Author's Notes
Expect updates to be several days apart. I've started writing by longhand again, and while it's a slower process, I think it's kind of an even trade off, because I'm much happier with the quality. I've given this chapter a theme song, because it came on when I was writing it, and it just seemed to fit in every way. It's called "Lover I don't have to Love" by Bright Eyes.
Warnings: Buffy reference, use of the word "fuckshit," the unfortunate return of AJ, mild heterosexual loving, LSD flashback.
Abnormally Attracted to Sin
Chapter 11: Smash the Best Possibilities
By Persephone's Nautical Nun
I'm amazed at how calm I am on the walk up the stairs and knock on Emily's door. I shouldn't be here. I know that. I shouldn't just be showing up unannounced like this. Hell, if Friday hadn't happened, I still wouldn't have the kind of comfortable relationship with her required for casual swing bys. It's just that I don't think she'd answer any of my calls.
Besides, this isn't verbal.
She opens the door looking flustered and shirtless, and suddenly all of my thoughts go flying out the window as I take in the sight of her black bra and impossibly low pants. Her hair is wet and tussled, and I think that look should be considered illegal.
Calm down. Gather. This makes my job easier, after all.
Her face is hard to read, something between curiosity, surprise, indignation, and annoyance. She opens her mouth to speak, presumably to attack me in some way or another, but I don't let her g3t that far, muffling whatever words might have flown from her mouth with my own.
I raise my hands to her face, sliding one across her scalp to tangle in her hair, and keep her face to mine. I push her a few steps backwards and cross over the threshold, kicking the door shut behind me, and her hands grab at my sides, bunching my shirt between her fingers. I continue to walk her backwards, never moving my mouth from hers, looking for something to brace us against. Unfortunately, there isn't anything in the vicinity, and after a few more steps we go tumbling to the floor, legs tangled in each other.
Well, this works just as well, anyway.
I can't seem to help myself as I slide my tongue between her lips and rake my fingernails across her sides. She groans into my mouth, and she tastes like fresh toothpaste. I flutter my fingers down from her bellybutton to find the button of her pants, working it open.
She mumbles something against my lips, but I can't quite make it out. I'm dimly aware of her hands on my shoulders, but I don't really register them until she's forcing me up and off of her, finally tearing out mouths apart.
I move closer, trying to bring out lips back together, because let's face it, no one really thinks very clearly in this kind of situation. It's only when she roughly sticks her hand out and my chest collides into it that I understand what she's doing, and my brow furrows.
"What are you doing, Naomi?" she asks, and I think she might actually be worried about me, which I kind of think is a strange reaction to have, if I'm being perfectly honest.
I look at her blankly, because I'm fairly certain her question belongs in the Stupid Questions Hall of Fame. Does she need me to draw a fucking diagram?
She looks expectant for a few seconds before smiling slightly and nodding once. "Okay," she says, placing a hand on my knee and using it as leverage to stand. The contact sends waves of tingles through my body, and I can feel myself shiver. "I'm going to go finish getting dressed, and then we'll talk about this," she explains, holding a hand out as though she's afraid I might attack her. Either that, or run. She goes to her bedroom, buttoning her pants on the way.
I don't bother standing up, but instead position myself so that my back is leaning against the wall, and I pull my knees up to my chest. I sigh and run my fingers through my hair in an attempt to calm myself down.
I should leave. I should leave, now. Fuck, I never should have come here in the first place. I knew no good would come of it, but here I am anyway. And now the talking is going to be even worse. It would be so easy to stand up and walk out right now.
So, then, why don't I?
Emily comes out wearing a black wife beater and all thoughts of leaving run far away as I catch sight of the way it makes her shoulders look. She eyes me wearily, arms crossed tightly around her torso. "So," she says, sitting down cross-legged in front of me. "You mind telling me what that was all about?"
Not particularly. I wrap my arms around my knees, curling myself into an even tinier ball than I already was. I catch a glint behind her eyes, but she doesn't move.
Strange.
"Naomi." Her voice is soft and coaxing and makes me want to run screaming in the opposite direction. Unfortunately, there's a wall behind me.
"I think we should have sex," I mumble, and I think she actually didn't hear me.
"What?"
Oh, please don't make me say it again. I clear my throat and try again. "I want us to sleep together," I say, more clearly.
Her eyes widen, but she's quick to fix them. She nods slowly and presses her lips together, and I can tell she's trying not to react further. "Okay," she says, and her voice is higher than she meant for it to be. She clears her throat before continuing. "Why?"
This is the hard part. It's all very convoluted, and I know I'm not going to be able to explain it right. "It's just that… well, after the other night and all…" I trail off and make upwards gestures at my throat, like I'm trying to herd the words up and out of my mouth. "It woke something," I say at last. "And I think it's going to drive me crazy if I don't explore it."
She nods, and it's obvious by her controlled expression that she's trying to listen to me objectively and understand, and I wonder briefly what would happen if she listened to me otherwise. "Go on," she urges.
"And I think things could go back to normal if I can just…" Again, I find myself searching for words.
"Get it out of your system?" she finishes for me with an arched eyebrow.
"For lack of a better term, yeah," I answer, hating the way it sounds.
She starts to laugh. I mean really laugh. She's doubled over and clutching her sides and her laugh is bordering on a cackle. I'm afraid she's going to have trouble breathing soon if she keeps on this way.
"What's so funny?" I ask, masking my defensiveness with slight deadpan annoyance.
She puts her hand out, palm facing me, and tries to calm herself down. "You do know that line of reasoning is straight out of Buffy, don't you?"
No, I can honestly say that I was unaware of that face. I shake my head, looking lost.
"Yeah, those characters wound up getting engaged," she explains, still chuckling. "That line of reasoning is ridiculously flawed."
But it made so much sense when Effy explained it. Then again, everything makes sense when Effy explains it. Girl's got a gift for words and manipulation.
Wait just one goddamn minute…
Fuckshit!
Emily's looking at me now, and she's lost all traces of her previous amusement, and I get the sinking suspicion that something really bad is about to happen. "You know you're a raving bitch, right?" she asks me, completely serious.
"Well, yeah," I say, looking down. The thought had crossed my mind once or twice.
"No, I mean," she sighs and stands up and now it's her turn to struggle for words. She starts to pace and I start to get the feeling that I may have really fucked up. I reposition myself so that I'm mirroring her earlier position, and fold my hands in my lap, head bent and waiting for the oncoming destruction. "Did you ever stop to think about me?" she asks, and my head snaps up to find that she's stopped pacing, and she's now looking at me expectantly.
Of course I thought about her. This whole thing is about her. "Well, yeah," I repeat, gesturing towards her. I open my mouth to elaborate, but she stops me.
"Obviously you haven't," she says, and she starts pacing again. It has a strange effect on me, and I find my gaze lowering again to my hands in my lap. "Because if you had, you would have thought about what your 'theory' would mean for me, and then you wouldn't have bothered coming at all." Her voice is low, and it's evident that she's trying to keep herself in check.
I knew it. I knew I shouldn't have come here. I always knew it in the back of my mind, but here I am anyway, and the worst part is that I only have myself to blame. I could have stopped myself from even knocking on the door. I could have left when she went to go get dressed. But I didn't, and now I'm facing the consequences; consequences that I knew stand almost no chance of being positive. "I should go," I say quietly, standing up. I absolutely refuse to argue. There's no point. This conversation is already past the point of no return, and continuing would just make things worse.
"You know, for some one with so many self-esteem issues, you sure are self-centered," she says as I make my way to her door. Her voice sounds tired again, and I really don't like it.
I pause in her doorway and turn around, somewhat taken aback, and I'm not sure if it's because she just took a stab at my so-called self-esteem issues, or because she called me self-centered.
"Oh, come on," she says, and I guess I must look confused. "Everybody knows you fucking hate yourself except for you."
I sigh and turn to leave. I am not going to stay only to be attacked, and I sure as hell am not going to try and argue about who I am with someone who couldn't possibly have any idea, and besides, what is there to say to that?
I close her door gently and sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. I jump when a loud thud comes from behind the door, and I know she's just thrown something at it.
I steel myself for the trip down the stairs, because my legs feel weak, and they might collapse out from under me at any point. But I can't stay here. I can't stay in the radius of her rage, because I can feel it coming down upon me, like a booby-trapped ceiling in a spy movie, and if I don't get out now, I'll die.
I don't notice it when I pas someone on the stairs, since the only thing I'm thinking about is putting one foot in front of the other and not falling down, but I'm jerked out of my trance when I hear a somewhat familiar voice ask, "So when are you gonna show me that sixth finger?" I turn around to see AJ standing a few steps above me. "Seriously, I'm interested." He's got on his shit-eating grin that I've come to identify him with.
He takes a closer look at me as I turn around and furrows his brow as steps down closer to me. "Please tell me the other guy looks worse."
"Actually, I never even touched the other guy," I explain, and he pulls a face.
"You've got to learn to stand up for yourself," he advises, and part of me thinks he may have a real point. He comes down another step, and I turn my head so that he can get a better look. It's out of habit, mostly.
"I was exhausted. I never would have stood a chance," I defend myself. "Better to flee and fight another day, and all."
He nods and waves a finger at me. "Very strategic of you." He takes a few steps down the stairs and motions for me to follow him.
"Weren't you going to see Emily?" I ask, trailing behind him and pointing back up the stairs.
He offers a large shrug and a head tilt. "Only technically," he says, lifting a finger in the air. "But I didn't necessarily need to see her specifically."
Okay, now, I'm lost. "What?"
He reaches into his hair, presumably to his ear and pulls out a spliff like magic. I swear it was completely hidden; he's got that much hair. "I just wanted someone to smoke this joint with," he explains, waving it in my direction.
I feel like I'm imposing. It feels as though he belongs to Emily in some strange way, and I have no right to him. I mean, he's part of her weird double life, and I don't know what will happen if the two mix. The results could very well be catastrophic.
On the other hand, I think it's important to remember that he is, in fact, a human being who has his own free will, and therefore belongs to no one but himself, and he invited me. It's not like there's some magical force field around their little group that will explode and destroy the world if penetrated.
What's the worst that can happen?
There are some that might call those "famous last words." Except they weren't spoken. Oh, whatever.
*****
"So tell me about Emily," I request before inhaling deeply on his spliff. We're sitting on a bench in the middle of a public nature trail, but hardly anyone ever comes out here, so it's almost like we have the place to ourselves.
He takes a drag and appears thoughtful. I can't say I really blame him. It is kind of a vague request. "Well," he says before exhaling long and slow. I'm trying to figure out why he found it necessary to say one word before doing so. I think he could have waited, but I fear this is going to remain one of life's mysteries. "She's a lesbian. She's hot, and that's always an unfortunate combination." I roll my eyes, but I can't help but chuckle, anyway. He takes a short puff on his spliff and passes it to me before continuing. "She's got a voice that can adapt to almost any genre, and that's why Shane and Bryan are so desperate to have her."
I'm tempted to travel further down this line of conversation, but it's not exactly what I had in mind. "That's not what I mean," I say, exhaling and passing it back to him.
"I know," he admits, nodding. "I'm not really the person to ask, though," he says with a slight shrug. "I don't really know her all that well."
That surprises me. I had gotten the vibe that they were all really tight knit. It's strange to think that even they can manage to get cliquey when there are only four of them, and I tell him as much.
He nods in agreement. "That's just people, though," he explains. "We're drawn to some people, we're repelled by others, and we don't relate the same way to any two people." He shrugs and tosses the roach into the woods. "That's just the way things are."
I'm starting to understand what Emily meant when she said there was more to this guy.
"Anyway, I would recommend asking Bryan," he says, and I'm surprised again.
"Not Shane?" I asked, confused. It didn't seem like Emily and Bryan talked much from the time I spent with them. I was sure she would have been closest to Shane.
"Well, in case you haven't noticed, Shane's kind of in love with her," he explains.
Well, he did wax awfully poetically about how they met. "The thought had crossed my mind, yeah," I admit.
"Well, I can imagine it makes things a little uncomfortable on her end, you know what I'm sayin'?" he theorizes, and jabs his elbow in my direction like we're sharing some kind of inside joke.
Maybe we are.
"Do you think I'm self-centered?" I ask him, and I have no idea why. It's a wildly inappropriate question, and how is he supposed to know, anyway?
He doesn't seem to mind, though, but takes his time in answering, and when he does, it's got nothing to do with me. "I think the only people who aren't self-centered are suicidal."
I let that sink in for a moment, and I have to admit he's got a point, even though I've never thought of it that way before. It makes sense, though, and for some reason, makes me feel better.
This kid really is growing on me.
Of course, it only lasts until I remember the last thing Emily said to me, and I'm not sure I can be both self-centered and self-loathing. Someone once said that contradictions don't exist. That if you're faced with one, you have to check your premises, because one of them is wrong. Who was that?
"So tell me about Emily," he demands, glancing at me and grinning.
I laugh and raise my hand to my mouth to stifle it. I don't mean to laugh, because I'm fairly certain he's serious, it's just so absurd that he should ask me that. I can honestly say I know next to nothing about Emily Fitch. "Why would you ask me that?" I ask.
"Same reason you asked me," he says, looking off into the trees. He turns to look at me and his smile is gone. "You know her in a different way than I do. Which Emily do you know?"
I don't know if it's because of the way he worded the question, or because he seems really wise in this moment, or because I'm just fucking baked and this place no longer feels like a part of the world, but I tell him. I tell him everything, starting with that fateful kiss in middle school. It's funny; I don't even remember how it happened, or how I felt about it, because the kiss itself isn't what's important. It's what happens after. The important part is Katie walking in on us and assuming I had jumped her sister, because no twin of Katie Fitch could ever be anything but boy crazy. I tell him about how Emily never spoke up and told her sister the truth, and all of the shit that got rained down on me for something I didn't do, all of the names I got called that belonged to her, and I never said anything, because my own morals just wouldn't let me out somebody.
Is it any wonder I have problems believing that anyone might actually like me?
I tell him about our time in Roundview, where Emily insisted on my invitation to everything she was invited to until it became habit for me to show up. I tell him about how she used to try to spend time with me by ourselves, but that I'd always find a way around it, and could anyone really blame me for not trusting her?
He agrees that one would be hard pressed to disagree with my line of reasoning, and it feels good to have someone see it from my point of view.
And I tell him about the other night. I tell him about the static that coursed through my body and crackled as she danced with me. I tell him about the creature that woke up in the pit of my stomach when I kissed her.
And I tell him that I think it all might be driving me insane.
And you know what? I feel infinitely better after I do.
"Well, I can't help you fix things with Emily, but I think the best things in life are broken, anyway," he reasons, and I'm trying to figure out exactly what he means. He turns to me and his gross smile is on his face and I brace myself for whatever he's about to say. "But I can help you with you… tension buildup." He raises his eyebrows and glances off into the trees, and his implication is difficult to miss.
This is another one of those moments when I know I shouldn't do something, but I do it anyway. I guess I figure I can't possibly fuck anything up worse than it already is, and what's the worst that can happen?
The best things in life are broken…
It's just that I wonder if maybe he has a point. Maybe my insanity can be reasoned away with something as simple as sexual frustration. It would be ludicrous to carry on the way that I am when a possible cure is sitting right next to me.
As I stand up and reach my hand out to his, I can hear Effy telling me I'm not this kind of girl. I can hear Cook asking what's wrong with me as he leads me through the woods, and I feel like I'm flipping them all the proverbial bird.
Why do I find it necessary to fuck everyone who cares about me?
I feel myself rise up out of my body as he kisses his way down my torso, and I can see the scene from above. I realize that his hair is almost the same length and color as my own, and he's such a small guy, that from behind he can pass for a girl. At this thought, he actually morphs into me. I watch as I go down on myself, and I am shaken.