EFFY – Lost Cause
Deception

It wasn't really that difficult if you really thought about it, doing what she did. Effy was so bloody sick of people – Sid, Tony, JJ, whoever – marvelling at her supposed magnificent talent of getting in people's heads, to read their thoughts, so to speak. God, it was fucking simple really. The process was fairly easy, just time consuming.

Shut up.

Observe.

Draw conclusions.

If people just stopped talking once in a while and took a second to actually look at other people instead of suffocating in their own ego, she was sure anyone could do it. If you're always running your mouth or thinking about yourself, it's far more difficult to see others. And honestly? It wasn't like she was doing it because she was some good Samaritan and could pass on this wealth of knowledge she earned. It made her feel better to watch people miss cues, fuck up, and never figure out what the fuck just happened because the entire past was just a blur of self-obsessive memories. It was also just nice to watch other people flail around. She figured that if she just watched long enough, she'd eventually find someone as miserable as she was, and by not saying anything to help, it increased those chances exponentially.

A cryptic smile, a few choice words, or a mischievous glint was often more than enough to send someone barrelling at first down the right path, then to stumble back in the wrong direction as they recalled her expression with self-doubt. Hilarious, in a way. Pathetic in another.

She wasn't sure she could help anyone if she even wanted to anymore, even with a fucking map and step-by-step instructions, especially since everyone around her was so set on massive and permanent destruction. So why bother? Who was she to be more than a hitch in the plan? It was such a waste of time to attempt to fix things that were obviously meant to be broken. Frustrating and toying with the ultimate outcome was so much more satisfying. If it's all going to shit anyway, why rush it? It's better to just enjoy the drawn out perversive pleasure at other people's failure while it lasts.

It wasn't always like this, her general apathy and almost misanthropic motivation. She had genuinely tried to fix things once or twice. In fact, she went out of her way. But people either completely misunderstood, ignored her or just wrote of her attempts as futile. She gave up trying to change things for better. If everyone wanted to be miserable, she'd damn well let them be. At least she'd have some company.

But sitting here she's not sure anymore if everyone she knows is meant to be so undeniably hopeless. She looks at the girls, asleep and completely unaware that anyone else is sharing their small room. She unwraps a stick of chewing gum rather loudly and her only response is a slight shuffle of bedsheets from the redhead in front of her. She chews it with her mouth open, snapping it between her teeth, until her jaw begins to ache. Even purposely trying to make people miserable seemed impossible for her now.

Emily breathes loudly in her sleep as she squirms around, burrowing a little deeper against the naked shoulders in front of her and twisting a bare leg out from the tangle below. The duvet slips down with the movement, a testament of the obliviousness to her presence. Effy doesn't move, nor attempts to look away. She doesn't really give a fuck to be honest. The blonde beside her is the opposite however and Effy watches the pronounced goosebumps rise on her arms and the subsequent unconscious grasp for the blankets, pulling them up over her shoulders, and as a result, over Emily's head.

Effy would laugh if she didn't see the utter tragedy of it all. She's good at that, it's kind of her thing: seeing the most depressing pieces of the puzzle. She doesn't really know that much about the two girls together but what she is aware of is enough. They're on separate pages of the same pathetic book of how to love in the most painful and stubborn way possible. Naomi's too cold, and Emily's too hot. They've always been and neither wants to change. Same as now, with their unconscious struggle over the bloody duvet. With a groan, Emily incoherently mumbles something at Naomi and pushes it down, away from her face. As per usual, there's no response from Naomi. It figures. But not to be denied a reaction, Emily perseveres of course. Effy decides it's a good thing that they're both facing the other wall. She's enjoying this opportunity to watch them, and likely Emily's half-awake at the moment, at least just enough to notice a figure in the room had she been in her blurred line of sight. Effy stops chewing and breathes quieter as Emily reaches over the blonde, and Effy can't quite see what's going on, but it looks like she closes her hand over Naomi's cheek. She can imagine that hot, damp hand against her own cheek and represses an uncomfortable shudder. Like second nature, Naomi swats at it and muffles out something vaguely like "Sorry Ems". Apparently satisfied, Emily settles again, the same hand weaving around the body in front of her as her breathing deepens.

It's such a familiar, practised movement that bile almost rises in Effy's throat. She swallows her own jealousy, and chews harder on her gum, a scowl suddenly breaking out across her normally impassive face.

She glances at the digital clock on the nightstand. 9:47 AM. Naomi was supposed to be out of her fucking bed by now. In fact, they were supposed to be on their way to Bath in her petrol-powered shitmobile. But here she was glaring rather pointlessly at Emily and Naomi snuggling in the early morning sunshine. Effy is pretty sure that at any moment puppies, rainbows and butterflies would burst through the windows, singing. It was just that lovely a picture, when you ignored everything else under the surface.

And for Christ's sake, Emily hadn't even been invited. However, Effy had conceded long before now that the redhead would likely be unable to be pried away from her prize, especially if her girlfriend was supposed to be spending the day with the college drop-out who put her sister in hospital. She hadn't told Naomi that she was okay with Emily tagging along and Naomi had never even asked. Maybe it was because she just assumes now that everyone knows they are a packaged deal.

Whatever the reason, it's still fucking annoying. She spits her gum vaguely in the direction of the bin. She doesn't look to see if it actually goes in.

She's giving them 4 more minutes before she takes things into her own hands. As the countdown begins, she takes another look around the unfamiliar bedroom. On the floor lies Emily's watermelon-coloured bag, various university prospectus' spilling out onto the floor. She picks them up and flips uninterestedly through their glossy covers, each one looking as bland and pompous as the last. All top-notch Russell Group wanker breeding grounds. Nottingham, Manchester, Newcastle, Leeds, and fucking Belfast. She couldn't get much further away from Bristol if she tried. Not to mention the ERASMUS flyer. But the most interesting thing to Effy is that she knows where Naomi is headed: London. Didn't seem to matter which school in London, apparently. She wonders if her blonde friend and Emily had even discussed this. It didn't seem like something that wouldn't cause a row to end all rows, if she knew Emily at all. In the end, despite the protests, Emily became just a slower-blossoming, more gay version of her insufferable yet fascinating twin. It wasn't that she disliked Emily (not enough to wallop her over the head with a rock at least), and her languid transformation was curious, but she didn't like doormats, especially if those same doormats were able to do what she wasn't, and be brave...

Carelessly tossing the brochures back onto the floor, she taps a cigarette from the pack and lights up. She blows smoke directly at the sleeping girls. No reaction. She takes another deep drag and exhales, stronger this time, the dirty grey smoke lingering over the bed. She knows well enough how much Emily dislikes smoking, except when pissed. A sputtering sort of cough erupts weakly from the redhead and Effy smirks. It's Naomi who starts first and sits up abruptly, clutching the duvet against her chest as if it's something Effy would really care to see. The blonde's glare is softened by the bleary way she squints and the amusing way her hair is sticking out at odd angles.

Effy cocks an eyebrow, her smirk spreading further, challenging Naomi to protest but the bait fails. Instead the miniature spitfire beside her growls.

"What the fuck, Effy."

It's not as much a question as a statement. She glances back at Naomi, then again to Effy. She has no idea what Effy is doing here, which says more than Effy needs to know. Naomi is still keeping secrets, and ones that were pretty inconsequential in contrast to, let's say, future university choices which were now obviously yet to be discussed. An almost hurt look passes from Emily to Naomi, and the response from the blonde looks like a forced and reluctant apology, like she doesn't think she needs to apologise. Some things never fucking change.

It is like watching the slowest train crash ever. Emily's expression shifts from hurt to something akin to disbelief. She huffs, grabs a top from somewhere in the tangle of bedsheets and glares at Naomi momentarily. Pointedly. And Naomi for her part drops the false apology and just resorts to looking typically bored and exasperated. Still neither actually speaks, and as Emily angrily swings her feet to the floor, Naomi watches, a new and peculiar concerned look on her face. But it only lasts a brief moment before she looks to Effy, who merely offers the smallest, most practised blasé shrug of her shoulders. The blonde tucks the duvet up under her chin and looks sullenly defeated before she rolls over, picks up a tee shirt of her own and refuses to meet Emily's gaze.

Her glimmer of hope she had for her supposed friends extinguishes at that exact moment. Love is just a fucking lost cause. She once mused inadvertently to Tony about why people even bothered with caring about people. He had thought he'd seen through her façade, calling her on her bullshit, implying she did in fact care. And he wasn't wrong of course. (When was Tony ever wrong? The stupid wanker.) She obviously cared about things, even if she still hadn't figured out how to love anything properly, or even keep them around long enough to learn the basics. But still, the whole thing seemed so damn pointless. A waste of effort in the end cause it all goes to shit no matter what you do or how much you feel.

She was too lost, wandering aimlessly through the darkness to see chaos stalking her, laying claim not just to her own pathetic life but unravelling everyone around her as well. Love (especially love) never worked if she was anywhere nearby. It was like her failure was inevitably contagious, as people around her fell in and then out of it, hard, ending up just as lonely and miserable as she always has been.

Looking at the expressions of the girls in front of her, her memory recoils to the picturesque way they were ten minutes ago and she almost wishes she she'd never met them at all.

Almost.