What if Cook went too far?
He could see them together. Him with his hands all over her, her lapping up his attention. But then he opened his eyes. It had never happened.
He knew he was all mouth. All mouth, no brain. That's what he'd always said, since they were little kids, since he'd got the girl first. That's how it had always been, though, Cook getting what he wanted, then Freddie being in the background to pick up the pieces.
But this was different.
He had her. He could fuck her. Touch her. Kiss her. Do it all whenever he wanted. But she didn't want him. She never had. He was just second best.
He knew he was all mouth. All mouth, no brain. But he wasn't fucking stupid. She was with him so she could numb the feeling.
Numb the fact she didn't just want to fuck his best mate, but stay with him, always be with him.
From the first ever time they fucked it was to try and ignore the fact Freddie had just stood up in front of an entire classroom and made a complete faggot of himself by making a sap speech professing his love for a girl he'd know for less than a day. But the truth was she loved him right back. She just couldn't admit it.
But he loved her, too. In truth, he always had. But this was Freddie, always getting everything.
The smell of vodka still lay heavy on his breath as he broke the seal of another bottle, threw the lid into the bushes and raised it to his lips and downed half the bottle.
He was alone. In every sense. There was no one with him. There was no one who cared. There was no one who loved him. He was alone.
His vision blurred. His mind went foggy. All he could focus on was him. How much he hated him.
He staggered along, not really knowing where to go until he reached his house. He swayed where he stood. Anger pulsating.
The gate was open. He could see into the back garden.
There was a light on in the shed and the sound of music. He downed the rest of the bottle and strode towards the single place where he had once been happy, the place where he now only felt hatred.
He twisted the handle and walked in. Freddie was sat on the floor, smoking a joint. He looked up when Cook entered.
"What do you want?" He asked, blowing out a cloud of smoke.
Cook stood looking at him.
"Cook? Are you alright, mate?" He might have annoyed the shit out of his but Cook was still the closet thing Freddie had to a brother.
"You take fucking everything, don't you?" Cook spat, everything suddenly becoming clear.
"Cook?" Freddie stood up, dropping his spliff to the floor. "What the fuck are you talking about?"
He took another step towards him.
"What the fuck do you think I'm talking about?!" He yelled. "You taking the last fucking seat?! You know exactly what I'm talking about, you pussy!" He glared at him, still clutching the empty glass bottle in his grip. "Fucking, Effy..."
"What the fuck?" Freddie asked, confused. "You fucking have her..." He muttered, suddenly feeling scared. He'd known Cook for thirteen years, but never seen him like this.
"You've always been the pretty boy, haven't you? Freddie fucking McClair..." That was when Cook saw red. He was on top of his best mate, beating the shit out of him. He heard him distantly screaming out. Only after he'd smashed the bottle did the fog begin to clear.
He threw himself off the disfigured boy that had once been pretty. He gasped for breath. Frightened. Freddie lay motionless. Glass sticking out his face. Scarlet blood drenching the room.
He'd gone too far.
He ran. He left the shed and ran. He ended up at Effy's at half eleven at night. Grudgingly she let him in. Grudgingly she let him fuck her. Then, at three in the morning. He got a phone call from a hysterical JJ.
Freddie was dead.