Paris in the Rain
Title: Paris in the Rain
Pairing: Naomi/Emily
Rating: R for language
Summary: "It's not very easy, loving me, is it?"
Word Count: 3433
Ne me quitte pas, mon chère,
Ne me quitte pas.
- Ne Me Quitte Pas by Regina Spektor
There wasn’t anything, anything at all, that she didn’t like about her spot by the lake. There was something so blindingly, utterly, indescribably spectacular about it. Maybe that it was so taken away from the rest of Bristol, the grime, the grit, and seemed to feed on itself to sustain lush surroundings. Maybe that the only way to get there s, really, by scooter or bike. The paths were torturously up and downhill, complete menaces for stick shift drivers, and so narrow there were some bits you’d need to get off and walk the cycle. The walks would remind her of simpler, single-file times, with a lack of pushing and shoving, and more stopping and smelling the roses. Or maybe it was that calm, the complete stillness that managed to somehow silently scream solitude and undivided attention all at once. Whatever it was, it managed to captivate Emily, every single time, the simple feeling of being home she’d get from it, the way each swim felt like being born again, each blade of grass comforting and understanding her troubles and worries, each breezy wind selected, crafted, and travelling carefully through her hair for the sole purpose of setting her at ease.
There was something so blindingly, utterly, indescribably spectacular about Naomi Campbell. Maybe it was the way the blonde nervously bit her nails at the back of the class, the way her eyes would secretly dart to those who pointed and laughed at her name and hair, the way she’d scurry out of class after another inappropriate debate with the teacher. The awareness of being infamously noticed and still staying strong and not giving into all the stupid jests and jeers. Emily’d always been jealous of the way Naomi could just flip it off, but she’d also managed to spy those hints of hurt, the tiny patches of rust on her armour. Maybe it was the way Naomi wrote for the school paper about paper recycling, or held rallies for Justice Not Crisis, or even just the way she’d sneer or casually slip an insult in a short-lived exchange of words with Katie. Like it or not, Naomi Campbell cared - about everything - maybe too much. Or maybe it was the way Naomi had smiled at her, just before they’d kissed at that party Emily was much too sober and ironically courageous at, and she’d sworn she’d seen Naomi’s upper lip curve slightly before the tiny redhead closed her eyes and let herself go. Whatever it was, Naomi managed to captivate Emily, every single time she’d walk through the door or utter an insult or half-veiled compliment.
Which is, really, why the idea of it terrified her at first.
The idea of showing Naomi her favourite spot in the entire world had come quickly, being just a knee-jerk reaction to something she couldn’t put her finger on quite yet. As they biked towards the lake and Emily watched the wind blow almost straight through Naomi’s pig shirt a la Lord of the Flies, she’d almost felt the wind knock straight out of her and nearly crumbled into herself, falling off the bike. It was happening. It was really happening. What, exactly, she wasn’t sure, but something big was about to happen, because the two greatest possessions that really didn’t belong to her at all were about to collide, and if there was one thing life had an unfair knack of doing, it was showing you just how connected to everything else you could be.
“Come on, then!” Naomi shouted at her, her hair whipping back like a cape of light gold, a grin that was stretching from ear to ear. “You’re falling behind and I don’t exactly know the way, now do I?”
The thing about the lake was, really, it was hers and hers alone. A place to contemplate and commit to memory every second of her life she wished to relive, every notable overheard word of advice, every sincere action luckily made for her, every kiss. Well. The only kiss. The lake had become a memory-keeper, a trustworthy journal kept away from everyone else who’d never managed to find the place. It was majestic. It was keen. It was everything Emily needed it to be when she’d felt too small, too insignificant, too tiny. And so she’d reckoned the two would have to meet, at some point. Maybe it was a place meant to be shared with her. Maybe it was their place.
She didn’t know how she felt about that. After years of sharing, of splitting everything right down the middle, Emily liked that Katie didn’t even know of the lake’s existence, let alone location. Sharing things always ruined them. Made them less special in a way. Like having a step-parent loudly invading a family, placing the mail on the wrong desk, talking all the wrong topics at the dinner table. With time, everything that was once yours and yours alone becomes ours, then theirs, and suddenly you can barely remember why you’d liked the spot by the lake in the first place. People ruin things. People ruin things when they see it to be unique, out of reach, just that tiny bit of lovely. It’d happened to Naomi, the bitterness and resentment she carried on a daily basis, and Emily just couldn’t quite shake off the fear of the same happening to her lake.
She’d stood in absolute fear and uncertainty for the few seconds they observed the still waters, and she’d held her breath until Naomi had said, “It’s lovely.” Their eyes met. “It’s a lovely place.” For a moment and admittedly longer than that, Emily allowed herself to believe.
--
It was painful and horrible and everything it wasn’t supposed to be. Worst of all it made her realize she’d wanted something, she’d pictured it to be something, had wanted it to be a memorable experience that would make it all worth it. She packed the blanket into her bag so carefully, must have folded it five times, and observed their empty space of a kicked in makeshift fireplace, an empty vodka bottle, an empty Emily. She’d given everything. Her heart. Her patience. Her special place by the lake. Her body. None of it mattered. She turned and circled the spot, allowing tears to flow freely down her face and sobs to escape as the sun slowly began to rise and shine a warm glow on the water’s surface. A cold, morning chill flies by and she crumples her hands into her sleeves, a sudden sight of Naomi helping her lift it off and setting it down beside them with care. The leaves rustle beneath her feet, crunching with a surprising crisp for summer foliage, and she remembers their snapping and cracking when she’d rolled Naomi onto her back to straddle her properly, make her feel how real this was.
She feels the wind again, blow across the lake and fluff up her skirt. It’s alright, it coaxes, you’ll be alright. And for once, it’s nowhere near enough. She’d just gone and fucked it all up, really. Stupid Emily. Everyone’s right if you’d just fucking listen to them for once. Naomi was damaged, and cold,
and contagious.
She can’t bike away fast enough.
--
It’s only three months later when they return to the lake, a bit later in the summer. After sleeping with JJ, and Effy’s really good aim, after losing shoes, and casually coming out during dinner, after missed phone calls and awkward avoidances, after love ball dresses and ironic love declarations. When the sun still sets well after eight and the breeze is continuous, and they are still in love. They return to the lake. Dive right into the water the moment they’re off their bikes and stripping their clothes. Naomi’s rubbing some water out of her eyes by the time Emily’s swimming over and unhooking her bra. “That’s my swimming costume,” Naomi murmurs against her lips, though she makes no motion to stop her.
It’s warmer, much warmer than it was in April, and they decide to dry in the sun with two feet still dipped in the water, and Naomi takes her time to slowly lick water droplets off Emily’s shoulder, and then her neck. “Don’t know how clean this water is,” Emily murmurs with a smirk, though she makes no motion to stop her.
The day is spent languidly, almost carelessly. Casual dips back into the pool, making love against trees, reading poetry in the sun and napping in the shade. By the time the sun sets, they’ve completely forgotten the world. And time. And a time when the world stood between them.
“I think that tree’s grown,” Naomi says as they’re lighting the fire and snuggling close. “Do you think that tree’s grown?”
“Don’t know,” Emily replies.
“And the water’s colder. Doesn’t it seem a bit colder to you than last time?”
She smiles. “You seem to remember a lot of it.”
Naomi blushes. “It was an important night.” Pause. “I replayed it quite often in my head, if you must know.” She nudges Emily playfully, who slips cold hands into Naomi’s. They fall into a comfortable silence, stroking each other’s hands and kissing clandestinely between hums and sighs of content.
“I’ve missed this place,” Emily admits before she can stop herself.
“It hasn’t been too long, has it?” Naomi murmurs against her ear.
“Months.”
Her lips halt. “Months?”
“I haven’t been back since last time.”
“I thought you said this was one of your favourites.”
Emily scrunches up a bit and rubs her nose against her shoulder before resting on Naomi for a moment.
Naomi conjures a spliff out of nowhere just in time. “I’ve fucking tainted this place for you, haven’t I?”
“No,” Emily protests quickly, taking the spliff out of her mouth and making her face her. Tiny hands on tinier resilience.
“Don’t lie, Ems,” she says. There’s a genuine flicker of shame and embarrassment and weakness that Emily just can’t continue seeing. She does what she can only think of and kisses her. Again and again. Fast and slow and hectic and softly.
“But you came back,” she whispers, “You came back to me. Everything’s lovely again.”
Naomi smiles at that, the same curiously small and childlike smirk she’d seen all those years ago. Emily ignores the apologetic look in her eyes and kisses her again, removing her shirt and bra in one swift motion. Runs her fingertips along her breasts, effortlessly touching something deeper in Naomi.
“I’m sorry,” Naomi murmurs against her lips, “It’s not very easy, loving me, is it?”
“Shut up.” Emily manages to push Naomi down to the ground, edging her knee to press right up against her knickers.
She notices the sky, falling down on her, so hard, so fast, enveloping her in familiar warmth. The trees, protecting and swaying just so, keeping their relationship as secret as need be. The air, so fresh and salty and burnt and Emily. It’s lovely. It’s all just as lovely as it was the first time. And she thinks again. How terrible to have done that to Emily in such a rarely beautiful spot in Bristol, one of her favourites no less.
Emily’s stripped herself down to nothing and straddles Naomi proudly. “Stop thinking,” she grins, rolling Naomi’s underwear down to her ankles. Naomi remembers to breathe.
--
It settles heavily on Naomi, heavier than she’d like it to. She’s a prick, she’s known it for a while, and Emily wasted no time in reminding her during disagreements, when Naomi would take it just too far, be a bit too insincere with apologies or fail to recognize what was right in front of her. And sometimes she’d say things that were inappropriate, even for her, even for a teenager, to her mum. Granted Gina took it all in stride, but Naomi overstepped the line often enough to make it a problem. A real problem. Of course it didn’t become serious until she met Emily.
Nothing became serious until she met Emily.
The idea of ruining a favourite place for her began eating inside Naomi, ever so slowly, following the relatively quiet bike ride back and especially when they text goodnight from their separate houses. (Maybe one day they could move in together.) It doesn’t go away during breakfast, when the wheaties remind her of the golden brown leaves she crunched on as she walked the bike back to civilization, too untrusting of her feet to keep her steady. And it certainly didn’t go away by the next night, when Emily comes by in a painfully familiar blue sweater. “Why are you wearing that?” she can only ask rudely when she’s shut the door, staring almost angrily at it.
“Sorry,” Emily muses with an arching eyebrow. She takes it off and pulls Naomi in for a hard kiss, dragging her hands forward to caress her clenching stomach muscles, and Naomi concludes Emily should never wear the damn thing again.
The worst bit is that really, it was her fault in the first place anyway. If she had just the right amount of fucking courage for once, she could have turned right back around on that bike, at any time on that walk home, and fixed it. Kissed Emily, made it better, walked them both back to the spot, lay her down on the leaves and shown her exactly how out of control Emily made her feel. But she hadn’t, because she was a selfish fucking prick. And really, she couldn’t blame Emily.
She does, however, try to fix it the only way she knows how.
--
“I quite like your mum,” Emily says when they’ve reached maybe the fortieth step, and counting.
Naomi scoffs half-heartedly whilst trying to cover up how hard she’s breathing. Fuck, she’s out of shape. But she’d never admit it out loud: The Fitch was harsh on exercise, she’d learnt. Trust Naomi-the-Lazy-Bum to date the girl whose father was a fitness expert. “Emily, you like everybody.”
Emily rounds another corner, a good eight steps ahead of Naomi. She turns around slowly, a sad sort of expression on her small face. “That’s not true,” she says slowly, her voice low and embarrassed. She bites her lower lip nervously and lets her eyes and mind wander, only to snap back to reality. “I don’t like salesmen,” she says triumphantly, though it comes out meek and guilty.
Another scoff and Naomi rolls her eyes, walks past her on the stair, only to be stopped by a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I think you should give her another chance,” Emily says seriously, referring to Gina’s overly affectionate and overbearing attitude towards their relationship. She walks up another step, moving closer to Naomi and wrapping her arms around her neck, a motion and proximity that warms Naomi enough to let a small smile slip onto her face. “She’s just trying to love you. Let her?”
Naomi groans. “I don’t need her to love me.” And it’s true. And the fact that it is true is devastatingly unfortunate. And the fact that it being devastatingly unfortunate not really fazing Naomi at all is, also, ironically, equally devastatingly unfortunate.
“I’m trying to love you,” Emily says, snapping Naomi’s mind back and they connect eyes for a moment. She bites her lip and tries a smile. “Do you need me to love you?”
“I need you.”
It’s a damn good answer, Emily thinks as she swoons inside. Not only the words chosen, but the speed at which Naomi responded with it. And the way she’s just looking at her, blue eyes steady and calm like an ocean, locked onto Emily’s with just the right amount of trepidation. She kisses her. “Is that all?” she smirks.
Naomi rolls her eyes once more, inching her way out of Emily’s grip and locking fingers around her own. “Come on, then,” she says with a burst of energy, pulling the shorter girl up the stairs. “We’re almost there.”
“Remind me again,” Emily says, keeping up with every step, “Why we’ve broken into a lighthouse?” She glances around the dark staircase. “An empty lighthouse? At practically midnight?”
“Too many questions, Fitch,” Naomi laughs as they reach the closed door marked LANTERN ROOM. “Whatever happened to ‘everything once’?” she grins.
But Emily’s attention is directed towards the sixty-ish number of steps it’d taken to reach the top of the abandoned lighthouse. She looks back at Naomi, face lit up by the moonlight seeping into the large cracks in the walls. “How did you even find this place?”
Naomi chooses to ignore this one as well. She flips some hair out of her eyes and zips up, leans down and zips Emily’s windbreaker up as well, followed by a peck on the nose. “C’mon,” she says instead, taking her hand with one and opening the door with the other. A huge gust of wind breaks into the tower and they fight their way out, only to have the door slam shut after they’re both safely outside. It’s rounding off the end of August, and those warm winds that manage to chill are breezing by the broken windows in the lantern room. The moonlight invades the room, pouring in a light silver-blue glow to the darkened room with instruments black from non-usage. Outside, the sea is calm, dark blue, deep blue, blue like Naomi’s curtains, blue like Emily’s bow.
Emily’s grip loosens and she wanders around the circular room, squinting when the moon shines in her eye at one point. She eventually finds herself facing the broken lens, sitting atop a useless rotating stand. She brings a single finger, then switches it to her pinkie, and caresses the side of the lens, scrunching her face when she sees the dust. She turns to Naomi, eyes wide. “Is this the bit where you ravage me?”
Naomi can’t help but laugh, shakes it off and takes Emily’s hand again. She brings her to the biggest broken window and they step through it, forgoing the door beside it altogether, standing now on the open balcony. The wind is stronger, and Emily’s hands fly to her long skirt and then to her eyes: They are fucking high up.
Naomi’s hands are on her waist almost immediately. “Come on,” she says, this time with a warm smile. She flushes their bodies close together, inching Emily forward towards the edge of the balcony with her legs. “Just a bit further.”
Fear. Fear and confusion and suspicion. And Emily can do nothing but listen, slowly inching her way towards the edge of the balcony, keeping her eyes down, making certain each step doesn’t result in a cracking sound clearly signifying her doom.
“Look up.”
The sea is a magnificent, vast, dark blue haze of silver and grey and emerald. It crashes back and forth, the sound slightly distant from their position, but still loud enough to soothe one to sleep.
Naomi lets go of her hands.
And in an instant, she feels invincible. Untouchable. Powerful like a political leader and rebellious like the stupid kids they are to have broken into the lighthouse in the first place. It’s a rush of confidence that just flows through Emily, empowering every bone in her body and she’s filled with the ridiculous need to shout something, make everyone hear, make everyone turn and see she, Emily Fitch, is on a goddamn lighthouse. And as quickly as the first; a second wave of complete and utter loneliness floods into her, crashing hard against her heart. No one is here to see her. She stands alone in an abandoned lighthouse.
Naomi reaches behind her, wraps her arms around Emily and pressing a warm kiss to the back of her neck. The movement catches her off guard and she topples in place, vertigo kicking in and the fear of falling completely off suddenly back. Naomi’s arms hold her firmly upright. “It’s okay.”
And she understands. As always, Emily Fitch understands. “Is this what’s it’s like?” she asks breathlessly.
“Yes,” Naomi murmurs, lips resting on a warm ticklish spot below her ear. “This is what it’s like.”
Emily feels the grip tighten around her waist and smiles. Leans her head back and kisses Naomi slowly.