The truth is like blood underneath your fingernails
You don't wanna hurt yourself, hurt yourself
By looking too closely
"You sure about that?"
You hear her judgment before seeing it in the reflection of your full-length mirror.
"Jesus, Eff! How the hell did you even get in?!" She responds with a smirk, and continues to watch you from your doorframe.
You're trying to look casual in a loose green scoop-neck tee, your trademark black skinny jeans, and black flats. Your smoky eye shadow and wispy low bun provide a subtle elegance to your look. But then, all it took was four words from Effy to make you question it all.
"Thought you'd want to show off those legs."
You roll your eyes at that. "I'm not trying to show off anything for anyone, Eff."
"Could've fooled me," she quips. You don't bother acknowledging her anymore, and instead chug your wine and put on the finishing touches of your make-up. You hear the flicks of her lighter behind you, and sigh with relief that she'll leave you alone. At least, for a bit.
While eying yourself in the mirror, you say under your breath, "I don't even know why I agreed to go."
"Because you want to see her," you hear from behind you. That was a short-lived reprieve, you think. You quickly regret inviting Effy along.
"Don't make this into something more than it is."
Without missing a beat, she challenges, "What is it?"
"Nothing! Christ. Just leave it, Eff. Yeah?"
"We need to get you laid quicker than I thought. Moody bitch." She smirks, and you are completely exasperated. You grab your keys and wine bottle and head toward the door.
You stomp down to Emily's door, but once you're faced with it, you question whether you can go through with it—seeing her again in so many days. After so many years. Effy slinks up next you, giving you a challenging brow. Out of sheer annoyance, you quickly knock. But all anger leaves you the moment Emily opens the door. She's in a simple black vest top, skinny jeans, and black boots, her fiery red hair pinned up into a pompadour. You immediately wish you had shown off your legs after all.
"You made it!" She leans forward and kisses you both on the cheek. The contact renders you speechless and you stand there incapable of simple automatic processes, like breathing. "Come in! There are some cheese and crackers in the living room, and wine in the kitchen. Help yourselves."
You remember the gift in your hand and lunge the bottle towards her. "Oh, here! Just a little gift to welcome you to the neighborhood," you sputter. You faintly hear Effy's snort behind you, but Emily graciously receives the present and smiles up at you.
"Thanks! That's really sweet of you, Naoms." She locks eyes at you, fully aware of the old pet name that so easily rolled off her tongue. You hope to God that the heat registering on your neck is not actually visible. You give her a small smile, and turn towards Effy. "Wine?"
"Would love some, Naoms." You roll your eyes. Always taking the fucking piss.
You emerge from the kitchen and hand Effy her glass of white wine. You perch yourself on the arm of the couch, actively trying to not chug your glass, and instead listen to Effy's recap of life as a record store owner.
"…listening to pretentious hipster knobs discuss the appropriation of 'Memphis Soul.' Sometimes I wish I could just get paid to listen to my records in peace." As Emily expresses how fitting this line of work is for her, Effy eyes you. "Ah, well, not all of us are made out to be saints, are we, hon?" She affectionately places her hand on your knee.
Emily looks at you curiously. "Oh… I—I didn't realize you two were together." You can hear the faint disappointment in her voice, and it warms you.
"What?! Us? No!" You counter quickly. "Christ, no."
"Oh, sorry. I just thought—"
Effy is quick to clarify, "Oh, no. No one has been able to tie her down for ages." The conversation dies down for a moment. You're trying to understand what Effy's playing at, but you think you know if the relief on Emily's face is anything to go by.
"So Naomi—what is it that you do now?" Emily asks you.
"I work as an advocate for foster children. You know, provide support and resources so they don't have to navigate a fucked up and already isolating system on their own. Mostly case management and some outreach." Emily's eyes are shining at you as you speak. It becomes too much, so you look away.
"What about you? What brings you back to good ol' Londontown?" Effy asks Emily.
"Well, I've been working as a part-time photographer for a local pin-up studio, but spend most of my week nights bartending at a speakeasy on Brick Lane." You can imagine how sexy she would look in both of these roles, but talk of work—particularly her work—hits a nerve you didn't think was still exposed. You can feel Emily's eyes on you, and you struggle to keep your face interested at best or neutral at the very least.
You need to get out of your own head, so stand up and reach for your carton of cigarettes in your back pocket. "I'll just be a tick," shaking the box for emphasis. Emily gives you an apologetic smile and Effy quirks her brow at you.
You quickly stride out the building, gulping the fresh air and trying to take deep breaths. Fuck's sake, you think. You click your lighter, and inhale. You relax your back against the brick building. The nicotine relieves your tension immediately. But this, like much of your peace as of late, is short-lived.
"Mind if I nick one?" Although you've heard it just moments ago, her voice still makes you tremble. You hand her one, and offer a light. You are acutely aware of the proximity of her face to yours, which is further heightened by the focus on her lips. You can't help but stare intently as she smirks up at you and she exhales smoke. You clear your throat and look away.
"Shouldn't you be—you know—hosting?"
"Yeah, well, in the time you left Effy all by her lonesome, she managed to persuade the guys to turn the party into a vodka-fueled rager. They are taking shots as we speak."
At that, you scoff. "Can't imagine she needed to do much persuading." She playfully smacks your arm as you both laugh, and you can see her smile reaching her eyes. For a moment, you feel like you are back at Sarah Belmont's party in middle school. Both of you, leant against the building, sharing a smoke and light banter, with Emily's eyes shining up at you. You feel the air around you getting thinner, your legs feeling just as unsteady as they were that fateful night you shared your first kiss.
"Naomi." She says softly, almost a whisper, and you have to clench your eyes shut at the sound. You can feel her body shift next to you, her shoulder leaning against the brick as she faces you. You feel her fingers graze the insides of your forearms, which are resting stiff at your sides. Your heart starts racing, and the tingling sensation from your arms immediately spreads throughout your body.
"Naoms, I've missed you," she whimpers. Your heads starts racing and you swear you are about to faint. You weren't expecting this, at least not tonight. And you don't know what to feel, so as per, you try to shut it all down.
"Emily. Don't do this." You hope you sound more confident than you actually feel.
"I just—I just want to tell you I'm sorry about what happened—you know—before. It was complete shit—"
"Yeah, it was." You retort. You feel the pain bubbling back up again, and can no longer stop it from exploding.
"I just hope—" you hear you choke out, but it doesn't stop the eruption of anger.
"What? You hope that now that we're living in the same building things can magically go back to the way they were? It doesn't fucking work like that. Things don't work on your timeline. It didn't then, and it doesn't now." You're so angry, but you also can't stop the tears that are now falling. You see her eyes watering, her lips pursed together to keep the bottom lip from quivering. You didn't want this to happen right now. Not like this.
You turn your head away from her and quietly state, "You should get back to your party, and I should go back to my flat. Goodnight, Emily." You stamp it out your cigarette against the brick and walk away.