Author's Notes

Sorry about the shortness of this chapter, but this really is all the story there is between the last chapter and the next. And since the next chapter looks like it may be a doozy, I figured it would be better to cut this one off here, and start the next one afresh

A companion ficlet told from Emily's POV has been requested a few times, and while I'm not planning on writing a companion piece exactly, I am kicking around the idea of a sequel told from her perspective, so you may be able to get to know her through that. Actually, I'm fairly certain I will be doing this, and calling it Octahedron, using The Mars Volta album of the same name as inspiration, so feel free to go listen to that and get a feel for the tone it'll have.

Alright, I think that's it.

Warnings: stalker!Naomi, the return of Bryan, name dropping

Abnormally Attracted to Sin

Chapter 13: Shut Out and Confined

By Persephone's Nautical Nun

I don't know what's going on, anymore. I'm starting to get the feeling that Emily's dropped off of the face of the earth altogether. She won't answer any of my calls or texts, and there never seems to be anyone home every time I go over there. It's not even that she's just ignoring me, there's a certain stillness from within that can't be faked.

Nobody seems willing to tell me anything, either, though I'm sure none of them know, apart from Katie, and I think this is one of those rare secrets that she'll keep from everyone. I know there's no chance in hell she'll tell me a goddamn thing.

I assume Emily is with her "Lost Boys," as I've so dubbed them, but I don't even know where to start the search for them, so that knowledge doesn't exactly do me much good.

So I've taken to stalking her apartment building in my spare time.

Fuck off.

Day three and I've been out here for hours, hoping to intercept her either coming or going. I never do, and I don't know why I still bother.

Except there's something strange in the air tonight, and I'm curious to know what it is. I look down the street, catching sight of a cigarette cherry bobbing in the quickening darkness, and it hooks my attention. The figure walking towards me is hunched over, and lanky, wearing a simple black hoodie with the hood up, and it kind of makes whoever it is look like they might walk into a bank one fine Monday morning and go on a massive killing spree.

Yet, somehow, I'm not disturbed.

As the figure comes closer, it becomes evident that it's male, but it's not until he's passed me, either not noticing me, or simply ignoring me, that I recognize him as Bryan, and I follow him up the stairs.

"Go away," he says evenly without looking at me, sliding a key in Emily's door and letting himself in. He's obviously not expecting me to listen, though, since he leaves the door open.

"Where is she?" I ask, leaning against the door frame of her bedroom, and watching as he rifles through her drawers and shoves random articles of clothing into a bag.

"I'm sure she would have told you if she wanted you to know," he explains, pushing past me and making his way into the bathroom.

"I need to talk to her," I tell him, and I do my best to keep the panic out of my voice. He's tossing toiletries in the bag along with the clothes, and I really don't like the way this looks.

He examines a box of tampons carefully before putting them in the bag as well. Yes, Bryan, she's a girl. Girl things happen, on a fairly regular occurrence, I might add. He moves to stand in front of me, and his eyes are intense, and not at all the color I remember them being. His eyes had been a very clear blue when I met him, but now they're darker, and shaded with green. "It's not about you," he says, working to control his own voice, before shoving his way past me again and out into the living room.

I follow him, balling my hands into fists, my anger rising. "Look, you don't understand," I start, watching him opening and rifling through her cabinets. "You don't know what's happening," I try to reason as he pulls out a can of coffee.

I don't even want to know, really.

He slams it down on the counter and turns to face me, and I think he's just lost whatever control he might have had. "Goddamnit," he yells, and I jump. He looks significantly guilty and lowers his voice, though I think I liked it better when he was loud. I have to actually listen in order to know what he's saying, and it only makes it harder to hear. "I don't have to understand. I don't even want to know what's going on. All I know is that she asked me to come get some of her things, because she knew you'd be here, and would rather keep just the clothes on her back than to talk to you."

He picks up the coffee can and walks back into the living room, looking around in quick survey. His eyes fall on Emily's guitar, and he seems indecisive about something. He finally walks over to it and picks it up by the neck before turning to face me again. "That tells me that she doesn't want to hear whatever it is you have to say." He takes a few steps towards me, looks directly into my eyes, and says, "So just fuck off."

And before I know, I'm left alone in Emily's apartment, and I feel my legs buckle beneath me. I don't bother trying to fight it as sobs get ripped from my chest, and the tears come like blows.

I wear myself out eventually and slowly make my way to her bedroom, using the wall as support. I literally collapse on her bed, and bury myself under the covers. The linen smells like her, and I press my face into her pillow, and I never want to leave this place, again.

*****

It's a little over a week later, and I've already moved in. If anybody had told me a month ago that I'd be living in Emily's apartment, Emily or not, I'd have fucking laughed in their face.

Yet, here I am, afraid to wash the sheets because I'll lose the smell of her.

Yeah, I know. It's a little creepy.

It wasn't planned. I never actually meant to move in here, it just kind of happened. The first night turned into two, and then it became easier to bring a change of clothes so that I didn't have to go back home to change and get ready to go to class. Eventually, my things just accumulated, and now, here I am.

It's temporary, though. A landlord is going to wanting rent eventually, and I won't have it. The place will be cleaned out, and all of the remnants of Emily will be tossed away forever.

I guess I just want to keep her around a little longer.

But the end of the month isn't for another two weeks, so I try to push the thought out of my mind until it matters.

Effy's been by, once or twice, to try and talk some sense into me, and get me to leave, but it didn't do any good. I know what I must look like to everyone. I'm the sad little loser who can't deal with the consequences of her own actions, and isn't it pitiful that she wallows in the source of her own misery?

To be honest, I think I would be even more miserable away from here. I feel like a grieving loved one who can't leave the room of the deceased. There are relics of some old life that I can't bear to move. I feel like I've gotten to know Emily through the things she's left behind.

Her music collection has been the most enthralling for me to explore. I never knew her tastes were so eclectic. Sure, I knew she listened to a lot of underground stuff, but her collection is completely genre defying. I've been on journeys through kaleidoscopes with The Mars Volta, then up through space with Boards of Canada. My hands itch to touch her as Portishead and Massive Attack reintroduce me to my own sexuality.

But my favorite was moving through the underworld with Amanda Palmer and Tori Amos, and it's no wonder that she's got the presence she does if these are the women she's listening to.

Her books fascinate me as well. I wasn't surprised to find the entire Sarah Waters collection, but the presence of Tolkien took me by surprise. I also wasn't expecting to find so many biographies; Elizabeth Wurtzel, Dave Pelzer, Augusten Burroughs, and perhaps the most telling, Hunter S Thompson. That last one doesn't shock me nearly as much as I think it should.

I'm lying in the middle of the living room, smoking a spliff, reading Gonzo, and losing myself in the sounds of Lunar when I hear a key sliding into the lock. The only time I lock the door is when I'm home, since I don't have a key myself.

I sit up, wide-eyed, hurrying to put the spliff out and look like I belong here. Of course I don't belong here, anyone can see that.

I am so dead.

I catch a glimpse of red, and I feel my heart skip a beat. My stomach drops, however, as Katie steps aside, clutching a small piece of paper. Her hand hips directly to mine, and she's probably already on edge because of the music she had to have heard that shouldn't have been on. "What the fuck are you doing here?" she asks me, disgustedly. She shakes her head, as though trying to rid herself of the image of me. Sorry, Katie, I really am here. "Whatever," she mumbles to herself, and I don't think she actually wanted me to answer her. She looks at the piece of paper in her hand and moves into the bedroom. I don't know whether to call it mine or Emily's anymore.

I follow her because there's nothing else to do, and catch her taking a few of the pictures from the windowsill. She tucks the one of her and Emily, and the group shot under her arm, but doesn't touch the one of me. Katie looks like she's crossing things off on the piece of paper, and I realize it's a list of some kind.

A list that I am apparently not on.

Ouch.

She rifles through Emily's books, obviously looking for something, and it's amusing to watch her get more worked up by the second. She sighs and looks at me. "Where's Gonzo?" she asks, and I'm warmed by the knowledge that she assumes I know.

There was a time when that would have unnerved me.

"Um, I'm reading it," I explain, making nervous gestures to the living room. "I'll just… get it," I mumble, turning to leave the room.

"Wait," she stops me, and I turn back around. Her expression has softened, and I think she may actually be sorry. "I'll just tell her that I couldn't find it," she offers.

"Don't be silly," I say, shaking my head. "If she asked for it…" I let my sentence trail off, not really needing to finish it. The implication is enough.

Katie scoffs, though, and I'm not expecting that kind of reaction. I thought she would have been more than happy to take any connection I have to Emily away, no matter how small, or trivial, or actually completely made up it might be. "If she wants it so badly, she can come back and get it herself," she explains, and I realize that I'm not the only one who got hurt by Emily's sudden and complete disappearance.

"Do you know where she is?" I ask, trying to keep the eager out of my voice.

She sighs and shrugs, flopping her arm against her side. "She safe," she tells me, biting her lip like she's debating with herself over something. "I have to drive a ridiculous length in order to see her," she explains, sounding annoyed.

I guess I would be, too.

I know I'm not going to get any more out of her, so I don't even bother trying to question her further. She looks around at her surroundings, and shrugs, moving past me to the front door.

I feel a chance slipping away from me. It's a slim on, considering who I'm dealing with, but I know I'll never forgive myself if I don't try. "Could you," I start, and the words get tangled in my throat, and it makes me want to scream.

Katie stops and turns in the doorway, looking at me with an arched eyebrow. "Could I what?" she asks, typical Katie attitude back in place. "Spit it out, Campbell."

I sigh and take a moment to calm myself down. "Could you just tell her I'm sorry?" I ask, my voice low.

Her features soften again, and she pulls one corner of her mouth up in a small, sad smile. "Tell her yourself," she says gently, before turning and leaving.

How am I supposed to do that if she won't even talk to me?