Work Text:
“What I want is to be needed.
What I need is to be indispensable to somebody.
Who I need is somebody that will eat
up all my free time, my ego, my attention.
Somebody addicted to me. A mutual addiction.”
– Chuck Palahniuk, CHOKE
The day has been relentless. Alison avoids the girls for her temporary, one dimensional and boring friends, trying so hard to keep herself composed. She barely slept. Emily's words still echoing in her brain. The whole day remains a fog, and she sulked in silence. That was until the bell rang and it was time for gym.
Gym.
The class with her.
Her thoughts racing, Alison sifted through each one, hoping she could fix this. She knows she has no chance of making it out of the locker room without at least seeing Emily.
Looking at Emily was always so wonderfully painful.
Then a thought invades her plans centered around escape, she'll be seeing Emily. She'll be seeing the other girl in the locker room. The locker room where people undress and redress.
She'll be seeing Emily changing.
She feels flushed.
Slowly she walks over to her locker, staring at the discolored tiled floor along the way. She breathes in the surrounding smell, what she imagines to be chlorine, perfume and teenage hormones, and it made her stomach lurch, somewhat sickened.
Closing her eyes tight, wishes she could be somewhere else.
Be someone else.
"Hey Em, after gym can I borrow your notes from history?" a classmate asks Emily as they nonchalantly pass Alison.
"Sure," Emily says, but she sounds distracted and when Alison drags her gaze from the floor to see why, Emily looks at her. Looks at her for only a handful of seconds but it's the worst and best few seconds of her lackluster day.
Emily's eyes are still dark and angry. A fire burning in her iris, threatening to lick Alison's skin and leave char and ash behind. Alison almost craves it. At least then there would be an end to Emily looking at her like she hated Alison.
It's almost enough to make her want to cry.
She feels empty without the adoration that was always, always, in Emily's eyes. Alison clutches her shirt tightly by the bottom. She struggles to keep her breathing calm and even. The fabric in her hands helps, a small reminder of where she is, but the urge is still there.
She hates me. I hate me.
She pulls her shirt over her head, and the seconds of obstructed view are enough for her to regain her composure. Emily's anger, her possible hate, might be directed at Alison, but she's a survivor. She can get through this. The scar on the inside of her thigh reminds her she can get through anything.
To prove it to herself, she looks at Emily. Alison can't help but stare. Her shirt remains in her hands when she really should be putting it in her locker and pulling out her gym shirt but--
Emily isn't even looking at her. She's undressing with the absent air of someone who spends too much time undressing in high school locker rooms. Alison tries keeping her emotions off her face, but thinks she might have failed when Emily starts wiggling out of her gray skinny jeans. Doesn't she know how obscene that looks? The slow reveal of red underwear isn't helping.
Alison hastily looks away when she realizes she was staring. The image of Emily standing in front of her locker in nothing but her lumpy blue sweater and panties is burned into her brain. Her long, tan legs...
Suddenly Alison really wants to cry because she never got a chance to follow the lines of Emily's legs and into her underwear.
Alison roughly shoves her shirt in her locker. They only have a few minutes to dress and she can't stand in her bra and skirt the whole time staring at someone who doesn't even want her. She fishes her gym shirt out and breaks the promise she wasn't dumb enough to make herself. She might be a liar, but she knew from the second she looked away she'd look again.
Alison glances in Emily's direction again. A sweat shivering down her spine accompanied by warmth inside she's taken to mean lust. She's helpless. Unable to run and unable to look away just--
Hopeless.
She wants to turn away but at this point nothing short of A revealing herself could make Alison peel her eyes away. Emily's hands run up her thighs, the damn tease, and takes her sweater off in a quick motion, leaving Emily in just her matching bra and tiny gray shorts. Emily should wear more shorts, Alison thinks, appraising, especially short shorts. Emily had an ass she should show to the world.
Alison blatantly stares. Emily has her back turned and she guiltily reasons that she might never get another chance to memorize the lines and curves of Emily's body.
Emily is so stunningly beautiful. Always has been. The radiance of Emily's almond skin, her long, wavy hair dangling between her shoulder blades, the shape of her body. Alison shivers and when she breathes in again, it isn't the smell of locker room in her nose but Emily's perfume. Goose bumps breakout across her skin despite the somewhat warm temperature.
The red cups holding Emily's breasts is suddenly the most interesting thing she's ever seen. So tantalizing. She pictures herself doing everything to Emily.
Twice.
Suddenly her mind conjures that night.
The desperate, starved kisses that remains unspoken. Their mouths performing perfectly in-sync. Emily's playful tongue appearing and disappearing. All her sounds -- her small moans and heavy gasps of air. All the proof Alison needed to know Emily stilled wanted her was in those sounds. Emily had acted like breathing was a waste.
Alison will never forget how she pinned Emily against the bed. Never. Emily's body under her and the need to devour her still so fresh it could have been last night.
Never has Alison wanted someone like that. She liked losing control and letting her heart take over for once. Alison wants Emily in every way it was possible to want someone.
Emily pulls on her gym shirt and heads out the locker room without looking back at Alison, now in her gym shirt and underwear. Right now, Alison really wants Emily to at least like her. The rest would follow.
Hopefully.
Which is just disgusting. Alison was never a very hopeful person before Emily Fields and if that's not a sign of love, well--
Fuck love then. What she had for Emily was obviously better.