to know what to say, mind is a razor blade
Okay, I haven't written fanfiction in so long (not that I ever wrote more than two stories anyway), but-
Naomi POV, piece of shit.
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Because, here’s the thing: Emily is pretty much a stalker. Endearing, yeah, but still an endearing stalker- all doe-eyes and skewed smiles and the tendency to happen to be in rooms where Naomi is going to be, and to stare unfalteringly at her once they are both there.
Like, Emily shows up at her house, without Naomi ever telling her where it is, and manages to make her feel like she’s been doing something wrong, since, after the pajama party Emily forced her to be invited to, during which Emily had kissed her, she continued to avoid Emily, just as she’d already been doing, for years-
And alright, Naomi had kissed her back (…twice)- but come on, there was MDMA in the fucking brownies, and everyone kept running off and leaving them alone, and Emily would bite her lip and look at Naomi until even in the dark brown of her eyes Naomi could see her pupils, blown wide open (just the drugs, just the drugsjustthedrugsjustthedrugs)- and anyway, that’s not the point.
The point is: this isn’t Naomi’s fault.
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Immediately after Naomi hangs up, the queasy feeling starts building in her stomach. It’s how she always feels lately when she sees or thinks about Emily. There is a fist clenched in her gut; her jaw is locked down around something.
It’s bloody uncomfortable, which is exactly why Naomi doesn’t do this sort of thing. She doesn’t want to think about Emily- Emily fucking Fitch- but Emily keeps catching her attention, not because the light glints off of her hair in this certain way or what the fuck else, but because she’s always just there.
Emily fucking Fitch, whose dad released a work-out infomercial that their entire class saw on the internet, whose sister Naomi has been trying to escape since their first meeting in middle school- Emily, the girl who Naomi had barely recognized except for the fact that they’d almost collided on the way into Math one time, until Emily kissed her and Katie came stomping up and everything went to hell-
She’s still not completely sure what she feels, and she wishes that she could go away and think about this for a month, a year maybe, before she had to say anything.
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It’s simultaneously worse and better now, because on one hand, she always feels better after she’s done something, but then on the other hand she’s done something, which makes all the excuses grate together uncomfortably in her head.
She’s always held that people are a lot more self-aware than they admit. When anyone says something ‘just happened’ she wants to scoff at the idea of some event acting on the passive, complacent self, the person as the object and the verb as the subject, or something, which makes no fucking sense. It makes her think of cows, chewing slowly with glazed over eyes (probably on the way to the fucking slaughterhouse somewhere), and-
-she’s maybe been acting sort of like a cow, but she is aware. She’s not trying to pretend about anything. She just is not good at deciphering feelings and mostly they make her uncomfortable, illogical and touchy in a vaguely insecure sort of way that she thought she got rid of years ago; she’s skittish, and she flinches when Emily touches her.
Which is weird because before Emily was the touchy one- in middle school if someone’s tone was wrong she said sorry, looked down, which now makes Naomi want to tilt her face up but she doesn’t want to love her but she does-
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As far as she can tell, Emily doesn’t even test the water before she’s in (technically, Naomi pushed her).
Sun won’t shine forever, but she stands on the edge and thinks about later. Emily gives her four seconds to adjust before she yells at her to get the fuck in already-If Naomi didn’t know better, she’d think that maybe they (she) wouldn’t even regret this later.
Naomi does know better.
She jumps anyway.
.