A/N: Thank you guys so much for leaving me so many "please don't stop writing" based reviews! I checked my story today, and last night I had 16 reviews, and I checked today (10/2/12) and I had 27! So for a bit I was like "I'm pretty sure I had 16 reviews… Nah, I'm just crazy. I probably had 26. Nah, if I had 26 reviews I would've shitted myself already. Now stop talking to yourself, Gord." And then I truly shitted myself after seeing that ReadingNaomilyAllDayErDay reviewed my story. Holy. SHIT! Anyway, I'm going to stop rambling because I need to start writing this. Oh, and I know the last chapter (First of the Year)'s last paragraph was in Cook's POV but I didn't want to confuse anyone, so I made the "Previously" part the second to last paragraph, if that doesn't confuse you. X Gords

Disclaimer: I'm not Bryan Elsley so I don't own Skins. Why? WHY!?

Warnings: Skins-y stuff, but written down. So, yeah, don't show your grandmum… Well, I suppose you could? I don't know. Swearing, Naomily feelings, uhh… Depends on how cool your nan is.


I burst out bloody laughing, for at least one full minute, before she scowls and slaps me. Hard. I'm still laughing though, clutching my face as I walk back to my car, getting in, and now my stomach muscles are hurting, clenching at my sides from all the laugher that has erupted inside me. Get it together Campbell. I look over at the bench, which doesn't hold a Fitch, who's probably disappeared by now. Fuck, she seems daft, a bit slutty, and maybe a teensy-weensy irritating. Her and Emily are twins, but they're nothing a like. I can't say I've known Emily for long, but I know that just because they're identical, doesn't mean they're alike. But if I have to get through the darker haired Fitch, I'll do it. For Emily. I smile, but I don't know why. Oh yeah! The engine of my car is still running, and I remember what Katie had said to me. Emily likes me! She told me that I would fuck Emily up in the end. She's gay. Emily. She's gay. And I like her. I like… Emily. A lot.

Emily's POV




"So, tonight, isn't it?"

"Yeah, tonight. Now."

"Yeah, now."

"I'll see you in a bit?"

"Yeah… a bit."

Naomi's POV


Does Emily know? Does she know about the run in between Katie and I? Will she be angry at me? I know fuck all answers. Having a twin must be fucked up. Rather confusing, annoying maybe… But, hey, at least if one of them makes something go tits up one of the other can just say, "That wasn't me, that was my evil twin sister." Which is a good advantage, I guess. For Emily, though. Not me. Katie seems like a full on bitch though, after she had that go at me yesterday. I still want to see her, though. My favourite redhead.

Emily's POV


My ruby hair topples over my shoulders, penetrates my creamy white skin, bangs pinned up in a quiff. Gathering myself into my car, black fishnet tights, so tight they should be tattooed on, white oversized black and white print Sid and Nancy vest, black flats, golden cross stopping just at my collarbone, mascara. I revv up the engine, and head into the direction of Walkabout, a nightclub I told Naomi meet me at. I approach the club, and veer Jeffrey over to the next available space in the car park. I lift my arse off the phonebook again and hop down from him, slamming the door shut, straightening out my vest, dusting off my tights. My eyes scan the dark scenario ahead of me, a bit of a walk away from Walkabout, blokes and girls mingling round the entrance. I walk away from Jeffrey, clicking the 'lock' button on my keys twice, allowing two loud beeps to erupt from my car, showing the bouncer my I.D. with the flick of a wrist.

Naomi's POV


"Turn on 40 Corn Street."

I steer.

"You have reached your destination. For further assistance please tap 'Menu.'"

"No, Donna, I don't want any further assistance, thank you, though."

"Please tap 'Menu.'"

"No, Donna. I'm fine."

I turn down the radio and drive near the club.

"Please tap 'Menu.'"

"I said fuck off, Donna!"

"Calling Steve"

I turn off my iPhone, silencing that demented bint called Donna, who's supposed to be a fucking GPS. I sigh, unlock the door, hop out, close the door, lock the car, and then find my way toward the entrance. Who the fuck is Steve, anyway? I wonder. I turn my phone back on show the bouncer my I.D., heading inside.

Only fuck knows what to do next. I move onto the dance floor clad in green tights, black oversized "FREE HUGS" t-shirt, sort of like a dress hanging down three inches below my thighs, black converse low tops, random necklaces thrown over my neck, peroxide blond locks spraying my shoulders with curls.

I slide through the crowds of massive bodies, dubstep screaming through the speakers onstage that the DJ is playing. Some chav wearing a green and white Adidas tracksuit with black sunglasses on.

Some sweaty cunt brushes past me, hand grazing my arse as I wade through bodies, looking for one stark red head. Then, someone rests their hands on my hips and starts to dance into me, head placed on my neck.

Emily's POV


Fucking hell, it's been ages and I still can't see Naomi! Maybe she decided not to come? Or she felt ill? I walk toward the bar and order vodka and a coke. It burns my throat a bit as I knock it back, and then two shots of whiskey. Fuck it. If Naomi's not here, I'm still gonna have fun. I bury my hands in my face after sitting down on a leather stool, metal legs grazing mine, sending a shiver down my spine. I reach into my bra for the spliff I always keep there, and light it, ignore the pub maid trying to tell me I can't smoke in here, order a few more drinks. Maybe a few is an underestimate. I had five.

She has to be here. I'm going to find her.

Naomi's POV


"Sorry, but-"

I start to say to the guy as I look at his face, planted on my shoulder. He's not Emily, so he has to fuck off. But someone taps him on the shoulder and shouts in his ear, "Fuck off, please. She's mine."

"Sorry!" He shouts into the other person's ear. He leaves off to somewhere. Another set of arms wrap their arm around me, now it's a hug, from behind. From Emily. She dances into me, and I dance back.

"Thank you!" I shout into her ear.

"It's alright. I couldn't find you!"

"Yeah, sorry about that, I couldn't find you either."

She stumbles a bit, grabbing my hand and pulling us closer to the stage, the deep bass thumping. "Em, are you alright?"

This time I get a clear look at her. Her eyes are a bit red, and she has a lopsided grin on her face.

"Never better, Naomi!"

"Em, maybe we should go outside for a bit. You look…"

"Great idea."

She grabs my hand another time, stumbling through masses of people, accidentally punching a girl in her fake tit. We make it outside and we're breathing heavy, leaning up against an ally.

"You didn't answer me."

Her eyes are halfway closed, and she's wobbling from one foot to another. She stares at me.

"Hello?" I wave one hand in front of her face, that dopey smile still there.

"You alright, Em?"

"Mmm. Yeah." She stares at me some more.

"How much did I miss? You look quite pissed."

"But I'm not even angry."

"No, I mean you look proper wasted."

She rests her head on my shoulder. She's way fucking drunk.

She stares into my eyes, leans a bit closer into me, licking her lips, placing her hands on my bum, and.





I don't know why, but I kiss her back. And it feels nice.

Yeah. That's how it will be. That's how it will be when Emily kisses me. Either one of us fucking well wasted or high, not knowing what we're doing, because we're not in our own sober state. I've done this so many times before in my head. I lift my head off the dashboard, stretching. I've been sitting in this fucking car for five minutes, I need to get out. And see Emily. Just this once, this needs to work, and before I start my way toward the entrance, I pull out the spliff hidden in my low top Converse, twirl it between my index and middle finger. It'll work.

A/N: Mindfuck! Haha. Thanks, you guys for reading and for some of you who are not British or aren't familiar with British-English dialect/dialogue/slang, here's a list of some words that may be confusing for you, and their meaning in the UK:

Vest: Like a tank top.

Daft: Stupid

Cow: Bitch

Tosser: Idiot

Wanker: Idiot

Chips: French Fries (For future use in the story)

Crisps: American Chips. Like Walkers (British equivalent to Lays, an American chip brand, for future use in the story)

Spliff: If you've watched Skins, you should know what it is by now. And also if you guys were confused about the whole 'that's how it'll be' thing, Naomi hadn't actually left her car, and Emily hadn't gotten drunk and tried to look for Naomi, that was just Naomi imagining how it'll be when she enters the club. Therefore; Naomi is just about to leave her car in the next chapter, but the whole process of Emily showing her I.D. to the bouncer really happened, just the whole kissing bit and Emilysmoking in the club didn't happen. But, the whole night out for the club thingy, their date will be happening in the next 3 days, because that's my update day limit, and sorry if you thought it was shit, but I'm knackered. Oh, and sorry its so short. And sorry if there's any mistakes.

Xxx Mcpherson