effie yaxley (![]() ![]() @ 2016-02-01 19:51:00 |
![]() |
|||
![]() |
|
![]() |
|
![]() |
Benjy had spent the past few days in a daze. Everything had melded into a melancholy blur: interviews with the DMLE, a grieving mother who couldn’t understand, two devastated sisters and another who refused to speak to him. There were pineapples from the Matapangs, heaping trays of food from the Fenwicks, and the phrase “sorry for your loss” was beginning to lose all meaning, if it’d ever held any. A few of his father’s friends had tried to drag him to a pub in Belfast, but the idea held no appeal. Not when he’d have to smile and laugh and listen to stories about how grand his father was, as if he hadn’t been the one to get him killed. Instead, he sought refuge at a Knockturn dive. The air smelled of cigarette smoke and cheap beer, but it offered privacy and shelter from the chilly rain. Benjy was fidgeting on his barstool, elbows propped against the bar as he stared down at his pint glass, obviously distracted. He was only shaken out of his thoughts when he caught a flash of familiar blonde hair out of the corner of his eye. Benjy readjusted his chair to get a better look at his ex-girlfriend, angling himself toward her. The sight of her usually stirred something in him: today, however, he merely felt a faint pinprick of regret. “Hi, Eff,” he said, flatly. “Benj,” Effie replied, though it was more to her nearly empty tumbler than it was the man at her side. She didn’t really know how to navigate the waters of Benjy’s grief and she was wondering what had possessed her to switch stools. She was going to blame her nearly empty tumbler instead of her empty ring finger or her bruised pride, both seeking out something familiar. Finally, she swivelled just so in her seat, looking at his pint first and then at him. “What are you doing here?” “What do people normally do at bars?” Benjy rolled a shoulder impassively, and there was no heat in his voice. Despite the flat affect, though, he felt as if there was acid corroding his insides, and the slight smile he flashed Effie reflected that. “I’m drinking, same as you.” He stared at her for a moment, his gaze lingering on her fine cheekbones. He expected to feel something, but he didn’t. The absence of that something was jarring in its wrongness, as if someone had pulled him apart and reassembled him incorrectly. His eyes drifted back to his glass. “What are you doing here?” “Discovering the cure for Male Pattern Spattergroit,” Effie said with a hand swept demonstratively over the countertop before her. She was definitely not doing that. Instead, she was reaching for her drink and swirling the amber liquid around once, then again, before finally taking a drink. It burned, but the burn barely registered. After a moment, she set her drink down with a sigh and kept her eyes trained on the bar as she quietly added, “I’m sorry.” “Me too.” The words were punctuated with a contemplating swig of his drink. There was a faint urge to lash out, to attack her purism, but it was gone a heartbeat later. “I heard about the fight with Goyle.” Benjy’s gaze flickered over to her left hand, notably lacking an engagement ring. “Sorry, I guess.” Effie automatically covered her left hand with the other and then she pulled them both back to her lap, sandwiching them between her thighs. But she also gave a stilted shrug. “Don’t be. I’m not.” Never mind that she was sorry. That despite feeling stifled by that ring, it had still felt comfortable and so had Gavin. It just seemed much smaller stacked against what Benjy was going through. Benjy turned his head sharply and raised an eyebrow, curiosity clearly piqued. “You’re not?” “I’m not going to waste energy on someone who thinks they can treat me like that,” Effie answered as she smoothed her skirt over her legs. “I guess I’m sorry I won’t have him to buy me things anymore.” She reached for her drink again and this time the burn was more than welcome. There was a fractional tilt of his head as he stared at her, his gaze open and assessing. Benjy knew Effie well enough to sufficiently pick up on the gap between she said and what she meant. “You shouldn’t have done that to Glenna,” he told her, splaying his hands across the countertop. He knew there was no point in lecturing Effie about werewolf prejudice, but. “It fucking pains me to agree with a ballbag like Goyle on anything, but… it was her secret to tell, not yours.” The thing with Glenna had gotten old the very night it had happened so Effie sighed and lifted her gaze to the ceiling in a half-ass eyeroll. And then she reached for glass and drained it, wincing a little at the too big gulp before gesturing for the barkeep and a fresh drink for them both. When it was just the two of them again, she turned to Benjy. “You know, you’re right.” She paused a beat. “I should’ve just told her to leave my brother the fuck alone and spared myself an enormous headache. But here we are.” “Here we are,” Benjy echoed, the corners of his mouth twitching into a surprised smile. He accepted his drink with a grateful tilt of his glass before taking a sip. The tension in his shoulders was beginning to uncoil, his actions more animated and loose. Some of his usual verve crept into his voice as he continued, “You’ve got to be more upset than you’re letting on. You just admitted I was right about something.” This time Effie managed a proper eyeroll, but the corners of her own mouth twitched and she had to quickly hide in a swallow of her drink. “I’m not upset,” she said upon emerging, aiming a skeptical glance at Benjy. “I’m inconvenienced.” “You were engaged to someone that long because it was convenient?” Benjy thoughtfully tapped two fingers against his mouth before he shook his head. He made a small sound that was one part disbelief, one part incredulity. “I don’t buy it, Euphemia.” “I don’t care if you buy it,” Effie snapped, her gaze sliding away from Benjy. Out of habit, she reached for her ring to twist it around her finger, but it was gone, just like it had been the million other times she’d reached for it since she’d taken it off. Too late, she made like she was swiping invisible lint from her skirt. Her shoulders went straighter when she added in a mutter, “I don’t see why it matters anyway.” It should’ve mattered. It would’ve mattered, just a few months ago. Benjy had spent years talking to Effie against his better judgment: trading insults, telling her terrible jokes, and encouraging her to flirt with him. He looked at her for a long moment, long after she’d looked away from him. His eyes were intent, as if searching for some answer in her body language. Benjy looked away a moment later. He’d told Emmeline he still had feelings for Effie, but the exhilaration he usually felt at the prospect of some sort of reunion with her was now replaced by disenchantment. “I reckon you’ll find someone else to buy you things,” he said at last, his eyes fixed on his drink. That wasn’t really the answer Effie had been looking for and her shoulders slumped, just a bit, as her gaze slid back to him. She wanted someone to fight for her. Gavin hadn’t in the end. And it seemed like Benjy wasn’t going to either. She might have snapped again, but she wasn’t on her first or second drink and it was making her feel desperate suddenly. “Buy me a drink?” she asked, an eyebrow lifted. Unwillingly, the image of Colm Fenwick’s unmoving body came into Benjy’s head. One hand rose to pinch the bridge of his nose for a moment, his eyes fluttering shut as he let out a slow, measured breath. Once the image had dissolved, he glanced back at Effie, his mouth set into a thin, careful line. “That’s not a good idea, Eff.” “So?” Effie asked despite the small voice in the back of her head demanding she leave. “So you’re always going to be a purist and I don’t have the energy to argue about it anymore.” Benjy flashed her an ice pick smile. “I’m tapped out. You can buy into that wank if you want to, but there can’t be another rendition of the Effie Yaxley and Benjy Fenwick saga.” Effie stared blankly at him for a long moment, not wanting to give herself away. She’d had enough of people trying to make her feel small for how she felt. And she didn’t want Benjy to know that he’d stung her. “Fine,” she said, turning to face the bar, even angling her body ever so slightly away from him. “Overdramatize a drink, then.” It would’ve stung, before. Now, though, there was just another faint pinprick of wistfulness that couldn’t compare to the dull ache of reality. Benjy’s eyes remained on Effie as he polished off the rest of his drink, savoring the harsh burn. He rose to his feet, then, and grabbed a handful of Sickles out of his pocket to cover his tab — and another drink for Effie. “Get the drink, if you want it.” A beat passed as his sharp smile melted into something rueful. “I just can’t be here while you get it. You understand, yeah?” There wasn’t really anything Effie could think to say so she settled on saying nothing. She looked down at her lap and didn’t look back up until she was sure he was gone. |