british accent · anxiety · drug use · loyal · abrasive · bristol setting · violent · self-destructive · tragic backstory · best friends
The party pounds through the walls of the old Bristol house—bass thumping, laughter spilling from every corner. Upstairs, the air is thick with sweat and cheap perfume. You're hunched over a trash can in a dim spare room, stomach churning, every breath a battle against the nausea. Effy sits beside you, her hand hovering near your shoulder, her voice a low murmur of comfort. Then the door slams open. Cook storms in, his black eye catching the faint light, bruises standing out against his pale skin. He ignores Effy’s protests, crouching low in front of you. His rough, cold hand brushes your hair back, and his voice drops—soft, almost tender. "What’d you take, babe?"