i can't get out of love
(a love i had a grip on; now it's gripping me)
Author: Eskimo Jo
Rating: M; Coarse language, sexual situations, drug use, (character(s) death*)
Type: Cross/Multi-Gen (Gen1/Gen2/Gen3), post-S5
Disclaimer: Skins belongs to Company Pictures and E4. I don't make money from this, nor intend to.
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"I've heard that it's possible to grow up - I've just never met anyone who's actually done it. We throw tantrums when things don't go our way, we whisper secrets with our best friends in the dark, we look for comfort where we can find it, and we hope - against all logic, against all experience. Like children, we never give up hope."
– Meredith Grey, "Grey's Anatomy"
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Effy doesn't even ring her the next day. It's not until late Saturday afternoon that her mobile finally vibrates with a call. There's some apparently amazing drum and bass night at Blue Mountain which was being promoted by an old college mate of Tony's. It's going to be the rave of the year of course. Effy's already got comp tickets, queue jump, pocket full of powder, etc. All the usual hype, Naomi notes with disdain. A night of pilled-up debauchery in Stokes Croft is hardly out of the ordinary or very likely to indeed be the "rave of the year". Sounds painfully normal actually. And thus, dreadfully dull. But of course, Naomi doesn't say no to Effy. There's no point. If she had even attempted it, she would have been faced with multiple irritating texts and calls, and if she's particularly unlucky, a spontaneous visit from her friend accompanied by virtual acquaintances she could barely place. Those were the worst. For some peculiar reason, if Naomi made it far enough in the refusal dance to warrant a house call, Gina would always answer first, and despite how wrecked Naomi normally ended up by the time she stumbled home in the early hours of dawn, her mother seemed to consider it a good idea to go out. Sometimes she really wished she could have a normal mother, just for once. Just once she'd like Gina to forget the whole "you'll never be younger or able to enjoy it as much as you do now" bollocks and tell Effy "No, my daughter's staying in with her mother."
So, of course, by the time midnight rolls around the blonde has done herself up appropriately for both the venue and the company and is standing in a corner of the rooftop terrace, sipping her Red Stripe and staring disinterestedly at the graffiti all around. She feels as if she's seen it a million times before and the million and first time is not going to suddenly make it any more exciting. Effy's disappeared again. Dissolved into the darkness. She's been off for sometime now, probably either selling or buying more drugs or shagging some manky bloke in the loos. Usually the later didn't take quite so long.
As it happens, during this boring-as-fuck wait, she catches a glimpse of familiar hair. It's really quite sad how she recognises it especially since it's just normal hair; not like Emily's unnaturally vivid red. It doesn't hurt however, that in truth, Michelle is accompanied by quite the ginger... stunner? Naomi's not sure what to make of the girl with Michelle with her Betty Page red hair and clothes that appear to have shrunk about 7 sizes in the wash, yet she's still managed to squeeze into them. Also, what a mouth. The girl seems to be going on at about the speed of light, mostly to Michelle but also to any lad that breezes by. There's something about Michelle's demeanour, and something about her wobble that are leading Naomi to believe her friend is already quite sauced. Wouldn't be the first time, by any means, but it's certainly not expected. She'd thought Michelle and Tony had been doing fine and the only time Michelle appears to get wrecked is if something is up with her and her wanker boyfriend. But it's not like she'd know since they hadn't spoken since the park.
She's not sure how long she spends staring at the other girl across the crowd of munted young people, but it's long enough for Michelle's companion to wander off with some bloke and not long after Chelle throws her arms around a very, very fit blond boy. Buff indeed. They seem to know each other well, she reckons as Michelle seems relaxed and not playing up that irritating sexpot thing she constantly seems to try on most boys. Old friends, most likely. It's sometime during this creepy lurking that some absolutely monged out black girl slams into Naomi, accompanied by a strangely troll-like boy with beady little eyes. Even in this light, Naomi can see how huge the girl's pupils are and she apologises like mad for a minute, constantly brushing strands of purple hair from her face. Her nose ring glints under the patio lights as she grabs onto the fence for support. Naomi thinks that perhaps these two twats are speaking to her but it's all nonsense. The boy is constantly saying, "Live, live, live!" to get the girl's attention. It's probably some intoxicated hippie message inspired by whatever Class-As they've obviously replaced their blood with. They look vaguely familiar from some party or another, and she guesses it was that Roundview one a few weeks back. Upper sixths? Probably. Either way, they eventually push off when Naomi doesn't grace them with any sort of response beyond a sharply arched eyebrow. Not two metres later, she watches the pair knock into Karen Mclair and that gangster's daughter. For fuck sake, it never ends. Naomi turns away from the familiar faces, pulling her blonde hair into a curtain to shield her from recognition. It works and she breathes a sigh of relief. Ever since Freddie died, she can't bear to look at Karen. They had all tried to be friends following the tragedy but it was awkward and staring too long in Freddie's sister's eyes was uncomfortable. It was like she was a little bit dead as well. Even as Karen goes about her usual partying, there's still that lingering sadness.
She fucking hates Bristol. In a city this size, there shouldn't be such a propensity to run into familiar people so often. Taking a rather large gulp of her lager and deep drag of her cigarette from her other hand, she returns her attention to Michelle and her friend on the other side of the patio. (In honesty, she can't fucking keep her eyes off Michelle right now.) They're chatting animatedly, and Sid and Anwar seem to have joined them at some point. It's only when she chances a general scope of the rest of the area that she becomes acutely aware of a shorter girl standing a tad too close to her, leaning against the railing. The redhead is staring at Michelle and the blond boy as well. She looks painfully out of place at this club in her buttoned up polo shirt and juvenile red barrettes in her hair. They clash with the orange, Naomi thinks. She'd be quite pretty otherwise perhaps.
The girl must somehow sense Naomi watching her and she turns to the blonde with a smirk. "Don't waste your time," she says bluntly in a thick Welsh accent and nods towards Michelle. "He's a flaming homosexual."
"I'm not-," Naomi starts but the redhead chuckles. It's dismissive and creepy.
"Ho-mo-sex-u-al," she says again, drawing out every syllable slowly, as if the blonde didn't understand her the first time. She cocks her head to the side, taking in the group of friends. "Besides, they're all tossers, you know." Her voice drifts out again, laced with hurt as she fiddles with the wrist strap of her pocket camera.
Naomi is now curious. "You know Michelle and Anwar then?"
The other girl glowers at her in the dim light, her brown eyes intense and focused. "Yes." But before Naomi has a chance to ask anymore probing questions of the stranger, she's moved away and merged back into the darkness of the club indoors. Naomi shakes her head with a laugh and tries to lessen the tingling feeling of being watched.
As she turns back to her previous subject of observation, her breath catches as she sees Michelle watching her as well. There's a panic there momentarily, for them both. Naomi can feel it inside her chest, in the pit of her stomach and the back of her throat. Familiar and terribly strong. And she can see it clearly on Michelle's face but it seems to pass quickly like a sudden summer storm because she whirls back, grabs the blond boy's hand and yanks him towards Naomi, pushing through the milling crowd with neither grace nor apology until they come face to face. Naomi quickly drops her fag and crushes it with a toe, breathing out deeply. The brunette drops her friend's hand and envelops Naomi in a slightly crushing embrace that lasts a bit too long as well. Naomi does her best not to breathe in the other girl's perfume too deeply. As she pulls back, she notes that on top of her perfume, indeed Michelle does smell like a distillery in Russia and when she moves away, she stumbles a bit and Naomi has to lay a hand on her arm to steady her. Instead of backing away completely, Michelle loops an arm around Naomi's neck, almost like a head lock and grins drunkenly at both the blondes.
"Maxxie, this is Naomi I was telling you about," she slurs slightly, tightening her hold just a bit more. It's almost uncomfortable. Maxxie nods a hello but before he can say anything, the brunette speaks again.
"Maxxie is one of my best mates," Michelle continues. "And now he's all famous in the West End doing shows and generally being the most successful of all of us, yeah?" There's something to the tone Michelle is using that is unfamiliar. It's not unfriendly exactly, in fact she seems quite sincere, but there's just a little hint of something else lurking under the surface. "But he's, like, gay gay so I can't marry him."
Naomi's brow furrows in confusion as she watches their interaction. Whilst it's obvious that they're friends, she can't quite put her finger on what's a little off about them, or just Michelle today. Something shit must have happened with Tony recently or else Michelle's attitude doesn't make much sense. She's positively clingy right now and refusing to let Naomi wriggle away.
"So, Max..." It's a question. Or a half of one at least. Naomi's not quite sure what it means or what she's asking but there's a prickly feeling along the back of her neck that it's something to do with her. Maxxie nods pleasantly at Naomi, a toothy smile stretching across his lips.
"Well done, yeah, Chelle," he states, giving Naomi a once-over. "It's nice to meet you."
Michelle leans in exceptionally close to Naomi's ear and her hot, alcohol-laced breath slips over the younger girl's neck. "Max and I have been telling secrets," she whispers conspiratorially and suddenly Naomi flushes, hopefully not too noticeably under the dull patio lanterns. Secrets about? Them? Her? The park? Whatever it is, it can't possibly be good cos Maxxie is studying her both thoughtfully and affectionately. It's fucking weird. Naomi shifts and fidgets with the attention. There's very little time to dwell however because almost as soon as he's arrived, Maxxie is whisked away by an over-excited Anwar into the throbbing mass of people inside as an MC starts shouting all badman-like into the mic.
The two girls are left alone and despite the ruckus all around them as the crowd moves seemingly en masse towards the dancefloor as the headlining DJs start spinning hard jungle, it's too quiet with just the two of them. Michelle has yet to loosen her hold around Naomi's neck and is blearily staring off into space, literally. It's a cloudless night again –quite a record for Bristol actually with its incessantly rainy weather- and the stars are beginning to poke out of the navy backdrop. It's only the most powerful of them, the brightest ones, as all the ambient light pollution from the city drowns out any lesser stars. Naomi glances up too, hoping to catch a glimpse of Orion's belt but it's too early in the year. Plus, it only reminds her of JJ now, and thus Emily's text. In a bid to distract herself from that spectacular fuck-up, she peers over at Michelle.
"You all right?"
Apparently, Naomi's voice startles the other girl slightly as if she'd forgotten where she was or who she was with. Her arms drop away quickly and she takes a step back, putting space between them. A cold draft sneaks in her place. It only takes a minute or so for the break to occur. It starts with Michelle nodding agreeably, ensuring that everything is fine because well, everything is always just fine, isn't it? The nods start to slow with each passing second and like cracks spidering out of a poorly constructed dike, Michelle's smile begins to crumple in pieces. First the leftside corner turns down, her eyes start to crinkle, her forehead creases. It's like a slow motion trainwreck because as much as the older girl seems to be attempting to hold it in, hold back the damage, it's leaking out as her armour weakens and splinters. What was once a nod of affirmation has turned into a defiant headshake and accompanying it are the first spots of tears.
There's a blur of movement and once again, Naomi finds herself wrapped up in an altogether suffocating embrace, but this one is accompanied by saltwater tears soaking through to her shoulder. Michelle's fucking drunk and this is precisely the very thing Naomi loathes and goes to great lengths to avoid under normal circumstances, like when they first met incidentally. But this time, with it being a friend, the rules change and her arms hold onto a quivering, pathetic sort of girl and instead of contempt, she feels a little something approaching sympathy instead. Michelle's mumbling unrecognisable words into her neck that Naomi can't make out above the rapid-fire drum and bass and the general chatter surrounding them. She squeezes harder as compensation. And it's only after what seems like a drawn-out hour, Michelle calms down enough for Naomi to understand the words.
"Tony's sleeping with someone else. I just know..."
The information isn't surprising in the least, if she's honest. Tony is always playing around, dancing through life like a particularly care-free schoolyard bully, content that his god-given cleverness will get him out of whatever mess he finds himself in (and there is a lot of mess). The part that is surprising is that it's taken Michelle this long to actually admit to the knowledge. She'd heard enough about their past, about what made Michelle & Tony work – and also what broke them apart so many times. Maybe it was foolish, but Naomi can somewhat understand why Michelle thought that finally things would be different. When people grow up, they're supposed to generally become smarter, wiser, better people. They don't normally revert back to the fucking assholes they were at 16. That would indeed be a horrible world. A bunch of 50-year-olds with 16-year-old brains and personalities; all the adults in the world reduced to their unbearable teenage counterparts. Horrid. Then again, she had learnt in GCSE Psychology that personality is generally static. Who you are as a 14-year-old is pretty much who you'll stay for the rest of your life, barring any sort of brain injury or traumatic experience. And even then, most of the time, those things are exactly that: injuries and experiences and eventually you heal again, thus transform back into the person you were beforehand. She hadn't been convinced that had actually been the truth, at least not until now. It seems like people really don't change all that much, fundamentally speaking. They learn things, adapt, manage to suppress the nasty bits better, but never truly change.
More than anything though, Naomi wanted to believe that given enough chances, even the most dysfunctional couples could make it work. Maybe that was just getting a little too personal.
Michelle's carrying on about how she suspects it again, but doesn't know who or why. The image of Katie lounging in Tony's t-shirt pops into Naomi's head and she wills it away, blaming it on an over-active imagination and no actual proof. She can't imagine Effy would stand for that anyway. More likely, Effy would do Katie before she'd even let her brother near her mate. So, all in all, it was unlikely whichever way she approached the subject.
In the midst of the crying, the brunette pulls in a hard sob, catching it in her throat and swallowing hard. "That's why I like you, Naomi. I know you'd never fuck my boyfriend." There's something more about never worrying, never suspecting, finally having a mate who isn't after Tony Stonem's cock. In honesty, the blonde is a little offended that she's been reduced to a token lesbian friend and kept around it appears simply because she presents no competition. Again, she bites down hard on her tongue and resists the urge to tell Michelle about all those offers from Effy's stupid brother.
"That's why I really like you," she tries again, making an attempt at being serious. Naomi grimaces. Her sigh must be felt by the other girl in spite of the hiccups there because Michelle pulls back, runs a hand sloppily through blonde hair and cracks a tiny, lop-sided smile. "Really."
"That's nice, Chelle," Naomi says as if talking to a toddler, distancing herself now that she has the opportunity but for every step away, the older girl mirrors it with a step closer of her own. The runner and the chaser. The fox and the hound.
"Naomi." Her name isn't a question. It's merely breathed out as if summoned from deep within her chest.
And it's going to happen again. Naomi knows; she can feel it without a doubt. Moreover, she's feeling incapable of stopping it. Her heart begins to jitter, beat that little bit faster as Michelle draws closer. And then, just as Naomi expects the touch of the more and more familiar lips against her own, there's another hiccup. It breaks the tension.
"Christ, I'm drunk," comes the teary slurred speech. Just like that, whatever that moment had been leading to dissolves into the air around them. Michelle rights herself a little more properly (though by no means soberly) and runs a finger under both eyes, wiping away escaped mascara and taking deep breaths. They're back to normal.
The respite lasts all too briefly because just as Michelle's managed to pull herself together into something vaguely resembling a functional human being, a recognisable figure comes into view, flanked by a smirking Effy on one side and skanky Katie on the other.
"Tony!"
He glances in the direction of his name, a flash of surprise on his face but it's replaced almost immediately with that smarmy little grin. And then Michelle sees Katie, glances at Naomi as if it's somehow her fault and glowers. "That's the slut!" she cries and attempts to charge towards the twin and Tony. It comes as a shock to more than just Michelle when Naomi reaches out and grapples the older girl, holding her back from her rageful mission. Katie stops dead in her tracks, glancing in pure confusion at the scene and this random chick trying to rip her throat out. For a moment, she just stares, then she pieces it together, raises an eyebrow in disbelief and snorts. Effy too is just watching as Michelle struggles helplessly against Naomi's bondage, intent only on causing serious bodily harm to Katie Fitch. Her eyes are positively burning with hatred.
The twin waves dismissively at Tony's girlfriend (which really only works to rile her up further) and floats away into the crowd with Effy. Tony, however, approaches them confidently.
"Hey, babe. Figured you'd be out here getting some air. Really looks like you could use it, yeah?"
"You wanker, Tony!"
Tony plays dumb. He's quite adept at that game. "Something the matter, Nips?"
And then the tears come again. Angry, helpless, drunken tears. Naomi loosens her hold knowing Tony will step in this time. He reaches out to brush a finger over his girlfriend's cheek but a hard slap keeps him at bay. "You know what's the matter, you asshole." She sucks in a stuttering breath. "I thought you'd changed. I thought we really had a chance this time."
Tony shrugs and Naomi notices that this time, he honestly does look genuinely confused about all the fuss. "I have."
Brown hair flicks against Naomi's face as Michelle shakes her head rapidly, whipping her hair around. "You haven't. You fucking... fucking..." She trails off, clenching her eyes shut, searching desperately for the words she wants. "You promised, Tone." Her voice, once so full of fire, is weak and tired. Exhausted. "Promised me."
He glances to Naomi for explanation but she's no better an idea than he does. He seems to be tossing ideas around in his head, trying to figure out what to say, what to ask but is interrupted by Maxxie who has rushed back over, alerted by a little birdie by the name of Effy Stonem most likely. The blond boy slides an supportive arm around Michelle's waist and leads her away from Tony and Naomi. "Let's get you home, Chelle." She continues to cry as they fade away.
Tony stuffs his hands in his pockets and purses his lips for a moment as he watches his friends go back inside, and presumably to hail a taxi downstairs. "What's that all about?" He asks Naomi straight up as if she'd really tell him the answer. She just rolls her eyes at him instead.
"Maybe if you try thinking with your brain instead of your cock, you'd figure it out yourself." She shakes her head as well and proceeds back inside to the deafening chaos of the club.
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Chaos is actually a relatively tame word for the state of the crowd indoors. For once, it may actually be the rave of the year cos the entire place is going off, literally bouncing with unbridled energy in the main room downstairs. Teenagers and 20-somethings are all packed tightly together, throwing themselves into each other to the music and the drum and bass is amping everything up to another level. Naomi can't say honestly that she's seen a night like this for a while now. She spots Anwar, Sid, Effy and Katie up near the DJ booth chatting (or shouting more like) with who Naomi can only assume is Kenneth, the MC and the one responsible for the whole lot of them even being here tonight. She sneaks around to an empty place against the wall. Next to her, there's that skinny ginger boy from before plastered against it. She can't quite tell if he's trying to climb the wall or hump it.
Squinting at her, he leans over and screams, "Can you feel it? It's fucking brilliant!"
Unfortunately, Naomi can't feel it, whatever it is and the boy only works to remind her of Pandora. Too many drugs, not enough sense sometimes. As his metalhead friend comes by, he moves off to another section of the wall leaving Naomi with her own mind and thrumming bass.
It's not that odd that she wouldn't have seen the other girl coming. After all, it's rather dark inside and the flashing strobes and lasers don't paint a complete picture of her surroundings at all. There is so much movement that even a flash of familiar red hair could have been easily missed. But then, before Naomi has a chance to prepare herself, Emily materialises smack dab in front of her face. Jumping back, she only manages to thud against the wall. Oh, the bass. She can feel it. Like the strong pulse of blood rushing through strangled veins.
"Emily?" It's all she manages to stutter above the music.
Moving closer, likely in order to keep their voices to a mere shout, Emily nods. "Hi, Naomi."
Naomi swallows hard, biting down on her lip, and shifting about like a cornered animal. She has no idea what is about to happen and her lack of preparedness only works to increase her anxiety. Emily tilts her head to the side and locks on with her deep brown eyes, black in this light. "I just wanted to say thanks."
Is she taking the piss? What's going on? Naomi's confusion must glide over her face because Emily continues, her expression unbelievingly gentle. "About before. Thanks for not letting your girlfriend beat the shit out of my sister. She looked well angry. Katie would probably thank you herself if she could but pride and all that."
What? "She's not my–."
"I mean, Katie's not shagging Effy's brother. She would have said, bragged more like. I think. "
"Michelle's not my girlfriend." It's the only thing Naomi feels they need to talk about. She honestly couldn't give a toss about Katie's sexual partners. The statement causes Emily to pause and her face takes on a mixture of relief and confusion herself. "She's Tony's girlfriend."
Emily chuckles then. It's a sound Naomi hasn't heard for a fucking age and it makes warmth seep up through her toes and it tingles down her spine like a soft kiss behind the ear. God, she's almost like that Emily Naomi'd finally succumbed to at the lake. "I suppose that makes better sense then." The twin leans away slightly as if she's preparing to leave but Naomi knows Emily's clever, too clever sometimes and there's no way she wouldn't have sussed out that Michelle was Tony's girlfriend. This whole conversation seems to be an excuse to talk. And Naomi likes excuses. A lot.
The redhead shrugs again, a small smile on her lips. "Well, I should get–"
"Can I buy you a drink, Ems?"
Okay, so Effy is right this time. It is the party of the year.
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We met it seems, such a short time ago. You looked at me, needing me so. Yet from your sadness, our happiness grew. Then I found out, I need you, too. I remember how we used to play. I recall those rainy days, the fires glowed, that kept us warm. And now I find, we're both alone. Goodbye may seem forever, farewell is like the end. But in my heart's a memory, and there you'll always be.
– Widow Tweed, Disney's "The Fox & The Hound"
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For weeks, it works. Just like the old days. Better days. Exciting days. Comfortable days. Days she knew well and felt alive in. The perfect love. It's everything Naomi had hoped it would return to, and everything Emily seemed to have hoped for as well, and she's not disappointed. Not at first.
Change begins to seep in not long after. At first they're small things, like how since Katie and Emily now share a small flat in Cotham, Naomi's had to adjust to being the guest in the twins' abode and all the unfortunate consequences of Katie pounding on the otherside of the bathroom door in the mornings as she and Emily try to sneak a shower together. Also, Katie had rules about food. Mostly cos she's on some sort of celebrity diet that she really thinks will work this time, and so there's very little Naomi can snack on without asking Katie first. Or at least checking with Emily. Then there's Emily's bedroom which is barely larger than a closet and shares a very thin wall with her sister's equally-sized bedroom. While Naomi couldn't care less about what Katie has to endure, she doesn't appreciate male orgasmal groaning waking her (and Emily) at half 4 in the morning.
And when she suggests that maybe Emily come stay a while at Gina's, the offer is politely refused. As a guest, an escape, sure. But not on any sort of long-term basis. They're playing it carefully now. Never moving too fast. The hesitancy is new to their relationship... and it feels off. But maybe it's a good change after all. They've grown up. Learnt from past mistakes. And really, it never is a problem exactly cos Emily is still Emily, she's still so bursting with ideas and promise, and she's so warm and open. Her eyes still sparkle with excitement when Naomi surprises her with a sneaky kiss in the kitchen and her lips still curve ridiculously upwards when she takes Naomi's hand. So, really, Naomi doesn't actually mind too much things being a little awkward and slow if it makes Emily happy, and it obviously does.
But it's also a change having Emily in university during the days, and sometimes evenings. Naomi hadn't expected that at all, but as it turns out, last year, Goa, that whole experience had been merely a gap year and she's since started classes in October at UWE. The blonde had always thought she'd be the one to go to university over Emily, especially with their respective grades and ambitions. She hadn't wanted university. It had been Naomi who'd been set on that idea. It was precisely that divide, the incongruity that lit the fuse. It had been what set in motion the betrayal with Sophia last year. Now, it's strange not being in lessons with Emily and knowing she's there, in a lecture hall with a hundred other people, starting over and embracing a new life beyond the confines of Roundview. It's all very backwards. She remembers clearly the displeased look Emily had given her that first time Naomi had laughed at the redhead's insistence that she couldn't be late; that she had lecture to get to. For Naomi, the idea had been a joke, at least she had thought it was Emily being silly. But it wasn't. There's a definite feeling of being left out. She wants suddenly to do all that growing up stuff too.
The changes come faster and more noticeably the longer they keep at it. Maybe these things had always existed and Naomi's just noticing them for the first time, but she reckons not. She surely would have seen them the first time around. And really, some of them simply didn't exist back then, like her lazy days with Effy or Michelle whilst Emily's at school. She knows Emily's not entirely pleased with either friendship but she never actually mentions anything, never pushes the issue. Regardless, Naomi has culled the number of hours she sees either girl. After all, that's what happens in relationships, isn't it? Time becomes divided up and the more important things are given a bigger allotment. She senses Effy is particularly irritated by the brush off and Naomi fully expects to pop round one day to be handed another disturbing collage of dismembered body parts. (It's good then that Katie seems to be keeping Effy occupied more often now.) And Michelle? Well, she barely remembers the night at Blue Mountain, but she still obviously recalls the park incident and as long as Maxxie had still been in town, she hadn't minded the distance, the time-off from their friendship. But when he'd left back to London, she still needed a friend, especially as she and Tony are pretty much down to occasional fuck-buddies, or so it seems. The love is gone for good.
She remembers telling Michelle about her and Emily through a text message of all things. For some reason, she'd been terrified of saying it in person and having to watch the reaction. Michelle had responded with a bland, "That's great." and nothing more was said about it for quite a while. However, every so often, the older girl would drop hints, about how people never really change and nothing can be like it was before. She's obviously talking about herself and Tony, but Naomi guesses there's a double entendre in there too.
It doesn't matter though because Emily is perfect again. A little jaded, of course, but they're happy together. They joke and smile and laugh and shag and kiss. They're good again. Fuck cynicism about the past and future. Sometimes things can work out if you give them enough chances.
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The change that throws Naomi off the most is when Effy doesn't bother to ring her on the weekend. After two weeks of successfully turning down invitations to parties, her best mate has apparently given up. There's a cold slice of loneliness and something close to regret that cuts through Naomi's chest when 9 PM rolls around on Saturday night and she realises that she's had no call. Katie's on her way out the door, dressed to pick up another vaginal infection if all goes well, and cuts her eyes at Naomi accusingly. The blonde isn't sure why. The flat door slams behind the twin without an explanation. Emily sighs beside her, turns the volume up on the TV two notches and curls into Naomi's side. They watch the film in near silence, then shag quickly before drifting off to sleep. She can't help the nagging feeling that Emily's mind is elsewhere, and really hers isn't quite right either.
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The morning after, she stumbles sleepily to the small kitchen only to find Katie already alert and making toast. The twin hasn't changed out of her clothes from the previous night and her make-up is smudged and worn off in places. She obviously hasn't even been to bed yet. Naomi can only imagine the mood she's in.
But Katie remains eerily quiet as she goes about buttering her toast and pouring a steaming mug of Lady Grey for herself. In fact, she appears to be going out of her way not to acknowledge Naomi at all. The blonde putters around the kitchen aimlessly as she waits for Katie to leave the toaster and kettle alone. Finally the younger girl picks up her plate of toast and steps towards the sitting room. But she pauses in the doorway, sighs, places her mug down again and fishes something from her jeans pocket. Thrusting her hand out, she waves it around for Naomi to take it from her.
"She wanted you to have this," Katie says, her voice flat and tired. Without waiting for a response, she grabs her tea and saunters away.
Naomi unfolds the piece of notepaper.
pg. 174, is all it says.
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It takes 4 days for Naomi to figure out that she has to go round to Effy's. Texts hadn't been returned. E-mails ignored. Phonecalls left to ring through to a full voicemail, over and over. So much for being best mates.
The walk takes a little over an hour from Emily's place down to Effy's and the time alone (something that had been in short-supply lately) had given Naomi far too much time to contemplate the current state of her life. Worse, she couldn't seem to concentrate on just one thing. Everytime she got to thinking about Emily, something would remind her of Michelle. Then that would remind her of some other random thing like constellations or JJ or Effy or Tony, all of whom would in turn, switch her focus to school or work or back to Emily again. It became circles upon circles of tangled thoughts and by the time she turned the corner at Elvaston, nothing had been made any clearer whatsoever. Maybe that's really why Effy's mad: too much time with her own thoughts. It would certainly drive any normal person to the brink of insanity, she reckons. And that's why the parties and the drugs helped. They created noise. They created distractions.
Coming up to the red door, she doesn't even bother to knock or ring the bell. If Effy's attitude towards any other sort of attempted contact was indicative of a pattern, likely she wouldn't even answer the door anyway. First she tries the knob, locked. So she lets herself in with the spare key again.
"Eff?" she calls into the quiet house. There's no response from the blank walls. Sneaking upstairs, all the bedrooms are empty, with Effy's bed immaculately made and untouched, as if no one's slept in it for ages. Pato slumps against the pillows, keeping watch over the sparsity. There aren't even any of the usual scraps of paper scattered around the carpet that signalled that she'd been working on her art. The only noticeable difference is that there's a discarded box collecting dust on the floor that had once held a spiffy new dSLR camera. High-end by the looks of it. Effy's got herself a new hobby then.
It's uncomfortable snooping around her mate's room like this so she meanders back downstairs and out towards the back garden, hearing voices wafting in through a cracked kitchen window. She hesitantly pushes open the door and steps into the sunshine and unkempt overgrowth that embodies the Stonems' wild garden. In the midst of the weeds, saplings and shrubs, there are two camp chairs unfolded and in one sits Effy, with her new toy in hand. And in the other, Michelle is leaning back, eyes closed under her sunglasses and soaking in the sun. Everywhere Naomi goes, Michelle seems show up. Inescapable. Aggravating. But she too pays the intruder no mind. An ashtray full to the brim of cigarette butts sits between them, as well as a half-empty bottle of vodka.
Without acknowledging her presence, the skinny brunette spins in her seat and there's a distinctly mechanical click as the shutter snaps on her new camera. Naomi glares at her friend menacingly for a moment, incredibly displeased to have become a reluctant model.
"Hi, Naomi," Effy drawls as if she thinks something is funny about the situation. At the sound, Michelle draws her sunglasses onto her forehead and cranes her neck to peer at the visitor. Interestingly, she says nothing and only offers a small smile before pulling her shades back down and returning to her sun worship. "You got the note?"
Naomi groans and steps deeper into the garden. "Of course I did. I've texted you a hundred times about it." She's really not in the mood for Effy's stupid games and comes up to stand over the thin girl, attempting somehow to be intimidating. As if that has ever worked on a Stonem before. She's met with a shrug and the echo of another click of the camera. "Stop it, Eff."
Effy gazes up, nonplussed, and her blue eyes seemingly wider than normal. It's her best clueless, innocent look but that sad fact is that like a clear, blue ocean, Effy's eyes are almost transparent at times. She can't quite make out what precisely is going on in her head (no one can), but she can practically see the wheels and gears spinning themselves into a constant frenzy. It's a bit of a contradiction maybe that they appear so clear yet remain so defiantly impenetrable. Like a reflection in a mirror, or glassy lake. Moreover, models supposedly had that 'smiling with their eyes' thing going on; Effy Stonem had 'arrogantly smirking with her eyes' happening instead. Bitch.
Reaching under her canvas chair, the brunette pulls out a small stack of photos printed from a home printer and holds them up to Naomi who takes them cautiously. "What are these?"
"Photographs."
Naomi sighs. "Thanks." Even just a single word drips with excessive sarcasm.
Effy pauses, motions for her friend to flip through them then laughs. "Tony bought me a camera. So the rest of the world can see it as I do, or some bollocks." The blonde knows better. Effy's trying to play it off as if it's a silly idea, the same as she does with her meds or therapy or art or anything of substance she creates. But the message must have sunk in cos the photos are surprisingly well-composed and the subject matter the exact representation of what she'd expect the inside of Effy's mind to look like. Mostly black and white: rubbish bins, tangled bramble patches, decrepit sheds, industrial complexes, council estates, half-rotten children's toys, roadkill, dead trees, long empty expanses of motorway. There's colour too: graffiti, homeless men, stormy skies, the dirty harbour, rusted out lorries, half-sunken barges, abandoned heroin needles. It all paints a depressing picture of a dreadful, post-apocalyptic England. But then, there's more. There are candid portraits of familiar faces: Tony asleep, small and fragile-looking in his bed, a fatigued Anthea reading the morning paper with a cigarette burnt down to the filter dangling forgotten between her fingers, random partygoers in varying states of ecstasy and inhibition, blasts of lasers, smiling faces, artificially or ephemerally friendly faces – all within the confines of dark clubs. And then there's a gravestone with a painfully familiar name, a police wagon on its was to a jail, an airplane flying low, the woods, Tony again concentrating intensely on something in a book, Michelle hunched on the sofa in their living room, alone, with a vodka bottle in hand. And Katie, in black and white, startlingly expressive, halfway between anguish and anger wearing the same outfit she'd had on this morning and screaming at someone out of frame. It's a beautiful shot, although Katie herself likely would abhor being caught at such a time. They're all beautiful actually, even in their abandon, decay and misuse. And then a breathtaking landscape of sunrise from what looks to be Ashton Court. It's odd to feel so much of Effy's thoughts so intensely and to have them displayed in such striking translations. They may seem like ordinary photos, many of which a 1000 other hipsters or wannabes could have taken just the same, packed a decent portfolio full of these clichés, but putting them together with the girl in front of her somehow feels incredibly invasive, like she's breached some unspoken barrier. On their own, they're lovely and disturbing, but in connection with Effy, they're powerful and obtrusive. Something she's not meant to see; something Effy hadn't really meant to share.
"Wow, these are..."
"Don't." She snatches them back, tossing them carelessly under her seat as if suddenly they're just meaningless pieces of paper. "It's all Tony's idea anyway."
And like that, clues to Effy's psyche are stowed away like hidden treasures. It draws Naomi's stare once again to the vodka bottle between the two girls; she prods at it with her toe.
Michelle glances over lazily and waves a hand in the air. "You can have some, if you want," she says sounding uncharacteristically disinterested. "Out of fags though."
What is this? Why is Effy lounging around with Michelle of all people, drinking at noon on a Monday? If Naomi's honest with herself (and she really doesn't like to be if she can help it) the idea is sparking hints of jealousy in her chest, something toxic is bubbling out of the half-digested cereal she'd had for breakfast before coming over here. Was the milk off? Indigestion, perhaps. But likely more psychological in origin. Idly passing the daylight hours was supposed to be her thing, wasn't it? With both of them. But they weren't supposed to do it with each other and just leave her out of it. She could expect this sort of thing from Effy but it's Michelle's attitude that is twisting that knife between her ribs.
"Is Emily busy then?"
Oh.
Yeah. Michelle certainly does not sound pleased. She can't hide her feelings nearly as well as the emotional-Houdini in the other chair. It's sort of bitter maybe but flimsily covered by a feigned indifference. Naomi merely mumbles yeah and kicks at the dirt around the ashtray absently. It's terribly confusing how at times Naomi can't seem to tell the truth at all, and other times can't seem to lie. Surely if you're good at one or the other, you should be skilled enough to control it. It strikes her that maybe she's not actually talented, she's just shit at both things. How unfortunate. Although it sure would explain a lot.
"Page 174," Effy drones and Naomi's ears perk up at the mention. Finally, an answer.
"Yeah, what's that even mean?"
Effy nods towards the house again. "It's in there."
Just as Naomi turns to seek out whatever riddle Effy's devised for her this time, Tony appears in the doorway. He leans casually against the frame and smiles at the girls. "Ready to go, Nips?" Oh. So they haven't broken up. The romance isn't quite dead yet. He doesn't wait for an answer; he just turns and fades back into the dimness of the indoors.
Michelle rises slowly, almost reluctantly really, and moves towards the house herself, brushing a little too close to Naomi in the process. She pauses as if she has something to say, but her eyes, shielded by the dark plastic of her sunglasses, give Naomi no hint as to what it is. Instead, she just sighs and continues her trek to meet Tony. It was a close call. Naomi realises that for some odd reason, she'd felt the urge to apologise but she has no idea for what or why on earth she should. Shaking her head, she listens for quiet voices as they move into the front of the house, and then the slam of the door. They're gone. For now. Believing the coast to be clear, the blonde glances back at her mate one more time. Effy's not paying any attention.
On the kitchen table is a book. It's the same bloody book that Effy had shown to her before, and the same one that Katie had been perusing when Naomi had found them on Effy's bed. It's dog-eared on what she presumes in the page in question. Flipping it open impatiently, she notes that it is page 174. There's a small illustration of a fox and a hound. Immediately she thinks of JJ. Paranoia trickles through her mind, wondering if maybe just everyone else was in on some cosmic joke and she's the butt of it. There's no way JJ and Effy would devise some sort of maniacal scheme, is there? No. She calms herself with the assertion that while Effy was an enigma at times, she certainly would have let it slip had she been chatting with JJ. Sober Effy was not the same creature as drugged-up Effy, and really, it was much easier to get the truth out of her if she'd dabbled in any kind of enactogen during the night. Lovely illicit substances. Who needs that wonky Stun shit when decent MDMA will do just as well?
It doesn't take much to see why Effy's marked this page as a whole passage of text is high-lighted in bright yellow.
"LAELAPS (Λαῖλαψ) , "hurricane-dog" (Κυον Λαιλαψ) or "storm-wind" was a mythological dog who never failed to catch what he was hunting. In one version of Laelaps' origin, he was a gift from Zeus to Europa of Krete. The hound was passed down to King Minos. Minos had been cursed by his wife; he ejaculated scorpions and spiders that would devour the genitals of those he slept with. Because of this, he called Prokris of Athens to his aid. When she cured him he gave her Laelaps and a javelin that never missed its target. Prokris's husband, Kephalos of Athens, decided to use the hound to hunt the TEUMESSIAN FOX that was laying waste to the countryside around Thebes and could never be caught. This was a paradox: a dog who always caught his prey and a fox that could never be caught. Zeus, pondering the dilemma of the uncatchable fox being chased by an inescapable hound, as Istrus says, turned the pair to stone, or else placed them in the heavens as the Constellations Canis Major (Laelaps) and Canis Minor (Teumessian Fox). In so doing he froze their contest or set it to play out for eternity in the heavens.
Alternately, in some stories the dog overtook the fox, but Zeus changed both animals into a stone, which was shown in the neighbourhood of Thebes."
What the fuck, Effy?
Naomi slaps the book closed and marches purposefully towards the back garden again. She's going to demand an explanation. And moreover, demand to know if Effy's spoken with Emily or JJ. The coincidence is too convenient.
The walled-in garden is empty.
It's not the first time Naomi seriously wonders if Effy is only a figment of her imagination.
.
.
It's only a few blocks and she's home again, safe to dwell on the meaning alone in her room without interference from anyone. Effy would have been nice to talk to since the point of the story still doesn't quite fit with anything she herself can come up with. A hint would have been nice. But instead she's left to consider it all for herself. Ugh.
Who is the fox and who is the hound? And the hunter who controls it all? Effy. But who is her hound? Naomi thinks maybe she's the hound but that doesn't work. She's not chasing anything, although she had chased Emily, right? Well, not really. So, is Emily the hound? That doesn't seem right either, but it would make Naomi the fox. There's a lot to be said about foxes: they're cunning, clever, quick – and she certainly does not consider herself any of those things. However, they do spend their lives on the run... She glances up at a small plush fox on a bookcase that she had received from the League Against Cruel Sports for helping with an anti-foxhunt campaign ages ago in Year 11, when she was still idealistic, loud-mouthed and determined to fight for her future. Back when she had a life outside of Emily Fitch. She thinks maybe people don't really know about foxes much at all.
While granted with an instinctive sort of foresight, they aren't truly as clever as they're made out to be in literature. They are diggers, buryers, hiders. Keeping watch on their secrets. In the good months, as few people seem to realise, foxes don't eat all the prey they manage to catch. An unlucky songbird may be covered with dirt in a hole in the ground as the fox hides away his snack for the longer, harder winter months. Like chipmunks and squirrels more than fearsome predators of livestock, he tucks away quite a few contingencies. Because even more like squirrels, he often forgets where he's hidden his emergency rations. His secrets become lost even to himself. So he buries more and more out of necessity. If he's lucky, he'll find some again but there's also the chance he'll forget, or when he does find a treasure, it's rotten from neglect. But in the worst case, and the most common one, something else has discovered his secret and uncovered it. It's no longer his alone.
And really, they may be fast runners, but not as swift as people think. Horse and hound can keep up until eventually the fox tires. A fox can't run forever. He'll try; his life depends on it. Zig-zagging through forests and tunnels, drainage pipes and culverts, up and over dales, in and out of ditches, he will try. He'll run out of fear, out of self-preservation and the anxiety will mount, but truly panicking only as he finds each of his holes, his rare safe-havens, blocked up by the hunters in prior anticipation of his escape. He will continue to run. There's a sort of gruesome inevitability to the chase most times, and the ending that makes the fox wonder what the point of running was in the first place perhaps. If he isn't torn apart by dogs, shot to death or collapsing from the stress-induced haemorrhaging, he has escaped only momentarily. A fox then may be free, but so exhausted that he cannot carry on. Run to death.
Naomi wonders if there's a subtle precautionary tale here.
Still, she can't accept the idea that one should accept the seemingly inevitable without a fight. There may be a large percentage of her 16-year-old self that has been lost to the formative and tragic years beyond, but she will not settle for the ridiculous notion of fate. She knows running, she knows the fight. Passivity had not been in her vocabulary until that final year of college. She fought tooth and nail against social injustices, ignorant people and loving red-haired Emily Fitch. She'd only truly conceded to one of those. The others just fell out of her sight in the blinding glare of teenage love. And now, she has accepted that part just as a fox likely must recognise the futility of the chase when it nears its end. There's still a disturbing rumble deep down when she's left along for too long with her thoughts. It echoes with the same kind of resistance that had seemed so familiar when she was younger, the inability to swallow a particularly hard truth. It sounds as if her heart hasn't ceased running yet, as if the constant pitter-patter of its beats are actually desperately fleeing footsteps against the damp earth of a dark and lonely forest.
Memories of the seemingly infamous Park Incident float to the forefront of her mind unannounced and startlingly crisp against the fog of foxes, hounds and Greek myths. It's Michelle's voice.
Once you're in it, no matter who it's with, you can't get out of love.