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15 September 2011 @ 11:43 pm
FIC: i can't get out of love ;; part 3  
i can't get out of love (a love i had a grip on; now it's gripping me)

Author: Eskimo Jo
Rating: 18
Warning: language, sexuality, substance use.

The lush green grass is lovely in the sun; warm tickles of nature licking at the skin on her bare legs as the wind rustles the blades, the sunshine bearing down but not too heavily on them as they pass the joint back and forth. It's been quite a while since she'd shared this with another person. This is so wonderful it should be illegal, Naomi muses to herself, and sputters into a weak fit of giggles at the thought. Without even knowing what the blonde is so amused about, Michelle chuckles along too only pausing as she takes a pull, flicking a bit of ash carelessly into the breeze that also snatches away the wisps of smoke from her lungs. The trees behind them block them from most of the usual passersby along the footpath. The spliff has burnt down to a small nub as Naomi plucks it from Michelle's weak grasp. She sucks it in until the fire extinguishes and the heat burns her fingers. Dropping the remaining bit into the grass, she lies back, the sun cascading from somewhere behind her, giving her a rather boring yet not unwanted view of the empty pitch. She prefers it like this anyway, empty, lonely, even though she doesn't feel lonely at all with Michelle somewhere to her right. The prickles of grass around her sway slightly as the other girl settles down until her back as well after taking a deep swig from the water bottle Naomi always carries with her.

It's not clear when they had begun talking, like proper talking, but suddenly Naomi is aware of Michelle's voice slowly relaying something about her old friends. She's recalling a friend Jal, her best friend from college who has moved far away. Naomi can't remember what Michelle had said a few seconds ago. Master's programme in ... Music? Somewhere cold is all Naomi can think when it comes time to remember where she was studying. Probably Scotland then? Scotland never really seemed like a particular pillar of musical education, what with all the grating bagpipes, bodhrans and funny Highland dancing. Michelle's saying something about missing Jal, like quite a lot, but there's no reason for her to come home to Bristol anytime soon. Somehow, without Naomi saying much more than a quiet “Oh.”, Michelle's moved onto the topic of another friend, Cassie. This one's weirder and it's making her skin prickly.

Oh. No. That is just a rather large ant curiously crawling along her arm. Stupid insects. She swats it away, missing part of Michelle's story in the process of focusing on the tiny creature. She thinks she's got the whole tale however. At least the important bits. Cassie sounds like a character from a fairytale, like one of those fucked up modern ones, but a fairytale nonetheless. She doesn't sound quite real. Maybe she isn't. Maybe she's a figment of Michelle's cannabis-induced high. It wouldn't be the first time a stoner came up with a weird thought. That would all maybe seem like the most logical option had Michelle not been throwing in names of people Naomi also knew, like that Sid geek. What a tool.

“Why didn't he...like... just go after her?” she finds herself asking without even realising it, her own voice sounding soft and unfamiliar. After all, that's what you're supposed to do when people you love leave, and if you're still in love and they still love you. You go after them. Naomi knows that well enough, knows it from both sides having been the pursued and the pursuer. She's not that talented at the latter, but she has a go anyway.

Michelle sighs, her head turning to gaze over at her friend. “New York City is massive, Naomi.” Oh, right. “It's not like you can just show up, walk down the road and find a specific person. Not like here.” Her voice holds resentment, probably cos of all the parties they seem to end up with old mates from college and shit.

“Hmm, I guess.”

“Like, if you are that ant, yeah?” she muses and gestures to the stubborn ant that has resumed its journey up Naomi's arm. “And this park is New York and all the blades of grass are skyscrapers and so there's that; but then imagine if as well, there are millions of other ants everywhere. But you need to find just one. It's gonna take bloody ages, no? Especially if you don't want to be found.”

The clouds in the sky above them are swirling it seems. Slowly morphing into shapes, all unrecognisable things, imaginary creatures with multiple tails and multiple heads, like that Cerberus dog at the gates of Hades. But fluffy, soft and not terrifying at all. She's heard the explanation Michelle's given her and doesn't feel a need to push the issue. She's right probably, even though Naomi's quite sure neither one of them has actually been to America to know how true it all is. It's just like the films, yeah? They'll both have to take Sid's word for it. Only then does she feel a second trail along her arm following in the wake of the almost imperceptible footsteps of the ant. Glancing down with some effort, she sees Michelle's finger lazily trailing behind the insect as it journeys across the ticklish skin of the inside of her elbow and then over the hump of a bicep. There's a glazed look in the brunette's green eyes as if she's not quite focused but also concentrating too hard. It doesn't tickle really, not until Michelle touches her there, under her elbow.

Biting down on her lip does nothing as eventually the laughter escapes. The sound appears to rattle her companion for a moment before she recognises the source and the reason, and then there's more than one finger, a whole hand of them actually, climbing towards the top of her arm, dipping down into her armpit. Wiggling. Niggling. It starts as a chuckle again but erupts into full-out laugher in a matter of seconds. It feels nice to laugh. It's sort of artificial since it's been inspired by both drugs and physical manipulation, but all the same, it's nice. Michelle giggling alongside her doesn't hurt either. Not many people know she's even ticklish, save Emily and Cook. Cook, only cos he's twat and in some less-than-brilliant stroke of inspiration, went for it one day at her house and she hadn't been quick enough to dodge away from his fluttering fingers. A swift kick to the groin had put him off for a while. And Emily, well, Emily was the only one allowed to actually touch her like that, mostly because she'd seen her lose control in much more interesting and embarrassing ways that convulsing from laughter. Tickling was nothing in comparison to that. Really, how could it when she'd cum all over her face before? Emily knew full well what the usual composed Naomi Campbell looked like when she's lost all sense of herself. Without thinking, Naomi pushes Michelle away, slightly too roughly, almost like she's angry. She's not, at least not that she's aware of herself, but she can't lose herself. Not now and not yet.

Thankfully, Michelle doesn't seem too concerned with the rebuttal, she's too dazed herself, and lies back down in the grass, staring at the same blue sky. They're silent. Naomi's not able to tell how long it's been, the weed playing tricks with her sense of time, stretching it out beyond all reason, sometimes snapping it back and making her wonder if she's missed something. Broken pieces of time, stretched and snapped, like elastic bands around her fingers. She contemplates JJ suddenly and without warning and her mind starts to derail with the meaning of that meeting. What was the point? What did it mean? What the fuck was he even on about anyway? She grasps at the remnants of their conversation, attempting to fit the pieces she does remember together into a big picture. Halfway through, she forgets what she was doing and becomes preoccupied with the idea of puzzles. Like those cardboard ones, not theoretical ones. They always had silly photos of fluffy puppies or boring Venetian canals. Why did people do puzzles? Honestly, you could just look at the box and see the final picture. What's the point? The futility of store-bought puzzles is forgotten instantly when Michelle's voice wafts over the din in her mind. Paranoia leaks in suddenly, wondering if she'd been thinking out loud... or maybe Michelle can read her mind or something equally bizarre. When the words reach her ears, she's relieved to recognise that they have no connection to her previous train of thought.

“What would you do if...” Her voice trails off as she seems to rethink her question. “You're like, gay. Can you see yourself spending the rest of your life with a man? Does it ever...” She never finishes the question and Naomi's glad for that. The whole concept is as confusing in its motivation as it is in its answer. She hadn't actually considered it a possibility, not since Emily. She was going to spend the rest of her life with Emily.

Now she's certain she's spoken aloud cos Michelle huffs and says with an air of irritation, “Okay, but what if that doesn't... I mean. What if there was a man?”

This is starting to teeter on the typical 'But have you ever been with a man?' or 'You've just not met the right one yet' edge. She fucking despises this cliff. In retaliation, Naomi snaps, “Well, can you see yourself spending the rest of your life with a woman?” She'll toss Michelle off the cliff instead.

She expects a smart-arse reply, something quick and defensive and is thrown when there is actually no response. Nothing. Not a huff, not a sigh. She waits. It could be for a few seconds, or a few minutes. When she does turn her head towards the brunette, green eyes are staring, slightly blearily, at her. She meets the gaze, suddenly feeling strange as they hold it. Something is squirming in her gut, something like she'd felt seeing Chelle in her wet t-shirt. As if something clicks, Michelle breaks the stare, rolls her face back up to the sky. “Maybe. I don't know. I've never really...” It sounds raw, a little bit unsure, a lot strangled.

She seems to suddenly become aware of her confession and adds quickly, “I love Tony.”

Naomi rolls her eyes “Of course you do. And I love Emily.” There's something about how the words escape that makes her uncomfortable, especially in relation to what they were meant to respond to. She does love Emily, and Emily loves her. They just need time apart. But Tony? Well, he's a twat and Naomi's not entirely convinced Michelle loves him so much as is clinging desperately to him because of what he represents. Better days. Exciting days. Comfortable days. The old days. Days she knew well and felt alive in. The perfect life. He's sociable, and popular, and desirable and if she's with him maybe she becomes those things too. He's what she wishes to be, makes her a better person, or so she thinks probably. So she clings to a boy who maybe loved her once, probably a lot even, with his whole heart but cos growing up is shit, has left that part of him to wither and fade in the glare of the future. Why the fuck does it feel so familiar? Tony's an ass. He doesn't really seem to love her much anymore, at least to any third-parties. She knows Effy thinks the same. But maybe it's just something that you can't get out of, like how she'd felt back before Sophia. Trapped.

Nodding to herself mostly, Michelle takes a deep breath, squinting as a gull flies low overhead, surveying the two girls, scavenging for scraps of a picnic that never existed. Once again, Naomi has to calm herself that other people cannot actually read her mind when Michelle breaks the silence. “Maybe... it doesn't matter. Once you're in it, no matter who it's with, you can't get out of love. That's what I was asking, you know.” The gull, still circling above, answers her with a cry. The question seems much less offensive now that she explains it. She wasn't questioning Naomi's sexuality; she was pondering if other people felt the inevitability of love. “It's kind of inescapable.”

“Yeah,” Naomi concedes finally. Her head lolls in the grass, comfortably coming to face the profile of the older girl. Michelle is still gazing upwards at the sky, her eyelids half-fallen against the brightness of the early autumn day. She's pretty in this light, at this angle. Not like Emily, of course. There's no brilliant flash of fire, creamy pale skin to contrast. Delicate, petite features. Michelle's not like that. And she even looks different now from the girl she'd met in the shadowed and crowded room at the party what seems like an age ago. Younger, if that's possible. It's not, not really. People don't grow younger. That's impossible. She finds herself chuckling for no particular reason. Naomi reckons maybe they should do this more often. Peering across the very small gap between them, Michelle catches Naomi staring and raises an eyebrow to compliment her smirk.


Shaking her blonde hair as best she can, she laughs. “Nothing. Just wondering what it'd be like if people could grow backwards. Like get younger.”

Michelle appears to seriously consider the question, her gaze darting elsewhere as if the scenery someplace has an answer. “Then they wouldn't really be growing would they?”

With a quiet hum, Naomi shrugs. “I guess.” She closes her eyes, savouring the warmth of the sunshine against her face. Soon it will shift and shadows will slowly creep over them. “We should do this more often,” she finds herself saying in almost a whisper. The weed has made her far too relaxed to really care about what all this could mean, like why she still has something burning near the base of her spine, licking out and up, like those fucking yoghurt or soap adverts that show slow-motion video of silk, twisting and sliding effortlessly through the air. She can't care about that feeling, cos it's just the drugs, right? It's always just the drugs. She giggles to herself again, before forcing her eyelids apart and squinting over at Michelle who's beaming back at her, even though she's still not actually responded to the suggestion. Or invitation. Whatever it was.

The giggles turn into another bout of infectious laughter, passing back and forth between them. It feels fucking good to just laugh for no reason.

See, it's all very normal. There had been no reason to really suspect that things were about to change significantly once again. JJ had been out of the ordinary, so had the previous nights unsought fantasies. It was quite enough. There was no bastardised concept of the Rule of Threes in her mind. So, whilst the day had been odd from the stroke of midnight onwards, the sunshine was waning and so too must the oddness. Most likely, even Michelle herself doesn't expect it, and wouldn't have even if she had known about the events of Naomi's day in any sort of detail.

This is why, during a pause in the giggles, they are both equally shocked to feel lips against their own. It's Michelle who has to pull back; she's the one who had taken that step too far. The laughter dies immediately as her eyes grow wide. Naomi notices how dilated her pupils are at the moment and the surrounding irises usually a hazelish-green are almost the same hue as the tree leaves around them. Suddenly that feeling in the pit of her stomach is back with a vengeance, gnawing and clawing at her for freedom. But she doesn't know what the fuck it is and if it's even a good idea to let it out. Best to keep it locked up tight.

Whatever it is, it's precisely what she blames for her action from then on. As if controlling her body from the inside out, going with her gut instead of her head, she offers a quick smile. It's not especially welcoming or encouraging, but it's enough.

Michelle winces, “Do you like me?”

The question itself is immature, preposterous even, and Naomi's amazed that she's finally found a situation in which to apply such a posh, pretentious sounding word. Of course she bloody does or else they wouldn't have started this complex and now altogether insane friendship. She looks up at the clouds for the best way to answer and is met only with fluffy, careless white puffballs. So she nods in affirmation, unaware of the ardent stare from a pair of green eyes. When no further question comes, she glances over again, offers a small supplementary smile and catches the gaze.

The brunette shifts closer again, tentatively brushing her lips against Naomi's for a second time. There's no reason for this; there's no liquor, and they're both in love with other people, right? Naomi knows she can't quite use even the excuse that she's lonely, cos, honestly, she's not really. She's actually been quite all right for the past little while. This isn't desperation and this isn't a game to manipulate Tony. This is... Shit. It may not be a first kiss but it fucking feels like it. That time before, at that party, they'd been completely wasted and complete strangers to each other, and it was supposed to have been the end of getting carried away. This is a lot like none of that, not even the carried away part. Sure there's the pot, but Naomi suspects this maybe was bound to happen with or without the drugs. Sort of like kissing Emily had been...

Normally the thought of her causes Naomi to flinch, pull back, second guess everything, but none of that is happening either. Instead, she presses a little harder herself.

It's so bloody soft. Gentle perhaps. Tentative but not fearful. Lazy but not careless. And it lasts for fucking ever. Ages upon ages, really. Or at least that's how it feels, but in a good way. A very good way that has worked to amplify how lovely the afternoon had been up to that point. If it stretched on forever like this, she's not sure she'd complain. There's just the two of them now, lying in the sunshine, slowly exploring. At one moment Naomi's tempted to move even closer, grab hold of an arm, an edge of a t-shirt, anything to pull them closer but the next moment, the idea vanishes and she's content just to drift along with the steady current; then it's back, the desire to do just a little more. Again, it fades. Over and over, it comes and goes like the ebb and flow of the ocean, the contentment winning every time as the waves draw back. She limits her hands to a light touch, cradled in the dip of a small waist and doesn't flinch as a smooth palm slips over her jaw and deft fingers twist idly through blonde strands.

Maybe it's 3 minutes later, maybe it's half an hour but when it ends, the air seems heavy and loaded. What previously had been a new, tentative friendship -- and only friendship despite the rough start -- is markedly different. Naomi wants to blame the spliff but knows she can't. Not this time. Michelle looks away almost immediately. While Naomi's heart may belong chained to the unyielding, immovable weight of another, it's Michelle who's actually in a relationship. Her face begins to betray the first signs of panic as she sits up abruptly, wiping a hand tiredly over her face and shaking her head.

“Oh god.”

She's taken the words right out of Naomi's mouth, who, at the moment is torn between confusion and absolutely completely loathing Michelle for what's she's done to them. They were fine before. A little dodgy, yeah, but it was all fine. She had enjoyed having a mate that wasn't Effy and wasn't mental. Now it's well fucked up.

Although, perhaps all is not lost. “It was just a kiss.”

The brunette turns, grimaces momentarily, and then faces back towards the rows of houses beyond. She laughs scornfully, “Yeah. Sure.”

For Christ's sake. Naomi's forced to play the rational one now. It literally was just a snog. Unfortunately, it seems packed with a little too much meaning even though what that even is still isn't clear. “Whatever. Forget it, okay?” It feels as though she's trying to convince herself just as much as Michelle.

The older girl pulls her knees up, wrapping her arms over them and sits there in silent consideration of the proposition. Eventually she looks back over her shoulder at Naomi who has now also taken a cross-legged seat on the grass. “Can we go back to friends?”

That's precisely what Naomi wants so she shrugs. She doesn't see why not. There's no set rule that snogging signalled a definite end of a friendship. If neither dwells on it, it doesn't mean anything. Probably. No, it most certainly does not mean anything. They're only making it mean something by going on like this. When she's back with Emily, this whole day won't even be a blip in her memory, that's how inconsequential it is. Then there's a sigh from the older girl.

“Okay then.”

The conversation ceases at that moment. The only sounds shared between them are the distant gleeful cries of some children in the park and the rumble of the occasional car down the streets adjacent. A few birds accompany the din, but no other voices. She grits her teeth.

The tension snaps easily when out of nowhere, a boy stands in front of them. He's grinning in amusement but there's the smallest hint of confusion on his thin lips.

“Nips,” he smirks and then glances to Naomi. “Naomi.”

Naomi rolls her eyes at the unbidden presence. Tony Stonem is like chlamydia: everywhere cool and clueless people are, there he is too, jumping from one person to the next, constantly irritating everyone and making them all uncomfortable. Furthermore, just when you think you're finally rid of him, oh! Up he pops again to make life even more unbearable than it was before. She just can't find peace. And worse, his presence is causing Michelle to fidget uneasily like she really does have an itchy rash in her pants.

There's much too long a wait, much longer a pause than there should be, before she pulls her mask into place and greets him with that annoyingly and cloying trill, “Hi Tone.” Scrambling up to her feet, she grabs him by the front of his jumper and shoves her tongue quite obviously down his throat. “I was just thinking about you, babe.” Sticking out her tits and fluttering her eyelashes and all. It's gross.

Maybe this time is really is the spliff talking but Naomi snorts at the comment. Loudly. Tony's gaze fixes on her for only a second before he shrugs. It's Michelle's warning death-glare that is far more hurtful.

“Missed me, then?” he asks her smugly. “Just came to meet Kenneth to get some pills and tickets for the weekend. Fancy seeing you two instead.”

Naomi crawls to her feet, snatching up her bag and turning to hide yet another eye-roll from the two idiots in front of her. “See you later,” she tosses over her shoulder as she stalks away across the green not even pausing to listen for a reply.

“Later” doesn't seem to be anytime soon when after two days, Naomi's not heard a word from Michelle. It's fine. Perfectly fine in fact since she's got her shit job to keep her occupied anyway. But when her mobile beeps with a new text message, her heart thuds a bit faster than normal and she glances down, surprised to recognise how much she hopes it's Michelle.

It's not.

The familiar digits spear her vision, the name even moreso. Emily. If she had thought her heart was going a little overboard before, it's nothing compared to the reaction she's having to finally, finally having that name pop up, reaching out for communication. Panic sets in quickly as she reads the words. 4 simple words that could mean so many things, both horrible and wonderful.

'We need to talk.'

Talking had never been her strong point but she's willing to give it a go again; for Emily, she'd try anything once. Or twice. Or repeatedly even if she's shit at it. Her manic and exceptionally strong pulse pushes against her wrists, fingertips, chest. It's like she can feel Emily inside her, in her bloodstream, already, wild and full of energy. Everything they had been before, everything that Emily had made her feel by the lake. Her emotions alternate from nervous to enthralled to scared to elated and back again, all in a cycle that Naomi likes to call love. It's exhausting but it's worth it. With trembling fingers, she responds simply with OK.

There's no immediate reply. And not even one for the rest of her shift. By the time her manager gives her the go-ahead to leave, there's still nothing. Whatever she'd been feeling before faded fairly quickly and Naomi's a little pissed off with herself for allowing it to just disappear like that. Years ago, she'd have been on pins and needles for bloody hours at time. But today, between doing her job and her thoughts getting all jumbled up, she'd only managed to focus on the possibilities about a third of the time. She blames the drama with Michelle for interfering as whatever had happened there tangled itself around thoughts of Emily. Sometimes it was related to what Emily would think (if she was dumb enough to actually let it slip) and just what it all meant on its own.

Instead of taking her usual route home, she detours back into the Victoria Park and south towards Effy's house. If there was one person who may have some semblance of insight about what all this shit is about, it would be her and Naomi can only hope that she's not in one of her moods. Those are the worst, but considering she's not had any strange and cryptically dense messages left on her answerphone lately, she doesn't suspect that will be a problem. With some relief, she notices that Tony's ugly blue car isn't parked out front. In fact, she can't see it anywhere down the street and takes that as a good sign. One less issue.

But when she knocks, loudly, four times, and there still comes no answer, she pulls out the spare key Effy had given her once a long time ago. Very rarely had she needed to use it, and well, Anthea didn't even know she possessed it. That was all the better cos Naomi reckons Anthea's not too fond of her. She seems to want Effy to stay cooped up, alone and miserable, inside her soft, dull bedroom for the rest of her life just like she had been in that fucking asylum for all those months after Freddie's death. So, really, it's an excellent thing that, for the most part, Anthea's a terrible mother and isn't actually home the majority of the time. Naturally, that's where Tony's meant to step in and take over, except he's just as preoccupied with his own life as Effy is with blotter art, and she certainly loves that. Now seems like a good time to use the key.

There's no sound downstairs, not even the dripping of the kitchen tap that Effy had complained about previously. A muffled sound drifts down to her ears. Music, a TV maybe. She clambers up the staircase and follows the sound to Effy's room with heavy, stomped footsteps. She throws open the door, her mouth already running and about ready to give her mate an earful about good manners when people are calling. Instead, she's silenced by an incredibly sharp and irritated glare from Katie Fitch.

“Ugh, you heifer. Shut up, would you?”

Naomi's mouth hangs open, in mid-word but silent. The small TV is babbling quietly about some rap celebrity or something and Katie's sitting on Effy's bed, on top of the duvet, as Effy sleeps deeply beside her. What's worse, she's wearing one of Tony's polos. Why the hell Katie Fitch of all people is wearing Tony's clothes is a fucking mystery. Her mind reels with possibilities, most of them fairly awful except for the one that imagines Effy just tossing it to Katie. Why though? Naomi's not sure she wants the answer. And besides, when did Katie and Effy become such great bum-chums anyway? Admittedly, Naomi's been spending much less time than usual with Effy during the week, finding herself split between friends. (The younger Stonem wasn't that keen on hanging out with Michelle on anything more than an occasional basis. Her reasoning revolved around having to see the cow practically every morning as it was.)

“What the fuck?”

The twin rolls her eyes dramatically and shrugs. “Would you fucking keep your voice down, Naomi? For god's sake, I just got cranky Echidna here to take a nap.”

Take a nap? Echidna? In what sodding alternate universe is Katie a babysitter for 20-year-old mentalcases? And what the fuck is an Echidna? “What? Katie, honestly... Echidna?”

There's just a very dispassionate stare that comes her way, obviously tired of reprimanding the level of Naomi's voice. Instead she just taps the huge book next to her on the bed. Naomi recognises it vaguely as that fucking myth dictionary from weeks ago when she'd been hungover as hell. She's not quite sure that this isn't some sort of weird acid flashback. Maybe Katie isn't really there quoting Greek myths to her. She's a figment of an over-active imagination and a very tired and stressed out mind. Neither of them are there. That may actually seem like the more plausible explanation. Except it's not.

“Mother of all monsters,” Katie whispers conspiratorially and smirks. “I was bored, okay?” It's apparently all the explanation for her sudden interest in Greek classics that Naomi's going to receive. Instead, Katie switches quickly again back to the topic of her passed-out friend. “Have you seen this twat when she's well worked up? Proper nutjob, yeah?”

There are just so many questions. Too many. It's knackering even to think them, let alone ask them and have to listen to and understand the answers. And Naomi still can't quite get over the fact Katie's lounging about in Tony's shirt. Something she's only seen Michelle and Effy do. Hell, she's crashed over here more often than anyone else and she's never had to rummage through Tony's leftovers for something to wear. It's odd. It puts her head in a strange, unfamiliar place. Like, whirling about whether she should mention it to Chelle or not. If the bitch ever speaks to her again, that is.

Her mobile beeps again, alerting her to a new text and her heart leaps. Maybe she had telepathy. That's what you call it when you can make people do things with your mind, right? No matter. Again, she fishes around for her phone and expects Michelle's name to flash up. And again it's Emily instead.

A response.

Too bad it's not the one she had wanted.

'Please don't bother JJ about me anymore.'

That's apparently what she wanted to talk about. It wasn't a reconciliation at all. More of a reprimand. A numb feeling settles into her fingers and she angrily stuffs the mobile back into her bag. She can't respond. Not right now. And especially not with Katie staring at her so intensely and her mouth just begging to ask Katie about it all. The words are there, sticking to her tongue and it's taking all her willpower not to interrogate the other twin. Naomi gets the impression that somehow she's interfering, interrupting something and that she's not actually welcome at all. If Effy was awake, it would be different but she's not so Naomi nods to Katie and leaves the house.

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