Author's Notes

So, when I first wrote this, I had a Skins fanfic in mind. But then I read over it and decided that I really liked it, and could tweak it, and put it into the novel I'm working on. Except then I read it again recently and decided it really did scream Naomi and Emily, so I decided to just give the whole Skins fandom a go. This is a first for me, very unprecedented, since I honestly have no idea where this is going. I always know where my fics are going. Yay, time for an adventure!

Disclaimer

I do not own Naomi, Emily, or any other Skins characters that may or may not appear in this story. The title is taken from the Tori Amos song / album "Abnormally Attracted to Sin," whose title was taken from a line in a play, so I'm not entirely sure where all that credit falls. The songs discussed are "Abnormally Attracted to Sin" and "Give" respectively, both by Tori Amos.

Abnormally Attracted to Sin

Prologue

By Persephone's Nautical Nun

I came out here to think. It's not easy. But I guess it's better to think in the side alley of a club, than in the middle of it. I place my hand on the wall, and feel the bass throbbing through the brick.

I can still see her, the way her hips swayed to the music, her red hair cascading down her back. It was like something out of a dream. Or maybe just some ecstasy induced hallucination.

Maybe that's all it ever was. Yeah, tried and true excuse.

The rhythm in the club feels weird, subdued somehow. I can't hear it clearly, but it seems to have slowed down, sensualized itself. Maybe it came outside to think with me.

There's something wrong with me. That's got to be it. I lean my forehead against the brick, and sigh, try to gather myself. I can't even begin to think about going back inside at this point. It would be suicide.

There she'd be. There she'd be, dancing to this song that just feels sexy, and I'd be helpless to counter it.

It's just the drugs. It's just the drugs. It's just the drugs.

It's always just the drugs.

How long can it be just the drugs?

Fuck it.

And that's when I hear it. "You okay?" she says, in that beautifully husky voice of hers. Wait, not beautiful. Husky, yes, but not beautiful. She's not beautiful. I don't think she's absolutely gorgeous.

Oh, fuck, her hand is on my shoulder. Can she feel me tense? Of course she can. She keeps her hand there, anyway. I'm afraid to turn around.

What am I afraid of?

She sighs and slides her hand down my back, and I'm powerless to keep the goosebumps at bay. I shut my eyes tighter, hoping to make it all go away with my mind. At least she's dropped her hand. That makes it easier to pretend she's not here.

But she is here. Goddamnit, she's still here, and I don't think she's going to leave any time soon. "Look at me," she says, and I knew it was going to be something like that.

Maybe if I just make myself sick, she'll go away. Either that, or she'll be completely wonderful and sweet like she always is, and hold my hair back. Which, let's face it, that's the much more likely scenario.

Okay. Obviously, ignoring her isn't working. I'm just going to have to turn around and look at her. I've got to fix my face, first. I can't let on that I've been having an epic battle with myself over the past few minutes.

Fuck, I've even forgotten what I've been fighting about.

Three.

Two.

One.

I turn around.

I keep my back pressed against the wall, somehow taking comfort in its solidity. The bass has changed, a new song, just as mysterious and slow and sexy as the last one. Fuck me, is this national hookup night?

Well, at least if I'm cornered, she can only come at me from one direction, right?

"You're not okay," she says, and I immediately curse my damn expressive eyes. They've officially fucked me over.

"I'm fine." Liar. Liar, liar, liar. Still, I'm impressed with how strong my voice is, and the smile that crept onto my face. I almost believe myself.

"So what are you doing out here?" I can tell she's just playing along.

"I had a headache. I'm fine, now." I move past her, delight in how easy it is. If only I hadn't caught a whiff of her perfume along the way, I might have just made it out of that encounter unscathed. But her scent, and the alcohol, and the ecstasy all combine into one lethal force, and I feel my legs almost buckle out from under me.

It's okay. I catch myself. Or she catches me. Whatever. I'm still on two feet, and while her hands were on my waist for a second or two, she moved them, so I can even breathe, too.

What the fuck is going on?

This is stupid. I just need to go. I need to leave, and get some sleep, and when I wake up tomorrow, this will all be a hazy dream.

So what does it matter what happens tonight, anyway? Fuck it.

I venture a look at her, and place my hand over my stomach. "My tummy feels kind of tight," I explain. Funny, how I didn't even realize that until I said it.

She nods, and curves the corner of her mouth up into a sympathetic half smile. "This will make you feel better," she said, producing a joint out of nowhere.

Awesome. More chemicals.

Breathe.

Just the drugs.

She lights it up and takes a drag, and shoves it in my direction. I take it, because there's nothing else to do. I suppose I could have left by now. Why haven't I left by now?

Fuck it.

She's right. After just two hits, I already feel better. I hand it back to her and take a few steps back, trying to convey that I was finished.

"Let me take you home," she says, and my eyes snap to hers. I imagine I must resemble a deer caught in headlights.

"I live right down the road," she explains. "You look like you could use a lie down." She's pushing the joint back into my hand. I take it and puff, because again, there's nothing else to do. The end is moist, and I imagine it tastes like her.

I hand it back to her, and nod slightly. I don't know what I'm doing, or why. This is stupid. Absolutely ridiculous.

But it's a couch that's close by, and that's awfully tempting.

It's got absolutely nothing to do with her.

Nothing at all.