Author's Notes

Okay, I seem to have a thing with shorter chapters these days. I'm sure they'll pick back up soon. We're in the last stretch of this fic, now, though I'm not sure just how many chapters are left. Ballpark figure, maybe around five. Could be less.

Though, I'm getting really excited and geared up for Octahedron. It'll be great.

Warnings: fluff (because everyone deserves to be happy for a little while, right?), clunky dialogue shifts masked as characterization, Emily exploration

Abnormally Attracted to Sin

Chapter 18: Almost Decorated

By Persephone's Nautical Nun

Getting to know Emily is turning out to be an adventure I'm more than happy to take. It seems that I'm finding out something small, and commonplace, and absolutely breathtaking about her every day. I got to class only to will the time away until I can be with her again. I never thought I would be this wrapped up in anything, let alone another human being, but all I have to do is think about the quirky way she talks out of the side of her mouth, and I turn into the schoolgirl I never got to be.

As the days go on, my trepidation eases away, and I wonder not for the first time why I ran from this for so long. Sure, there are times when I feel like I'm falling, but it's more exhilarating than anything.

Still, I've got to land some time, and I've been doing nothing but picking up speed. I can't imagine the landing will be painless, regardless of where that might be; whether she catches me or not.

I'm lying in the middle of the living room, thinking about the nature of our relationship when she steps out of the bedroom, waving a book in the air. "Katie told me she couldn't find this," she says, a playfully curious expression gracing her features, and I find myself smiling in response to her good mood. It doesn't take much these days. "But I found it right where it always is," she elaborates, coming to stand next to me and nudge me in the side with her toe. "So how can that be?" she asks, tilting her head and pretending to look thoughtful.

My smile widens and I bite my lip, quickly reaching up to grab her wrist and pull her down on top of me. She lands clumsily across my torso, and takes a moment to reposition herself so that she's lying on her side with her shoulder and arm across my tummy, with her head propped against her hand. "I was kind of reading it," I explain haltingly from between my teeth, looking at everything but her when I see she's talking about Gonzo.

She chuckles through her nose, and buries her face in my shirt, and a small warm wave comes over me. She still thinks it's funny that I lived here in her absence. Looking back on it, it kind of is. "You don't say?" she asks as she looks back up at me, and I push us up as I bend towards her and kiss her.

This is getting easier to do, being open like this. For a while, I let her initiate everything. I was still unsure of myself, of where the line was, or even who it belonged to. I guess I still am, but I told her I'd try to let myself go with the flow, and that's what I'm going to do. So, now when I want to kiss her, I just do, and they never get boring.

"How'd you like it?" she asks curiously when we pull away from each other and settle back down to our original positions.

"I thought it was fantastic," I say, shive3ring as she starts to trace intricate patterns along my ribcage. "Like how he used to type out his favorite books just to see how it felt to write them."

She smiles warmly and extends her arm towards the floor, laying her head down on it, and my hand moves to hers, tracing the lines of her palm with my fingertips. "Yeah, it's a pretty good book," she says, her eyes looking at something far away. "Katie got it for me a few years ago, back when I thought I wanted to be a journalist," she explains with a wave of her hand.

I smile at the mental image of Emily working for some underground music magazine, interviewing kids with wildly colored hair, leading the next musical revolution. Or maybe a vicious truth seeker for a huge publication that starts to collect restraining orders as her career grows. "I never knew that," I say, fingering the ends of her hair. "But you don't anymore?" I ask, an eyebrow rising.

She shrugs and sighs lazily. "I guess I still do," she says, shifting to her back and using my abdomen as a pillow. "I just want to do other things, too. I feel like I can do anything, and I can't pick just one."

I move my hand down to her stomach, and slide it under the hem of her shirt, stroking her skin, and smiling at the shudder it elicits. "So, why don't you try them all out?" I suggest, inching my fingers higher, and I can feel her breathing slow and deepen.

"Not enough hours in the day," she says dreamily, closing her eyes and raising a hand to slide across my waist, and I can feel the want in her touch. This is a skill neither of us knew we possessed; with nothing more than a few well placed touches, either one of us can turn the other into an incoherent mass of nerves. Her fingers find my skin, and her nails rake across the place where my jeans and shirt meet, and I want her so much that the conversation is quickly forgotten.

*****

"We seriously need to get a table," I grumble, running an agitated hand through my hair. I'm currently hunched over the bar, trying to read this chapter for school, and both my back and legs are killing me. I already moved from the floor, where my shoulders and arms caused me so much discomfort that I had to get up. I don't know what I can try next.

"Maybe we can get Shane to take us thrift store hopping this weekend," she suggests, brushing her hand across my hip as she moves past me to the refrigerator, opening it and pouring herself a small glass of orange juice.

I look up at her and arch an eyebrow. I hadn't noticed my own use of the word "we" but when she said it, it sounded remarkably loud.

"What?" she asks, swallowing and throwing her arms out, looking at me as though I might eat her face off. Then again, I just might. "We need a table," she says, shrugging and taking another sip of her orange juice.

Well, technically, I need a table, and she could get by just fine without one, but that's not the point. I swallow whatever absolutely ridiculous thing might be coming, and look back down at the book. My insanity will pass if I ignore it long enough.

As if sensing the impending doom, she comes and stands close to me, her body half covering mine, and she bends her head around me to get a better look at the text. "What are you working on, then?" she asks, her tone light, and I can already feel myself relax.

"Mm, politics," I say, and she grins and rolls her eyes, backing away from me. She never was too keen on the subject, though she listens with apparent interest every time I go on one of my rants. It's hard to tell if she's just humoring me, or if she just prefers the way I talk about it. I have a tendency to get riled up.

"I want to go back to school," she says offhandedly and making her way to the living room side of the bar.

"So why don't you?" I ask, not looking up from my work.

I can see her elbows come to ret on the counter, and I know she's bent over, resting her chin in her hands. "I can't afford it," she mumbles, and this causes me to snap my head up.

"What do you mean?" I ask, my brow furrowing in confusion. "I thought your parents were loaded. Katie sure doesn't look like she's having any problems," I point out, trying and failing horribly to keep the disgust out of my voice, thinking about her fucking car that I know she didn't pay for.

She sighs and lowers her head before moving away from the bar, keeping her back to me. "They are. And she's not," she says, and her voice is hard to read. "It's complicated," she finishes, and I can see her shrug beneath the fabric of her over sized t-shirt.

Okay, I have to admit, I don't know what my next move is supposed to be here. I'm curious. I really am, because I think this might have a lot to do with who she is, and I find myself craving that kind of knowledge these days, and asking might earn me bonus points. Then again, her body language doesn't exactly scream "Open!" and I'm afraid of inadvertently pushing her away by trying to pull her closer. It's a difficult decision, and one I have to make very quickly or the moment will pass, and then it won't matter anymore. "Tell me about it," I say gently, hesitatingly, and close my book silently. I make no move toward her, though, afraid of crossing a line.

She doesn't move for a minute, then rolls her head and turns to face me, and her face is light. "I guess it's not that complicated," she says with a slight smile, and I don't think I've ever been more impressed by anything in my life. "It came down to living by Mum's rules, or living on my own," she says, hooking a thumb into the front pocket of her slacks and shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "Obviously, I chose the latter," she finishes, gesturing around us.

"So they don't help you at all?" I ask for clarification purposes, and she shakes her head. "And Katie's cool with that?" I ask, trying to keep the anger out of my voice. Emily hates it when I talk badly of her sister, but it's a habit that's proving rather difficult to break.

Her eyes widen and she shakes her head vigorously. "No, she hates it just as much as I do," she says quickly, realizing that I had come to the wrong conclusion, though she should have known I would have. "She even offered to move out with me," she explains, taking a step towards me. "I just wouldn't let her."

Okay, I'm confused again, because now I'm pretty sure the two of them get along, and I can't imagine why Emily would deny herself the help of her sister. "Why not?" I ask.

A small, sad smile creeps across her face, and her eyes focus on something very far away before she speaks. "I saw no reason we should both suffer over something nobody has control over," she says, and I feel a strange sort of tightening in my chest. "I've had to talk her out of leaving countless times since I did," she muses, mostly to herself, and her smile grows into one of amusement.

I suddenly have much more respect for Katie Fitch than I ever thought possible.

Something's still not quite adding up though. "So then why does she still make homophobic remarks from time to time?" I ask, thinking about that time in the pub a while back. When was that? Two and a half, three months? Something around there.

At this, she actually smiles and makes her way over to me, though the bar still separates us. "If you pay attention, they're not actually homophobic," she explains. "They're just severely anti-Naomi. I don't know if you've noticed, but she fucking hates you."

"That fact hadn't managed to escape my observation," I deadpan, eyebrow arched.

Her smile lessens but doesn't fade and she tilts her head slightly. "We would have absolutely nothing to fight about if you weren't around," she explains, and I fight the urge to flip her off. "Besides," she says, pushing away from the bar, her tone completely different. "My degree would be absolutely useless, anyway."

It takes my mind a minute to jump tracks, and remember what she's talking about. This is something I find absolutely wonderful about Emily. I can never just go into a mental coma, because she's always switching moods and topics so frequently that I have to pay attention. It's fun, watching her thoughts run away with her, and it's even more interesting to join in the adventure. "How can any degree be useless?" I ask, skeptical.

She raises a finger into the air, level with her face and grins devilishly at me. "By being one in Philosophy," she explains simply, and I have to admit she's got a point. No one gets paid to sit around and ponder, anymore.

"Philosophy?" I repeat, the scoff escaping before I can even register its existence.

She just laughs good-naturedly and runs her hand through her hair, though. "Yeah, see? Completely worthless," she reiterates, and shrugs. "I just think that a strong base in philosophy is the first step to being truly successful in anything. The world would be a better place if everyone studied philosophy."

This is the first time I've ever heard Emily talk like this, and the effect is intoxicating. She reminds me a bit of myself, or maybe the version of me that she sees. "Why is that?" I ask, smiling warmly.

"Essentially, a philosopher defines life," she explains, and I nod. "If we all had a definition, even if they differed; if we all had a purpose, I think it would eliminate a lot of the chaos in the world," she says, and her eyes glaze over at some idealistic vision. "People wouldn't be so lost…"

I make my way around the bar and over to her, sliding my arms loosely around her waist. She smiles at me, coming back from wherever she went to. "But religion, and war, and natural disasters are still out there, I point out as gently as I can.

"Well of course," she says, smiling and grasping my arm. "But if you know how the world is supposed to work, if you know what you want from it, it's easier to traverse it," she explains, and it makes a lot of sense. "It would ease a lot of the everyday madness created by people searching blindly for something to give their life meaning."

I can't help it. I kiss her, running my fingers across her cheek. "I think I'm going to tell my mum," I say after slowly breaking the kiss.

There's a tiny twinkle in her eye, but she's quick to extinguish it, and I hate that she's afraid to get her hopes up with me. "Tell you mum what?" she asks, feigning confusion rather well.

"About my fantastic girlfriend, of course," I say, as though it's the most obvious thing in the world. I guess it kind of is, and as much as it scares me, I'm beginning to realize that I'm more afraid of not having her in my life. She looks sideways and bites her lip, so I continue. "We're together, Emily," I explain, and she meets my eye again. "We have been for a while. I just didn't want to admit it," I finish with a lame shrug, and her smile is radiant.

*****

My mother, as it turns out, doesn't give a shit.