Hey Guys,
I know I've been neglecting fanfiction for a while now but general life got in the way (I'm sure you've all experienced it). But here is a story that came to mind a few days ago and I quite liked the concept so I thought I'd give it a go. It's a bit different so and feedback from you guys would be much appreciated.
Thanks very much and I hope you enjoy.
I couldn't help but let out a long and dreary sigh as I plonked the last of many bin bags into the wheelie bin. The January morning wet and windy against my tired face as well as being incredibly depressing, typical post New Year blues I sombrely thought before scurrying back through the royal blue front door of my Manchester terrace house.
"Cook get your lazy arse out of that bed and make some tea!" I shouted to my infuriating flatmate who, may I add, had spent a good chunk of 2014 snoring off his New Year's Eve excessing party. I breathed out a predatory growl when I heard no signs of life of the upper part of the house, which was a definite contrast to Cook's incessant crude orgasmic screams and whatever big breasted bimbo he had up there. After having given up on my comatose friend I headed to the end of the hallway into the minuscule kitchen, a simple array of rickety pine cabinets and terracotta tiles. It wasn't exactly luxury but I liked it, sort of had that homely feel that always reminded me of a little yellow bungalow back in Bristol which has, and always will be, occupied my deranged, liberal, hippy mother Gina Campbell and her Irish greyhound/ husband to be Kieron. I got a little bit of a chuckle as I thought back to how I spent Christmas there, being woken up to the sounds of Kieran punching a turkey up the backside as he used 'fekin' as an adjective for everything. It reminded me even more of how different Christmas had become since Kieran entered mine and my mother's lives all those years ago. Christmas still was a quiet affair between the three of us, and sometimes Cook if his Mum was being an arse, but I wouldn't change it for anything. Not that I'd openly admit that to anyone, especially my Mother, our relationship was strictly a love hate kind of thing.
But now the New Year was here with bills that needed paying plus work was looming, and with the hangover I had it just made the whole thing seem even more daunting. It's not like I don't like my job, in fact it could be pretty fucking amazing at times, but after two and a half weeks of over indulging on food and drink alike I really just couldn't be arsed, plain and simple.
I gave the countered tops one last wipe down as I waited for the ancient kettle, a house warming gift from my Mum back when she lived in London with other completely ridiculous flatmate/ general friend Effy. I threw the cloth into the kitchen sink when I felt someone's presences, speak of the devil I thought.
Thing about Effy is she always there, and more times than not it's when she's on your mind. I used to live with Effy back when I was doing my degree in London and for a couple of years after when I got my first job as I was doing my masters part time. She had a job as a receptionist at some high class hedge fund. To cut a long story short, she caught the eye of the head, Jake, shagged him then got promoted to a buyer. She made a fuck load of money for them too until the FSA starting picking up on their company's usually large season intake. It eventually turned out her and Jake has been illegally trading, she did explain how it worked but it's all B.S to be. When the FSA started to ask questions and naturally all the blame was planted on Effy as Jake acted like the helpless individual who had his weak little arm twisted by a twenty something receptionist, I think not. So Effy turned round and managed to find evidence that Jake had been doing this for years with different companies before she was even in the picture and in turn had the last laugh. She still went to jail but because of her cooperation with the enquiry she got her sentenced shorted leaving Jake to come out a lot worse off and we all got a good giggle out of it. By then I'd finished my masters and got offered a pretty good job up in Manchester. I knew Cook was living up there and the thought of living alone in London was pretty sombre, since I went to College and was forced to be friends with those two I've found it very hard to go back to my antisocial ways, so I took it.
We bought this house together as I was on a pretty good wage and Cook makes quite a bit of money with whatever it is he does, I'm 99.9 percent sure it's illegal but as long as he pays the bills I'm not complaining. About six months ago Effy was released and the thought of moving back in with her mother made her want to stick forks in her eye lids, and she had quite the reputation around London employers since everything so getting a job was near impossible, so Cook and I let her live with us and she now works as an investigative journalist. You know they were falling over themselves to employ her when they realised she was up here. Apparently among journalists, especially Northern ones, she's like Nancy sodding Drew. Ever since her humiliating unveiling of Jake everyone wants her to dish out the dirty on every other dick head in the business. From then on she's been handing out her fair share of vigilante justice; corrupt bankers, politician's extra martial affairs, and everything in-between. And that's how we find ourselves now in our little obscure abode.
"Morning you, how was your night?" I enquired pointing to the smudged lipstick smeared along the side of her mouth. Even though she looked like she'd been dragged through a hedge backwards, with her big hair and violated make up, Effy always looked bloody gorgeous. I not going to deny that it's a trait that not only me but the majority of the female population are jealous of but if you knew what lies underneath that natural beauty then you wouldn't mind having a bad hair day here or there. I won't go into to detail but Effy hasn't always had it that easy; death, betrayal, mental health, the kind of combination you only expect to find in EastEnders. That's not to say that I'm any better, we've got our fair share of skeletons in our closet, but Effy's are certainly unique.
She shrugged, the oversized man's shirt she was wearing only just managing to cover her modesty. Effy really didn't have a problem displaying her body in front of me, to be honest she didn't have much a problem getting it out in front of everyone, something she shared with my other dick of a flatmate. I swear I've seen their genitals more times than I've seen my own. But just because I'm not comfortable flashing my privates doesn't mean there's not harm in looking, obviously I'm talking about Effy, Cook's knob really should not be that colour.
Before you ask anything, people are gay get used to it. Well, I wouldn't exactly say that I'm neither here nor there as I have played on both sides on the fence as it were. Let's just say that I'm interest in people and leave it at that. Oh and again, before you ask, I'm not currently 'seeing' anyone in case you were wondering, I am well a truly over that phenomena. I've only ever really had two relationships in my life, one with a guy called Daniel in my second year of University. You know the type; smart, charming, winning smile and nothing like the boys back home who more times than not had their hands down their trousers while they mentally undressed you. But when I found out it was not only me he was having that sort of relationship with and I soon kicked him into touch, as well as fashioning him a set of testicles the size of bowling balls, prick! The second I suppose can't really be classed as a relationship per say. Basically after Daniel I just wanted some meaningless sex that's when I met this girl down at the student union. A first year, petite, olive skin, dark hair with matching eyes, plus she was well and truly up for it so I merely did as any normal human being would. What I wasn't planning on was for the sex to be that good, of course I had slept with girls in the past but she was a surprising exception. At the time I just put it down to the absences of Daniel's Crayola dick that brought this long awaited reunion with euphoria. A few months past and she was still in picture until eventually I decided she was getting far too close to comfort and I had to get rid of her. I'm sure if I hadn't met her in such close proximity of my break up with Daniel the dick head there could've been a chance, but I didn't so I fucked her off. It was kind of a messy sort of break up, she cried as I tried to explain the situation and then she went off and before long I was known as Naomi Campbell, heartless cow who has the emotional spectrum of a spoon. Sure I've had my fair share of flings and one nights since then but anyone wishing to get any further than that are wasting their time.
"What time did you get to bed? Were you and Cook in competition, it was like a brothel in here last night?" I asked as I thought back to the X rated taunts coming from both rooms. Effy raised a sculptured eyebrow at me as she heaped yet another tea spoon of coffee granules into a chipped mug that read 'Sexboob' in overly extravagant crimson lettering. Through Effy's silence I got the idea. That's another you've got to learn about Effy, she doesn't speak unless it is absolutely necessary and you soon learn that everything you need to communicate is there you just need to look. We both turned our attention to the kitchen doorway as we heard the groaning of the stair case under heavy footsteps and sure enough through the doorway swaggered a bare chested James Cook, at least this time he was wearing boxers which is always a plus. I don't think my stomach could've quite taken the sight of this discoloured, tattooed cock.
"Morning ladies." He winked as he passed toward the fridge.
"Morning to you too you lazy shit." I growled as he reached into the fridge pulling out a carton of orange juice and began to drink straight from the carton.
"What's with the hate Blondie?" I was about to give a well and truly good bollocking regarding the negligence of tidying up especially when it clearly stated on the rotor it had been his turn since mid-October, but I was rudely interrupted.
"Sexual frustration." Cook and I turned to Effy as she sat reading the newspaper at the four seater pine table in the middle of the kitchen. Cook howled as I stared in disbelief, probably looking like a gold fish that has just been dropped on its head.
"Too fucking right Blondie, y'know if you wanna have a go I've got whatshername upstairs that wouldn't minding adding one extra." He cackled waggling his tongue in front of me.
"Fuck off," I growled pushing him back into the open fridge, "what the hell are you on about Effy?" She shrugged still not directing her attention away from whatever article she was reading.
"You heard her loud and clear, what you need is a good seeing to. When was last time you had a notch put on your bed post?"
"Fuck you, my sex life is none of your business and its fine thanks very much. Now will you all fuck off while I go for a shower, I expect there to be some breakfast by the time I get down here again." As I stormed up the stairs I could hear Cook,
"Definitely gagging for it." Bunch a fuckers the whole lot of them.
Around an hour later, once Effy and Cook had got rid of their night cappers with the empty promise that they would call them tomorrow, we found ourselves at Alo's café. The greasiest breakfast for miles, and living in the North of England that was an achievement in itself.
"So," Cook started once he'd shoved the final piece of toast into his oversized gob, "what you ladies got planned for 2014?"
"What do you mean?" I asked taking a sip from my black coffee.
"Y'know like achievements and shit."
"I don't know, what's yours contracting herpes?" I giggled giving Effy a sideward wink.
"Fuck off Goldie Locks, at least I'll have the chance. Not like dry you, Dry Spell Diana."
"Fuck you." I murmured setting my mug back on the table top.
Cook chuckled as he scooped a fork full of sausage, beans and something which was supposed to represent bacon.
"How about you Eff, got any unfortunate fuckers in the pipeline?" Cook asked between greasy mouthfuls, she smirked.
"I'm meeting someone this afternoon with a possible lead, could be fun." She breathed taking a cigarette out the packet of Marlboro Gold planted on the table top.
"Eff lend us one of them will ya, I'll pay you back," Effy clocked Cook's eyes with a condescending look, "honest!" He exclaimed and she eventually nodded passing over the death sticks.
"Does it look promising?" I piped up as I pulled a fag out of my own pack waiting for Cook to stop hogging the lighter. That was the best thing about coming to this café, Alo didn't give a shit and when it was only us in the smoking ban was optional as far as he was concerned. She chewed the bottom of her lip as if she was about to say something but then decided against.
"Well if there's anything I want to know is where the hell all these Romanian prostitutes, which keep winding up at my door step, are coming from." Cook was about to say something, "and if you say Romania I swear I'll rip your balls off." He leant back a lit fag hanging out the corner of his crooked smile.
"No change then?" Effy asked snatching the lighter out of Cook's hand.
"No sadly," I sighed turning to her, "it's honestly like their turning up out of nowhere. Thanks." I said taking the lighter off her.
"And it's not even as if we can do anything about it," I began once I had lit my cigarette leaning back into the cold plastic of the chair, "their scared shitless so they refuse to say anything. Something has put the fear of God into them because they hang around long enough until you just give up and refer them to A&E before sending them on their way, until the next week when they turn up again with another black eye." Effy flicked the filter end of her fag with her thumb while Cook continued to puff furiously on his own.
It was a pretty horrible affair that I must admit. I work for a charity which works for women's protection and the last four months we've had an influx of battered Eastern European women turning up, prostitutes all discoloured with bruises, old and new, as well being riddled with track marks. We tell the police but without the girl's cooperation there's only so much you can do apart from get them patched up so they look a little less close to death than they did. I shuddered when I thought back to when I was introduced to Annika a couple of weeks before Christmas, she claimed to be eighteen, but she was about as much eighteen as I was. She really was a state; broken left cheek, fractured collar bone not to mention the uncountable amount of gashes, bruises and cuts all over her pubescent body. Whoever had done this was a nasty bastard whose only place in life was to be bent over in a shower cubical waiting for a burley chap called Lesley to have his way with. Every time I asked who did this to her she'd shake her head and avoid eye contact, there were a couple of times she'd claim to have fallen down the stairs and even through her broken English anyone could tell it was obvious bullshit. That reminded me, the first thing I was going to do once I got back to work was to check on her. I knew she was advised to stay in hospital care for at least a couple of weeks but most girls rarely follow orders and discharge themselves as soon as possible.
"Anyway, let's get out of 'ere." Cook said breaking the awkward silence that had overcome us.
"Alo the bill please my good man." Cook called behind the counter to the lanky ginger man sweating over the grill as he puffed on a wilted fag. Effy and I followed Cook's lead as we dug around our purses for our share of the money all the while I still couldn't stop thinking about Annika's empty eyes staring right through me.