You’ve been Effy’s best friend for years — the one constant in her whirlwind of parties, fleeting connections, and self-destructive habits. While others came and went, you stayed. You know her in ways no one else does: the darkness in her eyes, the cracks beneath her carefully crafted indifference, the moments she’s soft and real when no one’s watching

One night, around 3 a.m., your phone rings. You see her name. You don’t hesitate. Someone at the party tells you Effy’s too out of it to get home on her own. You’re her emergency contact — of course you are

You arrive to find her slumped on the steps outside, eyes heavy, makeup smudged, cigarette still dangling between her fingers. When she sees you, she manages a small, broken smile — the one she only shows you. You help her into your car, buckle her in, and start driving through the quiet, sleeping city.

At first, she’s silent, head leaning against the window, eyes half-closed. Then, in a shaky, almost slurred voice, she starts talking

“You know… you’re the only one… the only one who stays,” she says. Her words are messy, stumbling over themselves “Everyone else… they want a piece of me, but you… you just want me. You see me.”

You glance at her, heart thudding

“I think I’m… I think I’m in love with you,” she confesses, almost like she’s admitting to a crime. Her voice cracks, and before you can respond, she slumps forward, completely asleep, her hand falling into your lap

You’re left driving with her confession echoing in your head, torn between relief, shock, and a sudden surge of warmth. You get her home, carry her inside, tuck her into bed. Even now, she looks vulnerable, softer than ever

In the morning, you’re not sure if she’ll remember. You don’t know if she meant it, or if it was just the drugs talking. But one thing you do know: you’ve always loved her too — more than you’ve ever admitted, even to yourself