A/N: Please favourite, follow, alert, review, whatever. You know the drill! This chapter might be slightly longer.
Disclaimer: No, I own nothing.
Previously: Then she drops down to her knees and releases the brush with a thud, and makes electric guitar sounding noises, probably a solo. I'm smiling so much, and it hurts a bit, and I open the door a bit wider to see more, but the door is looser on its hinge much more than I thought, and it swings open, revealing loud creaks, and it almost slams into the wall before I catch it, blushing.
Naomi's eyes bug out of her face.
"Ahem… Wow. Well, that was weird… Me, I mean, I'm a psycho. Fuck!" She looks down at her feet and blushes as well, but even more than me. "Erm… coffee?" She asks, not bothering to look at me, removing her glasses and wiping off the fog that had accumulated.
I trot down the stairs, and I can see her eyes making contact with my own chest.
"Yeah, coffee."
Naomi's POV
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"Sorry, you had to see that. I thought you were asleep."
"It's alright. Where's your mum?"
"Mum? Oh, she… Actually, I have no idea. At least she's gone though, right?"
"I like your mum."
"Hm, she likes you, as well."
"Really she doesn't think I'm trying to take you away from her?" She asks me, swirling her hot chocolate round in the cup with her spoon.
"Psh! No, Emily! Why would you think she'd be such a cunt?"
She smiles up at me, seeming more relieved.
"So, did you change me yourself or did I wake up and do that?"
"Oh, erm… I undressed you- er changed you! You looked a bit out of it, you know? That's not terrible is it?"
She giggles a bit and looks at me with soulful eyes. "No, because it was going to happen sooner later, once you kinda think about it."
Maybe I'm reading too far into this. But maybe she's hinting at something for us. "Em, about what's happened. Maybe we should go over it, yeah?"
"Yeah, alright." We've finished our drinks and now Emily has a cute milk moustache occupying her upper lip. I grab her hand, help her out of the chair, and we walk up to my old room and flop onto the bed, sitting criss-cross.
"So, shall you go first? Or I could?"
"Rock paper scissors?"
"Deal."
"Rock paper scissors!" We both repeat.
Emily pulls scissors; I pull rock, so I go first.
"This might be a bit long. Because, I'm all fucked up Emily. I don't know what to say. No, I do, it's just that… I've never met anyone as nice as you. Or pretty. Except for yours truly of course, but, do we have something? I mean, other than friendship?" I blush, "We've kissed. Loads. It's nice. But, it's also nice just being with you. Drunk or sober, high or not. Sometimes I get drunk on purpose because I feel like if I stay the way I am when I'm not, you'll realize how stupid I am, and you'll fuck off. It's happened before, really. But, I want to know you. More. Even more than what I know you now. I want to know what your family's like, where you've travelled, the most embarrassing moments you've had. I want to make memories with you. And, shit. This is all going too fast. Sometimes I can't stop myself from speaking. And vice versa. I want you to know everything about me. I want to do everything with you. So, I guess what I'm trying to ask of you is, can you? Can we? Can we forget about all the stupid shit I've done, getting stoned in club toilets and kissing you on pissy bathroom floors just because I get jealous too easy? Friends is great, Em. I fucking love it. But, what are we? It's eating away at my insides, you know? Just… tell me, please."
Her mouth is now a thin, closed tight line. She probably hates me, and now she's going to leave. Because, I'm such a cunt, I can't control my feelings. Way to go, Naomi. Fucking ace. "Right, then. Go on, tell me loads." She says, expressionless, brown eyes not boring into mine as much as I'd like them to. I reach for hand, and it's cold, a bit clammy, but still creamy. It just doesn't hold the warmth that Emily carries.
"I was born November 5th, 1988 to Gina Campbell and Nathan Campbell. My favourite sport is skiing, I've owned a shirt with a pig on it for nine years, and I still wear it to this day, mint condition, no fucking joke. My natural hair colour is actually dark brown. I dyed it peroxide blond when I was 16 and I've kept re-dying it, and only recently has Mum thought it would've been a good idea to start copying me. I was actually born in a really small town in Orkney, Scotland. My dad left my mum and me when I was ten years old. I can still remember him a bit. Quite the two protestors they were. He used to have this stupid long brown beard," I recall the memories, smiling in the distance at the thought of him, "And believe it or not, he didn't have long flowing hair, just normal length for a bloke I guess," I say, shrugging, chancing a look into Emily's eyes, which are filled with thoughts, "He had blue eyes, he was six foot three, always talked about how someday the government would realize what mainstream supermarkets would do to the environment, which is pretty ironic, considering the fact I shop at Tesco's," I chuckle a bit. "Anyway, I moved from Scotland when I was 9 months old, moved to Bath, lived there my whole life until I decided to come here. Bristol. What else is there to say?" I rhetorically ask myself, looking down at my crossed legs, fidgeting with my nails. "I don't have any siblings, I'm an only child. I don't play any sports, unless using the remote to find something good on the telly counts. I listen to a little bit of jazz, alternative, nothing too exciting. Oh," I start off, twirling a blond lock, "This isn't my natural hair colour, either, 'case you hadn't gathered." I joke with her, smile playing on her lips. "I used to play the clarinet in lower sixth form. I was fucking terrible to be honest." She smiles at me and I smile back, recalling the memory of my first recital. "For my first concert I played all the wrong notes, got so scared, I pissed myself. I'm not even kidding." Emily tries to hold in her laughter out of politeness. "Oh come on, out with it, I don't mind." I invite her, poking the smaller girl in the cheek.
She laughs hard for at least two full minutes, stopping every five seconds to collect herself, wiping a stray tear from her eyes. Finally, when she's done, her face is all red, pink blotches on her neck, I'm grinning like a fool at the sight of her. I lie back, and rest my head on the pillow. "I like your life, I think. And I also think," She utters, "I want to be a big part of it, as well." She climbs towards me with hopeful cocoa eyes, dazzling in the faint blue sky in which is peeking out of the silhouetted curtains, digging her face between the space between my right side and pit of my arm.
"Ew! You smell bad!" She says, leaping up, cheeky grin gliding on her face. "Yeah?" I ask her, grabbing her by the shoulders and tickling her, "You smell of something, too, Em, and it ain't roses."
Emily's POV
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"We can start slow, yeah? With being… whatever we are now." I look at Naomi and her bottom lip is tucked between her two teeth. She's so cute. And I can't stand it. So I speak my mind. I say it loud and clear in front of everyone. In front of the old woman walking her dog, the man wearing a fedora, a mum and her child, two friends, a group of teenagers, more people, and the crowded Bristolian streets that are black with envy, and cold with disgust, emotion lingering toward every second I take, bringing my pupils up from her mouth to her eyes, and to find she's already there. Already waiting for me to open up the gift that's been sitting there since I met her at Tesco's. Since I wrote my name on her milk, since she bought me chocolate milk, already knowing it was my favourite, since we argued in a not-so-hygienic bathroom, since she told me sincerely that we might not know about each other, but we act like an elderly couple who act as if we are each other's prime soul, heart, and lungs, what we need to stay alive. So I open it. In front of those people. Standing on my tippy toes, I reach up to her lips, and grab her cheeks, sneaking my tongue in. And she repeats the motion back, but crouching.
"I can't stand it, I can't!" I grasp out, struggling to finish my words, pulling away a split second, pressing mine and Naomi's forehead's together, breathing heavily.
"It's okay. You don't have to fight it, Em." She struggles out just as well. We lean against the outside wall of the bike shop, regaining our normal breathing speed.
"Are you hungry? I'm thinking-"
"Candy." I finish for her, with a wicked grin. She locks eyes with me, "That is. Exactly. What I was going to say." She grabs me by the hand, her Metallica shirt and burgundy zip up hoodie flutter in the wind, her black tights wrapping around her legs, black Vans covering her feet.
"Holy shit! I didn't think they made candy like this!" I exclaim, pressing my hands to my cheeks, the tingling feeling dancing across my tongue and never stopping. "Really? Let me try some." Naomi says, leaning in, kissing me, flat out on her mum's sofa with the telly blasting.
"Hm… You're right." Naomi hums, pulling away and wiping some of the cherry red sour filling off the corners of her lips. I blush and Naomi lies down next to me, sort of, in a struggled position. She hands the remote to me and buries her forehead in my shoulder. I decided to save the candy till we got back to Naomi's mum's, and, fuck, is it great. They're soft cherry-like candies, with explosive sour bright red goo inside them. But, of course, Naomi's always sweeter.
Suddenly her phone rings, and I mute the TV, I wasn't really watching it anyway.
"Hello?
"How are you, love?"
"Erm. Good."
"Listen, Naomi, Kieran and I are coming back to the house in twenty minutes, and I'm going to make dinner. Kieran doesn't eat certain animals, so, can you please make sure we have potatoes, lager- What was that, Kieran?" She asks him, trying to muffle the sound of them talking, "Oh, carrots, and beef. Chicken broth, as well." I can hear her say over the phone. I glance over at Naomi, her bored blue shimmering eyes staring up at the olive green ceiling.
"Kieran?"
"Yes, dear."
"Fuck! Mum, no, can't you do that some other time? I've got Emily here!"
"Naomi, you do know you have your own house, right, love?"
"Muuuuuum! I don't fucking-"
"Naomi! Don't you dare use swear words. There's no need to be a twat."
"UGGGHHHHH! Fine, whatever."
"Oh, and, dear?"
"What!"
"Tell Emily I love her."
She sighs exasperatedly and hangs up.
"What's wrong?" I ask her sincerely.
"Mum and Kieran are cooking dinner here, so Mum's kicked us out. Oh, bye the way, she says she loves you." I giggle.
Naomi's POV
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"Let's go, Little Red." I declare, scooping her up in my arms, and carrying her the way to her car. "SQUEEEE!" She screams. I cradle her in my arms like a baby. "And, this, Em, is the part where you take out your keys."
"Where're we going?"
"To mine."
She pulls her keys out from her pocket, and I drop her down to the ground, helping her gain balance and composure.
"So, whaddya wanna do?" I ask Emily, flopping down on my couch, with her sitting beside me. "We could watch more telly, or…"
"I want to finish getting to know you." She replies, her eyes sinking into mine. I check the digital clock hanging up on top of the wall in the kitchen, just above the microwave, which also, strangely, has a digital clock, green letters a-glow. "Sure." I look at her. "Come, we must get the album book," I tell her, attempting a deep Viking voice. Fucking hell am I funny. I grab her hand and lead her into my messy bedroom, and dig in one of my desk's drawers, pulling out a big, leather brown, crinkled book. We walk out of the room in silence, my heart thumping loudly.
I'm a pussy, yes. Only because Emily's going to see something no one else has seen but my old friends in a drunken state and me with reddened cheeks as they scan through myself in a child-like manner, stature, and physical feature, dating back years ago. Me as a child. But for Emily, so it's okay. We sit back down on the couch and lay there. I open up the book, and prop myself up on her shoulder, so she's sitting up, and I'm leaning on her. She takes the book from me, traces the golden words stamped into the welcoming skin. Engraved with yellow speckle is "CAMPBELL TIMELINE", a bit faded. She opens it carefully and looks at the first page which carriers a picture of me as a baby, with a carrot in my hand, wild brown hair covering my eyes, shirtless, but prancing around in a diaper as I try to jam the carrot in the ground. "Haha, is that you? You were even cuter then."
"Hm, tell me about it," I hum. She continues to admire the other pictures, time passing, and now she's on at least the third page. I'm two years old in the picture she's looking at, with longer hair, a white bow in it, and one tooth approaching fast in my lower gums. Emily turns to look at me, her grin telling me what she thinks about the picture. "You're going to take the piss later, aren't you?" I ask her, half joking, half not.
Three more minutes go by, and I'm dozing off a bit when she taps me on the shoulder and points to a boy in the picture. He's six years old, long brown hair, pale skin, light grey eyes mixed with a sort of tinge of an olive green, but they still resembled blue. His hair is brown, messy, short, but long enough to be boyishly styled with gel into a playful faux-hawk. In his hand is a Mars Bar and a mini football in the other, he's kneeling down in the grass, his white knees clearly stained with green, Hawaiian print board shorts clearly too big for him in bright, beachy colours, bright blue waterproof jacket, a white wife beater showing through, as his jacket is unzipped, his teeth a dazzling white, and surprisingly straight, a girl at least three years old, no more, no less, spaced teeth, a goofy grin, hair in a high ponytail, still dark brown, in a one piece pink bikini, white flip-flops, her arm around his shoulders. It looks like they are happy. Their background is a beach with grey sand, a blue ocean, orange sun about to set, sky a dark purple, hazy with orange, as well.
Emily's staring at me, looking confused. "Naomi? Is this your cousin?" She asks me, pointing at him. My reaction is a dead giveaway, already telling her something's wrong. Underneath the picture says in Nate Campbell's scrawly, messy but significant handwriting, in black ink, "NAOMI AND MAXX, CATCHING THE SUN IN AUSTRALIA, MARCH 16TH, 1991"
"No," I say, slowly. My breath hitches and my eyes never leave the photo.
"But I thought you said you didn't have any siblings?" She asks me, confused, tilting her head.
"I don't. He was my brother, Maxxie. He died on my 20th birthday."
A/N: Please keep reading, it means loads for me, and yes, major twist huh?
X gord
