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
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.

Thank you, chrissyxkiki90! x

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All the uncertainty and introspection fades almost as quickly as it had begun and within a week, Naomi has virtually forgotten the visit to Effy's, and her cryptic dense hidden messages. It's easy when Emily is around, and especially when she's lying on her bed, topless on her stomach flipping idly through an unnecessarily large textbook. Naomi grins and pushes down the rumble that was starting to irritate her more and more often these days. Draped in a very loose-fitting t-shirt, she's not much more clothed than her girlfriend. Together they possibly could make a single outfit. Almost. Cos, well, Emily's only got one sock on and the other is nowhere to be seen. She sighs loudly, running a finger across a glossy and colourful graph on the page and Naomi's not sure what to make of it.

She considers it amongst Emily's "New Sounds". There previously were a whole arsenal of sighs, breaths, groans, moans and chuckles that Naomi could translate without much difficulty. That knowledge had come out of experience but somewhere along the line, a transformation took place. Perhaps it was in college, but definitely also afterwards. Now only about half of Emily's sounds are familiar and the remainder are foreign and lack a recognisable meaning. So far, Naomi reminds herself. So far. She'll eventually learn these too. It's just difficult at times like these cos she's never exactly been the most gifted of conversationalists and lately when she suggests or asks a question after one of these New Sounds, she's met with awkward silences or confused gazes. She's no idea what to say any longer, unsure if Emily is frustrated, tired, bored, amused, or any host of other emotions. She usually guesses wrong now. It makes her feel like there's a missing piece somewhere, a loose connection between them.

So instead she's resorted to waiting for Emily to say something to belay her real feelings. It's a time-consuming pastime but far more risk-adverse. She tiptoes with caution around sharp edges now.

The twin sighs again with a slightly different cadence than previously and slides the book away from her, turning to stare up at her blonde girlfriend instead. "We should go out this weekend. Like properly."

Naomi's taken aback. "A date?" They'd never really dated, not properly. Like, ever and it seems odd to start now but it's not something she's not totally opposed to either. Emily stares blankly at her as if the suggestion doesn't quite compute. So Naomi tries again, "To the lake or something?" It's worth a shot. They haven't been back there since their return from Goa and at that time it was late-February and horribly wet and cold. Nothing like it had been in the past. Nothing seemed to be anymore.

Emily shakes her head and smirks. "No, no. Like with everyone else. A party." She lowers herself against the pillow and groans, burying her face and mumbling. "I miss going out."

It hurts.

More than it should maybe.

The respite from that scene couldn't have come at a better time, as Naomi had grown terribly weary of it all. These weeks away from the groaning bass music, dark crowded rooms of strangers and illicit drugs had been something of a breath of fresh air. They had replaced cocaine with sex, and dancing with lounging about in their jim-jams and watching films. She didn't mind the domesticity too much, and ignoring the pang of resentment she sometimes feels from Effy's lack of interference these days, it had been a much needed break. Now Emily wants a break from the break. Emily of all people. A year ago this would have been everything she dreamt of. Fuck change.

"All right," Naomi eventually sighs. She feels a finger trailing down the inside of her arm, thinks of ants, and shudders. The touch vanishes.

"Great, cos I've got this friend from Soc Foundations who's throwing a full-on massive at his on Saturday and loads of people from uni..."

Naomi tunes the rest of details out and lets Emily continue cos it's obviously something she's very excited about. Not really fair to rain on that parade this soon. Nodding or humming every so often, she wonders about Goa and how well they worked there and when they became such vastly different people. Maybe they should move to Goa permanently, play pretend forever.

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Darlin', forever is a long long time. And time has a way of changin' things.
– Big Mama, Disney's "The Fox and the Hound"

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The party is shit.

Of course it is. Why would it be any different? Because it's Bishopston instead of Redcliffe? Because it's being put on by a fresher instead of some college twat left home alone for the weekend? It's the same fucking awful dubstep coming from the speakers and the same cheap lager stowed in the fridge. It's the same morons throwing themselves unabashedly at each other in the same sadistic and often times embarrassing type of modern mating ritual. It's the same drugs, same spirits, same hopelessness and apathy. She spots Tony's mates every so often. And then there's Emily's own friends from uni who she seems to be quite swept up with at the moment, giggling and generally carrying on like she's in sodding Disneyland without a care in the world. What happened to the days when they were instinctively connected, catching each other's eye in crowds, across distance, unable to look away? There's the other ones too: the uni sorts from U Bristol, Bath Spa and UWE; the layabouts and those who work dead-end jobs; and of course, the young ones: Roundview, Filton, Colston's, ugh, all the posh school wankers and whores. Christ, she hates these kinds of house parties.

After necking a few cans of lager she sneakily nicked from an admittedly rather attractive boy's stash, that he and his mate "Spence" seemed to be watching guard over (not very well obviously), Naomi feels slightly better. Not much, but a little bit. Especially when she watches the boy check Emily out, up and down, smirking to himself in the process and running his tongue along his bottom lip. It's times like this she wishes Cook hadn't "done the right thing, yeah, Naomikins" and turned himself in after the mess with Effy's doctor. She could use a buddy, plain and simple, no strings attached, no serious thinking involved. But he's not and that's the unchangeable reality. He won't be around for a very long time. Fuck, she misses him terribly and the enormity of the emotion seems to knock her sideways suddenly. She'd thought her heart was finally finished breaking.

Leaving Emily to catch up with her friends, the blonde steps out into the garden. It's quieter but not empty. A few partygoers are wandering around, sitting on the grass and relaxing. Against the wall is that metalhead kid she sees at half of these things. One leg props a huge boot against the stucco as he leans casually and draws on a cigarette. He appears harmless enough and she shuffles near and fishes her own smoke from a battered pack. He barely gives her a glance before holding out a lighter without even looking at her. She takes it, lights up and hands it back.

"Thanks," she mutters.

He shrugs and his shoulders fall like his leather jacket actually weighs a tonne. "Don't mention it."

And she doesn't. They don't say anything cos this is supposedly a safe haven, a chill out spot where all the fake niceness of the inside doesn't need to exist. People can sulk and smoke and have raging internal debates in peace. It doesn't stop her from peering over at him every so often. He seems familiar, and not just because of his face and generally sullen demeanour.

Halfway through her cigarette there's a whirlwind of activity and Naomi immediately recognises that little posh girl who looks like she's possibly forgotten which generation she belongs to. She's classy, refined even despite her bounding energy and bright, cheery smile. The complete opposite of him. She breezily throws her arms around his neck, stands on tip-toe, planting deliberately wet kisses against his cheek as he pretends to hate the attention.

"Trying to smoke here," he grumbles half-heartedly, pushing away.

She pulls back and pouts theatrically, hands on her hips like a disapproving school-teacher. "How many times have I said those horrible little sticks are bad for you, Richard?" She grins though dissipating any seriousness she'd had on her side. He shrugs again, rolling his eyes in an impressive way Naomi hasn't seen since catching her own reflection in a shop window once. Taking a deliberate step closer, she wrinkles her nose at him playfully. "Fine. Be that way." After a pause she continues even more. "Mini and the girls want a picture with all of us to commemorate the start of term."

"I don't do those gay group photos, Grace."

"Liar, liar pants on fire!" she sing-songs at him, giggling as she finishes. "Now come along, please, Rich. For me?"

The nod as he finally concedes to her wishes is almost undetectable and his eye roll this time is merely bashful. There's a crack of a smile on his face. "I guess."

It's all she needs as she grins in delight and skips back into the fray. Naomi takes a drag and stares at the boy who is nearly finished his own smoke. She can't help it. She has to break the unspoken rule of the quiet smoking wall.

"Your girlfriend?" The older girl is still a little shaken that two such completely different people can work together in such a frankly adorable way. It's like everything shouldn't mesh but somehow it is totally complimentary. Opposite charges; magnetic plus and minus. She quickly reminds herself that they're people and worn-out metaphors about magnets are stupid... but her mum's words echo in her memory: The people who make us happy are never the people we expect.

He side-eyes Naomi quickly and shrugs for the hundredth time in so many minutes. "Yeah."

"She's so... different from you." Not the most diplomatic approach and she can sense his irritation at the statement. In honesty, if she were him, she'd be pretty pissed off about some random stranger commenting on her relationship too.

"Yeah. And?" His eyes narrow at her as if expecting some disparaging commentary.

It's Naomi's turn to shrug. "Nothing," she mumbles and studies the crumbling ash on the end of her fag. If the message wasn't clear enough, he pulls up his headphones from around his neck and covers his ears. She can hear the tinny sound of music being played far too loud even with all the other noise around them. One last pull on his cigarette and he tosses it to the pavement, loping off without a second glance in her direction.

There's something about the incident that bothers Naomi, like in the pit of her stomach. It hadn't been his attitude cos Naomi's had her share of people like that. She considers those types more of kindred spirits rather than obstinate and irritating. Something about the way the two kids work. They just... coexist in this perfect kind of reciprocity. Human nature (especially that of the under-25 world) would define them as foils, perhaps even enemies. But instead, it's like the lamb dancing fearlessly with the lion. She drops her own cigarette on the ground and slips back into the party and searches for Emily who seems to have vanished somewhere in the throngs of idiots.

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Water. Water would be good.

She navigates down a short corridor and finds the bathroom empty. Closing the door softly behind herself, she drinks quickly from the tap, allowing the cold water to flush her system with relief. Looking up, her reflection appears pallid and blue in the light of the stranger's bathroom mirror. Sweeping a finger under eyes, she attempts to fix up some smudged mascara come loose by the incessant habit of running her hands tiredly over her face. It takes a lot less time than she would have liked to touch up her eyes and the knowledge that she can't stay here in her quiet den and put off getting back to mixing with drunk strangers momentarily angers her. She shouldn't have to do this any longer. Wasn't the point of these things to pull? To stumble home (or elsewhere) completely smashed at the end of the night, get sloppily shagged, maybe get ill and then walk home full of shame and surrounded by the tasty aroma stale cigarette smoke and liquor the next morning? Naomi wants none of that. She has a girl. She has a home. And she's not nearly drunk enough. Tipsy, maybe. But not drunk enough for the pantomime.

The tired face in the mirror stares back impassively. It has no mind of its own, no worries. She wishes she could swap places. Bracing her hands on the sides of the sink basin, she breathes out a deep sigh and peers down the black drain.

Her whole body seems to fly back against the wall, causing the cheap plastic towel rod to break and fall to the ground, as the door flies open. Her solitude is shattered against her will.

"The fuck!" she yells as what feels like a heart-attack begins to dissipate. The visitor looks up then, as if she hadn't expected anyone else to be in the room.

"Sorry." And then there's the pause as recognition switches on. "Christ, sorry, Naomi."

"Fuck's sake, Chelle." Naomi pulls herself off the wall, glancing down at the broken rod and heap of dirty handtowels and tries to ignore the idea that once again, this girl has randomly shown up where she is. Inescapable. Michelle has carelessly propped her Mulberry bag up on the wet countertop and is digging through its endless depths for make-up presumably. She pulls out a tube of mascara and leans over closer to the mirror, as if this situation isn't even remotely odd. Like they're just girlie mates having a little chin wag in the toilets, just like any other perfectly normal girl friends. Specifically the kind of stuck-up bitches that Naomi detests and the kind that give her stink-eye when she enters the bathroom at a club and awkwardly interrupts their preening and squawking as she darts around them to the toilet.

Her lashes darken with each sweep. "Didn't think you'd be here," she says casually between strokes.

Naomi looks at her with mild disbelief. "In the loo?"

Michelle chuckles and twists the cap back on her mascara, batting her eyelashes at her reflection. "No, at this party." She pauses and looks over with an unreadable expression. "You haven't been around much at all lately."

The blonde hums non-committally and offers only a lazy shrug of her shoulders as she watches Michelle pull out a stick of lip-gloss from her black hole of a purse, studies it briefly and finally pulls it open. A very distinct scent of candy apple wafts towards her nostrils as Michelle presses on the gloss. Entrancing is probably not the right word for the action, Naomi muses to herself, cos she definitely should not be entranced by anyone other than her girlfriend. But there's something about apples, or maybe the way Michelle is sliding the lip-gloss around her lips that prevents Naomi from looking away. How many girls watch their friends do this all the time? And none of them get very mildly turned on by the action, she reckons. Michelle smacks her lips together a few times, leans into her reflection again and dabs at errant bits of candy apple goo.

What was that bollocks her mum said about apples and snakes? Something about naked people running all willy-nilly around the woods and some talking animals, then eating fruit that made them evil and some angry ghost yelling at them? Sounds like some acid-trippy Harry Potter shit to Naomi honestly, and all she can recall for sure with her mind this foggy is her mum ranting about figs instead of apples and the damnable errors of Western religious history.

Satisfied with her touch-up, Michelle smiles at herself in the mirror. Reaching down, she pulls on her bra and top, nonchalantly adjusting her tits so they are even more noticeable. "It's nice to see you out is all," she says to her reflection before turning to the younger girl. She grins at Naomi like one of those cartoon lions in films, her green eyes narrowing as they focus on their prey. "Can't hide away forever."

Naomi's nostrils flare as the aroma of apples hits again; a burgeoning hunger swells, indifferent to her fading resistance. She meets the irresistible force head on.

It's bad, this kissing business. It's very, very bad. Horribly bad, in fact. Because somewhere on the other side of what is a moderately thin wooden door, her girlfriend is laughing with her friends, innocent and unaware of any flurry of recurrent betrayal. Somewhere on the other side of that same door, a lanky, magnetic sort of blue-eyed devil is lying in wait for Michelle too. But at the moment, the door is enough assurance of safety, or of secrecy. She sees that sullen Rich bloke with his hilariously mismatched girlfriend and two different worlds colliding into one. She wishes she could use that as justification for her actions but she's well aware that there isn't an excuse in the universe that could make this anything but bad.

The only good news is that she's not entirely sure if she completely instigated it. She reckons that Michelle played her part too because Naomi finds herself stumbling backwards, crashing into the mess she'd created earlier as she greedily swallows candy apple lip-gloss. But still, it's Naomi whose hands stray beyond the boundaries of a simple kiss first sliding from their grasp in now-tangled chestnut hair, and down further.

She's never touched Michelle in this intimate way and it's ludicrous that - now when she's actually in a relationship - she deems it the ideal time to take this step. Her desperate fingers graze over the soft curves of perfect breasts before her palms take notice and press harder, her hands full and moving and Michelle's small moan reverberating against her lips. In response, warm fingers slide up and under her own top, racing around her waist and trailing up the indent of her lower spine. The resulting goose-pimples must be terribly noticeable and the shudder only amplifies the feeling.

This is nothing like the park. It's not gentle, it's not lazy, it's not even remotely innocent; it's pushy and frenzied More obviously desperate than the first time they kissed, less friendly than the last. But at least it's equally as thoughtless. Not premeditated. The bracket of the broken towel rack digs into her back but she's too preoccupied with lips and hands and breasts to pay much mind to how she'll have to explain away that angry purple bruise to Emily. Truthfully, the idea of Emily in any sense never manages to break through the haze of lust, especially not when Michelle writhes against Naomi, moans quietly and strangled in her ear, as the blonde fumbles with the button on insanely tight jeans.

The rush is exhilarating really, like being let out out of a cage that had been all too confining and unnatural and now running free again. It's like bounding over hills at full speed in a tornado, wind whipping and streaming over her body. Caught up in a tiny hurricane. (A little too much like a certain word beginning with "L".) She doesn't really think too hard about much in these energized moments and instead allows the momentum to carry them wherever it may go. Michelle's lips glide over exposed skin as if she knows exactly what to do, though really, if Effy is to be trusted, that's not very surprising as the older has a bit of a reputation of being a slag, to put it bluntly. And if she's seeing Tony Stonem, all's fair in love and war, yeah? Naomi manages to push denim away just as a hot hand reaches up under her bra and she bites down on her bottom lip, huffing out a pant through a clenched jaw.

It falls apart not longer after Naomi slips nimble fingers into delicious wetness. Michelle's a screamer probably cos she's definitely a moaner. Naomi knows they're good sounds, of course, she's not retarded but they're completely novel. She can tell Michelle wants to get off as badly as she does. It's bloody well undeniable at this point and Naomi feels the desire coursing through every fucking capillary now, her body pulsing in complimentary need. But when the moment comes and Naomi shifts back just a bit to look the other girl in the face, she doesn't see familiar dark brown eyes gazing back at her. They're dilated green (so, so green in this light) and her breath catches painfully in her throat. It must be the same for Michelle: the blue eyes that she expects are different and a hell of a lot more feminine. It's as if someone has bluntly just froze time in that exact second.

Fear and regret seem to bubble to the surface simultaneously but it's Michelle who pulls back her hands from up Naomi's bra first. A millisecond later, Naomi's freed herself from her own snare. They say nothing; it's awkward enough as it is.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuckfuckfuck.

The brunette rapidly adjusts her clothes and snatches her bag up, scrambling through it for her lip-gloss again. Naomi slithers around behind her, trying to make her escape as one nervous hand flattens her hair and wipes over her mouth, removing all evidence of candy apples. She makes it almost to the door of the tiny room when Michelle sighs. It's an incredibly sad sound and something in Naomi's chest tightens. It's painfully familiar.

Tentative fingers dangle out and snag on Naomi's own hand. The tug is almost imperceptible but she's drawn closer nonetheless and for the briefest of moments, there's a brush of soft lips against her own.

"Sorry."

And then reality snaps back and Naomi's left staring at Michelle who's now gazing at herself in the glass and dabbing on lip-gloss again. "Sorry," she repeats quieter to her reflection and Naomi slips out of the bathroom without a word.

In the corridor, all she can hear is thudding music and a chorus of chaotic voices. She breathes deeply once, twice. Five times actually before she wills herself down the passageway and back towards the party. She grinds down the luscious, woolly feeling that has risen in her chest right where guilt is supposed to be flailing about in full-force. It is strangely subdued this time. Naomi refuses to consider what that means.

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She finds Emily amidst a group of other UWE freshers, chatting excitedly about some student union bollocks or something. The redhead takes her hand without concern about where her girlfriend has been for the last half hour. Naomi hangs on tightly for ages and watches Emily speak as she herself pounds back disgusting gin and tonics. Moreover, she sees Emily's happiness at this new life stage. Eventually she excuses herself and wanders into the front room which is currently packed with people milling about to horrible music, amongst them 3 wannabe hip-hop stars. The white guy in their crew is hilariously inept half the time as they attempt to get some sort of grimy freestyle going above all the racket. She creeps over to the staircase, leans against the banister and surveys what she can see of the party. It's so reminiscent of the last half of the year and Naomi hates it. Nothing has changed, yet everything has and it's fucking knackering to sort it all out. She catches nearby movement out of the corner of her eye and suddenly Michelle is rushing towards her, her hand grasped knuckle-whiteningly tight over Tony's. She dodges Naomi's glare and proceeds to pull Tony after her up the stairs. They're going to fuck and Naomi can finally admit that they idea is making her stomach churn and froth in disgust. She swallows down the bile and pride. They both taste remarkably sour.

She needs a cigarette badly at this point she decides and she pats down her pockets for the few she has squished in a packet somewhere. Effy materialises out of nowhere beside her and holds out a smoke as some peace offering perhaps. Her new camera is absent leaving tonight to be remembered as only blurred visions... or, hopefully, not at all.

"Cheers, Eff," Naomi mutters and places the unlit fag between her lips, now looking for her lighter. Usually she's quite polite about lighting up in strangers' homes but right now she doesn't give a flying toss that she's in some bloke's (quite lovely) house. Another kind of smoke drifts by every so often so she doesn't see why a little carcinogenic tobacco mixed in with that would make a bloody bit of difference. Effy leans against the wall, her head falling back with a thud.

"You came," Effy breathes and Naomi's distracted from her nicotine mission momentarily.

She shrugs. "Emily's idea."

"You read the story?" she asks as if she already knows the answer, which she clearly does because it's Effy and she's likely orchestrated the whole thing.

Naomi nods slowly, the cigarette dangling between her lips, seemingly forgotten. "Yeah. What was– ."

Effy doesn't wait for her to ask the question before interrupting. "Run into Michelle tonight?"

Literally. "Yeah," she says and glancing up towards the second floor where no doubt Michelle and Tony were steamrolling each other into grotesque ecstasy. Naomi didn't mean for her voice to tremble on that single syllable, and she certainly doesn't mean for her whole body to practically catch fire at the thought of what had transpired in the loo already. She consciously steadies her breathing and catches Effy's gaze studying her apathetically. It's time like these when she wonders if Effy cares too much or rather conversely not in the least, and all of this drama is just for sport. Her completely indifferent way of gliding through life would infer a certain aloofness, a carelessness like not much bothers or interests her at all. Such as this moment when she appears almost bored. But then sometimes her obvious curiosity is piqued to the extreme and her eyes act like a hundred needles piercing skin, silently drawing out blood and secrets.

There's a hint of a smile that sneaks out of Effy's mouth after a long pause. "Glad you came."

She wonders then how much has happened in the weeks that she'd been curled up on the sofa with Ems. Effy's oddly calm for the setting. While she's not a big talker, there's always a certain energy that she exudes at parties and nights out; a sort of high-frequency magnetism that draws boys and girls to her like flies. Her eyes are always larger, her ears are tuned to excitement and promises of chemical freedom. Today, she's softened. A little dissociated perhaps. Probably the result a few too many downers. She rolls her head back and forth against the wall, sighing again. She seems tired, and not just worn out from the party life but more like bone-deep fatigued by life itself. Giving up on her search for her lighter, Naomi plucks the cigarette from her mouth, slips it into a pocket carefully and moves to stand beside her best mate. She takes her hand gently.

"I love you, Eff," Naomi sighs and off Effy's non-reaction behind closed eyes, she pushes. "Like proper love, you know?"

Effy squints then, simply raises a sceptical eyebrow and regards Naomi coolly. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a small baggy containing 7 off-white caplets, quite obviously MDMA, and counts them slowly. Twice. As if she expects some to be missing. Then her eyes narrow and she smirks at her friend twitching uncomfortably beside her.

"Everyone loves me," she says, almost a grimace as her blue eyes seem to glisten and she looks away, up at the dark ceiling. It would be quite cocky if Effy didn't look so pained as she says it.

"Fuck off," Naomi admonishes with a half-laugh, wiling for once just to be taken seriously. Like Emily used to do. "I mean it."

Effy sighs, her shoulders heaving with the effort and her gaze distant. She sniffs but Naomi can't be sure if it's due to some leftover ketamine caked to the inside of her nostrils or if her normally detached mate is actually a little wobbly about all of this. Eventually, after a second sniff, she turns to Naomi, her lips curving into a small, genuine smile – such a rare occurrence to see from a Stonem. "I know." There's something in that gaze that prevents Naomi from needing to ask if the feeling is returned. Maybe it's the softness in the blue depths, the sadness and relief constantly on parade behind the mask, or maybe just that she fucking knows Effy the best anyone can hope to. Naomi has no doubt that it's requited. They don't say it, and never have until now, but it's obvious enough to them both. Effy winks and holds her hands up as if she's taking a photograph, makes a click with her tongue and smirks.

She can't explain it. Maybe it's the alcohol, the stress or perhaps Effy's up to her old tricks and there was some random happy substance slipped into her drink earlier. But regardless of the motivations or explanations, Naomi grabs Effy with two hands grasping either side of a bony face and licks her lips. She kisses Effy then, and not like those times when they'd been high at raves and just done it for the hell of it, for the sweet feeling of something against their own lips. Those were tender moments almost, borne out of some shared sense of transitory universal empathy and need for physical pleasure. No, this is much different. It's harder and desperate as Naomi presses her lips roughly against Effy. For her part, the brunette merely plays along, never getting too involved but never resisting either. Exactly the same way as she lives her life these days. (Who ever thought Effy Stonem would be predictable?) It doesn't dissuade the blonde however as she attempts a different angle; maybe that will help. She can't quite seem to grasp as hard as she wants; feeling the sharp cheek bones in her hands makes her feel like a lumbering giant. Clumsy and careless.

She reckons even despite that, it's nice... but there's something missing. There's no rush. No wind lapping against her skin. No manic sense of freedom. She pulls back, dropping her hands as if Effy's skin is suddenly scalding her palms. Effy snorts lightly and turns to stare back out at the crowd, unfazed.

"Doesn't work, does it?"

Naomi grimaces and searches around the room, hoping Emily hadn't just caught that little outburst of irrationality. Effy merely wipes a thumb along her own bottom lip, smirking, and still awaiting Naomi's no doubt snide reply.

"What?" Naomi's exchanged snide for petulant, it appears. She's playing dumb.

"Trying to force yourself to love someone else."

The blonde can feel Effy's stare crawling over her face, studying every minuscule reaction to the words, to the meaning. She purposely looks elsewhere, unfortunately landing on a very displeased looking Katie Fitch. She'd obviously seen the the exchange. An eyebrow arches and Naomi rolls her eyes, shrugging off the silent condemnation. The ceiling has a fascinating pattern on it.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Eff." She does, sort of. But she'd really rather not. Convincing herself that she has no clue may actually work if she wishes hard enough, she reckons. It's done so in the past. There's a playful, distinctly feminine shriek from upstairs and Naomi winces automatically.

Shit. Her cover is most definitely blown.

"Of course you don't," Effy muses and when Naomi glances over at her mate, the brunette's looking to Katie and nodding slightly. Katie winks back and Naomi's just fucking confused. Effy pulls out her mobile and looks at the time, and almost immediately, as if on some cue, a skinny boy stumbles towards her, his mop of curly hair flopping down over one eye. He sidles up to her suggestively, a wide smirk easing over his face. He hands the brunette a cup of some sort of alcohol, grinning.

"Here you are," he states and takes a long gulp of his own drink, knocking the thin plastic against Effy's with a dull clack. "I never did get to lay you," he slurs. "Long time to wait, yeah? So what do you say? Old times?"

Effy blinks slowly and Naomi can't recall who this boy is but he's certainly not someone they'd been at college with. It wasn't too surprising however since Effy seemed to know the entire male population of Bristol under the age of 25. Her gaze darts to Katie who's petting some rugby bloke's thigh teasingly on the sofa. The couple both look to Effy and the lad's eyes light up.

Oh, for fuck's sake. Naomi wants to ease out of this situation, or trainwreck that she is certain is about to commence. She pushes off the wall but Effy's hand snaps out to grab her arm, stalling her progress. Yet the younger girl doesn't even look in her direction. Instead she's focused again on the boy. "Okay, Jake. I promised, didn't I?" She doesn't mention anything about underpants or Cassie, and it's probably better that way. The blonde has a terrible feeling that she's about to be persuaded into something she really would rather not do, let along think about ever in this life. Effy nods towards Katie one last time and the twin rises, tugging her new toy along with her and make their way to Effy. His rugby shirt reads Levan on the backside.

An orgy is just about the last thing Naomi can contemplate at the moment. Michelle's upstairs screwing the shit out of Tony and Effy wants to have an orgy in the room next door? Her stomach heaves with the thought. Frankly, fucking Effy, Katie or either of these blokes (or multiple combinations of) is just too much to handle. Where in sodding hell is Emily? Her eyes scan the room for her girlfriend to no avail. Effy pushes Jake up the stairs after Katie and her man, pausing only to turn to Naomi. Her hand finally drops and the sullen girl lets out a sigh of relief.

"Wait here." Without further explanation, Effy heads up the staircase after Jake and Katie. Naomi has no bleeding idea what she's even supposed to be waiting for and minutes pass without event. She sips her near empty drink. There's a lot of sound coming from above and the unbidden image of Katie and Effy's little foursome of fun invades her imagination. She shudders in response and tries to think of anything but that. It would be wonderful if that other thing could, for once, be her actual girlfriend who appears to have been abducted by aliens or something. She's nowhere to be found lately.

Suddenly there's a flurry of movement above and another shrill cry from one of the bedrooms. Interest piqued, Naomi gazes up the dim staircase trying to discern what's happening. She can hear Tony yell after Michelle, but he sounds amused more than anything. The blonde jumps slightly when Michelle appears out of thin air and comes stomping down the steps at a reckless pace. Her mascara is smeared and she wipes angrily at her eyes as she passes, hissing, "Don't start," at Naomi before fleeing into the crowd of people.

A sharp whistle catches Naomi's attention and her head snaps up to the railing and peers up, making Effy's silhouette out in the shadows, down to her bra – and knickers presumably. A small baggy with what appears to be white powder dangles from her fingers and Naomi has to resist the urge to scoff as a bit spills carelessly out, sparkling, glittering, floating down like angel dust. Before she has the chance, Effy speaks, her words sharp and quiet despite the noise in the house.

"You're not an immovable object, Naomi."

Then she melts back into the darkness above as if she was never really there at all.

.

The world around Naomi crackles and snaps. As if stepping from a fog, all the sounds become deafening in their intensity; the rippling bass, all the shouts and murmurs of everyone else are clear and her vision, once clouded and indistinct, paints vivid pictures of her surroundings. It's altogether terrifying. Too loud, too bright, too intense. She flees in the general direction Michelle had gone and in the process pushes through a writhing mass of sweat-stained bodies, past faces of people both recognisable and alien at the same time; the same faces she sees at all these parties, the same faces that make her wonder if time is on some sort of infinitesimal, inescapable loop. Nothing is ever quite lucid. Nothing fully real after a night like this. The blinding light of the kitchen flashes against her retinas, momentarily blinding her as she scrambles around briefly like a newborn pup climbing out of the den for the first time. Her irises strangle themselves, constricting against the harsh light making her eyes bluer and icier than normal, an illusion of sharp focus amid chaos. Adjustment happens eventually, as it always does.

The first thing she focuses on is Emily: a beacon of blazing crimson amidst a turbulent sea of nameless, meaningless people. The crowd around her is thick like winter mist, and she pushes roughly through, drawn to the flashing red. Emily hasn't even noticed her yet and that itself pricks at her suddenly volatile emotions, something between loneliness and anger rippling over her skin at the realisation; maybe she's no longer the centre of anyone's world. Her safe harbour barely acknowledges her presence -offering only a casual, darting glance- as she finally makes it into Emily's space. The twin smiles briefly and continues her conversation with that blonde from before, that annoying little Scottish girl from Roundview. It stings when Naomi notices the crinkle around Emily's eyes as her mouth stretches into a large grin and the once-common glimmer returns to her brown eyes, making them appear unbelievingly warm. Naomi catches herself not focusing on Emily, surprised by her own shifting attention. Instead her eyes are skimming the faces for someone else. But there are more people speaking around and to Emily, voices from every direction, bombarding her with a cacophony of noise. Submersed completely, Emily doesn't mind, just carries on, smiling.

Naomi elbows in even closer, pushing against all Emily's new friends, stretching down to put her lips to the shell of a rose-pink ear. I need air. I'm going outside.

Distracted, Emily nods and gives her a quick kiss but Naomi's not even certain she heard the words.