Effy hadn't left a message. It had just been exactly 1 minute of silence, down to the second. Naomi had listened to the message 3 times thinking maybe there had been a whisper in there somewhere. There wasn't, and the number rings through directly to voicemail this time. Emily takes the mobile from Naomi's hands and places it on the bedside table, out of reach before linking their fingers, and pulling Naomi back down. They lie in silence, Naomi tracing patterns on Emily's clavicle with studious attention. It doesn't take Emily long to fall asleep. Naomi can't. She still can't, even after everything and now especially with Freddie's death and Effy's peculiar avoidance hanging over her head. She's become accustomed to this routine. She counts each breath Emily takes for a while, her own breath catching in unfounded fear when the pattern breaks and Emily doesn't inhale on cue. She waits, and thinks, and yawns. Sleep takes forever to find her.

.

.

Gina walks through the door early on the morning of the funeral three days later. Naomi's already awake, half-drunk and sloppily making beans on toast for two. The older woman makes a beeline for the kitchen and stops abruptly, hovering in the doorway. Her daughter glances over briefly, barely even registering the new presence. A spoonful of baked beans slips and falls with a foul kind of squishy sound to the tiled flooring. Naomi merely stares at it for a moment before continuing on with her task. Gina steps over and takes a paper towel to wipe up the mess before standing quietly beside her daughter, waiting. But Naomi doesn't take the bait. She merely plops another spoonful of beans onto a piece of toast, then takes a swig from her glass, the aroma of cheap vodka swirling in the air between them.

"Naomi." It's a single word but said with such a mixture of compassion and disbelief that it causes the younger girl to momentarily pause. Gina takes the opportunity to slide the vodka from her daughter's reach and take over the task of preparing breakfast. Mutely, Naomi just stares at the countertop.

"I'll give you a lift to the funeral, okay, honey?"

A nod is all that Naomi can muster at the moment without feeling like she's going to crack into pieces. She watches as her cup of juice and alcohol is dumped into the sink by her mother. "You need to stop this." It's a statement. An easy statement said as casually as possible, as if it were really that simple.

Naomi wants to argue, but instead she presses her lips together tightly . They still quiver noticeably and a hot feeling begins to build up behind her eyelids. Fucking tears again.

"I'll help you, sweetheart." Her mother places the utensils down and turns, gathering a shaking Naomi into her arms. She kisses the top of her head softly. "I'm sorry." The admission causes Naomi's shoulders to hitch up and she squeezes her eyes shut to stop the tears before they escape. After a year, she's finally getting this from her mother. She didn't think actually leaving that message for her mum about Freddie's funeral would have actually changed things.

Quickly as it happens however, there's a cold breeze and Gina is back to serving up breakfast. "Now go upstairs and brush your teeth, wake Emily and come down for brekkie, 'kay?"

The rest of the morning passes mostly in silence. They try to make conversation, the three of them, but it fades out each time and eventually Gina gives up until it's time for the service.

It's fucking freezing in the cemetery. August is not supposed to be this cold. Naomi shivers and pulls Emily tighter against her side, their arms linked as if life itself depends on it, and maybe at this point it does. She glances around at the many faces of strangers huddled around this hole in the ground, in some morbid show of bleak pageantry that she still has yet to understand the meaning of. She doesn't recognise most of them and it hits her how little she actually knew about Freddie. The eulogy was almost like a cold shock because the information, the memories, the feelings were all things she didn't share. Almost as if Freddie was a totally different person than she knew, or pretended to know, at any rate. Now, Karen's sobbing. JJ's rocking back and forth on his heels, Lara by his side but looking rather overwhelmed by the experience. There's an empty space where Cook and Effy should be. Katie's on the other side of Emily, sniffling, but looking eerily immaculate with her waterproof make-up plastered on.

No one else she knows is here. There are a couple seemingly familiar faces from college, but she can't remember names and it's not like it matters anyway. Effy's absent even after repeated futile attempts to contact her. JJ's starts mumbling louder and becoming visibly more agitated as the minister continues. She glances down to see Emily watching JJ nervously and Naomi loosens her hold on the redhead. It's all the excuse Emily needs because she's floated over to JJ's side before Naomi even has a chance to blink.

She shouldn't be jealous. It's a goddamn funeral, for Christ's sake, for JJ's best mate. But she is. Jealous and hurt at being left to fend for herself again. Typically irrational. Before she has a chance to dwell too long, a cold hand slips into hers and Katie is standing there, staring ahead silently, but holding her hand all the same. Naomi realises the Emily had just ditched them both. Her anger evaporates and she squeezes slightly.

There's talking and movement and suddenly the wooden box is being lowered into the earth and Karen is crying hysterically and JJ looks as if he's about to claw his own eyes out, despite Emily's attempts to soothe him. Beside her, she can feel Katie shaking, and looks over to see her tears coming freely and her mascara no longer holding up to the barrage of salty water. Naomi just feels numb and cold, with a distant throb of a headache building behind her eyes. Completely and utterly frozen. She can't muster up any tears but she does unlock her fingers from Katie's and reaches out instead, pulling Katie closer. Her only thought is how different she feels than Emily.

It's kind of a blur perhaps but it's over and people are moving away slowly before Naomi realises.

Emily's on her mobile, frantically talking while grasping JJ tightly and Lara is no where to be seen.

Katie has moved away from the only comfort she'd been offered with a sad, tight smile towards the blonde. Naomi wonders why she's ashamed to be weak at a funeral for her ex-boyfriend. Without thinking, she turns and follows Katie around to the crematorium archway down the path. It's sheltered from the rain and offers some sort of respite.

Katie says nothing but lights up a fag with ease. Naomi's a little surprised considering she'd rarely ever seen Katie smoke, and nothing other than spliff. She offers it up to Naomi, who accepts hesitantly.

"Heard from Effy?" Katie's voice is hard. She sounds irritated.

Naomi thinks about the blank message and decides that's not really news. She blows out a steady stream of cigarette smoke that swirls around them. "No."

Katie scoffs, a sneer overcoming her features. "Figures. The stupid cow." She takes a much deeper drag and coughs slightly, patting her chest momentarily. Her demeanour doesn't change however. "I thought I was her friend, yeah? Took care of her for ages. Do you know what it was like to find her covered in blood in that manky old person loo?"

Naomi doesn't know, and she shakes her head. She pulls out her own cigarette as Katie seems to have stopped wanting to share hers, her finger joints nearly turning white around the cigarette.

"Dumps all this shit on me. Now she can't even fucking talk to me. What the fuck, yeah?"

"Yeah. It's shit." Naomi curses herself for not having anything better to add to the conversation. She watches the twin instead, noting how despite her angry words, she has a build-up of water in her eyes and her fingers are shaking as they balance her fag. For the first time, she's curious about Effy and Katie's relationship, whatever it was.

The brunette blows out a lungful of smoke. "She's not allowed to just disappear like this." This time there's no mistaking the resentment in Katie's voice, but there's something else there as well. It's a kind of deep concern.

The blonde nods in agreement as she watches Emily jog towards them, without JJ in tow. By the time she reaches Naomi's side, Katie is ready to snap.

"Have fun with the mong?"

Emily's face darkens even further than it already was. "Don't."

There's another loud scoff from the twin. "Right. Just run off and leave me alone there."

Emily shakes her head in disbelief. "Don't be such a selfish prick. It's JJ. You know? Freddie's best mate? Honestly, Katie."

Naomi wonders if Emily understands that Katie's behaviour isn't about JJ at all. If she does, she doesn't let it show. "I had to call his mum, by the way. I've never seen him that out of it. And Lara fucked off so what else was I supposed to do?"

Katie shrugs and flicks her cigarette into the wet grass. "Whatever." Yeah, it's official, and sort of shocking: Katie misses Effy. Naomi searches her girlfriend's face for a similar epiphany there but is greeted with nothing of the sort. Just a tired glare from one sister to another.

And truthfully, Naomi misses Effy too. She takes Emily's hand tightly and kisses her quickly. Anger evaporates into the air and the three girls walk down the road to where Gina is waiting.

.

.

She arrives home to find all her secret stashes of liquor empty. It seems like the worst time to decide to get sober and she curses her mother loudly as she slams the cabinet door shut. Gina enters the living room with two mugs of tea and offers one to Emily who is sitting on the settee, and stretches her arm to hand the other to her daughter. Naomi snatches it and settles resentfully beside Emily, taking a sip as her mother putters around, adjusting knick knacks. She pauses on a baby photo of Naomi and Emily shifts uncomfortably for some reason at the action.

"We'll fix it, love," she says to Naomi but it seems as if she's talking to the baby in the photograph instead. She places the frame down again and turns to the girls. "Emily told me everything."

Naomi wants to ask when the fuck Emily had the opportunity to spill all their secrets but realises it really wouldn't make much difference. The hot, ragged slice of betrayal is all that matters at the moment. She glares at Emily who meets her stare for a moment before turning back to her tea. She says nothing in her own defense. Gina notices the tension. "It's good, Naomi." It sounds almost persuasive, almost true. But it doesn't stop the sting. She doesn't know if it's because she's sober, but everything feels so much harsher, so much more real than before. Her body hurts all over; her heart aches far more.

The cushion shifts as Emily leans over, laying a soft kiss on Naomi's temple. She can't resist tilting towards those lips, and fidgets, tucking some of her loose hair behind her ear.

They all just want to fix it. Her mum, Emily, everyone. But Naomi's not sure what exactly they are trying to fix. Is it her? Is she so broken that everyone can see, and it will take a group effort to put the pieces back together? Is she now Effy Stonem? Debating the outcome, she wonders what would happen if she really did shatter as completely as Effy. Would anyone truly bother at that point, or would she be slapped with a "Lost Cause" sticker and left to slowly disappear, out of sight and mind in some nameless facility?

Maybe she'd rather not be fixed. Maybe some things are better left broken. Maybe they can't be put back together.

Then Emily's hand slips into hers, warm, reassuring. She offers her girlfriend a small smile, and promises she'll try, at least for Emily's sake if not her own. That doesn't make the prospect of doing so seem much easier though. Her thoughts continually flicker back to Effy and futility.

.

.

It's been about 42 hours since she's had a drink, and she feels strangely fine. Just more evidence that she wasn't an addict, didn't have a problem and everyone was just over-reacting. Regardless, she feels good about her accomplishment, and even more pleased about the sparkle in Emily's eyes. She'd forgotten that the numbing worked both ways: on the good and bad, and the good was slowly seeping back as well. But she's insanely restless. Goa is soon and she's yet to pack a thing. Emily's almost completely ready, and constantly pushing for Naomi to hurry up and do the same. They talk about it at the supper table every meal and Gina is constantly piping up with her own suggestions. Emily brushes over the fact that her parents won't be accompanying her to the airport since they're in Spain but she smiles at Gina and admits that it's all right because at least one mum is there.

But there's something else missing and it's nagging at Naomi constantly. It has nothing to do with the resistance to packing, or the deep down fear of going to Goa, because Naomi reminds herself that those things actually don't exist. She's just imagining them out of habit. Pure habit. She's gaining ground, catching up. But she's still checking her mobile like it's her new addiction. The texts she wants to see never come. There's no word from Cook, and despite both herself and Katie trying to track him down, they fail to figure out where he's being held. There are far too many prisons in England. It nags at her conscience, when she's lying awake at night, as if it's a responsibility that she has, and that's she failing amazingly at. But more than Cook, she thinks about Effy and her disappearance. There had been no time before the funeral to go round the Stonem's and check up on her. Katie mentioned going by once, but leaving soon after when there was no answer.

The listlessness inside Naomi propels her out of the house, to walk aimlessly while Emily is shopping for more gear for their holiday or out with Katie. She chooses different neighbourhoods each time, struggling to place inebriated memories and recall anything of value. Without really making a decision, she knows eventually where she'll end up.

Bristol seems foreign somehow as she walks up the road to Effy's house. It's grey and miserable like always, the people seem to be the same, everything looks the same, the buildings, the streets, the parks.

Yet nothing really feels... real. Like any moment, she'll be surrounded by cameras with some loudmouth American twat yelling about how he's taking the piss. Freddie will be there too, grinning and Cook will give him a high-five and they'll all be standing around laughing at her and her sodding miserable mess of a life. Because friends aren't supposed to just die, doctors aren't supposed to be mental, and everyone else is not allowed to just leave. It's all some part of a cruel joke. Absolutely.

When she rounds the bend, her hopes fall. There is no television crew to mock her. No Cook. No Freddie. All she sees is more grey, and Effy Stonem's front door about 10 paces away, her front garden piled high with debris. The gate squeaks open and she surveys the large rubbish bins overflowing with broken objects and mess. A dismantled bed frame lies in pieces, providing a suitable sort of bench. Though everything is damp, it smells like smoke and burnt wood. Musky and abandoned. She rings the doorbell twice and is somewhat surprised at the absolute silence surrounding her. It's eerie and her skin starts to crawl. She glances quickly over her shoulder, paranoid about baseball bat-wielding psychopaths. The garden is still empty. She knocks this time, perhaps the buzzer is just broken, like everything else.

No sound, no movement. The sky has opened up again and a light drizzle is slowly coating everything in sight. Without really understanding why, she takes a seat on the pile of wood that was once Effy's bed. She can tell by the carvings of initials and filthy words in the headboard, some of which were done by her own hand. She traces her fingers over a ridiculous 'EF+NC' engraving. It had seemed cool at the time, sitting on Effy's bed, half in the bag with a pocket knife passing between the two of them. Effy had laughed, in a kind of maniacal way in retrospect, at Naomi's complete lack of creativity. She had then taken her cigarette and burned a spot on the lop-sided heart accompanying the letters, her laugh dying quickly. Of course, then just as randomly as that action, Effy had run off to Italy after a total of 3 days in Bristol.

Naomi lights her own cigarette this time, inhaling slowly, savouring it until it's burning hot enough then plunging it against the little "+" sign between the initials. She can't explain why, even to herself.

There's suddenly a creak of the heavy door and she glances up to see an unfamiliar boy shuffling into the garden. He's watching her, almost indifferently, as if it's a normal occurrence to see strangers loitering in the yard in the rain. His shaggy hair pokes out from under his cap and he offers a hesitant, confused sort of smile in greeting. Pulling out his earbuds, he steps down to the front walk.

She wonders if this is Tony Stonem. He's certainly nothing like she expected. While Katie Fitch may not have impeccable taste in boys, she had been quite adamant about how fit Effy's mental brother had been. This boy was not up to Katie's standards. He looked more the type to spend his days alone on the internet, not chatting up ladies. But then, Effy had mentioned only briefly that the accident had changed him. Honestly, Effy could have made everyone's lives a hell of a lot easier had she just divulged a little bit more. Then Naomi wouldn't be sat, in the wet, on a broken bed, waiting for a friend who may or may not ever be coming home as some strange boy struggled with something to say.

Clearing her throat, she attempts to get his attention. It works, sort of. He turns to her. "Hello."

Seriously? That's it? She nods, "Hi."

Appearing to change his mind, he turns back around, shoves a key back into the lock, fiddling with it unsuccessfully. He jams the key in a final time and gives it a good shake until the lock releases. The door opens and she resists the urge to lean forward and peer into the house. As he steps inside, he mumbles something that she can't make out.

"Pardon?"

He turns, finally out of the rain. "I said, are you waiting for something?" He pushes his glasses up with a finger before shaking the rain from his hair like a dog. Naomi sneers slightly.

"Yeah, Effy."

He shifts, obviously uncomfortable. "Uh yeah, right. She's not coming back." He shrugs, "You know."

But Naomi doesn't know. She doesn't have a fucking clue what's going on and it's starting to piss her off. The rain starts to hit her with fat drops of cold water. This is bullshit. She stands and moves towards the doorway. She pushes her way past the boy who is barely taller than her. She could take him in a fight, she reckons. Her breath catches though as she enters front foyer. It's empty, almost. Some bottles litter the floor. A large crack has spidered across the wall. Stepping into the front room, there's nothing but a few more bottles, a chair, a half collapsed table and an old painting. It still smells like fire still, but she can't see any charred walls.

Turning to the boy again, she pins him with her best glare. "What are you doing here? Are you a squatter?" His hands are shoved in his jeans pockets, and he rocks back on his heels, almost impatiently.

He chuckles and slips the key out of his pocket. "Anthea asked me to help clear it out. Saw you sitting on Eff's bed and remembered something else."

Naomi seems to consider this news for a moment and just continues to look around slowly. He breaks the silence again. "You know Effy's been sectioned, yeah?"

The news shouldn't be surprising, and it shouldn't hurt as much as it does. The bitch could have at least mentioned that in her voicemail. It still didn't make any fucking sense though. She wants to ask him if he's fucking with her, but he's gone towards what used to be a familiar kitchen. There are some empty boxes that he picks up and makes his way towards the stairs. Naomi finally moves and follows, curious about the state of the rest of the house.

It's just as barren as the front hall. The stranger is placing a bunch of odds and ends into one of the boxes. A photoframe with no photo, some candles, little figurines that had been apparently thrown around the room. Effy's room echoes with each movement. A few floor pillows are stacked where her bed used to be. She softly pokes at a pair of Effy's old plimsolls with her toes, feeling uncomfortable to be standing in this room, empty as it is. Like someone is slowly erasing parts of her life, her memories one by one. Everyone was disappearing. Soon she'd be left with nothing but dreary, grey sky.

"I called the hospital," she offers to the stranger. "They said Effy wasn't there."

He turns around, almost like her had forgotten she was standing there. "Um, yeah. She's not in Bristol anymore. They've gone to London. Better resources or some bollocks." He sounds resentful for some reason. Naomi doesn't know who this is or why he would be upset about the Stonems moving. He seemed like just another neighbourhood kid. "But that's it, right? Everyone leaves in the end." He tosses a wooden elephant into the box with so much force that it bounces back out again and the trunk breaks off as it hits the floor. He kicks it towards the rubbish bin in the corner. Naomi eyes the broken item curiously, and as if he catches her gaze, he shrugs and speaks again.

"It's not like she'll miss it if she doesn't remember it existed." It's supposed to be a justification for his actions apparently, but the words seem heavy and layered with another meaning that Naomi can't grasp, like he's not really talking about the elephant at all.

She's curious now. "You're from Bristol?"

"Unfortunately," comes the grumbled reply. "You too, I'm guessing."

She nods and he lets out a short, disdainful chuckle. "Figures. Bloody lonely place." Without warning, he just drops the box to the ground. "Fuck it." He fishes in his pockets for a moment. "Spliff?" And without waiting for her reply, he falls onto the pillows and sparks his lighter, dragging slowly on the joint. She tentatively sits down beside him and he passes it to her silently. They don't say anything until the spliff is almost gone, content to merely exist in the empty space, wandering inside their own heads. Naomi shifts and catches a glimpse of something underneath the edge of the pillow. She fishes it out and sees it's a torn photograph of some other unfamiliar boy. The boy beside her glances over at it and lets out a derisive huff.

"Everyone leaves." He snatches it from her hands and tosses it away. "Mates, dads, girlfriends. Fucking everyone." She merely stares at him, squinting and trying to make sense of his meaning.

"You could too. I mean, like, go after them." She wants to push the subject, remind herself that it's not as hopeless as this boy seems to think it is.

He's staring at the opposite wall, blankly but a disbelieving half-smile creeps over his face. "Nah. Sometimes you can never catch up once they're gone. Doesn't matter."

"Why not?" She's curious how he can be so sure.

Shaking his head, he flicks ash off the joint before inhaling deeply, slowly exhaling, making her wait for a response. "Cos sometimes, by the time you catch up, if you do, you can't really remember who they were to begin with cos all the time it's been about catching up, yeah. Then other times, you can catch up to them, remember all that shit, chase them all over the fucking world, literally, but... I dunno. Your heart just lags behind and it never quite keeps up with how fast you're running. And theirs too. Or whatever. It's fucked either way."

"Deep," Naomi states, with a chuckle. He glances over at her and smiles, shaking his head. He offers her the remaining bud and she takes one last drag before squishing it out on the floorboards. "Some girl broke your heart then?"

He shrugs again, and she's beginning to think that he's got some sort of tick cos he sure does it a lot.

"Among other things."

She leans her head back against the wall, staring at the ceiling. "Yeah, me too." The truth slips out before she can stop it. It was unexpected because, all this time, she had thought her heart was finally healing, almost better. But now, at this moment, it feels more broken than ever. Empty and cracked.

Even with the knowledge of Emily waiting at home, somehow it feels as if everything is slipping away, the truth hiding, lurking, somewhere just beyond her vision.

It's probably just the weed, she reminds herself. Yeah, it's just the drugs making her paranoid and stupid. But she can't help thinking about the boy's words about the heart never quite catching up even though it seems like everything else is on track.

He rises from the pillows and picks up the box again, throwing more items into it without much care.

"I'm used to getting left behind," he mumbles. His brown eyes meet hers, and she struck with some odd sense of connection, a sad camaraderie. (Just the drugs, she says again in her mind.) She bites her tongue before she can agree. Huffs instead, pretending to be bored, or annoyed. Whichever works.

Fucking wanker. What does he know anyway? Sad sack. She stands up too, her foot prickling with pins and needles.

The box is full and the room completely empty then. Naomi picks up the pillows under her arms and follows the boy down the stairs. He places the box on top of another near the door. She leans the pillows against the wall alongside them.

"I can give you the number for Effy's place in London," he suggests as they stand at the door. "But it's at home."

Naomi nods, unsure what he's trying to say until he pulls out his mobile. "Give me your number and I'll text you."

She recites it, feeling strange. It's the first time she's been asked for (and actually given) her number to any male in ages. Or any person, for that matter. "What's your name anyway?"

She can kind of see why he's so lonely. His awkward and almost blunt way of talking isn't exactly a charming trait. "Naomi." He nods and types it into his phone. He looks at her for a moment, and before she has the chance to ask, he extends his hand.

"Sid." She shakes his hand, the oddly formal gesture feeling out of place and he quickly busies himself with his phone again. Hers vibrates almost immediately afterwards. She plucks it from her bag and sees the new number.

"Just checking," he says, an almost embarrassed smile passing over his face. She clicks to save the number.

"Nice to meet you, Sid," she states. "Thanks for the, erm, drugs." She wants to say 'talk' but she reckons that makes her seem just as pathetic as he is.

"Anytime." A forced laugh comes out of his mouth.

She opens the door, grimacing at the weather, before turning back. "Text me that number, yeah?"

He nods again. "Yeah."

"Cool." She turns and leaves before it gets any more awkward. Effy's gate snaps closed behind her. The cool rain washes away some of the weird sense of gloomy connection she felt. She makes a note to ask Katie who the fuck Sid is.

.

.

At the time it happens, Naomi doesn't realise it's their last full-on fight. She had returned from Effy's hours ago, and received not one but three text messages from Sid with varying degrees of awkwardness. But now she has the number of the Stonem's flat in London now.

She's sitting in her bedroom when Emily enters. She's just ended a conversation with Anthea Stonem. It wasn't Effy, but it was close enough and the strain and fatigue in the other woman's voice somehow put Naomi more at ease than her own mum's forced cheerfulness and Emily's constant reassurance. There was a reason to be upset, to be struggling. It wasn't just in her own mind. Regardless, Anthea had seemed almost pleased to chat with someone who even remotely understood the situation.

There's no preamble beforehand, at least none that Naomi is aware of. She's sober and her head is pounding from the weight of her last conversation. Effy's not speaking again. Again? Naomi's not sure she understands that comment but she only assumes it's a very bad sign. Meanwhile Emily is scowling about something and all Naomi desires is a warm bed and cuddly, quiet, happy girlfriend.

"Are you ever going to stop lying to me?" she asks, quite harshly. The accusation is not lost on Naomi, muddled as she may feel. Emily swings the bedroom door closed with a loud slam, and Naomi flinches so hard that she nearly slips off the edge of the bed.

"I don't know what you're going on about now, Ems, but can we just—."

"Just what? Leave it?" Emily interjects. Her lack of patience is already obvious. "Where were you this afternoon?"

Naomi runs a hand over her face and sighs. "Seriously, Em. Let it be."

But she knows better than to think, even to entertain the idea for a second, that Emily will ever just let it be anymore. She's broken the redhead's trust far too many times, and far too devastatingly to ever be afforded the benefit of the doubt again. And that knowledge disgusts her suddenly because they're not supposed to be like this anymore. Things are supposed to be fixed and better and not full of anger and mistrust. It's fucking bullshit, is what it is. She doesn't deserve to be treated like some ASBO twat. She's not on some sort of fucking probation.

"No, Naoms. I need to know. I'm worried about you."

Naomi shrugs, a familiar gesture, and stands, pulling down the duvet and sliding under the covers.

Emily's still standing, hands on hips, in the middle of the bedroom floor when Naomi reaches over and turns out the bedside lamp. She knows she's not making things any better for herself, but for some reason, she doesn't want to tell Emily. Partly because she shouldn't have to lay out her minute-by-minute activities and partly because she's not sure Emily would understand. This issue with Effy is her own to cope with; her own to handle. It's hers and no one else's. Maybe it's a remnant from being an only child that she still has a problem sharing what's hers but she doesn't really see the need to let Emily in on the problem this time.

She can hear Emily stomping around to the other side of the bed and the cold rush of air lets her know that she has company under the duvet. "Tell me, please, Naomi."

Naomi squeezes her eyes shut, willing the annoyance to go away. "Why? It's nothing."

"If it's nothing, why can't you tell me?" Emily always was a quick one. Her tone is making it crystal clear that Naomi's pathetic evasions are teetering precariously between irritating and downright infuriating.

"Just because, okay?" She's bloody tired of arguing all the time. "I wasn't at the fucking pub, if that's your damn problem." She clenches her eyes shut even tighter as if pure strength alone will catapult her into unconsciousness.

"Oh, because I'm concerned about you, it's suddenly the worst thing ever?"

Naomi tries to bury her face into the pillow but finds that breathing becomes too difficult that way. She concedes. "You're not worried. You're looking for something I've done wrong again so you can punish me. Don't you think we've both had enough? For Christ's sake, Ems."

A small hand snaps out and yanks Naomi onto her back, her eyes opening reluctantly to stare a darkened ceiling. Emily's there in a few more seconds, hovering above her. Even in the dark, Naomi can see the fight in her eyes. "You're so full of shit," she snarls, and Naomi is taken aback by the sound.

But something about the way Emily is over her, and that look in her eyes makes her feel less scared than she thinks she should be.

"You do this all the time to me, Naoms. It's killing me."

There it is. The breaking point. Emily's body instantly becomes less rigid with the admission, but she doesn't back away. Naomi wants to feel bad about this, wants to feel apologetic but she can't help but feel Emily brought it on herself. All these arguments, this resentment and tension, they're not her doing anymore. There is however, despite her attempts at the contrary, a niggling of guilt worming around in the recesses of her mind. Despite how it may appear, she doesn't enjoy having Emily so unhappy. She doesn't like not being trusted, or having these rows every week. She misses the days when all it took was a smile to inspire a similar one on Emily's face. Now everything is layered with justifications and explanations. Too many fucking words.

It's killing them both.

It can't go on like this forever. She takes a deep breath."I just went for a walk, around Effy's neighbourhood."

Emily rolls onto her side then, relinquishing any physical control she had of the situation. "And?"

Naomi huffs. Of course it couldn't have been that easy. "And nothing. I went for a walk, then I came home."

"Did you see her?"

There had always been some sort of odd tension when Naomi spoke of Effy to Emily. She'd never been able to place the reason why, but it had already irritated her slightly. It's almost as if, maybe due to their friendship or Effy's track-record, Emily believes Effy will steal Naomi away. It's a ridiculous concept really, and Naomi does recognise her own tendency to run to Effy when things with Emily become complicated. But that's just friendship, she figures. Maybe if Emily didn't push, Naomi wouldn't run.

"No. She wasn't there." It's the truth.

"So you checked then." The accusation, whatever it means, strikes a chord of annoyance within the blonde.

Naomi withholds a sad chuckle as Emily's issues come to the forefront. "Yeah. Of course. She's our friend." Naomi makes sure to stress the word 'our'. It probably won't make a difference but it's worth a shot. Emily shakes her head, and Naomi's not sure if she's disagreeing with the observation or Naomi's actions anymore; always hiding, keeping secrets, even innocuous ones. Effy's friends really are dropping like flies. She winces inwardly at the thought. The redhead shuffles around, a defeated sort of posture obvious in her shoulders, even lying in bed. It kills Naomi a little bit too.

"Don't think I've forgotten, Naoms," Emily whispers, sounding fatigued. Naomi hopes this isn't about Sophia, or some weird issue with hanging out with Effy last summer. "You loved me since you were 12."

Oh.

"What does that even mean to you? You says things, Naomi. Say wonderful things to me when you need to but you never follow up. I just don't understand."

"I meant it," Naomi assures her, but it comes out a little less convincing than she had planned. "I mean it." She chooses not to remind Emily about the fact it's killing her.

"You said all those things. All the things you did, cos you were scared, cos you wanted to push me away. Why are you still scared? Why are you still pushing me away? I thought you were finally telling the truth."

"Ems..."

Emily sighs again, sinking further into the bedsheets. "Love changes people, yeah?" Naomi nods in affirmation. "That means I've been changing you for 6 years. Christ, what have I done?" Her voice is broken and lost. Emily runs a hand over her face. "What have you done?" It's horrible: the idea that maybe they've done this to each other, like they are each others' Frankensteins. It's supposed to make people better. Maybe this feeling she's always had of being torn was just Emily rearranging her parts. Like stripping her of her lungs when she couldn't breathe; zapping Naomi with electrodes to jump-start her brain; ripping out a piece of her own fiercely beating heart, sewing it to a piece of Naomi's soul. At this point, they're so tightly sutured to each other that even the smallest tear would cause unimaginable pain, she reckons. But they're so, so tangled... It needs to give for both of them.

As final fights go, it's pretty anti-climatic. For anyone else, and in fact for Naomi herself, it hardly seems like the kind of thing to end a relationship over. Merely a spat, the usual kind of disagreement that had pervaded their relationship for a year now.

Maybe that's entirely the point.

.

.

An hour later, they're having sex and the incident is pushed aside, like it can't hurt them. Like it never happened. Two hours later, in the middle of the night almost, Naomi finally begins packing her suitcase for Goa, as Emily watches, still naked in bed and smiling.

And so the pattern has repeated once more.

The chains of habit are too weak to be felt until they are too strong to be broken.

But she needs to break something.

The airport is small, but busy. She's standing there, taking it all in, Emily's small hand nestled in her

own. It's full, noisy, and people seem to be moving so bloody quickly that they're blurry. It's like time is going slower for her than the rest of the world, like in a film. But she knows better. This is much more likely to be an acute anxiety attack, but she doesn't feel too warm, her breathing is even and her heartbeat doesn't feel like it's about to thump itself to death against her sternum. She fingers the boarding pass she printed out at home, it feels damp. She lets Emily lead them both to the queue for Ryanair.

She vaguely hears her mum behind them, pulling along her luggage. And Katie is yapping about something to Ems. Everyone seems excited, it's buzzing in the air around them, but it never quite soaks in like it should. This is Goa, for Christ's sake. Beach parties, relaxation, nothing but Emily for 4 months of absolute bliss.

"What are you doing?" Naomi suddenly asks, turning to Katie abruptly.

"Excuse me?" The mild offense in her tone makes Naomi almost roll her eyes.

"In the next few months. What are your plans?"

Emily shoots her a curious glance, but it's there. The doubt, the fear. It's like Emily's 6th sense has everything to do with expecting every move Naomi is about to make before she even knows it herself.

Naomi knows that right know Emily is talking herself into ignoring her instincts. They know each other so well it may actually be perverse, because, well, Emily's instincts are spot on. Always.

Katie shrugs nonchalantly, tossing her hair over her shoulder like she hasn't a care in the world, like things are just going to fall into place despite all their combined experience to the contrary. "Nothing specific worked out yet." She pauses, glances between her sister and Naomi and the pitch in her voice changes distinctly. "Why?" She knows too. She's suspicious.

The blonde turns her face from the twins' prying view. "Just wondering. Jesus." She grips the boarding pass tighter and feels it poke into her palm as it crunches up. Plastering a smile on her face, she turns back to Emily and quickly places a chaste kiss on her cheek as they walk. It's supposed to be reassuring, but maybe it's really just overcompensation. No, it's nice. It's nice. It's the way it's supposed to be.

The security check is just ahead, looming over the crowds like some metaphorical monster, but Naomi assumes it's just more of her imaginative overreaction to this entire situation. Her mobile vibrates insistently in her pocket and she stops, unlaces her hand from Emily's and fishes it out. There's a single text.

I fucked up.

She finds it a little amusing that she has to double-check the sender because it really could have been any one of them. Effy Stonem. About fucking time. A wave of relief passes from her head to her toes. It's warm and calming. But then something settles in its wake, a cold sort of heavy sickening feeling.

Katie is unaware, picking her nails in a decidedly unladylike way. Emily's eyes are darting every which direction around the airport, like she's trying to take it all in, like a puppy on its first day at the park. She's also blissfully unaware. Naomi prays for a good minute that Katie grabs for her mobile too, receiving some similar text from Effy.

Nothing happens and it just seems like they're randomly loitering in the foyer, for no particular reason. Perhaps it seems suspicious and any moment, burly security will tackle them and escort them outside, and bar them from the flight. There shouldn't be this much doubt; she shouldn't be constantly daydreaming of a way out of this holiday. That's not okay. She's not okay. She feels a need to stay, if not for herself, for Effy and Cook. But that's just fucking bonkers and she knows this too. She should go to Goa, but it just feels like she's running behind, grasping at Emily to try to keep up, hoping the love of her life will tug her along forever. But lately she's been running in place as Emily gets farther and farther away. It's not right. Chancing a look at her mum is a bad idea; she knows this as soon as it happens because her mum's eyes are already on her, studying, searching.

"Something wrong, sweetheart?" It's soft, and too knowing. Everyone knows too much. Everyone except her, it appears. She ignores her mum, her attention rapt on her girlfriend.

There's a long pause as Emily finally focuses on her girlfriend's face. It literally takes 4 seconds after that for everything to click into place. The redhead shakes her head slowly, and almost imperceptibly. Her eyes begin to water and the resulting guilt settles uncomfortably into a familiar place in Naomi's gut.

"Please." Emily says just that single word, but even that is too much to hear. She accompanies it with a stronger, more defiant shake of her head, as if pure will alone can alter the pre-decided path. It's fate perhaps, to break Emily's heart. It doesn't seem to matter how hard they both fight against it, it always ends up the same.

"Wait for me," Naomi tries, almost flailing for hope, fighting against inevitabilities. And it's a stupid request because that's all Emily had ever done: waited for Naomi to catch up.

"Will you love me, til then? Forever, Naomi?"

There's a pause that says more than any words could. Naomi wants to promise that, wants to scream affirmations of everlasting love. But reality holds her back, doubt, uncertainty. Truth. Instead, she remembers how she had been the first and only one to visit Effy in hospital the last time, until she had assured an uncharacteristically nervous Katie that Effy was actually all right to be seen; how Emily has support, of all kinds and Effy has barely a mother at most. Responsibilities. Habits. They're merely weak justifications for the action she's about to commit to. And aren't they really just the same thing? Things you must do. She purses her lips tightly and wills the quiver to subside. Her eyes sparkle with the birth of tears. They never escape but Emily sees it anyway.

She looks down, shakes her head slowly, a minuscule movement really. It causes Naomi's pressed sob to catch in her throat. They both know what's next.

"It's over?"

There's no reason for it to be a question. The answer is already clear. There will be no struggling to keep up any longer.

So Naomi runs the other way. It's just what she knows how to do.

.

.

After she leaves Emily at the airport with tears slowly burning trails down her cheeks and her chest so painfully constricted that it feels like crushing punishment, she knows immediately she can't stay. Not in Bristol. Not in her – no, their – flat. Not with her fucking mum who doesn't know what the fuck is happening. She runs, but not because she's scared this time. No. She's running towards something instead of away from it, even though it may not seem like. Even thoughshe feels twisted and tangled, turned upside down. There's something there. Maybe it's just a justification. Maybe not. She needs to save them both. The cycle has to end.

She keeps running, intent on a destination.

She needs to see Effy, sort it out; that's the great, selfless reason she abandoned the love of her short life in the airport. It suddenly seems far too impulsive and not that great after all. But she doesn't unpack her luggage. She scrapes the heel of her hands across her flushed and tear-strained cheeks and just insists that the taxi goes straight up the A38 instead of taking a right at Hereford, as she should. The driver drops her at Temple Meads instead. She gives him a hefty tip for the speed which he delivers her. She almost makes it to the ticket machine before her mobile rings, louder than she recalls it doing ever before, flashing her mother's number and she realises that she has 4 missed calls in the span of 20 minutes.

"What?"

There's some whinging about running away, being scared, not having to force things too quickly and all of it just goes in one ear and out the other. Naomi knows it's not about those things. Maybe it had been at one time; maybe a year ago such an insightful and motivational speech from her mother would have been helpful. Now it just rings hollow and redundant. This habit can't be broken, but at least she can break Emily's, even if it breaks them both in the process. Emily can move on, smarter, stronger. And Naomi knows she's broken, and she needs to be fixed. But in order to put things back together she has to break it all apart, into pieces.

Habits. People. There's no winning, just life. She doesn't have to worry about straggling along behind any longer. She knows she loves Emily too much. It sounds weak and clichéd, but she knows she has to let go before it kills them both. She feels like she just knows too much for her own good.

She impatiently interrupts the tirade and informs Gina that she's not coming home again, at least not for a while. She fingers the wad of bills in her pocket that had been meant for blissful, drunken nights in India as she speaks. The ticket machine prints out a one-way ticket to London, to Goldsmith's really. She insists that the university will take her, and comes clean about never really deferring the offer properly. She had decided on doing that from an internet café in Goa, probably. There's anger, a cold, quiet sort, that escapes from her mother's voice when she asks if she had ever really been planning on leaving the country. An indignant "Yes" echoes around her when she almost screams into her mobile.

Gina says nothing in response, just sighs in that resigned, almost disbelieving parental sort of way that let's Naomi now that she's the worst kind of disappointment. The call ends not long after that with a forced "I love you, sweetheart," and Naomi's non-committal reply.

For some reason, when the call ends, she wills it to ring again. But it's not her mum's number she wants to see.

.

.

The train rattles along through the English countryside.

I fucked up.

She stares for what seems like a good ten minutes at Effy's text that caused her to abandon Emily, and the good life she knew. Three simple words. Painful in their raw honesty. But not the three words that are supposed to decide a person's life-path. Dialling the callback number, she puts the phone to her ear and waits.

The line opens. There's a pause and neither says a word. Naomi figures this is all part of the new Effy, or the old one. She can't decide. Doesn't seem to make a difference one way or another.

"I fucked up too," Naomi states, not bothering with pleasantries. She can hear Effy's breathing on the other end of the line. That's enough. "I fucked up well and proper, Eff." She wants to explain what happened. How she loved someone so much that she couldn't love them properly anymore; how it becomes too much. But that was all gibberish nonsense and likely wouldn't help mentalcase Effy sort things out any faster. The simple explanation would involve the tangible basics: leaving Ems at the airport, trying to shove her ticket into Katie's balled fists as she ignored the hatred that flowed from her face, ignoring her mum's disappointed and gutted yet pathetically oblivious stare. Her breath hitches instead, choking a sob out against her will.

"I didn't love him." Effy's voice cuts through the cacophony in her head. It's toneless, empty. Absent of everything, and she realises that Effy had never not felt anything despite her claims – not until now. Everything else had just been a ruse because she had never sounded as hollow she does now, like the words are echoing around inside an empty shell.

"Eff?"

Effy continues as if she's talking to herself. "Not properly. He died for me, like it all meant something important and I couldn't even love him like that. How fucked up is that? Well done, Elizabeth. Well fucking done, you useless slag."

"Effy. Stop it." There's a cold chuckle on the other end of the line and it sends chills straight through Naomi's body. "It's not your fault, you know that right?"

The chuckle grows louder but still just as vacant... until it abruptly stops. "Does it matter?"

There's a hint of disbelief in the tone of the question suggesting that Effy does consider it her fault, but it is ignored. Her actual question hangs in the air. Does it matter? Naomi doesn't know what matters and what doesn't anymore cos the whole world has gone completely tits up and things like love –real pure love- are thrown away while a pathetic loneliness and solitary existence seem to be taken up, again and again. Does anything matter? Naomi struggles for a response, even something placating, no matter how false. She opens her mouth and loses hold of whatever words she had planned to say. There's a click and the line goes dead before she replies. Just as well, maybe. She dabs the corners of her eyes with a tissue and sniffles, swallowing down what she knows is another sob.

The train lurches languidly and Naomi is struck with memories suddenly: of open days, betrayals, college excursions to London, summer breezes, picnics, and, strangely enough a feeling of lightness, of a heavy weight being lifted, or maybe just pushed aside for the time being. She knows better than to believe running will be any different this time. But if her problems never catch up, it can't be that bad. There are other people who have worse ones, and she knows she has to do what she can to help them. Dreams, illusions. Fanciful delusions. She grasps onto them as some sort of security for the upheaval she's about to send her life into. Scrolling through her contacts, past Sid and Freddie, Cook and Panda, her mum, her broken love Emily, she settles on the single solution. She presses talk and waits, letting out a nervous breath right before it connects.

"Hi, Ms. Stonem. It's Naomi again."

.

.

THE END