Or. Let me rephrase that. Here I am. Cook has passed out on the couch after our tequila race and there's a Jane Doe lying on the floor beside him. I'm pretty drunk. I'm pretty tired. It's actually almost 3 AM now and people are starting to leave.
I need to find Emily. I need to show her my hat. This ridiculous cardboard hat made out of empty beer boxes that I won after playing beer bong with some guys in the kitchen earlier. I'm heading upstairs. I'm thinking she's probably there. She's probably waiting. She's probably going to surprise me with a gift. I'm going to surprise her with this hat. If she's nice enough, I might even give it to her. She might like it. I like it. I like her.
I'm reaching the door. Turning the doorknob. Opening it. Humming vaguely on a song I picked up on the way here.
"Ems, you in here? You have to see my ha-"I'm standing in the doorway now. Looking straight ahead. Towards my bed. In my own room. Watching. Walking in on something I wasn't supposed to see. Or maybe I was. But I'm taking it in. I'm taking it with me. Etching an unforgettable picture of what that stand before me into my memory.
"What the fuck?!" That's all I can say. That's all I manage to spit out. To throw at her. Wishing I had a burning fireball to toss instead. Wishing I had something else. Something else than this.
"Naomi". It's a statement. Not a question. From a flushed face. A flushed Emily. It's fear. Not surprise.
"W-what are you doing?" I'm becoming speechless. I'm losing my words. No matter how hard I try to grasp them, they keep slipping away. Following the stream that seems to leave me. Draining me. Everything around me is spinning. Pointing at me. Laughing at me.
Everything is happening so fast. World War II could take place in this room right now and I wouldn't even notice. I wouldn't see it. I wouldn't catch it.
She's getting dressed. Pulling up her pants. Straightening her shirt. Clearing her throat. Looking away from me. Wobbling a little. She's drunk. You can see it on her body language. The way she barely can stand. The way she holds her shoulders up. The lack of control. The lack of everything that is Emily.
The guy underneath her has no idea why I'm mad. Why I'm standing there. Why I'm interrupting. Why I'm raising my voice and why the redheaded little bitch he was screwing looks terrified. But he feels the tension surrounding this room. This place. These people.. He feels how the air around him has changed from a hot Bristol summer to a cold Swedish winter. To a freezing version of Dante's inferno.
He excuses himself in seconds. Making his way out. Passing me. Leaving a trail of cheap aftershave and vanilla. Her vanilla. I want to kill him. I want to follow him and break his neck. Strangle him for touching her. Slaughter him for wearing her fragrance. Her scent. For mixing it with cheap cologne. With dirty minds. With himself.
She's not looking at me. Staring down. At her feet. Hoping to find some sort of comfort in her toes. In the carpet. In everything else but my eyes. But me.
"You fucking disgust me." I slur out. Loudly. Slowly. For the sake of it. For the feeling of it. Using my tone to intensify my hatred. My rage. My disappointment. I even think I'm laughing a bit. Chuckling. Shaking my head.
"I disgust you? I disgust YOU?" She's looking at me this time. Letting her eyes show the feeling she's been to afraid to disclose. To afraid to show. To tell. To talk about. She's obviously drunk. Probably drunker than me. "You don't think I know? You don't think I've noticed?" She starts. And I know where this is going. But I'm ignoring it. I'm pushing it away. But it doesn't matter. Not this time. Nothing she says can justify her actions. Her behaviour. Her choice.
"What the fuck are you talking about, Emily? Noticed what? Huh? What?!" I feel this need corner her. To push her into the wall. To throw her into the spotlight. To make her smaller than me. To make her scared. By using my voice. My tone. My eyes. My hate.
"How you look at her. How you long for her. How you keep wishing every time you're fucking me that it was her lying underneath you. Panting against you. Squirming under you. Moaning in your ear. You don't think I see it? It's written all across your face. All across YOU. And you don't even have the dignity to let me go first."
She's raising her voice. Blaming me. Accusing me. It's not the first time. It's not the only time. She's turning this thing around. Trying to focus the light on me. Trying to break free from the unexisting glares.
"Don't even try to turn this thing against me, Emily. Just shut the fuck up. You know that's all bullshit. I've told you before and I'm telling you for the last time. I have never, ever, in my whole life loved anyone the way I've loved you. I've never wanted anyone as much as I wanted you. Until this. Until now." I pause. Shifting slighly. Continuing.
"Danielle is nothing. She's never even been a THING. Never. It's not my fault that you're jealous, Emily. I haven't done anything. You're the one who done this. You're the one who created this mess between us. This gap. Because of your insecurities. I've done everything in my way to stop you from feeling like this. Everything. But what do you do? You go off screwing some pathetic dude as soon as I turn my back away from you for a split second. For what, Ems? For what?! Don't come here and talk to me about dignity." I'm burning. I'm lashing out.
"You've done everything you could? Is this what you call everything you could? If you did everything you could you wouldn't have found me like this." Her scornful voice fills the emptiness. Fills the hatred. Ignites a fire I don't know how to put out. I don't know how to stop.
"Fuck you, Emily. Fuck you."
I can see her tensing up now. I can see her closing in. I can see her giving up. Giving in. Letting go. It's not about this anymore. It's not about a random guy. It's not about my birthday. It's not about Danielle having feelings for me. It's not about me not giving her everything. It's about her. It's about us.
It's about all the things that refuse to work in favour for us. About all the things she fears. All the things I fear. And we both know it. But I can't put this fire out. I can't make out the ashes. I can't stop the world from spinning the wrong way. I can't turn things back. I can't kiss it better. Neither can she. Not this time. And we're burning up. Fading away. And I'm stirring up the flames.
"You're sick. Get the fuck out of here. I never want to see you again. You ungrateful fucking whore. Get the fuck out of my house!"
She's holding my hand. Nathalie. And I'm trying with all the power invested in me to shake hers. I should be saying something. I should be doing something. But I'm still watching in disbelief. I know who she is and I know where I've seen her before. But most of all, I know who she belongs to. And by the tiniest little frown of recognition that settles between her eyebrows she seems to remember yesterday a little too well. She seems to remember me.
So I'm letting go of her hands. My palms were getting sweatier by the second. I clear my throat in desperate need to hear anything else but this quiet tension that has now been built up between us. But she's not looking at me with angry eyes. With loathing eyes. Just with recognition. She remembers the bathroom. She remembers what she walked into. But that's were it stops. She doesn't know about the fires. About spinning worlds and rainy goodbyes. I'm thinking she's better of without it.
My mother interrupts our pleasantries. It's the first time I'm actually grateful for her existence.
"I have a three o'clock meeting waiting in an hour so if we could just get this thing going…"
Well, of course. Her money. Or should I say my money.
Nathalie starts to talk. Her voice is soft. Emily probably likes it. She probably loves how smooth it is against her ears. Like a velvety silk sheet evening every sharp edge around her. But I don't like it. I don't like her.
"Of course, Ms. Campbell. If we could all just take a seat.."
My mother is already sitting down. I can feel Nathalie looking at me. Waiting for me. They both are. I ignore the glares and finally push myself down in one of the chairs.
"So after looking closely at the will Mrs. Campbell left before her accident it clearly states that her grand daughter, Naomi, here" she's pointing towards me. I don't want her fingers anywhere near me. Against me. Aiming me. "inherits what's left of her fortune. Including properties and other belongings of value."
Great news. Predictable, but still good news. I knew she wouldn't let that sorry excuse for a mother get a penny of her fortune. She lived enough off of her as it is. Sure, it's her daughter. But they never got along. My grandmother was always there for me when my mom wasn't. Which was practically all the time.
Suddenly I feel the urge to stand up, point directly at her with my tongue sticking out, like a five-year-old who just knocked a stupid little boys sand castle down because it was a little bit too close mine. But I settle with a grin. A mocking grin. Adding a little mocking chuckle for the sake of it. Just to push her buttons a little bit further. And she's boiling.
"That can't be right, Ms. White. I know for a fact that she left me a savings account containing one million dollars and addition to that, 18 years worth of child support for raising this beast beside me."
"Hey, gold digger, are you sure that the shit you shoot up your face isn't responsible to your lack of brain cells? Because the last time I checked, raising a child didn't mean leaving it at the age of TEN at home ALONE for several weeks at a time when you were out screwing some piece of shit sugar daddy, hoping he'd pay for your Botox injections."
"You little ungrateful fu-"
"Please. Ladies. If you could just calm down for a minute." Nathalie interrupted. Once again with a smooth voice. A calming voice. "Unfortunately, Ms. Campbell, there's neither a savings account or any child support funds registered in your name. The value however of the belongings that has been written in the will, except for the one million dollars that was given to you" she's pointing towards me again. Killing time. "directly after her death, reaches a total sum of two hundred million dollars. All in the name of Miss Naomi Campbell here."
Botox beast is steaming beside me. Rage filling her every vein. And I'm loving every second of it.
"Don't shoot the messenger, mum. It's not her fault you're getting what you deserve."
After having a closer look at the will I signed the papers that were left. My mother left as soon as everything was wrapped up. Cursing silently to herself. Leaving me alone with her. Nathalie. I'm getting nervous. Anxious. And I don't know why. I do know that it shows, though.
"Um, I'm sorry that you had to see all that. I apologize on her behalf. She's totally messed up. Or, we both are as you could see." I have this nervous chuckle. This annoying one that I hate. Emily always used to make fun of me for it.
She looks up at me. Smiling slightly. Here I am. Making friends with the enemy. Wiping out the battle lines.
"Don't worry. I've seen worse. Believe me." I give her a little smile. I believe her. It's her day job. I have no idea what she faces every day. Except Emily. Lucky bastard.
"So.. I don't know if you remember but we me-" I start. And I know she remembers. But I get interrupted as her phone goes off. Silencing me. She throws a quick glance at the caller ID, mouthing an excuse, and answers it.
"Hey.. No, I'm still here. Just finishing off the last papers." I avert my gaze. Focusing on something else. Anything else.
"Can you still pick me up? No, not there. I'm at the Campbell mansion. A huge one on Lincoln Ro-" She probably got interrupted. "Yeah, exactly." She sounds surprised. And I suddenly know why. I know who she's talking to. And the person she's talking to knows every street in this neighbourhood. Especially this street. My street. And my house.
"What? You told me this morning you'd pick me up. I didn't bring my car. What are talking about? What meeting? You don't have a meeting today." She's trying to silence her voice a bit. Trying to turn around without being rude. Without being disrespectful.
"Why can't you just come and get me? You're just 10 minutes away. Knock it off, Ems."
Ems. I hate how her name rolls so easily off her tongue. How she gets to argue with her. To yell at her. To love her. To express it. To show it.
"What? Whatever. Bye". Someone's not getting a ride home today.
"Sorry about that. My ride kind of cancelled on me. So what were about to say?" She asks. She looks tired. Distressed. Regretting for getting so upset.
"No worries. Oh, nothing. I can't even remember what it was." I lie. I'm not in the mood for mentioning it. Talking about it. Coming clean. Showing the cracks. So I keep playing this role. This person. This mediator. This bipolar version of me.
"Ok, well, I'm heading downtown. I could give you a ride if you want?"
What the fuck? What am I doing? Making friends with the enemy doesn't mean "become best friends with the love of your life's new girlfriend". Stupid ass. I am so going to pay for this. I better draw the battle lines back. And I better do it fast.
"Um.. are you sure? That would be great.. I mean. If it's ok." She says.
I'm giving her a reassuring smile. Telling her it's all good. It's all fine. It's ok.
"Of course. Let's go."
So. About hate. I've always experienced hate as one of those feelings I could control the least. A feeling I've never been able to grasp. To rule. To restrain. A feeling whose path I've always become stunned by. That has always surprised me. And as I mentioned earlier, hate and fury can result in a series of actions you'd never see coming. One thing worth remembering is the fact that you never know which way the world is going to turn. Which directions the actions prefer to take. And this was just one of them all. One I've never experienced before, though. But it's just a car ride. Right?
Sure.
But I'm thinking it'll be a hell of a ride this time. In a thousand more ways than one.