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Betty was sitting on a couch in her family's living room, nursing a mug of warm cocoa in her hands. It was pouring outside, and the house was terrifyingly silent without the twins running around and creating havoc every step of the way. After their mother's funeral, both Dagwood and Juniper mainly kept to themselves and woke up in the middle of the night from another horrid nightmare with their faces stained with tears. Their grandmother, and now the official guardian of the children, who was struggling with her own mental trauma resulting from the terrible death of her oldest daughter, decided to take them on a so much-needed vacation away from the town that turned the Coopers' existence into a living hell.
Betty sighed shakily as her gaze leveled on an exquisite ceramic urn holding the remains of her beloved sister Polly, now resting as a dusty keepsake on a mantelpiece. An eternal reminder of their loss that left her heartbroken in a way she could never fathom. From the moment they found Polly's lifeless, distorted body in the hood of a car, scattered among the trash and metal wreckage at the town's junkyard, Betty fell into a completely numb, catatonic state. She had not shed a tear, though the dry lump in her throat remained and grew more prominent each time someone called in to bring their condolences.
Betty got up every morning, drank her double espresso, and went out to work. Even her obsession with the TBK's capture had become a mandatory, tedious activity that dragged her uneventfully from one day to another. The truth was, she could no longer feel anything at all. After Betty was miraculously rescued from the serial killer's murder hole, she deliberately closed and kept her feelings under lock and key, too overwhelmed and twisted to face them and what destruction they would bring if set free. The blonde positively believed she could never possibly fall deeper into despair and emotional avoidance. But it seemed human suffering knew no bounds. Her sister was kidnapped, tortured, and slaughtered by a bunch of crazy psychopaths, and that opened a whole new level of traumatic experience her weary brain was no longer able to process. The previous coping mechanisms played a bad joke on her, resulting in Betty losing the remaining interest in life. Every day she withdrew more and more, her frustration growing like a snowball. The only thing that made her hang by a loose thread was a promise she had given to her mother.
A light knock on the door notified her of another visit. For a fleeting moment, she wanted to ignore it, having no strength to spend another minute in the company of people she felt no attachment to. The knocking became more insistent, so Betty got up from the couch, put the still full mug on a side table, and went to open a door.
'Jughead?' She asked drily, her eyes taking in his signature messy hair and soft semi-smile.
'Hey, Betty. May I come in?' He said, casting a cautious look behind her as if checking if she was alone.
The blonde contemplated her answer, imagining how liberating it would be just to send him away, but she could not do this to him, especially not after Jughead put his own problems aside and helped her to find Polly.
'Sure.' She finally nodded, stepping aside and letting him in.
They entered the living room, and Jughead stood still on his spot, not sure where to go from here.
'Please, take a seat. Would you like something to drink?' Betty said automatically, gesturing to the couch. Without looking at him, she reached for the decanter to pour a glass of scotch. Her arm froze in mid-air, and she winced suddenly, remembering he was a recovering alcoholic.
'Sorry, I forgot.' Betty mumbled, not daring to look at him.
'It's okay.' Jughead assured her and cleared his throat.
'We need to finish that talk, Betty.'
Her shoulders became stiff as she put the decanter back with more force than she intended to. There was no use in pretending she had no idea what he was talking about. Jughead was the only person who could see right through her facade of self-loathing and composure. The only person who knew who she really was. It all seemed so ironic to her now how Jughead claimed she was not responsible for the sins of her parents, only to use it against her in his writing.
'There's nothing more to say.' She said, turning around and fixing him with a long stare.
'Betty.' He sighed, shooting her an anguished glance. 'I see how broken you are. And I have a feeling it's not only about Polly. There's something more that you try hard to hide from the rest of the world. And if Alice or Archie, for that matter, are too blind to notice that, it won't work with me. I know you. Don't shut me out, please.'
Her green eyes snapped with reproach, and Betty lapsed into a long silence, her mind preoccupied with finding ways to avoid this conversation. Why had it always been so hard with him? Jughead had this unnerving tendency to make her open up like no one else. That was the main reason she steered away from him at any cost, being perfectly aware of the fact that once he confronted her, she would no longer be able to control herself. Betty desperately needed something to discourage him, so she chose the only weapon left at her disposal.
'What do you want to hear? That I'm a cold, fake, duplicitous bitch? Just like you pictured me in your novel for the whole world to see?'
Something alarming kindled in his blue-green eyes, and Jughead rose from his seat, approaching her with two quick steps.
'What the hell are you talking about?' He glowered at her.
Betty felt both humiliated and annoyed by his reaction but lifted her chin and said in a detached voice, ignoring the stabbing pain of shame in her heart, 'Your book, remember how you promised to expose my true self? Did that satisfy you?'
It was a low blow, and Betty knew it. Believing that he would actually do it to get back at her was a safe and familiar notion she had grown to live with.
His head jerked as if she had slapped him.
'So that's what you think of me? That I'm so pathetic and petty I would write something bad about the woman I've been pining for years?' He bit out with a pained grimace on his face. 'If you had just opened the damn book, you would have found the truth.'
'And what's that exactly?' Betty shot back before she could silence herself.
'What difference does it make now?' He mumbled tiredly and looked away, chewing on his lower lip. 'I came here searching for some clarity I thought we both needed. I felt bad our relationship ended in the middle of the sentence. But maybe sometimes you don't get closure, so you just move on.'
Betty's heart, the one she considered to be made of stone, leaped in her throat, convincing her that she was still human.
'So I decided to give it one last shot.' Jughead continued with a sad smile. 'And now I'm saying goodbye.'
'Oh.' Betty breathed out softly while a dozen of panicking thoughts tumbled to roll from her lips.
'I'm leaving Riverdale tomorrow. For good this time.' His voice was barely a whisper. 'But before I go, I want you to promise me to talk to someone about your past and Polly. Because if you don't, it'll eat you alive.'
Betty stood numbly, trying to assimilate the news. She did it, she finally drew him away. She should have been relieved but felt inexplicably empty and devastated. Her body started to shake from an upcoming onslaught of tears. Betty hugged herself and carefully schooled her features into a polite smile of reassurance.
'I will.' She said with more conviction than she really felt.
'Goodbye, Betty Cooper.' His gaze roamed over her face as if trying to memorize it.
Then he looked away, turned at his heels, and left her standing there alone to face her demons just as she had always wanted.
Betty once again turned over on the other side and fluffed up the pillow, hoping that this small trick would help her finally fall asleep. But it didn't work. Jughead's last words and his face kept spinning in her brain, making her gut churn with guilt and shame. He deserved so much more, someone who could see what a precious beautiful soul he was, always being the first to lend you a hand or forgive you for all of your sins and misdoings. A long time ago, Betty truly believed she was that person, but then so many horrible things happened that made her question her own existence. How could he still be so compassionate and understanding when his best friends left him when he needed them the most? She should have been with him when he suffered from his first writer's block and tried to find the solution to his problems on the bottom of the bottle.
Betty swallowed hard, her heart aching for him. For being such a cold-hearted bitch. For letting him down again and again when all he asked of her was honesty. How could Betty possibly explain to him that no matter how hard she tried, she was terrified of being honest with anyone, especially with him? With herself? He would be so much better off without her. And yet, some intrusive thought kept nagging her brain.
'If you had just opened the damn book, you would have found the truth.'
Betty opened her eyes, sensing she was onto something crucial. She jumped out of bed and rushed downstairs to the living room, where her mother kept all of her books. Somehow Betty knew that Alice had definitely read Jughead's novel, so it should be somewhere in the house. Betty turned on the lights and frantically looked through the shelves, her fingers brushing over paper and hardback covers. She mumbled the writers' names repeatedly until finally, she saw it.
'The Outcasts by Forsythe Pendleton Jones III.' Betty read out, reverently tracing the imprinted letters with her fingers.
She felt so proud of him and hugged the book to her chest, remembering how she would read his first drafts and drive him crazy with hundreds of suggestions. These were her most treasured memories. His warmth. His genuine smile and laughter that filled her heart with love and happiness. When they both were so carefree and full of big dreams.
'What happened to us, Juggie?' Betty sighed and sat on the couch with her legs tucked under her.
Feeling both excited and nervous, she opened the first chapter and started to read. Betty was a fast reader, and if a story were engaging enough, the blonde would not stop until she finished it.
When it was nearly dawn, Betty closed the book with a loud snap. She was breathing hard, her cheeks burning with rage. Betty was still processing what she had just read, but even this distorted picture was enough to send her mind reeling with indignation and torment.
'So that is your truth, Forsythe?' Betty grated ominously, and before she knew what she was doing, the young woman stomped outside, dressed only in her sweatpants and a t-shirt.
The rain was coming down so hard it almost hurt, stinging the skin and blowing into her eyes. Betty rushed to Archie's garage without paying any attention to her soaking wet clothes, her bare feet slipping in the mud. She banged her fists on the door, shouting his name until her voice became hoarse. Finally, she heard a muffled creak of rusty hinges, and the door opened, revealing Jughead in his pajama bottoms, who stared at her in shock as if she had grown two heads.
'Jesus, Betts! It's pouring outside. Come on in.' He said, raking his fingers through his black hair, which looked even messier than usual, with thick curls falling on his forehead.
'You're shivering. Hang on.' Jughead gazed at her dripping clothes and rushed to the closet, fishing out a couple of bathing towels and some of his clean clothes.
'What happened?' He finally ventured, his tone warm with compassion.
Betty's face went pale as she shook the swollen book right in front of his nose and her expression became positively savage.
'Your book happened!' She bit out.
'So?' Jughead passed her the towels, which she snatched from his hands and started to dry herself fiercely.
'So?' Betty spat out, pulling off a stuck T-shirt over her head. 'It's total gibberish! This stupid love triangle! This perfect prom queen of yours and her undying love to a golden boy next door. How they were destined to end up together, despite her hot affair with a viper king ...'
'What about it?' He breathed out, hardly paying any attention to her biting remarks. All he could see was an ugly pink scar on her chest, which had never been there before.
'It's all a lie!' She cried out, changing into his fresh t-shirt that hung loose on her petite form.
'Is it?'
Betty looked right into his eyes, and angry tears raced down her cheeks.
'How could you write that you've always been the third rail. That you've never mattered.'
Jughead swallowed hard, trying hard to suppress an urge to embrace and comfort her. He saw now why she had become so distant and withdrawn. The jigsaw puzzle pieces suddenly started to come together, forming a very disturbing picture that made so much sense. Her unhealthy obsession with serial killers, all this insane determination to go out on lonely highroads dressed like a hooker in search of Polly, and finally this branding scar.
'As you said, it's just a stupid book.' He finally recovered his voice, his throat as dry as parchment.
'Are you taking me for a fool?' Betty was shaking like a leaf. She swiped at her eyes, but the tears came anyway. 'That's how you see us, and that's your truth.'
With sublime effort, Betty lifted her chin and said with all calm and emphasis she was capable of, 'Every moment, every kiss we shared mattered. I meant it when I told you I loved you. When I said, there is no other man for me. I meant it. Every single word. How could you believe you've never mattered? When you were the only thing that kept me going?'
He reached out and grabbed her in his arms, holding her tight when she tried to pull away. Tears were sliding down her cheeks in a hot steady stream that could no longer be avoided or stopped. His hands pressed her firmly to his chest, rubbing soothing circles over her back.
'Don't you see that Archie's always been just a distraction?' She whispered, gasping for breath. 'A reminder of simpler times when there were no sorrows and loss. A picture-perfect childish dream I took fleeting comfort in when I thought you and I were over.'
'I didn't want to hurt you, baby.' Jughead planted a soft kiss on her forehead. 'I wrote most of these pages when I was drunk and bitter. I won't lie. There was a part of me, a darker one, that believed in it. But I don't anymore. I'm sorry, Betty.'
'I'm sorry I missed your launch party.' She hiccuped, choking on her sobs.
'It's okay. Now that we both agree my book kinda sucks, you didn't miss much.'
'Well, not all of it sucks.' Betty huffed, feeling dizzy and oddly comforted. 'Some parts were nice.'
He chuckled and studied her stormy face in thoughtful silence.
'Just one word, Betty, and I will never let you go.' He finally said, cradling her in his embrace protectively.
Her chin trembled as she brushed her fingers over his cheek.
'Stay.' Betty breathed out, wrapping her arms around his neck.
His face softened, and his mouth slanted over hers with fierce tenderness, bringing Betty back to life.