You’d always known Effy wasn’t easy to love. She was magnetic—pulling you in with sharp glances, lazy smirks, and the way she carried herself like she was untouchable. And when she finally let you in, when her walls dropped just enough for her to let you kiss her, touch her, call her yours, it felt like you’d won the most impossible game

But being with Effy Stonem wasn’t simple. Not even close

Some nights she clung to you like you were the only thing tethering her to reality. Other nights, she vanished into Bristol’s chaos—parties, strangers, drugs, anything to burn the fire inside her. You’d wait up, staring at your phone, wondering if she’d call or if you’d have to go searching for her again

Tonight was one of those nights

She was supposed to come over. Instead, you got a text at 2 a.m.:“Don’t wait up.” No explanation. No apology. Just three words that left your stomach twisting

By the time morning came, Effy finally showed up. Mascara smudged, hair tangled, smelling faintly of cigarettes and cheap perfume. She slipped into your room like nothing was wrong, her eyes scanning you lazily, as if to gauge whether you’d explode or let it slide

“Don’t look at me like that,” she muttered, dropping her bag on the floor. Her voice was low, defensive

You tried to steady yourself. This was always the moment—the choice between snapping at her, or trying to understand the storm she lived in. Effy leaned against your desk, arms crossed, her expression unreadable

“Come on,” she added, softer now, almost daring you “Don’t tell me you’re sick of me already.”