Hey guys, I'm so sorry for this incredibly late update. Just work and camp and the usual I have no good excuse. Thank you all so much for the reviews, I really really appreciate it and it's super encouraging. Plus, sixty one followers! Wow, only seven chapters in. You guys are amazing and this story is dedicated to all of you and your support and stuff. Anyway, one thing, I told myself I would never ever ONCE ask for reviews, but hear me out. I'm not talking about reviewing the story, I'm talking about my writing. I was just wondering, is my writing style and the way write, like, alright? If there's anything I could do to improve please let me know! Anyway, thanks for sticking with me guys, here you go!

Emily

My favorite part about going out with Cook is how it makes everything else seem so inadequate in comparison; so unimportant. It makes all the problematic issues in my life seem like a fly that I can't get out of my room; annoying, but nothing to stress over. Whereas, when I'm sober and not with Cook, I have to face reality, where everything hits me like a brick to the face; Jenna, James' bullying problem, Candice and her girls, University, and my most recent hindering situation; Naomi Campbell. Not the gorgeous super model Naomi Campbell, but the undercover FBI agent Naomi Campbell, the one who has invaded my life without my permission. It really is as random as it sounds. I'm still trying to wrap my head around it. I have to keep reminding myself that she's not my enemy. Of course, a stranger knowing more about my personal life than I told Cook in the first year of knowing him, regardless of their career status, isn't exactly a friend in my book. In all fairness, her actions were legitimately justified, but there's still this stubborn pull that's making sure my defenses are alert. I'm trying to just accept it and go along with this mission thing, but old habits die hard I guess. She's causing so many conflicting thoughts that I've been doing as much clubbing as possible, trying to stop the furious battle of words and opinions going on inside my brain with the glorious, euphoric fog of alcohol and spliff. On one hand I know she's on my side and she's trying to help me. On the other, there's something about her that makes me want to reject her more than most people. It's frustrating because I don't know what it is about her that makes me so wary. I met up with her at Courtney's yesterday and she surprised me with how casual she is when she's not wearing a mask.

See this? Even when I'm out trying to forget about her for a bit, because she's all I've been thinking about for the past twenty-four hours, I end up stressing about her. Not necessarily bad stress, just, stress.

I rely on the thump of the base of a particularly repetitive song to chase away the words swarming my mind since I can't consume any alcohol of weed tonight. I have that job interview first thing in the morning. Luckily for me, Candice and her clones beat me up two days ago so the scrapes and bruises are easy to cover up. For the first time in months I have a set interview during a time where I won't look like a street kid. I will not let something as adolescent as a hangover jeopardise this opportunity. The vibrations of this song and the gyrations of the bodies around me are going to have to do for tonight.

However, unfortunately, Cook happens.

"C'mon Ems, time to go," he rushes out as he grabs my hand and starts to drag me through the crowd.

"Cook, what the fuck is-"

"OI!"

Still jogging after Cook, I manage a look behind us and see a group of what looks like five or six large, angry brutes pushing through as many people as possible and advancing in our direction.

"Fuck sakes Cook," I mumble as we sprint through the front doors, "every fucking time."

"Sorry 'bout that Em, I didn't want to leave ya there."

"It's fine Cook. I should have thought about leaving soon anyway," I say, closing the door to our flat with my foot.

"Why's that?"

"I've got a job interview tomorrow, I told you that."

"Oh yeah! Fuckin' ace Emilio man," he smiles proudly at me and lights up a spliff, falling onto the couch with his first drag.

"Right." He knows I'm not allowing myself any intoxicating substances tonight and if he thinks I'm going to hang out with him while he smokes his spliff and downs all the alcohol he wants, I have some serious doubt in my best friend's courtesy. "Well," I announce, kicking off my shoes, "I'm going to bed. Night Cook."

He yells some slurred protests which turn into drowsy mumbles half way through the first sentence. I just ignore it and continue to follow the silent call of my bed down the hallway. He's absolutely trashed and won't remember a thing in the morning anyway.

I wake up naturally for the first time in what feels like years. I can't remember the last time I woke up when I was ready. My sleep wasn't disrupted by a bothersome Cook, or a troublesome nightmare, not even the forever annoying beep of my tiny, piece of shit alarm clock. Of course, something must be wrong, because this is way too good to be true.

My stomach freezes over and I become ten times more aware of my rancid morning breath as my mouth goes sand dry with the dreadful realization of what I hope to god I didn't do. I shoot up in bed, scanning my room frantically, my eyes land on something that I've never been more grateful for than in this moment; my alarm clock, the one telling me it's only eight and I still have an hour before my interview.

The sigh that confirmation emits from me doesn't come close to displaying my relief. I don't know what I would do if I actually had slept in, if I missed my interview, my only chance. Knowing my luck, it wouldn't have been be surprising. I stretch my arms out and let the morning yawns do their rounds before hopping up and grabbing the clothes I already decided on last night while I was thinking about what outfit to wear to the interview, and heading to the bathroom. I get to take my time in the shower this morning; another rare privilege.

Half an hour later I'm washed, dried, and dressed; that includes the extra ten minutes of makeup work the bruises around my eyes took. It's not a long walk but if I leave now I won't have to deal with Cook. I don't make a habit of avoiding things, but today I can't risk being held up, or worse, getting pissed off. I'm still a little resentful over last night. I needed the distraction more than ever and he took that from me. I'm only letting it go because his intentions were in the right place.

Walking through the kitchen and towards the front door, I'm not surprised to see Cook crashed on the couch. I was hoping that'd be the expected outcome of last night, it makes my morning easier.

The walk takes a little longer than usual but I still have ten minutes before my interview; just enough time for a fag. Lighting it up, I sit down at one of the customer tables outside and rest my head on my hand. Times like these, where I have time to waste time, are what I've gone out of my way to avoid recently. I've been replacing Courtney's with clubs and my tea with alcohol. Courtney's is where I go when I need time to think, when I want to think. Now, I can't think of anything worse than being left alone with my thoughts; they consume me too easily and usually end up taking me to a place that leaves no benefit for me or anyone else around. I don't want this to happen now, not before my interview, but fuck it, can't stop what's already happening.

Naomi. The one and only thing I'm trying desperately to banish from my mind. Seeing her in person is one thing, I don't need her pushing me up against walls and jumping from buildings in my mind too. She's on my side; I came to that conclusion last night. I don't trust her but I believe her, if that makes sense. I can't trust someone who invaded my privacy the way she did. People knowing anything about my personal life is something I actually am afraid of and I'll only ever admit it in my head. Jesus, would Candice ever have fun with that information.

Checking my watch with a panicked jolt, I throw my fag on the ground and step on it. I still have five minutes but before I can move from my seat-

"Emily?"

The exact reason for my excessive stress has to show up now. I vaguely remember saying something about having shit luck once.

"Oh, Naomi. Hey."

"What are you doing here?"

I have a first instinct reflex to tell her it's none of her business for a split second, but I'm not that angry street kid anymore. Plus, she's looking at me like… I don't know. Her eyes are just really blue.

"Job interview," I say, pointing to the front doors to hanks with my thumb.

"Don't you have a job?"

Again, I want to snap about staying out of my business, but she's genuinely curious and her eyes just… Fuck sakes. See why I try not to think about her? It's like I want to strangle her for asking questions, but I also want to be around her and figure out why her eyes do that thing. It's a piss off though because I don't know why the fuck I even care. Her eyes make me want to look into them and then I feel bad for doing it. Why do I even feel bad? Fuck sakes, see what I mean? I'm going to wind myself up and she's only been here thirty seconds.

"No, I've been trying to get a job for months," I tell her.

"You should have told me that. I would have got JJ to hook you up," she says and as soon as that first touch of pity touches her expression I know I need to shut this down.

"I can manage myself Naomi," I say, rougher than intended. "Thanks though, for the thought," I add quickly. "And uh, I'd love to stay and chat, but you know this is sort of like a really important event that I have to attend so I'll talk to you later." I'm already walking towards the door when she replies,

"I'll hold you to that."

I stop where I am, look over my shoulder at her, and raise my eyebrows. She raises hers right back. I scoff, for lack of a better response, and continue towards the door, waving carelessly over my shoulder as I go.

"Well, you seem fine to me Ms. Fitch. Courtney always knows who to recommend. First thing Monday sound good to you?"

I'm paralyzed and speechless as Hank stands in front of me with a uniform and a kind smile. I stand by my comment about not everyone being a condescending asshole.

"Yeah, sure, no problem, Monday's perfect, I'll be here," I rush out perhaps a little too excitedly.

I bask in the warmth of his smile as he hands me my new uniform, "See you then. Eight o'clock sharp!" He calls, disappearing into the kitchen.

I head outside for another fag before I have to walk home. Now what? I have a job. I actually have a fucking full-time job with good fucking pay and easy fucking requirements. All I have to do is take orders, serve people, and clean up at the end of the day. Cook pays for the flat so I can start saving up all my money for a car or university; I could even get a new guitar if I wanted.

My common sense and usual cascade of conflicting thoughts are overshadowed by the euphoric buzz coursing through me. Dismissing every protestant thought and forgetting any negative emotion, I'm taking my phone out and dialing before reality reinstates itself. It only rings once.

"Hey."

"I got the job," I blurt.

"Oh hey, that's great Emily."

You know that tone people speak in over the phone and even though they don't sound excited you know they're smiling? She sounds happier when she speaks like that; like she's smiling. I wish I could see her smile right now; it takes the sadness out of her eyes for a few seconds.

"Anyway," she continues, "it's good you called. I'm at work, I just had to talk to my boss about how the assignment's going so far and I've been told, and I quote, to 'hurry my cute little arse up' and arrange something with Freddie. I was going to call you in like ten minutes to see if I could come to yours and we could figure something out maybe…?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever," I say casually. "I'm heading home now so I'll just meet you outside."

"Sounds good; see you then."

"See you."

I close my phone, throw what's left of my fag on the cement, and start walking before I have time to be alone in my head again. Every feeling and thought that occurred in me in the last ten minutes was purely because I'm stoked I finally got a job. That's it. I won't let any of it be because of anything else.

When I arrive, she's already here; leaning against the wall next to the complex's front doors. The second I see her goose-bumps erupt and spread like fire down my spine and over my arms. My stomach jolts with nervous flutters and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. It's such a fucked up reaction; I can't tell if I'm nervous, excited, or if my body's trying to tell me to get the fuck away from her. I think it's all three combined.

The second she sees me, she smiles. It's not a huge smile, like she's overly excited about my presence or something; it's just a genuine, kind smile to say hello. Actually, it's more than that. That smile, the one she's walking towards me with now, is the one that banishes the sadness and makes her blue eyes bright again for a few refreshing seconds. My 'no longer unemployed' high wore off as soon as I started walking; but now, I think it just took a break for a few minutes, went for a bath, and flooded my brain again because the euphoric buzz is back but it's not excited anymore; it's calm, content. It's warm.

"Hey." Her tone matches her smile.

"Hi." Mine sounds distracted.

Her smile fades, slowly at first, then all at once; taking her vulnerabilities and the warmth I felt with it. Two seconds ago I was admiring a warm, light blue sky. Now, I'm intrigued by angry navy blue waves, crashing treacherously beneath a freezing thunderstorm. Two seconds. In two seconds she went from an ordinary house with a white picket fence and a welcome mat, to a dark, abandoned, Shrieking Shack remake.

"You got the job," she offers a small smile that looks like plastic. "Congrats."

"Thanks," I say as we start walking towards the doors to my complex.

The walk to my floor alternates between small talk and foreign buzzing thoughts. It's when we reach my floor that the realization hits me that I'm going to have to introduce her to Cook.

"Give me strength," I mutter to the ceiling as we approach my door. Once inside, we take off our shoes and I show her around the kitchen-living room area. I turn to face her, "Ready?"

"For what?" She asks obliviously.

I smirk at her. "Cook!" I yell towards the hallway that leads to our rooms.

"Who's that?" She asks, still clueless.

"My flatmate; I told you about him yesterday at Courtney's. Remember?"

"Oh, right."

"Cook!" I yell again.

"Alright, alright! I'm coming, keep your fucking knickers on!" He says as he emerges from his bedroom.

"Cook, this is Naomi, a friend of mine."

He grins like he hadn't noticed Naomi until I mentioned her. Walking up to her, he fastens his best Cook smile into place and holds out his hand, "Alright, blondie?"

A small, amused half-smile greets Cook's welcoming grin as she accepts his hand. "Cook," she nods.

He claps once, "Alright then," He announces, "So what are you two up to? Thought you'd stop by for some Cookie love?"

"Yeah, you wish," I tell him. "We're going to my room. We have stuff to do."

"I bet," he winks.

I grab Naomi's wrist gently and lead her through the living room and towards the hallway, shooting Cook a muffled "Wanker" as I pass him. He winks a second time.

Closing my door behind us, I walk across my room and sit on my bed while Naomi takes a few seconds to look around. She looks extremely focused for someone observing a bedroom.

"Sorry it's a bit of a mess. I'm not here that often so I don't really bother cleaning up much," I say as nonchalantly as possible, hoping she doesn't think I'm a slob.

"I didn't even think it was messy," she says as she paces around my room. "And I totally get that, I'm never home either. The only reason my place is clean is because my roommate cleans it. She doesn't have much else to do really." She absent-mindedly picks up a small picture resting on top of my dresser and fiddles with it.

"Wow, I wish my roommate did that," I say jokingly, watching her as she examines the picture more intently. Looking down at the small framed photo with furrowed eyebrows, she tucks a stray strand of intruding, light blond hair that had fallen carelessly into her path of sight behind her ear. I'm mesmerized by the action before I can even think about preventing my body from reacting. A second later, I'm captivated. She's so carelessly beautiful. The way her hair falls and always looks naturally perfect, or the way her healthy body is impeccably sized in every place, or her flawless blue eyes that never fail to capture my attention, even when it's against my will.

You know, there was a time where maybe, I'd be able to say the same about myself. It's something else no living human will ever hear me admit, but it's a damper on a girl's confidence when she constantly has to match the color of her eye shadow to that of her bruise. I'm independent, I can take a hit, but it's been a few months; you can't blame me for thinking any beauty I may have possessed once is far from gone. Candice and her girls took it from me; they destroyed that asset of mine. They beat the pretty out of me and covered it with scars, each one representing its own battle and hiding its own story. I got over it a long time ago, but something like that stays with you whether you think it does or not.

"Is this your sister?" Naomi asks, flipping the frame around in her hands to show me. I forgot I had that one; it was the only good one of Katie and I that I managed to save from my fucked up mothers house.

"Does she look like me?" I ask back sarcastically.

"Alright, alright," she grumbles as she turns to put the picture back. "Cheeky." She comes over and sits next to me. The hairs on my arm magnetize towards her on their own accord. "She's pretty," she says casually.

"Yeah, she is," I agree, zoning out on a spot on the floor.

"So, how are we going to do this?" she asks as she bumps our shoulders together.

"What?" I stutter stupidly, recovering from my previous dazed state.

"Freddie? Remember? The reason I'm here?" She waves her hand in front of my face briefly and chuckles softly.

"Oh, yeah. How about I call them?" I offer. "I can do it now and arrange something."

"Yeah, sure, good idea."

Naomi watches me during the entire phone call. I bet Cook could hear Katie from his room across the hall, exclaiming in surprise through the phone at my sudden interest in her boyfriend. As if.

Hanging up I smile at Naomi, whose smiling back. "We're meeting them at a club tomorrow."

"Great," she says; then softer, "Thanks Emily."

And just like that her secret smile appears and banishes any disappointment I had at the prospect of having to see my sister's boyfriend.

Naomi's been here for about an hour; we've spent the entire time brainstorming idea's to interrogate our suspect. Her fragile scent of a light perfume-tinted vanilla has settled in my room and every time it invades my nostrils my stomach clenches. We're discussing appearances and what sort of hints to look for when Naomi says something interesting enough to take me off guard.

"Oh! I completely forgot to tell you," she says excitedly, "if you see a small 'M' anywhere on him, point it out to me immediately. I mean anything at all; stitched into his clothes, a necklace, a ring, a tattoo, anything. Keep an eye out for that."

She stares at me, awaiting a response, but my eyes are glued to the floor as the cogs move and the pieces fit in my head. "Candice…" I whisper absent-mindedly. I snap my eyes up to meet her confused expression. "Candice!" I exclaim.

"Who?" she asks, obviously not following me at all.

"Candice, Naomi! Wear's a stupid pink leather jacket, always with three other girls, likes to beat the shit out of me," I drag out my examples.

She stalls for a minute, her face shifting between suppressed rage and softness before she answers. "Yeah, I know who you're talking about now," she says like that silent minute of contorted expressions didn't just happen.

"Candice and her girls have an 'M' stitched into the backs of their jackets."

Her eyebrows instantly furrow as she subtly bites her lip. "Yeah, yeah, I think I remember seeing that…" She says, lost in thought. She stays like that, sitting cross-legged in front of me on my bedroom floor biting her lip subconsciously for what feels like minutes. Not that I mind.

Her head snaps up and a glorious smile breaks out and almost blinds me with the best kind of surprise.

"You're bloody brilliant, Emily Fitch."

"Sorry I can't drive you," I apologize for the third time as we reach the bottom floor.

"Emily, I told you it's fine, I'm perfectly capable of walking for ten minutes or so. I can't believe you don't have a car though. You're lucky your job is close."

"Yeah," I mumble, getting sidetracked by her eyes again.

"I'll keep my eyes open for a cheap vehicle or you," she says with a smile that's genuine but isn't her secret smile. Clueing in that she's actually being really fucking kind, I force my attention out of her eyes.

"Thank you Naomi. That would help a lot actually. I wouldn't know where to look for a cheap car without going to a dealer or a past customer or, you know, stealing it," I finish with an uncomfortable laugh.

"Not a problem," she says, gently touching my shoulder. "So," she takes her hand away, making me feel cold, "I'll talk to Kieran tomorrow and bring him up to date on our progress and then, when you're ready, you know, off work and stuff, text me and I'll come over and we can get ready for the club together. Sound good?"

I can't exactly pinpoint the emotion in her eyes. Excitement, hope, eagerness, something like that; she looks pleased, anyway.

"Sounds perfect," I reply, giving her a reassuring smile. "I'll text you."

"Alright," she starts walking backwards, "Bye Emily, see you tomorrow!" She grants me one more look at her special smile before turning and heading home. I can't seem to look away. Figures, that when I'm about to, she stops me.

"Oh, and Emily!" She yells from fifty feet away.

"Yeah?" I yell back.

"Thanks for giving me that chance."

I have to smile, because it's unexpected, because it's cute, because she's cute.

Wait, no, fuck off.

"Yeah, yeah," I say, brushing it off. "Whatever Campbell. See you tomorrow!"

I faintly hear her laughter as she turns again and eventually disappears from sight. I didn't mean to watch her the whole time, I just zoned out. For the first time all day, I'm not disappointed to be heading back into Cook's presence. I'm over it. The resentment I had towards him, that he obviously didn't pick up on, is now overshadowed by positives; like getting a job, and Naomi. I mean, seeing her tomorrow and all. I haven't gone clubbing with someone other than Cook in fucking ages. It'll be refreshing, different, a change. Naomi strikes me as a loyal friend. That's something else I guess I've gotten over; Naomi's my friend now. I'm not talking besties or any ridiculous shit like that, just, not enemy's anymore. We hang out and text and do things that friends do.

Tomorrow I suspect I'll probably go overboard on anything I can, because I have a job and a new friend and nothing bad could possibly go wrong now because things are going too great. Plus, Naomi will be there. I don't need protecting, I'll never need protecting, but if something was to happen, she'd help me. I don't have to ask her to know that. She's already told me without realizing. I don't think she even realizes what little control she has over what her eyes project sometimes. She won't let anything drastic happen, and I don't have to ask her to know that.

I'm safe with her.

There! Hope it was worth the wait maybe a little bit? Let me know if you like. Thanks for reading :)

-Shae.