First off, I'd really appreciate some REVIEWS! This poor little story is lacking in attention! ;) Without any feedback, I'll just continue garbling on with what you could consider 'absolute shite' as an audience - don't say I didn't warn you! Secondly, I've noticed the chapters are actually getting shorter! I plan to have a huge chapter for number five, piecing together a few loose ends that have already cropped up :) So, keep loving Freddie, keep reading and keep drowning me with harsh thoughts and feelings - Taaa x
"I'm Freddie," you shout over the music. "You know, Freddie Mcclair? Your brother's mate."
You wait while her seemingly disinterested eyes flit from your face to your body and back again.
"I know who you are," she replies, her bored tone surprisingly prominent, even over the roar of the bassline. "You're Karen's brother, aren't you." It's a statement, not a question - and you stand there feeling stupider by the second as she carries on grinding with the boy dancing behind her.
"Yeah, that's me," you finally validate. "I was wondering…"
He slaps her arse, the boy, and she throws her head back into an intoxicated giggle, distracting you.
"I was wondering if I could buy you a drink?"
"Fuck off mate," the boy snickers, his hands travelling down her curves.
It's making you sick, the way he's smirking at her, touching her, encaging her.
You scan the crowd in desperation, and spy Tony staring at you knowingly - that smug grin still plastered across his pinched little face. He raises his glass in your direction, before turning to his friends in a fit of hysterics. Frustrated, you clasp Effy's arm, her piercing eyes firing open and narrowing at you.
"It's just a drink," you shrug, sheepishly.
She's considering you, but the boy behind persists - his fingers snaking down her thigh and underneath her skirt. She locks eyes with you, as she whips her foot back, catching him in the bollocks. The boy staggers backwards, screaming out profanities.
"Okay, Freddie Mcclair," she smiles deviously. "Make mine a whiskey."
She lets you take her hand and lead her back towards the bar, your jeans growing tighter by the second.
"What the fuck was that?" I exclaim in hoarse whispers, as Cook and I are ushered back to our cell. "We're here to be punished, right?"
Cook slumps onto his bed, chewing his dirty nails distractedly. "Don't be such a fun sponge, Freddie" he sighs. "You won't make friends that way."
"Friends?" I struggle to contain the exasperation tainting my voice. "I'm not here to make fucking friends, Cook."
He shoots me a dark look. "Fine, but trust me, you don't wanna be making no enemies neither."
I slouch back against the wall, running my hands back through my hair in frustration. "This just doesn't sit right, y'know?"
"We've got enough on our plates, Freds. Whas' the point in stewing over it."
"It's just - It's not fair." I'm aware that my whiney little bitch fit isn't exactly a bonus of a first impression, but my anger is so intense, it masks everything else.
Cook sniggers at me, and I feel my face flush. "Life ain't fair, mate. If it were, we wouldn't be sitting behind these bars in the first place, would we?"
I snort at his obtuse denial. "I hardly believe you're here undeservedly, Cook - don't kid yourself."
Suddenly, he has me up against the wall by my shirt collar, hands worryingly tight around my throat. I struggle to catch my breath, try to push him away by his elbows, but his lower body is pressed so close into mine that I'm paralysed.
"You don't know fuck all about me, Freddie" he growls through gritted teeth. "Fuck all. So just keep your mouth SHUT."
He shakes and slams me against the wall at the last word, before releasing me and storming out into the corridor.
"Alright, alright" I murmur under my shaky breath. "Jesus."
