A/N: Does anyone even read Ceffy fic anymore? Doubtful. These poor cursed idiots. This is probably the darkest story I've ever written- but I don't write very much dark fic since the only other ship I write about is DB from Gossip Girl. It's sad and the ending is open ended. Just basically awful.
can't seem to hold you like i want to, so i can feel you in my arms
nobody's gonna come and save you, we've pulled too many false alarms
What they have is not love.
People tell him, "You'll move on, you'll see." But he knows he won't. He knows that he can't.
They say, "If you two are meant to be together, you will be."
But they're not. Because they're horrible and they treat each other like shit, and maybe when they fuck it's magical, but he doesn't dwell on anything deeper than that.
Effy and Cook try and try again. They try to be functional, domesticated. But it doesn't suit them. There are nights when they fight in the living room, screaming at each other. If Cook is drunk enough, he doesn't bother showing restraint with Effy.
JJ lives in the sunroom connected to Cook's apartment, and sometimes he'll run out of his room, attempting to hold Cook back from doing too much damage. But Effy doesn't need him, and as soon as JJ's out of the way, her fist connects with Cook's jaw.
JJ feels much like a child going through a nasty divorce. He moves out after two months. Effy is gone soon after that.
x
When they're not together, it's even worse. Effy shuts him out completely. He tries to move on, dates a nice girl named Mary. She's a goofball, keeps him on his toes, makes him wish that he was normal, that he was not fucked up. But he is, and when Effy finds out he's dating someone, she shows up at his place, bleary eyed, her ripped leggings begging him to rip them off, begging him to fuck her.
A week later he's shoving her into a wall, pinning her arms back from smacking him again. When he crashes his mouth into hers, he can't breathe.
x
Mary cries, tells him that he's not who she thought he was, tells him that she believed he would never hurt her. He shrugs and tells her to fuck off before the guilt has a chance to set in.
x
"If you love me then just fucking say it," his hand is gripping Effy's neck, thumb pressed against her jaw. When she swallows, Cook can feel it under his fingers. The tense, nervous movements.
"I don't," Effy chokes out, her eyes fall to his lips cautiously. He will not kiss her.
"You're a real treat, ya know that, Eff?" His other hand moves to her skirt, pushes it up without care, lets his hand explore. Effy's back arches, a moan trapped somewhere in her throat. Her hand comes up to grip his hair and Cook snatches her wrist out of habit. He never knows when the next blow to the face could be coming.
"Stop," she says softly, in a voice so unlike Effy's that it causes Cook to release his grip on her completely. Her feet flat are on the ground for the first time in too long. A heavy silence settles over them and Effy says, "I can't do this. It's too hard."
Cook feels like he's been shoved backwards. It's perplexing to him, the way she talks like a victim. Effy Stonem has been destroying him since the first time they met.
"I thought this was what you wanted. I thought you liked us," his hand gestures between them carefully, "liked this."
Effy slumps down against the wall, hitting the floor gently.
Her eyes are rimmed, red. She says, "Only because we don't know anything else."
Cook exhales. He pulls a cigarette out of his pocket and lights it promptly.
"So that's it, then? It's over this time. You can't call me, Eff. You can't show up at my place in the middle of the night. It's over."
What does he want? That's what Cook asks himself as he stares at her, knees curled up against herself. If he never saw her again, would it make things better? No more pain, no more torture. He wouldn't have to be constantly reminded of the friend that he lost and the expectations that he'd never live up to. It would just be over. The feeling makes his skin crawl.
"That's it then," Effy whispers, and buries her face in her hands. He can't remember the last time he saw her cry like that.
So Cook walks away, leaves her sitting in the alley crying. He doesn't look back.
xx
What they have is not love.
That's what Cook tells himself when he sees her standing in the tiny vintage ballroom. The lighting is so dim that if he wasn't searching her out, he might've missed her in a quick glance.
But he doesn't.
Her dress is a plum color, dips down her back. Her eyes aren't rimmed in black anymore. They're glistening under a layer of gold, her lips a soft pink. Cook feels nauseas. After all these years, she's more beautiful than he could've dreamt up in his own head. Emily and Naomi glide across the floor in their white gowns, Naomi in her smooth silk and Emily in an ivory lace.
On the bright side, Cook has cleaned himself up for the occasion. Naomi took him to buy a nice suit, and paid for him to get a professional shave- though, he will miss his beard. He even ran a comb through his hair to slick it back.
And yes, he did it all on the off chance he'd see Effy.
It's not as though he didn't try to move on. He tried, probably harder than he's ever tried at anything. But each time was a failure less crushing than the last. His heart was elsewhere. He knows now that he might never get it back.
There's a song playing, all acoustic and soft and Effy stands by the bar with her glass of red wine, smiling. It had been two years since he'd seen her smile. The song isn't Cook's taste, but he approaches her just the same, asks her for a dance.
Her hesitation is expected, the slow and careful way she sets down her glass and takes his hand. Cook pulls her into his arms and a stand of brown hair falls in front of her face. He pushes it behind her ear with the little strength he can muster. Her shoulders tense at the contact.
"I hoped you'd come," Cook says, a smile as genuine as his words.
But when her left hand comes up to rest on his shoulder, he's blinded by a diamond shimmering on her third finger. His stomach lurches at the sight. Cook finds himself instinctively pulling her closer. That was always one of his problems, possession.
"I would've told you," she starts, "but-"
"Right," He says, just above a whisper, can't control the volume of his voice anymore.
Her head rests against his chest gently and Cook blinks away the moisture welling up in his eyes. He'd written a thousand endings in his head. This was never one of them. Effy's hand moves to the back of his neck and he can feel the cool metal skate over his skin, torturing him.
The music keeps playing and Effy's face is buried against his shirt. It's the worst pain, knowing that you would've done anything for someone, and that still not being enough for them.
Effy looks up at him then, her blue eyes glimmer. "I did love you, you know."
Cook lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding.
"I'm sorry," he says, "for all of it." He tries to smile but it's strained- stiff.
So many moments flash through his head. He remembers Effy chasing him through an alley in one of those shit towns, laughing so hard that she had to stop to catch her breath. He remembers watching her run into her brother's arms when he came home from school for the first time. He remembers the first time she told him she loved him and she was drunk and they were fighting; she had just smacked him across the face, and in the silent moment after, she said it, "I love you, okay?" Cook remembers the summer after Freddie died, throwing her in the lake and telling her to "wake the fuck up." She was furious, her clothing drenched. But instead of storming off, she pulled her shirt off and yanked him into the water with her. He remembers fucking her, the brittle, violent movements, always pushing each other's limits. But he also remembers making love to her, carefully, making her believe she was delicate, at least for a moment. But most of all he remembers being in love with her, a feeling he'd never had before, the crushing bruises on his heart leaving him dizzy and anxious and ecstatic all at the same time.
He would never feel any different.
"Effy," he starts, lifting her chin to meet his eyes, "I'd do it all again. I would."
She's silent for a few moments, grips his lapels gently and pulls him down for a kiss. Cook squeezes his eyes shut, tries to memorize the feeling, the distinct feeling of losing her. Effy's fingers rest on his jaw as she deepens the kiss, a sigh escaping her.
When she finally pulls back, her lips are still against his.
She says, "me too."
and you know that we're doomed, my dear
we're slow dancing in a burning room