A/N: Not really a long one, but I figured it was better to publish something than make you believe I have forgotten about the story, which I haven't, but I can't guarantee regular updates I'm afraid. It is, however, still my goal to finish the story. I hope this chapter will shed some light on the reasons behind Naomi's feelings and reactions after the events of the club. A lot of you have questioned her behaviour and feel she should've acted differently, but as I'm sure most of you know, love make us do and feel strange things that even the most intelligent people can't understand. Enjoy :) .

Chapter Twenty-One
How Do I Know

I woke up Monday morning with a horrible neck ache. My new roommates had made up the couch for me after I'd refused their offers to take one of their beds instead. It wasn't their mess that had me fleeing my own flat after all.

"Coffee?" Effy offered. She was sitting on the coffee table next to the couch, studying me.

"Thanks." I frowned as I sat up and took the much needed steaming cup from her.

"Sleep well?"

"Does it look like I slept well?" I asked irritated. I really had gotten the wrong foot out of bed… or the couch, as it were.

"It doesn't look like you slept at all."

She wasn't wrong. In fact, despite being completely drained of energy and sleeping on a rather comfy, expensive couch that I had bought them, I had probably only slept for a few hours at most.

"Yeah, well…" I sighed defeatedly. I didn't know what to say. It didn't take a genius to figure out why I hadn't slept like a baby that night. I'd tossed and turned for hours before finally falling asleep only to be haunted by red heads and tall brunettes in my sleep.

Effy kept her eyes on me with a small frown on her face. "What?" I snapped annoyed. It was way too early and, to put it mildly, I was not in the best of moods.

"Are you going home today?" She asked evenly. Something told me that she already knew the answer to that, but she always liked to push me whenever we disagreed on something.

"Not likely..." I answered as I stood up from the couch and started making my way to the kitchen, away from her.

"Are you going to talk to her then?" Effy pushed further as she followed me into the kitchen. Normally she wouldn't be this pushy, this direct, about things unless she really thought I wasn't making the best of choices.

"Wasn't planning on that either, no..." I sighed deeply as I put the cup in the sink and tried to control the emotions brimming just below the surface of my skin.

Effy didn't say anything else, but she didn't have to. She rarely did, really, since her eyes spoke louder than words ever could, which was exactly the case when I glanced in her direction.

"Well?" I snapped when she still didn't say anything, "Are you gonna give me the lecture I didn't ask for or are you just gonna stand there?"

Her icy blue eyes studied me for a moment longer before she finally spoke, "The world isn't as black and white as you want it to be, Naomi… The world isn't a courtroom where you're either guilty or innocent, despite what you might've been taught in law school."

"I don't know what that means." I sighed tiredly while pinching the bridge of my nose. I really wasn't in the mood for her riddles.

"It means that there's usually more than one side to every case." She answered vaguely before she was about to leave the room, "You're not the only one who's hurting."

And with that, she left.

I hated that Effy wouldn't just give me a straight up answer to what the fuck she was on about. This was usually what she did when she thought I was off track about something. She'd push me a little in the supposedly right direction, but otherwise she'd leave me to figure the rest out for myself. Fucking waste of time it was.

There was no way I was going into the office that day. I could barely function enough to make a second cup of coffee, so I grabbed my laptop from my bag and fired it up, deciding to work from home. It wasn't work that caught my attention, however.

From: Christopher Michael Anderson
Sent: Sunday May 25, 2014 11:54 am
To: Naomi Campbell

Dear Ms. Campbell

The pleasure was all mine, I assure you. My client was very satisfied with the outcome.

I apologise for not getting back to you sooner, but the information you requested took a while to gather and sort through. I must again emphasise the importance of your discretion as the information I've gathered is highly confidential. Nevertheless, I sense that this case is close to your heart and therefore I find myself trusting you. However, as it is highly sensitive information, I can not simply forward it per mail. Let's agree to a meeting in person at my office and we may look through it together.

I must admit that I find myself intrigued by the possibility of making a case against this man as it would be the case of the century. I would be honored to work on it with you, should you so desire.

I look forward to hearing from you.

Your sincerely,

Christopher Michael Anderson
Senior Private Client Lawyer
Ashford & Co.

I was sat on the couch staring at the mail for several minutes after which I spent another several minutes staring at an empty reply. What did I tell him? That I'd changed my mind? But I hadn't, had I?

I looked to my left on the table, to where my phone was placed next to my laptop. I still hadn't turned it on although I'd been very much aware that it had been lying there. I had a hard time admitting it, but despite all the hurt, the anger and the betrayal I was feeling, I missed her.

I kept staring at my phone for several minutes. At one point I even picked it up and started turning it around in my hand as if that would help me make up my mind. It didn't. I ended up throwing my phone violently to the other end of the couch instead before groaning out in frustration at Emily for putting me in this position, for making me have all of these contradicting feelings. It was torture.

"Alright there, Blondie?" Cook asked from the doorway, mouth full of cereal.

It was nearly noon and he was wearing nothing but his trunks while stuffing himself with a bowl of Lucky Charms. He was a bartender, so I suppose he didn't have the same commitments during the day as I did. Lucky bastard.

"Yeah… just peachy." I answered sarcastically with my face in my hands.

"I know what ya need." He continued as he held the bowl to his mouth and gobbled up the rest of his breakfast. Charming.

"Please don't say your cock, Cook, because it's not even noon yet and I'm not in the mood..."

Cook let out a loud roar of laughter, "Good one, babe." He chuckled and waggled his eyebrows suggestively, "You'd like that wouldn't ya?"

I rolled my eyes at him and let out another angry groan before getting up to leave the room. Fucking Cook.

"Aw, c'mon, Princess, I'm just fookin' with ya!" Cook grinned. I stopped in my tracks and shot him an impatient look, "Follow me."

He put the bowl on the table and led me to his bedroom. I warily followed him inside. The room was everything I expected it to be... A complete mess.

"Cook, to be quite frank I'm afraid I might catch something in here, like AIDS, so would you please tell me what the fuck we're doing?" I snapped as I tried my best not to step in a some funky-looking leftover pizza.

Cook ignored my comment as he walked over to a black punching bag hanging from the ceiling and punched it a few times before turning around again, grinning like a fool, "Fucking ace, innit?"

I raised a skeptical brow at this, "What is?"

"This!" He exclaimed excitedly and punched the bag again, "It's the solution to all of ya problems, Blondie, trust me, yeah?"

I made my way to the bag warily, "How exactly is reenacting Fight Club going to help me forget seeing Emily push her tongue down Moore's throat?"

Cook's grin faltered just a bit, "Right, so maybe not all of ya problems, but at least it might help ya manage that anger of yours."

"What?" I snapped angrily, "I don't have fucking anger issues, Cook!"

He raised both of his eyebrows and looked seriously at me, "Don't ya think I know what I'm on about, Naomi? Huh? Don't ya remember the time I spent in jail for smashing the shit out of some kid and fookin' enjoying it?"

I crossed my arms and shot him a scowl. I very much remember that time as it was only Effy, myself and JJ who came to visit him, but I still couldn't see what that had to do with me, "That's not me."

"Maybe not yet it ain't." Cook continued in the same serious tone of voice, "But keeping all of those feelings bottled up inside is gonna end badly one way or another and I ain't gonna let that happen, am I?… now hit it."

"What?" I asked stupidly.

"Hit it!" Cook repeated as he held on to the punching bag with both hands.

I thought about it… maybe he had a point. As much as I didn't think that I was about to go out and completely smash some poor kid's head in, I did feel as though I was being completely consumed by the whirlwind of emotions inside of me. I thought I might go insane if I didn't let it out, so I hit it.

"C'mon, Blondie, is that all ya got?" Cook asked annoyingly, making me hit it once again. He shook his head and went to his dresser to get a pair of hand wraps, "Put these on and hit it like ya mean it, alright?"

I shot him a scowl, but put the hand wraps on nevertheless and hit it again with a bit more strength.

"Yeah, that's what I'm talking about. Again!" Cook encouraged me as he kept holding the punching bag in check as I hit it again and again, putting all of my strength, my anger and hurt, behind it.

I felt the barely suppressed anger flow through my body, to my hands and finally slowly getting knocked to the surface with each hit to the bag in front of me. It was too easy to imagine Moore and Emily together, to imagine Emily's mouth on hers… Too easy to imagine White and Gabriel, even my mother, as I hit the bag over and over again. It felt surprisingly good at first, like a breath of fresh air after being held down under water. I felt relieved.

The thing about anger, though, is that it's usually the lid on a box holding something far more fragile inside. Remove that lid entirely and the thing inside is left completely exposed, unguarded…

I stopped hitting the bag abruptly, "This is pointless!" I exclaimed frustrated, trying and failing to keep the tears from escaping my eyes. Cook was simply watching me, letting me try to find the words I was missing, "I don't… Why did she… I should've never..."

I couldn't string together a coherent sentence, but I don't think it mattered much. Cook didn't say anything still, he simply pulled me to him, kissed me on the head and let me silently cry my heart out on his shoulder.

"This whole thing's a mess." I stated numbly after I'd finally calmed down. Ironically, we were sat with our backs to his bed in the giant mess that he called a bedroom.

"I can't argue with that, Blondie..." Cook answered quietly.

"I don't even know what I thought would happen, you know? It was doomed from the start..."

I'd reached a point where I'd realised that, as mad and hurt as I felt, in the end, I had no one to blame but myself. I knew, to some extend, exactly what I went into when I signed that contract.

"Probably..." Cook simply replied, "But who knows, eh? There may still be hope for the two of ye yet."

I tried to imagine it. I tried to imagine the happy ending. I thought of endless scenarios of how we might sort things out and find that happiness together, but every single time they ended up with Emily's luscious lips meeting Moore's in a passionate exchange… all the while laughing at me.

"I doubt it." I stated firmly.

Cook shook his head slowly, "Always the optimist, weren't ya, Naomikins?"

I couldn't help but scoff at his remark, "I'd be an optimist, Cook… If people didn't suck so much."

He chuckled at my words, but seemed to think them over nevertheless, "Touche..."

"You mean touché?"

"Probably..." He grinned broadly, and as much as I tried not to, I couldn't help the grin appearing on my own face.

"Tosser..." I called him as I shook my head, smiling. One way or another, that boy always knew how to make me feel better.

"So… What now then?" Cook asked after a while, "Are you just gonna give up? Give her up?"

"Do I have any other choice?"

"Ya always have a choice, Princess..."

The words I'd thought myself so many times after meeting Emily seemed almost nauseating to me now, "Not if you ask Emily." I replied bitterly.

"Fook' sake, mate, enough of that." Cook replied annoyed. I frowned at his reaction; it wasn't exactly what I'd expected, "Ya put ya heart on the line and it didn't go as ya wanted, happens, doesn't it? But Emilio did have a choice, and she did choose, didn't she? She chose to protect ya, no matter the cost."

"I didn't ask her to, Cook!" I raised my voice, surprising us both I think. I suddenly felt a somewhat suppressed feeling of guilt wrap around me, "I was just trying... I just wanted to..."

"Protect her." Cook finished for me, "Yeah, that's what ya do, innit? For the people ya care about."

"Care about?" I scoffed, the memory of the kiss still replaying over and over again in my mind, "She doesn't care about me, Cook. She never did."

Cook let out a small laugh, "Blondie, I think she more than cares about ya. I've seen ya together, haven't I? No one's that good of an actress."

Another image from Saturday night came flashing through my mind and I couldn't help but hope that Emily really was that good of an actress. The question was, who was she playing?

"I'm considering taking on White and Moore… Legally, I mean." I told him suddenly, breaking the silence between us, "Is that a mistake?"

Cook looked me over for a few moments before he asked, "Is she worth it?"

"I'm not doing it for her." I replied, but I could taste the lie on my tongue the moment the words left my mouth.

"Bollocks, babe. Try again."

"What if it isn't real, Cook?" I asked him, "What if she doesn't feel the same as I do?"

"What if it is?" He shot back, "What if she does?"

It was a lot of if's and maybes. A lot of uncertainty, and I didn't do well with that. Then again, I hadn't really allowed myself to actually consider the possibility. My mum had always told me that I was so quick to assume the worst, because in the end, it would shield me from the disappointment and pain. I guess I owed that lovely trait to my father.

It was hard for me though to even consider that whatever connection, whatever inexplicable bond Emily and I shared, wasn't just an illusion she had somehow created like she had done with so many others. It was hard to consider that it was real because what if it was? Where would that leave me, leave us?

In the end, it wouldn't matter much if it was real or not because the sad truth was that I didn't trust her. That was my problem. I didn't trust the things she told me or the things she did. I didn't trust her when she told me she didn't want anyone else but me, I didn't trust her touch as her fingers drew affectionate patterns on my skin or when she called out my name in the moment of pure ecstasy. I didn't trust the hidden promise between her lips when she kissed me. Not anymore. She ruined that, and I wasn't sure if we could ever get it back.

"She kissed her, Cook..."

"Well, yeah, she probably did a lot more than that, babe, but -"

"No… It's not…" I tried to explain, "She kissed her, okay? She doesn't do that with… others."

It was like a sudden clarity hit him. Like he finally understood how I felt, or why I felt the way I did.

"Oh." Was all he exclaimed before falling silent. We sat there for a while, just thinking to ourselves before he spoke again, "It's still a pretty simple question though, Blondie… Is she worth it? Yes or no."

It felt far from simple to me, but in a way he was right. In the end, it was, after all, what I needed to figure out. Even if I couldn't trust her, even if I could never be certain that we were the real thing, that we could ever be together, would she still be worth fighting for with all the risks that followed?

As I thought about it though, it hit me that as much as it felt like it, it wasn't just about her. It was about something bigger than her, than both of us. It was about the injustice of it all, about any single man taking away the freedom of others. As much as it was about the way I felt about Emily, it was just as much about fighting for what was right.

"Yeah…" I said, making up my mind, "She's worth it."

Cook grinned satisfied with himself, "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

I shoved him hard, "Fucking wanker." I couldn't help but smile a little though, "So..." I added a moment after, "I'm really taking on the king and queen of evil then? Despite all the warnings everyone, including you, has given me?"

Cook looked thoughtful for only a moment before he answered, "Gotta seize life, do something man, do something that matters. Squeeze the fuck out of every day… And sometimes that means taking a risk, yeah?"

I nodded quietly in response, not completely convinced just yet, but it was a start.

To: Christopher Michael Anderson
Sent: Monday May 26, 2014 23:34
From: Naomi Campbell

Dear Mr. Anderson

I'm very pleased to hear that you'll be willing to share this information with me. I assure you, you can count on my discretion.

I'm also deeply gratified by your offer to help make the case. As confident as I am in my own skills, I can also admit when I need help and I think this might be the time for that. However, like you said, the case is indeed quite close to my heart and I have to warn you that should it come to that, I'll do whatever it takes to put this man and his accomplices behind bars. And like you said, he may not take kindly to that.

I would prefer if we could meet as soon as possible.

Thank you, again.

Yours sincerely,

Naomi Campbell

As I sat in the darkness of the living room with the laptop on my lap, I felt a passion in my heart that I hadn't felt forever. I hadn't felt it since I started law school, since I campaigned for animal rights in middle school or ran for student body president. As much as I knew it was partly because I was finally doing something I always imagined I'd be doing - to make a difference - I knew that it was, for better or for worse, Emily who inspired that passion in me.

A/N: Hm. Better be careful there, Naomi...