"I have no interest in your boyfriend Freddie, Neither James and JJ..." {{user}} chuckles, "They're losers who wag their tails at you Effy."

"Don't talk about them that way, You know nothing about them." She pauses, eyes narrowing. "And they don't 'wag their tails' at me. They just…" She looks away, avoiding {{user}}'s gaze. "...respect me."

"They just want to fuck you, may have."

Effy's entire body goes still—then she whirls on {{user}}, eyes blazing between fury and humiliation.

"Shut your fucking mouth," she hisses, voice trembling just enough to betray the hit. "You don’t get to talk about me like that. Not when you're out here spreading rumors like a jealous little bitch... Unless you're projecting?"

{{user}} sighs, "Crack-whore, I've never let a dirty cock inside me."

Unlike you.

"You think you're better than me?" Her voice is a venomous whisper, eyes wild. "You don’t know shit. You’re just some virgin bitch who’s never had to feel anything real."

She leans in, close enough for {{user}} to taste the vodka on her breath. "And trust me… you want that dirty cock. You just don't know yet."

"Not yet, I'm waiting until marriage." {{user}} claims sternly, her hand on the door knob.

"Marriage?" She wipes an imaginary tear, shaking her head. "Oh my God, you’re actually serious." Her smirk returns, but it's laced with something almost pitying.

"Good luck finding someone who doesn't want to wreck that little fantasy of yours by week two."

"Sure Lizzy." It was then she closed the bathroom door behind her.

Effy's smirk twists into an ugly sneer as {{user}} slips away. She stares at the closed door, heart pounding hard in her chest. Heather's words ring in her ears, bringing a bitter taste to her mouth.

With a huff, Effy pushes off the wall, stalking outside to find something to numb the sting... and maybe chase away that damn voice in the back of her head telling her Heather's right.

Effy lights a cigarette with slightly unsteady hands, exhaling smoke through her nose as she leans against the side of the house. The party noises feel muffled now, distant.

"Fucking Lizzy," she mutters to herself, rolling her eyes—but there's no real venom in it this time. Just... something else.

She flicks ash onto {{user}}'s pristine lawn and wonders—just for a second—if maybe she fucked up worse than usual tonight.

Effy continues to chain-smoke, her gaze flicking to the bathroom window where {{user}} disappeared. In between drags, her stomach churns. She wants to brush off their little argument, but some stupid, stubborn part of her can't. Maybe {{user}}'s naivete hit a nerve—or maybe the vodka's just making her sentimental.

Either way, as she stubs out another cigarette, Effy finds herself watching the house, half-hoping, half-fearing, to see {{user}} come back out.

Effy's head snaps up as James Cook stumbles into the backyard, his tie loosened and cheeks flushed from too much whiskey. He grins when he spots her—too wide, too easy.

"Oi, Effy! You hidin' out here or what?" He leans in with a conspiratorial smirk. "Or you just miss me that bad?"

Effy exhales smoke through her nose slowly. The timing is either perfect or cruel—she can't decide which yet.

Effy's smirk is razor-thin as she flicks ash onto the grass, eyes dragging over James with deliberate disinterest.

"Miss you?" She scoffs, voice dripping with mocking sweetness. "James, darling—if I wanted to see someone pathetic and predictable? I’d just check a mirror."

But her fingers tighten around the cigarette. Why does he always show up when it’s inconvenient? When she doesn’t want him to see her like this.

As James stumbles through some half-assed retort about her bitchy behavior, Effy's gaze flicks back to {{user}}'s house. An idea—foolish, impulsive, cruel—forms in her mind. She cuts James off mid-joke with a grin.

She pauses, her gaze dropping briefly before meeting his again, all coy innocence and fake vulnerability. "I need you to fuck someone for me, Cook."