It's the first time you've been back in a club and while some things feel familiar – the dancing people, the music, the hum and thrum of everything – other things irk you, like the darkness, the flashing, the changing shapes. Not that anyone would be able to tell. Your walk is confident, your tits look mint, obviously. Mint enough. You sit down at the bar and order a drink, turn that charm on, evade paying. Some things never change. You swivel around on the stool and lean back, loosely playing with the straw in your drink, rattling the ice cubes.
That's when you see her. Effy Stonem. Fuck. And it's like you're not in this club anymore, there's no music, no hum or thrum. It's just silence and darkness and shock. It's fear and pain and everything in between. And then it's not again. You're back in the club, just watching a girl, effortlessly swaying among the masses. She's catching the eye of everyone around her, fucking cunt. Never had to try as hard as you did, did she. You see her lick her lips and you know she's chosen a victim, some girl who'll be whoever Effy wants her to be. They all feel so fucking special, so special because Effy chose them. But Effy's not special. She's nothing, she's a bitch, and she's broken. But no one really sees that, do they? Or else they see the wrong way, the "oh, brokenness is beautiful", idiotic way. Brokenness isn't beautiful. You've learned that even more now.
So you sit there and watch, watch her wind this girl up, hands wandering, lips reaching a target. Then things take a turn. She spots you and that smirk turns realer somehow, those eyes come alive a little and you can't help but want to slap her, make her go back to being fake and dead. The fact is that you can't. She sways her way over, wearing another fucking shirt dress (endless supply of those, she's got) and she just sits herself next to you, all casual. Bitch. She turns to you like you're friends or something, just looks at you, almost like she's waiting for you to talk, like you invited her over here. So you talk. You never were one for disobeying Effy, even when her commands were silent.
"Weren't you gonna go finish off that girl? Didn't know you were one to pass up an opportunity to get shagged?" you sneer in her face.
"Why so interested, Katiekins? You enjoy watching us?"
"Don't be disgusting. And don't call me that."
"More like your sister than you think aren't you?" she retorts and goes back to nursing a drink she had just ordered, seemingly disinterested in you, in everything.
"Maybe in your dreams Stonem."
She leans forward, breathing in your ear, "Right, cuz you're well lush Katie, aren't you," and you pretend that your breath doesn't hitch. Her hand snakes forward and before you can stop her she's brushing your hair back over your scar, and you jolt back, snapping, "don't touch me," heart hammering in your chest. For a second you can't control the shaking and then you're back, seeing the faint glint of guilt in her eyes that you never wanted to see.
And Effy surprises you. She whispers, "I'm sorry," and you freeze, seeing as how they're the last words you've ever expected her to say. Your response is an impulse, revealing too much. "It's not enough." And it's not said bitterly, just factually. You still feel Effy's shame, regardless of how fleeting it is. And then she's back to being Effy, looking away from you and saying, "it'll heal, it'll fade." You think you've never felt more like Effy, never wanted to not be like her so much. So you try, for both of you. "I forgive you. And I'm sorry too." The surprise is there, written across her face, as she replies, "I forgive you. Never thought I'd hear Katie Fucking Fitch apologize to me." You chuckle, "There's a first for everything, bitch," no bite in your voice. "All right, let's dance then," Effy says and drags you out on the floor, not waiting for a response.
You're starting to feel the alcohol and dancing feels good, better than anything else you've felt in while. Effy's fairly mesmerizing with her hair and her hips and her eyes, so vibrant in the dark. Eyes you pretend you don't sometimes see when you close your own. You find yourself staring at her occasionally and she grins, a real smile for you, the first one she's ever given you. You smile back and wonder how things managed to get this way. You keep smiling as you realize you wouldn't rather them any other way.
So when you find Effy inching closer to you, you don't stop her, don't freeze. You can feel her body heat radiating off of you but you're not touching yet, yet you swear you can feel her breath on your throat, raising up the hairs. It's the simplicity of the touch that breaks you, as she intertwines your fingers, brings them up to her mouth and kisses them. Your eyelids flutter and your heart, oh your heart. It flips and loop di loops. It's too much. They're feelings you can't explain, don't want to explain. So you bolt. Rush out and gulp the cool air down once you open the door to the outside. You lean against the brick wall and think about lighting a fag, but that only reminds you of sitting on the dock with Effy, and brings all those feelings rushing back.
The door slams back open and you see Effy, wild eyed and messy. She sees you and her eyes shine with relief. You wish they didn't. You wish they did. She leans against the wall with you and lightly touches your arm and says, "All right?" eyes too questioning. You look away and exhale loudly, "yeah." And then she's on you, surprising you for the millionth time that night. It's like she's trying to inhale you; the kisses ache with desperation and her grip is so tight, like her biggest fear is that you'll leave her. She should be scared. Because you push her off, saying, "no, no, no," repeating it, watching each no hit Effy like a punch to the gut. And then "why?" because Effy can't have suddenly started liking you, you're not dumb enough to forget that you were never truly friends. But when Effy's guilty eyes lock with yours you know. Know that this is her way of fixing things, fuck until you can pretend it's all better. All fixed, thanks, you can go now. "No, Eff. Not like this," you tell her. And she replies, "Then how," a kind of desperation in her voice. God, she wants this. It shocks you, really. "We'll be friends," you say. "Real friends. Not like we were before." And she nods, reassured. You lean forward and hug her, clearly still operating on auto-pilot. She's stiff at first, but soon relaxes into it and you think that you like this, the way you fit together.
Maybe it could work. That's what keeps you smiling on your walk home, at least.