Author's Note: Gosh, you guys are really great. I'm glad to see some new readers as well as the lovely returning fans.
Like I mentioned in the last chap's A/N, work is truly crazy right now and I'm happy to report that I've been cast in a professional production of The Addams Family Musical - the downside being that my days are practically 14 hours of non-stop going, 5 days of the week. Regardless, truly love this story and I'm constantly itching to update.
I will say, I had a lot of difficulty writing this chapter. Nothing seemed to exactly... fit. I'm finding walls blocking, what I feel, are important breaks in the story. If anyone would like to Beta or even just pal up and help out with some writing or reading, feel free to private message me or mention it in the reviews. Which, always, are lovely.
The answer is clear to you.
And you never had much of a chance, really. From the very beginning Emily consumed you, despite your best efforts against her, which only seemed to add fuel to her fire. And, Christ, was she ever a fire. Even emulating it in her appearance, at age 16 with shocking red hair. Even now, at age 21 no longer needing to display her inner flame, but still the duller, darker hue of red posed just as dangerous, if not more - her embers ever present, waiting to catch.
When Emily left, she took your home. She burned the house to the ground, leaving you to sleep alone among the ashes. But, you were never one for material things. And you know now, that without her, the house was sort of rubbish anyways.
The good thing about losing everything is the opportunity to start over. Replace what you didn't like, work to recover the important stuff.
Emily could burn all your shit. She was what's important.
"Is this to be published?"
You're refraining from smiling. Or, trying to, at least. You asked to meet her at your usual lunch cafe to scold, to reprimand for mixing your personal life into your career. Honestly, you just wanted to see her. But Emily has caught on and is now relaxing into her chair, the sun peering down, making her squint one eye with an adorable lop-sided grin.
"Up to you."
She's cheeky, confident and expectant. One thing you always loved most about her. Little Emily Fitch, who was no more than a mere shadow of Katie Fitch for roughly half their lives, could be so brazen.
From the first moment you met her, through coincidence you both were hiding out from some shit party full of underage teens. You, not finding anyone worthy of your level of intellectual conversation and Emily, too shy to converse with anyone (and left high and dry by Katie), both took refuge in a tree house in the garden.
For a girl who was so small, so meek and fragile, the power behind her unexpected kiss knocked the wind out of you. And when she pulled away, you could confirm that it was, in fact, you who was shaking, not her. Emily just looked at you with her crooked smile, eyes blazing something fierce.
You had full intentions of holding out, taking small, cautious steps towards anything that was Emily - knowing too well no matter how firm you would try to plant your feet, she was a hurricane.
So, maybe it was the way the sun bounced off her auburn hair, your fingers twitching against your thighs in ache to touch. Maybe it was seeing your flannel tied around her waist in the photograph, now laid between you two on the table. Maybe it was the article written underneath, and her text message that in two words, said it all. Maybe it was the burning in her eyes, no longer shadowed by a fringe like in the tree house, but still the same passion. Probably, it was a combination of everything.
You sigh, crossing your arms over your chest (adding your best scowl, just for good measure), and say,
"You're such, a fucking tit," To which Emily lets out a pleasant chuckle, only cut short by you leaning over the tiny round top and pressing your lips against hers.
You agree to meet Emily at her flat after work - A small step, you think, in moving forward. Given your heavily inebriated state the first (and last) time you'd been there, this time should feel new to you. The thought is scary, fucking terrifying, that, but somewhere between your hasty retreat from her bed and your fleeting wave as Emily departed at lunch, you overcame that sense of betrayal.
The answer became clear to you the night of your birthday. When old habits die hard, and kissing her felt like every puzzle piece had fallen into place, it rang clear.
You could never truly let go of Emily. Even in the pain of her absence, she was there. Her black bar of soap with flecks of wheat grains, perched on your shower ledge. Her guilty pleasure of buying tea boxes, stacked in the pantry - every flavor imaginable, all for a different mood. You clung to your rituals of Saturday morning laundry and Tuesday night TV shows. You continued to fold socks and sleeping briefs that were clearly hers.
What changed all of this from heart-breakingly pathetic to strong-willed, hopeful fate, was when you discovered that Emily held on, too.
In her new apartment - her apartment that was to rid her life of you - did you feel a pang of anger when you noticed all your letters, neatly bound together, and opened? Yes. And upon leafing through a few, you noticed the same return address, only some replacing your 'N. Campbell' with an 'E.S' or 'Cook' above.
But then she just smiled at you sheepishly, and shrugged,
"I couldn't stand not knowing," And when her eyes cast downward, you felt her regret hit you square in the chest like a brick.
She mumbled, "Curiosity killed the cat, s'pose."
So you left the letters, partly ashamed for the desperation held inside each envelope, and partly relieved for no longer being in that position.
When you excused yourself to the loo and your organic, herbal conditioner bottle sat next to her purple, over-priced one, you swallowed down your smile and decided against mentioning it and heckling her.
And after planting yourselves to the couch, the tension, the uncomfortable silences, and the inevitable questions were all answered, until Emily asked you again.
"Naomi," It was almost inaudible. You set down your plate of lo mein noodles, swallowing your mouth full and side glancing her.
"So now, really, where do we-"
"Jesus Christ, Emily, I-" When you see the panic wash over her face, you find it necessary to place a hand on her knee, to comfort.
"I'm yours. I always have been, I always will be. I think, maybe, we're ready. Yeah?"
You squeeze her leg for good measure, and she nods, though she pauses to wipe her sudden tear-stained cheek on her shoulder blade. But then when her eyes lock with yours, her lips turned up in a genuine, blissful smile, you can't contain your matching expression as she says,
"Yeah. I think so, too."
It was she who initiated the first kiss of your somewhat 'new' relationship and, really, you needed it to be that way. You felt you had made up, a bit, for all of the chasing Emily did in your younger years. Though, you can't help but imagine what your angsty, teenage self would have said if she, you, knew that you'd travel to fucking New York City, USA, for that persistent red head.
That is until you hear that low, husky,
"Naomi?" Efficiently snapping you out of your thoughts. You focus in on Emily's hesitant face, bottom lip tucked under her teeth, backing away from its position in between your teeth just a few seconds ago. You manage out an attentive grumble of sorts, a "Hm?" or "Wuh?" Before your brain has fully snapped out of it's snogging fog.
"Where'd you go?"
She's fidgeting with the bottom of her jumper, and you think, Old habits do die hard. Things like Emily's nervous ticks - threading fingers through sweater hems, or her hair, or simply twiddling one hand with the other. The involuntary moan that escapes her the first time you gently pull on her bottom lip with your own, and her automatic response of running her tongue along your upper lip. The way you always, always have opened your eyes first upon breaking contact. And the satisfaction that comes for the split second you see her hazy, love-drunk expression before her eyes flutter open. And even then, the unabashed smile she rewards you with, knowing just as well as you, that you take that moment.
"Just, well - Got an image of how I would've responded at say, 17, if someone had told me this is where I'd be at 22, not to mention how I got here..."
Emily scoffs, and you roll your eyes, tutting at her open acknowledgement of your younger years.
"Careful, Naoms - That reaction right there looked hauntingly similar to the one I'd get when sneaking out the college washroom with you. Channeling your inner teen, are we?"
Her raised eyebrow and cocky grin only stands for a few seconds before she squeals, you having lunged across the sofa, pinning her underneath you.
Leaning devastating close to Emily's lips, smirking when you hear her breath hitch in her throat, you whisper,
"Haven't you heard of a dine'n'dash?" Before quickly sitting up to avoid the thwackdirected towards your bicep.
"Cheeky," Emily's devilish grin and darkened eyes wipe the smirk off your face instantly, her hands wrap stealthily around your neck and pull you downwards to press flush against her chest.
"You love it," You manage to rebut before succumbing to her lips so close to yours.