Hey guys, thanks so much for all of you, oh my god, you're just lovely. Some of the reviews I've gotten have just made my day. All the reviews I get make my day. Anyway, this ones a bit longer so yay for the readers. I'm leaving for camp on Sunday and, well, no electronics at camp, so I won't be able to update for a while. I think you guys are pretty much used to that with me now anyway. Hope you guys like the chapter!
Naomi
I hate how she's looking at me. It's not like I want to be here. Not any more than she wants to see me at least. More than that though, I hate how she looks. Worse than the first time I saw her. Two black eyes, torn clothes, fresh dry blood under her nose, cuts all over, gripping her side, and I wouldn't be surprised if the reason she's putting all her weight on her left foot is because she can't stand on the right one. I see injured people more than I see cars or trees or buildings; it's nothing new. But seeing her like this is giving me an unfamiliar feeling of anger and injustice; forming in my eyes and edging its way down to my clenched fists like poison; it's unnerving, to say the least. I don't know anything about this girl; but she doesn't deserve this.
I shove my hands in my pockets and straighten up. Christ, why don't I just tell her that I'm about to give her about one hundred and one things to hold over my head. I'm making it obvious enough with how bloody awkward my body language is; I can't even look her in the fucking eye. I'm a member of the fucking FBI. Toughen up, for fucks sake.
"Hi," I manage pathetically.
She glares at me with a face of exhaustion and an expression of annoyance; like she's pissed but almost can't be bothered to care.
"Brilliant," she sighs sarcastically. "Just the fucking person I wanted to see," there's honest resentment in her words. "Well, go on, Run off," she gestures behind herself, "You will anyways so spare me the time and breath it'll take to ask the same fucking questions I still won't get an answer to because-" she stops abruptly and grips her side harder, a small 'ah' hisses through her clenched teeth. She limps towards the wall for support. I rush towards her.
"Easy," I mutter while cautiously trying to support the arm that's she's not crushing against her ribs. Instead of pushing me away like I expected, she grabs my shoulder and grips it unsteadily until we reach the wall.
"I'm fine," she says, letting go of my shoulder and leaning her back on the cold brick surface. She's still a head and a half shorter but I have to admit her strength is imposing. "This is your fault you know," she says calmly, "Because you just had to interfere. I didn't ask for your help. I don't even know who the fuck you are."
She wipes at her bloody nose with the bottom of her torn t-shirt, exposing her stomach and giving me a glimpse of a large gash, surrounded by a multicolored bruise covering half of the left side of her rib cage. I pretend not to notice.
"Naomi," I say informally. She stares at me. "My name's Naomi," I confirm.
She says nothing for a few seconds before shaking her head faintly, "What do you want?"
I was only assigned to this mission yesterday, but twenty-four hours is a lot of stress and dread time when you're facing the possibility that you may have to reveal a fuck load more than you're comfortable with to someone who has every reason to use it against you. Honesty, unfortunately, is my only chance to get her to trust me; ironically enough. I should have just left her to that gang of pink-jacket-wearing, stupid-steroid-taking Barbie's.
"I need your help," I confess uncomfortably.
She pauses for a beat and lets out a single loud laugh of incredulous amusement, "You're kidding?"
I'm glaring at her like I want to melt her with my eyes. "No, I'm not," I tell her in a low aggravated tone, "I'm asking for your help."
She searches my face for any sign of dishonesty. When she doesn't find one the annoying amused smile on her face slowly starts to fade.
"Why should I help you?" She asks curiously.
"Because it could potentially save your- or your sister's –life," I answer like it's the most obvious thing.
"And how the fuck do you know I have a sister?" she asks, her rage on the brim of returning.
"Are you going to help me?" I retaliate.
She opens her mouth; then closes it. She looks at me with fire in her eyes as she opens her mouth again.
"Look," she growls, "clearly, I'm not going to get answers willingly from you so here's the deal: You tell me what I want to know and I'll hear you out."
I let out a heavy breath and lean against the wall next to her. "Fine," I say through a clenched jaw, "Shoot."
"Who are you?" She asks without a second's hesitation.
"I told you my name's Naomi."
"No, no more fucking games. You know perfectly fucking well what I mean. Who are you?"
I rub my face roughly with both hands as my shoulders tense up uncomfortably. Here goes everything.
"My name's Naomi Campbell and I am a secret agent for a very small, undercover organization part of the FBI."
She stares at me blankly for about five seconds before she gives up and surrenders to the laughing fit we both knew was coming.
"You're having a fucking laugh?" She breathes out. "Of all fake stories, of all fake names… Oh my god. That was pathetic, but go on I'm listening, give it one more go."
She's looking at me with amused eyebrows and expectant eyes. I predicted this would be her first reaction, so I brought my badge in preparation. I retrieve it out of a hidden pocket inside my shirt and pass it to her. It looks like a wallet at first glance but once you fold it open it reveals my career status. It's like a driver's license; has my photo and everything.
She opens it with furrowed eyebrows. I watch her eyes scan over everything, every word, every symbol; including the golden badge with the letters 'FBI' bolded in blue inside it. She looks at me with a strange expression.
"You really went full-out with this story, hey?"
It's my turn to get frustrated.
"Jesus Christ, what else do I have to do? What's it going to take to convince you that I am not a bad guy," I say, growing more agitated. "How the fuck do you think I can get away from you so fast? Or how you can never catch me? I'm trained in cardio-and more –that's how. I know your name, where you live, and that you have a sister because I got one of the guys I work with to fucking track you! It's funny, because, I'm telling you something that I'm really not supposed to fucking tell anyone, and for your safety too! I'm revealing to you something so top-secret and important you're probably the only outsider that now knows of it and you don't even believe me. Speaking of which, you can't tell a soul about this little 'story' I'm telling you. Not a single person. No one," I finish my rant with a piercing stare so intense and serious, she swallows nervously.
"Okay," she raises her hands in mock surrender. "Let's say you are telling me the truth," she passes my badge back. "What's my sister's name?" She asks suddenly.
"Katie," I answer confidently.
She studies me for a moment, "Fine, I'll bite for now. So you're a secret FBI agent named Naomi Campbell. What do you want?"
"I need your help with an assignment. It's one of the biggest ones I've ever had to do and you're kind of essential. See, you're not supposed to know anything. You're not supposed to know who I am or that I work for the FBI. I'm supposed to be undercover and befriend you, only, my boss has no idea that we've already met- eh, sort of. I can't tell him because he'll actually probably fire me. There's a lot relying on this project. If he knew I've already met you that would mean I would have fucked up the mission before it even started, which wouldn't have impressed him. So I'm asking you to trust me." Her eyebrows shoot up at that, "Hang on," I say before she can interrupt, "Hear me out. Do you know Frederick Mclair?" I ask eagerly.
She groans dramatically, "Yeah, I know the prick of which you are speaking."
I feel some pressure lift off my shoulders. Things are going according to plan.
"He's a prick alright," I say. "Do you know who he is, Emily?"
"My sister's thirtieth boy toy," she says, looking disgusted.
"He's a part of a very dangerous gang, Emily."
She doesn't look surprised; she looks excited. "I knew there was something dodgy about him! I fucking knew it!" She looks genuinely satisfied before her expression hardens. "I'm going to kill him. I swear to fucking god if he hurts my sister-"
"He's not going to hurt Katie," I interrupt, "That's what I'm here for. I would just grab the dipshit and throw him in jail but the whole point of this assignment is to get him to trust me. I'm trying to get some inside information here."
"Alright, fine," she shrugs, "Why do you need me?"
"I need you to get us acquainted; introduce us. Pass me off as a new friend of yours and arrange get-togethers, preferably at their house, that'll give me a chance to go through his stuff."
She raises an eyebrow, "Right. Why can't you just introduce yourself, or use Katie? Why am I being sucked into this shit?"
I pinch the bridge of my nose and exhale slowly; she's worse than my mother. I briefly explain to her everything Kieran told us about what happened to the others and why going through Frederick or Katie directly isn't the best idea.
She looks at me intensely once I've finished, "You're actually serious?"
"Yes, Emily. I'm a good guy, I promise. I'm trying to help. I figured that much would have been obvious, you know, considering our first encounter."
Her eyes scrunch shut tightly as she slowly rubs her temples. She looks absolutely beat; in more than one way. I know it was that same gang of girls that did this to her. I feel a rush of fury go through my body, but it quickly dissolves at the sound of her tired laugh.
"Yeah, a lot of help that turned out to be," she mumbles grouchily. I don't get a chance to ask on it as she speaks again, "This is so fucked up," she says with another humorless chuckle. She shakes her head like she can't believe what she's about to do and, with a conflicted sigh, she lifts the hand that's not cradling her wounded rib cage and holds it out to me as the edges of her mouth quirk up the tiniest bit. I think that's the closest to a genuine smile she's granted me. I freely return it. The girl's contagious when she wants to be. "I still don't trust you," she says as I shake her hand. Her almost-smile is overrun by a look of great fatigue.
"I know." I reach into my jean pocket and retrieve my mobile. I hold it out to her, "But give me a chance, yeah?"
We both headed back to our own flats after exchanging numbers. I still can't believe what I did.
"Thanks," I say as she hands my phone back to me. She nods once and I watch her small, slightly hunched form turn and start limping pitifully towards her building. Without thinking I open my phone to its new contact and hit dial. She's three steps away from the front doors when it starts ringing.
She takes it out of her pocket slowly and examines it skeptically for three rings before answering. She looks up and right at me as she answers.
"Yeah?" Her raspy voice sounds scratchy through the phone.
"I just- I wanted to make sure you didn't give me a fake number," I stutter like a fucking mumbling idiot.
"Right," she replies in a half amused, half inpatient tone; in the same warm, hoarse voice. "Well I didn't."
"Yeah, great, thanks. I'll uh, I'll be in touch."
"Great."
"Good."
"Bye."
"Right, yeah, bye."
After hanging up I gave her a small wave and quickly spun around to save myself from having to watch her reaction. 'Just wanted to make sure you didn't give me a fake number;' Jesus fucking Christ.
It's still on my mind when I walk through the door to my flat. Effy's sitting carelessly on the couch watching the telly like usual; tea in hand and legs tucked beneath her.
"Good day?" She asks as I sit on the couch next to her.
"Same as any other," I reply, grabbing her tea and taking a sip.
"How'd it go with the redhead?" She asks, snatching her tea back with a flick to my nose.
I told Effy about Kieran's new assignment for us as soon as I woke up from my stress nap yesterday. I told her the girl I ran from in the coffee shop was named Emily and I had to get her to trust me. 'Have fun with that one,' she'd teased. I promised to keep her updated.
"Better than expected. She didn't believe me at first; I had to show her my badge and do some explaining. She didn't attack me either, which is a plus. I can't say I wasn't expecting her to lose her shit as soon as she saw me; not that she could have done much in the state she was in. God, you should have seen her Eff. She looked awful; bloody nose, black puffy eyes, limping, ripped clothes that were dirty as fuck, and practically half of her left rib cage was dark purple with this harsh gash in the center."
Effy eyes widen slightly as her eyebrows rise a bit. "Jesus," she says sadly.
"I bet you anything it was the same group of girls I chased after the first night I met her."
"Probably," she says vacuously.
We're both silent for a few minutes; the only sound in the room being the telly. Some horrible soap is playing; a girl just slapped her best friend because she found out she fucked her dad or some shit like that.
It's been a few minutes and I'm about to leave the room when Effy speaks again.
"What are you going to do?"
It's one of those complex questions that only mean what you want them to. I don't want to think about what it implies; I'm not going to do anything about it because it's none of my business, I shouldn't have interfered the first time.
"It's getting late," I say, avoiding her question; and her eyes. "I think I'm going to head to bed."
She looks at me with a smirk that says 'nice save' and eyes that say 'I noticed' but she lets me off the hook anyway. "Suit yourself, grandma."
"Oi!" I exclaim, "You just remember who pays for that damn tea, Stonem."
I'm awoken the next morning by my phone buzzing twice in quick succession on my bedside table. I groggily throw my hand in what I think is its general direction, pick it up, and check it. A small message on the screen tells me, to my surprise, that I have a text from Emily. That's strange.
I'll be at Courtney's today. You wanted a chance.
Hoping out of bed, I head to the bathroom with the exciting thought that for a change, I can actually enjoy my shower instead of using it as a scheduled time to go over the days' potential productivity.
After briefly checking on a sleep induced Effy, I made my way to the secluded Coffee shop. It's almost February; the snow has stopped and the ice has melted, but it's still frosty and freezing. The frost this morning is covering the grass so subtly; all the green softly illuminated by an incandescent grey.
She's waiting for me outside, leaning against the front wall with a leather-jacket covered-arm wrapped around her petite waist and a fag relaxing on her bottom lip; her distinct hair matching the red door frames and catching my attention from a mile away. As I approach and she notices me, she takes one last savory drag before throwing her cigarette carelessly on the ground and stepping on it. She doesn't look nearly as dreadful as yesterday. There's a faint outline of a bruise around each of her eyes and her lips still have mini slits in them where the cuts were, but considering what she looked like yesterday, she did a good fucking job hiding her injuries.
"Nice job," I say, pointing out her work.
"Yeah," she says, averting her eyes distractedly and wrapping her other arm around her waist, "It took fucking ages."
"I bet."
She bites her lip as her eyebrows scrunch together slightly and she looks back at me. "C'mon then," she says after a moment's pause.
She's not limping anymore either, I notice, as she leads the way through the doors. The second we step inside all the tension palpably drains from her face. Her conflicted brown eyes become fervent again and a content expression replaces the previous sour one. It's capturing, watching her expressive face, specifically for the reason that it's expressive. From her obvious attempts at hiding her cuts and bruises, I assume she keeps her business to herself, which I can relate to. She's quiet but, without realising it, her eyes betray her. So it's interesting, to watch as small pieces of what she'll never willingly reveal show themselves at unexpected times in small gestures that go unnoticed by most. Everything she feels, all her hidden thoughts, are supressed in those doe eyes.
"Hey Courtney," she says happily, snapping me out of my silent observation. She points at the familiar table that I sat in last time I was here and instructs me to sit while she walks up to the girl behind the counter to get our drinks. Last time I sat at that table I took a liking to gazing out the window; Emily being here with me only heightens that temptation. This café isn't exactly the biggest place in the world; I don't have to strain to hear their conversation.
"The usual?" Asks the girl behind the counter, who I'm assuming is Courtney.
"Yeah, please," Emily says, "But make it two."
Courtney yells something into the back, our order I'm guessing, before returning her attention to Emily. "So, who's this then?"
Emily scoffs and I don't have to be looking to know she just rolled her eyes. "Long story," she says.
"Right, okay," Courtney says playfully. "You going to that interview tomorrow then?"
"Yeah, I'm going."
You know, hearing Emily speak without looking at her makes you realize how unique her voice is; it's calming. I can see why Emily takes accustom to this particular shop. Emily's voice is calming like the shop's aroma and Emily's eyes are complex like the shop's design. Both are interesting; they fit.
Another thirty seconds of casual conversation go by before Emily sits across from me with our drinks. I start searching my pockets for my wallet, probably looking like a jackass in the process.
"It's fine," Emily says just as I find the right pocket.
"No, it's okay, here-"
"I said it's fine Naomi," she slides the money I placed on the table back towards me, "I won't accept your money."
She doesn't leave room for compromise and it's clear her decision is final. Reluctantly, I place the money in my wallet and put it back in my pocket.
"I'm glad you showed up," she says, to my surprise. "I was worried you might have given me a phony number." A cautious cheeky smile begins on her face, successfully banishing any possible awkward air.
"Whatever," I scowl. Bitch.
She chuckles softly and takes a tentative sip of her drink. I copy her actions, discovering that the drink she bought me is just regular tea.
"So, what's this interview that girl- uh, Courtney? Was talking about," I've meant to ask her since I heard the girl say it.
"Yeah, that's Courtney, the owner," she points at the girl behind the counter who's now writing something on a small note pad, "She was talking about a job interview."
"Oh? For where?"
"There's this restaurant not far from here, they're looking for waitresses."
"Oh, great," I smile.
"So," she says into her cup, "This gang, tell me about it."
"It's big," is my first thought. "And dangerous. There are a lot of people involved, Frederick being one of them, and the numbers are rising. It's only a matter of time before this whole thing is out of our hands, which is why we're trying to shut it down from the inside, it's already a little overwhelming."
"Speaking of," she says the second I stop talking, "Why did you help me?"
"Pardon?"
"The night we first met you chased Candice and her clones off me. Why?"
"Uh," I mutter, avoiding her eyes, "If you saw someone getting gang beat and you knew you had the ability to stop it, wouldn't you?"
"Probably not," she says bluntly, "Not for a complete stranger," she looks pointedly at me.
I shrug, "I'm not you."
She studies me thoughtfully in a way that reminds me of Effy before asking her next question.
"What's with the necklace?" She asks warily.
"Oh, uh," I stall. I am not about to tell her my father's dead. She knows too much as it is. "A friend of mine gave it to me." Oh yeah, that sounded convincing.
"Right," she stretches the word out just bit. Something gives me the impression that she doesn't believe me.
Our conversation continues like that, alternating between stiffly uncomfortable and effortlessly casual as we learn through trial and error what topics to avoid. Our tea is eventually disregarded as we get more familiar with each other- on some level, anyway –and as she talks about her flatmate, Cook, and her burning, immortal hate for her sister's boyfriend who I've now learned goes by Freddie, not Frederick, I have to try harder and harder with each passing second to ignore everything going on inside me. I have to ignore it, because if I don't, a lot of people are going to get hurt, whereas if I do, only I will get hurt. I have to ignore it, no matter how hard the struggle. I have to ignore the frantic, uncertain beat of my heart ringing in my ears; and the excited jumping-jacks and agitated summer-salts my stomach doesn't want to stop doing; and the compulsion to scan her flawless neck every time she leans her head back to laugh that stupid, soothing, low laugh that sends angry shivers throughout my entire body. Shivers I have to ignore.
It's hard, but it's me. I'm used to this, I've had enough practice. I've put myself in impacting positions, not thinking about the emotional affect it will have on me, my entire life. And when that brutal blow of pain and guilt and regret hit me, I ignore it, because that's my job, that was the condition; help stop some of the United Kingdom's most wanted but live a life of secrecy. I have no choice. It doesn't matter if this is the most distracting splurge of feeling I've had in all the time I've had this job. It doesn't matter how badly I want to murder those fuckers in the pink jackets every time I notice a spot where the hours of makeup work failed to fully hide what she won't talk about, and it doesn't matter how badly I wish she would. It doesn't matter because this is my job. My job that pays for my mum's house- even though she doesn't know it –and ensures my best friend and only available listener is sheltered and safe and stable. My job is the supporter of the few things I get to have that make me happy, and I can't risk that. Not for anything or anyone, and as shitty as it is, that includes beautiful redheads with expressive chocolate eyes.
Alright, that's it for a while. I have the next chapter planned out, it'll just be a while before I can write it. Thanks for sticking with me guys.
-Shae