Fic: Say Switchblade (Skins)
Um. Hi.
Say Switchblade
Skins. Cassie/Effy. Spoilers through 2.05 - Chris.
For the Skins Drabblethong '08. Thanks to miss_bennie for encouragement! And constant, dedicated Skins pimping in the first place.
Don't say love. Say switchblade.
- Peter Murphy, epigraph to On the Use of Concrete Language by Diane Lockward
You come home and everything's different.
Sid and Michelle are fucking, of course, like there's no tomorrow, like it's the happy, happy ending, where all your dreams come true. And everyone else is light years away from who they were, like you left and they didn't know they were supposed to stop. Wait.
Chris has got a flat and Anwar's got a girlfriend and Tony's got a hole in his head and a funny face whenever he looks at you, like he can't quite remember who either of you are.
"Don't stare," says Effy, coming up behind you in the club. Tony's dancing like it's something he read about. She blows smoke out of the side of her mouth when you look at her, cigarette in one hand, the other wrapped round her ribs.
"Effy," you say, and stop. Effy talks now and Effy comes out to clubs and Effy takes Tony home, a hand on his elbow, whenever he needs it.
You let your face light up. Going bright and beaming -- it's easy if you've eaten the right pills.
"Love your makeup," you say, loudly over the music. Everything about Effy's dark dark dark, her dress, her eyes, her hair. You don't like dark things, all you ever want is light. Dresses to match your hair, like your mum dressed you in when you were little, when she still noticed you.
Effy cocks a hip and gives you a flickering look. You don't care. Nothing matters anymore, does it? Last night you fucked the DJ behind the bar after last call, and last week you went back to Chris's with a girl you met in the loo and the day before that you let a man put a needle in your arm. It's funny how when you start falling, there's nothing to make you stop. It's funny how you never knew you could be this angry all the time.
"Wow," you say, "right, I've just-- come with me." You grab Effy by the wrist and she lets herself be pulled along, back to the toilet in the corner. "Here," you say, inside, and show her your bag of pills. "Got anything to trade?"
Effy smirks and pulls a bag out of the waistband of her skirt. You work things out fast. When it's done you eat something new and white, while she tucks the rest back away. Music is throbbing through the walls and your mouth tastes like vodka.
"Why do you talk now?" you say.
"Why did you come back from Scotland?" she says back, fast as anything. (Because you missed-- ) She's looking at herself in the mirror, teasing at her hair, and you reach for her wrist again. Push her back against the dirty tile wall, and it's like always, like you're watching someone else do all this. Effy smirks at you and lets you lean in and smear lipgloss over her neck. She's very still, and you recognize it, all that control. How not to say a word, how never to eat a meal. You miss that. You want it back. She's not wearing a bra and you slither down her body and forget forget forget.
You hope Michelle walks in and catches you. Her horrified face. It would be just the thing.
Say Switchblade
Skins. Cassie/Effy. Spoilers through 2.05 - Chris.
For the Skins Drabblethong '08. Thanks to miss_bennie for encouragement! And constant, dedicated Skins pimping in the first place.
Don't say love. Say switchblade.
- Peter Murphy, epigraph to On the Use of Concrete Language by Diane Lockward
You come home and everything's different.
Sid and Michelle are fucking, of course, like there's no tomorrow, like it's the happy, happy ending, where all your dreams come true. And everyone else is light years away from who they were, like you left and they didn't know they were supposed to stop. Wait.
Chris has got a flat and Anwar's got a girlfriend and Tony's got a hole in his head and a funny face whenever he looks at you, like he can't quite remember who either of you are.
"Don't stare," says Effy, coming up behind you in the club. Tony's dancing like it's something he read about. She blows smoke out of the side of her mouth when you look at her, cigarette in one hand, the other wrapped round her ribs.
"Effy," you say, and stop. Effy talks now and Effy comes out to clubs and Effy takes Tony home, a hand on his elbow, whenever he needs it.
You let your face light up. Going bright and beaming -- it's easy if you've eaten the right pills.
"Love your makeup," you say, loudly over the music. Everything about Effy's dark dark dark, her dress, her eyes, her hair. You don't like dark things, all you ever want is light. Dresses to match your hair, like your mum dressed you in when you were little, when she still noticed you.
Effy cocks a hip and gives you a flickering look. You don't care. Nothing matters anymore, does it? Last night you fucked the DJ behind the bar after last call, and last week you went back to Chris's with a girl you met in the loo and the day before that you let a man put a needle in your arm. It's funny how when you start falling, there's nothing to make you stop. It's funny how you never knew you could be this angry all the time.
"Wow," you say, "right, I've just-- come with me." You grab Effy by the wrist and she lets herself be pulled along, back to the toilet in the corner. "Here," you say, inside, and show her your bag of pills. "Got anything to trade?"
Effy smirks and pulls a bag out of the waistband of her skirt. You work things out fast. When it's done you eat something new and white, while she tucks the rest back away. Music is throbbing through the walls and your mouth tastes like vodka.
"Why do you talk now?" you say.
"Why did you come back from Scotland?" she says back, fast as anything. (Because you missed-- ) She's looking at herself in the mirror, teasing at her hair, and you reach for her wrist again. Push her back against the dirty tile wall, and it's like always, like you're watching someone else do all this. Effy smirks at you and lets you lean in and smear lipgloss over her neck. She's very still, and you recognize it, all that control. How not to say a word, how never to eat a meal. You miss that. You want it back. She's not wearing a bra and you slither down her body and forget forget forget.
You hope Michelle walks in and catches you. Her horrified face. It would be just the thing.