Chapter Text
Heather needs a new plan.
That is what she tells herself, as her perfectly manicured nails are gripping the wheel so hard that indentations are gloriously decorating its otherwise immaculate Italian leather. She. Is. Pissed. So very deliciously so.
Cause, like, the only thing Veronica fucking Sawyer shouldn’t have done is make her fall in love with her. The rest she thinks she could have forgiven, somehow… Veronica is, after all, the most promising out of her lackeys, showing wits yet understanding, being opinionated yet reserved. She is the perfect anti-Heather. A force to be reckoned with.
And oh, God, is she pretty. An actual triple threat. Heather can’t help but stutter every time Veronica looks at her with those stupid doe eyes, and that stupid boyish grin, and just, essentially so much smugness that it should only ever be qualified as annoying, but for some reason it’s not, it’s hot.
So, yeah. Yeah, Heather Chandler is in love with Veronica Sawyer and that bitch is going to pay for it…… Ergo, she needs a new plan.
A new one, because, so far, she tried so hard to make it- make her disappear that she unintentionally started spending even more time with her, just so she could find some kind of weakness that could take her down.
Guess how that turned out… A brand. New. Fucking. Plan.
“You okay, H ?” she asks as Heather glares at her untouched lunch.
Her head snaps towards her and she frowns at Veronica, attempting to hide the blush that instantly colors her cheeks when she notices how truly concerned the other girl seems to be.
“I’d be better if you stopped asking such demented questions.” she forces out.
Veronica snorts softly and, Goddamit. It’s everything.
And of course, this absolute mindfuck of a girl can’t help but be a good (a great!) friend, so when Heather frowns, this time, she grabs her hand firmly under the table, slowly leans towards her ear, and whispers as if she was unleashing the secrets to the universe—
“It’s okay if you’re not, you know.”
And Heather kinda shivers and Duke, this prick, asks “Hey are you, like, cold or something ?” as Mac gawks almost knowingly at her which only furthers Heather’s annoyance.
“No, I’m not, moron. I’m just appalled by these dumbasses.” She lazily points to a table a few feet away where, like clockwork, Ram and Kurt burp loudly, laughing harder when they notice one of their football mates is choking on his meatballs.
“Ew,” she mutters.
“I can’t believe we have to go to Ram’s tonight.” she hears Duke whisper.
Heather frowns. She can’t either, to be frank, but it’s in their job description. Be hot, go to Friday night parties at Ram’s, reign on this dump. That’s what they do.
“Well, get over it, 'cause we’re going.”
So, they went. Actually, here they are still. Mac is somewhere making out with Ram or Kurt, or maybe even both depending on her mood, and Duke is probably puking somewhere, leaving Heather and Veronica alone, sipping on bad punch and intensely staring at the broken clock on the kitchen wall.
“So... When did you say we could leave again ?”
Heather sighs.
“Around 3 am. The same time as when you asked me ten minutes ago.”
It’s 1.36 am, and she knows that because she’s watched her check her ugly beat-up Casio watch twice in the same. Fucking. Minute.
“Jesus, this sucks.” Veronica groans.
Yeah, well, try being stuck in a crowded kitchen with your very straight, very obnoxious girl crush, out of duty... The kid behind high school protocol is one helluva jerk.
“Ronnie, I swear if you complain one more time-“
Okay, look, this is one of those moments that Heather’s brain can’t ever let go of — one of those where Ronnie, this sexy motherfucker, turns towards her and leans in as close as she possibly can in the most not-that-heterosexual kind of way and smirks the smirk and looks the look, and whispers as if it was a game only they both knew how to play:
“Pray tell. What’re you gonna do, Chandler?”
and Heather, this sad, sad (gay!) girl, blushes, and everything feels insanely overwhelming even if she silently wishes for this moment to last forever… but, of course, as soon as it starts, it ends.
Straight women, for ya.
“Fuck you, Sawyer.” Heather spits out, “I’ll have you dead by Monday.”
The other girl chuckles good-naturedly, and Chandler has to conjure up all of the Gods she knows of to help her not let a fond smile settle on her face.
She spends the rest of the night having to fight it.
The drive home is longer and way more dangerous than usual (which says a lot), because Ronnie decided to use the last hour they had to spend at the party to drink everything she could find (Heather has a feeling she was trying to impress that dreadful, serial-killer-looking, trench-coat-wearing newbie she spent this same hour with) and well, she is not that sober either, and they are alone. Together. Fuck.
Duke went home with some lacrosse player, which, okay, it’s not varsity football, but it’ll do, and Mac decided to follow suit with some random senior from some rival school. Heather doesn’t know how she pulled that off but he thinks she is a Yale shoo-in and she’s pretty sure he wants her to meet his mom. Oh, well. Good luck with that one.
And since Veronica never leaves with anyone, because she lowkey is a romantic and also because Heather makes sure she knows that doesn’t have to if she doesn’t wanna (she’s a bitch, sure, but she’s not a monster), she asked Heather in the most innocent way to take her home.
Anyway. Right now, Ronnie has decided to try to singlehandedly ruin all of Heather’s efforts to not kiss her by serenading her with Lost in Your Eyes by Debbie Gibson.
Picture me this: the car windows are opened all the way down, and Veronica’s hair is flying all around the cubicle, her cheeks red from the alcohol and her voice soft but determined, as if she meant every word she was singing. Heather feels like crying because of how beautiful she looks.
The song ends just as Heather parks her car in front of the other girl’s house, and she turns off the radio almost immediately.
“Hey, I was still listening to that!”
“You’re home, loser,” Heather says matter-of-factly, looking out the window like some mean old taxi driver waiting for their client to leave.
“Oh. Thanks.”
Veronica makes no move to exit the car. Like she literally isn’t moving at all, or if she is, Heather can’t hear her and it’s creepy as fuck.
Just when she thinks she probably died or fell asleep or something, she feels the subtle press of two chapped lips against her burning cheek.
“Bye”, Veronica whispers like yet another secret.
And, just then, she leaves.
Well.
"Fuck me gently with a chainsaw."