Author's Notes

Very, very important. If you are squeamish, or if the mention of perfectly natural things that happen to the female body offend you, you might consider skipping the last part of this chapter, or getting someone else to read it for you and edit out all of the eww parts. You have been warned, I am no longer liable.

Warnings: philosophical!Cook, dream sequence, unintentional self-loving, accidental fluid play

Abnormally Attracted to Sin

Chapter 12: Tales of Longing Sway, Lost Without a Verse

By Persephone's Nautical Nun

I wake up the next morning thinking about Cook. He's a strange thing to think about early in the morning, admittedly, but the truth is I have been neglecting him. I mean, this is James Cook, self-proclaimed lady's man, and now he wants to settle down with the most emotionally unavailable girl in the world. He's obviously going through something huge, and I missed it.

Because I'm apparently a self-involved raging bitch.

Unfortunately, I have class in an hour, so it's going to have to wait until later. That's okay, though. I've never known Cook to be the earliest riser in the world.

I call him almost as soon as I step foot outside my class for the day. It's going on one, and I think I'll take him to lunch if he's up for it, or rather, breakfast for him. He picks up after the second ring. "Naomikins!" he greets me in that excitable way he has and I feel the corners of my lips pull into a genuine smile; the first I've had in days.

God, I've missed this boy.

"Hey, Cook," I say, and even I can hear the smile in my voice. "Please tell me you're free, right now."

There's a pause, and when he speaks his voice is tight, and I know he's getting high, probably with Freddie and JJ, and I bite down my disappointment. Well, at least until I actually register what he says. "Okay, I'm free right now."

I perk up. "Really?" I ask, and cringe at how happy I sound. "Well, you want to join me for a bite to eat?" I ask my voice back to normal. "My treat."

"Well, hell yeah," he practically yells into the phone, and I have to hold it away from my ear. "I've been craving some snackage from that little ma and pa joint. You know the one."

I smile and nod before I remember that he can't see me over the phone. "Of course, I know the one," I confirm. I would have to have been living under a rock for the past several years to not know the place. It's Cook's absolute favorite.

It doesn't take me long to get there, but by the time I do, Cook's already there and ordered. I decide that I was correct in the assumption that he was with Freddie, since his famous shed is right around the corner, and on closer inspection, he does appear rather spliffed up.

I plop myself down across from him, and he smiles widely. That's the thing I love about Cook; it doesn't matter how often he hangs out with you, you always get the impression that he's happy to see you. It feels good, and it makes you look forward to seeing him every single time.

"How you do, love?" he asks me.

I shrug, because I don't want to lie to him, but I also don't want to tell him the truth. Honestly, I'm not doing very well at all. I have this intense sexual attraction to the girl I've blamed all of my problems on, and it keeps manifesting itself in the most fucked up ways. "Oh, you know," I say, with a wave of my hand. "I do…"

He looks at me strangely at my complete lack of actual answer, but he doesn't get the chance to mention it, because his food is ready. A hamburger, by the way, and I'm amused that he got one of the cheapest things on the menu. He thinks more about other people than anybody thinks.

I wonder, sometimes, why he keeps his kindness hidden.

"So what's going on with Effy?" I ask, before he has the chance to ask me any questions about Emily, and genuinely curious. This kind of think certainly doesn't happen every day, and I'm not going to let this meeting turn into something about me.

He shrugs, and I wonder if he knows he just tried to use my own stalling tactic against me. "She's scared," he says simply; matter-of-factly. He doesn't even seem upset at all, and I find it all kind of absurd.

"But Cook," I start, laying my hands down on the table. "What about you?"

He looks confused and shrugs again. "What about me?"

"Well, since when do you want commitment? Since when do you request it?" I ask, laughing nervously because the idea of Cook doing these things is slightly unnerving.

He smiles and chuckles and I'm even more disturbed than I already was. "That's where it was always heading anyway," he explains, as though it's common sense. "But she was never gonna take the first step, so it was up to me."

Please. This is Effy we're talking about here. Nothing goes anywhere unless she wants it to. She's even more of a control freak than I am. "How do you know she even wanted to take a step?" I ask, obviously skeptical.

He's quiet for a time, looking thoughtful. He brings his hands in front of his chest, letting his fingertips meet and his brow furrows, and I'm very frightened that he's going to say something profound. "If you don't move forward, then you're just standing still."

Yes, true, but I see nothing wrong with that. "So?" I ask, shrugging. "Maybe some things aren't meant to change."

He looks slightly appalled at my comment, and I think he's trying to figure out the best way to react to it. "If you don't want to go somewhere, if you don't want to do something, if you're completely satisfied with where you are, then what's the point of living?"

I think about this for a moment, letting it sink in. I understand his point, but surely it's not as simple as that. What if we all just kept "moving forward" without any regard to our surroundings and circumstances? It would be chaos. People would be ruined. "But isn't motion without purpose just as bad?" I ask.

Could somebody please explain to me how I managed to get into a philosophical debate with Cook?

These kinds of things don't just happen.

He tilts his head towards me, as though conceding the point, but then looks to think better of it. He pulls one corner of his mouth back and tilts his head from side to side, as though weighing his options. "I have a purpose," he comes up with at last. "I want to be with Effy."

"Okay, but why?" I ask, drawing the last word out. I can feel myself getting frustrated. "I mean, you have to admit, it's kind of out of character for you. You've always said you would never tie yourself down."

It just does not compute.

A sly grin creeps onto his face. "Aw, are you jealous?" he leers, raising his eyebrows in innuendo. All I have to do is set my mouth and arch an eyebrow and he laughs it off before becoming serious again. "See, it's not about tying myself down," he explains, glancing out the window. "It's about Effy. About being with her." He sighs at my blank stare and plows on. "I like the way she thinks; the things she's interested in, and her unusual creativity. It's about how gorgeous she is, I mean the sex is fucking great," he smiles, and I roll my eyes, but stay silent. I know he's not finished, yet. "And when I'm with her, I feel less alone." He breaks his gaze with me and turns it back out the window. "Less lonely…"

I say nothing, because this is a very intense, very personal moment, and I am very much an intruder. When he finally turns back to me, I can visibly see that his mood has lightened. "That's mind, body, and soul, right?" has asks, ticking them off on his fingers. "Well, I reckon that's what it's all about."

I close my eyes and sigh. "Okay," I say with finality. If this is what he wants, and he's sure, then who am I to try to hold onto my old image of him? There's still Effy to worry about, though. She's not going to give in just because he wants her to. "But what if she's not ready," I ask. "Or what if she just plain doesn't want to?"

He pops the last of his food into his mouth and swallows before answering. "Not really my problem," he says, and I feel my eyes widen. He holds up a placating hand, and I wait patiently for his explanation. "She either does or she doesn't, and that's for her to work through. I may or may not be around when she finally comes around, but trying to push her isn't going to do anyone any good."

Well, it turns out that Cook actually knows Effy pretty damn well. Who would have guessed it?

But something's still not right here. Something still feels off, or wrong somehow, and it takes me several minutes to put my finger on it. "It sounds horribly self-sacrificial to me," I say softly. A person can only be pushed so far, after all.

He makes a halting noise and puts his hand up, preventing me from continuing, and he's clearly prepared to clarify something. "I'm not waiting," he says, putting emphasis on the last word. "Not really. But I can be patient and let her pull her stunts until she either comes around, or there's something worth moving on for."

Okay. I guess that makes more sense. It just wouldn't have been right for Cook to waste away, pining his life away after Effy. It wouldn't be right for anyone, really.

"Enough of this junk," he says, waving at me, and it's like he's trying to wipe away the past conversation. "You and I need to discuss Emily." He tilts his head and points a finger at me; like I'm a child he's just caught stealing a pack of gum.

I really don't like the use of the word "need." It's doing funny things to my stomach, and I worry that word-vomit may be eminent. "There's nothing to talk about," I insist, even though I know full well he won't let me leave it at that.

Can't blame a girl for trying, though.

"Look, I'll make you a deal," he says, laying his hands flat across the table. "If you can explain to me why you're not with Emily, then I'll never bring it up again."

I have to admit, his offer sounds tempting. It would finally put an end to all of this nonsense, and then maybe I can finally get some peace. I'll simply explain that while Emily is a nice girl, she doesn't give me the fuzzies, and I just don't think we're compatible. I'll be lying, of course, but he'll have no way of proving that.

Except what actually comes out is, "I slept with AJ."

Well, there's that word vomit.

Though I suppose it could be interpreted as an explanation.

The series of faces Cook makes amuse me, though. He goes from confusion, to contemplative, to realization, a pause, and then it's back to confusion. "Who's AJ?" he finally asks.

I wave a hand in the air. "He's one of Emily's other friends," I explain. "Little tiny American boy."

The realization he had earlier comes back to his face, only to be replaced by shock. "Oh," he says, chuckling and shaking his head. "That's going to create a whole mess of problems."

I sigh and run my fingers through my hair. "I'm well aware," I mumble.

"Okay, look, AJ aside," he starts, making moving gestures with his hands. I think he mostly just doesn't want to talk about it. "What is your deal with Emily? Why does she scare you?"

I shrug and bite down on my thumb nail. Honestly, I don't even know anymore. It's all gotten so convoluted, and backwards that I can't even pinpoint exactly when I lost myself.

"You really are fucked up, aren't you?" he asks gently, and I think that realization just now settled on him. He's not trying to make me feel bad. He's trying to understand, and it makes me want to cry.

"There are just so many things that can go wrong," I explain, my voice softer. "I don't know how to trust her." I've been conditioned not to, after all, and old habits die hard.

He smiles and laughs, and I know he's trying to lighten my spirits. "Okay, I know that getting picked on during adolescence can hinder one's ability to form connections later on in life and all, but don't you think it's time to let that go?" he asks, still smiling. "Think of it as a chance to overcome, and grow, and be awesome."

Sure. Tell me how.

"You know Emily cares about you." It's not a question, but a statement of fact, and somewhere in this tangled mess I call a brain, I know he's right. "Besides, you're not exactly innocent yourself," he points out, and he's right again. "You've put her through the ringer, and she's still around."

"But I don't understand why," I exclaim, arms flailing, and I'm surprised at my own outburst.

Cook maintains his composure, though, almost like he was expecting it. "That's not for you to understand," he says softly. "That's Emily's deal, and decision."

His answer calms me down somehow, and I have no idea why. "Look, bottom line," he continues. "Are you happy with the way things are, now?"

His question knocks the wind out of me as the implications behind it come barreling down and all of the pieces suddenly snap together, and I feel like I've been hit by a train. I look down and shake my head vigorously, afraid to deny it for fear of explosion, and I think I might weep.

Cook reaches across the table and takes hold of my hand, but I still can't look at him. "So then do something to change that."

*****

I'm standing in the middle of a field I've never seen before. I don't know how I got here, but I don't seem to care. I turn my head to look around, and my muscles are slow to respond. Everything seems slow; my breathing, and my heart beat. I'm surrounded by a heavy silence, and if I didn't know any better, I'd say I was underwater.

I hear soft, slow footsteps behind me, but before I can turn around, my eyes are covered by cold, slender hands. "Guess who," a voice whispers into my ear and their hot breath tickles against my skin. I reach my own hands up and take hold of the stranger's and lower them from my eyes, turning to face my companion.

Emily smiles sympathetically up at me before bringing one of her hands back up and laying it gently over my eyes. I don't pull back. I don't even want to. I just stand there and trust her as she takes away one of my senses.

Her lips brush against mine, and then they're gone, and I can start to feel myself sinking. Down and down I go, seeping into the earth beneath my feet. Emily's still on the surface, though, and as I sink below her, we lose contact.

I take a deep breath as I'm swallowed completely, a slightly uncomfortable pressure coming down on me from every side, and I wonder if I'm going to collapse in on myself, bones splintering and tearing through skin, and I really should be more concerned than I am.

It stops abruptly, and the air rushes back into my lungs, making my chest hurt. My eyes open in surprise, and the white light I'm surrounded by is painful. Why does it feel like I've never used a single part of my body?

Something takes hold of my hand, and I look to my side to watch Emily raise it slowly to her lips. Warmth spreads through my palm to my wrist, and down through the tips of my fingers, and I think she might have just put life back into it.

"How did you get here?" I ask.

She looks up at me and smiles sadly. "I'm always here," she explains gently, leaning down and pressing her lips against my wrist. The same warmth from before spreads halfway up my forearm, and I moan at the sensation.

She glances up at me sharply, surprised, but quickly dips her head back down to kiss the crook of my elbow. This time when she does it, she flicks her tongue across my skin, and the warmth spreads faster and further.

My arm feels more like my own, and I run my hand across her cheek, to the back of her head. I pull her towards me, guiding our faces together, needing to feel more of that heat, but she resists millimeters away from me, and I can hear myself whimper. "You're not ready," she whispers, and moves my hand away from her face, laying me down on my back.

She throws a leg across my body and straddles my hips, placing her hands on either side of me to support her upper body as she lowers her head down to my shoulder. I can feel my breath hitch as she grazes her teeth against my shoulder, and trailing her hand down my arm, life-sustaining heat radiating from her fingertips.

I take hold of her face with both hands and tilt her head upwards. She doesn't resist me this time, but meets me halfway. She sighs as our mouths meet, and it makes me lightheaded. I can feel the warmth spread its way through my organs as she slides her tongue against my teeth

She shifts so that she can change position, and she gently slides one leg between my own. She settles her body on top of mine, and the weight of her excites me. I wrap my arms around her shoulders as her fingers flutter from my side down to my thigh.

My eyes snap open as my door bangs against the wall. I look over to find Emily standing in the doorway, seemingly stunned at the scene in front of her.

Can't say I really blame her, though. I sleep naked, and I'm vaguely aware of a warm, thick wetness covering my fingers, but I'm not exactly awake, yet.

Well, this is embarrassing.

She recovers quickly, but she doesn't look like herself. She looks cold, somehow, or hollow. She steps into the room and closes the door behind her, and I'm too freaked out by the surrealism of it all that I don't really react. "Right. Let's do this," she says, quickly taking her shirt off and making her way over to the bed.

The next thing I know, her lips are crushed against mine, and I'm moving my hands to her face, groaning against her mouth.

She grabs hold of both of my wrists, and I can feel her nails dig into my flesh, and I know that something's wrong. She pins my hands to the headboard above my head, and grinds her hips against my own. Her breath is coming in hot pants against my face. Her eyes are closed, and she looks angry.

I start to say something, to tell her to stop, but my words get mangled when she sinks her teeth into the skin at the base of my neck. I know I'll have a welt there in a few hours time, and I wonder if maybe she didn't draw blood. I moan, but not in pleasure.

"This is what you want, isn't it?" she asks tauntingly, grinding herself against me again.

"It was. She's not wrong on that front. But not any more. Not like this. I finally muster enough strength to push her away from me, sitting up so that we're level with each other. My eyes travel to her cheek where I can see traces of my own fluids from my fingers glisten, and I blush as I fight the urge to lick it off her face. "Not like this," I mumble.

She notices me staring, and wipes her cheek, rolling her eyes as she examines her hand. She sighs, and puts her hand down on the bed, trying to discreetly wipe it on the sheet, but I notice it anyway, not that I care. When she speaks, her voice is angry and makes me jump. "Do you even think about the things you say before they come flying out of your mouth?" She stands up and suddenly seems more imposing. "Do you know what it means, Naomi, to want it, but not like this?" she asks, and I can tell that she wants an answer, but I can't seem to make my mouth work.

It's all happening way too fast.

She sighs at my silence, and I can feel her retrieve her discarded shirt from the floor and put it back on.

I will myself to speak, to tell her that I'm not happy, that I want her more than anything, and explain how scared that makes me. But I can't. My tongue has grown three sizes too large for my own mouth, and I can't seem to move it.

"I need to reach the breaking point," she says softly from the doorway. "I can't do this any more."