Author's Notes

I feel it necessary to inform everyone that I am awfully American. Therefore, I'm not completely familiar with this education system, or slang. Feel free to correct me at every turn I'm wrong, so that I can fix it. I'll generally try and stay away from slang in general, and I think I got the school thing right, but you never know. Basically, Roundview's over and nothing happened there. Naomi's furthering her education, but I don't think Emily is. Like I said, no idea where I'm going here. Please bear with me.

Warnings: excessive inner monologues, characterization revamp, and lack of direction.

Abnormally Attracted to Sin

Chapter 1: Impeccable Peccadillo

By Persephone's Nautical Nun

I wake the next morning carefully, as though I hadn't let myself relax even in sleep. I had expected to sleep on her couch, but it turned out that she didn't have one. I guess I must have just made that part up in my head. Instead, she helped me up the many, many flights of stairs and slid me into her own bed. Well, I say bed; it's really just an old mattress on the floor with some blankets and pillows thrown on top of it. Hmm… still kind of comfy, though. I was asleep almost before my head hit the pillow. I felt her get into bed with me, but I have no recollection of it.

I'm actually really relieved about that.

But I take in as much of my surroundings as I can, because let's face it, that's just what you do. The walls are green. Like, Irish green, which I find strange for some unknown reason. The baseboards are black, and the paint job is one of the sloppiest I've ever seen. The ceiling's black, and the floors are wooden. I get the feeling the color scheme was done long before Emily got here.

She made the most of it, though. There are really intricate star patterns on the ceiling that look like they glow in the dark. I bet that would have been really cool to look at last night.

There are pictures on the windowsill next to the bed. I move just enough so that I can see them. There's one of her and Katie, and I briefly wonder why they don't live together. I would think that would just make sense. I move onto a big group shot, taken at a pub, and all of us are smiling, except for Effy, who never looks any different from emotion to emotion, crowded around an empty shot filled table. Funny. I can't remember when that was.

I blush as my eyes fall on the last picture. It's not one I recognize. I think she must have taken it in secret. I don't even remember the moment, it was probably so ordinary. But, I'm laughing, and it looks like I've never been happier in my life. My eyes are crinkly in the corners, and incredibly bright, though I'm looking off to the left somewhere, and my hands are clutching at my sides.

I think it's the best picture of me ever.

Doesn't change the fact that it's creepy as hell.

There's a knock on the door before Emily pokes her head in. "Naomi?" she asks quietly, as though she's afraid to wake me, even though that's obviously what she's come here to do. Also, I have no idea why she's bothering to knock if she slept in here anyway.

I don't understand people.

"Morning," I say, sitting up, and then wishing I hadn't, clutching my head as a migraine set on.

Emily pads her way into the room, bringing a bottle of aspirin and a glass of water with her. She's already up and dressed, and I really wish I knew what time it was.

"It's nearly noon," she explains as I down a few aspirin.

That's fucking scary.

"Anyway," she continues, moving to the center of the room, as though she's afraid to be too close to me. I'm not complaining. I think I need a little space. "I didn't know if you had anything you needed to do today, so I thought I should wake you to find out. If not, feel free to sleep more, I just didn't want you to miss anything important."

Is she nervous?

She wasn't nervous last night. Was she?

No. She knew exactly what to do every step of the way. She wasn't nervous then.

Maybe it's the drugs? Maybe they affect her differently than they affect me. Maybe they give her the confidence to act the way she wishes she could. Though, all they do to me is make me feel insane, and hot.

"How are you so chipper?" I grumble, pulling the pillow over my head.

"I'm sorry," she says, and I can feel her coming closer to me. I guess I knew it'd be coming eventually. She yanks the pillow away from me, and I glare at her in surprise. I'm not really upset with her, it's just habit. I sneer a lot. "Have you met my sister? I learned how to party ages ago."

"Oh, magic party guru, please share your wisdom," I say, slowly and evenly, and without any inflection at all. I also threw in a slight eye roll for good measure.

She's hurt, but not a lot, and that's exactly what I wanted. She backs up again, heading for the door. She makes to leave, but turns around halfway through, saying, "You should probably take a shower. It'd make you feel better, and the hangover fumes are killing me."

Operation Keep Emily at Bay… successful.

I don't mean to be such a bitch. Really, I don't. It just seems to happen naturally. Though, to be fair, I have been conditioned to keep everyone at arm's length. It's just that I've always been the butt of some joke since middle school, so I'm paranoid that literally everyone is out to get me.

I was hoping I'd grow out of that, but here I am, out of college, and I'm still no better.

There's a certain brand of my bitchiness that I save specifically for Emily, however. It's not right. I really shouldn't. She's so nice, after all, and sweet. She'll obviously go out of her way to help you out if she thinks you need it. She'll even apparently take you home, and take care of you after you've ingested so many chemicals that you don't know what's up and what's down, regardless of whether or not you treat her like a bitch.

So, really, I know I'm a horrible person for treating her the way I sometimes do, like just a moment ago. It's just that I can't seem to stop myself. She is the root of everything.

Hmm. Now, that's an interesting thought. If Emily is the root of everything, then essentially, Emily is the reason that I am the way that I am. I owe my person to her.

Because honestly, do any of us really belong to ourselves?

I don't like where this train of thought's going. Better to derail it now, than let it get to its destination. I'm sure there would be at least three more trains waiting to deport at that particular station. It's just not worth it right now.

It's just not worth it ever.

I open the door and find the bathroom easily. Emily didn't exactly live in the nicest apartment. There were only two doors, aside from the front door, and those were to the bedroom and the bathroom. I was standing in the bedroom doorway; therefore, the doorway to my left must be where the shower's kept.

It's when I'm standing in front of the mirror, taking in the bags under my eyes, and the terrible state my clothes are in that I realize my dilemma. I've been out dancing for most of the night before, and then I slept in my clothes. There was no way I was going to feel even remotely clean if I had to get right back into them after my shower.

"You know what," I call, making my way to the living room. The living room and kitchen are separated by a breakfast bar, and I find her hunched over the other side of it, eating a bowl of cereal. "I don't have any clothes here. Maybe I should just go ahead and go home," I explain, pointing to the front door.

"Don't be silly," she says, swallowing her mouthful of cereal. "You can just borrow some of my clothes." She's smiling, and I know that the exchange in the bedroom has already been forgotten.

"Emily, I'm like half a foot taller than you."

"Really?" she asks, feigning shock. She sets her spoon down in her bowl and comes from around the counter. "I had absolutely no idea," she says, standing in front of me, brow arched in challenge. She moves before I can call her a smart ass, and I follow her towards her bedroom.

She's already rifling through her drawers by the time I get to the doorframe. I hadn't noticed from the bed how small her dresser was. It was hard to imagine all of her clothes fitting into it.

She shoves a few articles of clothing at me, and I'm clumsy at catching them. "The pants are long on me, and the t-shirt's a one size fits all thing."

"Really, I can just go home. You don't need to do this," I say, shaking my head, but smiling at her effort.

"Do you really wanna make the trip in the state your in?" she asks, looking at me disbelievingly. She's got a point. It's midday, and I look a right mess.

"Fine," I say, and head towards the shower. I probably should have thanked her. I'll do that when I'm finished.

She was right, though. As soon as I stepped into the shower and under the warm spray, I felt infinitely better. The heat helped relax my sore muscles, and awakened my senses. Things started becoming less foggy, and my body finally started to feel like my own again.

Though, now, looking in myself in the mirror, I can't say I really look like myself.

Emily changed almost immediately after college graduation. Well, at least her wardrobe did. Gone were the days where people who didn't know any better could get her and Katie confused. Katie was still the fox she always was, but I'm not quite sure how to describe what Emily's become.

I don't want to say that she's become all boyish, because she really hasn't, but her clothes have gotten more masculine. She can typically be found in a pair of slacks and a band tee of some sort. Her clothes are all still very formfitting, though, even if they accentuate lines rather than curves. If you looked closely enough, you could usually see just a hint of hip sticking out, or the way her stomach flattens out under her rib cage.

I can see the appeal of the androgynous style to some girls.

The pants are dark and swishy. That's really the only way I know how to describe them. Despite what Emily said about them being long, I still have to wear them just above the inappropriate line for them to look even halfway decent. I'm not used to my hips being this exposed. The shirt is tight, but I was expecting that, since it's a stretchy one size, and is black.

I'm sure it would look great on Emily, but I just can't pull this look off.

When I head back out into the living room, Emily's sitting on the floor, back leaned against the breakfast bar, legs outstretch, with a book in her hands. "Thanks," I say, smiling even. "For everything. Letting me sleep here, and the shower."

She smiles, and I get the sinking suspicion I may have just made her day. I hate it when she looks at me like that, like I'm some wonderful creature, and she's never seen anything like me. I swear I'm not that special. "No problem," she says, and stands up, putting her hands behind her on the counter, and bracing herself on them.

I wonder if she knows what that pose makes her body do, the way her chest sticks out ever so slightly, and makes her shirt rise up to show a strip of flesh at her midsection.

Whoa. Where the fuck did that come from?

"You know, if you don't have anything to do today, maybe we could hang out," she says, shrugging a shoulder, and trying to act nonchalant. I almost believe her, but there's still a glimmer of hope in her eyes that I can't quite ignore. It rubs me the wrong way.

"Oh, I can't," I say, forcing myself to look disappointed. "I've got coursework I really should be getting on with."

"Coursework. Right. University," she says, nodding along with each word. Her voice audibly drops. An actress, she is not. She pushes off from the counter and makes her way over to the front door. "Well, good luck with that," she says, opening the door for me.

"Thanks," I say, offering a polite smile. "Maybe some other time," slips out of my mouth before I even think about it. I want to take it back immediately.

Why do I do that? Why do I constantly make sure that she'll stick around somewhere in my orbit? It just doesn't make sense.

"Sure," she says, but doesn't push.

"Right. Well… bye," I say, suddenly awkward. I breathe a sigh of relief when she shuts the door behind me.

Now, if I can just make it down these many, many flights of stairs, I might actually survive another day.