Chapter Text
Surprisingly enough, Cheryl Blossom never was a fan of fights. She never quite learned how to handle them; after all, no one ever taught her. According to what her vicious parents were able to show her throughout her life, you plot against someone behind their backs; so you get what you want easily. If things go south before you can do anything, always get your awarded revenge. She had been raised to think that everyone was out to get her and no one would ever love her for who she was.
So she complied with whatever her parents asked her to do, time after time, even if it meant creating a whole new Cheryl and wear it as a mask. It got tiring, sure, exhausting even, but she had no choice. She was just another inmate trapped in the crystal prison that was Thornhill, and Thistlehouse after that. Sharp enough to cut deep, all the way to her soul; yet still made of glass. It could shatter into a million pieces if she just made the right move.
However, she never quite understood how to properly “communicate”, either. If she felt hurt, or humiliated, or disrespected, she would just act like it never happened. She was a master in bottling things up, she would not crack out in the open; not for anyone.
“No one cares if you cry, Cheryl.” Penelope Blossom had told – no, screamed at her once, anger in her voice, disgust in her eyes. Those feelings were accompanying her mother whenever she addressed her, nowadays. It hadn’t always been like that, she used to be so indifferent to her daughter, pretending like she wasn’t there. Now, it was worse. It got worse and worse over time. She must have been at least thirteen. That morning, her brother was supposed to be sleeping over to one of his friends’ house, so Cheryl finally had his whole teenage-boy room to herself. She woke up around five in the morning, so she would not arouse any suspicions. Usually, the only people awake that early were “the servants”, as her monster of a mother used to call their employees; so that they could start making breakfast for them.
Cheryl sneaked silently out of her room and into Jason’s, her steps light as feathers, moving quickly and graciously. She found every sort of things in her brother’s room; they weren’t talking as much as they did before; he had been moved up a year and was officially a freshman at Riverdale High. The golden boy, receiving prize after prize, award after award from life and everyone who surrounded him; and all because he existed. She recognized his state-of-the-art laptop, of course, given to him as a gift from her parents when he made it into the Varsity Football team. She went through his clothes, in the closet, and tried on some. She put on his Buzz Lightyear boxers, his favorites; took off her bra and wore his football sweatshirt. “BLOSSOM” was printed on the back, a big nine just underneath it. She lay on his bed, looking at the ceiling while trying to listen to her body, to the sound of birds she could hear outside. She breathed in on Jason’s scent, attempting to imagine what it was like to be him. Wanting desperately to be him, just for a day. She imagined how it felt to be loved, both by her mother and her father; how it felt to have friends to spend the night with and having fun together. Lastly, she imagined how it felt to hold someone, a girl in her arms. How she would feel under her hands, on her lips. While Cheryl’s right hand wandered hesitantly on the red rubber band of the boxers, her left hand went behind her, touching the back of her head, to relax. When the goose down pillow seemed harder than it should have been, she turned around, looked closer. With a soft chuckle, she smiled at her perfect brother’s copy of a porn magazine, hidden in the pillowcase. She opened it, slowly, looking attentively. The magazine gave her unusual, unnatural thoughts about the women in the pages. She didn’t want to look like them, she wanted to hold them. The thought scared her greatly, yet sparked a newfound excitement in her, at the same time. Her right hand wandered further, deeper into her panties with every passing page.
Then, the yelling had started, the cursing, the insulting and the scary, heavy hands of her mother slapping her; once, twice, three times. She did not see it coming. “No one cares if you cry, Cheryl.” It vaguely reminded her of a raging hyena at first; evil eyes, annoying voice and all. “So you might as well stop.” She mouthed solemnly, her voice was lower, her words heavy, one after the other. She looked at her own daughter with a scowling gaze; a gaze that was incomprehensible on Cheryl’s side of the bed. “We are not allowed to frown, young girl. We don’t have time for that.” The only thing her own body could communicate was fear, a paralyzing dark cloud which spread and spread further, with every passing second her mother spent silently. Inspecting her. “We scare, manipulate and we make them fear us.” She paused for a second, the girl sitting on the bed definitely confused about who she might be referring to. “That’s the only way you’re ever going to get anything in that useless life of yours.” Penelope stepped closer, not moving too fast, knowing far too well the power she had over her daughter. Perhaps, to her, she was just giving her a life lesson. Being a good mother. When she dared to look at the ground, in a failed attempt to hide her tears, her chin was grasped harshly. “Are you even a Blossom, girl?” It was only a whisper, but Cheryl could hear the question echoing in her head. “Are you?” Her whole body was tense, desperate to be out of that grasp and out of that room as soon as possible. “Yes, mommy. I am.” That was all she could murmur, barely audible; to Penelope though, it was more than enough. “I wish you weren’t. Now get out of this room before I start punishing you as you’d deserve!” The younger Blossom ran out of her brother’s room as fast as she could; and she never dared to put another step in it, until he died. That was the day she understood once and for all how her family worked. Obey, no matter what, no questions asked. That was her survival kit, hopefully out of that infinite nightmare.
Sitting on the kitchen counter, a not-so-older Cheryl Blossom sipped on her freshly made coffee, while scrolling through her phone. She slowly brushed her chin, remembering her mother’s grip on it as if it were yesterday. The thought gave her the chills, so she was very glad to hear her favorite voice in the world seconds later.
“Good Morning, princess!”
Toni Topaz appeared on the doorstep, a Krispy Kreme bag in her hands. That charismatic smile of hers got Cheryl every time, there was no escaping. She got up, walking towards her with a smile just as bright as Toni’s and stood very close to her girlfriend.
“Good Morning to you too, Topaz.”
The redhead landed a kiss on the very side of the other girl’s lips, swiping the bag from her when she was distracted. She opened it, victoriously finding her favorite doughnuts in it (chocolate iced doughnuts with a raspberry filling, thank you very much). The fact that Toni knew stuff like this about her, “stuff” that no one had ever been interested in – it caused the so-called butterflies in her stomach to twirl. Love had been such a colored and intense discovery, she felt like she never had enough of it – she never had enough of Toni. Especially not with the latest events that had been happening, she seemed to be needing her even more. To remind herself that not everything was death or evil or void.
The warm smile on the smaller girl’s mouth hadn’t changed, if anything, it got warmer. Doing little things like these, making Cheryl happy even if it was just for a moment; it made her feel good. However, her features weren’t relaxed. Judging from the grimace of bitterness on her face, it must have been something big, too. Or so thought Cheryl as she glared at her girlfriend moving around the kitchen. She could feel Toni’s uneasiness grow by the minute, as though something was really bothering her.
“You’re worried.”
She just stated, taking a bite of her long craved breakfast, while Toni got herself a glass of water. They weren’t really the fighting couple, tried not to be, at least. So there was no point in denying it.
“What gave me away?”
“Your eyes.”
She nodded, reaching through the counter to press a simple kiss on the redhead’s lips. “Well, I need to talk to you about something.” This is the kind of conversation that Cheryl dreaded, definitely.
“I figured.”
“Yeah. Well, we had an emergency meeting this morning. That’s why I left so early.”
Cheryl loved Sundays; they were the days in which she could enjoy Toni’s presence to the fullest. They would lay in bed for at least a few hours more than what was acceptable, eventually have lunch together or just watch Netflix the whole day. She didn’t really care what they were doing, as long as they could spend time together. So, when she woke up that morning and found a note where her sleeping girlfriend should have been; she definitely knew what kind of day this was going to be.
“I need you to talk to Archie Andrews.”
Of many things Toni could have said, this was not one Cheryl would have expected. She raised an eyebrow, gazing at her questioningly.
“I need you to convince him and his monochromatic circle of weirdos to take a step back. Precisely in his Black Hood quest.”
“Why? What do the Serpents have to do with that?”
After Midge’s death, seeing her body left up there, in such an inhumane way; it scared her. His name, the pattern he followed and even in death, the torture he’d make you suffer. Memories of the opening night came back to her, unasked for. Everything was a blur, panic spread. When she realized that it was not part of the musical, that it was real, it made her knees tremble. Despite the initial numbness of it, when death landed on her, she sensed it. She recognized her even, as you would salute an old friend. If she thought she’d seen the last of it when her father’s corpse hunged from the ceiling, she was wrong.
Then she remembered running, hazily and unconscious of where her legs were taking her. She was acting out of instinct, not something a Blossom would do.
It was only when she found Toni and they were cleared to go home; it was only when later, that night, she had the other girl’s arms wrapped around her; it was only then, that her heart stopped beating so hard, she thought it would crash her ribs one by one.
“People are scared, Cher. The Southside is – and I quote – “a den of sinners”. They feel targeted and they don’t trust the Northside or Sheriff Keller.”
She paused for a second, looking for a reaction in the ginger’s face, but receiving nothing in return.
“They trust the Serpents.”
That’s when Cheryl Blossom completely forgot about her breakfast. She started picking on her fingers, anxiously. This seemed like a well-known dejàvu to her.
Antoinette Topaz, on the other hand, had never been too good at avoiding things. She had always been very straightforward, so lying to her girlfriend just didn’t seem like an option.
“There was a vote and it was decided that we are to act on it. We will protect our people if authorities won’t.”
There was such a tenacity in her voice, Cheryl would have found new ways to fall in love with her at just that; if only her girlfriend hadn’t been signing up for her own death.
“My people include you. We are not letting anything happen to you. I am not letting anything happen to you.”
Toni announced, serious. She was tracing the back of the other’s hand with her forefinger. The pink haired girl really believed in this, Cheryl could tell. It scared her.
Truth was, Cheryl’s mind was a battlefield. It was, without a doubt, too much to take in all at once. She needed to take a second to breathe. Too many unpleasant thoughts were fighting for dominance on her next words. To make matters worse, her girlfriend’s persistent stare was really not helping. So, she tried to understand, first.
“So what would your plan be?”
Cheryl wasn’t sure of how to fully communicate her concern; the agonizing sensation that permeated her skin, her stomach, her jaw. She couldn’t tell if she wanted to kiss every inch of Toni’s body, frightened of what a life without her would be; or if she wanted to punch her pretty face. Really hard.
“We’ll draw him out. Jughead will also talk Archie into helping us; but you and the Vixens have power over Riverdale High, one that he doesn’t have.”
She really felt as if she were listening to a Commander, giving her directions about their platoon’s next move. Every word she said fueled her nervousness and her stress; so much so she couldn’t sit still anymore. She walked closer to the window, peering at a dark, scary Riverdale. A town that deep down had always terrorized her, no matter how much of a bitch she tried to be; finally showing its true colors.
“Babe, we have to do this. No one else is going to.”
Toni tried to slip into her silence, tugging a strand of red hair behind her ear.
“You don’t have to do anything, Antoinette. You’re a freaking high school student, not an FBI agent, for fuck’s sake!” Cheryl snapped, articulating her intricate preoccupation in the only way she knew how. “Then what?”
Toni knew, she understood. Toni loved her and had never pushed her towards anything she wasn’t feeling comfortable with. Because of that, she continued. She lowered her eyes, standing in front of her, but never leaving her hand.
(Also, she knew this was serious, her birth name was something Cheryl only used for either really funny or really serious situations.)
“He has to believe that Archie is going to be down at the bridge, on Tuesday night. Except he’s not going to be there. Well, if Jug manages to persuade him.”
Cheryl loved Toni, she really did. She loved her because of her golden pride in who she was; in her sexuality, in where she belonged, in what she liked to do. She loved her because of her relentless love for justice and for what was right; she loved her for being honest. She loved Toni for her bold, fearless self when it came to protecting those she loved.
Cheryl loved Toni. She really did.
So maybe, just maybe, she could understand this whole vigilante madness. Maybe she could try to support her and maybe she could even try to help her. She could make sure she was safe.
She could do all of that, if she just tried to speak up, for once.
If she did more than just glancing over the curtains, from her kitchen window, looking for a distraction. A way out from her very own crystal prison, the one she was building within herself. She observed fondly the lilies she planted with Nana Rose, months before. She specifically looked for two special flowers; two red poppies. Blossom red poppies. She put them in the garden a long time ago, the day after they found Jason’s body; they made her feel as though somewhere in the universe, in this world, they were together. Somewhere her lifelong best friend was still alive, her favorite person in the world since she was little. He was still there, able to calm her down when she failed to do it herself.
“When the Black Hood comes for Archie, Sweet Pea and I will be waiting for him, instead.”
Except she really couldn’t. Cheryl suddenly felt animated by an electric rush. It traveled fast through her veins, pumping blood from her heart all the way to her head. She felt dizzy, lightheaded. Leaving Toni’s hand, she held her head in her hands for a second.
“Cheryl. Hey. I’m here, baby, look at me.”
No one cares if you cry, Cheryl
Pushed by something that she still couldn’t name, she sped through the kitchen and the leaving room.
“Where are you going?”
She wasn’t listening to Toni’s caring words, she blocked them out. Had anyone looked her in the eyes at that very moment, they would have found bloodshot eyes, pure panic in them.
No, her Toni could not be a part of this.
She grasped her purse, looking frenetically for the car keys. As she was about to head out, a touch on the shoulder surprised her. Gentle, elegant, kind. As she always had been.
Cheryl lost herself even deeper in thought, deeper in the jungle of choices she was forcing herself in.
What was she doing?
We scare, manipulate and we make them fear us.
Yeah, that’s what she was doing. She would not lose the one good thing that ever came to her. Definitely not.
“I’m sorry.”
Her words were merely audible, as she shrugged off the loving hand on her shoulder. Then, with just that, she opened the door and left; as swiftly yet sweetly as only a Blossom could.
“I love you.”
Was what she was not able to hear, on the other side of the door.
The grey, particularly sad walls of Thistlehouse gasped a little when they heard those three words, uttered before them. It was not something they were used to hear, not in that house.