Fic: Look up at the stars and you're gone.
A post-season 3 fic from Effy's point of view. Inspired by Fight Club and Season 2 Effy. I’m sure I don’t do justice to either. It’s rough, but I didn’t want to over-edit it.
Look up at the stars and you’re gone.
The first rule of casual sex is you don’t talk about casual sex.
People will want to gossip about who is fucking whom, but you don’t say anything. You act like it never happened, or that it could happen a thousand times and it still wouldn’t matter. It doesn’t matter how much it matters to everyone else; you just smile, flip your hair, and walk away. Easy.
I have experience obviously.
Michael.
Jake.
Edmund.
The boy in that one club in south Bristol.
Sam.
Josh.
So many boys whose names I never knew.
Cook.
Freddie.
I looked at Freddie.
Multiple times. He thought it mattered.
For a moment I thought it mattered too. I also thought it would be fun to see who wanted me more, him or Cook. Freddie wanted more, but didn’t try. He thought that longing silently and making me choose would make it special. For half a second I thought it could be special. Then he began throwing around “I love you”s.
Love, love, love. What does that get you?
Sidney was in love. He spent a month searching New York, maybe passed within inches and never knew it. He came back to England with no tiny blonde girl to love. They found him dead on a park bench.
Tony was in love. He went to Cardiff and she went to York. He’s fucked twenty-seven different girls since then.
What does love get you? Absolutely nothing.
When we got off the boat in Bristol, I smiled, flipped my hair and walked away. It was easy.
The second rule of casual sex is you don’t talk about casual sex.
The third rule is no one gets hurt.
I fucked up though. I hurt someone. Not Cook. Not Freddie. Fuck him. I hurt someone much more small and fragile. Two small, delicate, red-headed someones. Two halves of a whole.
They didn’t press charges, even though I deserved it. I knew that. I should have walked away, but I wanted to fix the hurt. I was good at fixing other people’s problems. But this was my problem, wasn’t it?
I showed up at parties where everyone was together. I wasn’t invited. Some people forgave me, or didn’t care. But Katie’s eyes were full of hate, and Emily’s were sad. I brought the drugs. Everyone got wasted. Katie wanted to hit me, so I let her. Emily pulled her away. They were both crying, but I couldn’t tell if was for the same reason or different ones.
I left then, but I kept crashing parties. Bringing alcohol and drugs and letting them react however they wanted. I had a plan, I did. It was subtle, it would work.
I wanted Katie to hit me as hard as she could. I wanted a scar. A bruise. A memento. I offered her chances, over and over again. She looked through me, as if she were above it. Or Emily held her back.
It took a while for there to be a party where Emily and Katie were together and Naomi wasn’t there. When it happened, I had my chance. Katie never got quite fucked up enough, but tonight Emily did.
I made sure Katie saw everything. I was dancing with Emily, like Cook did once. Came up behind her, began to touch her, feel her. Then kiss her. She was obliviously into it. Katie stormed over.
Everything was going according to plan.
She pushed Emily out of the way and slapped me. Backhand, full force. My face tingled and I couldn’t help but smile. It infuriated her. Everything was perfect. She dragged me outside by my shirtfront. Emily followed, weaving, too slow to stop it. Katie was yelling incoherently. The words didn’t matter, only the feelings. She shoved me against the brick building, punched me in the stomach. Every hit made me feel more alive, and I had to stop myself from laughing. Freddie was too pussy to hit me when I deserved it. Katie was strong, perfect.
Emily was tugging on her arm. She was easily brushed off. Katie’s words broke through as she smashed my head into the wall: Say something bitch! I opened my eyes. She was inches from my face. One thought tumbled out of my swollen mouth, you’re perfect.
Kissing Katie wasn’t part of the plan. I was as surprised as she was. But it was right, it fit the broken pieces together. Better than when I had Michelle’s watch fixed. Such a simple solution, I wondered why I hadn’t seen it. Now I dragged her, stunned, back to my house. Emily followed. That was only right too.
The fourth rule of casual sex is don’t stay the night.
The fifth rule is don’t leave any piece of yourself behind, don’t get attached.
When I woke up my face ached. I touched my cheek, and under my eye. It hurt worse, and I was satisfied. I sat up and the scratch marks on my back screamed as they stretched. Better and better.
I got out of bed and looked back at the indentation of my body. There was blood on Tony’s ridiculous duvet, but it blended perfectly with their hair. Beautiful red hair splayed out on the covers. It caught my eye, just as it had earlier when Katie had been pulling out my hair. Shoving my face into her cunt until I could barely breathe. When she came, instead of pulling me closer she had kicked me off of her. It was only fair.
Emily had watched from a chair the whole time, stunned, but didn’t look away. When Katie was finished with me I saw her hand down her knickers. I walked over and pulled them slowly down to her ankles. She was fucked up, really wasted, and I had to take care of her. It was only fair. She came more quietly than Katie, pushed me away more gently. She looked about ready to pass out, so I laid her on the bed next to her sister.
In the chair I had waited for them to fall asleep before lying in between them. They both slept curled, facing inward. Both my eyes were blackening. Symmetry. A moment of perfection.
Emily stirred as I watched from the window, rolled onto her back. The moment was past, so I turned and looked out at the opposite row of houses, up at the stars.
The sixth rule of casual sex is it only goes on for as long as it has to.
Tomorrow, they would flip their hair (in unison), walk away. It would complete the symmetry. They would never talk about it. The only reminder would be the blood on the duvet, my bruises. I smiled. The scratches felt deep enough to scar.
This would fix things. Everything had gone according to plan. I had my memento. I left nothing behind but I had taken a little something from them.
I was all about breaking the rules.
Look up at the stars and you’re gone.
The first rule of casual sex is you don’t talk about casual sex.
People will want to gossip about who is fucking whom, but you don’t say anything. You act like it never happened, or that it could happen a thousand times and it still wouldn’t matter. It doesn’t matter how much it matters to everyone else; you just smile, flip your hair, and walk away. Easy.
I have experience obviously.
Michael.
Jake.
Edmund.
The boy in that one club in south Bristol.
Sam.
Josh.
So many boys whose names I never knew.
Cook.
Freddie.
I looked at Freddie.
Multiple times. He thought it mattered.
For a moment I thought it mattered too. I also thought it would be fun to see who wanted me more, him or Cook. Freddie wanted more, but didn’t try. He thought that longing silently and making me choose would make it special. For half a second I thought it could be special. Then he began throwing around “I love you”s.
Love, love, love. What does that get you?
Sidney was in love. He spent a month searching New York, maybe passed within inches and never knew it. He came back to England with no tiny blonde girl to love. They found him dead on a park bench.
Tony was in love. He went to Cardiff and she went to York. He’s fucked twenty-seven different girls since then.
What does love get you? Absolutely nothing.
When we got off the boat in Bristol, I smiled, flipped my hair and walked away. It was easy.
The second rule of casual sex is you don’t talk about casual sex.
The third rule is no one gets hurt.
I fucked up though. I hurt someone. Not Cook. Not Freddie. Fuck him. I hurt someone much more small and fragile. Two small, delicate, red-headed someones. Two halves of a whole.
They didn’t press charges, even though I deserved it. I knew that. I should have walked away, but I wanted to fix the hurt. I was good at fixing other people’s problems. But this was my problem, wasn’t it?
I showed up at parties where everyone was together. I wasn’t invited. Some people forgave me, or didn’t care. But Katie’s eyes were full of hate, and Emily’s were sad. I brought the drugs. Everyone got wasted. Katie wanted to hit me, so I let her. Emily pulled her away. They were both crying, but I couldn’t tell if was for the same reason or different ones.
I left then, but I kept crashing parties. Bringing alcohol and drugs and letting them react however they wanted. I had a plan, I did. It was subtle, it would work.
I wanted Katie to hit me as hard as she could. I wanted a scar. A bruise. A memento. I offered her chances, over and over again. She looked through me, as if she were above it. Or Emily held her back.
It took a while for there to be a party where Emily and Katie were together and Naomi wasn’t there. When it happened, I had my chance. Katie never got quite fucked up enough, but tonight Emily did.
I made sure Katie saw everything. I was dancing with Emily, like Cook did once. Came up behind her, began to touch her, feel her. Then kiss her. She was obliviously into it. Katie stormed over.
Everything was going according to plan.
She pushed Emily out of the way and slapped me. Backhand, full force. My face tingled and I couldn’t help but smile. It infuriated her. Everything was perfect. She dragged me outside by my shirtfront. Emily followed, weaving, too slow to stop it. Katie was yelling incoherently. The words didn’t matter, only the feelings. She shoved me against the brick building, punched me in the stomach. Every hit made me feel more alive, and I had to stop myself from laughing. Freddie was too pussy to hit me when I deserved it. Katie was strong, perfect.
Emily was tugging on her arm. She was easily brushed off. Katie’s words broke through as she smashed my head into the wall: Say something bitch! I opened my eyes. She was inches from my face. One thought tumbled out of my swollen mouth, you’re perfect.
Kissing Katie wasn’t part of the plan. I was as surprised as she was. But it was right, it fit the broken pieces together. Better than when I had Michelle’s watch fixed. Such a simple solution, I wondered why I hadn’t seen it. Now I dragged her, stunned, back to my house. Emily followed. That was only right too.
The fourth rule of casual sex is don’t stay the night.
The fifth rule is don’t leave any piece of yourself behind, don’t get attached.
When I woke up my face ached. I touched my cheek, and under my eye. It hurt worse, and I was satisfied. I sat up and the scratch marks on my back screamed as they stretched. Better and better.
I got out of bed and looked back at the indentation of my body. There was blood on Tony’s ridiculous duvet, but it blended perfectly with their hair. Beautiful red hair splayed out on the covers. It caught my eye, just as it had earlier when Katie had been pulling out my hair. Shoving my face into her cunt until I could barely breathe. When she came, instead of pulling me closer she had kicked me off of her. It was only fair.
Emily had watched from a chair the whole time, stunned, but didn’t look away. When Katie was finished with me I saw her hand down her knickers. I walked over and pulled them slowly down to her ankles. She was fucked up, really wasted, and I had to take care of her. It was only fair. She came more quietly than Katie, pushed me away more gently. She looked about ready to pass out, so I laid her on the bed next to her sister.
In the chair I had waited for them to fall asleep before lying in between them. They both slept curled, facing inward. Both my eyes were blackening. Symmetry. A moment of perfection.
Emily stirred as I watched from the window, rolled onto her back. The moment was past, so I turned and looked out at the opposite row of houses, up at the stars.
The sixth rule of casual sex is it only goes on for as long as it has to.
Tomorrow, they would flip their hair (in unison), walk away. It would complete the symmetry. They would never talk about it. The only reminder would be the blood on the duvet, my bruises. I smiled. The scratches felt deep enough to scar.
This would fix things. Everything had gone according to plan. I had my memento. I left nothing behind but I had taken a little something from them.
I was all about breaking the rules.