A/N: Hello, there to the Fanfiction community. I know I haven't kept up with my promise on updating Troublesome Complications, but truly I had many deadlines, exams and no inspiration. Before starting to brainstorm on Troublesome Complications again, I had this idea for a Skins fanfic. If you like the show, you are welcome to keep scrolling and read it. I truly worship the pairing of Cook and Effy as I think they are made for each other, so I am sorry in advance to all those Freddie fans (I love Freddie, don't get me wrong). Cook-Effy centred. Danger: contains spoilers for Skins-second generation. Enjoy!
The sunlight came through the curtains of the abandoned place that sheltered him for the night. His eyes were burning, so he couldn't bother to open them properly. He turned on his side, trying to protect himself against the light's beam. Sunlight? Strange. He didn't know it could reach the shitty hole of a town that he found himself in.
Ah, yes. Now, he began to remember. The events of the previous day came as a blur, meddling and mixing together, making very difficult for Cook's mind to process. He didn't want to remember them anyways. That's why he drank himself to sleep last night. That's why he downed his MDMA pills down with the help of cheap vodka.
He was trying to forget. Forget them. The sight of them together. The pain it brought. The heartbreak. The feeling of emptiness he felt when they walked away together. The feeling of unworthiness he felt. Why wasn't there a turn off switch for feelings? Everything would be much fucking easier.
He opened his eyes and took in his surroundings. A shithole. Not anything out of the ordinary. He was laid on a single bed, stained with marks of coffee, sweat and God knows what else. The place was relatively empty except for the little coffee table just some feet away from where he stood. The legs of the table were so ruined he was surprised it hadn't broken down in pieces. On the top of it, there were countless cigarette, bottles of alcohol and various colourful pills spread. It was funny how the only cheerful characteristic of the room was the colour of Cook's drugs.
He lazily moved out of the not-so-comfortable "bed" he was laying on and started gathering his stuff so he could leave the place as soon as possible. He was not keen on staying here for any longer. The abandoned room was good for a night's sleep, but nothing more. He picked up his jacket from the dusty floor and reached for his packet of cigarettes and lighter. He lit one up and inhaled the smoke, savouring its taste. His throat was killing him, but he didn't mind. Smoking always helped him soothe his nerves. Not like spliff, but it did take him off edge. He started walking towards the exit of his shelter, with slow, heavy steps.
As he was heading towards the exit, his eye caught a glimpse of something shiny. He stopped in his tracks and turned his head to the direction where the shine was coming from. He regretted it as soon as he did it, thought. Dealing with a very bad hangover and getting blinded by the illumination of the morning sun were two things that didn't go well together. He shielded his eyes with the aid of his palms. He reluctantly opened his eyes that had previously shut due to the direct ray of light that attacked him. What he saw in front of him was strange.
A funny figure was looking at him. Blood-shot eyes saw directly though him. His cigarette fell off his hand and onto the cold floor in the sight of this figure. It took him some time to realize that he was looking at himself with the aid of a broken mirror that had been placed right opposite to the direction of the light, the cause for his previous blinding.
Broken. Just like himself. Nothing more, nothing less. There was no spark into these eyes. They were sad. Pitiful. Not worthy of anyone or anything. They were empty. With no lust for anything. Not even life. This was James Cook. A product of alcohol, drugs and heartbreak. And tears.
It was one of the few times that he had cried. For him, it was not such a big deal, there was no one there to witness it. His reputation was safe. It was a way of expression. An expression of all this frustration he felt. Of all this psychological hurt. He could not have done it anyway else. It was either that or beat the crap out of someone until he couldn't feel anymore. It was a smart decision. Just because he suffers does not mean that everyone else should do, too. After all, the only one he could blame for this situation was himself.
He was the one that fell for Effy even though Freddie was in love with her. In the beginning, it might have been a game. As he got to know her better, he discovered that they were alike. Effy was almost as fucked up as he was. She was the first female he actually exchanged two words with outside the ritual of meaningless sex. She could get him. She was mysterious. He had his interest from day one. She didn't need to pretend to care about others around her if she didn't, and for that she was one of the most straight-forward people he knew. She was beautiful. She ruined him.
But he allowed her to do so. He played the game by her rules. He was broken. After that, her interest in him faded. She fell for Freddie. Because he is the nice one. The pretty one. The one that makes you feel safe. The not-Cook. And one of his best friends. After losing Effy, he could not help but lose Freddie as well. They could be happy together. He wanted them to be. But he was also selfish. He wanted her for himself. He wanted her to love him, not Freddie. He wanted what he could not have.
He came to love her. When they left together for this trip, his hopes were revived. He actually believed he meant something to her. But she chose Freddie, after everything. She never loved him. He was another pone to her strategic game. He should hate her, but he could not.
He broke his eye contact with the mirror. Looking at his sight, only made him think. He didn't want that. He couldn't last for long if he kept rewinding everything in his head. All he could think when he closed his eyes was her look when she chose Freddie over him. How she looked at him right before she made her mind on her decision. She was cruel and cold. It was as if time stopped at that moment and the image of her stuck on his mind forever. He he was suffocating, he couldn't breathe just as if she took the air out of the room with her when she left him for Freddie.
This could easily be the result of karma. Screwing girls and their feelings all this while. He deserved it. Maybe. Maybe not. Well, life's not fair. What can you do about it? Just suck it and keep moving on. If you spend any minute contemplating on how you feel about things that happen, you are going to be miserable as long as you are alive. And with that thought he downed as much vodka as he could, ignoring his burning throat. He wanted to dull the feelings out. If you do not feel, you cannot be happy.
He moved to open the door and get the fuck out of this apartment. As he did, he turned to the mirror for a last glimpse at himself. He cynically grinned at his idol in the piece of broken glass and laughed with no emotion.
"I am James fucking Cook!" he screamed. He laughed maniacally again. "I am James fucking Cook! And no one fucking cares" he stated matter-of-factly, keeping his voice steady at the same volume. He suddenly stopped laughing and grinning. His eyes were watery as he looked at himself again. "Nothing good ever stays with me. So why should she?" he whispered.
He turned his head the other way, downed some more vodka and headed out. The wind was blowing shyly and the sunlight engulfed the whole hill he was standing on. The leaves on the tries were dancing in the morning breeze in renewed vigour. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. As he exhaled, he smiled to himself. "What a great bloody day to be lost and empty inside".