Blue Raspberry

by OrcaDork6

Summary:

What if J.D. wasn't dead?
Veronica is in college now, and J.D. thinks it's time to pay his high school sweetheart a visit.

Notes:

Unfortunately, I don't own Heathers, the movie or the musical.
I keep with the movie for most of the major plot points (for example, Betty and Martha are two different people in my fic), but there are elements of the musical that work their way in (for example, it's 7-Eleven, not the Snappy Snack Shack, and Veronica will see ghosts).
Warning, like the movie and the musical, this fic deals with issues of suicide, stalking, general violence, and violence on a school campus.
I hope you like it! This first chapter is short, but there will be more to come!

Update: I've decided to rate this Explicit, so people know what they're getting into (there's warnings before most of the chapters too; I'll keep those up). This story will get dark and uncomfortable. Rape, sexual violence, and non-con will all appear later in the work. Know yourselves before reading, and be compassionate to your own needs. Please be aware that J.D. and Veronica's relationship is NOT healthy (if you've seen the movie, this goes without saying, but I'm going to say it anyway). Happy Valentine's Day everyone <3

Chapter 1

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your golden hair.”

J.D. smirked as he leaned beneath her bedroom window, cigarette between his teeth. The princess in question? Veronica Sawyer, now in her first year of college, studying to be a goddamn English major. It had taken a while to track her down, but not too long. He had connections. Besides, it was a big deal, getting accepted into Stanford, and news travels fast in small towns.

Of course, it had been a while since he’d lived in a small town. According to some, it had been a while since he’d lived.

The conversation drifted through the night air, down from the second story of the freshman dorms: “Sometimes, Betty,” Veronica confided in her roommate and best friend. “I just don’t believe he’s dead…” Luckily for Veronica, Betty Finn was a psych major.

J.D. blew smoke between his lips, silently gloating. It had been a brilliant escape plan, hadn’t it? Rig a few wires to his chest, and make it look like a bomb went off when it was actually just a puff of smoke. Like a magician, he’d disappeared in the dust. Perfecto.

 

Sure, he’d planned to die when he brought down the school. Like the captain of the Titanic, he wanted to sink with his ship. But there was always that tiny, sliver of a chance that he’d get caught before the detonation, and J.D. had no intention of going to jail. So, he’d given himself an out.

What J.D. hadn’t expected were the gunshot wounds. Thank God he wasn’t squeamish. He’d been able to patch himself up until he found medical assistance from an old friend from an old high school. The “doctor” had been just another misfit in J.D.’s biology class with taste for the sadistic. They’d gotten along swimmingly, and managed to stay in touch. His old pal found his calling in the medical underground, and was known as Dr. Frankenstein to his customers. Abortions, harvesting the organs off of bodies that needed to disappear… that sort of thing. Like Frankenstein, he’d managed to bring the monster back to life.

“Suicide attempt,” was how J.D. explained the gunshot wounds. Ah, the irony.

Thus began his first week in hiding, hopping from state to state. Nobody at Westerberg noticed that his bike had gone missing after the “explosion,” and in the end, nobody cared. Even his dad hadn’t noticed the chunk of funds that had mysteriously disappeared from his bank account. A few fake documents later – including one high school diploma – J.D. had a new identity. It was amazing what a good forgery could do. Those skills helped him get by, when he was tight on cash. Hits earned him the big bucks. J.D. had no qualms about killing, and the people who did paid him to get the job done. He made the world a better place, one bullet at a time. With the funds, he bought himself a cheap apartment in sunny California, following his heart.

Frowning, he flicked the last ember of his cigarette into the grass, and crushed it beneath his boot. Did Veronica feel responsible for his death? She wouldn’t be talking to Miss Betty Finn in the middle of the night like this, if she weren’t at least touched by it.

Soon, he would find the answers to those questions, but not tonight. He wanted to do a bit more reconnaissance before he paid his high school sweetheart a visit. He wasn’t even sure what he wanted to accomplish with this reunion. Kill her, or kiss her? Rekindle the sparks of romance, or burn down her school with her inside?

Decisions, decisions.

Jamming his remaining fingers deep into his coat pockets, J.D. walked away from Veronica’s dormitory, and stalked around the corner, where he’d parked his bike.

They were about to have some big, big fun.

Chapter 2

Notes:

Unfortunately, I still don't own anything Heathers.
Warning: this chapter deals with rapey situations, specifically the ones presented in the movie. Also, keep the warnings from the first chapter in mind as you continue reading.
Thanks!

Sometimes, Veronica had nightmares.

In her dreams, a girl with a blue tongue whispered in her ear, and replayed her sins. Four. She’d assisted in the murder of four human lives: Heather Chandler, Kurt, Ram, and then, J.D. She dreamed about him the most. She was haunted.

He had to die, didn’t he?

Dear Diary,

I dreamed about J.D. again. I was in my dorm, and I heard a tapping on the window. I got up from my desk, and opened it, and there he was, leaning against the pane, looking just as he did a year ago.

“Greetings and salutations,” he said.

I smiled at him. “Long time no see.”

“I hope you’ll let me make it up to you,” he said. Then, he produced one of those 7-Eleven cups from behind his back. “Slushie?”

“Cherry?” I asked, already taking it, already knowing that it was cherry because I knew he would remember my favorite flavor.

J.D. only gave me that crooked smile that was sexy as hell. I couldn’t help but smile back as I brought the straw to my lips. But when I drank, it tasted off.

Mid sip, I looked down and realized that the syrupy liquid inside my cup was not red cherry at all. It was blue.

I woke up parched.

Veronica put her pen and journal aside on her desk, peering over at Betty as she did so, careful not to wake her roommate. Betty was still asleep, her head burrowed beneath her orange comforter, her glasses sitting on the desk at the foot of her bed. It was just barely 6:00 in the morning, but Veronica couldn’t go back to sleep. Not after dreaming about J.D. She’s tried to read a book for school, but she found herself reading the same line of Shakespeare over and over: If we shadows have offended, think but this, and all is mended. If we shadows have offended, think but this, and all is mended. Soon, she realized that she wouldn’t be able to focus until she’d written the dream down. Even now, she knew that sleep was a lost cause.

It was a comfort to put on her favorite blue blazer with the shoulder pads. Dressing quickly and quietly, Veronica gathered her things, and slipped out of the room. She knew that a trip to 7-Eleven was ridiculous at this hour, but she was dying for a blue raspberry slushie.

She clutched her blazer tighter to her shoulders as she made the brisk walk around the corner from her dorm. She was not a morning person, but there was something peaceful about the early morning, when the light was fresh, and only the birds were awake. The birds chirped at her as they hopped across the campus’ many red tile roofs. A dancing bluebird caught her eye, and she smiled.

The nearest 7-Eleven was roughly a block away. Veronica had only ever been once. They all looked the same, which meant they all reminded her of him.

She didn’t meet anyone on the street as she hurried across the parking lot, and into the store. The bell chimed when she pushed open the glass door covered in advertisements and posters, announcing her arrival. The guy working the counter didn’t bother to look up from his newspaper as he called out a distracted greeting.

Veronica took a deep breath as she roamed through the aisles. The air smelled like cigarettes and processed food. Oddly enough, she was not the store’s only early morning patron. There were a handful of people on their way to work, picking up packs of powdered doughnuts or Camels. The two businessmen fixing their cups at the coffee stations gave her odd looks when she made a beeline for the slushies, and filled her cup with blue. On a whim, she picked up corn nuts on the way to the cash register. BQ.

“It’s never too early, huh?”

Veronica looked up at the cashier. “What?”

“For sugar, I mean.” He jerked his chin in the direction of the slushie. “It’s never too early to sugar.”

“Oh. Yeah. Today, I am the victim of nostalgia.”

Veronica took a moment to study the young man in front of her. He actually wasn’t too bad looking, now that he’d set his newspaper down and allowed her to see his face. He had brown hair styled like Tom Cruise from Top Gun, a strong jaw, and eyes almost the same shade as the blue dye no. 1 in her drink. His eyes in particular were mesmerizing to look at.

“Hey, we’ve all been there,” he said, snapping Veronica out of her trance. “Is this breakfast?”

“Guilty as charged.”

“Here.” The boy reached behind the counter and tossed her a pack of mini powdered doughnuts. “These are on me. A growing girl needs a proper breakfast. Doctor’s orders.”

She fumbled, but eventually caught the packaged treat in her hand. “Because powdered doughnuts are packed with nutrition?”

“Jam packed.”

She laughed, and grinned. “Well, thank you, Doctor…?”

“Dick. My full name is Richard Melville, but my friends call me Dick.”

Veronica almost slapped her hand to her mouth to stifle her giggle. Doctor Dick. That was either a very fortunate or unfortunate title. The question was, did he live up to it?

She managed to push away the thought, feeling her cheeks glow pink. Stifling her embarrassment, Veronica dipped into a curtsy, and said, “Thank you, Doctor Dick.”

She gnawed on the inside of her cheek as she pulled the necessary funds out of her wallet. Richard Melville. Why does that name sound vaguely familiar?

She cocked her head at him as she handed him the cash. “Do I know you?”

He took it, and gave her a smile titled to one side. “Maybe. Do you go to Stanford?”

She tried not to look at that crooked smile for too long. “Yeah, I’m an English major there. First year.”

“That’s it, then.” Dick actually winked at her as he worked the cash register. “I’m an English major too, though it’s my third year. I work on the newspaper. If you write half decently, a professor has probably told you to contact me for a position on the staff.”

Veronica nodded, taking her change from his open palm, careful not to touch his skin. She had been told that, several times.

Dick leaned his elbows on the counter, his blue eyes trailing her as she stuffed the change back into her wallet, and stuffed her wallet back into her purse. “Seriously though, we need writers. Would you be interested in joining?”

She gnawed on her cheek again. “I don’t know. I’m less into journalism, and more into excessive annotating, and diary entries.” She almost didn’t give away that last bit of information, but there was something about Dick that loosened her tongue.

His mouth stretched into a wide grin. “Diary, huh? If you’re into writing about issues in daily life and drama, you’d be a perfect candidate for our advice column. Do you want to be a Heather?”

Veronica felt as if he’d just dumped her slushie down the back of her neck. “What?”

“The advice column is called Dear Heather, named after the student who started it years ago. We have a team of ‘Heathers’ who answer peoples’ anonymous questions. Right now, I’m the only Heather, and honestly, with most of the questions I’m at a loss. I could really use your help.” Dick frowned at her. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I have.

“Sorry.” Shaking her head, Veronica gathered up her things. “I’ll… I’ll think about it, okay?” Writing for the newspaper sounded like a fun gig – and it would look great on her resume – but Veronica wasn’t sure if she could handle being a ‘Heather’ once again. Still, she liked Dick. This was the first boy she’d really been into since J.D., and she didn’t want to give that up.

“Okay. Thank you.” Dick sagged with relief. “We meet at six every Monday, including tonight.” He gave her directions to the classroom, and then, pointed to the doughnuts sticking out of her purse. “If I see you there, we’re even. Otherwise, you owe me a pack, Miss…?”

“Veronica Sawyer.” She gave Dick an earnest smile as she backed away from the counter. “Really, I’ll think about it. It sounds very.”

“Very…?”

“Very, ah, neat.”

She waved at him as she walked out the door. She had quite a lot to think about.

Betty was up by the time Veronica returned to their room.

She took one look at the corn nuts and the slushie before letting out a long, deep sigh. “Oh, Ronnie.”

“I got doughnuts, too.” She held them up to her friend as example before throwing herself and the doughnuts down at the desk.

The ashy blond only gave Veronica a sympathetic look through her thickset glasses. “You were having nightmares again?”

Veronica wrinkled her nose. “I wouldn’t exactly call them nightmares. They’re just weird dreams, like most.”

Betty shook her head as she fixed up her ponytail. “I’d expect any dream with that monster to be a nightmare.”

That monster. Betty meant J.D.

Veronica’s answer was instinctive. “He’s not a monster.”

Betty’s shoulders softened as she leaned against the bedpost. “Sorry, I know you cared for him. But every time I think about it, about those bombs underneath the gym… He tried to kill us, Ronnie. He would have, had you not stopped him.” Shuddering, Betty rubbed at the arms of her light white sweater. “It gives me chills. My life almost ended that day. Yours too.”

“I know,” Veronica whispered, staring down at her corn nuts. In time, she’d told her friend everything, including the truth about what happened to Heather, Kurt, and Ram. Veronica needed to get it off of her chest. “None of that changes the fact that I loved him.”

“And I think he loved you, in his way. As much as he could love. I think he loved you up until the end, too.” Betty bit her lip. “Ronnie, did J.D. ever hurt you?”

“What?” Veronica cringed as she realized what exactly Betty was asking. “No. I mean, there were a few times when he kissed me when I didn’t want to be kissed – and that’s bad enough – but he never went beyond that. In the end, he didn’t want to force me. He wanted me to come to him.”

Veronica chose not to include the times J.D. hit her on the last day of his life. To be fair, she shot him multiple times during that same fight.

As Betty mulled over her words, Veronica sipped her blue slushie in silence. What could she make of J.D.? She’d hated when he’d kissed her like that. That could not be overlooked. But she loved the way he used to kiss her. When she consented. When she had yet to realize the depth of his depravity and darkness. The way his crooked grin felt against her lips… the feeling of his teeth gently nipping at her skin… her back pressed against cool blades of grass in her backyard, the first time he took her in a game of strip croquet…

“Ronnie,” Betty snapped.

“Hmm?” Looking at Betty’s nervous grin, Veronica realized that there was nothing left in her slushie; she’d been sucking on air for who knows how long.

Betty shook her head. “We’d better get going. We don’t want to be late for class.”

 

J.D. did not expect to see Veronica Sawyer at the 7-Eleven shortly after six in the morning. But lo and behold, there she was. He’d recognize that blue blazer anywhere.

Veronica. Watching her from beneath her dorm room window was enough to make his skin itch, but seeing her here, with only aisles of snack foods to separate them, was almost too much for his body to handle. His heart rate picked up, his lungs worked for air, and yes, goddammit, his pants tightened, suddenly becoming a noose around his crotch. She was beautiful. How could he not notice? Her legs were long, milky, and slender, sticking out beneath her short dark skirt. Her short hair was a luscious, glossy brown, framing her sexy, impish features. And her waist was a tiny point of the V beneath the flared pads of her blazer. He remembered what it felt like to hold that waist between his hands, to feel her blood pounding beneath his thumbs. Veronica. But it was more than that. Veronica’s appeal went beyond mere physical attributes. The way she held herself was breathtaking, beguiling, and altogether genuine. She was a good person, and that drew someone as deprived as J.D. like a magnet, not with the intention to corrupt. He only wanted to bask in her glory: a demon warming himself in the halo of a saint.

Yet despite her innocence, her wide, brown eyes held a depth of intelligence that continued to baffle him. J.D. felt like Narcissus, always kneeling at the water’s edge, always trying to see through to the bottom. And like Narcissus, he could never quite see past his own face.

Veronica was… well, she was everything. She was the only person to ever love him.

J.D. struggled to hold back from her now. He could picture it in his mind: him, stalking forward, his coat billowing as he emerged from between the aisles. Her mouth would fall open with a small pop, and make that perfect little ‘o’ shape. He would capture that little mouth in a ravishing, possessing kiss, snaking one hand around her waist, and twisting the other in her hair… but J.D. knew he couldn’t kiss her like that. He could practically feel her tiny, bird like hands on his chest, pushing him away with enough force to knock the wind out of his lungs. No, he could not go to her. Not yet.

Besides, he still hadn’t decided how he wanted to make his entrance.

J.D. kept his eyes trained on her as he ducked deeper into the shadows of the aisle, and continued to watch. What was she doing here?

Veronica breezed right by. J.D. knew he should feel grateful that he remained unseen. Getting caught now would ruin his plans. He needed to take her by surprise. Still, it stung that she didn’t somehow sense him standing only a few feet away from her. Shouldn’t she feel his presence? Did he mean so little to her?

He couldn’t help but grin when he noticed what had her attention: the slushie machine. So that’s it. You’re thinking of me. She had to be. Why else would she be getting a slushie at six in the morning?

Looking closely, J.D. now saw the heavy, dark circles hanging beneath her keen brown eyes, as if she had not slept much the night before. His chest throbbed painfully at the sight of that. He liked knowing that he was on her mind. However, he did not like to see her suffering, which she very clearly was. It was ironic, really, after all he’d put her through.

Get a grip, Jason Dean, he told himself. Don’t grow a heart on me now.

He pretended to browse for chips as he watched grab her cup from the top of the stacked, plastic towers. He picked up a random bag. Cherry, for sure, he thought, barely daring to blink. However, Veronica surprised him by going for blue raspberry instead. Blue raspberry. Blue. Raspberry. What? In his shock, J.D. almost crushed the chip bag in his hands. She never drank blue raspberry. At least, J.D. had never seen her drink blue raspberry. Every time they went to 7-Eleven, she’d gone for cherry, staining her lips and tongue red like a vampire after feeding. Her kisses would taste like syrup for hours.

J.D. forced himself to loosen his grip on the chips. Then, he chuckled. He’d forgotten that about Veronica: she never did what he expected.

She started towards the cash register, only to surprise him again by darting into an aisle. His aisle.

Shit! J.D. quickly turned his face, praying to whichever god had killed off the dinosaurs that Veronica wouldn’t see him there. His heart hammered in his chest. I’m not ready yet.

Thankfully, her detour did not last long. She went straight for the barbeque corn nuts, and then scampered to the cash register. However, what she did next was worse. Much, much worse.

He straightened, not bothering to hide his face now.

Veronica Sawyer… Are you flirting?

Incredulous, J.D. risked a step forward, his eyes wide and his jaw falling half slack. The cashier was certainly flirting with her. He wore a leer that made J.D.’s stomach roll. And she – his Veronica – was flirting back.

Bile clawed up his throat. He felt nearly as disgusted as the night he saw her cornered by Kurt and Ram, when she barely escaped date rape. He’d never seen her flirting with someone other than him.

Oh, he was definitely going to have to do something about that.

As he listened to their conversation, his mind spun, spinning ideas like blue cotton candy. Yes… I think I know exactly what to do.

His plotting came to an abrupt halt when Veronica turned away from the cashier with a friendly wave, and walked out the door. The cashier’s eyes trailed her swaying hips like lube trails a porn star.

Right. First things first.

Moving quickly, J.D. stopped by the slushie machine before stalking up to the counter.

“This, a pack of Camels, and… a lighter.” He never knew when it might need to start a fire.
“You got it.” The cashier looked at J.D.’s slushie, and laughed. “I think we’ve set a record today: two slushies before seven. How about that?”

J.D. laughed along with him, even though it pained him to do so. “Well, it’s not a coincidence. I just ran into my girlfriend.”

“Veronica? That’s funny. I didn’t see you talking with her.” The blue eyes across from him narrowed in suspicion. The cashier didn’t believe him.

J.D. hummed in answer, and rapped his fingers against the counter. “I was so absorbed in my perusal of the chip selection that I didn’t see her until she was walking out. To be honest, she doesn’t exactly know I’m here. See, we dated in high school, so now we’ve got a… long distance thing going on.” Long distance. J.D. made an effort not to snort. Their relationship spanned the boundaries of life and death. “I came down to surprise her.” And what a surprise it would be. J.D. flashed the cashier a toothy smile. “If you could hurry it up,” J.D. squinted at the nametag. Richard. “…Dick?” God, wasn’t that a fitting name? “It’d be great if I could catch up with her.”

The cashier glowered, but did in fact hurry it up, and even managed to throw in a “Have a great day.”

There’s a sport. You know when you’ve lost the game.

Taking pity on the poor soul, J.D. tossed a quarter into the tips jar before jogging out of the door.

He had a drink to deliver before the ice could melt.

Chapter 3

Notes:

Hello all! I still don't own Heathers the movie or the musical.
Just a reminder that the same warnings I mentioned earlier will apply throughout this fic. This chapter has some pretty crude language in it, but unless something drastic happens in the editing process, the next chapter will be vastly more explicit (I hope you're ready for it).
Happy reading!

Veronica had four classes in total: American History, Biology, Women’s Studies, and English Literary Analysis, her first of what would be many English classes. The first three classes of the day fulfilled general credits towards her degree, so she shared those with Betty. The English class she took by herself. It was there that she branched out, and make friends with other students in her major.

 

Today, however, Veronica was little for socializing, not even with Betty. Each class passed in a daze, and Veronica endured them with a drug like stupor. It was not unlike an overlong weed trip, only, without the accompanying paranoia and munchies. Her mood, too, was much darker than any she’d experienced high.

 

I need sleep.

 

Exhausted, Veronica stumbled back into her dorm late in the afternoon, dragging her body like a heavy wet towel. Instead of collapsing on the bed, like she wanted to, Veronica made straight for the mini fridge. Betty kept a couple of cans of soda in there, and Veronica needed a sugar and caffeine pick-me-up if she had any hope of finishing her homework before the newspaper meeting tonight. She’d decided to attend, for the sake of resume at the very least, and she suspected that she would need some serious recuperation after round two of being called a Heather. So, homework had to be done now, so she could pass out later.

 

Because she’d be damned if she let her damage stop her from living. She would go to the meeting, make some friends, write some stories, and maybe even make a date with a cute boy by the end of it. Maybe she’d end the night with a kiss. Her mouth practically watered at the thought. Veronica hadn’t been within kissing distance of a guy since seen her last boyfriend quite literally went up in smoke.

 

J.D… The thought of him hit her like a punch to the solar plexus.

 

She rubbed the center of her chest as she stood absently in front of the mini fridge. J.D. was gone now, which meant he couldn’t interfere with her life anymore. At this point, she was the only one standing in the way of her own happiness.

 

If she was being honest, the attraction that she felt to Dick was a far cry from what she’d felt for J.D. And yet, maybe Dick was exactly what she needed to move on.

 

What you need is caffeine, she reminded herself, shaking her head, lowering herself to her knees before the mini fridge, like a sinner worshiping an idol.

 

O great goddess of soda pop, grant me mercy with a crisp, refreshing finish…

 

She swung open the door. An electric hum greeted her ears, and an icy breeze brushed against her cheeks. She breathed out a sigh of contentment she basked in the glow of the modern appliance.

 

However, the sight of what stood on the middle shelf gave her a chill.

 

A slushie, filled to the brim with red.

 

The hairs raised on the back of her neck. A bright blue sticky note clung to the side of the plastic cup, bearing two words: With love.

 

Someone has been in here, Veronica realized, recognizing the writing utensils. She glanced towards the desk, snapping out of her stupor and becoming aware of her surroundings. The drawers were open. The pad of sticky notes was still out, and the pen was still uncapped beside it. She could see all of the evidence clearly, spread out as it was in the light of the open window. Above her desk, her royal blue curtains fluttered in the light breeze.

 

Dumbfounded, she sat back on her heels, and stared at the slushie.

 

Okay… Maybe Dick is more like J.D. than I thought.

 

Because it must have been Dick who brought her the slushie. He must have followed her back from the 7-Eleven to her dorm, scaled the tree outside, opened her window, and climbed inside to deliver the cherry treat. He was the only one who knew she had a slushie this morning, other than Betty, and Betty had been with by her side all day until just now. Besides, it wasn’t Betty’s handwriting. It looked…

 

It looked like J.D.’s handwriting.

 

Dick, she reminded herself. It’s got to be Dick.

 

“Don’t play naive, Bitch in Blue. You know who did it.”

 

“Ack!”

 

Grabbing the slushie to defend herself with, Veronica whirled, and found Heather Chandler standing behind her, hands on her hips.

 

Heather.

 

Even dead, the girl still managed to fill Veronica’s heart with stark, unfiltered terror. Heather looked just the same as she did the morning Veronica killed her: red and pink silk robe, long legs, perfect hair, and a bright blue tongue.

 

“You… you’re dead,” Veronica stuttered. Behind her, the door to the mini fridge fell shut.

 

Heather tipped her head back and laughed. “Don’t act surprised, Veronica. This isn’t the first time you’ve seen me.”

 

“Sure, but I thought this-” she gestured vaguely to the space between them “-was over.”

 

“You thought this ended when Jessie James died?”

 

Veronica said nothing, and Heather hummed.

 

“Wishful thinking. Tell me, Veronica, does he make house calls like I do? Like Kurt, Ram, and anyone else you might have killed in the meantime? Have you ever seen J.D.’s ghost?”

 

“I haven’t killed anyone else, and I don’t plan to ever again.” Frowning, Veronica crossed over to her bed, where she flopped down on her blue sheets, cradling her slushie in her hands.

 

“Come on, spill it,” Heather pressed. “Have you seen him? Does he visit you at night and touch you the way he used to? Or maybe murder is his idea of foreplay. I won’t share your secrets, no matter how embarrassing. Dead girls can’t talk, remember?”

 

“How could I forget?” Veronica rolled her eyes, and brought the slushie stray to her lips. Sweet, tart syrup and delightful flecks of ice filled her cheeks, and performed a tap dance on her tongue. Her eyes rolled back into her head. She’d forgotten how good cherry tasted.

 

“So… I take it that’s a no? You haven’t been visited by Westerberg’s favorite psychopath? Pity.” Heather Chandler crossed her arms, and wrinkled her nose. “Slow down or you’ll get a brain freeze. Haven’t you learned not to take drinks from strangers? I’d be more careful, if I were you.”

 

Swallowing the slush in her mouth, Veronica opened wide and stuck out her tongue. “Tastes like cherry. What’s the color? If it’s blue, I’m in trouble.”

 

“Can you be anymore obnoxious? God, you make Satan seem tolerable.”

 

Veronica took another loud slurp, just to spite her. Lick it up, Baby.

 

“Really, just what is your damage, Sawyer? I’m trying to help you.”

 

“Thanks, but I don’t need your help. Return to sender. Have fun in hell.” Veronica took another long drag from her straw. When Heather didn’t immediately vanish, she reiterated. “Dick won’t hurt me. At least, I don’t think.”

 

In truth, Veronica didn’t know anything about Dick. Frankly, Dick seemed about as threatening as a Papillon puppy, whereas J.D. barked like a pit bull, and bit even harder. That kid practically came with a warning label – a label that Veronica was inclined to disregard.

 

Sighing, Veronica shook her head to clear it of thoughts and brain freeze. “Anyway, I think I’ve proven that I can take care of myself.”

 

“Really? Because I think you’ve proven that you’re a masochistic whore for risk. Why else would a lone ranger like J.D. wet your waterslide? Why else would I be your best friend?”

 

Veronica gritted her teeth, subsequently crunching her plastic straw. Damn.

 

“You know my aim. I wanted protection from the bullies.” Veronica thought that she would have that as a Heather. When she realized that she still wasn’t safe from Heather’s bullying, she’d gone to J.D. He knew about strength. He’d seemed like… like he would fight for her, when in reality, he had just wanted to spill some blood.

 

Heather Chandler narrowed her eyes, as if she could see all the words Veronica left unsaid. She probably could with her new demon powers.

 

“I don’t think that’s what you wanted at all,” she said. “I think you get off on self-suffering. You like to flirt with danger. It’s like your clit is labeled self-destruct. That bomb is going to go off sometime, Veronica. You managed to escape the explosion last time. Think you can pull that stunt this time around?”

 

Veronica slid off the bed, her slushie gone, her blood buzzing with sugar once more. “Okay, I’ve heard enough. Jesus, why don’t you run join Betty in her psych class?”

 

“I don’t need classes to psychoanalyze you. And even dead, you won’t catch me hanging out with Betty Finn.”

 

“Bitch.”

 

“Slut.”

 

Fuming, Veronica tossed her empty cup into the trashcan at the food of her bed, where it landed with a solid thump. When she turned, Heather was gone.

 

Veronica slumped down at her desk with a shudder. She would never get used to that particular figment of her imagination.

 

Of course, that’s how she knew she didn’t have to worry: Heather was only that, a figment of her imagination, and not an actual ghost. J.D.’s absence didn’t mean that he wasn’t actually dead. It only meant that Veronica hadn’t accepted his death. Which was, perhaps, why she’d been having an insatiable craving for slushies today. It was her unconscious mind telling her that she needed to move on.

 

And moving on from moving on: it’s homework time.

 

Opening her textbook, Veronica flipped to Chaucer’s The Miller’s Tale, the assigned reading for the night. Working made her feel remarkably better. With pages at her fingertips and a pen by her side, she was one again deep within her element. The reading was also educational, and applicable to her current situation: she learned that suitors could bring far worse than slushies to a woman’s window.

 

Still, she thought as she worked her way though the pages of Middle English. I’ll need to have a little chat with Dick about boundaries. The slushie was a thoughtful treat, but she’d made a vow avoid boys who found breaking and entering acceptable. Veronica wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. This time around, trespassing would not be tolerated.

 

 

Hours later, Veronica kept these thoughts in mind as she stepped into the room where Dick had directed her to meet for the newspaper club. Organized mayhem greeted her inside. In the back, a typist worked furiously at a computer, a layout editor breathing down his neck. On one side of the room, two students stood at a whiteboard, making a list of articles to pursue, arguing over which hard hitting topics would survive longest on a deserted island. On the other side of the room, a single editor sat in a rolling chair, her red pen blazing with hell’s wrath as she glared down her thick glasses.

 

And there, in the eye of the storm, was Dick. He was alone at a desk, surrounded by piles of handwritten envelopes and letters, each with handwriting as unique as the writer. His blue eyes crinkled as he stared at the writing, like a man staring straight into the abyss and trying to comprehend its darkness.

 

Then, he saw the light.

 

“Veronica! Thank God you’re here.”

 

Standing, he took her hand and shook it hard as she neared. His palms were warm, soft, and coated with a layer of nervous sweat. He pulled out her seat.

 

“Thanks,” Veronica said with a smile, tactfully wiping her hand on her skirt while pretending to smooth the fabric. “But I assure you, God had nothing to do with it.”

 

“Oh, yes He did. As far as I’m concerned, you’re the Messiah.” He puffed out his cheeks in an exasperated sigh as he sat beside her. Then, he shot her a grin. “Are you ready to look at some letters, Heather?”

 

Veronica’s breath caught at the name, but she nodded, managing to fortify her castle walls and top off the waters of her mote before Dick noticed anything wrong with her outward appearance. Determined, she put her monocle in place, and looked down at the letter before her. It was written in hot pink gel pen, and read:

 

Dear Heather,

What’s the best way to remove a bloodstain from clothing?

 

Veronica’s fingertips went numb, and her hands shook around the paper. In her minds eye, she saw the pink and gray stained water of the washing machine at home as she tried to get Ram’s blood out from the ends of her skirt.

 

Someone knows about the blood I’ve spilt.

 

Biting her lip, she glanced over to Dick, bracing herself for his suspicion. However, he only wore an expression of profuse embarrassment. His cheeks were practically the same shade as the cherry slushie she’d had earlier.

 

Catching her gaze, his blush intensified, and he started to stutter. Understanding dawned when Veronica glanced back on the note, and saw the way it was signed.

 

Yours truly,

The Monthly Mess.

 

Ah.

 

“You see?” Dick squeaked. “Most of these require a feminine touch. I just don’t have the answers they’re looking for. That’s why I need you. I can do all of the typing, editing, and writing. I just need your expertise. In short, I’ll make the sandwiches, but I need you to provide the meat. Please,” Dick clasped his hands together, and much to Veronica’s horror, sank to his knees in front of her. “Help me.”

 

Thankfully, everyone else was too engrossed in their work to notice Dick’s antics.

 

“Okay, no need to get on all fours. I’ll help you.” Veronica’s lips curled towards a grin as she watched the utter relief bloom across Dick’s face. “I’ll be your butcher.”

 

She winced when she realized the gory implications of that statement, but Dick only laughed.

 

And so it began. Dick answered all of the letters that he could, but most fell into Veronica’s hands. Dick told Veronica that she could write in bullet points and leave the rest of the work to him. But Veronica bled blue ink; she was a writer at heart. Her responses were full and eloquent, put down thoughtfully on the back of each letter that Dick passed her way, ready for him to type out later.

 

About an hour in, she stopped when she came to one letter in particular.

 

Dear Heather,

I’m in a long distance relationship, and it’s killing me. It’s like she doesn’t even know I’m there. Should I hope that this love comes back from the dead, or should I end it with a bullet, and put it out of its misery?

Love,

Death Defiant.

 

The letter jarred her, not only because of its dark diction, but also because the penmanship seemed eerily familiar to the handwriting she’d seen earlier today, which had reminded her of J.D. In fact, everything about this letter reminded her of J.D.

 

Shivering, Veronica slid the note back over to Dick. “I can’t answer this. I’ve never been in a long distance relationship.”

 

“Look,” Dick sighed, turning to her and bracing his arm on the edge of the desk. “I know I made a fool of myself this morning by flirting with you, but you don’t have to lie for the sake of my feelings. I saw your boyfriend today.”

 

A chill – a chill like the icy froth of that blue raspberry slushie – settled over Veronica’s skin. Her heart pounded beneath her blazer.

 

“That’s not possible. I had one boyfriend in high school, and now he’s dead.”

 

Dick raised his head, perking up. “You mean he’s dead to you?”

 

“No, I mean he’s literally dead. Dead dead. Like, strapped a bomb to his chest and said, “sayonara” dead.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Yes, I’m sure. I saw it happen.”

 

Veronica watched as Dick paled, and he slumped in his seat. Flaccid.

 

“Dick, what’s wrong?” She asked, focusing on his condition so she wouldn’t have to focus on her own. “You look like you’re about to faint.”

 

“I think I had a conversation with a ghost.”

 

Same, Veronica thought.

 

Dick sucked a breath through his teeth. “I saw someone today, Veronica. And that someone knew you by name. He saw you in the store, but you didn’t see him. He came up to the register and talked to me just after you left, bragging about how you two dated in high school, really staking his claim. Only, he said that you two were still dating, and that he’d come to pay you a visit. Before he left, he bought a lighter, a pack of Camels, and a slushie. I can show you the receipts, if you want."

 

A slushie.

 

“No,” Veronica whispered. “I don’t need to see the receipts.”

 

The room tipped on its axis. Desks floated on the ceiling, and the fluorescent lights flickered at her from beneath her feet. Veronica gripped the edge of the table as she swayed.

 

“Don’t you want to know what he looked like? Because I’ll tell you: brown hair, black coat-”

 

“Dick!” she shouted, loud enough to draw stares from the people around her. The blood pounded in her ears. She dipped her head towards him, and spoke low. “I just need you to tell me one thing: what flavor slushie did he buy?”

 

Lots of people have brown hair. Lots of people wear black coats. But only one would buy a slushie and sneak through her window.

 

She was gone – out of her seat and out the door – before he breathed the word, “Cherry.”

Chapter 4

Notes:

Hello friends!
This chapter is EXPLICIT. Brace yourselves.
I don't own Heathers, per usual.

Veronica could remember running like this – running so fast that the world around her fell away beneath the beating of her feet against the ground – only twice before in her life. The first time she had been in a wooded area, evading the cops just after killing Kurt and Ram. At the time, she’d thought those cops were idiots, and she had yet to realize that Kurt and Ram were really dead. She was the biggest idiot of them all. It had taken only a few words from J.D. to convince her that a bullet wasn’t really a bullet.

 

Ich Luge: I’m lying. It seemed that J.D. would never stop lying.

 

 The second time, she’d been running across the high school campus to the boiler rooms, racing to stop J.D. from detonating bombs beneath the gym. Like before, a campus served as backdrop to her race, although now the sky was black instead of blue, and the campus was much, much nicer. Yet once again, Veronica ran towards him, to stop him from hurting others.

 

Betty. What if J.D. found her alone in the room? She needed to get Betty someplace safe, before J.D. found her first, and decided to use Veronica’s best friend to further his revenge.

 

How did he survive the explosion? The gunshot wound? Veronica shook her head, tossing her hair out of her eyes and the thoughts out of her head. None of that mattered now. All that mattered was that J.D. was back.

 

He’s back.

 

A small thrill went through her as she sprinted, curving along her spine and down the back of her heels. A thrill she did not expect to feel. A thrill she should not have felt at all.

 

He’s back.

 

Veronica threw open the door to her residence hall, and launched up the stairs to the second floor. How many times had she fantasized about his return, in nightmares or in daydreams? In the former, J.D. would wrap his arms around her waist and call her beautiful. In the latter, J.D. would wrap his fingers around her throat, and call her far worse names for what she’d done to him.

 

He’s back.

 

He couldn’t be happy with her. Even if he’d survived the bomb, she knew she must have left him with some ugly scars. She’d almost killed him, and now he probably wanted to kill her.

 

He’s back.

 

Hadn’t she known all along? Her unconscious mind had tried to warn her of it, via Heather Chandler this afternoon, after seeing the note and the slushie that confirmed the truth. In some deep, dark corner of her brain, she’d known. When the smoke cleared on the lawn of Westerberg High, she hadn’t seen a body. She could not smell burnt flesh. She hadn’t seen any more blood than what she had spilt beforehand.

 

He’s back.

 

Veronica did not pause for air before ripping open the door to her room, and barreling inside. The door fell shut behind her with a crash, garnering insults from neighbors that were audible through the walls.

 

At least someone will find my body when my neighbors put in a noise complaint tonight.

 

Darkness thick as soup surrounded her. Silvery-white rays of moonshine filtering in through her open window served as the only source of light, illuminating only the bare edges of her blue curtains dancing in the breeze like phantoms.

 

“Betty?” Veronica whispered, eyes scanning like a madman. The light should be on. Betty should have been back from her class now, sitting on her bed, reading her Psych homework. But she wasn’t.

 

“Betty?” Veronica called, louder this time, hoping that her friend would sit up in bed, and glare at Veronica for waking her up. But she didn’t.

 

Instead, the movement came from Veronica’s side of the room. A figure rose from the desk, light flashing off of something in his hands.

 

“Greetings and salutations.”

 

Veronica lunged for the light switch.

 

The rectangular fluorescents hanging from the ceiling flipped on with a shuddering blink, filling the room with stark, white light.

 

J.D.

 

He stood there as if having just risen from her desk, looking as caviler as ever with his black coat thrown open, his hair tossed by the wind, and his mouth curved in a crooked, skeletal grin. He held a knife in his left fist.

 

Not his usual weapon of choice, Veronica registered dimly as she studied him, her heart racing, working as if she were still running. Her eyes bulged as she struggled to take in his figure, his presence seemingly too big to fit in the room. That’s when she noticed the carving in the center of her desk.

 

J.D. + V = 4 EVER

 

“Really?” Veronica blurted. “They’re going to fine me for damages at the end of the year.”

 

“Oh. Sorry,” J.D. brushed his hand across the fresh carving almost sheepishly. “I was just leaving you a clue. I didn’t expect you to figure me out so fast.” He cocked his head at her, heat blazing in his eyes as he took a step forward. His expression held a twisted sort of respect for her. Perhaps pride. She could see it in the upward curl on the side of his lip, and the nearly imperceptible straightening of his spine.

 

Veronica blinked away from him. “You must be pretty good at laying clues now.”

 

J.D. snorted. “Want to toast my success over a glass of mineral water? Or, how about a slushie?” Then, he shook his head. “Clearly, I’m not good enough to fool you. I was hoping to stretch this game out a little longer, but you’ve caught me red handed.” As J.D. spoke, he took a step towards Veronica, and raised his hands, palms facing outward. “Though, that would be cherry syrup flavoring on my fingers, not blood.”

 

For now.

 

Veronica’s gaze snapped to his knife. “Where’s Betty?”

 

“Always thinking ahead, huh?” He dropped his knife on the table in an over dramatized motion, as if to say, “Happy?”

 

 Veronica only repeated her question, and J.D. sighed.

 

 “Miss Betty Finn received word today that her grandfather has passed away. At the behest of her mother, she has been excused from this week’s classes so that she can drive home and attend the funeral. Won’t it be a happy surprise for her once she gets home and realizes that her grandfather is actually alive?”

 

“Until she returns to school to find her roommate swinging from a rope.” Veronica wrapped her arms around her middle, holding his stare. “In any case, your resurrection is much more impressive.”

 

J.D.’s expression softened, as if remembering when he found Veronica hanging from a rope in her room.

 

“No, I don’t think it will come to that this time around.”

 

Veronica realized quickly that think was the key word in that statement.

 

“You’re right,” she said, fumbling for the doorknob behind her. “Because there won’t be a this time around.”

 

However, the minute her fingertips brushed against the metal knob, J.D. was on her, pressing her back flat against the door, using their bodies to barricade it shut.

 

“Let me guess, you want cool guys like me out of your life? I don’t think so, babe. I put a lot of work into finding you. I think I’m going to stay for a while.” J.D.’s breath felt hot against the bared nook of her neck; her top had slipped out of place during her sprint. As J.D. spoke, he slid his hands up Veronica’s arms, locking them to her sides. A half gag wrenched from her lips as she felt the scarred nub of his missing middle finger caress her skin.

 

“Why?” Veronica moaned, squeezing her eyes shut tight as she strained against his hardened chest. His hold was not hard enough to cause pain, but it was inescapable. “Why did you come here? Was it just to torture me?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

She scoffed, her face squished beneath his shoulder as he pressed her further into the door in reaction to her defiance.

 

“I don’t believe that for a second,” she said.

 

“Well, then, I don’t know what else to tell you, because it’s true. As of yet, I don’t have an endgame.” J.D.’s chest vibrated against hers as he spoke, making Veronica shiver. “I don’t know why I came here. I only know that I feel… less, without you. Off kilter.”

 

“More so than usual?”

 

J.D.’s lips twitched. “I can’t stay away from you, Veronica. You are the only person who ever loved me.”

 

Oh.

 

Oh. Shit.

 

 J.D. had lied to Veronica many times before. This time, however, Veronica knew that he was telling the truth. Perhaps it was the mix of frustration, anxiety, and confusion tangling in his eyes that made her believe him. Perhaps it was the slight paling of his cheeks.

 

Or, perhaps it was that Veronica felt the same way that he did. Off kilter. Less, ever since he strapped a bomb to his chest and disappeared from her life.

 

In this moment, he did not seem like the suave, reckless boy who failed to comprehend fear, and maybe empathy. He seemed… confused, and slightly frightened of what he admitted he did not know.

 

Veronica’s body sagged against the door. She knew she could not turn J.D. away, not now that he was back, and had no intentions of revenge. He didn’t want to hurt her. He only wanted to sort out his feelings.

 

That doesn’t mean he won’t hurt you.

 

But Veronica had never been afraid of that before.

 

Feeling the shift in her body, J.D. released his hold on her, and took a step back.

 

Veronica blew out a breath, pushing the hair out of her face, and said, “Fine.”

 

God, it hadn’t taken much convincing, had it?

 

 J.D. arched a brow. “Fine?”

 

“Fine. As in, I won’t kick you out of my life immediately.” She felt her cheeks redden, but still, she added. “I don’t want you to leave yet.”

 

His slow, crooked smile that followed felt like a needle stabbing through her heart. J.D. looked innocent when he grinned like that, like a puppy dog.

 

The question is, will you be a good boy?

 

His smile fell almost instantly. “I’m sensing a ‘but,’ one that I will enjoy considerably less than yours.”

 

Veronica glared. “No killing. In fact, if I see or hear anything that suggests that you’ve committed injury or assault, you’re out for good. I’ll call the police and tell them what you did.”

 

His deep chuckle rang through the room as he stepped forward again, and placed his hand on the wall beside her head, trapping her there against him. “I can agree to your terms, sure. But I’ll call your bluff right now. If you turn me in, you’d have to reveal your role as Bonny to my Clyde. Will you really do that, Veronica?”

 

His breath, inches from her face, felt heady, sexy, and warm, just like she remembered. She wanted to close her eyes and sink into it, like a stone sinking into a Jacuzzi.

 

Instead, she held her chin steady, and said, “In a heartbeat.”

 

J.D. blinked at her, surprised. Then, slowly, his lips curled into a grin once more. He reached forward with his free hand – the left one, the one with only four fingers, thanks to her – and trailed it through her hair. Veronica shivered, but she didn’t pull away.

 

He leaned towards her. “That’s what I like about you, Veronica. You always do what I’d least expect.”

 

His lips were inches from hers now, and his words were a challenge that she ached to accept. Her core ached, and her thighs grew slick at the concept.

 

She knew she shouldn’t. She should be doing this with a nice guy, like Dick. Someone who didn’t threaten her safety. Someone who didn’t have a missing middle finger because of her. Someone who didn’t have a history of violent behavior, and motivation for revenge. Anyone else, really.

 

But Veronica didn’t want anyone else. She never had, and part of her feared that she never would. For the past year, her every emotion had been muted. J.D. had turned the knob, cranking the volume of her heart to full blast. And she could hear music again. The air between them felt charged with live wires and electric storms. No one else made her feel this way, overwhelmed with static, heat, power, fire, smoke, and rain.

 

Fuck it.

 

She closed the distance between them, and captured his lips with hers.

 

J.D.’s eyes widened for a moment, and then fluttered shut as he melted into the kiss. The hand that had been pressed to the wall came to the back of her head, holding her to him. His body felt warm and solid against hers. Alive.

 

A small groan slipped through her lips.

 

He pulled away with a smirk. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”

 

“No.” Her hands tangled in the fabric of his coat. Then, she amended. “You.” At least she knew who she was doing, if not what.

 

J.D. chuckled, and nipped at her ear. “Good answer.”

 

Veronica found herself pushing the heavy black coat off of his shoulders, and letting it pool like an oil spill on the floor. She wanted to eliminate the barriers between them.

 

She also wanted to see the damage she’d done.

 

J.D. stopped abruptly when he felt Veronica’s hands skim across the bare skin of his waist. He pulled his head back so that he could look at her, and his eyes flickered back and forth, searching hers.

 

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” he said.

 

 Veronica bit her lip, contemplating. She knew that once she took off her top, it would be next to impossible to stop the momentum already rolling between them. The derailed J.D. Express would hit her head on, and she’d land flat on her back with her legs spread. Yet she’d already chosen to set the train in motion with the kiss. At this point, she knew she was all aboard and ready to ride.

 

Still, she demurred, offering them both an out before she bid the last shred of their combined common sense a final farewell. She looked down, away from J.D., and said, “Don’t you think that sex should be off the table?”

 

She felt a gentle touch on the tip of her chin as J.D. tilted her head up. “Thank god we have a bed.”

 

She shuddered as his callouses and scars rasped against the tender skin beneath her jaw. While her chin was tipped back, J.D. reached down, and slipped his shirt off.

           

He looked different. Sure, his skin tone was the same, smooth and pale like 2% Carnation milk. His shoulders were broader, and his muscles were more defined. Yes. He’d filled out since high school, despite all of the time he must have spent in bed rest recovering from his injuries, and looked more like a weapon than ever.

 

 His injuries. His scars were the most drastic of his changes, and the most horrifying.

 

Veronica nearly dropped to the floor right on top of J.D.’s jacket and shirt as she stared at him. Raised pink scars slashed across his chest like some brutal game of tic tac toe. She could see the gunshot wound, the big O in the center of the squares of muscle, and then the X’s of the stitches and incisions that some doctor had made in the attempt to beat Player O. She had been the one playing as O. She had been the one to shoot him in the chest.

 

And yet he survived.

 

The oxygen in Veronica’s head turned into helium, leaving her light and dizzy as she traced her hands over his chest. Her mind milled out questions like a hamster on a wheel. What doctor had J.D. gone to? How close had he come to losing his life? Why hadn’t he told anyone? Why had he decided to come back to her, if she’d done this to him?

 

Suddenly, J.D. caught her by the wrist. “Are you getting off on this?”

 

Her eyes snapped back to his face. “No.” She snatched her hand away, glaring through watery eyes, betrayed that he would even ask that. “I’m horrified that I even did this to you.”

 

“Would you do it again?”

 

“Honestly? Yes.” Her gaze dropped back to his chest, but she didn’t try to touch him again. In a convoluted way, by shooting him, she’d actually saved his life, along with all of the others who would have died in that bomb. Her life, too. She repeated herself, so that J.D. would be sure to hear: “Yes, I would do it again. I would do it then, and I would do it now, even not knowing that you would survive.”

 

“How romantic.”

 

Veronica cleared her throat, and closed her eyes. “If that’s not the answer you wanted to hear, you can leave now. I won’t try to stop you, I won’t try to contact you, and I won’t tell anyone that you’re alive, not even Betty.”

 

The silence following her declaration echoed through the room. Veronica kept her eyes shut, not daring to look up and see the deliberation on his face. She expected to hear the rustle of clothing as he gathered his things and slid out of the window, leaving her to wonder if he really had been a ghost.

 

Instead, she felt a tugging at her shoulders. “Thanks for the offer,” he drawled. “But a deal’s a deal, Sawyer.”

 

Her blazer fell to the floor. Veronica snapped her eyes open just in time to see J.D. pop the first button of her blouse.

 

He flashed her a crooked smirk as she trembled, not with fear, but with anticipation. The room seemed to fill with humidity that she hadn’t felt since she’d arrived in California, and god, she wanted her clothes to come off. Heated, Veronica licked her lips, and J.D.’s eyes followed the path of her tongue with an intensity that would put the sun to shame.

 

The night breeze brushed over the tops of her breasts as J.D. bared them, button by button. The wind carried the scent of the outside world: wet grass from the lawn, gasoline from the parking lot, cigarette smoke and alcohol from other students not ready to accept that today was Monday. The scent triggered a wash of rational panic. She knew she could not trust J.D. to remain stable.

But Veronica didn’t flinch as J.D. shucked her shirt from her shoulders, and let it flutter to the ground.

 

 J.D. stilled, eyes glided smoothly across her skin, as if memorizing every freckle and pore on her chest uncovered by her lacy, midnight blue bra.

 

“I never thought that I would ever be with you like this again. I thought I would live my whole life, and never…”

 

“Stop.” Sympathy oozed into her heart. Veronica closed her eyes, and slowly wrapped her arms around his waist. “You’re here now. And you’re alive. That’s all that matters.”

 

J.D. answered by bringing his lips to her neck.

 

“Oh.” Veronica gasped as his teeth skimmed her bare shoulder, pushing the thin strap down her arm. He continued lacing kisses across her skin as he slid his hands up her spine, and found the latch of her bra. Then, the fabric fell away between them, and there was nothing.

 

A hot flush creeped down Veronica’s neck, and her nipples stood on end, desperate for his attention. Pulling his head away from her collarbone, J.D. looked down, teeth bared as if he wanted to consume her whole.

 

Yet, J.D. had more self-control than she thought. He sat back on his heels and waited for her to come to him.

 

Veronica was more than happy to oblige.

 

She threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, craving contact. Her movements were gangly and awkward, no doubt. Yet, however wide eyed and fumbling, J.D. caught her. His fingers gripping into her ass beneath her skirt, his head tipping backwards before his lips plowed back into hers. Fireworks exploded beneath her breasts, fuses sparked by the delicious friction between his heated chest and her hardened nipples. But her body wasn’t the only one that was hard. The apex of her thighs throbbed with need beneath the thin fabric of her panties as she felt his erection beneath her rolling hips.

 

Desperate to remove the stupid shred of fabric, Veronica released one fist from his hair, but almost fell from him in the process.

 

“J.D.,” she panted, begging for help.

 

A snarl ripped from his throat in answer. Veronica watched in awe, horror, and delight as he bent down, and captured one of her nipples in between his lips.

 

Not exactly what I was asking for, but okay. This works too.

 

His tongue traveled around her areola, prompting her nipple to higher prominence. A hard suck sent her knees buckling, slipping from around his waist.

 

J.D. grunted a chuckle as he caught her, managing to set her down safely on the top of her desk.

 

“ ‘Sex is off the table’ my ass,” J.D. muttered from between her breasts. “Sex will most definitely be on the table.” As if to punctuate his statement, he pulled on a nipple between his teeth hard enough to make her squirm.

 

Then, J.D. straightened and gripped her knees, Veronica’s mouth went dry while her panties dampened. Her breaths came in heavy pants, making her raw breasts heave. Swallowing, she clutched them with her forearm, desperate for some form of stability after what he’d done, and what he was about to do.

 

With gentle pressure, J.D. spread her legs apart.

 

“You can’t hide from me, Veronica,” he said softly, casting a disapproving glance at her covered chest as he skimmed his fingertips up her thighs, and lifted her skirt. “I thought this would be clear to you by now.”

 

“I wasn’t trying to…” Instead of arguing, Veronica simply dropped her hand.

 

J.D.’s eyes shone with a predatory gleam as he looked at all of her, spread before him like a goddamn buffet. His breath hitched as he dipped his chin down, and caught sight of the silvery stain at the crotch of her lace underwear.

 

He trailed one finger lightly over the fabric, following the straight line up her cleft. “Try not to get any of this on the desk,” he teased. “The school might fine you if it stains.”

 

Then, dipping one finger beneath the lace, he pulled. The fabric came away from her with an obscene sucking noise that made J.D. hum. His thumbs curled around the sides of her underwear for a grip as he worked them the rest of the way down her thighs.

 

“It won’t,” Veronica finally, managed to reply, eyes locked on the erotic, soaking fabric between J.D.’s hands as he pulled them over her knees. So let it flow.

 

Suddenly, J.D.’s knuckles went white on either side of her legs. A loud tearing sound made Veronica jump. Lines of pain flared in her calves. When she looked up, she saw that J.D. had ripped her underwear clean in two. He held the two halves in either fist as he fumed over her, his face red and his jaw clenched.

 

“And how would you know?” He said bitterly. “From experience?”

 

“What? No,” she answered somewhat dazed. Composure came quickly, and she found herself snarling back, poking a finger hard into his chest to knock him back on his heels. Her legs still smarted from where the lace had ripped against her. “Get this through your fossil sized skull: I am free to do what I want, who I want, when I want to do him.”

 

She pushed at his chest once again, this time with the flat of her palm, but J.D. might as well have been a brick wall for all he moved. He grasped her by the wrists and held her against his chest. The tattered remains of her underwear fell to the floor.

 

Crap. Those were expensive.

 

“Let me go,” she hissed.

 

“No. Just, hold for one goddamn minute. You just said, ‘no.’ I need details.”

 

“That is none of your business, after the way you left me-”

 

“Answer the question, Veronica.”

 

She narrowed his eyes at his heaving chest, and then, sighed. “Fine. But you have to answer the same question.”

 

“Fine.”

 

“Fine.” She took a breath, and said, “No, meaning I wouldn’t know about sex staining hardwood because I’ve never had sex on this desk, or any desk, or anywhere at all since we broke up and you blew up. I haven’t kissed anyone, and I haven’t been on any dates.”

 

His muscles relaxed, but now confusion flashed in the drawing together of his brows. “Why haven’t you?”

 

“You left me pretty damaged, babe.” Her voice sounded raw.

 

“So, what was that I saw today between you and your friend Dick?” His lip curled around the name with distaste.

 

“That was the extent of my efforts to move on. I’m sure you took care of that, after I left.”

 

Releasing her wrists, J.D. snaked his hands up her skirt to grip her bare waist. “I did.”

 

Fire burned behind her eyes. “What if I didn’t want you to?”

 

“Too late for that now, darling. Dick has been neutered. The question is, do you want this?” He gestured with his chin to the space between our hips, before fixing his eyes on my slick center, still exposed beneath my upturned skirt. “It sure looks like you do.”

 

Veronica shuddered. Damn it all to Heather in Hell. J.D. was right.

 

She was frightened. She didn’t know if she could go back on her answer later, after tonight. Even so, she could not go back now.

 

She looked him dead in the eyes. “I do. I want this. I still want you.” The last declaration slipped out before she could think better of it.

 

A wide, narrow grin stretched across his face, as he dipped his head forward, and brought his lips into the crest of her ear. “Then take it.” He rolled his hips forward, and Veronica felt his erection pressing through his pants and into her thigh. “I’m yours, and I’ve always been yours. I’ve never been with anyone else since you. I’ve tasted your fairy food, and since then I’ve been a starving man, unable to stomach mortal meals.”

 

A shudder traveled down her spine. His breath felt like fire against her skin. Unknowingly, J.D. had put her feelings into words.

 

Veronica did not hesitate. She reached immediately for the zipper of his black pants, and yanked it down. J.D. groaned, and his underwear was soon to follow, revealing his slender length. A pulsing blue vein traveled up the middle of his shaft, feeding him life. The head was purple with need beneath a teardrop of pre cum. Part of her wanted to lick it up. Instead, she swirled it around the head with her thumb, watching in fascination as J.D.’s hands fisted brutally in the fabric of her skirt on either side of her hips.

 

He yanked her suddenly to the edge of the desk. “Veronica.”

 

“Yes?” She swirled her thumb once more and he cursed, eyes closing as he strained to restrain himself.

 

“Are you still on the pill?”

 

Feeling empowered, she wrapped her hand around his shaft and giving him a gentle squeeze. “Yes.”

 

His hips jerked up into her hand of their own accord and he murmured a prayer of praise, his eyes still shut. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Veronica. You are seriously testing the limits of my self control.”

 

She gave his dick a gentle tug towards her. “Then don’t hold yourself back.”

 

His eyes flared open, a brilliant green-blue. “I won’t be gentle.”

 

“I never expected otherwise.” Not from you.

 

He flashed her a wicked grin and gave a savage thrust forward. At the same time, Veronica gripped his shoulder and pulled him in, guiding him with her other hand into her slit. They both cried out at the contact, as flesh sank into flesh.

 

Veronica gasped as her body stretched, the long-empty passageway now filling suddenly and all at once. J.D. thrust again, not stopping to allow her time to stretch. Heat seeped through her core. She felt overfull, and overwhelmed, and she wanted more.

 

J.D. guided the rocking of her hips with rough hands, and she did the same with her heels against his back. He picked up speed beneath her ministrations, reaching up with one hand to pull her hair in a way that made her sing with pleasure. She felt his eyes on her body when her head tipped back, watching her breasts ripple with the impact of his blows, watching the place where he disappeared inside of her, and then reappeared covered in silver lust. The windowpanes rattled beneath his punishing pace. Her nipples began to feel raw as his chest continued to scrape against hers. Reaching back, Veronica gripped the sides of the desk, gasping as J.D. hit a spot deep inside of her that punched her soul straight out of her body.

 

But J.D. knew not to stop there. With a crooked smile, he dropped his hand from her hair, trailed it down her chest, and then buried it beneath her skirt. Veronica closed her eyes, her mouth open, emitting whimpers and incoherent pleas. Using his knuckle, J.D. parted her swollen folds up the center until he found the bundle of nerves hanging like an overly ripe fruit, sweet, heavy, and ready to burst.

 

Snarling into her neck, he flicked it hard with one finger, making her toes curl and her back arch. Unexpected pleasure ricocheted through her system. She’d never touched herself so ruthlessly there, and the excitement and intensity of it floored her.

 

“Does that feel good, Veronica?”

 

Another whimper tore from her throat. Her pelvis rocked into his touch, practically sliding across the now slick desk, demanding more.

 

Seeing her reaction, J.D. flicked her again, again, and again, continuing in rapid succession until her clit trembled like the wings of a humming bird.

 

Veronica shattered and came with a silent scream. She felt the walls of her vagina clench and unclench around J.D. as her orgasm pulsed through her. Stars dazzled in her vision, and she clutched his shoulders hard, keeping them pressed chest to chest.

 

“Fuck,” he hissed trough his teeth, his cock jerking as he spilled out into her.

 

She moaned incoherently against his shoulder as she came down from the peak, feeling his warmth seep and spread through her core, and drip down her thighs.

 

When J.D. slid out of her, she whimpered, suddenly bereft of him. His hands were on her an instant later, soothing her, pulling her back against his chest.

 

“Don’t worry, Veronica. I’ve got you. I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Chapter 5

Notes:

Hello all! I still don't own anything Heathers. Warning for this chapter is violence and rapey situations.
Happy reading!

J.D. thought about killing Veronica in her sleep.

 

Not seriously, but he thought about it. To be fair, he thought about killing everyone, all of the time, including himself. It was his usual method of escapism.

 

Watching Veronica’s pulse beat and flutter at the side of her neck, inches from his face as he lay beside her in the cramped twin bed, made J.D. all too aware of how easily he could stop her pulse all together. It would not be difficult. J.D. could wrap his fingers around her throat and squeeze until she stopped breathing. Or, he could cut along that blue dotted line with his blade and split the vein open. That blood was just waiting to be spilt, right there beneath the thin surface of her skin. It would be easy to make it look like a suicide. He’d had a lot of practice.

 

Only, J.D. didn’t want to kill Veronica. Once he killed her, he would never get her back. It wasn’t that J.D. thought that human lives were special. Humans were just as species of animal, and J.D. liked to think of his work as Population Control. The loss of a single life did not rip a hole in the world.

 

But the loss of Veronica might rip his world to shreds.

 

That is why he did not want to kill her.

 

Honestly, J.D. was shocked that she’d let him stay the night in her dorm, not to mention that she’d fallen asleep with him so close. When Veronica left to wash up, he’d simply made himself comfortable in her bed during the wait. He expected her to ask him to leave once she came back, especially considering the limited supply of space in her bed. However, Veronica didn’t say a word. She simply shut off the light, curled up against his side, and fell to sleep.

 

According to her diary, (which J.D. had read while leaving his mark on her desk) she’d been kept awake last night, dreaming of him. But J.D. knew that lack of sleep did not make Veronica any less intelligent. Exhaustion made her reckless, not thoughtless.

 

This was a test. Veronica was opening himself up to him, making herself vulnerable, to see if he would strike. Smart, but stupid. Veronica would know immediately if he was still a killer, if he made any attempts on her life tonight. However, she wouldn’t be able to make use of her knowledge because she would be dead within seconds of acquiring it.

 

Essentially, Veronica had decided to use herself as bait, and damn if J.D. wasn’t tempted. Consequently, J.D. did not trust himself to pass her test. Veronica had a way of stripping his self-control, and right now, lying inches from her body, J.D. was much, much too close. Kill her or fuck her again, he couldn’t tell which he wanted to do more. Both were damning. Both would ruin his relationship with her. J.D. knew he needed to create some distance if he wanted to keep his options open.

           

J.D. brushed a kiss to Veronica’s forehead as he slipped silently from her bed, dressed, and disappeared through her window. He did not bother to leave a note. She had to know that he would be back.

 

 

Veronica woke up the next morning alone. Despite his talk of never leaving her again, J.D. had done just that.

 

Ich luge. Ich luge. Ich luge. Would he ever stop lying? More importantly, would Veronica ever stop believing his lies?

 

Veronica sighed as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. At least waking up alone was better than waking up dead.

 

It would have been easy for Veronica to convince herself that last night had been a dream. She would have chalked up the vividness of the apparition to the creativity of her unconscious mind, and the large gap she’d had in her sex life. However, the deep carvings in her desk had not been made by her subconscious.

 

When Veronica stood, she realized that J.D. had left her a second physical reminder of his visit: a delicious soreness, centrally located between her thighs. Getting fucked roughly by J.D. felt like getting fucked gently with a chainsaw, as Heather liked to say. Veronica would probably be waddling for the rest of the day, maybe longer.

 

Longer still, if J.D. ever decides to come back.

 

Veronica snorted as she pulled on a slouchy, cobalt blue knit sweater. Who was she kidding? She knew very well that J.D. would be back for more. And Veronica would gladly let J.D. turn her into a waddling penguin permanently, so long as he remained nonviolent. His behavior last night had certainly been erratic, like before. But as she noted earlier, she was still alive, and only hurting in ways and places that she liked.

 

 

“Did you make it back to your dorm okay last night?”

 

Veronica jerked awake at the sound of Dick’s voice. She’d been using the few minutes left before English class to catch up on lost sleep. Lifting her head off of her desk, Veronica blinked, and found Dick standing in front of her, clenching and unclenching the brown leather strap of his messenger bag.

 

“Good morning to you, too.”

 

“Mind if I share a desk with you today?” He asked, already sliding into the seat beside her. His movements were jerky and frazzled.

 

Can I say no? She wondered.

 

But Veronica nodded, and did her best not to look annoyed. “Sorry if I look startled,” she said. “I didn’t know you were in this class.”

 

“You wouldn’t have seen me. I usually sit over there.” Dick gestured to the far back corner of the room before focusing back on her. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

 

“Yes, you can sit next to me.”

 

Dick narrowed his eyes. “I meant the other question. Did you make it back to your dorm safe?”

 

“I thought the answer to that would be obvious.” Veronica swept a hand down her body. “Do you see any injuries?”

 

“None, except for that hickey. Or is that a bite mark?”

 

Gasping, Veronica slapped a hand up to her neck, wincing as her fingers met tender skin. Of course, it just like J.D. to mark her like this, brand her like a cow. The hickey must have been hidden by the shadow of her hair when she looked in the mirror this morning. If she had seen it, she would have worn a scarf.

 

“I’m fine,” Veronica said, clearing her throat as she smoothed down her hair. “I just got bitten by a vampire last night.”

 

“Seriously, Veronica. What happened? Tell me the truth.”

 

Of course, Veronica couldn’t do that. That knowledge would put a target on Dick’s back, and J.D. was already to eager to silence Dick for good. Just hanging around Veronica was not safe for Dick.

 

I’m starting to remember why I broke up with J.D. in the first place. It had been more than just the murders. It had been his obsession with power, and having power over others. His possessiveness over Veronica’s body made her want to cut all ties, despite the attraction she felt.

 

Dick, however, spared Veronica the guilt of telling him anything, saying, “Fuck it. I’m a horrible liar: I know what happened last night.”

 

Every muscle in her body froze. “What do you mean?”

 

Dick dipped his head towards her. “I was really worried about you, after the way you left the newspaper meeting. I ran after you, but I mostly just ended up trailing you to your dorm. I tried to catch up, I swear. You were just really fast.” He wheezed out a small, nervous laugh before continuing. “I saw you enter the dorm building, but since I don’t live there, I couldn’t get in. I decided to cross around to the side of the building, to see if I could see anything through the windows. You have to believe me Veronica, I only wanted to make sure that you were safe.”

 

Veronica’s knuckles turned white around the edge of the table. “What did you see?”

 

“You. Your boyfriend. Stripping. Intense desk sex.” Dick’s cheeks flushed to a dark purple red, the same exact shade of Cherry Coke. “You should really remember to keep your window closed when you have the light on at night.”

 

You peeping little prick… “So, it’s my fault that you decided to stalk me home and look through my window?”

 

“No! That wasn’t what I-”

 

“I’ll try to do better next time and shut the windows so you don’t have to be accountable for your actions. I wouldn’t want to look like a slut, getting naked and having sex in the privacy of my own room? Silly me, not to think about skinny little creeps slinking around in the bushes.”

 

“Veronica-”

 

“Sorry to make you worry. At least you got some free masturbation material for your trouble. Have fun writing the rest of your Dear Heather responses on your own, Dick.”

 

Seething, Veronica stood and grabbed her bag. She had no desire to sit next to Dick another moment. It made sense that he wanted to make sure that she arrived to her dorm safely. Her behavior had been erratic at the club meeting. But Dick should have left the moment she started to strip. Continuing to watch her crossed a serious line.

 

“Wait.” He caught her by the wrist as she stood.

 

“Why?”

 

With a gentle tug, Dick pulled her back down into her seat. “Because I heard something last night.”

 

Sweat beaded along Veronica’s hairline. Had Dick heard her and J.D. talking about the murders? She pushed away the thought, and instead, jabbed, “Did you hear moaning? That’s called the female orgasm. You probably don’t know what that is.”

 

Dick shook his head, eyes snapping to the front of the room as the professor walked in.

 

“Can we please talk about this after class? Somewhere private.”

 

“Fine.” Veronica bit her lip. “So long as you know that by associating with me, you are putting your life at risk. Not that I care what happens to a lecher.”

 

Dick’s dark eyebrows furrowed, meeting in the middle to form a single, thick line. “Okay, now we really need to talk.”

 

 

After class, Veronica and Dick snuck into the room used by the newspaper club. It was in the same building as their English class; less people would see them walking together.

 

The room was empty, just as Dick had promised. Not bothering with the light switch, Veronica crossed to a seat along the same wall as the door, where she would be invisible to anyone trying to peer in. After throwing down his bag, Dick pulled up the rolling chair, and straddled it backwards. All he needed was a badge and a bright lamp to turn this into a real interrogation.

 

Sighing, Veronica closed her eyes. “Tell me what you think you heard, and then I’ll answer your questions. It is safest if you know as little as possible.”

 

“Bullshit.”

 

Her eyelids flared open in surprise at his tone.

 

Dick’s knuckles were white as he gripped the backrest of his seat. “Safest for me, maybe, but not for you. I think you’re in danger with this guy, Veronica.”

 

Oh, I know I’m in danger.

 

Seeing that Veronica would say nothing more, Dick rolled his eyes, and did what she had asked. “I heard you two talking in your room, but I couldn’t make out any of the words. I could only hear the tone. Your boyfriend sounded… Rough. It seemed indicative of an abusive relationship. That’s why I didn’t leave. I was worried he would try to hurt you.”

 

Huh. Maybe this is an abusive relationship, Veronica thought, though she didn’t say anything to confirm or deny Dick’s suspicions. She worked to keep her expression neutral.

 

Dick went on. “I was determined to stay until he left, so-”

 

“Oh, thank you for your chivalry,” Veronica sneered, making a crude up and down motion with her fist. “I’m sure that was taxing.”

 

Dick glared at her, but otherwise ignored her comment. “So, I saw when he climbed out of your window, and walked to his bike in the parking lot. There was a man there, waiting for him. I couldn’t see his face, but his hair looked dark, and he might have had tattoos. I was close enough to hear their conversation.”

 

Okay, I was not expecting that. She blew out a breath, and started vacantly down at her lap, her mind burning with questions. That is certainly suspicious behavior. What was J.D. doing? Who would be waiting around for him so late at night? Did J.D. tell this guy to meet him there, or did the man simply find J.D. based on the location of his bike? … Does J.D. have a stalker? That would be quite the plot twist.

 

Finally, Veronica looked back up at Dick. “Well? What did you hear?”

 

“The man with dark hair gave your boyfriend an address. I think somewhere in San Jose. Then, the man said, ‘Tonight. I’ll pay extra if you make it hurt.’ Your boyfriend didn’t say anything in response, but he wrote down the address, and gave the guy a salute before riding away. The other man then just walked off.”

 

As Dick demonstrated a little army salute, Veronica could envision the scene all too clearly: the parking lot at midnight, the man waiting for J.D. in the shadows, and then J.D. himself, smirking as he performed a lazy sir yes sir. Dick had witnessed some sort of illegal business transaction, and knowing J.D., Veronica could guess what sort of business J.D. had gotten himself into: hits.

 

The blood drained from Veronica’s face in horror. That was how J.D. managed to afford to live so close to the Bay Area. He was doing what he’d always done – killing people without getting caught – only now, he was getting paid for it.

 

Her stomach rolled. Was I his first client?

 

“Veronica, is that what I thought it was?”

 

“Probably,” she whispered. “But I can’t say for sure. In high school he… he’d wanted to kill everyone. I knew about it, and was able to stop him. I shot him, and I thought he was dead, but he tricked me.” And he tricked me again. He agreed last night not to kill anyone else.

 

“Holy shit.” Dick stared at her, wide eyed. “You went after him? By yourself?”

 

She lifted her gaze sharply. “I could have stopped him, before.” Before he killed Heather, Kurt, and Ram. “But I didn’t. I risked my life to stop him because I needed to take responsibility for my actions. I couldn’t let anyone else die because of me. And that includes you, Dick. You can’t be seen with me, because if he sees you…”

 

“He’ll kill me?”

 

“Maybe. I don’t know what he’ll do.”

 

“There’s one way to find out.”

 

Reaching for his bag, Dick pulled out a pen and notebook. “This is the address that the man gave to J.D.” He jotted it down before ripping the page out, and passing it to Veronica. “If we go here, we’ll know the truth.”

 

Veronica stared at the address for a moment before folding it in half, and sticking it in the pocket of her jeans. Then, she stood, and offered Dick a smile.

 

“Thanks, Dick. It’s a brilliant plan, and I appreciate your concern.”

 

He actually managed to smile, though it was a weak one. “You’re welcome.”

 

“I have homework to do now, but lets meet here at midnight tonight, okay? Then we can go out and do some investigating.”

 

“Okay. I’ll be here. And, Veronica?” He took her hand so suddenly that Veronica jumped. “I really am sorry that I invaded your privacy like that. You’re a good friend. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

 

Nodding, Veronica squeezed his fingers, and walked out of the door.

 

It took sheer force and effort of Veronica’s will to control her pace as she headed down the halls, out of the building, and across campus. She passed her dorms, not stopping to do homework as she had told Dick. She didn’t even drop off her books. Veronica went straight for the bus stop instead. She did not know exactly where to find the address that Dick had given her, but she recognized the street name, and knew that she could find it on her own from there.

 

She had no intention of meeting Dick at midnight. Maybe, if she got back early enough, she could drop by to tell him what she’d found at the address he’d given her. But she meant what she had said: Dick’s life was in danger, and Veronica refused to let anyone else die because she was stupid enough to trust J.D. again.

 

 

It was easy to find the address. It was an apartment, located on a central road, with clear signage on the front. It was also the only one giving off a smoke signal.

 

Had she not noticed the black column rising into the air, Veronica could have simply followed the pack of vehicles with sirens – fire trucks, police cars, and ambulances – all racing in the same direction.

 

J.D., Veronica wondered, watching as the chaos on the streets thickened with each turn towards her destination. What have you done?

 

Her eyes stung as she stumbled out of the bus. It took all of her strength to stay upright as she stopped and stared, pale and stricken, at the shouldering apartment complex on the other side of the street. The entrance was roped off with yellow police tape, but Veronica didn’t need to go inside to guess which apartment J.D. had been to. Black streaks of soot lined the tacky, dilapidated, salmon pink walks. A unit near the top right corner had taken the most damage.

 

A male news reporter stood in the middle of the street in front of her, wearing a wide silk tie and a somber expression. His voice carried over the traffic, as he related the details of the event, his fingers tight, choking the neck of his microphone.

 

“Crews say that the fire burned all night, and went unnoticed by neighbors, as well as the owner of the apartment. This allowed the flames to spread, killing the homeowner, and sending two more – a mother and a child – into the hospital. Investigations are still underway, but authorities suspect that this was an electrical fire, as the building was not up to code.”

 

Stumbling back into the alley behind her, Veronica slapped her hand to her mouth to cover her gasp. One dead, and two injured. He’d hurt a child, and he’d probably left more homeless. Did J.D. simply not care who got hit in the crossfire of his vigilante justice? Did he feel any remorse, any empathy at all?

 

Veronica knew the answer to those questions: no. He felt nothing. Not guilt. Not compassion. And not love. He never had, and he never would, no matter how much Veronica wanted to believe otherwise.

 

It would have been better if J.D. had actually died when she thought he did.

 

Crushed under the weight of the realization, Veronica sagged, leaning her shoulder against the grimy wall of the narrow side street. J.D. must have gone straight here after leaving her bedroom. Sex and murder all in one night. How productive.

 

“Are you all right, Miss? Did you know someone in there?”

 

Veronica whirled to find a stranger standing behind her in the shadows: a man, older than her but still young. He stepped towards her, revealing straight dark hair, and arms full of tattoos sticking out of a cotton white shirt. A single, inked teardrop sat beneath his eye.

 

He matches Dick’s description of the man who met J.D. last night, and hired him to do this. Is he here to see what he paid for?

 

Bile rose in her throat, and Veronica raised her hands to her face in an effort to hide her shock. Swiping at her cheeks, Veronica found that she didn’t have to pretend to be crying. Her cheeks were already wet.

 

“Yes,” she said, offering the man a watery smile. “Someone that I loved was in there.”

 

The man’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? Because I knew the man who died last night very, very well, and he never mentioned you.”

 

Veronica took a step back. “I didn’t know him, though you have my condolences. I knew the family who was injured.”

 

The man matched Veronica’s movements, taking a step forward. “Sweet family. What were their names again? Rita, and the boy… Or was it a girl?”

 

“It’s… Ahh…”

 

Veronica bolted.

 

Spinning, she shot towards the mouth of the alley, where there were people and cars, but not fast enough. The man wrapped his muscular, tattoo-striped arm around her waist, and tossed her to the ground.

 

Crack. The impact of her temple against the pavement sent bells ringing in Veronica’s ears. Her body went limp, and she groaned. That… That has to be a concussion, she thought dizzily. Consciousness flickered in and out. Through the blackness, Veronica felt as a hand grasped the neck of her sweater, and dragged her deeper into the shadows.

“I know who you are, girl,” the man said. “I saw you with J.D. last night.” Her shirt ripped as the man heaved her up against the wall of the dumpster, and he flashed her a straight-toothed grin before letting out a whistle. “What a show. I think I’ll have to pay J.D. extra for that. And this.”

 

Nausea rose in her throat as the stranger ran a finger over the crotch of her jeans, heading towards the button. Squeezing her eyes shut, Veronica struggled to push the puke back down. She knew from experience that throwing up on someone’s shoes was a great way to make an enemy. And she did not want to inspire this man to hurt her anymore than he planned to. She wanted to fight, she wanted to, but her limbs wouldn’t move, wouldn’t obey her commands, wouldn’t-

 

Then, Veronica heard the click of a gun, and felt the man around her freeze.

 

“Unfortunately, that is not for sale.”

 

Veronica’s stomach dropped.

 

J.D.

 

Eyes flaring open, Veronica found J.D. standing over the man’s shoulders, his gun out and pressed into the man’s straight black hair. J.D. held his chin was down, and in the light of the alley, the position set a grim shadow across his eyes that Veronica had only seen on the faces of villains in comic books.

 

It was too much for her. This time, she could not keep it down. Twisting, Veronica leaned over the edge of the dumpster, and hurled.

 

Cursing, the stranger released her, and fell back.

 

J.D. kept the gun pointed at the man’s head as he moved to Veronica, and wrapped his arm around her waist. She wiped her mouth on her sleeve.

 

“She’s a liability, J.D.,” the man said. “Her, and that kid who gave her the address.”

 

“I know. But let me take care of it.”

 

 “J.D.…”

           

“You don’t want to get your hands dirty, right? Let me keep them clean. Isn’t that the arrangement we have? Let me do what I do best.”

 

Veronica flinched, and grimaced at the ground. Killing really was what J.D. did best. How could she have been so stupid as to forget that?

 

After a moment of deliberation, the man grunted in agreement, and gave J.D. an envelope. Veronica saw the pale green corners of cash sticking out the edges, and realized that she’d stumbled upon what had only intended to be the spot where money exchanged hands.

 

J.D. nodded. “Go. And remember that if you ever fuck with my people again, you’ll be next.”

 

The man disappeared around the back corner of the alley at a jog. J.D. watched him go before putting away his gun.

 

“Sorry about that, dear. Things are a little rough at work.”

 

Screaming, Veronica shoved J.D. hard in the chest, taking him by surprise. He fell back several steps, his eyes wide.

 

“You psychotic asshole. I know you did this.” Veronica threw her hand at the burning building behind her, swaying on her feet and accidentally slamming her shoulder hard into the dumpster as she did.

 

“Not very subtle, is it? I just couldn’t help myself. I like the pyrotechnics.”

 

“Like father like son,” Veronica jeered, as she had before. “Did you come twice in one night?”

 

“Careful, Veronica.”

 

“Or what, you’ll kill me? No sense in delaying the inevitable.”

 

J.D. simply shook his head. “Your head is bleeding, Veronica. I need to get you out of here so I can get that fixed.”

 

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” she said, her heart racing and her breath short.

 

J.D. laughed, a harsh sound that echoed off the alley walls. “Are you going to make me force you at gunpoint? I don’t think you’ll even make it to my bike walking on your own.”

 

“I’m better off passing out here than I am letting you take me god-knows where.”

 

He studied her for a moment. “Fine.”

 

J.D. seemed to move at superhuman speed as he lunged for her. He grabbed her by the head, and pulled it down, bringing it into contact with his knee. The bells tolled between Veronica’s ears again, louder this time. Strobe lights flashed, and she could feel her brain sliding around loose in her skull. Veronica’s mouth opened in a silent scream as she fell to her hands and knees at J.D.’s feet. Then, her elbows gave way, and she sank down into shadows deeper than any that the alley held.

Chapter 6

Notes:

Hi again!
Still don't own Heathers, the movie or the musical. Just so you all know, this chapter deals with issues of suicide a little more than the others so far.
Happy reading!

Veronica woke up to the sound of J.D.’s voice in her ear, and the feeling of a cold cloth against her forehead.

 

“I know hitting a concussed person in the head is bad, but damn it Veronica, you didn’t leave me with a whole lot of options.”

 

She snapped up, and looked wildly around: she was in a bedroom with white walls, tucked into a bed with black sheets.

 

J.D. sat beside her in a wooden chair, a pink stained cloth gripped in his fist. Placing his other hand on her shoulder, J.D. pressed her back into the pillows.

 

“Easy,” he said. “You need to rest. No sudden movements, and no class for a couple of days. You need to try to not strain your mind, if you want it to heal.”

 

Veronica could hardly focus on the words he was saying. It felt like her brain had been stuffed into a fuzzy black tube sock, and then swung around. But she didn’t have to think to know that it was not safe for her to be there with J.D.

 

“Did you really think I’d stopped killing, Veronica?”

 

She squeezed her eyes shut, horrified to feel water squeezing from between the lids. “I’d hoped. You left right after… Right after promising that you wouldn’t kill anyone else.”

 

“Wrong. Number one, I actually stayed and cuddled for a couple hours, I didn’t leave right away. And number two, you said that you didn’t want to see or hear anything about me killing or hurting people.” Chuckling, J.D. reached forward, and brushed the damp cloth up the side of Veronica’s face, wiping away a trail blood with an almost tender touch. “You weren’t supposed to see or hear about it.”

 

Veronica recoiled. “Well, I did.”

 

“Well, maybe I won’t let you leave me.”

 

Instead of trembling, Veronica laughed, feeling half hysterical. “How do you plan on stopping me?”

 

“Negotiation.”

 

“Oh, so you won’t kill me if I stay right here and keep my legs spread? As good as you are in bed, I’d rather have my dignity, thanks.”

 

J.D’s nostrils flared. “No. I won’t kill Dick if you stay right here, at least until your concussion heals. What you do with your legs is up to you. Spread is obviously preferred, but un-spread would suffice.”

 

Shock and horror radiated through her, and Veronica clamped her mouth shut. Dick. She’d forgotten about him, and about the threats the man who’d attacked her had made against him.

 

“How are you going to protect Dick from that asshole who grabbed me?”

 

“I’ll tell my client that I convinced Dick not to talk.”

 

“But you won’t actually threaten him?”

 

J.D. raised his palms in an exasperated gesture before slapping them back down on his thighs. Water danced off the cloth still clenched in his fist, flicking into Veronica’s face sharply enough to make her flinch, and leaving a wet mark on J.D.’s knee.

 

“Not unless Dick does something stupid, alright?” J.D. said, eyes tightening as he added. “What he did last night falls into that category. I could kill him for that. Fuck me, I want to kill him for that. Did you know he was out there?”

 

“Calm down, please. For both of our sakes.” Veronica placed a gentle hand over J.D.’s knee, covering his fist. Immediately, she felt his grip relax as he blinked at her hand in surprise. Once he seemed to cool, she ventured on, admitting, “Yes, I knew. Dick told me this morning. Last night, I left the newspaper club meeting rather abruptly, and Dick was worried, as any friend would be. He followed me home to make sure I was safe. Obviously, I made it clear that he stayed well past his welcome. He apologized, and I accepted his apology.”

 

“He should have left the moment he saw you-” J.D. broke off, unable to even finish the words.

 

“The moment he saw me strip? Yes, I am well aware.”

 

“And you still consider him a friend?”

 

“Yes,” she said, raising her chin in defiance. “He thought that I was in danger. I know that you would have done the same thing.”

 

“Not a chance. I wouldn’t have stood by watching, I would have gone up there and eliminated the threat. And that’s exactly what I did today.”

 

“You also gave me a concussion.”

 

“You already had a concussion.”

 

“Yeah, well, you made it exponentially worse.” Veronica huffed, feeling as if had steam pouring out of her ears like an angry cartoon character. “You might as well celebrate. I told Dick I was going to meet him tonight at midnight so we could investigate the address he got together. He probably won’t consider me much of a friend after he realizes that I ditched him.”

 

Fire flared in J.D.’s eyes at the mention of her rendezvous with Dick. However, that fire quickly smoldered into confusion, and he stated blankly, “You went by yourself.”

 

“Obviously.”

 

“Jesus, Veronica, I almost wish you had taken Dick by the dick and brought him with you. You could have at least used him as a human shield. Now that I think about it, why didn’t you just turn on the news and see if the address popped up? You could have spared yourself the trip all together.”

 

“Are you actually pretending to be concerned for my wellbeing? It’s your lifestyle that almost had me killed. Your client-”

 

Her words cut off as J.D. flipped his wrist beneath her hand, and locked his long, slender fingers around her bones like a manacle.

 

She tugged hard. “Let go of me.”

 

“No. Now, let’s get some things straight, Veronica. Despite the implications of normal boss-client relations, I am not scarier than my client. I may kill people, but a man like that would have done far worse than you. He would have raped you, right there. Then, he would have sold you to human trafficking for some cash, killed you, or brought you somewhere inescapable for round two. And all of that would have been an appetizer in his daily diet of debauchery. He’s a mastermind of organized crime. I saved you from that.”

 

Gritting her teeth, Veronica pulled at her wrist harder. “Maybe you saved me, but it was because of you that I was in the position to begin with.”

 

He released her now. Shoulders stiffening, J.D. sat back in his chair, a wall of stone up around his eyes, turning into gray slate. “Do you take the deal, or not?”

 

“Do I have a choice?”

 

“Not unless you want to see Dickey Dick dead.”

 

“Fine.” Veronica glared and crossed her arms. “Yes, I agree. But if I’m going to be staying her for an extended period of time, I’d like some things from my dorm, if you don’t mind.”

 

“Not at all.” Grunting, J.D. rose to his feet, and arched his back in a stretch. “Diary, textbooks, toothbrush, clothes… Am I forgetting anything?”

 

Veronica shook her head, and J.D smiled.

 

“I’ll leave a note for Betty, assuming that she’s too much of a goodie-goodie to take the entire week off. Someone needs to tell our pal Dick that you won’t be in school for a couple of days, too. I’ll even ask him to get in touch with your teachers and take notes. I’m sure a fine, upstanding gentleman like Dick wouldn’t refuse a lady in need.”

 

“J.D.-” Veronica tried to rise, but radio static filled her eyes and ears.

 

“Take a nap, Veronica. I’ll be back before you know it.”

 

Lips pressed into her forehead, and Veronica cringed back into the bed. At the same time, something soft curled around her left wrist, locking it in place. Through the white noise in her head, Veronica heard the squeak of J.D.’s boots, the swish of his coat as he threw it around his shoulders, and finally, the heavy click of the lock as he bolted the bedroom door.

 

Blinking, Veronica looked up, and saw that J.D. had chained her wrist to the straight iron bars at the head of his head using a pair of blue, fuzzy handcuffs.

 

She arched a brow. I doubt these came from 7-Eleven. Where did J.D. get such a kinky toy? More importantly, what do I do if I need to pee before J.D. gets back?

 

Her eyes shifted to a door to the left of the bed. It was slightly ajar, revealing a sink, a toilet, and one of those fancy shower-tub combos. Yes, that was the bathroom, clean and available for her to use, if all of its porcelain amenities were not so painfully out of reach.

 

Turning away, Veronica huffed through her nose, and closed her eyes. If J.D. took that long, then he deserved it. She’d tell him what she told Heather when she puked on her shoes: “Lick it up, Baby. Lick. It. Up.”

 

Veronica entertained herself for several minutes by playing a game she liked to call, Transform into an Escape Artist Before Your Psycho (Ex?) Boyfriend Gets Back. After an hour, all she’d accomplished was rubbing the skin off her wrists, and making her arm muscles sore. Her body, it turned out, could not take all of the excitement of being an Imprisoned Woman, and soon, Veronica fell asleep.

 

 

 

When Dick returned to his dorm from his last class, he found a pale blue sticky note waiting for him under his door. Immediately, Dick recognized Veronica’s handwriting on the note, reading,

 

Sorry I can’t make our date tonight, Dick, but I caught a nasty case of mono. Highly contagious. A friend off-campus has agreed to take care of me. If you could take notes in class, that would be very.

 

Your friend,

 

Veronica.

 

Dick frowned down at the slip of paper. Veronica hadn’t said anything about feeling sick this morning. Though she’d seemed tired, Dick had assumed it was from the wall-shaking sex she’d had the night before.

 

The note was definitely written in Veronica’s hand, and in her voice. Once again, her use of the word “very” was not quite grammatically correct.

 

I hope she’s not avoiding me because of what I did last night. He still couldn’t believe that he’d it. His intentions did not matter; Veronica had every right to be mad at him. The more Dick thought about it, the worse he felt.

 

Part of him wished that he liked what he saw through her window, so he could at least have gained masturbation material from the experience. But really, what he’d seen only made him sick with worry. He remembered standing there in the shrubbery and darkness, wanting to vomit, wanting to yell for help, but unable to look away long enough to do so, half convinced he would soon be the only witness in Veronica’s murder trial.

 

I’ll do something more to apologize. Maybe I’ll buy her another slushie, once she feels better. She seems to really like those. Nodding in determination, Dick threw away the note, and washed his hands.

 

 

 

Martha Dunnstock lost weight when she entered into the police academy, but not enough to get people to stop calling her “dump truck”.

 

No one believed that Martha would be able to pass through the rigorous physical training, but she’d done so with flying colors, discovering a hidden layer of pure muscle beneath her outer layer of fat. It was a good thing, too, because right around the time Martha graduated from high school, the Sherwood Ohio Police Department laid off around half its force, due to multiple reports of idiocy and incompetence, all of which were true. They needed new officers. They needed her.

 

Though, Martha didn’t stay just an officer for long, and thank the Lord, because she couldn’t stand the doughnut jokes. The police chief soon realized that Martha was smarter than her peers, and despite her inexperience, promoted her to detective. Really, Martha didn’t think it was a matter of intelligence. What she had that the others lacked was an investigative eye. She looked at everything like an outsider, and consequently noticed details that most missed. All of those years sitting in the back of the lunchroom, speaking to no one, had honed her skills of observation. She didn’t need to talk to people to understand their personalities, motivations, and secrets.

 

Which was how she knew that Heather Chandler, Kurt Kelly, and Ram Sweeney had been murdered.

 

It wasn’t Heather’s beauty that convinced Martha that the most popular girl in school hadn’t committed suicide; depression did not discriminate by looks, class, gender, or race. No, it was Martha’s knowledge that, beneath that Barbie-doll body, Heather Chandler carried the rebellious soul of Satan himself. In other words, Heather had a fighting spirit, and she would have fought tooth and red-painted nail against suicide, if only because she didn’t trust anyone else (namely, Heather Duke) to fill her mega-bitch shoes on earth.

 

Martha’s suspicions were confirmed once she looked at Heather’s case file. Most people, Martha assumed, would make themselves comfortable before knowingly poisoning themselves. Though the bed was unmade behind her, and she was still in her pajamas from the night before, Heather was found on the ground in front of the bed, having fallen and crashed through her glass coffee table after drinking the fatal sip of drain cleaner. Why stand there, knowing that her last moments would be spent on the carpet, covered in bruises and surrounded by shards of glass? She could have arranged herself like Juliet or Sleeping Beauty, and Martha knew how much Heather cared about appearances.

 

The police also found completed homework at Heather’s desk, right beside the suicide note: homework that Martha remembered being due the next day at school, the day after the suicide. Why would Heather do homework that she never intended to turn in? Heather hardly did her homework even when it was due. Heather Chandler was not the type of girl to do more work than necessary.

 

In Martha’s mind, the inconsistencies all pointed to a single explanation: Heather Chandler had not expected to die.

 

Then, there was the question of Kurt and Ram, dying as gay lovers. Martha had personal reasons for believing that Ram preferred women: a kiss on the kickball field during kindergarten, seared into Martha’s memory. However, that was a long time ago, and Martha knew that she could not trust that sort of emotional evidence. She was too close to the situation. Besides, they had been children simply being children, showing acceptance and friendship in funny ways. Actual romance had not been involved. Ram could have very well been bisexual, though the thought never would have occurred to most citizens in Sherwood Ohio, especially not after Kurt and Ram’s fathers’ came out, seemingly proving that the boys had inherited homosexuality. In any case, Kurt and Ram’s sexual preference didn’t matter. They reportedly killed themselves not because they were gay, but because they were in love.

 

Martha knew the way people looked at each other when they were in love. It was the way Veronica had looked at J.D., and the way Heather Chandler looked at her reflection. Martha had watched Ram that way for years, each day hoping that he would look back at her with the same eyes: eyes filled with unicorn magic and stardust, eyes that could make Martha feel as light as a horse with wings. He never did. But he’d never looked at Kurt that way, either. Kurt and Ram looked at girls in lust, jaws half slack and drooling. But they never looked at each other, or anyone else, with an expression of love.

 

Martha had evidence beyond that: the boys had been found each holding the gun that had killed the other. And though the autopsy report stated that the boys had died instantly from their wounds, the gunshots that the officers heard that day had been spaced several minutes apart. That was simply not possible. Ram could not have shot Kurt several minutes after getting shot in the head, and vice versa. Someone else – someone still very much alive – had done the shooting, and then planted the crime scene that way. Unfortunately, the idiot officers who arrived at the scene first had contaminated the guns by touching them, making it impossible to brush for fingerprints.

 

But Martha didn’t need trace evidence to trace the crime to a suspect.

 

Jason Dean.

 

Kurt and Ram were not in love. But J.D. was. Martha had seen his expression the day the school filled with rumors involving Kurt, Ram, Veronica, and a swordfight in her mouth. One day later, Kurt and Ram were gone, and the stars in J.D.’s eyes seemed to have increased in magnitude, burning brighter then they ever had before.

 

Martha hadn’t realized any of this at the time. No, she’d been too lost in the cloud of her own misery to see the connections. She’d only seen the ghosts of the people dying all around her, holding the gateway open, and beckoning her through with promises of friendship and eternal peace. Martha had one thought: if they can do it, why can’t I?

 

Martha thanked God every day that He hadn’t let her through those pearly gates just yet. She also thanked God for sending Veronica. Martha could hardly believe that she had one friend to help guide her through the dark. Then, Veronica introduced Martha to Betty, and suddenly there were two friends to make her feel loved. Secretly, Martha liked to think of their group as the New Heathers, that was how powerful Veronica and Betty made Martha feel. Even Heather McNamara sat with them at lunch sometimes. A real Heather.

           

Martha never thought about committing suicide again. Veronica had shown her that life was beautiful, worth living, and worth saving. That was the motivation behind Martha’s joining the police academy: she wanted to save lives because Veronica saved hers. It was Veronica who brought down the sun, and evaporated the mist clinging to Martha’s eyes. That was when Martha began to see again, and to realize what she had seen.

           

It began with a hall pass. Martha had admitted to Veronica that she was feeling down, and Veronica suggested that they skip Mrs. Fleming’s class to go back to her house and rent a movie. Then, Veronica ripped out a sheet of paper from her diary, and wrote a note in Mrs. Fleming’s exact handwriting, excusing them both from school for the rest of the day in order to ‘let their spirits heal’. It had fooled the hall monitor and both of Veronica’s parents.

 

After learning about Veronica’s hidden talent, Martha remembered that notes had been found at each suicide, notes that seemed empathetic, deep, and out of character for the dead. Martha remembered how persuasive J.D. had been the day he talked to her at the lunch tables, probing into her childhood friendship with Heather Duke, reopening old wounds, and stirring up pain that made her spiral. Martha remembered the way J.D. and Veronica looked at each other, as if their love was God, and they didn’t need another one.

 

It all came together once Martha got her hands on the police reports: J.D. had killed Heather, Kurt, and Ram, and somehow convinced Veronica to write the notes. All because they were in love.

 

Martha did not blame Veronica. She’d been bullied and manipulated by a boy who seemed to love her. Maybe Veronica thought that she could fix J.D. In the end though, Veronica snapped out of it, and essentially threw herself between J.D. and the gym. That act demonstrated to Martha that, whatever Veronica had done when she was with J.D., she regretted it. So, even though Martha had known for some time, she never said anything to the chief. Only Veronica could be punished now, and she’d already learned what that punishment was meant to teach: she would never assist in murder again. J.D., the one who should pay, was dead.

           

Or was he?

 

When Martha glanced over the police reports again this morning, she saw, for the first time, that officers had never recovered J.D.’s body after the explosion.

           

The bomb must have burned so hot that his whole body turned to ash, one officer speculated. But if that were the case – if J.D.’s bomb was that strong – why would J.D. need to put thermals upstairs in the gym to assist in the explosion? There should have been a body.

 

Martha had left immediately for Westerberg High. She stood there now, looking over the place where no one had thought to look: the boiler room.

 

It had been cleaned, sure, since Veronica and J.D.’s epic fight, but not well. There were still rusty bloodstains on the floor and scratches on the pipes. As Martha walked through the dim, dilapidated room, something caught her eye, something small, and shiny between old paint cans, boxes, and other useless crap that no one in the school had taken the effort to get rid of.

Pulling on a pair of gloves, Martha knelt, reached for the object, and picked it up off the ground. Her eyes widened. It was a bullet, squished, as if fired, still tipped with flecks of dried blood.

She shook her head as she dropped it into an evidence bag. How could my department have been so incompetent? Someone had obviously been shot down here, although there were no reports of that happening. It must have been J.D., only because Martha knew that Veronica hadn’t been shot that day.

 

Finding the bullet only confirmed Martha’s suspicions that more evidence might be hiding within the boiler room.

 

There was blood spatter on the floor beneath where Martha found the bullet. Crawling forward, she shoved aside stacks of cardboard boxes as she followed the trail deeper into the corner.

 

Then, she saw it: a blinking light, flashing red, buried beneath the piles of crap. When she moved the final box, she cursed, and scrambled back.

 

Because there, still on the floor of the boiler room, sat the bomb, its face still set at four seconds to detonation. A chill ran up Martha’s spine. She’d never realized how close J.D. had come to besting Veronica and killing them all. Four seconds. A silver knife was still there, embedded at the top of the bomb, sprouting like a grisly flower out of a mess of tangled, yellow wires.

 

Martha whistled. Impressive battery life.

 

Gingerly, Martha picked it up, and after a beat of hesitation, placed it into a second, larger evidence bag. She knew that she should call a bomb squad to handle this, but she didn’t have that sort of time. If this was the bomb meant to blow up the school, then what had J.D. strapped to his chest?

 

Not a bomb. Martha raced out of the boiler room.

 

J.D. must have made a replica. He’d clearly wanted to trick everyone into thinking that the two bombs were one and the same. That’s why, even shot and trailing blood, he’d taken the time and effort to hide the real bomb after it failed. He’d placed it in the corner, and stacked piles of junk around it to make it look like it had before. He’d already had a lot of practice setting up crime scenes so that they told the story he wanted them to tell. He already knew that nobody would look twice.

           

He hadn’t expected me, Martha thought grimly as she jogged out of the gym and back to her car. She ignored the sniggers and jeers of the high school students milling about between classes as they watched her go. Go ahead. Laugh at the fat girl run. Yes, I jiggle. I’ll remember that when I see you caught for house parties and DUI’s. Martha could take their laughter, so long as she didn’t catch the eye of any of her former teachers. She didn’t have time for painfully awkward small talk. She had to tell the police chief what she’d found. Then, she had to find Veronica, and warn her. Martha had seen the way J.D. had looked at her. A man that looked at a woman like that – like their love was God – did not intend to let her go.

 

Chapter 7

Notes:

Hello friends!
As always, I do not own Heathers, the movie or the musical. I make a couple of references to the movie Poltergeist in this chapter, so just to be clear, I don't own that either.
This chapter also includes sexual content and consent issues that might be triggering to some readers. I'm not sure if I would rate this "explicit" (yet), but it could be troubling to anyone particularly sensitive.

“You do realize how crazy this sounds.”

 

The police chief looked at Martha skeptically behind the gold wire rim of his glasses. He was an older man, with smart gray eyes, and patchy, neatly combed hair to match. His face was square and deeply lined, the lines perhaps more defined because of his smoking habit. Every day, he wore the same seven suits, but they were nice suits. He’d been chief of police here for years, and could only be faulted for trusting his officers too much.

 

Martha used that to her advantage.

 

“I know,” she said, nodding at him from across his neat, mahogany desk. “But how else do you explain the bomb? You need to trust me, Sir. I think Veronica Sawyer could be in danger. If he’s alive, he might very well try to make contact. Let me go to her, and continue my investigation in Palo Alto. If you send me and I’m wrong, all that’s lost is time, and you can take that out of my paycheck. If I’m right and you don’t send me, we might lose the life of your daughter’s best friend, and mine.”

 

The chief looked down at his desk, where he kept a photo of a pretty girl, if not plain, who shared his gray eyes and glasses: his daughter, Betty Finn.

 

Police Chief Finn loved his daughter more than anything in the world, and he treated Martha like a daughter, too. Martha was grateful for that. When Sherwood Ohio needed more police officers, Martha had been in desperate need of a parent. Hers had a nasty divorce a while back, and decided that they didn’t want to be parents anymore. When Martha tried to kill herself, they pointed fingers at each other, instead of coming together for their daughter.

 

“Did you know that Betty’s in town?” Chief Finn asked.

 

Martha snapped her head up. “I did not. Why? Isn’t her school still in session?”

 

Mr. Finn nodded. “She returned from class Monday evening to find an envelope with two letters inside, sitting on top of her desk. One was written in my wife’s hand, addressed to the President of Stanford, informing him that Betty’s grandfather had died, and asking him to give Betty a grace period so that she could return home for the funeral and mourn. The second was a response letter signed by the President, and all of Betty’s teachers, granting that grace period.” Chief Finn leaned his elbows on the surface of his desk. “My wife never wrote that letter, Martha. My father in law is alive and well.”

 

“Then that proves it,” Martha exclaimed, her knees bouncing with excess energy. Then, her legs stilled, her excitement cut short. If the notes were forged, that meant Veronica was still working with J.D., rather than against him. Or, it meant that J.D. had found Veronica already, and had forced her to write the letters against her will. Martha didn’t know which she hoped was true.

 

“Sir,” she began. “I don’t want to tell you this, but I feel that I must-”

 

“Save it, Dunnstock. I know about Veronica’s ability to mimic handwriting. She grew up running around my house with Betty, copying each other’s penmanship for fun in between coloring books. Veronica realized that she had a knack for it, and never stopped practicing. In fact, I had half a mind to suggest that she become a handwriting analyst when she grew up. She and Betty grew apart before I had the chance, though I suppose they’re friends again now…”

 

Mr. Finn shook his head. “The point being, I suspect that Jason Dean learned forgery from Veronica Sawyer. Betty keeps all of the letters we write her from home, and she noticed that one from her mother disappeared from her desk around the same time she received the envelope from school. Veronica wouldn’t need to steal a letter to copy my wife’s handwriting because she already knows it. I also cannot bring myself to believe that Veronica would tell Betty such a painful lie.

 

“Forgery is not a difficult skill to learn, if you have a steady hand. Even Betty is somewhat proficient in it, though Veronica’s writing is much more believable. The forged letters that Betty brought home don’t speak of Veronica’s talent. The lettering looks forced, and unnatural. That’s not Veronica’s way.”

 

“So you think J.D. snuck into the girls’ dorm, stole Betty’s letters, and then snuck in again to deliver forged ones in order to… to get Betty out of the way?”

 

Mr. Finn’s expression darkened. “I think you need to check on Veronica Sawyer immediately. Betty is planning to leave tomorrow morning. Pack your bags, and met in front of our house by 6:00 AM. You can ride with her. If you make good enough time, you’ll arrive by Wednesday night. Hopefully that’s not too late.”

 

Trembling now, Martha rose to her feet, and shook the chief’s hand. “Thank you, Sir. I’ll keep you updated on my progress. I won’t let you down.”

 

His fingers tightened around hers. “Watch yourself, and keep our girls safe.”

 

“I promise, Sir. I will do everything in my power to protect Veronica and your daughter.”

 

Martha took a deep breath as she left the chief’s office to make the necessary preparations for her trip. Veronica had saved Martha’s life. Now, it was time for Martha to save hers.

 

Hold on, Veronica. I’ll be there soon.

           

 

“I’m here,” J.D. said in a sing-song voice.

 

Blinking, Veronica raised her head to find J.D. waltzing into the bedroom, her blue duffel slung across his shoulder, and a plastic bag from 7-Eleven swinging from his wrist.

 

“Poltergeist, right?”

 

“A favorite of mine. Lucky for you, I rented us a copy. Have you seen it?”

 

J.D. hummed as he set down the bags, and reached for her cuffs. The tiny key flashed silver in his hand. With a quick twist, Veronica was free. Sitting up, she dropped her wrists into her lap, rubbing the sore one as she glared.

 

“No,” she said finally. “Though I’m not surprised that you feel a special connection to that film.”

 

“Why? Because like a poltergeist, I’m creepy, restless, vengeful, violent, and obsessed with a little girl’s light?”

 

“Basically. Though I’m hardly a little girl.”

 

J.D.’s eyes drooped to Veronica’s chest, where the neck of her torn sweater had slipped south.

 

“Sorry,” he drawled, lifting his eyes from her breasts. “My mistake.”

 

Veronica yanked up the collar of her shirt, her fury, disgust, and righteous indignation still not enough to quell the hot flush of desire that followed the path of his gaze. Fucking hell. Why do I have to be so attracted to a psychopath?

 

Reaching down, J.D. pulled a slushie and a hotdog out of the bag 7-Eleven bag. “This is to apologize for my rakish behavior.”

 

Veronica just stared at the food in his hands. “By ‘rakish’, you mean the kidnapping and assault?”

 

His fists tightened as he grimaced, crinkling the cup and the foil. “This is a peace offering, Sawyer, and I suggest that you take it. You don’t have the advantage in this relationship.”

 

“I never did.” Veronica straightened her spine. “Has that ever stopped me from fighting you before?”

 

J.D. chuckled. “No, and I love that about you, even though it makes my life immensely more difficult.”

 

Veronica snorted when he said the word love, but took the food when he shoved it at her; she was hungry. Vibrant red fluid flashed through the translucent lid: cherry, again. Pity. Veronica was in a blue mood. She gave J.D. a lazy salute with her cup hand before bringing the straw to her lips, and taking a drag. She knew that there was a 50% chance that J.D. had poisoned her drink, depending on his mood.

 

J.D. watched her carefully as she drank deep, and for a brief moment, Veronica’s heart hammered. Is he waiting for me to keel over?

 

Then, J.D. revealed his thoughts, saying, “Drink slower, Veronica. A brain freeze can’t be good for you right now.” As he spoke, he reached for her cup, tipped it away from her lips.

 

Veronica bit down on her straw, and growled. “I think a brain freeze is exactly what I need.”

 

J.D. only shook his head. “Eat your hotdog, and I’ll get you a Tylenol instead.” Still, he dropped his hand.

 

Veronica clicked the ice between her teeth as she stared down at the hotdog. Tylenol does sound nice. And she would need to eat, if she wanted to escape.

 

By the time J.D. fished out a packet of yellow mustard, her decision was made. Taking the packet, Veronica peeled back the foil, and squirted a single line of mustard down the center.

 

J.D. winked at her when she took a bite. “Kinky.” He took an enthusiastic bite of his hotdog immediately after, making Veronica grin despite herself.

 

“Not as kinky as those handcuffs,” Veronica replied.

 

“Oh, you liked those?”

 

“No.”

 

“I didn’t think so. I never pegged you as a bondage kind of woman. Though, you do have a flare for suspension.”

 

It took Veronica a moment to realize that J.D. was referencing the time he stole into her bedroom to kill her, and found Veronica hanging by a noose.

 

Veronica grimaced. “I might be into bondage. Tell me J.D., how do you feel about actual handcuffs? Prison bars?”

 

J.D. chuckled. “No, thanks. I prefer to be the dominant.”

 

“Of course you do.”

 

“Clearly, you don’t like being a submissive?”

 

“Maybe, if my boyfriend only wanted sex.”

 

J.D. leaned forward, planting his elbows on his knees as his lips curled into a sly, mischievous grin. “Maybe that is all I want.”

 

Veronica scooted closer to the headboard. “Hold your horses, cowboy. I think I’ve had enough rough riding to last me a couple of days.”

 

“Saddle sore?”

 

“Yeah. But mostly it’s this headache. I wonder how I got that?”

 

“I wonder,” J.D. murmured, and sat back in his seat.

 

But Veronica wasn’t done with him. Actually, their conversation had given her an idea.

 

“J.D.,” she said, crossing her legs beneath her. “Have you actually tried to find other outlets for your, um, violent proclivities and pent up rage?”

 

“What, like, horseback riding? Or more like bondage?”

 

Her cheeks went red. “Either. Both. Whatever works.”

 

J.D. smirked up at her through his lashes. “No darling, I haven’t. Horseback riding, like therapy, is expensive, and my income depends on my damage. I’d be open to bondage. The difficulty there would be finding a consensual partner.”

 

“I’d do it.”

 

J.D. reeled back as if slapped. “Beg your pardon?”

 

Blood humming now, Veronica took a sip of her slushie to wet her mouth enough to continue speaking; it had gone dry. She cleared her throat. “I said I’d do it. I’d be a consensual partner, if it actually helped you.”

 

He narrowed his eyes. “You would feel like you’d need to agree just to keep me from killing people. Wouldn’t that make your consent questionable?”

 

“Completely questionable. But I’d rather have sex that pushes the boundaries of my comfort zone than do nothing and let you keep killing people. You know I’d have to do something about that anyway if you do it again, and I’m sure you’d rather change your ways through sex and therapy then through jail time. At least… at least I like it when we have sex normally.” Veronica’s face heated even more; J.D. blinked at her in surprise.

 

Then, he looked away, giving himself little shake. “You added on therapy.”

 

“I did, since it seems we’re seriously considering this. I’m going to throw in regular exercise while we’re at it. Sex won’t be enough. I think you should talk to someone about what you’re feeling.”

 

“Who? I can’t be honest with anyone, not even a shrink.”

 

“You can be honest with Betty. She knows.”

 

“Fuck, Veronica…”

 

“She’s my best friend, of course I told her the truth. She was there when I needed to talk, and if I ask her, I’m sure she’d be willing to talk to you. She’s involved with a program on campus where people can receive free therapy sessions from students.”

 

“There’s still the question of income. I’ve lived solely off the hits, Veronica. How am I going to make a living?” He took a sip from his own slushie – coke flavored – giving Veronica a flash of the 7-Eleven label around the cup.

 

She looked back up at J.D., and grinned. “I’ll talk to Dick, and see if he can’t get you a shift at 7-Eleven. I bet employees get free slushies.”

 

Something inside of him seemed to crack. A startled laugh burst from his lips, and J.D. choked around his drink. His shoulders shook with near hysterical laughter. Concerned, Veronica simply sat back and watched. It looked painful. Tears squeezed from his eyes.

 

When his fit finally ended, Veronica reached into the 7-Eleven bag, pulled out a napkin, and handed it to him. J.D. thanked her with a grunt before dabbing at his eyes.

 

“You floor me, Veronica,” he said, bringing the napkin away from his face, and crumpling it in his fist. “After all I’ve done, you’re still trying to help me. To save me.”

 

“No, I’m trying to save everyone. This solution just happens to save you in the process.”

 

“It doesn’t save you,” he cocked his head to the side as he studied her. “You do realize that I might fall off the wagon? I could slip, Veronica.”

 

“Slip, and accidentally go out and kill someone for money?” Veronica said archly as she took a drink.

 

“No, I mean, slip while we’re having that kind of sex, and accidentally kill you.”

 

“Oh.” Veronica swallowed hard. The ice seemed to scrape at her throat. “That’s less slipping, and more getting carried away.”

 

“Schematics.”

 

“Well then,” Veronica said, setting her drink down on the bedside table, her fingers trembling with too much adrenaline to hold it. “We’ll come up with a safe word. The minute I say it, you have to stop and let me go.”

 

“I can agree to that. So,” J.D. drummed his fingers on the side of his plastic cup. “What will it be?” He nodded at her drink. “How about Cherry?”

 

Veronica wrinkled her nose. “No way. It can’t be anything that we might say while having sex, and that word is way too sexual on its own.”

 

J.D. scoffed. “No, it’s not.”

 

“It is too! Let me pop your cherry. Your lips are red like cherries. I’m going to cover you with whipping cream and put a cherry on top before I eat you out.”

 

He arched a single dark brow. “I like that last one. Ice play falls under BDSM too, doesn’t it?” He shook the remainder of the slushie in his drink, rattling the ice. “I’ve always been curious.”

 

“I think it does, but let’s say focused.”

 

J.D. swept out his hand, indicating that she had the floor to speak.

 

She looked at his cup, and bit her lip. “Blue Raspberry.”

 

“No,” he said immediately, an almost violent edge to his tone.

 

Veronica snapped her head up. “Why not?”

 

“That word makes me think of Dick. You bought a blue raspberry slushie from him that day.”

 

“Then it’s perfect. Thinking of Dick should be like a cold shower. It’ll squash your sex drive, and snap you out of even the thickest of lust hazes. You’ll stop doing whatever it is I need you to stop doing.”

 

Slowly, J.D. grinned. “I think I see your point. Blue Raspberry it is. Cheers.” He lifted his drink in the air before downing the last drops.

 

Veronica raised her cup and did the same, silently wondering the consequences of this deal that they were making.

 

If it saves lives, it will be worth it… Heather might have had a point the other day, when she called me a danger slut, or whatever.

 

“So,” Veronica said, clarifying. “I hereby consent to kink to help ease your dark desires, if you agree to weekly therapy, daily exercise, and healthier employment, with the ultimate goal of abstaining from any and all violence and murder.”

 

“That all sounds good. I assume I’m the one who decides the when and how of the kink?”

 

“You assume correctly.”

 

“Wonderful. How often can I cash in on that? Weekly? Daily?”

 

Veronica bit her lip. “Daily, if necessary. Whenever you feel the need to release that sort of pressure.”

 

“I always feel the need, Veronica.” J.D. leaned forward, his eyes glimmering. “The question is, how much can you take?”

 

“I guess we’ll see.” Her voice took on a funny pitch. God, I’m losing it.

 

“That’s good enough for me.” Chuckling, J.D. stood, and extended his hand. “Ready to make this deal with the devil official?”

 

Veronica eyed him, but still slipped her hand into his. “I am, although I’m not ready to have sex yet.”

 

“Not until your concussion heals,” J.D. agreed. “That will get me time to get my affairs in order.”

 

“Affairs.” Veronica laughed nervously. “You make it sound like you’re dying.”

He squeezed her fingers. “In a way, I am.”

 

Thoughtlessly, Veronica stroked the middle finger on his right hand, the one that was still there. J.D. shivered, and she looked up at him. “Will you actually stop?”

 

His blue green eyes shimmered in the sunlight streaming in through the window beside them. “I’ll try. I really will. What happened today… I didn’t like it.” Dropping her hand, J.D. reached forward, and gently cupped her head. His thumb skimmed her temple. “You got hurt today because of me. By me. And I didn’t see it coming.”

 

“You’ve hurt me before.”

 

“Yeah, as part of a plan. I was ready for it then. I had a reason. Today, it just happened by chance. I walked around that corner, and you were there, in the middle of a dangerous situation that I thought I had under control.” He dropped his hand, his face inches from hers as he searched her gaze, eyes flickering back and forth. “I like it when you do the unexpected. This is the first time I’ve seen you hurt because of it.”

 

“You can help by making the world around me safer,” she whispered, leaning forward; he leaned back, not allowing them to touch.

 

Straightening, J.D. smiled wryly as he turned from her, and glanced out the window. Veronica squinted through the narrow gaps in the blinds, catching a glimpse of an herb garden on a neighbor’s balcony. Cherry tomatoes sparkled like rubies beside hanging pots of parsley, dill, and thyme.

 

“I could make the world safer by killing the man who hurt you. I want to do that.” J.D. looked back at her, and Veronica held her breath. “But I won’t.”

 

She sagged with relief. “Thank you.”

 

“We’ve already tried things my way, right? Might as well try yours, especially now that you’ve given me such great incentive. Now, come on. Let’s go watch that movie.”

 

J.D. stretched out his hand again towards her, this time to help her up. As Veronica rose to her feet, she swayed a little, her head spinning. J.D. was there to catch her on his arm.

 

His apartment was not fancy. Really, it only had two rooms, the bedroom, and a common room, which included a small kitchen. Like the bedroom, the walls in the second room were bare, and white. The cabinets, couch, and coffee table were all black. The dilapidated TV on top of the square coffee table seemed to blend in with the poorly painted wood. The white countertops in the kitchen, at least, had flecks of gray. The two tall bar chairs sat beneath the wraparound part of the kitchen counter looked as if they might have actually come from a bar. The leather seats were cracked and worn, not unlike the leather of the couch. But it all looked clean, and useable enough.

 

“I know,” J.D. said. “It’s not much. Which is why you might want to rethink.”

 

“Not a chance.” Veronica plopped down on the sofa. “Besides, all it needs is a bit of color. Maybe a plant or two.”

 

“I’ve killed more plants then I have people, Veronica.”

 

Growing quiet, she watched as J.D. moved into the kitchen, and flicked on the stove before reaching into the cabinet to pull out a Jiffy Pop. When the metal spiral began to glow red, J.D. set the pan on top of the stove, and began to shake.

 

“How many people have you killed, J.D.?”

 

He didn’t say anything for a moment, but Veronica saw his back tense as he worked the popcorn. “You know about three,” he said.

 

“Four.”

 

“Right. The one today.”

 

“I can assume there have been five-”

 

“Seventeen. I’ve killed seventeen people, Veronica.”

 

The first of many kernels popped suddenly with a loud crack, making Veronica jump. Each successive pop sounded like a gunshot in Veronica’s ears as slowly, the foil on top of the Jiffy Pop pan began to inflate. The scent of butter and salt blew towards her, but it mingled with the imagined stench of gunpowder, smoke, and death. Nauseous, Veronica grabbed her stomach, and closed her eyes.

 

Beside her in the kitchen, Veronica heard the click of the stove as it turned off. Then, there were footsteps, growing closer as J.D. moved in beside her. The couch shifted as he sat.

 

“Do you want some popcorn? Here’s two Tylenol.” Two small pills were placed into her hand.

 

Keeping her eyes closed, Veronica popped the pills into her mouth, but then shook her head. “Thanks, but that’s a hard pass on the popcorn. I feel a little sick.”

 

The pan scraped against the coffee table as J.D. set it down, and sighed.

 

“Veronica… It’s a lot less than I would have killed with that bomb, if you hadn’t stopped me. And my victims aren’t kids anymore. They’re adults, who have been doing bad things for a long time.”

 

Is he trying to comfort me?

 

When Veronica said nothing, J.D. went on. “You know about the first three: Heather, Ram, and Kurt. After I left Ohio, I stayed with an old friend from school, whose dad was a doctor. He followed in his father’s footsteps, and is for the most part self-taught. His success is very impressive. Unlike his father, however, my friend doesn’t exactly do physicals.”

 

Curious, Veronica squinted an eye open. “Illegal procedures?”

 

J.D. nodded. “I helped him out around the clinic once I started to heal, to repay him for patching me up. That’s when he learned I wasn’t squeamish. My friend had a client who was giving him trouble after a failed surgery, making death threats. That was my fourth. After that, my friend offered to connect me to others who would pay me well for my services. That’s five through seventeen.”

 

Seventeen. That was how old they both were when they met. One for every year.

 

It felt as if the gravity had been shut off, and the world was in free fall. Veronica knotted her fists in her sweater as she clutched herself, as though she would fall apart if she didn’t hold on.

 

“Anyone… Anyone innocent?” She struggled to ask.

 

J.D.’s eyes appeared hooded in shadow as he stared at the blank TV. Dusk was falling through the window.

 

“No,” he said. “Most of my clients are members of affluent gangs. I pick off their rivals, who are guilty of the same crimes. Sex traffickers, rapists, murderers, drug dealers – every single person I’ve killed since has fallen under one or more of these categories.”

 

“But you work for the same people.”

 

He tipped his head to the side, flashing Veronica a slanted look. “Regrettably, ironically, yes. I figure I can always kill them too, eventually. Though I suppose I can’t, now…”

 

“Who was that man today?” Veronica blurted, wanting to stop his train of thinking before he backed out of their deal.

 

“I already told you that, he runs a local crime operation, calls himself Vice. I think his original name might be Vincent or Vince, not that it matters. Everyone calls him Vice. It’s good marketing. Vice sells himself as the top of his trade, and his trade deals in exactly that – Vice. He was a good client, until now, though he always had the disconcerting ability to find me anywhere.”

 

“So his network is sizable?”

 

“Decently big, yeah.”

 

Veronica shuddered. Mr. Vice was not going to be too happy when he learned that Veronica was still alive, and that J.D. was calling it quits. It wouldn’t take Vice long to realize that one had influenced the other. Veronica had not only bruised his pride today in the alley, but she’d also taken away a valuable business partner. He probably wouldn’t go after J.D. – Vice needed an executioner – but there was a high chance that he would go after her.

 

It would be nice if that didn’t happen. But Veronica wasn’t about to give J.D. the Okay to kill Vice for it.

 

Veronica turned to J.D., and gave him her best attempt at a smile. “Thanks for being honest.”

 

He returned the smile, though his eyes were slightly crooked, as if he couldn’t quite understand why she was thanking him. “Sure,” he said. “Will you do the same with me?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“With our deal, your consent is… dubious. You have lots of motivations to say yes more than you normally would. I want to make sure that you’re completely honest with me about two things.”

 

“Okay,” she said slowly.

 

“Number one: if you’re in more pain than you can take, tell me. Don’t try to be a hero.”

 

She snorted. “Easy. Done. I never intended otherwise.”

 

“Better safe than sorry, darling. Communication is key.” He flashed her a small grin. “For number two, I would ask that you not… Don’t tell me you love me if you don’t.”

 

Veronica flinched, but J.D. ignored her reaction, and went on. “We’ve agreed that we would be sexual partners, but not romantic ones, and that’s fine. But I don’t want you to say that you feel feelings for me, thinking that’s what I want to hear.”

 

Her heart thudded painfully in her chest, trampled beneath a mob of emotions: confusion, regret, pain, sympathy, resentment, and heartbreak. Veronica’s voice was rough as she replied, “Do you never want to hear me say those words?”

 

“No. Hearing them would be nice.” The grin flickered once more on his face before falling away entirely. “But not unless you mean them. Can you be honest about that for me?”

 

“Yes. As long as you never lie to me again.”

 

He rubbed his jaw with his hand. “That’s going to be difficult.”

 

Sensing a joke (even though it wasn’t exactly funny), Veronica shoved J.D. hard in the shoulder, knocking him far enough over to make him laugh.

 

“Put on the movie before I kill you,” she growled.

 

J.D. smirked as he stood to retrieve the videotape, and pop it into the player. “Now that would be a plot twist.”

 

 

Halfway through the movie, J.D. noticed that Veronica had fallen asleep, her legs curled up beneath her, a fleck of popcorn still stuck to the corner of her mouth.

 

He felt his lips twitch at the sight, thinking, Veronica Sawyer does not scare easily.

 

As if to prove it, Veronica shifted in her sleep, resting her head on J.D.’s shoulder.

 

A shiver went through him as J.D. heard her soft sigh, and felt her glossy brown hair tickle his neck. How can she be so trusting?

 

What she’d offered him today, what they both agreed to… It was madness. But hell, it would be fun.

 

BDSM… Though, J.D. wasn’t sure he’d call it that, exactly. Kink and experimentation – or rather, sexperimentation – were better terms. From what he’d heard, the BDSM world came with a strict set of rules and guidelines, and as far as J.D. was concerned, rules were meant to be broken, tossed on top of a funeral pyre, doused in kerosene, and burned. In any case, J.D. didn’t know the rules of the BDSM scene, and he had no desire to learn them, especially since he figured that the first rule would be no actual psychopaths allowed. BDSM was built to let normal people pretend to be sadists; it wasn’t an outlet to help sadists pretend to be normal. That wouldn’t stop J.D. from trying.

 

Only, J.D. was strangely terrified that he would hurt Veronica in the process, beyond what BDSM was supposed to hurt. Not that he was squeamish. He did not fear blood or death. He just didn’t want to watch her run away from him again. But if she was up to try it…

 

Of course, it wasn’t only sex he had to try. He had to implement a fitness regiment, too. What kind of fitness? J.D. never liked sports; he wasn’t exactly a team player. Running would be good to try. It was cheap, and a useful skill to have. J.D. also liked swimming. Perhaps the pool at Veronica’s gym was open to the public. It was pretty near the 7-Eleven, where he might be working during the day. If not, he could always simply jog around the campus, and pay Veronica a visit. Though, perhaps boxing would be more therapeutic, if he could find something non-human to punch.

 

Speaking of therapy, his sessions with Miss Finn were sure to be interesting. Hopefully the girl was strong enough to handle the weight of what J.D. had to say, and smart enough never to repeat a word of what she heard. J.D. knew that her father was the police chief back in Sherwood. Somehow, J.D. had to ensure that his secrets would not be shared with Daddy. Killing, of course, was off the table, but what about death threats? Was he still allowed to make those?

 

J.D. glanced down at Veronica’s sleeping form, and frowned. Probably not. Betty was Veronica’s best friend, and threatening Miss Finn would likely not be appreciated. J.D. simply had to trust Betty to keep his sins secret, after making his confession, and promising to never sin again.

 

That was sure to leave a bad taste in his mouth, though it wouldn’t exactly be a lie. He really wanted to try and do better, for Veronica. He wanted to be honest. Veronica only had a lot more faith in his willpower than he did. He would try, but he didn’t expect to succeed.

 

Who knows? I just might. This story might just have a happy ending.

 

With a sigh, J.D. reached for the TV remote, and flicked it off. There was a hiss of static, and the screen went dark. Veronica’s lips twitched in her sleep, but she didn’t wake from the noise.

 

Sighing, J.D. shifted, and scooped her up. He moved slowly, gently, as he carried her into the bedroom, knowing that Veronica would be terrified if she woke up in his arms.

 

But Christ, I love holding her like this. The thought hit him out of nowhere. And it was true. The feeling of her heart beating against his ribcage, her hands curled against his chest, her head on his shoulder, all made J.D. feel special. As if his life was important, because it was, at the moment, intertwined with hers.

 

It was a strange feeling, and J.D. shook it off as he placed Veronica on the bed, and tucked her in. As he pulled up the covers, his hand skimmed over her bare shoulder, and she gave another one of those little sighs that made his chest do funny things. Overwhelmed, J.D. dropped the blanket immediately, and turned his back to her in order to change his clothes. He knew that she would be more comfortable sleeping if he took off her jeans and her bra, but he didn’t want to ruin the trust he’d built today. That would have been a waste of painful honesty. He knew that he could wake her up, and step out of the room to give her the privacy to change, but J.D. didn’t want to do that, either. Veronica looked like she was having a good dream, and J.D. didn’t want to be the one to pull her back into a nightmare.

Chapter 8

Notes:

Shockingly, I still don't own anything Heathers.
Once again, there are some rapey situations in this chapter, as well as some talk of suicide.
Happy trails!

At six o’clock on Wednesday morning, Martha met Betty in front of the Finn household, her duffle bag packed. Betty greeted her with a hug and a cup of coffee, but not a lot of words. They wasted no time shoving the luggage in the trunk, and setting out.

 

At first, Martha attributed Betty’s continued silence in the car to sheer exhaustion. Martha was not a morning person, and she had no interest in small talk any time before eight in the morning. However, when noon rolled around, and Betty still hadn’t stopped biting her lip, Martha guessed that it must be more than lack of sleep, and even more than the worry for Veronica that they both felt.

 

Finally, Martha sighed. “How long have you known that J.D. and Veronica killed Heather, Kurt, and Ram?”

 

Betty winced, her shoulders slumping with the weight of admitted guilt.

“About one week after the explosion,” she said, her gray eyes flickering between Martha and the road. “Veronica tried to keep it in, but she called me one night crying and said that she needed to talk. You were still recovering. She made me swear not to tell anyone, including you. Honestly, I think Veronica was worried that you would blame her. She always felt responsible for what you went through.”

 

Martha only shook her head. She didn’t blame Veronica at all. “And you never told your dad?”

 

Betty let out a laugh that was surprisingly bitter. “No. You know, that’s what everyone worried about in high school: what will Betty Finn tell her dad, the police chief?” Her hands twisted around the wheel of the car, her grip tightening and untightening as if she were wringing out a rag. “I scored some weed, but don’t let Betty know, or else her dad will find out. I’m throwing a party, but don’t invite Betty, unless you want to get caught and arrested. People always thought I was a prude. Maybe I was, but who knows? I never got the opportunity to choose differently.”

 

Turning towards her friend, Martha gave Betty a sympathetic smile. “Some people lose themselves when given those choices. Maybe you were lucky.” Then, Martha laughed, and faced forward once again to watch the highway fly by beneath them. “Not that I would know. I wasn’t offered those choices, either.”

 

“Veronica was,” Betty said.

 

Martha grimaced. Things didn’t turn out too well for Veronica, with the Heathers. She banished the thought, and instead asked, “How is Heather McNamara?”

 

“Good, I think. Last I heard she was a hand model.”

 

Martha snorted. “A hand model? What is that?”

 

“A model, like for photo shoots and commercials, but only for hands. Her father sells engagement rings, remember? I think that’s how she got started in it. She wears gloves all the time now, for protection.”

 

“That… That suits her.”

 

Betty grinned.

 

“How about the other one,” Martha asked. “Heather Duke? How is she doing?”

 

Pursing her lips, Betty shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. I don’t even remember what college she ended up going to.”

 

“She’s probably the head of a sorority by now.” Strange, how important Heather Duke was to them in high school, only to be so insignificant now.

 

They drifted back into silence, until Betty’s whisper jarred Martha from her thoughts.

 

“What do you think we’ll find when we get there, Martha? I can’t stop thinking about it.”

 

There – Betty and Veronica’s dorm room, where J.D. had gotten rid of Betty, to do god-knows-what with Veronica alone. Anything could be waiting for them behind that door.

 

“I don’t know,” Martha answered honestly. “But whatever happened – whatever J.D. did – I know that Veronica is still alive. She survived his madness before, and I have no doubt she can do it again. We’ll find her in time.”

 

Betty still looked doubtful. “J.D. and Veronica always had such a strange relationship. Their connection was intimate and intense, right from the beginning; it was almost preternatural, how close they were. Even after J.D. died, sometimes I would catch Veronica looking over her shoulder, or towards the bedroom window, as if expecting him to be there.”

 

“I know,” Martha said, because what else could she say? She reached across the center consul of the car, and grasped Betty’s hand. “We’ll find her, Betty. J.D. won’t take her from us. And we’ll make sure that J.D. doesn’t hurt her or anyone else ever again.”

 

 

Dear Diary,

 

It’s Wednesday. I woke up this morning – or rather, this late afternoon – alone in J.D.’s bed. The other side was unmade, so I know he slept there. That doesn’t bother me as much as it should.

 

I’d question my morals more, but my head hurts too much to engage in any quality deep thinking. J.D. left a bottle of Tylenol for me on the bedside, along with a cryptic note that said, “Make yourself comfortable. My house is your house. I’ll be back soon.”

Is it just me, or does the last line sound like a threat? How soon is ‘soon’? And where is he, exactly?

 

Unfortunately, I can’t leave, since the front door is somehow locked from the outside. Not that I’m feeling up to making my great escape, anyway. My head hurts too much for that kind of excitement.

 

I have been able to walk around the rest of the apartment, since J.D. left the cuffs off and the bedroom door open. I’ve entertained myself thus far by snooping. Noteworthy items include: one safe hidden in the back of the closet (locked, naturally), several sharp kitchen knives, one baseball bat under J.D.’s side of the bed, one photo of J.D.’s mother in dresser drawer, one copy of Catch-22, and one bottle of bubble soap (J.D.’s guilty pleasure?) beneath the bathroom sink. Honestly, J.D. doesn’t have much. Guns and bombs are noticeably missing.

I know I should be obsessing over the absurd sex deal we made last night, but honestly, at the moment, I can’t bring myself to care. Even with the pain medication, my head still feels trashed, like the inside of Ram Sweeney’s house after one of his epic parties. I’ll write and worry more later. Right now, I think it’s time to raid the bottle of bubble soap, and take a bath while I don’t have to worry about J.D. in the other room. I look forward to using a bathroom I don’t have to share with twenty other girls.

 

I shall return,

 

Veronica.

 

 

 

To J.D., there was nothing quite like the feeling of his motorcycle purring between his thighs. It was a sensation of pure freedom and bliss, conquered only by the feeling of Veronica purring in that same general location. Yet unlike Veronica, J.D.’s bike was always there for him to ride, thus proving to be the most dependable presence in his life. If J.D. felt love at all, it would be for his bike.

 

But I’m not risking my life with a crime lord tonight to save my relationship with my bike, now am I? J.D. thought as he pulled into the parking lot of Vice’s apartment building, and killed the motor. It was time to tell Vice that he had to find another hit man.

 

J.D. had to fight to cover his grimace as he stood, and stared up the face of the ramshackle building where Vice lived. It looked like a prison taken over by inmates. Graffiti covered every inch of the once gray walls, and most of the windows sported a set of crooked bars. Vice lived in the penthouse, and he did not need bars on his widows – no one was going to risk stealing from him.

 

Actually, Vice owned all of the units in the apartment complex, since all of the renters were in his debt, somehow. Vice had offered J.D. an apartment here too, when J.D. started working for him. Thankfully, J.D. had declined, opting to live closer to Veronica instead, even if the rent was more expensive. His choice then would make severing ties with Vice now far easier, but it still would not be easy as pie.

 

Pie… Maybe I should have brought some pie, to celebrate my retirement. Or cake. Vice didn’t seem like he had a sweet tooth.

 

One of Vice’s goons met J.D. at the back door. He was a burly man, dressed in a leather jacket and sunglasses, and identical to the three other goons guarding Vice’s person nearly 24/7. These men were not skilled fighters. Really, they were cheeseburger and heroine addicts, sporting fat that only looked like muscle. They were intimidating, sure, but they did not scare J.D.

 

“Greetings and salutations,” J.D. said, smiling as he walked up to where the goon stood. “Is Vice in?” His smile did not falter, even when the goon put his hand on J.D.’s shoulder.

 

“He’s busy. Poker night tonight.”

 

If you get grease on my jacket… J.D. forced away the thought as he chuckled, simultaneously dislodging the oaf’s grip.

“Ah, then it is especially important that I see him,” J.D. said. Vice made most of his enemies on poker nights. He would want to know that J.D. would no longer be available to collect his debts. “Now, why don’t you let Vice know I’m here?”

 

 

Fifteen minutes later, after much back-and-forth arguing between the goons, J.D. was taken upstairs, into Vice’s inner sanctum.

 

His home was surprisingly lovely. J.D. could never quite reconcile the outside of the building or the sight of the addicts he passed shooting up on the stairwell with the picture of luxury in the penthouse. It was like seeing a flee-bitten mutt wearing the Queen of England’s crown.

J.D. ignored the flat screen TVs and the marble floors as two goons led him through the house, and into Vice’s poker room, where Vice sat with a group of victims. J.D. stepped lightly over the rich, Persian carpet as he entered, and moved to lean against the bar on the side of the room. A woman with a waist the size of J.D.’s fist offered him a drink, which he declined. She nodded, and they both went back to watching the game.

 

A low light hung over the green velvet table, illuminating the inscrutable faces of the players as they shuffled their chips and sneaked glances at their cards. The dealer spoke to them in a soft, soothing voice that could lull a man to sleep. J.D. suspected that the dealer had been hired for his voice: Vice wanted the other players relaxed and off their guard before he went for the kill.

 

Vice always won his games. Even when he lost it was on purpose, and thus, counted as a win.

 

There were two things that were strange about tonight’s game, J.D. realized as he looked on. Well, three, including J.D.’s interruption. First, was that not all of the players were male. A woman with long brown hair, and an elegant green cocktail dress, sat like an emerald in the middle of the ring of rough looking men. Second, was that Vice appeared to be losing, and not on purpose. J.D. could see the tension coiling in the man’s back as Vice looked between his losing hand, and the woman sitting across from him.

 

Laughing, the woman raised her face, and displayed her cards. “Four of a kind. Gentlemen, I believe that makes me the winner of tonight’s game.”

 

But J.D. couldn’t look at her cards, or at the cards of any of the other players as the men around her cursed. He could only look at her face. A face he recognized.

 

It was the face of Heather Duke.

 

Glancing up, Heather Duke met J.D.’s eyes over Vice’s shoulder.

 

She screamed.

 

The room fell silent as Heather shot to her feet, all except for the muffled crash of the chair as it toppled back behind her. Her cheeks were white, and her fingers shook as she pointed a finger at J.D.

 

“You… You’re supposed to be dead.”

 

J.D. tried to smile, but all he accomplished was a scowl. “Greetings and salutations, Miss Duke.”

 

“How are you not dead?” She demanded, stalking towards him. “What are you, the antichrist?”

 

“Ah,” Vice chuckled, as he too rose from his seat to join them. “So you’ve heard of J.D.’s work?” Vice waved his hand, dismissing the other players without ceremony. They exchanged disgruntled looks, but silently moved to exchange money with the waitress at the bar before filtering out of the room.

 

“All too well,” Heather Duke scoffed. “He tried to kill my entire high school. What does he do for you?”

 

“Similar work, but on my level.” There was a cold glimmer in Vice’s eyes as he spoke to Heather Duke, and J.D. knew: Vice wanted blood. Heather was meant to be his next hit.

 

Oh, how awkward.

 

Sensing the threat, Heather took a step back from Vice. “I think I’ll just collect my money and go.”

 

Leering, Vice loosened his tie, and shook his head at the woman behind the bar counter. “At least stay for one more drink, to celebrate your winnings. I won’t take no for an answer.”

 

Heather Duke must have really cleaned out, because Vice had no intention of letting her leave with that money. Heather Duke could only nod meekly, and take the martini as the woman handed it to her from behind the bar.

 

“Actually,” J.D. interrupted, trying not to cringe as he pulled the glass swiftly away from Heather Duke’s lips, and set it back on the counter. It was probably drugged, since the waitress now set out two whiskeys for J.D. and Vice. “That’s what I came up here to talk to you about, Vice. Would you like to, ah, move this conversation someplace more private?”

 

“No.” Vice’s knuckles were white as he picked up the whiskeys, and handed one to J.D. “What do you have to say, J.D.?”

 

Fuck it.

 

J.D. raised his glass in a toast. “I’ve decided to retire. Immediately. I’m sorry for the short notice, but something has come up-”

 

“You mean your boner? Fuck J.D., I knew your dick was soft. Letting that girl go-”

 

“That statement is full of contradictions. I’m going to stop you before you say anything else that makes you look stupid.” J.D. held Vince’s eyes over the rim of his glass as he took a daring sip. “Really, I thought you’d be happy for me. Let’s not forget the conversation we had yesterday.”

 

“You’re dropping me for some cunt.”

 

“Okay, that was stupid.” Glass cracked as J.D. slammed his whiskey down on the bar, making the waitress behind the bar shriek. J.D. rolled his eyes. “Clearly, you need a reminder: I told you yesterday not to fuck with my people, or else you’ll be next. Calling my girl a cunt after I found you trying to rape her counts as fuckery in my book, Vice.”

 

“Veronica?” Heather Duke whispered, proving that the room had even more stupid to offer. “Veronica Sawyer? Oh my god, Veronica knows you’re here?” She whipped her head from J.D. to Vice. “You tried to rape Veronica? I’ll kill you for that one, Vice. Veronica is off limits.”

 

J.D. blinked at Heather, surprised by her display of protectiveness over Veronica. He hadn’t thought that they were that close.

 

“So, that’s her name? Veronica Sawyer.” Vice sneered, rolling the name over his tongue like a mouthful of fine wine before spitting out in the French style of winetasting.

 

It took all of J.D.’s willpower not to snap Vice’s neck then and there: he had a promise to keep.

 

J.D. chuckled to cover the sound of his knuckles popping at his sides. “Not everyone knows how to treat a woman, Vice. I won’t kill you for your ignorance this time, but I will charge you a small fee. This is what’s going to happen: You’re going to give Miss Duke here all of the money she earned tonight. Then, you’re going to let us leave. I’m going to take Miss Duke home, and you will never see our faces or hear our names again. It’ll be like we never met. You don’t have to worry about me talking about the work we’ve done together. I don’t want to get caught any more than you do. And Heather Duke is a smart girl.”

 

J.D. grabbed Heather’s arm, prompting her to nod, and add, “I’ll be silent as the grave.”

 

“Wonderful choice of words.” Releasing his grip, J.D. pushed Heather towards the waitress. She stumbled, but caught herself, and walked with steady feet to collect her money. Then, J.D. turned back to Vice. “I’m sorry it has to end like this. I was really hoping that we could part as friends, always able to look back on those fond memories…”

 

Much to J.D.’s dismay, Vice tipped his head back, and laughed. “You dumb fuck. Do you really think we’re square now? Do you think you can walk into my house and steal from me again?”

 

“Again? I don’t know what you think you own-”

 

Vice ticked off his fingers, counting. “The winnings from tonight’s game, Miss Heather Duke over there, and sweet, sweet Veronica Sawyer. All three should have been mine. I’ll be coming to collect, J.D.”

 

Veronica.

 

Hearing Veronica’s name on his lips, J.D. lost all semblance of composure. He reached for the gun in his coat, and aimed it at Vice’s heart.

 

“Let’s get some things straight,” J.D. snarled, ignoring the waitress’ screaming for the goons, and Heather Duke’s nervous presence at his back. “You only think that money belongs to you because you’re a goddamn sore loser. You lost the right to that money the moment you placed your bet. Do you understand now why I don’t gamble?”

 

Cocking his head, J.D. took a step forward, forcing Vice to fall a step back. The crime lord’s movements were stiff, as if his fancy tuxedo didn’t quite fit. J.D. pressed towards Vice until he stood with his back pressed against the bar.

 

That’s better. Not so entitled now, are you?

 

“She,” J.D. said, grabbing Heather Duke’s wrist and pulling her with him as he circled towards the twin doors. “Has belonged to me ever since I spared her life in high school. As a gesture of kindness, I might have let you have her, if you hadn’t threatened Veronica.” His voice dropped to a deadly whisper. “Veronica is mine, Vice. Not yours. Her soul doesn’t even belong to God. It belongs to me.”

 

Behind him, J.D. felt Heather Duke.

 

“We’ll see,” was all Vice said. “How are you going to stop me from taking her, if you’re done killing?”

 

J.D. gritted his teeth. “I’m creative. What you’ll suffer is far worse than death, if you threaten Veronica again.”

 

At that moment, four guards barged into the room. J.D. silenced them with a meaningful waggle of his gun towards Vice. They all fell back, except for one, who offered to hold one of the doors open for J.D. and Heather.

 

“Much obliged, gentlemen,” J.D. said. “I’d love to stay and chat, but I really need motor. Hot date, and all of that. Everyone move to the back corner, now, or Vice gets a bullet for a midnight snack.”

 

The goons did as they were told. Once they were frozen in the far corner of the room, J.D. and Heather backed out of the poker room, and into the hall. The minute both doors were shut, J.D. grabbed a nearby fire poker, and stuck it between the twin handles, barring the men inside.

 

Then, he and Heather turned, and ran. The sound of the door rattling behind them chased at their heels as they flew from the apartment, and down the stairs.

 

“I don’t know if you brought a car, but leave it here,” J.D. barked. “A consolation prize might help soothe Vice’s ego.” Though I doubt it will keep him from coming after us. Shit.

 

Heather, who was surprisingly agile running in heels, looked at J.D. in utter shock “It’s a Porsche.”

 

“Is it worth more than the money you earned tonight? How about your life? Because I’ll tell you now, we’ll disappear faster on my bike than we will on your Porsche.”

 

Heather Duke said nothing, but J.D. could see the answers written across her face: no and no.

 

Damn, she must be really good at poker.

 

They burst out into the parking lot. Thankfully, there weren’t any goons waiting for them here. The idiots must have all rushed upstairs when the waitress sounded the alarm.

 

“Get on,” J.D. said as he swung his legs over the seat of his bike.

 

Heather did made a disgusted noise, but still dutifully hitched up her skirt, and locked her arms around J.D.’s waist.

 

Don’t think I’m any more pleased about this then you are, J.D. thought as he brought his bike roaring to life.

Immediately, J.D. ripped out of the parking lot and onto the street. He drove like the maniac he was, splitting lanes, zipping around cars, and even running a red light or two, all in the effort of losing any goons on their trail. But each time J.D. checked over his shoulder, no one was there.

 

“Where are we going?” Heather Duke eventually screeched over the wind. “I live back that way!”

 

“My place. It’s safe.” At least, as safe as any place could be, now that Vice was out for blood. “Veronica is there.”

 

Heather Duke stiffened, but didn’t ask any more questions as they raced through the night.

 

 

 

Without stopping, Martha and Betty made it to the Stanford dormitories shortly before midnight. As they parked, Betty pointed out the window of their room.

 

“The light is off,” she said.

 

Martha tried to give Betty a reassuring smile, even though her heart was racing with adrenaline, keeping her alert. “It’s nearly midnight. That’s not so unusual. Veronica could be sleeping.”

 

Betty, however, did not look so sure.

 

They didn’t speak as Betty led them up the stairs, and stopped in front of the door. Martha paused to listen, but there were no noises on the other side of the door.

 

First, Betty tried knocking. When there was no response, she reached for her keys. Betty’s fingers tremble as she slipped the key into the lock. Placing a hand on her wrist, Martha stopped Betty before she could open the door.”

 

“Let me go in first,” Martha said. “Stay here in the hallway until I see that the room is safe. If you hear a struggle, don’t come in. Run for help instead.”

 

Looking relieved, Betty nodded, and stepped away from the door. “Thank you,” she said.

Nodding, Martha set her duffle on the ground, as she reached for the door handle with one hand, and placed her other hand on the hilt of her gun. Then, holding her breath, she threw open the door, and flipped on the lights.

 

Nothing.

 

The room was empty.

 

Exhaling, Martha slipped her gun back into the holster, and waved Betty inside the room.

 

“Veronica?” Betty called, peeking in.

 

Martha only shook her head. “She’s not here.”

 

A pang shot through Martha’s chest as she watched Betty’s eyes shimmer with dashed hope as the door behind her fell shut.

Tearing her gaze away, Martha now looked around the room, and voiced her observations to Betty. “The bed is made, and the window is shut, which makes me think that Veronica was not forced out of there. There’s no sign of a struggle.” Martha stuck her duffle bag in the empty space beneath Veronica’s bed.

 

When Martha glanced behind her again, she found Betty standing frozen, staring at a spot on the edge of Veronica’s desk.

 

“That wasn’t here before. That carving.” Betty’s voice broke on the last word, and she began to cry.

 

Martha approached Veronica’s desk, her gut twisting inside of her. The crude graffiti seemed to leer up at her from the wooden face of the table: J.D. + V = 4 EVER

 

“Veronica w-wouldn’t do that. I don’t even think she has a knife.”

 

“Breathe, Betty,” Martha said gently, wanting to console her friend, but needing to stay focused on the desk. “There would be signs of violence in the room if Veronica had been taken against her will, remember? Tell me, how many people has Veronica told about J.D.?”

 

“None,” Betty moaned, burying her face in her hands. “It has to be him.”

 

Martha had to agree.

 

She stooped, peering closer at the wood. The carvings appeared fresh, as far as Martha could tell. There were still small flecks of wood and sawdust caught in the grooves of the letters, which would have been brushed away, had the desk been used or cleaned since the time of the carving.

 

Squinting, Martha then noticed a strange stain covering almost half of the wooden surface. The faint, crusty smears and streaks spoke of an opaque fluid that had been rubbed across the desk before drying into a subtle film. It didn’t appear to be water, or condensation.

 

Martha leaned closer. “What is this… oh.”

 

Martha choked, abruptly lurching back away from the wood as her nostrils filled with the singular scent.

 

“What?” Betty pressed, scrambling over towards her. “What is it?”

 

It took Martha a moment to find her words. She grabbed Betty by the arm before she could get too close to the desk’s surface.

 

“Betty,” Martha asked, still wheezing. “Were J.D. and Veronica sexually active?”

 

Confused, Betty wrinkled her nose. “Very.”

 

Ah. That would explain it.

 

Betty went on. “They’d hardly known each other for a day before they played a round of strip croquet, though I don’t think Veronica has been with anyone since. Why do you ask?”

 

Shaking herself to regain composure, Martha put on a pair of evidence gloves before taking a sample of the substance with a Q-tip, and placing it into a vial for evidence.

 

That was answer enough for Betty.

 

“Oh God.” She clapped a hand over her mouth, staring at the dried bodily fluids in shock before turning to Martha. “He raped her?”

 

But Martha shook her head. “I don’t think so. Why do it balanced on the edge of the desk? I have to imagine that if Veronica had been drugged or struggling when this happened, J.D. would have taken her on either the bed or the floor. Knowing J.D. and Veronica’s history of reckless sexual attraction, it seems possible to me that this was consensual. Still, we can’t know for sure until we find Veronica.”

 

Betty turned away from the desk, trying to cover more tears.

 

Martha let Betty have a moment to cry as she moved from the desk to the trashcan, pawing through the small pail.

 

Inside, she found two slushie cups, the inside of one stained red, and the one beneath it stained blue. Next to them, she found a small sticky note, signed, With love.

 

“Are these from J.D.?” Martha whispered. Maybe the sex wasn’t consensual. Maybe one or both of these drinks were drugged.

 

Sniffling, Betty came over to look. “Not both of them. Veronica bought the blue one around 6:00 AM Monday morning from the 7-Eleven. She made friends with the cute guy working the register. His name was Dick, and he invited her to go to a newspaper club meeting Monday night. That’s where she was when I left. As for the red one, I really don’t know.”

 

“That one probably came with the note,” Martha said. “I’ll find Dick tomorrow morning and see what he knows. Maybe he sold the second slushie.”

 

After putting the cups and the note each into evidence bags, Martha resolved to sleep. Even though she didn’t want to stop looking for Veronica, it was already midnight, and she knew that she couldn’t do anything if she couldn’t think straight. Setting an alarm for 5:30 AM, Martha curled into Veronica’s bed, and fell into a fitful sleep to the sound of Betty’s muffled tears across the room.

 

 

Veronica wasn’t sure what she expected when J.D. returned. Part of her expected him to bring roses, celebrating his last days as a hit man, if he’d successfully finished making his arrangements today. Another part of her expected J.D. to walk in with a chainsaw, saying sorry, but he’d rather sever her limbs than sever his business relationship with Vice. She definitely had not expected him to walk return with Heather Duke.

 

“Heather Duke?” Veronica asked, her vision foggy and her voice strangely slurred as she stared up at her old friend. “Are you dead?” Normally Heather Chandler was the one paying Veronica such unexpected visits.

 

“Not tonight, thanks to J.D.” Heather avoided eye contact with Veronica as she smoothed down the beaded fabric of a gorgeous green cocktail dress.

 

Veronica actually giggled. Okay, now I know I’m dreaming.

 

But moments later, the drowsiness clouding Veronica’s vision faded, and the room around her came into focus: the bathroom, to be precise. Veronica was still in the bathtub, immersed to her chin in cold, scummy water, her skin transformed into the texture of a prune. All of the lovely bubbles that had surrounded her when she closed her eyes hours ago were now popped and gray.

 

Crap, I fell asleep!

 

Unfortunately, Heather wasn’t the only one to see Veronica in such a compromising position. J.D. stood beside Heather, his arms crossed, his cheeks drawn and pale, and his eyes black with fury.

 

That’s it. He’s going to kill me.

 

“Um,” Veronica rasped, her mouth dry, perhaps from snoring. “Can I have a minute?”

 

J.D. turned to Heather. “Can we have a minute? Make yourself comfortable in the living room.”

 

Heather Duke rolled her eyes, and left, shutting the bathroom door behind her.

 

Sitting up, Veronica glared at J.D. “That wasn’t what I meant.”

 

“Well, excuse me if I don’t exactly trust you alone right now, or ever again.” J.D. tossed her a towel, his lip curled as she rose to her feet. “How long were you in there?”

 

Veronica shivered, burying herself in the fluffy white fabric, wanting to hide from his accusatory gaze. “What time is it now?”

 

“A little after midnight.”

 

Damn. “Twelve hours?”

 

A literal snarl tore from J.D.’s throat. His fingers clamped around her arm, steadying her as she stepped out of the tub. “Were you trying to kill yourself?”

 

She ripped out of his grasp the moment she found her footing. “Don’t flatter yourself, you haven’t pushed me there yet. I didn’t expect to fall asleep, that’s all.”

 

J.D. shook his head, turning away slightly as she dried off. “No more baths until your concussion heals, got it?”

 

“Got it. Showers only.” Maybe J.D. was a possessive son of a bitch, but he had a point. She didn’t want to die. Veronica survived him. Falling asleep in the bathtub, at this point, would be a stupid way to go.

 

He snuck a dubious glance her way, as if expecting an argument. When he got none, he grunted, and slipped out of the room.

 

Sighing, Veronica drained the murky water out of the tub, and took a quick rinse in the shower to cleanse the grime from her skin. When she was done, she dressed quickly in a t-shirt and a pair of sweats, and slipped out into J.D.’s living room.

 

Heather was already dressed in one of Veronica’s expensive silk nighties, grimacing as she made a bed out of blankets and pillows on the couch.

 

“Hey, Heather,” Veronica said, giving an awkward little wave as she approached. “Sorry you had to see that.”

 

Next thing Veronica knew, she was smothered in Heather’s arms.

 

“I missed you so much,” Heather gasped, burying her face in Veronica’s shoulder. Veronica’s eyes widened as she felt actual tears falling on her neck. She patted the other girl’s back, and Heather shook with another sob.

 

“Everything has been awful since high school. Daddy was arrested for fraud, and so now we’ve got no money, and to make matters worse, I was kicked out of my sorority for hazing, of all things. Not that I could have stayed in college-”

 

“Heather! I missed you too, but I can’t breathe.”

 

“Oh! Sorry. You don’t need to hear my entire sob story.” Blushing, Heather took as step back, and smiled, eyes shimmering. “It’s just been a long time since I’ve seen a familiar, friendly face.”

 

After taking several deep breaths, Heather wiped her eyes, and, for the first time, really looked at Veronica.

 

“Are you sick or something, Veronica?” She whispered. “You look…”

 

“Like hell?” Veronica snorted. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve heard that.” Clearly, J.D. isn’t a good look for me.

J.D. spoke up from the side of the room. “She’s slightly concussed, Heather, so handle with care.”

 

Irritated, Veronica glared over towards the barstool where J.D. sat. “Do you want to tell her why I have a concussion, J.D.?”

 

J.D arched a brow, and opened his mouth to reply, but Heather cut him off. “Oh, I know about what Vice tried to do to you. J.D. was very White Knight defending your honor today.”

 

“That’s where you were today? With Vice? Was there a fight?” Veronica felt dizzy.

 

J.D. straightened in his chair, smirking. “Careful Veronica, you actually sound worried about me.”

 

“Yeah, I am,” Veronica whispered, lowering herself onto the edge of the coffee table before she could fall. “With you out of the way, Vice would have unlimited access to me.”

 

She must have hit on something, because J.D.’s expression went stony at her words, and Heather Duke cringed. That cannot be good.

 

Heather Duke moved to perch on the couch across from her. “Veronica…” she began.

 

But Veronica turned to J.D. instead, and held his gaze. “Did you kill Vice?”

 

“Unfortunately, no.”

 

“Okay, good,” I think. At least it’s something. Conflicted, Veronica wrapped her arms around herself, gripping her elbows in an attempt to stop the trembling that threatened to consume her body. “But he’s coming after me now, isn’t he?”

 

“I told him not to,” J.D. said, his voice cold.

 

“Did you say pretty please?” Veronica muttered.

 

“Yes, with a cherry on top.”

 

She shuddered, and huffed, “You know what? Let’s make people trying to kill us the exception to our deal. If Vice or anyone else comes at us with lethal intent, you can kill them in self defense.”

 

J.D. grinned. “Thank you. That will make my life much easier.”

 

“Um, what exactly is your deal?” Heather Duke asked. “And can I be included in the self defense clause?”

 

Veronica’s face erupted in heat. Across the room, J.D. chuckled.

 

“Veronica and I made a pact,” he said, cocking his head to the side. “I have agreed to reform my wicked ways, in exchange for certain benefits from her.”

 

“Ew.” Heather Duke gagged, and shot Veronica a disapproving look.

 

J.D. wrinkled his nose. “Calm down. I’ll kill Vice if he comes after you, too. No benefits required.”

 

“Wait, Heather,” Veronica interrupted, looking from J.D. to her friend. “Why is Vice after you?”

“My daddy had financial ties to Vice. Really, we were in his debt. But when Vice invited me to a poker game, intending to collect those debts, I decided to use it as an opportunity to win back some of the money that we’d lost. I have an excellent poker face.” Veronica listened in equal parts fascination and horror as Heather went on to explain J.D.’s involvement in the game, describing the way he taunted and threatened Vice.

 

J.D. is either brave as hell or completely psychotic. Probably the latter.

 

When Heather finished, Veronica looked once again to J.D., and asked, “How are we safe here? Vice tracked you to my school. He knows where I live. What if he goes after Betty?”

 

“He’ll be going after you, Veronica,” J.D. said, rolling his eyes. “Not Betty.”

 

How comforting. Veronica gritted her teeth. “What if he finds Betty while he’s looking for me?”

 

Face flushed now, J.D. rose from his seat, and stalked until he stood directly in front of Veronica, so close that she could see the sweat gathering on his dark brow.

 

“Betty is the daughter of a police chief. I’m sure she knows to keep her doors locked. What you need to understand is that no one is getting between me and you.”

 

“Okay,” Veronica said quickly, leaning back and away from J.D.’s face. “Got it. Understood.”

 

J.D. rolled his eyes, and hoisted Veronica to her feet. “Good. Now, I’ve had a long day, and I’m sure Heather has too, so it’s time for bed. You two can catch up in the morning.”

 

“Where are you going, J.D.?” Heather asked, her eyes wide on their backs as J.D. propelled Veronica into his room. “Shouldn’t you take the couch, so that you’re close to the door if there’s a break in?”

 

Yeah, shouldn’t you? Veronica thought as she struggled.

 

“No,” J.D. growled. “Your screams will wake me up. Think of it as an alarm system.”

 

Veronica could still hear Heather protesting in the other room as J.D. slammed the door, and shoved Veronica towards the bed.

 

She stumbled, and whirled. “I’ve been asleep all day.”

 

“Tough.” He began ripping off his clothes. “Get in bed before I make you get in. I can’t sleep if I know you’ll be moving all around, and I really, really need my beauty rest tonight.”

 

Seeing his desperation, and the gun in his hand, Veronica conceded, and crawled in between the covers.

 

“Happy?” She mumbled in defeat, peeking up over the sheets to glare at him as he yanked on a pair of flannel pants. She glanced at the ceiling as he turned, apparently not planning to wear a shirt over his indecently muscular chest. “I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish with beauty rest. Psychopaths can’t be pretty.”

 

J.D. chuckled as he shut of the lights and slid in beside her. “My mistake. It’s less ‘beauty rest’, and more ‘let J.D. sleep before he kills someone’.”

 

“I see.” Veronica stared vacantly up at the darkness until finally, she asked the question that had been plaguing her mind. “Did you kill anyone tonight?”

 

The bed shifted as J.D. rolled to face her. “No,” he murmured. “That was the whole point of the trip. I’m serious about what I’m doing this time, Veronica. I’m going to try to stop.” His voice broke as he spoke, splintering with emotion.

 

Heedless of sharp edges, Veronica reached for him, sliding her hand up the smooth surface of his cheek. Her fingers tangled in his thick, healthy hair. Breathing hard, Veronica pulled J.D.’s face towards hers until their lips met in the dark.

 

And then, strangely, it wasn’t dark anymore. The shadows in the room vanished beneath the light show they created. Each brush of their skin released sparks into the air, filling the room with the crackle of electricity and heat.

When J.D. pulled away, he blinked at her, stunned. “Why did you do that?”

 

“To thank you,” Veronica said, shivering as she drew her hands back to herself. “So… Thanks.”

 

She caught a flash of teeth as J.D. grinned. “My pleasure.”

 

Breathing hard, Veronica closed her eyes, and curled tighter in on herself between the covers to keep from reaching for J.D. again. He was like a magnet to her – an opposing force, but a damn strong one, trying to suck her in. If J.D. had tried to reach for her, she would have been doomed. But he didn’t. Veronica listened as J.D.’s breaths lengthened, and the strangely peaceful sound eventually lulled her to sleep.

Chapter 9

Notes:

Hello all!
Thanks for being patient with this one, sorry it took a little longer than usual. I still don't own Heathers. Same warnings as usual apply.

Going to 7-Eleven at six in the morning was certainly a new experience for Martha. She made straight for the coffee, hoping that it would wake her up before she interviewed the boy at the counter, Dick. After waiting in the small line, Martha poured herself a large cup of the black, silky liquid. The first sip brought a sigh to her lips.

 

Martha wandered the aisles with her coffee in-hand, giving the caffeine a chance to kick in while she waited for the other customers to leave, allowing her to talk to Dick privately. As she watched him work, Martha could not help but notice the resemblance between him and J.D. The boys each had similar coloring, with their pale skin, brown hair, and blue eyes… Although, J.D.’s eyes held a hint of green, while Dick’s eyes were strictly blue. In terms of figure, both J.D. and Dick appeared fit, though they were lean, rather than bulky. Beyond physicality, Dick and J.D. held themselves the same way, carrying with them an air of confidence, intelligence, and charm. Yes, J.D. had been charming… Charming like the devil. Dick’s charm, however, was more like the sweet charm of Prince Charming. He smiled at all of the customers, even the cranky ones. Martha – who was not a morning person – was impressed by his patience.

 

This is the kind of guy that Veronica needs, she thought warmly. Patient. Happy. Normal.

 

And yet, Veronica was with J.D.

 

Did you go with him willingly? Martha wondered for the umpteenth time, the image of the stains on the desk flashing through her mind. Are you letting him back into your head? Your heart? What are you thinking right now?

 

Where are you?

 

“Miss?” Dick asked, startling Martha from her thoughts. “Can I help you?”

Looking around, Martha realized that the store around her was empty, and that she had been standing vacantly in front of the cash register.

“Sorry, yes. Actually, I need more than the coffee. Dick, right? Do you mind if we talk?” She stuck out her hand as Dick nodded. “Excellent. I’m Detective Dunnstock, but you can call me Martha.”

 

His grip was firm. “What can I help you with?”

 

“I’m trying to find my friend, Veronica Sawyer. She’s gone missing; I’ve been told that she is your friend too.”

 

Dick’s fingertips suddenly went frigid in Martha’s grasp, confirming her statement. He dropped his hand like a dead weight.

 

“I knew it wasn’t mono,” he muttered at the ground, and looked up to meet her eyes. “It was him, wasn’t it? Her boyfriend?”

 

He knows. Mind reeling, Martha nodded. “We think so. His name is Jason Dean, goes by J.D. Have you seen him?” Martha reached into her jacket pocket, ready to show Dick a copy of J.D.’s high school yearbook photo, but Dick stopped her with a grunt.

 

“I know what he looks like. Yes, I’ve seen him. On Monday he came into the store and bought a cherry slushie around this same time… I saw him again later that night, in Veronica’s room.”

 

Martha felt her eyebrows shoot up her face, and Dick blushed profusely.

 

He started to babble. “I sort of flirted with Veronica when she came into the store Monday morning. She didn’t see J.D., but J.D. saw her, and when she left he came up and introduced himself to me as Veronica’s boyfriend. I think he was trying to tell me to back off. When Veronica came to the newspaper club meeting that evening, the encounter came up in conversation. It was super strange: she thought that J.D. had been dead until just then. She literally ran out. I was really worried about her – it was dark, and she was clearly upset, and I didn’t know who this J.D. person was – so I followed her back to her dorm. Of course I couldn’t get in the building, but I was still worried about her, so I walked around the side and peeked into the window. That’s when I saw them together.” He broke off, his cheeks cherry red now.

 

Dick was clearly embarrassed of his actions, but Martha couldn’t hold back her excitement. Dick’s insight into what had happened that night was nothing short of a miracle.

 

“Define together,” she pressed.

 

“Engaging in sexual intercourse.” He made an unintelligible exclamation of disgust before beginning to pace behind the counter. “Do you want me to get more specific? He pushed her against the wall, and they talked for a little bit – not enough – before making out and ripping off each other’s clothes. There was a bit of fondling before he grabbed her and sat her on the desk. I really with I could forget what I saw. Christ, the noises they were making-”

 

“Dick,” Martha said sharply, regaining his attention. His eyes snapped back to hers, and she huffed. “Focus. Just, tell me this: Did it look like sexual assault?”

 

“No!” Dick ran a hand through his hair. “I mean, it looked pretty rough, but the roughness was mutual, I think. She looked and sounded like she was consenting. J.D. stayed in bed until she fell asleep that night. And she defended him the next morning, so I’m pretty sure-”

 

“Wait,” Martha interrupted, struggling to keep up. J.D. showed himself to Veronica. They had sex. They cuddled. And then he just left without her? That pushes back the timeline. She pinched her nose, rubbing out a headache before it could manifest. “You saw Veronica the next morning? On Tuesday?”

 

Dick nodded. “Yeah, she was in class with me, but I don’t think she went to any of her other classes. There’s something more you should know about what I saw that night.” His cheeks were red, now, as were the tips of his ears, with both embarrassment and anger at the situation. “I stayed longer than I should have, long enough to see J.D. leave that night. I watched him climb out of her window, and walk to a motorcycle in the parking lot. There was a man waiting for him, a man with straight dark hair and lots of tattoos, including a teardrop beneath his eye. They talked, and it sounded like the man was hiring J.D. to kill someone.”

 

The news hit Martha like a blow. She gripped the counter to hold herself steady. “What makes you think that?”

 

Dick told her the man’s exact words, and then wrote down an address on the back of a receipt. “I told Veronica all of this, and she wanted to find out if what we thought had happened was true – if J.D. really was hired to perform a hit.”

 

She wanted to know if J.D. was really killing people again, Martha added in her mind.

 

Dick went on. “That Tuesday after class, Veronica and I agreed to visit the address together at midnight, to see if anything had happened there. She left our conversation in a hurry. Before we could meet, I got this weird note from Veronica, saying that she had mono and she would be staying with a friend until she got better.”

 

A note.

 

“No,” Martha breathed, her heart racing. “Dick, do you still have that note?”

 

“I threw it out. It was fake though, wasn’t it?”

 

Martha nodded. “Veronica is skilled in forgery, and so is J.D. I think one of them wrote that note as a cover. Whoever did it, I think it’s safe to assume that Veronica never intended wait until midnight.”

 

“I had a feeling,” Dick murmured, and sighed.

 

“Thank you for your time, Dick.” Martha slapped a ten-dollar bill onto the counter, and started backing towards the door. “For the coffee. You can keep the change.” She turned, her pace quick. I need to find that address.

 

“Wait! Martha.” Vaulting over the counter, Dick ran until he stood between Martha and the door. “Please, let me go with you. I don’t think it’s safe for you to go on your own. There’s a bus stop right in front of Veronica’s dorm that I think goes by the address, I could take you there...”

 

“Thank you, but no,” Martha said, stiffening at the offer. “I can take care of myself.”

 

She tried to move past him, but Dick grabbed her by the arm.

 

“Please? I feel… Helpless. Responsible.” He hung his head, and dropped his hand. “I might be the last person who saw Veronica alive, right? I should have done more then. Please, let me do more now.”

 

“You did everything that you could, Dick. No friend could have done more.” Martha patted him on the shoulder, and offered him a smile. “Your help has been invaluable. It’s my job to do the rest from here.”

 

Dick swiped his wrist across his eyes, wiping away tears that Martha had not noticed. Then, he nodded. “Okay. I understand. Let me know if there is anything I can do here while you’re out looking for her.”

 

Martha bit her lip. “Actually, there is one thing. Do you know Veronica’s roommate, Betty Finn?”

 

“No, but I’ve seen her.”

 

“Find her, and stick with her today, if she’s comfortable with that. Keep her safe until I get back, and contact me if you hear anything from Veronica or J.D. And as a general rule, be weary of anything that looks like a letter or a note.”

 

Martha felt good as she left Dick at the 7-Eleven. She did not think that J.D. or Veronica would return to the dorm room today, but she did think that Betty and Dick would benefit from keeping each other company.

 

Hopefully, when Martha returned to tonight, she would have Veronica with her.

 

 

Martha made it to the bus stop with little trouble. She caught the driver on his break before beginning the route towards the city, napping quietly in his chair. He was an older man, with a round belly and big glasses. When Martha knocked on the door, flashed her badge through the window, and asked politely if she could ask him some questions, he nodded, and let her in. The doors opened with a hiss, and Martha took a seat near his.

 

She began by showing the bus driver two pictures, one of J.D., and another one of Veronica. “Have you seen either of these two people?”

 

The bus driver scratched at his silver head. “I don’t remember the boy, but I know I saw the girl on Tuesday. She got on at this stop, and stepped off right where that fire was. Looked upset. Terrible thing, what happened there…”

 

“Fire?” Martha blinked. “What fire?”

 

“An apartment building caught fire Monday night. It killed a man, and sent a family to the hospital. It seemed to be burning all the next day, oddly enough. Electrical, they think. I’m not surprised. The building never looked like it was up to code. Gaudy color, too.”

 

Martha bit the inside of her cheek, no doubt in her mind that building was the one she was looking for. J.D. must have been the one to set that fire, probably with some homemade explosive.

 

“Sir, do you know the name of the man who died in the fire?”

 

“Marcus White. Went by Mac. He rode my bus quite a bit; I don’t think he owned a car. He was a skinny kid, fair, kind of shifty, and not much of a talker. Too young to die, that’s for sure. He couldn’t have been much older than thirty. He wasn’t living to live long, if you know what I mean.”

 

Martha leaned forward in her seat. “I don’t.”

 

“I mean he was involved in drugs.” The bus driver tapped the inside of his elbow. “He had pretty nasty heroin scars, right here. Using, as well as selling. If I had to guess, I’d say he was selling for Vice – not the sin, the man. You might not know about Vice, since you don’t live here, but he’s the one behind most of trouble that happens locally. Crime lord, gang leader, criminal… whatever you want to call it. They just let him out of prison, not too long ago.”

 

“Did Vice ride your bus too?”

 

The bus driver chuckled. “No. Vice has enough money for a car.”

 

“Then what makes you think that Mac was selling for Vice?”

 

“I heard him talking about it. Bragging, really, about how he was taking product for himself, and essentially cheating Vice.” The driver sighed. “You know, now that I think about it, maybe I have seen the two of them together. I remember seeing a man waiting for Mac in the alley just on the other type of my stop. That guy looked kind of like Vice. I’ve seen his mug shot on the news. Like Vice, the guy I saw was between tall and average height, healthy looking, with black hair, dark eyes, and what I suppose you’d call medium skin tone, though I couldn’t point to any ethnicity specifically. Not that it matters. All you'll need to identify them are the tattoos. They both had a teardrop under one eye, and sleeves up each arm. As for the man in the alley, I don’t remember much other than a playing card on the top of his hand that looked like a king of clubs, and a snake wrapped around his elbow. If you can confirm that those were the tattoos that Vice has…”

 

“It could be a lead.” She nodded, sitting back in her chair near the front as other people started to climb aboard the bus. “Thank you so much for your help. I’m going to ride with you to where that fire was.” She handed the driver a card with her phone number on it. “Will you give me a call if you see either of the two people I showed you?”

 

“Sure thing. Good luck with your search.”

 

When the last of the passengers found their seats, the bus driver began his route towards the city. As he drove, Martha pulled out a small notebook from her jacket pocket, jotting down all of the information that she could remember from the two conversations she’d had today. Hopefully, she would find something at this building that would lead her to Veronica’s current location. If not, she would have to call the chief tonight, to see if he could contact authorities here to keep an eye out for J.D.’s bike. Then, they could track the bike to J.D.’s location.

 

And what about Vice? Could finding him lead to J.D. and Veronica? Or would pursuing him put J.D. and Veronica at risk, if Vice learned that he was being pursued because of them? As Martha contemplated this, she jotted down notes on Vice himself.

 

Vice. Real name?

 

Motive: hires Mac as drug (heroin?) dealer, then kills Mac for stealing money/drugs. Has he hired J.D. to kill others? If J.D. is working for Vice, how did they meet?

 

Tattoos: teardrop – killer. King of clubs tattoo on hand – gambling man? Snake on elbow – symbol representing sin (like his name) or Satan? Representative of cunning?

 

Martha snorted. She assumed one had to be cunning to be a crime lord. Maybe she should stop by the library to learn more about Vice. If this was in fact the man who’d hired J.D. to kill Marcus White, then she was onto something big. Finding J.D. could mean unearthing Vice’s crimes as well, which could get him off the streets for good. Jailing someone like that could make Martha’s career. But she had to find Veronica first.

 

“Oh my god, look at that cow in the front. She’s taking up two seats.”

 

Martha jerked her head up from her notebook, searching for the voice that had spoken. She caught the eye of two middle school aged boys sitting near the back. They both blinked at her, seeming surprised that Martha was a human being with a functioning sense of hearing. Martha thought about flashing her badge at the two little shits – or worse, her gun – just to make them crap their pants, but she didn’t. Even if they deserved the scare, it would hardly be appropriate. Martha simply held their gaze, and mouthed the word, “Moo.” Then, she turned back to her notebook, and continued her work.

 

Maybe they had seen her gun beneath her coat as she shifted in her seat, or maybe she’d successfully shamed them into humility. Either way, the two boys, practically ran off at the next stop, allowing Martha to ride the rest of the way in peace.

 

When Martha stepped off of the bus, the building across the street caught her eye almost immediately.

 

That must be it! Martha thought. The bus driver was right: the paint color was gaudy.

 

“What color even is that?” Martha muttered to herself as she crossed the street, walking towards the building’s offending walls. “Salmon? Coral? Peach?” Peach seemed most fitting, since like a peach, the apartment complex had an ugly, black bruise from the fire damage.

Martha pulled out her notebook, and made a quick observation:

 

J.D. – possibly pyromaniac.

 

She tucked the booklet back into her coat before pressing open the door to the apartment complex, and entering with the confidence of someone who lived there.

 

She was stopped by a firefighter two steps in.

 

He practically rolled his eyes at her. “Ma’am, you need to leave. This building is not structurally sound.”

 

Martha flashed her badge. “Then, why don’t we move this conversation outside? Or, better yet, pass me a hardhat, and point me towards the person in charge of the arson investigation.”

 

The man inflated visibly, puffing out his chest as blazed – ironically – like fire in his brown eyes. “That would be me.”

 

“Good,” Martha said coolly. “Outside? Trust me, you’ll want to hear what I have to say. It’ll save you time during your investigation.” With that, Martha pivoted, and walked out the door, knowing that the man would follow her out onto the street.

 

He did.

 

Pressing her lips into a thin smile, Martha lifted her hand for a shake. “Thank you. My name is Detective Dunnstock.”

 

Slipping off his gloves, man grunted, and took her hand in his. “Detective Foster. What makes you think this is arson?”

 

Good guess. She pulled out the photograph of J.D. “I’m trying to find this man. His name is J.D., or Jason Dean. He’s been known to make bombs in the past, including one that authorities believed that he had died in. He tried to kill an entire school.” My school. Martha didn’t add this. “When that didn’t work, he resorted to faking his own death. Long story short, we know that Jason Dean is skilled in pyrotechnics, so to speak, as well as crafting a story with a crime scene. I’ve spoken to two witnesses, and those conversations have led me to believe that Vice hired J.D. to kill Marcus White, the resident who died in the fire.”

Foster let out a long, low whistle as he studied a the photograph of J.D. “That is quite the story, Ms. Dunnstock.”

 

She plucked the photo from his fingers, and tucked it back into her jacket. “Detective Dunnstock.”

 

“Detective,” Foster corrected, his lips twitching just the tiniest fraction.

 

That was when Martha realized, much to her annoyance, that Foster was incredibly handsome. Indeed, he looked like a caricature of a stripper firefighter. He had a chiseled jawline coated in rugged brown stubble, a crooked smile full of straight, white teeth, strong cheekbones, an elegant nose, and dimples. Not to mention the broad expanse of muscles that covered his entire person. For his position, Foster was surprisingly young – not so much older than Martha herself.

 

He’s probably never been called a cow a day in his life. Martha had to work to keep from curling her lip, even as she felt a blush of attraction rising to her cheeks.

 

“Your badge said you’re from Ohio, right?” Foster squinted at her. “What are you doing here?”

 

“J.D. is from Ohio. I came here to look for him, and for her.” Martha pulled out the photo of Veronica, and passed it to Foster. “She’s the reason why I needed to speak with you so urgently: Veronica Sawyer, J.D.’s girlfriend in high school. She’s missing. I believe that he took her.”

 

Foster’s eyes tightened. “How long has she been missing?”

 

“Since Tuesday late afternoon. She was last seen getting off the bus over there.” Martha pointed across the street. A thick glob of emotion clawed up Martha’s throat as she stared at the empty, dark alley behind the bus stop. Is that where J.D. grabbed her? Martha made a mental note to scour that alley before she left.

 

“Was Veronica a friend of yours?” Foster asked.

 

Turning, Martha flinched beneath his probing, sympathetic gaze, and cleared her throat. “Yes. My best friend.” She saved my life.

 

Their fingers brushed as Foster handed Martha back the photo, sending shivers radiating up Martha’s entire arm, even as tears prickled behind her eyes.

“I’ll need to look at White’s unit again, knowing this, but from what I’ve seen, arson is certainly a possibility. We spoke to the family that lived next door just this morning, and the mother said she heard footsteps leaving White’s apartment shortly before falling asleep, which meant someone left his apartment shortly before the fire started.” Foster held Martha’s gaze with intensity she’d rarely seen. “We’ll see if anyone witnessed anything else. I’ll help you find J.D., and your friend.”

 

“T-Thank you,” Martha whispered, taking a small step backwards, her eyes wide. She passed him her card. “Contact me if you learn anything that may help. This number will reach the Ohio police station, but I will be staying in the Stanford dormitories if you need to reach me more quickly. It might help to know that J.D. rides a black motorcycle, and usually wears a long black coat.”

 

“I will be sure to do that,” he peeked at the name on the card, and smiled. “Martha.”

 

Nodding, Martha backed away, and left, putting distance between herself and Foster, the firefighter who fanned the flames of her emotions. He made her feel far too many strange and conflicting things. It still took her off guard, sometimes, when people went out of their way to be nice to her.

 

He’ll help me find you, Veronica.

 

She slowed once she reached the mouth the alley across from the burned building. The shadows were deep here, but it seemed empty, save for a dumpster. Martha pulled out a small flashlight, and stepped gingerly through the dark, rank space, searching for anything that might point to what had happened here. The light illuminated water stains, soda cans, human waste, candy wrappers, alcohol bottles, and gum, but nothing helpful, until suddenly, in the middle of street, Martha’s eye snagged on something red.

 

A smear of dried blood, and a clump of brown hair, Veronica’s length.

 

Tears leapt unbidden into Martha’s eyes as she crouched, imagining the action that would have caused such a stain: Someone had knocked Veronica to the ground, making her hit her head hard enough to draw blood. She imagined the sound the impact might have made. How much had she been hurt? Did she have a concussion? A fractured skull? Was she even still alive? One never knew, with head injuries, but Martha hoped – prayed – that Veronica was still out there, somewhere, breathing. She had not lost much blood.

 

Steeling herself, Martha wiped away her tears as she reached for her blue rubber gloves and evidence bags. This was the first sign that Veronica had been physically hurt. The first sign that her relationship with J.D. had once again turned violent.

 

That is, if J.D. was the one who did this. This is the alley where the bus driver said he saw Vice. Maybe it was one of his men, or Vice himself.

 

Martha shook her head as she stood. J.D. had the most motive to hurt Veronica. Most likely scenario was that J.D. found Veronica just as she saw the still-burning evidence of J.D.’s violent actions the night before. Feeling angry, hurt, and betrayed, Veronica would have confronted him.

 

Imagining their argument was enough to make Martha’s stomach turn as she crossed in front of the dumpster. This was not aided by the stench of vomit.

 

Covering her nose, Martha peered inside it, and found that someone had indeed puked inside of there. Veronica? Maybe. If she had a concussion, it was certainly possible that she would be feeling nauseous.

 

As Martha scanned the side of the dumpster with her flashlight, she realized that the fight hadn’t ended with Veronica on the floor. Along the lip of the dumpster, Martha found more hair, more blood, and, fine, torn threads of blue fabric.

 

Martha’s fingers tightened on the neck of the flashlight as she stared. She knew what had happened: Someone had slammed Veronica up against the dumpster. She’d been hurt right here. Only, Martha couldn’t do a damn thing about it. This was where the trail ended. The evidence as to what had happened was painfully clear, but that did not tell Martha where Veronica had gone. Until another witness stepped forward, there was nowhere else for Martha to look.

 

In a sudden rush of rage, Martha slammed her fist into the side of the dumpster. The ring of flesh and bone against metal echoed off the walls of the alley, as if to demonstrate its emptiness. Then, she left. There was nothing more that she could do.

 

 

Dear Diary,

 

I woke up this morning to the strangest dream. In it, I was alone J.D.’s bed. I could smell pancakes, so I got up, and walked out of his room. The sunlight looked like gold, streaming in through the living room window. I followed the line of light with my eyes, to J.D. He stood with his back to me, bent over the stove. As I approached, he turned, revealing a frilly, pink apron over his usual black coat.

 

When he saw me, he smiled like Betty Crocker. “Good morning, sunshine.”

 

“Good morning,” I said back, laughing a little breathlessly as I sat at a barstool. Even in my dream, I sensed the wrongness of J.D. dressed in pink. It was not his color.

 

“Do you want chocolate chips in your pancakes?” He asked.

 

I nodded. “Sure.”

A voice called out from behind me. “Make mine chocolate, too.”

 

Turning, I then noticed Heather Duke sitting on the sofa, dressed in my dad’s blue sweater, smoking a cigarette and reading the paper.

 

As I watched, she took the cigarette out of her mouth, and looked at it funny, and said, “Goddamn, will somebody tell me why I smoke these damn things?”

 

“Because you’re an idiot, Duke,” I replied, almost instinctively.

 

Duke and I shared a smile, and J.D. chuckled.

 

“You two,” he chided. “Here are your pancakes, Veronica.”

 

I swiveled my seat back around as J.D. slid the plate in front of me. I looked down, and saw the pancake smiling up at me with melty, chocolate chip eyes.

 

“How very,” I said, complimenting his artwork.

 

J.D. smirked, and poured me a cup of coffee from the pot. “You know what the secret ingredient is?”

 

“Chocolate chips?” I said, taking the mug.

 

“Love. It’s made with love.”

 

The words struck me. I knew they were familiar, though I couldn’t place where I’d heard them before. Brushing it off, I raised the mug to my lips, and took a sip. However, coffee did not fill my mouth. Instead, ice slid in between my teeth, and tart cherry syrup danced along my tongue. My eyes flared open, and I found that my glass was full of cherry slushie.

 

When I woke up, my teeth felt cold.

 

Veronica set down her pen, and gave herself a little shake. She must have fallen asleep with her mouth open. Was I snoring? Perhaps her surroundings had influenced her dream: she could still smell pancakes wafting in from the kitchen area.

 

Setting her diary on the bedside table, Veronica stood, and walked out to investigate. Walking out into the living room, she saw that J.D. was standing in the kitchen, making pancakes. However, he was not wearing an apron, and he was certainly no Betty Crocker. He was multitasking, cursing over his burning pancakes while arguing with Heather Duke.

 

They did not notice as Veronica approached.

 

“How many different ways can I say it, Heather?” He growled, shoving the spatula beneath the crusted bottom of the pancake. “I want you gone.”

 

“You might as well put a bullet to my head yourself,” Heather said, sitting forward on the barstool. “The moment I leave here, I’m dead. Vice will kill me, probably because he’s mad at you. My blood will be on your hands.”

 

“Vice will kill you because he wants his money back.” Mockingly, J.D. tapped his chin. “Here’s an idea: maybe if I hand you over, Vice will leave Veronica alone. That seems like a fair trade to me.”

 

“Um, excuse me, no,” Veronica said, watching as J.D. stiffened at the sound of her voice.

 

Busted, she thought as she came up behind Heather, and squeezed her shoulders. Heather seemed to relax under Veronica’s touch.

Veronica went on. “You are not trading my friend to that psychopath, psychopath.”

 

J.D. sighed as he turned. “It was a joke. And don’t call me the P word. We don’t use that word in this household.”

 

“How about prick?” Heather muttered, making Veronica laugh.

 

J.D. fumed. “Are you trying to get kicked out?”

 

“Seriously, stop it,” Veronica said, frowning at J.D. as she crossed into the kitchen. “We’re all scared, but we’re not going to sacrifice anyone.”

 

“I’m not scared,” J.D. huffed.

 

Veronica resisted the urge to snort as she poured herself a cup of coffee – real coffee this time, and not a cherry slushie. As she did, J.D. closed in on her, leaning close enough that his breath tickled the back of her ear. His hand curled around her waist.

 

“Can we please get rid of her?” He whispered in her ear. “She’s so annoying.”

 

“I have hot coffee. Move, or feel my wrath.”

 

He released her with a chuckle.

 

“A week,” he said finally, casting a glance at Heather Duke as he flopped two slightly burnt pancakes each onto three different plates. “That will give you time to find a place to stay where you feel safe.”

 

“Thank you,” Heather Duke said softly, biting her lip. Veronica blinked – she had never seen her friend look so vulnerable.

 

“You’re welcome,” J.D. grunted.

 

“Better,” Veronica whispered back at J.D., squeezing his arm tenderly as she passed. “Thank you.”

 

J.D. eyed Veronica as she moved to sit beside Heather, and enjoy her breakfast. Then, he sighed. “This is going to be a long week.”

 

Veronica doused her pancakes in syrup, masking the bitter scorch marks in a sticky, sweet pool. Her first bite was still difficult to swallow. As she ate, Veronica could not help but agree with J.D.’s statement: this week was going to be long. Already, Heather looked like she wanted to destroy J.D. emotionally, and J.D. looked like he wanted to slit Heather’s throat before she could say another word. And where was Veronica? Right in the middle.

 

It would be a miracle if they all managed to survive the seven days.

Chapter 10

Notes:

Hello friends!
I still don't own Heathers, the movie or the musical.
Well, it's that time again... Explicit sexual content ahead. Consent is questionable. There is also some violence/violent thoughts that some people might find disturbing.
You have been warned.
Enjoy!

In spite of their fears, the week did not last long.

 

At least, it did not feel long to Veronica. She slept through most of it. Heather and J.D. bickered like an old married couple. And yet, J.D. was surprisingly human, preparing their meals and renting movies for the three of them to watch together. Veronica did her best to reward him for his good behavior: a kiss for walking away from a fight, a hug when he wished Heather good morning.

 

Unethical? Probably. Transparent? Most definitely. Master manipulator Jason Dean had to know exactly what she was doing. But Veronica didn’t care. She was willing to do anything to help him curb his violent behavior. That was the deal she made with him, wasn’t it?

 

Heather, of course, was appalled, often shooting Veronica pleading glances behind J.D.’s back. Regardless, Heather did not try to talk Veronica out of the deal she’d made. Heather, unlike Veronica, had a functioning sense of self preservation.

 

By the time one week rolled around, Veronica was near recovery, and Heather had found a new place to live.

 

“Is it nice?” Veronica asked. It was the night before Heather’s arrangement with J.D. expired. Veronica sat curled up on the couch, Heather at her side, while J.D. stood in the kitchen making pasta.

 

“Yes,” Heather replied, staring in the vague direction of the radio. “It’s not big, but the rent is cheap, and it’s in a great location.”

 

They do say location is key, Veronica thought. “Do you know how you’re going to move the stuff from your old place to the new one?”

 

“Already taken care of.” Heather looked sideways at Veronica, and shot her a smile. “One of Daddy’s acquaintances still owed him a favor. He moved all of my stuff from my old apartment into the new one today.”

 

Something cracked in the kitchen.

 

Alarmed, Veronica whipped around. In the kitchen, J.D.’s face as red as the jar of marinara sauce rolling back and forth across the counter, as if it had been knocked over.

 

Veronica stared at him in bewilderment. Why did you slap the sauce?

 

J.D. ignored Veronica completely, his eyes dark and trained on Heather as he ground out, “You didn’t.”

Heather didn’t blink. “I did.”

 

“What did you do?” Veronica parroted, utterly lost as she glanced along the line of tension between the two of them. “Did I miss something?” She’d been napping and writing in her diary for most of the day.

 

“Apparently, we both did,” J.D. snapped, his gaze still on Heather Duke. “I was wondering why I saw moving boxes out in the hall. Veronica, say hello to our new neighbor.”

 

Oh… Hello. Veronica blinked. “Why, Heather?”

 

“Why? I’ll tell you why,” Heather said, folding her hands atop her neatly crossed legs. “I can afford a new place, but I can’t afford a 24/7 bodyguard. J.D. is the one who got me into this mess, and quite frankly, so he’s the one who’s going to keep me safe. Until then, I’m going to be close. At least this way, you don’t have to see my face.”

 

J.D. snarled, his fingers curling around the handle of one of the kitchen drawers. “You’ll still be too close for comfort.”

 

Whose comfort? J.D.’s comfort? Veronica wondered. Heather’s comfort? Or mine? Veronica shot to her feet when J.D. tugged on the drawer, almost reflexively, revealing a stash of kitchen knives.

 

His eyes caught on hers.

 

Gritting his teeth, J.D. shut the drawer, though he did seem able to release his white knuckled grip on the handle. He didn’t look away from Veronica as he said, “Heather? Why don’t you spend the night in your lovely new apartment?”

 

“But, what about dinner?” Heather protested. “I don’t have ay food.”

 

“You were bulimic in high school, I think you can handle a night without supper. Get out of here. Now.”

 

“Is he serious?” Heather asked, glancing worriedly at Veronica.

 

Breathless, Veronica nodded in reply. “I’ll bring over a plate later.”

 

Fear sparkled for an instant in Heather’s eyes as she seemed to realize that she’d pushed J.D. too far. It was gone a moment later as Heather dropped her eyelids and stood, keeping her gaze cool, and her pace measured as she walked out of the door. Veronica winced as she heard the door to the unit next to them open, and then slam shut. She really is right next door. I guess that means J.D. will be close enough to hear her if she’s in trouble.

 

All of a sudden, red dashed across Veronica’s vision as the jar of marinara sauce flew across the room, and slammed into the back of the front door, right where Heather’s head had been. The glass shattered across the floor, and tomato chunks rained down the walls and across the floor.

Ignoring the mess, Veronica approached J.D. cautiously. “Nice aim,” she whispered.

 

Leaning back against the counter, J.D. chuckled. His stance appeared calm, but Veronica could see the muscles in his upper body trembling as she neared.

 

“You have no idea how much I want to slit that girl’s throat.”

 

“No, I definitely have some idea. You threw tomato sauce across the room. Actually, I’m impressed by your restraint,” Veronica offered. “She’s been pushing your buttons all week.”

 

“It’s more than that,” he growled, closing his eyes. “I obsessed over killing her in high school, planned it all out, until…”

 

“Until?” Veronica stepped forward, close enough for them to touch.

 

His eyes flared open. “Until you made it clear that you wanted no part of me, and I realized that I would be killing Heather by myself. That’s when I decided fuck it, I’ll kill them all.”

 

Veronica went rigid at the words. “I did that?”

 

Yes. She could see the answer in his eyes, even though he would not say it. She clenched her jaw to keep her chin from wobbling. I created this monster. I did this. And I will undo this.

 

J.D.’s knuckles tightened on the edge of the counter behind him. He looked askance. “That’s not fair to say to you, I know.”

 

“Don’t tell me what’s fair. Tell me the truth.”

 

“Truthfully? Every time I see Heather’s face, or hear one of her mega-bitch comments, I feel like I’m back in high school. I remember all of the reasons I wanted to kill every Heather out there in the first place, and all I want to do is kill the Heather right in front of me. It’s like she’s the whale, and I’m Captain fucking Ahab-”

 

He cut off as Veronica touched his wrist.

 

“Don’t, Veronica,” he said, staring at her fingers as she traced his pulse. His throat moved as he swallowed. “I’m trying, I swear, but it’s hard, and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

 

“Let me help.” Breathless, Veronica trailed her fingers up his arm, and closed the distance between them. She watched as J.D. shivered, and closed his eyes as her fingers skimmed up his neck, and tangled in the back of his hair.

 

Fortifying herself, Veronica reached up on her toes, and kissed him.

 

He was on her in a heartbeat, gripping her hips with near bruising force, crushing her back against the kitchen counter. His lips moved violently against hers, biting and demanding. The pleasure mixed in with the pain, and soon, Veronica felt lost in it, matching his need with her own. She cried out when their teeth clicked painfully together, and in response J.D. moved to kiss her neck.

 

“Veronica,” he panted against her skin, kissing her hard enough to leave a mark. “Are you sure? How’s your head? Do you still have a concussion?”

 

It took Veronica a moment to gather her wits enough to answer. I might not be thinking straight, but… She swallowed thickly. “It’s healed enough for this, so long as you don’t bash my head in again, like you did in the alley.”

 

He growled in pleasure, and bit her shoulder, making her squirm. She felt his lips rise into a devilish grin against her neck in response. “I promise babe, I won’t hurt you there.”

 

Oh fuck. Her core tightened with pleasure against her will.

 

Then, he pulled back. “Do you remember your safe word?”

 

Panting, Veronica nodded.

 

“Good. Don’t say it unless you have to.”

 

Frowning, Veronica tightened her fingers in his hair, and pulled him back towards her. “You can say it, too.”

 

J.D.’s lips twitched, ever so slightly, as he dipped his mouth back to hers. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

Then, his hands were back on her hips, folding her against him in a crushing kiss before reaching lower, and gripping the backs of her thighs. Moments later, she was airborne, locking her legs around his waist. Groaning, Veronica rolled her body against him as they kissed, making J.D. curse.

 

All of a sudden, she was thrown, bouncing slightly as her back hit the bed. When did we get in here? Dazed, she blinked up to see J.D. smirking down at her as he shucked off his shirt, revealing the tight muscles beneath.

 

“Let me,” Veronica said, reaching for the buttons of his jeans.

 

He stepped out of reach, eyes flaring.

 

“No?” Veronica said as she sat back. She crossed some sort of line, a line that he might not have realized was there.

 

“Sorry.” J.D. cleared his throat, shaking himself slightly. “I’d like to be in control right now, if you don’t mind.”

 

“Not at all,” Veronica whispered, thinking of the phrase, no sudden movements. She straightened her shoulders, and folded her hands in her lap. “Tell me what to do.” Tell me what to do to help you. To distract you from your other desires.

 

“Right there is… Perfect,” he breathed, his eyes trained on her.

 

So, Veronica watched, dutifully still, her breathing heavy, as J.D. unzipped his jeans, revealing his straining length. Like before, his need looked almost painful. Her hands twitched, feeling the compulsion to go to him and ease his discomfort. She held back, and kept her fingers clamped together on her thighs.

 

He closed his eyes and shuddered as he took himself in his hand, and stroked once. Twice.

 

Veronica made a small noise. He opened his eyes again, and smiled.

 

“Strip for me,” he whispered. “I want to watch.”

 

She felt caged by his heavy gaze, frozen right where he wanted her. J.D.’s rapt attention made Veronica hyperaware of every single inch of skin. When she shifted, and her skirt rose up her thigh, J.D.’s eyes went there. When she reached for the top button of her blouse, his eyes snapped to her collarbone, and the flushed tops of her breasts. The intensity of his desire had her leaning forward, arching her back into his stare. She kept her movements slow as she worked her way down her torso, button by button, drawing a V down her skin. J.D. made a small groaning noise as her blouse finally slid from her shoulders. After that, Veronica made quick work of her bra, gasping as she freed her hot, heavy, straining breasts from their daily prison. Instead of savoring in it though, she slid her hands immediately down to her skirt, unhooking it at the side, before sliding it over her head.

 

When her fingers touched the lacy waistline of her underwear, J.D. growled. “Stop. Get on your back.” His knuckles popped as he released his fist.

 

Overwhelmed, Veronica nodded, and shifted back against the pillows. She bit her lip.

 

“Can I make a small request?”

 

When J.D. didn’t respond, she did it anyway, saying, “Please, don’t destroy my underwear again. I like this pair. And unless you’re willing to compensate for my financial losses-”

 

Crossing the distance between them, J.D. silenced her with a searing kiss.

 

She gasped against his lips as he pressed into her, his hands finding her wrists and pinning them above her head. When he pulled away, Veronica instinctively reached for him, and found herself incapable of doing so. Confused, she looked up, and saw that she was once again locked in a pair of blue, fuzzy handcuffs.

 

A small thrill of anxiety shot through her... accompanied by an immediate pooling between her thighs.

 

Admiring her, J.D. chuckled as he stepped back, and tugged his pants down his hips, revealing powerful muscles in his legs that only made the dampness between Veronica’s thighs worse.

 

“You like those, don’t you?”

 

“I most certainly do not,” she lied, jutting out her chin as she tugged on the binds. She didn’t want to admit how much he and his depraved sexual behavior got her off. The narcissist didn’t need the boost to his ego.

 

“Oh, really?” In one quick motion, J.D. slid Veronica’s underwear down her legs, and tossed them into a blue lacy ball on the floor. A blush slid down her neck – there was no mistaking the sloppy, wet sound of her arousal, but J.D. seemed determined to rub it in.

 

A grin stretched across his lips as he stood over her. “Let’s have a look, shall we? Spread your legs for me.”

 

When Veronica hesitated, he pinched her nipple, squeezing hard enough that she arched off the bed with a cry.

 

But J.D.’s eyes were glimmering as he released her, and moved to kneel in front of her. “I don’t think you want to lie to me tonight, Veronica,” he said, wrapping his fingers around her bent knees, sliding them up the insides of her thighs. His warning seemed to have a deeper meaning: a reminder to use the safe word, if she needed to.

 

“I won’t,” she gasped.

 

He smiled, and when he pushed her legs apart, there was nothing that Veronica could do to stop him. She felt herself heat as his gaze focused on her dripping, molten core.

 

“You’re a rotten liar, you know that?” J.D. murmured, eyes hooded as he studied her, spreading her delicate folds open with his thumbs. “How can I teach you not to lie to me?”

 

I could ask you the same question. Veronica bit back the retort, and simply continued staring at him with wide, innocent eyes.

 

His gaze skimmed over her chest, her nipples hard with anticipation. “Should I punish you?”

 

“Um… No?”

 

“I think you’re lying again,” J.D. said, smirking as he crawled up her body like a predator. He stopped when his mouth hovered over her breast. The hot air of his breath had her peak rising to meet him.

 

“See?” he whispered, leaning torturously forward, careful not to touch. He blew cool air on her, and she pebbled, lengthening towards her mouth.

 

“J.D.,” she moaned, needing the contact. She rocked her hips, but his hands stayed her.

 

Instead of satisfying her need there, J.D. surged forward, pressing his lips once again to the side of her neck. There, he sucked hard on the tender flesh, right in the crease of her shoulder. Fire licked across her skin as blood pooled beneath his mouth. Burning, Veronica cried out and bucked.

 

When she did, one of J.D.’s hand tightened on her waist, while the other slid around, fingertips skimming her crevice before grasping the abundance of flesh in his palm with bruising force. Seeing her steady, J.D. rocked his hips forward, and slid inside.

 

The hit felt like a blow, but instead of pain, pleasures reverberated through her. Veronica knew that every brutal touch would hurt later, but none of it did now. Her eyes fluttered shut, and her mouth fell open, overwhelmed by his strength as J.D. continued to pound inside of her, hitting a spot deep inside that craved contact.

 

Punishment, it seemed, was a loose term. Veronica wrapped her legs around his waist, urging him harder, faster, deeper.

 

Suddenly, his hands released her waist, and slow to the front of her pelvis. Veronica yelped, as rough fingers slid to the apex of her folds, and touched down. This was punishment. His fingers were relentless overtop the ultrasensitive bundle of nerves. The direct contact was too much for her body to handle, and Veronica thrashed beneath him. She had no control over her limbs.

 

“J.D.,” she hissed in warning, feeling the tendons pop in her neck as she twisted away from him in vain.

 

But the sight of her struggle only seemed to empower J.D. more. His eyes glimmered as he looked down at her, captivated by her reaction. He had the control over her body that she lacked.

 

She was nearing the edge of her threshold. The words Blue Raspberry were on her lips, waiting to be spoken, when his fingers faltered to the side. She felt him twitch and jerk inside of her, spilling warmth. He cried out against her neck, his hips merciless against hers.

 

The warmth against her deepest spot of pleasure, the gentle scrape of his teeth, and the relieving, off-center friction at her clit, all aided in Veronica’s unraveling. Her thighs shook as she came. J.D. reached back to hold her, cursing as he no doubt felt her muscles squeeze and ripple around him.

 

Yeah, how do you like it, now that it’s too sensitive? Veronica thought vengefully as her climax descended. She glared at him.

 

J.D.’s brows were arched, and his lips twisted into an incredulous half smile as he pulled out of her, and collapsed at her side.

 

“I can’t believe that worked. Goddamn you, woman.” J.D. propped himself up on his elbow. “Was that as good for you as it was for me?”

 

She blinked at him, her rage forgotten. “It really worked?” She breathed. “You have no desire to go find Heather and-?”

 

“None,” he answered, cutting her off. “Bloodlust sated by actual lust. Though, it might be best not to speak the H-word for a while.”

 

“Right.” Veronica grimaced, and pulled at her chains. “Some assistance, please?”

 

“Since you asked so nicely...” J.D. pulled a key out of the bedside drawer. Moments later, her wrists were freed. Veronica shuddered as she rolled them around.

 

“Veronica,” J.D. said. “You’re avoiding the question.”

 

“Sorry, I’m still recovering.” Taking a breath, Veronica lifted her shoulder in a shrug. “That was… intense. There were parts that I didn’t enjoy, and then there were parts that I enjoyed a lot.”

 

“Okay, well let’s talk about them.”

 

Veronica’s stomach growled before she could answer.

 

Amused, J.D. arched a brow. “Maybe we should have this conversation over dinner?”

 

“Thank you.” Smiling, Veronica slid her legs over the edge of the bed, searching for her clothes in the dark room. “I’ll clean up the mess you made in here, while you clean up the mess you made out there.”

 

“Sounds fair enough. Here, wear this.” J.D. tossed her his coat. “I’m not finished with you tonight.”

 

Her mouth went dry as she caught the heavy jacket. “I was going to go over and deliver dinner…”

 

“I know.” His eyes glimmered in the darkening room as he stood, his shoulders back, unabashed by his nakedness.

 

As Veronica scurried to the bathroom, her mind worked. She could think of three reasons why J.D. would insist she wear his coat and nothing else:

 

1. J.D. really only wanted to save her time dressing. Unlikely.

 

2. He was possessive, and wanted to show Heather Duke that Veronica was his. Likely.

 

3. J.D. wanted to ensure that Veronica would not run away. That’s it.

 

Of course, J.D. was gambling that Veronica wouldn’t simply borrow Heather’s clothes when she made her great escape. Heather had been borrowing her clothes all week. In any case, Veronica didn’t feel the need to escape yet. Like Heather, Veronica knew that, with Vice on the loose, she would be safest sticking close to J.D. In truth, Veronica was not frightened of J.D. She didn’t think that he would hurt her… much. In fact, she was all too curious to find out what else he had planned for her tonight.

 

Bad Veronica. Stupid Veronica.

 

Wrapping herself in J.D.’s coat, Veronica stepped out of the bedroom just in time to catch the pasta boiling over.

 

J.D. cursed, still on his hands and knees in front of the door, mopping up glass and pasta sauce with a rag. “Would you get that, please?” He asked her.

 

“Sure,” Veronica said, tearing her eyes away from his bare ass as she ran into the kitchen to take care of the problem. Gingerly, she twisted the knob to turn off the stove, snatching her fingers back before the boiling water slipping over the lip of the pot could make contact. She waited for the water to cool before attempting to mop it up.

 

“Don’t burn yourself,” J.D. warned, a little late to be helpful.

 

“Don’t cut yourself,” she called back.

 

He chuckled darkly. Rolling her eyes, Veronica moved about the kitchen, searching for seasoning to replace the loss of marinara. She found salt, pepper, olive oil, garlic, Parmesan cheese, and fresh oregano.

 

“Score,” she whispered, retrieving the leafy greens from the fridge.

 

She cast a quick glance at J.D., wondering if he remembered that pasta with oregano was her favorite. Shoving the thought aside, she got to cooking, draining the water, and making the pasta the same way her mom did at home.

 

By the time she finished, the mess in the living room was cleaned up, and J.D. was depositing the tomato-and-glass-riddled rag in the trash beneath the sink.

 

She couldn’t stop the reflexive gasp from hissing through her teeth as she caught sight of his hand. “Is that blood?”

 

“Unfortunately, yes.” He wiggled his nine fingers at her as he straightened. Flecks of glass sparkled in between the digits. “Squeamish, Veronica?”

 

She pressed her lips into a tight line, and looked away. “I can’t be. Not with you around.”

 

“Fair enough.” He dropped his hands, and backed away from her, towards his bedroom and the bathroom. “Well, I’m going to go salvage the rest of my fingers. You can go next door and feed the hungry, if you’d like. It would ah, be best if you’re back when I get out.”

 

“Understood,” Veronica answered, watching as J.D. relaxed the painful looking fists at his sides. “It’ll be like I never left.”

 

Nodding, J.D. disappeared around the corner, and shut the door.

 

Veronica moved quickly, filling one bowl full of pasta, and grabbing a fork. Barefoot, she scurried towards the door, watching her footing just in case J.D. missed a shard of glass in his clean up. She barely had time to register the ugly, green-black carpet of the hallway against her toes as she walked up to the door that she hoped was Heather’s.

 

It swung open, revealing her friend dressed in green silk pajamas, her eyes rimmed with red.

 

“Thank God,” Heather said, her voice breaking as she looked Veronica up and down. “I wasn’t sure if I’d see you again. I thought you were dead, Veronica. I even c-”

 

“I’m fine,” Veronica said, giving her friend a quick hug as she passed the pasta. “I can’t stay long, but I promise you, I’m fine.”

 

“You don’t look fine,” Heather said, wrinkling her nose as she eyed Veronica’s neck.

 

Flushing, Veronica resisted the urge to pull up her collar. “Looks can be deceiving.”

 

“Looks are everything, Sawyer,” Heather murmured. “Or have you already forgotten your own past?”

 

Memories of the day Heather Chandler found Veronica and brought her into the fold stirred up in her mind. The day Veronica became beautiful, and the high school world opened up at her feet. The day she became a Heather.

 

“Why are you still with him?” Heather Duke asked, pulling Veronica from her thoughts.

 

“He needs me.” He is damaged. And maybe I’m just damaged enough to need him, too. Maybe that’s why I can’t picture myself with anyone else. In any case, I’m responsible for damaging him. You know what they say… You break it, you buy it. You’re a consumer, Heather. I’m sure you’ve heard that before. Obviously Veronica did not say all of this.

 

Heather remained unconvinced. “You can’t fix him, Veronica.”

 

“Do you want me to stop trying?”

 

Heather bit her lip.

 

That’s a no, Veronica translated with a grimace. Of course it was. Heather needed to stay on J.D.’s good side, if she wanted protection from Vice, and right now she was already toeing the line. Not only that, but it was classic Heather – manipulative, self-serving, and focused on the balance of power.

 

Veronica backed away. “Stay beautiful, Heather. I have to go.”

 

Heather did not try to stop her from walking down the hall.

 

 

By the time J.D. emerged from his bedroom with bandages and a fresh pair of pants, Veronica had both of their places set for dinner, plates filled with pasta, and glasses filled with milk.

 

“No wine?” J.D. asked, sliding into the barstool beside her.

 

“Is that a problem? Are you lactose intolerant? Or just intolerant in general?”

 

“Neither. It’s just that milk doesn’t exactly scream romance.”

 

Veronica turned to him, annoyed now. “It doesn’t make you think of breasts?”

 

“Good Lord, no. It makes me think of school cafeterias. Christ, stop me before I start thinking of the lunch lady’s breasts.”

 

Unamused, Veronica glared down at her plate. “If you think milk is going to push you over the edge, you can pour yourself something else.”

 

She felt J.D. studying her as she stuffed her mouth with pasta.

 

“I was worried about this.”

 

Chewing, belligerent, Veronica said nothing to acknowledge his words, though she did raise one brow in question. Worried about what?

 

“You resenting me. See, this is why I didn’t want to agree to this stupid deal. It gives me too much power over you. Power that you already don’t trust me with. All I have to say is, ‘I’m feeling kind of psycho’ and presto, you’re on your knees, ready to do my bidding. It’s too easy to take of that. Of you. Fuck it Veronica, I want to take advantage of you. I like what you’re willing to do for me. I’m only human, if that.”

“Are you?” Veronica whispered.

 

“Human?”

 

“No. Are you taking advantage of me?”

 

“No.” He cut her a glance. “I promise that I’m not, if you can believe me. So long as our deal holds, I won’t lie about my mental state, and I won’t try to manipulate you though it. I know I’ve manipulated you in the past, and I probably sound pretty fucking manipulative right now. But I’ve learned from my mistakes. What I tried to do then, my obsession with power and strength… That strategy failed. You proved me wrong. So now, I’m following your orders, trying it your way. You think I can be reformed. I have my doubts, but I’m willing to… What’s the expression? I’ll give it the old college try.”

 

Veronica swallowed, hard. “Okay.”

 

“You believe me?”

 

“I believe you. As much as I can, at least.”

 

J.D. smiled. “That’s all I can ask for.”

 

“I’m sorry I snapped.”

 

“It happens. At least you don’t want to kill people, when it happens to you.”

 

“I’m hoping that one day, you won’t feel that pressure like you do now. When you feel the desire to hurt someone building up inside, you’ll know how to take a step back, and focus on other things, even without me there to help.” Veronica twirled her fork around her dish. “That’s the end goal, at least.”

 

“Self control.” J.D. murmured, lifting up his own fork. He startled her by laughing, a sound from deep in his throat. “That would be nice Veronica, but I wouldn’t hold my breath, if I were you.”

 

Veronica filled her cheeks with air, and held it. J.D. snickered, and elbowed her lightly in the side.

 

“Come on, your cheeks are turning blue.” He grinned when she exhaled, and sagged. Shaking his head, he sobered. “Seriously, Veronica, it might be a long time coming.”

 

“Don’t think about it all at once,” she said, still slightly breathless. “Focus on taking it one day at a time.”

 

“Isn’t what they tell people in AA? I feel like I’m in AA for psychopaths.”

 

“Does that make me your sponsor?”

 

“You’re a lot more than that.” His voice was husky, sending heated chills crawling across Veronica’s skin. “You’ve gone above and beyond sponsorship, Miss Sawyer.”

 

She blushed, and cleared her throat. “Let’s talk about that.”

 

“Let’s.”

 

She set aside her fork. “What worked and what didn’t work for you?”

 

“All of it worked for me,” he said, loading pasta onto his spoon. “I didn’t think I would like the handcuffs as much as I did. It returned that feeling of control when I was feeling particularly… unhinged. There was also this visceral sense of action and reaction, that really… uh, yeah. I’m sure you noticed.” He scrubbed one hand up the back of his neck, his cheeks flushed. “I liked it, a lot. I liked seeing your body respond to my touch. I especially like seeing those.” Reaching forward, J.D. slid one finger up the side of Veronica’s neck.

 

Sore, Veronica flinched beneath his touch.

 

He dropped his hand immediately. “Your turn.”

 

She sighed, and pointed to the bruises scaling her throat. “I don’t like the implications of these. They make me feel used.”

 

“You are being used,” J.D. said, narrowing his eyes. “That’s the deal we made. A deal that you came up with.”

 

“I remember, thanks. Though it would be nice to forget.”

 

“At least it’s for a good cause.” J.D. mocked. “Honestly, Veronica, sometimes I wish you were a little more selfish. If you hate this, we should stop, and you shouldn’t feel guilty about it. You are not responsible for my actions.”

 

She exhaled deeply through her nose, thinking. She knew he was right. If J.D. relapsed, it would be his fault, and not hers. She knew that she shouldn’t sacrifice her own happiness in some skewed, if not valiant, effort to repair him, even if she’d caused the damage in the first place. Distantly, Veronica even knew that the damage in him had been caused long ago. He may have been born damaged.

 

And yet, despite his damage, Veronica didn’t feel whole without him. She didn’t want to go back to the life she had before. She didn’t want to go back to being sad, mundane, isolated, or God forbid celibate.

 

She didn’t like the implications of the hickeys, and she didn’t like the soreness she felt creeping in now. But fuck, she liked the way J.D.’s lips felt against her neck. She didn’t like the idea of risking her life by staying with J.D. But she liked the rush the vulnerability gave her in bed. She liked being under his control. She liked the way he pushed her boundaries, and dallied on the other side of the line before slipping back over and making her feel impossibly safe again.

 

Damaged. Damaged. Damaged.

 

Still, she said it: “I didn’t hate it.”

 

J.D.’s eyes widened. Glimmered. A slow grin, sharp and slanted like a blade, stretched wide across his face.

 

“Then we won’t stop.”

 

Sweet Jesus, what have I done?

 

Veronica took a deep, shuddering breath in an attempt to cool her blazing cheeks. “I would like to make a suggestion. A selfish one.”

 

“Please, do.”

 

“You get your gratification. I think it’s only fair that I get mine as well. If you hurt me, fine, just make up for it.” Her words sounded insane, even to her own ears. Could this be any more problematic? Pushing the thought aside, Veronica went on. “For example, if you’re going to make my clit feel like it’s been in a bar fight, at least buy it a drink afterwards. Assaulting it like you did was not exactly pleasant for me.”

 

“Understood,” J.D. said, leaning forward. “Pain will be compensated with pleasure.”

 

“Perfecto,” Veronica murmured, making J.D. laugh.

 

Plate now empty, J.D. raised his milk in salute before draining the entire glass. He wiped his mouth on his wrist as he set it down on the counter, and stood.

 

“Come on,” he said. “Let me buy your clit a drink.”

 

Did it sound that crazy when I said it?

 

Cheeks flaming, Veronica stood, and took J.D.’s stretched out hand. His warm fingers wrapped around hers, the cotton of his bandages rasping lightly against her palm as he led her into the bedroom.

 

He stopped them both in front of the bed, peppering kisses across her cheeks.

 

“I love the way you look in my coat, Veronica,” he said in a low voice, reaching for the buttons, deftly undoing each to reveal her chest, her stomach, her hips. “But you look even better without it.”

 

She smirked at the corniness of his words. Growling, J.D. wrapped his arms around her now bare waist, and nipped at her ear. “Are you making fun of me?”

 

“Yes, and you can’t punish me for it, remember?” She gasped, gripping his shoulders as her knees wobbled. “You owe me.”

 

“Of course,” his tongue slid against the shell of her ear. “Compensation.”

 

With the tenderest of touches, J.D. backed Veronica onto the bed, and laid her down. His lips played softly against hers, extracting small whimpers and pleas before traveling down to her neck to soothe each mark he’d left on her with gentle kisses and words.

 

Then, his mouth traveled lower.

 

“Yes.” Veronica fisted her hands in his hair, and arched up to meet his lips.

Chapter 11

Notes:

I know it's heart breaking, but I still don't own Heathers.
Pretty much the usual warnings/Heathers themes: gun use and talk of suicide.
The next couple chapters might take a bit longer than usual to come out. I'll try to keep it at the same pace, but life is going to get busy for me (you all know how life is), so I can't make any promises. Don't worry though, I won't abandon this fic - you will get closure. I think I already know how I want this to end...
With that, happy reading.

It had been a week since Martha went looking for Veronica. Every day, she argued with the local authorities for more assistance, but they gave her none, not believing her story that J.D. was still alive. Every day, Foster called her to update her on the progress of his investigation: the fire, he determined, was the work of an arsonist, but no one could remember seeing J.D. or his motorcycle that night. Every day, Martha sat on her ass, and did nothing other than read old newspaper articles about Vice, and wait for the phone to ring. It felt like purgatory.

 

Foster’s calls, admittedly, brought her some relief. He was genuinely kind to her, and sexy as hell, and Martha could not keep from fantasizing that his continued assistance in the case might be motivated by more than just sympathy. Maybe he fancies me.

 

Of course, it was a fantasy, and the word “fancies” was not even part of the modern vocabulary. Still, her daydreams kept Martha from going insane. Her life felt like a nightmare. With every breath, she worried for Veronica, wondering: Are you safe? Are you with him? Where can I find you?

 

Even preoccupied with useless worry and questioning, Martha still took note of some lighter social developments occurring in the space around her: namely, the clear romantic interest stirring up between Dick and Betty Finn.

 

One week ago, when Martha returned from her hunt for Veronica, she found Dick in Betty’s dorm room, as expected. Only, Dick was not merely in the room. He was seated on Betty’s bed, leaning towards her as she spoke, his eyes glued to her lips in almost a trance-like state. Clearly, Dick wanted to kiss her. And while Betty seemed completely oblivious that first night, with each day her awareness of him appeared to grow. He came to the dorm room every day now to keep Betty company. Betty started watching Dick out of the corner of her eye. Then, she began to touch him, moving so that their fingers skimmed as they crossed paths, or sitting so that their knees brushed. Now, Martha caught Betty ogling Dick’s lips the same way he’d ogled hers.

 

In the midst of her own frustrations, Martha could hardly stand being near them. She felt like grabbing them both by the ear and forcing their lips together just to relieve the sexual tension circulating the room like a fly. But Martha knew that was far from her place. Betty and Dick had to sort things out for themselves, and they were both shy. Still, Martha wished that they could just get on with it already.

 

She sighed as she stared at Betty’s orange painted phone. And I wish that someone would call me with a lead, so I could get on with this investigation.

 

Miraculously, the phone rang.

 

Martha nearly fell out of her desk chair. Reminding herself that she’d been staring at the phone all day praying for a call, Martha cleared her throat, and answered.

 

“Detective Dunnstock.”

 

“Martha? Martha Dump Truck? I thought this was Betty’s phone.”

 

“Hello, Heather.” Martha grimaced into the receiver. She’d recognize that voice anywhere. “It is Betty’s phone. Veronica is missing. I’m staying with Betty until she’s found.”

 

An odd little laugh from Heather trilled down the line. “Lucky enough for you, that’s why I’ve called.”

 

Veronica. Martha launched to her feet, fisting the corkscrew telephone wire in her hand. “You know where she is?”

 

“Yeah.” Static crackled as Heather took a shuddering breath. “I’m only telling because I’m worried for Veronica. I think she might be in danger, maybe because of me. You can’t tell him I’m the one who told you. Say you found him on your own.”

 

“Him. You mean, J.D.?”

 

“Did you eat a brain tumor for breakfast? Of course I mean J.D.”

 

“Most people think he’s dead, Heather. We all went to his funeral a year ago.” Martha tapped her foot. “Why didn’t you phone this in earlier?”

 

A whimper sounded on the other end, so faint that Martha doubted she’d even heard it.

 

“Because I don’t want to die.”

 

Martha listened in shock and awe as Heather explained how her life had gone into free fall after high school. Financial ruin and academic failure eventually led Heather to Vice. And Vice led Heather to J.D.

 

“… And Veronica doesn’t think J.D. is a threat, but that’s just typical Veronica, isn’t it? They have this weird sort of deal. I won’t even bore you with the details because it’s all bullshit anyway. But that’s why J.D. made a big show about leaving Vice to be with her. I don’t know what he’s planning, but I sure as hell know that he cannot be trusted…”

 

Martha wrote the entire story down in her notebook as fast as she could. By the time Heather wrapped up her story, Martha had what she’d spent the last week searching for: an address. A real address, right in front of her, written in blue ink.

 

Her breath came deliciously fast as she memorized the letters and numbers. She felt like a pirate with the map to treasure. Only, this treasure was far more precious than gold or jewels. Veronica. Finally, finally, finally, I’ve found you.

 

“Martha,” Heather pleaded, and Martha realized that Heather was crying on the other end of the line. Her elation stopped short; Heather hardly sounded like herself. “You have to protect me, please. He’ll come after me. Not just J.D., but Vice, too.”

 

“Don’t worry, Heather,” Martha said, gently. “I’ll make sure that you’re safe. You did the right thing by calling me. Stay where you are. I’ll be there soon.”

 

She hung up the phone, and turned to Betty and Dick, who had been listening in to half of the conversation with pale faces and gaping mouths.

 

“Was that Heather Duke?” Betty asked, eyes wide behind her glasses.

 

Martha nodded. “Yes. We need to leave, right now. I’ll explain in the car. Betty, can you drive?”

 

“Absolutely.” She jumped off her bed and flew to her shoes, ignoring Dick’s confused glances.

 

Standing, Dick squared his shoulders. “I’m not letting you both go alone.”

 

“That’s fine,” Martha said. She didn’t have time to argue. “Both you and Betty will stay in the car. Protect each other. At the first sign of trouble, drive, and call Foster. Tell him everything we’ve learned. He’ll know what to do. Call Betty’s father next.”

 

“Fine,” Betty said, bouncing on her heels by the door. “Let’s go.”

 

 

Less then five minutes later, they were in the car. Martha’s knees bounced in the back seat as she told Betty and Dick the entire story. Betty was a damn good driver – fast, skilled, and safe. Her father must have taught her, Martha thought. Betty got them to the apartment complex in record time.

 

Martha was too amped up to make note of the appearance of the building as they drove up. The minute the car screeched to a halt in the parking lot, Martha reached for the door handle.

 

She paused before opening the door.

 

“If I don’t come out of there in an hour,” Martha said, her eyes trained on the silver handle speckled with fingerprints. “Leave, and make the call to Foster. If you see J.D. walk out this building without me, drive, and don’t come back. It might be best to keep the car running.” She glanced up at them. “Both Veronica and I might come out of there with serious injuries. If that happens, don’t panic. Just get us to the nearest hospital or emergency room.”

 

Dick nodded. “I know where one is.”

 

“Perfect.” That was enough for Martha. “I guess I’ll see you soon.”

 

“Be careful,” she heard Betty whisper.

 

Martha smiled at her as she stepped out of the car, and ran to the door of the complex.

 

The entrance to the building led to a metal staircase. According to Heather, J.D.’s unit was on the second floor. Martha took the stairs quickly, her footsteps soft on the rusted metal steps. Fluorescent lights flickered eerily above her as she entered into a hallway lined with dingy green carpet. Even though it was still early in the night, no one crossed her path.

 

Here it is. Martha paused in front of one door, nearly the last one down the hall. She didn’t think about Heather Duke in the next room. She didn’t think about protocol, and what sort of jurisdiction she had for breaking into J.D.’s apartment. She didn’t even think about what she would find in there.

 

All she could think about was Veronica, and the day they became friends. Veronica’s soot-stained face, her hair tied up into a sloppy ponytail with a red scrunchie. The way she smiled when she looked down at Martha, still in a wheelchair, and asked if she wanted to rent a movie.

 

That’s what Martha thought about when she kicked down the door of J.D.’s apartment: Veronica’s smile.

 

“Please… Please…” The sound of heavy thumping and Veronica’s pleading whimper through the closed door on the opposite side of the room sent an icy chill down Martha’s spine.

 

She only caught the tail end of the noises. The thumps and the cries cut off as the crash of Martha’s entrance echoed through the apartment, accompanied by the sound of male cursing. J.D. Martha recognized his voice.

 

The sound spurred her on, reminding her that this was a man who tried to blow up a school. A man that should be dead. Martha crossed the living room in a heartbeat, and threw open the bedroom door.

 

Veronica sat crouched and trembling at the head of the bed, sheet clutched to her body, her brown eyes the size of saucers as they landed on Martha. Recognition flared with a mixture of horror and joy.

 

J.D. was completely naked, much to Martha’s chagrin.

 

When she entered, he was stooped, crouched, reaching for something in the bedside table. In a flash, he whipped around, lifting a gun at the same time Martha lifted hers. Their safeties clicked off in time, echoing through the room. Martha felt as though she’d skipped back in time and landed herself in a strange type of shoot out with a naked cowboy.

 

J.D. brows lifted with shock and surprise, as if he never expected to be on the other side of a gun. “Well, I was not expecting this. Greetings and salutations, Miss Dunnstock.”

 

“It’s Detective now,” Martha replied, doing her best to keep her gaze unimpressed and up.

 

The cocky bastard smirked. “I can see that.”

 

Blinking, Veronica seemed to recover from her shock. She lunged out of the bed, still tangled in the blankets, her movements gangly and unsteady like a baby foal. Like an idiot, she stepped between their guns.

 

“What the hell are you two doing? Stand down, J.D. You too, Martha.”

 

“Goddamn it, Veronica,” J.D. cursed, though much to Martha’s surprise, he lowered his weapon the second Veronica stood in front of it. “Can you please think before you act? I could have killed you.”

 

“No, because no one is going to be shooting at each other.” Veronica glared between them, clutching the sheet to her breast. “We’re all friends here.”

 

“Are we?” Martha clipped. “You’ve been missing for days, and you’re covered in bruises.”

 

J.D. snorted, and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I really gave her a beating.”

 

You teasing little prick. The week’s worth of frustration hit Martha all at once. Seething, Martha lifted her gun once more, and aimed over Veronica’s shoulder, right at J.D.’s head.

 

“You have the right to remain silent, but please, feel free to keep talking.”

 

“Martha.” Veronica whirled to face her fully now. “Stop it. Can’t we just talk for a minute? No guns.” She shot J.D. a glare over her shoulder.

 

Resigned, J.D. sighed, and tossed his gun on the bed. “Fine. No guns. I won’t hurt you, Martha.” His eyes glittered. “But I would appreciate it if you stopped aiming at me through Veronica.”

 

Cheeks flaring with shame, Martha lowered her weapon. That didn’t stop her from taking J.D.’s gun off of the bed, and keeping it at her side. J.D. didn’t protest as she did it, even though he looked annoyed.

 

“Fine. No guns. Let’s talk.” With a bit of finagling, Martha took the bullets out of J.D.’s gun, and stuffed them into her pocket. “Veronica and I will wait in the living room. You can put some pants on. This door will stay open.”

 

“Fine, fine,” J.D. muttered, his eyes already combing the floor. “Thank you for that shred of dignity.”

 

Gently, Martha grabbed Veronica’s arm, and walked out. She trembled in Martha’s grasp.

 

“Has he hurt you? Tell me the truth.”

 

Veronica grimaced as she and Martha plopped down on the couch. “Yes and no. I was not brought here consensually, but I’m here now of my own free will.”

 

Unabashed, Martha watched J.D. as he shuffled into his pants. “Has he raped you?” She had, of course, walked in on them in the midst of something sexual.

 

“No. None of that.” Veronica peered at Martha out of the corner of her eye. “How did you find us?”

 

“A friend.”

 

“Ah.”

 

Martha knew that Veronica understood. “Don’t tell J.D.”

 

“Never.”

 

Martha nodded, and for the first time, registered that she’d found Veronica, safe and alive and undamaged. Tears gathered in Martha’s eyes. “I’m so glad I found you.”

 

Laughing – actually laughing – Veronica matched Martha’s watery smile, and took her hand. “I wish you didn’t have to see that, but I’m glad you’re here, too.” She straightened her back as J.D. walked in through the door, his mood as black as the coat in his fist.

 

“This is good,” Veronica said, speaking to both of them, even though her eyes never left J.D. “Martha can help us.”

 

“Here,” J.D. said, tossing Veronica his coat.

 

Martha tensed at the action, fingers twitching instinctively for her gun. The coat was heavy – J.D. could be hiding anything in there. Was there an explosive in one of the pockets? A knife?

 

Yet there were no tricks. The coat was just a coat, Martha realized, watching as Veronica shifted, wrapping the fabric around her body, and sat back down.

 

Martha’s reaction did not go unnoticed.

 

J.D. scoffed as he sat on the corner of the coffee table, spreading his legs wide. “How can this be good, Veronica? If Martha doesn’t kill me now, she’ll take me to jail, where Vice will have someone waiting to slit my throat.” His eyes glittered. “I’m sure she knows all about Vice.”

 

Martha shrugged her shoulders.

 

“She won’t let you die, J.D. She’s a friend,” Veronica insisted. “In fact, Martha is going to help you fulfill your end of our deal.”

 

I am? Martha almost snorted. Not wanting to give away what little she already knew about the infamous deal from Heather, Martha feigned confusion. “What deal? And how can I help?”

 

Veronica folded her legs beneath her, giving Martha a sudden, vivid flashback: Kindergarten. Reading time. The entire class sitting criss cross applesauce on a carpet decorated with the letters of the alphabet in bright colors. Martha, looking over to see Veronica with her legs folded beneath her, entranced by the teacher’s story.

 

After all of this time, after all that she’s been through, there is still some part of Veronica that remains childlike. A part of her that still sits criss cross applesauce, and believes that even people like J.D. can be good.

 

Veronica spoke, pulling Martha from her thoughts.

 

“I’ve agreed to date J.D. so long as he doesn’t kill anyone.” Veronica cringed, and Martha’s brows rose.

 

“You’re not telling me the whole truth.”

 

“He’s also going to take up regular exercise and therapy. I was hoping that Betty could help with that. And maybe Dick could get him a legal job. Oh, and he’s going to protect Heather.”

 

“And that’s not even the most shocking part of it.” J.D. rubbed his hands across his face. “Why don’t you tell her the rest, Veronica? Why don’t you tell her about how dating is a loose term?”

 

Understanding clicked in Martha’s mind. Holy shit.

 

She pressed her lips together. “Veronica, you didn’t…”

 

Veronica looked down, wringing her hands in her lap. “Guilty.”

 

“Story of the century, is it not, Detective Dunnstock?” J.D. mocked, sounding just as appalled as Martha felt. He held Veronica’s gaze as he spoke, his eyes hard. “Insane, wouldn’t you say? Stupid too? Masochistic to be sure. I told her not to do it, Detective, but I’m sure you know there’s no reasoning with Saint Veronica when she’s on a crusade.”

 

Every single muscle in Veronica’s back seemed to stiffen under the weight of J.D.’s words as they hit her. Humiliation flared red in her cheeks.

 

Still, Martha stared between the two people in front of her, one hurt and the other bitter and cruel, trying to understand. This deal was Veronica’s idea? Why does J.D. seem to resent her for it? It’s almost as if he’s trying to push her away.

 

“That’s enough,” Martha said, before J.D. could say belittle Veronica more. She already looked close to tears. “I understand.” As much as Martha hated for their story to be true, she believed every word. She knew that Veronica wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice herself to keep J.D. from hurting anyone more. She’d done it before.

 

“Veronica,” Martha said gently, turning to he friend. “What are you asking me to do?”

 

Veronica’s chin wobbled as she stared fixedly at her knees. “Just… Give him a chance, that’s all I’m asking. Our agreement has barely started, but I think this time it will work.”

 

Shit. Martha sighed through her nose as she peered up at J.D., debating. How can I say no when you ask me like that? But what can I do? How can I not turn him in? J.D. held Martha’s gaze, grimacing, his elbows braced on his knees as he sat across from her. He looked resigned as they shared a glance. As if he too knew that Veronica’s wish was hopeless.

 

He’s had his whole life to be a good person, Martha thought as she studied him. He doesn’t deserve another chance. But maybe… maybe Veronica does.

 

An idea began to formulate in Martha’s mind.

 

“I think I could get you a deal,” Martha said, watching as J.D. lifted his head off of his hands. “If you can prove to me that you’re no longer a threat to the public, I think I could convince the authorities to lessen your sentence in exchange for information on Vice. You would have to tell us enough to get Vice into custody and keep him there, but-”

 

“I’m afraid I have to decline, Detective Dunnstock. Haven’t you heard? Snitches get stitches.” J.D. shook his head. “Even if it’s a lessened sentence, it’ll be enough time for one of Vice’s guys in jail to get me. I’d be a sitting duck.”

 

“So fine, I won’t take you to jail,” Martha said, the words flying from her lips before she could think better of them. Shit. “I won’t take you to jail. Tell me what you know anonymously, and so long as you’re a model citizen, I’ll let you keep living your life.”

 

“And what do you get out of the deal?” J.D. breathed.

 

Martha licked her lips. “I get to see my friend happy, and I get Vice.”

 

“Ah.” J.D. practically purred. “The truth comes out. Ambition – that’s your vice.”

 

He was right, of course. Martha knew that she should feel ashamed. She knew that getting J.D. away from the larger population should be her top priority. Hell, part of her did feel ashamed. But it was a small part. Right now, Martha might have been deaf for all that J.D.’s words affected her. He sounded like a bully, and Martha never listened to them, when she could help it.

 

“I’m taking your gun,” she said finally. “Veronica goes back with Betty, and I will be staying with you. From now on, I’m watching your every move.”

 

“Fine with me. I’ve got nothing to hide,” J.D. said, leaning back with a sigh. His lips slanted towards a grin. “Enjoy the show.”

 

 

Soon after Martha’s arrival, Veronica stood in the middle of J.D.’s bedroom, alone, dressed, and packing up her things. The door was closed, so she let herself cry freely, as she gathered up her books, clothes, and shoes, and stuffed them into her bag.

 

She’d really made a mess of things, hadn’t she? When Veronica made her deal with J.D., her reasoning had been that, at least if this failed spectacularly, the damage would be contained. Only she would get hurt. Watching J.D. and Martha nearly blow each other’s heads off had changed everything, in Veronica’s mind. She could not keep the people she cared about from getting involved. If Veronica got hurt, others would go after J.D., and then J.D. would hurt them.

 

J.D. hadn’t helped when he described her plan in such scathing tones. Veronica had a feeling that he made his words sting on purpose, in some skewed attempt to protect her… Which only convinced Veronica more that he had the ability to change.

 

All of this combined made Veronica feel like crap.

 

Pain ignited in her hand as she reached for something. She dropped the object with a yelp. Blinking, Veronica looked down to see a shallow slice in the webbing between her thumb and forefinger. She watched as a fat droplet of blood gathered, slithered down her palm, and fell down onto the object that had cut her in the first place.

 

My diary. It now lay open-face on the ground, a red stain seeping across one of the blank, white pages.

 

A fist sounded against the door, jarring her. Martha’s voice called out. “Veronica? Are you hurt?”

 

Veronica sniffed and swiped at her eyes. “I’m fine, Martha. Just a paper cut.”

 

Moments later, the door swung open as J.D. pushed into the room, Martha dazed behind him. When he caught sight of Veronica’s reddened cheeks and watery eyes, he stopped midstride, and stared. Horror seeped across his face.

 

Christ. “Can we have a moment?” She rasped, her voice cracking. J.D. flinched at the sound.

 

Hesitantly, Martha nodded. “I’ll be waiting outside.” Then, she pulled the door shut.

 

 The moment they were alone, Veronica sat in a heap on the corner of the bed, and sank her head into her hands.

 

“Don’t look at me like that,” Veronica muttered. “I told you, it’s just a paper cut.”

 

“Like hell it is. You read and write too much to cry over one of those.” She felt the bed dip as he sat down beside her. “What’s actually going on?”

 

“I’m scared, and I feel like an idiot.” The admission trembled out of her, and once it did, Veronica realized it was true. She looked at him. “I was trying to help you, and I’ve only made things worse. Now Martha’s involved, and she could lose her job, or… or get hurt.”

 

Pausing, J.D. shifted closer to her, so that their knees were touching.

 

“Even if it’s idiotic, I’m glad you decided to give me a second chance,” he said finally. Slowly, J.D. reached forward, and gently wiped the tears from Veronica’s eyes with his thumbs; she didn’t move, her breath catching in her throat.

 

“God, Veronica, no one’s ever done that for me,” he murmured. “No one has ever given me more than I deserve. Even if I end up going to jail or… you know what? I’m not even going to guess at all the ways this might fail. But no matter what happens to me, seeing you stand up for me like that – the way it felt, watching that, in here – was worth it.” J.D. pressed a palm to his chest, before letting it fall. Then, he looked askance. “And you said it even after what I said.”

 

“You weren’t wrong,” Veronica said, sniffling. “The plan is insane, stupid, and masochistic. “You just didn’t need to say it like that.”

 

“In any case, I owe you an apology. The plan might be all of those things, but you are none of them. You’re… You are the best person I know. The best person I will ever know.”

           

Emotion surged in her chest, and, as if caught on the same wave, Veronica surged forward too, burying her face in J.D.’s chest, and wrapping her arms around his waist. He tensed, at first. His arms settled around her shoulders a moment later, and he held her close.

 

“I hate seeing you upset,” he murmured. “You don’t deserve any of this.”

 

Shuddering, Veronica closed her eyes. One day, maybe, J.D. could understand what she did: that no one deserved the kind of pain he brought upon people. Some people deserved punishment in the name of justice, yes. But Martha’s kind of punishment. Not J.D.’s.

 

She felt his lips press against her hair before he pulled away, and wiped her eyes once more. “There,” he said, his voice rough. “No more of that.”

 

“Okay,” she whispered, staring at him. She’d never seen him so tender. He’s changing. At least, Veronica hoped.

           

 “Don’t hurt Martha,” she blurted as she stood.

 

 “I won’t,” J.D. said. “I’d go for Duke first.” He dodged her glare, and raked a hand through his hair. “Kidding. Right. It’s not funny when I kid about that.”

 

  Veronica only shook her head as she gathered up the last of her things, including her diary. “Will you be okay without me here?”

 

 “I’ll manage,” he said dryly. “I’m not as fragile as you think I am. Plus, if you talk to Martha, I’m sure visiting hours will be plentiful. That is, if you want them to be plentiful.”

 

 “I do,” she answered, soft. “I’ll let you know I change my mind.”

 

 “Good.”

 

Settling back against the pillows, J.D. remained silent for several moments, watching as Veronica packed. She felt his eyes on her as she moved about the room, and it wasn’t an uncomfortable weight. She felt at ease, actually. So when he spoke, it took her by surprise.

 

“I like Martha, actually,” J.D. murmured. Veronica looked over her shoulder, and he explained. “I think she and I are a lot alike. If felt bad when she… well, you know.” He glanced out the window. “Would you believe me if I told you that what I did at Westerburg was meant to help people like her?”

 

“No.”

 

Nodding, J.D. bit his lip, and shrugged, as if he didn’t expect differently. “In any case, I’m glad you and Martha are friends now.”

 

“Me too,” Veronica said, her stomach doing strange little flips as she zipped up her bag. “Maybe you could be friends with her, too.”

 

People respond differently to grief. J.D. and Martha both suffered despair, and their reactions were worlds apart. When suicide didn’t work, Martha eventually sought healing through positive action, first through friendship, and then through police work. She wanted to make the world a better place by eliminating evil and injustice from it. In the end, that’s what J.D. wanted, too, only his methods were evil and unjust. Veronica believed that J.D. could learn from Martha, if he allowed himself to be open.

 

“Unlikely,” he drawled, rising as Veronica zipped up her bag. “But I like your optimism. For you, I’ll make an effort.”

           

“Thank you,” she said, smiling at him as she stood. She gave the room a quick scan with her eyes before clapping her hands awkwardly. “Well, that’s it. I’m ready to go.”

 

“Not yet. You’re forgetting something.” Slowly, J.D. crossed the room to her, and circled his arms around her waist. He dipped his lips close to hers. “Will you kiss me, even though I don’t deserve it?”

 

“I will,” she whispered back, her eyes falling shut as she tasted his breath: fresh and rich, like oregano. “If you give it your best shot.”

 

“I don’t think I ever will,” he murmured, his smile teasing. “Then again, I’m an excellent shot.”

 

She blinked her eyes open. “That was horrible-”

 

He silenced her with his kiss. His mouth swept over hers, eradicating all memory of his terrible play on words. Veronica could think of nothing other than his teeth, tongue, and lips as J.D. used them to ravish her. Time seemed to stop. All of the problems and all of the complications vanished.

 

When J.D. finally pulled away, Veronica was breathless, and her hands were tangled in his hair. Stars danced in the corners of her vision as she fell back on her heels.

 

J.D. steadied her, amused. He absently adjusted the duffle bag strap on her shoulder as he leaned down to whisper. “Be careful, please? For your sake, and for mine. I won’t be there to take care of you.”

 

“Self preservation.” Veronica smiled up at him. “Got it.”

 

Nodding, J.D. pulled away, but didn’t release her hand. They walked out into the living room together.

 

Martha eyed their joined fingers, and Veronica could hear the gears turning in her mind.

 

“No,” Veronica said, answering Martha’s unspoken question. “I am not emotionally manipulated.”

 

“Technically, you wouldn’t know,” J.D. pointed out.

 

Martha glanced at him. “My thoughts exactly.”

 

“I’m leaving,” Veronica said, not knowing how to answer that. “Both of you better be alive next time I see you.”

 

 J.D. raised his hand, as if swearing an oath. After a moment of hesitation, Martha agreed, saying, “We’ll stop by tomorrow.”

 

Biting her lip, Veronica gave them both a hug before she walked out the door, hoping that by leaving them, she wasn't making a terrible mistake. 

Chapter 12

Notes:

Hello friends!
I know it's been a few days, but I still don't own anything Heathers. It's a shame, really.
Same general Heathers warnings as before.
Happy reading!

“Detective Dunnstock, is this really necessary?”

 

“Completely,” Martha growled from where she crouched on her hands and knees, shining her flashlight under J.D.’s bed.

 

J.D. stood behind her, leaning against the doorframe to his bedroom, watching her as he had been for hours as she searched every inch of his house. It was disconcerting, really. Martha heard a solid thump as he tipped his head back in exasperation.

 

“Why don’t you just ask Veronica? I’m sure she’s already searched every inch.”

 

“Knowing she would do that, you probably hid your weapons, and then purposefully gave her the opportunity to look around.”

 

“Bingo,” J.D. said, spreading his arms wide. He dropped them back at his sides. “Only, I hid them in the dumpster, and you missed trash day.”

 

Martha said nothing, thinking to herself, I guess we’ll see.

 

He continued watching her.

 

“You know, you don’t have to be present for this. Hovering only makes me think you have something to hide.”

 

“Don’t we all have something to hide?” He murmured, then shook his head. “I just can’t seem to relax with you here going through my stuff. I told you already, there’s nothing here anymore, other than what you already saw.”

“Say I didn’t miss trash day,” Martha said, humoring him as she moved the search to his closet. “What would I find there?”

“Nothing, actually,” he murmured. “I used my last thermal killing Mac White.”

 

Her flashlight lit upon a safe hidden behind the surplus of hanging black clothes. She sat back on her heels, and pointed to it with the light. “Prove it. Open it up.”

 

“Happy to oblige.”

 

Crouching down beside Martha, J.D. reached forward, twisting a dial.

 

“The day my mother died,” he said softly as he worked. He glanced at Martha. “That’s the code, in case you were wondering.”

 

The lock clicked beneath his fingertips, and the little metal door swung open. Sighing, J.D. took a step back, giving Martha room to rifle through his things.

 

She knelt forward, and shined her light into the shadowed space. Pale green flashed back at her: money, stacks of it.

 

Killing people must be a lucrative trade, she thought grimly as she flipped through the bills. Benjamin Franklin winked back at her.

 

Next to the blood money, there sat a folder. Taking it up, Martha found the forged documents that constituted his fake identity.

 

“Did you forge these yourself?” She asked. “These are impressive.”

 

“Some of the signatures,” he admitted. “But nothing beyond that. I learned from the best.”

 

“That you did.” Martha paused, her thumb skimming over the name on his birth certificate. “You kept your same name. Why?”

 

“It’s a common enough name. I didn’t think anyone would be looking for me.” He shrugged, and glanced away.

 

Liar, Martha thought, looking at his body language – the way he tensed, and averted his gaze. Maybe you hoped Veronica would look, and recognize your name.

 

As Martha placed the forged documents back inside the safe, her fingers brushed against the cool surface of some object shoved back into the corner. She reached for it. Bringing it into the light, she saw that she’d found a small box, like the type to hold jewelry. Curious, Martha flicked open the lid.

 

A ring glimmered back at her, bright even in the low light. The band was slender and silver, topped by a large dark gem surrounded in a halo of tiny diamonds. At first, Martha thought the main jewel was black, perhaps onyx. But as she squinted closer, she realized that it was not black at all, but rather a deep, vibrant, sapphire blue.

 

The blood drained from her face. She flipped the box closed.

 

“You look alarmed, Detective,” J.D. said in a low voice. “Is something wrong?”

 

She shoved the box back into the safe, and rounded on him with a glare. “You know what: it’s blue. What are you planning?”

 

“Nothing! I have no plans.” J.D. raised his arms up, as if to demonstrate his innocence. Then, he let them fall. “The ring belonged to my mother. I nabbed it before I left. I know it wasn’t practical, but I just couldn’t let my father keep it. He didn’t love her; I did. Ironic though, isn’t it? The sapphire, I mean. It’s perfect for her.” Veronica.

 

J.D.’s eyes went distant as he dropped his gaze from Martha to the safe, where the ring box was still visible between the stacks of blood money.

 

Watching him, Martha frowned. “A little too ironic.”

 

His eyes sharpened once again as he glanced back up at Martha. “If you don’t believe me, check my parents’ wedding photos, if my dad hasn’t managed to burn them all. Is he even still living in Sherwood?”

 

“I don’t think so,” Martha said slowly as she closed the door to the safe, and locked it shut. “I think his job took him to Miami.”

 

“Miami,” J.D. snorted. “That would have been a nice move. I love the beach. You know, I’ve always wanted to take Veronica there, on a date. I think she would like the ocean.”

 

“I think so too,” Martha murmured, thinking of the endless blue. “Maybe your dad would let you stay with him.” Martha knew that the Pacific ocean was much, much closer, but she wanted to test the waters (no pun intended) of J.D.’s relationship with his father.

When J.D. merely snorted, she pressed further. “What would be wrong with that?”

 

“I’d probably kill someone, if I had to be anywhere near my father again.”

Okay… Martha frowned, shifting into a more comfortable position on the floor as she turned to face him. “Why? What do you mean?”

 

“It’s just a toxic relationship,” he said, his lips twisting into a wry smile. “My old man is not a nice guy, and between the two of us, I’ve always been more of a father.”

 

Martha waited for him to continue, but J.D. crossed his arms, and remained silent. Seeing that she would learn no more on the subject, Martha turned, and stood. “I think I’ve done enough searching.”

 

J.D.’s eyes glimmered in silent agreement. “You sure you don’t want to check inside the toaster?”

 

She arched a brow. “Should I check the inside the toaster?”

 

“No. Not unless you’re afraid of breadcrumbs.”

 

“I could never be afraid of bread,” Martha muttered, grimacing as she stretched out her limbs. Her knees and back ached from all of the searching. A quick glance to the clock on the bedside table told her that it was nearing midnight. “Bedtime?”

 

J.D. frowned at her pants and blazer. “Are you going to wear that to sleep in?”

 

“Yes,” she said, her voice clipped. “I can’t exactly borrow clothes of yours, now can I?” Martha knew she wouldn’t fit.

 

“Right,” he murmured, reaching back to scratch at his neck. “Make yourself comfortable on the couch. The blankets Heather used are still out there.”

 

“Heather was here?” Martha said lightly as she stepped towards the doorway to the living room. Then, she laughed. “Which one?”

 

“Do you think I’m stupid, Detective Dunnstock?”

 

Martha’s heart hammered in her chest. “Not at all. I know not to underestimate you.” Does J.D. know that Heather Duke called me?

 

“Glad to hear it.” J.D. sighed through his nose, and took a step towards his bed. “Don’t worry, I won’t kill you or Heather Duke tonight. You can sleep easy. Though, I would keep your gun close by, just in case Vice decides to drop by.”

 

Martha dipped her head in acknowledgement as she walked through the room. You can sleep easy, he’d said. Yeah. Right. Martha felt certain that she would not find rest tonight.

 

 

“Veronica, where’s Martha?”

 

Veronica flinched at Betty’s question as she slid into the back seat of the car. Dick turned to gape at Veronica opened mouthed, but Veronica held Betty’s gaze in the mirror above the dash. Betty’s gray eyes glimmered bright and sharp like silver behind the thick lenses of her glasses.

 

“Martha is fine,” Veronica said, her voice grainy, like static on the radio. “But she’s not coming. She wants to stay with J.D. tonight. She’s going to come back to the dorm tomorrow.”

 

Betty frowned, mistrust clear in the deep lines around her lips and eyes. “I don’t know, I don’t feel comfortable leaving her…”

 

“Just drive, Betty,” Veronica said, a little too forcefully.

 

The hurt echoed across Betty’s face. “We’ve been looking for you for days, Ronnie,” Betty whispered. “We didn’t know if you were alive, or dead, or-” She cut off, her voice thick with tears.

 

How could I have spoken to her like that, after causing Betty so much pain? Veronica wondered, her heart breaking. Taking a deep breath, she squeezed her eyes shut tight. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m just scared.”

 

Betty said nothing, clearly waiting for Veronica to explain.

 

Veronica peeked through her eyelashes. “It’s not safe for us to idle out here,” she said slowly. “There’s a man out hunting for me, and he’d have no reservations about hurting you, too. I’ll explain everything to you when we get back to the dorms, but right now, we need to move.”

 

She reached forward, and touched Betty’s shoulder, her fingertips light and hesitant. “You can trust me, Betty,” Veronica whispered. “I will protect my friends. I wouldn’t leave Martha for dead, and I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

 

Veronica felt Betty searching her face in the reflection of the mirror. After a moment, Betty said, “I believe you.” Then, she took off the brake, and drove.

 

Veronica watched out the window as J.D.’s apartment complex disappeared into the night. Moments, buildings around her became familiar. She stared at them wonderingly, recognizing the neighborhoods, shops, and stores that surrounded her school. Have I been within walking distance of Stanford this entire time? She’d never bothered to press J.D. about their location. She had not bothered trying to escape. Maybe she should have.

 

How am I going to explain myself to Betty? Veronica didn’t release her fists the entire ride over, as she tried to come up with the words. It was not a conversation that she was looking forward to.

 

 

Eventually, they reached the safety of the dorm room. When Veronica walked through the door, she was hit by a wave of comfort, stronger than she would have expected, at the sight of her pencils, desk, and twin bed. She’d missed school, missed her own space. Sagging, Veronica collapsed into her desk chair.

 

A single look from Betty had the story spilling out of her.

 

A guarded version of events tumbled from Veronica’s lips for Betty and Dick, including everything from the moment she left Dick in the empty classroom. She omitted the more intimate details, but she did not – would not – lie. In a low voice, she told them about the deal, though she called it dating, instead of brutal and psychologically questionable fucking. Dating just sounded better.

 

Dick blew out a breath when she was finished. “And you want me to hire him? I think there is one available opening, but I have to check…”

 

“Anything you could do would be great,” Veronica said hastily. She didn’t want him to ask her too many questions.

 

Abruptly, Betty turned to Dick, and took both of his hands in hers.

 

“Yes, thank you for everything, Dick,” Betty said, emphatic. The warmth in her tone snagged Veronica’s attention, and Betty continued, “I think Veronica and I both need to rest. We’ll see you tomorrow. You can tell us if there’s an opening at the 7-Eleven then.”

 

Then, to both Dick and Veronica’s shock and awe, Betty stretched up on her toes, kissed Dick’s cheek, rendering Dick incapable of coherent speech. This allowed Betty to usher him out of the door with ease.

 

The door slammed shut, and the lock clicked into place. Betty sagged with her back against the door, her cheeks pink.

 

Veronica blinked, a slow smile spreading out onto her lips. “You and Dick…?”

 

Betty straightened, stepping away from the wall. “I’ll explain that,” she said slowly. “Once you tell me the rest.”

 

“Fair enough,” Veronica croaked. It was just she and Betty now. A weight lifted off of Veronica’s lungs, and she told Betty everything. Even the intimate details: the parts that made her blush, and the parts that made her cry.

 

Betty didn’t say a word the entire time, but by the end of it, they had both migrated to Veronica’s bed, and both of their shoulders were wet with tears.

 

Veronica clutched her pillow to her chest. “I know I should have tried to escape,” she said finally. “I know I should have been scared of him, but I wasn’t. Not really. Even though I knew he could kill me, I didn’t want to leave.”

 

Thinking, Betty patted Veronica’s back, and said, “I was worried for you, yes, but it sounds like you made the right decision by staying with J.D., especially with Vice out there looking for you. I wonder why he hasn’t tried anything yet?”

 

Veronica shrugged. She didn’t want to think about that.

 

“J.D. probably would have caught you sneaking out, anyway,” Betty added. “Knowing him. With a concussion, it’s probably best you didn’t risk it, since he didn’t seem to want to hurt you once he had you at his apartment. How is your concussion, by the way?”

 

“Better,” Veronica said, lips turning upwards as she swatted Betty’s hands away from her scalp. “I still feel it, but I think it’s almost gone. I’ll probably take tomorrow and the weekend to recover. Tomorrow is Friday, right?”

 

Betty nodded. “And you said J.D. and Martha will come by tomorrow?”

 

“Yes. I think J.D. was going to check with Dick about the job at 7-Eleven, and Martha is going to grab her stuff. I think she’s panning on staying with J.D. for a while.” Veronica bit her lip. “J.D. and I also wanted to check in with you about him possibly taking therapy sessions with you. Would you be willing to do that? You can do that though your psychology class, right?”

 

“Yes,” Betty said, a little flabbergasted. “Volunteers can sign up to take therapy sessions with students. Though, I’ve never done one by myself before. Mostly it’s to give the seniors a chance to practice on patients with a professor monitoring before going out into the real world, and offering services to real patients. I’m the youngest student in there, and I’m only there to help with office stuff. Wouldn’t J.D. rather have someone with experience?” A self-conscious blush rose to Betty’s cheeks.

 

Veronica smiled, and squeezed her friend’s shoulders in a hug. “No. You’re the only one that he trusts, and I know you’re the best person to help him. That is, if you’re willing to do it.”

 

“If you trust him, then yes, I’m willing,” Betty said, her expression thoughtful. “I’d prefer if Martha was in the room with us, at least the first time. I could do it here, or in the therapy rooms. I’m sure no one would mind me borrowing them.”

 

“Thank you, Betty.” Veronica tightened her arms. “You’re a better friend than I deserve.”

 

“It’s no problem. After all, I need to keep an eye on him, to make sure he’s treating you right.” Betty laughed, and squeezed Veronica before sitting back, and sliding off the bed. “And don’t say that: you’re the best friend I could ever imagine having. Your life is so exciting, sometimes I wonder what you see in me.”

 

“Everything,” Veronica said cryptically. “I see everything in you.”

 

Betty rolled her eyes. “I’m going to shower. You won’t be missing when I get back, will you?”

 

“Cross my heart and hope to die…” Veronica cringed as she trailed off. The funny little saying struck a little too close to the unnerving truth – that Veronica had a death wish.

 

Betty only shook her head wryly – indulgingly – and slipped out the door.

 

Truly alone for the first time in days, Veronica let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. Emotions teased the back of her mind, threatening to destroy the peaceful silence. Veronica did her best to keep those thoughts and feelings at bay as she moved around the room, unpacked, and prepared for sleep.

 

I will not think about this past week, I will not think about the days to come, and I definitely not think about J.D.

 

Eventually, it was not her thoughts that shattered the quiet, but a phone call.

 

The sudden, shrill ringing from the orange, plastic phone on Betty’s desk made Veronica jump out of her skin. She froze in the middle of the room, staring at the device as it rang once, twice. Who could be calling? Was it Betty’s father? Did he know that Veronica was missing? If he did, how should Veronica explain her return? She would rather not answer that call. Not tonight.

 

But what if it was Martha on the other line, wanting to check that they’d all gotten back to the dorms alive? Or… or what if Martha was calling to say that there was a problem on her end?

 

Veronica lunged for the phone. “Hello?”

 

“Betty? It’s Foster again. Sorry to wake you, but I need to speak with Martha urgently. There’s been a development.”

 

“It’s… It’s not Betty,” Veronica breathed, her heart pounding.

 

The deep, male voice on the other line went quiet.

 

“Veronica?”

 

Veronica nodded. Then, realizing that the man – Foster – could not see that, she said, “Yes.”

 

“Thank Christ Martha found you,” he said, his voice rich with feeling. Warmth spread through Veronica’s chest. The idea of this stranger caring so much about her safe return touched her deeply.

 

The warmth quickly turned into cold as Foster continued. “Are you hurt? Where is J.D.? Where is Martha?”

 

How much does this man know? More importantly, how much should I tell him?

 

“Who are you, exactly?” Veronica blurted, asking what she should have asked the moment this conversation started. She twisted the phone cord around her fingers. “You said your name is Foster, but that doesn’t tell me anything.”

 

His voice turned soothing. “I’m a friend of Martha’s. I was the arson investigator assigned to Mac White’s building. Martha’s search for you brought her to me, and since then we’ve been working together. Martha trusted me enough to let me help her with her personal mission. You can trust me too.”

 

Once again, the sincerity in Foster’s voice touched a deep part of Veronica’s heart. He seemed to care about her and Martha.

 

That’s what made Veronica decide to trust Foster: his friendship with Martha. Earlier, Veronica left Martha alone with J.D. But maybe she could fix that.

 

“Martha is not here,” Veronica said softly, hoping that by doing so, she wasn’t damning J.D. He’s an arson investigator… but he’s also Martha’s friend. And a friend of Martha’s is a friend of mine. “She’s with J.D.”

Foster went quiet once again.

 

“He won’t hurt her, Foster. He promised me.” Only after the words were out did Veronica realize how naïve they sounded. She squeezed her eyes shut. “I wouldn’t put Martha in danger. I would pick her life over J.D.’s, if I thought I had to make that choice.”

 

To his credit, Foster didn’t scoff. “I know, Veronica,” he said, gentle. “You’re a good friend. That’s why you’re going to tell me where they are, so I can make sure that J.D. keeps his promise.”

 

“Right,” Veronica whispered, and closed her eyes. Then, she gave him directions to the address, the words trembling from her lips.

 

“Foster,” she said when she was done, her knuckles white and strangled in the worried phone cord. “I care about both of the people in that apartment. I’m trusting you to do the right thing: keep Martha safe from J.D., and keep J.D. from hurting himself.” Veronica bit her lip. “Maybe it’s not the right thing objectively, but it’s the right thing by me.”

 

“You’ve made the right decision,” Foster promised. “Thank you, Veronica. I’m going to hang up now. Be careful.”

 

“Wait! What were you going to tell Martha when you called?”

 

He hesitated. “I suppose you have the right to know: there’s been another fire in Mac White’s building. Only this time, the blaze was more powerful. The entire structure collapsed. There’s nothing left.”

 

No. Veronica’s fingers shook. “J.D. didn’t do it, Foster. Ask him, but I know he didn’t. He hardly even went out today, or yesterday, and I would have smelled smoke-” I would have known. At least, I think I would have.

 

“I’ll take that into consideration. It’s possible that Vice hired someone else to set the fire.”

 

“Vice has it out for J.D.,” Veronica said, bouncing on her heels. “Setting him up would be a great way for Vice to kick off his revenge quest. Go find Martha. She can explain it all to you.”

 

After a quick farewell, Foster hung up.

 

Releasing her fingers from the tangle of telephone wires, Veronica set the phone back into the receiver. She didn’t know if Foster really believed a word she said. Still, it was good to get her side of the story out there.

 

Maybe it’s better if he doesn’t trust me. Maybe I’m blinded by my feelings for J.D. Scratch that: I know I’m blinded by my feelings for him.

 

Not wanting to think about her own failings any more, Veronica curled into bed, and gave herself over to the blindness of sleep.

 

Chapter 13

Notes:

Hello friends!
Sorry it's been so long. Again... life. Thanks for being patient.
This chapter includes gun use, violent/disturbing content, and slightly sexual situations.
I still don't own Heathers, the movie or the musical.
With that said... happy reading!

Violent pounding on the front door of J.D.’s apartment woke Martha in the middle of the night.

 

Fuck! I fell asleep. She hadn’t meant to do that. But maybe it was a good thing that J.D. hadn’t killed her in her sleep.

 

Cursing, Martha scrambled for the gun beneath her pillow, just before the door burst open.

 

Martha blinked. There, in the decrepit hallway, stood Foster, looking like a god with his intense brown eyes, windswept brown hair, and rough shading of stubble.

 

Awestruck, Martha lowered her gun.

 

“You came,” she blurted, realizing only after they were spoken that her words sounded odd – as if she expected him to come.

 

He answered in stride as he stepped into the room, and shut the now broken door behind him. “I couldn’t leave you alone here.”

 

Moments later, J.D. rounded the corner out of his room, in no apparent rush to see who had busted through his door.

 

He crossed his arms. “I assume you two know each other?”

 

“We’re friends,” she said simply, and turned. “How did you know where I was?”

 

“Veronica. She answered when I called Betty’s phone, trying to reach you.”

           

Veronica sent you to me? Martha thought. J.D. grunted, equally surprised.

 

The noise drew Foster’s attention. He took an intimidating step forward, and flashed J.D. his badge. “You’re Jason Dean?”

 

“Guilty,” J.D. said with an easy smile. “Any friend of Martha’s is a friend of mine. Please, come on in. Feel free to stay a while.”

 

Martha frowned. How much of that was sarcasm?

 

“I intend to,” Foster replied coolly, before sitting down on the end of the couch beside Martha.

 

“You said you called,” Martha said, still stunned that he came all this way in the middle of the night. “Why?”

 

“There’s been another fire,” Foster said in a low voice, glancing between her and J.D. “It was located in the same building where you struck before-”

 

J.D. frowned. “Was I that obvious?”

           

“-except this time, the fire was not contained to a single unit, and the entire building collapsed.” Foster didn’t deign to answer J.D., and instead pressed the question. “Did you do this?”

 

“What time was the fire?” J.D. asked.

 

“It was called in around 9:00 PM, but it began early this evening.”

 

J.D. shook his head. “I couldn’t have done it. I went out this afternoon, but I’ve been here all night. Ask Veronica, my neighbor Heather Duke, or even Martha. All of them can attest to my alibi.”

 

 “He’s right,” Martha said grimly. He was too busy making spaghetti, threatening Heather, and fucking Veronica to have started a fire like that. He also would have needed a lot of ammunition to bring down an entire building. Either Heather or Veronica would have seen something at some point during the week.

 

J.D. smirked at Martha, as if sharing her thoughts.

 

“So, he’s innocent of arson this time,” Foster said, glaring across the room. “But he’s committed a million other crimes. Please explain to me why we aren’t taking him to jail right this second, for his safety as much as ours.”

 

“For Veronica,” Martha said, trying not to cringe as she spoke. “J.D. is going to try to change his ways so that he can lead a normal life with her.”

 

Foster stared at Martha. “Are we actually going to believe him?”

 

That was the second time Foster said we, as if they were a legitimate team. Martha liked the sound of it.

 

“No, we’re going to believe Veronica. She thinks J.D. is capable of reform, so we’re going to trust her.” Martha blew out a breath. “There’s more: J.D. started his reform by cutting ties with Vice. I’m willing to let J.D. have a limited amount of freedom so long as his behavior is pristine in exchange for information that will allow us to apprehend Vice. In this instance, J.D. is the lesser of two evils.”

 

Foster sat back in his seat as he absorbed all of the new information. “This is… insane.”

 

 “I know. But catching Vice could make both of our careers, and… I owe Veronica a debt.” A life debt. Martha shrugged. “This ‘case’ isn’t made official yet. It’s still personal business.” She looked at her knees. According to what Chief Finn told her when they talked on the phone this week, there still wasn’t enough evidence to prove that J.D. was alive. Everyone still thought he was dead. He would stay dead, if Martha told Chief Finn that there had been no signs of J.D., and that Veronica actually had mono, and that she’d been staying with Heather Duke.

 

“I know this isn’t right,” she said to Foster. “I don’t expect you to be part of this.”

 

A hand wrapped around her knee. Looking down, Martha watched in astonishment as Foster gave her leg a supportive and undeniably sexy squeeze.

 

“I’m not going to let you do this alone. Your motivations are crazy, but it’s like I said – everything about this case is crazy. And you’re right: J.D. is the lesser of two evils.”

 

J.D. chuckled, jarring both of them. Up until then, he’d been silent as they discussed his fate.

 

“I am honored by your assessment, but if you two don’t mind, I’m going to go back to sleep.”

 

Both Martha and Foster watched as J.D. slipped back into his room, and shut the door.

 

“You searched his room?” Foster murmured.

 

“Of course. No weapons or explosives. He pulled a gun on me when I first arrived, but I think he was expecting Vice. In any case, I have it here.” Martha gestured to the two guns on the coffee table: J.D.’s, empty of bullets, beside hers, which was fully loaded.

 

Foster dazzled her with a grin. “Then I guess we can rest easy.”

 

“I guess so.”

 

 Foster kicked his feet up, and placed his hands behind his head with a relaxed sigh. Martha almost laughed. The pose was totally out of place, considering the situation.

 

“You truly think Vice started that fire?” Foster asked, turning his head to peer at her.

 

“I do. Vice wants to hurt J.D., and to hurt J.D. he wants to hurt Veronica. Vice must have found out that you suspected J.D. as the arsonist. Burning the building was meant to incriminate J.D., and threaten his security. J.D. has been protecting Veronica all this week, so if Vice used you to get J.D. out of the way, he could get to Veronica.”

 

“Why does Vice have it in for J.D.?”

 

Taking a deep breath, Martha explained, regurgitating everything Veronica had told her about the confrontation in the alley, the fiasco at the poker game, Heather Dukes involvement, and finally, the deal between J.D. and Veronica.

 

Foster whistled, long and low. “That’s some fucked up shit.”

 

“Tell me about it,” Martha agreed, sagging. It was a relief, not to be alone in the knowledge.

 

“How are we supposed to trust J.D. and Veronica alone together?”

 

“Honestly, I don’t know. I guess we just… do. I think Vice might be afraid of J.D. That might be why he hasn’t made a direct attack.”

 

“J.D.’s presence keeps Veronica safe, so we need to keep them together.” Foster cursed. “Do you think she’ll be safe tonight?”

           

“I think so. I think the school should be the safest place for her.”

 

“That’s good. Veronica seems nice.”

 

“She is.”

 

He thought for a moment. “We’ll take turns watching J.D., if we can’t do it together. How long do you think this deal will last?”

 

“The longer the better. The deal ends when J.D. breaks his promises. Our involvement ends once we get Vice.”

 

They sat in silence for some time, both thinking about what lay ahead of them. Eventually, Martha’s eyes grew heavy, and she dozed off. She did not know that she spent the rest of the night with her head on Foster’s shoulder, her body tucked beneath his arm.

 

 

That’s fucking adorable, J.D. thought as he shuffled out of the bedroom the next morning, and found Martha and Foster asleep, cuddled together on the couch.

 

He tried to move quietly, so as not to wake the two little doves, as he walked into the kitchen and turned on the coffee pot. Alas, both of the investigators were too aware of their surroundings. The gurgling of the coffee brewing in the pot soon had them stirring.

 

Foster woke first, and he glared at J.D. in silence. The weight of his gaze was downright obnoxious. Can’t a man make breakfast in peace? J.D. thought, unnaturally tense as he stuck two slices of toast in the toaster. J.D. thought Foster would stare at him like that forever. Before J.D. could make his speech – for the second time in twenty-four hours – about the toaster not containing explosives, Martha woke up, and Foster’s attention was diverted.

 

“Coffee,” she sighed, still half asleep.

 

J.D. chuckled, set out three mugs, and poured coffee into each. He made sure to keep his movements clear, and as an added gesture, drank first. He did not want Foster accusing him of poisoning their drinks. Foster still looked suspicious as he took the offered mug off the countertop, but Martha drank without hesitation.

 

“So,” J.D. said after clearing his throat. “How soon are visiting hours?”

 

He was anxious to see Veronica again. Foster had confirmed that she’d gotten to her dorm safely, but still, J.D. felt on edge without her in front of him.

 

Foster answered. “After I have coffee, it’ll be as fast as you can get there on your own two feet.”

 

“Come again?”

 

“Yes, please explain,” Martha grunted as she slid into a barstool.

 

“J.D. needs regular exercise, right?” Foster said, his lips doing something funny. Was that a smile? “So, we’ll take a morning jog. Veronica’s dorm is set at a good distance from here. It’ll make a nice run.”

 

“We,” Martha repeated. “That doesn’t include me, does it?”

 

Yes, it is a smile, J.D. realized when Foster’s grin widened.

 

“Not unless you want it to,” Foster said. “You can take my car, if you’d like.”

 

“I’d like that very much.”

 

Less pleased, J.D. leaned forward on his elbows, and narrowed his eyes at Foster. “It’s a great idea, Coach, but I don’t exactly own a pair of running shoes.”

 

“You’re lying,” Martha said, blinking, doe eyed and innocent. “I saw a pair in your closet yesterday.”

 

Crap.

 

J.D. glowered. “My mistake.”

 

J.D.’s main issue was his coat. He didn’t know what to do with it. He could hardly remember the last time he stepped outside without it. Indeed, even walking around the house, he felt naked without the heavy, dark fabric over his shoulders… And J.D. didn’t want to prance around naked with Vice out there hunting for him. Yet, J.D. couldn’t exactly go on a run wearing his coat. Maybe he could get away with that shit in Ohio, but not in Sunny California.

 

“If you want, I can bring you a change of clothes in the car,” Martha offered. “They’ll be waiting for you when you arrive at the dorms. I’m sure you could shower there, too.”

 

What a kind gesture. J.D.’s brows lifted. “Much appreciated.”

 

She smiled at him, and teased. “Why do you look so surprised?”

 

Because you have no reason to be nice to me, and people don’t normally play nice unless they have a reason for doing so. Because most people in your position would love to make me suffer, even just a little bit.

 

“Because I’m rarely surprised,” J.D. said cryptically. Ignoring both Martha’s and Foster’s confused glances, J.D. instead turned his eyes down, and looked at himself: he was dressed in black sweatpants and a matching shirt riddled with holes. It was what he’d worn to sleep. “Do I meet the dress code, Coach?”

 

“Yes,” Foster said, clipped. He did not appear pleased with his new nickname. “Pack a bag, I’ll change into the extra clothes I have in the car, and we’ll be ready to go.”

 

Lifting his hand in a soldier’s salute, J.D. ducked into his room.

 

He tapped his chin, standing before the closet. What to wear… He had to look nice for his date.

 

He settled on old reliable: black shirt (without holes), jeans, boots to replace the ridiculous running shoes, and, of course, his jacket. Then, the extras: wallet, house keys, handcuffs, rope, knife out from the hiding place in his drawer-

 

J.D. paused. Was he allowed to have a knife? What would his two new parole officers say?

 

After a beat of hesitation, J.D. slipped the small blade into the waistline of his sweats. One could never be too careful, especially when one had enemies. Hopefully, Foster wouldn’t try to give him a pat down.

 

In truth, knives were not his weapons of choice. Not because they made a mess (which they did), or because they were too visceral (which was really a point in their favor). No, knives just didn’t have that spark. The contained explosions of a gun or the unhindered blaze of a bomb… those were his favorite tools of the trade. Fires weren’t clean kills, but they left little evidence behind. No fingerprints. Only ash.

 

Though I guess ash is all the evidence that someone like Foster needs.

 

J.D. stomach rolled at the thought. Soured. It was not unlike the feeling of running around without his coat.

 

A few minutes later, when J.D. finally stepped out onto the street with Foster, he put a name to the feeling: vulnerability.

 

“Move,” Foster growled, giving J.D. a sharp shove from behind.

 

J.D.’s lip curled. A wave of dark energy rose up inside of him, buzzing like an electric current. He wanted to turn around, and shove Foster back, harder, knock him off his feet.

 

But J.D. didn’t. The memory of Veronica’s hopeful, tear filled eyes stayed his hand. She needed him to do better. J.D. didn’t want to go back to living without her. He closed his eyes, took a breath, and channeled that energy away from his hands, and into his feet.

 

His shoes hit the pavement. Again. And again. Each impact sent a solid shock through his legs, knees, and chest, jarring him as if he’d thrown a punch. And like throwing a punch, the release was… exquisite.

 

The ugly buildings, the noisy cars, and even the god-awful people around him began to blur. The wind picked up, and J.D. ran faster.

           

“You acted like you hated exercise. I knew you were too ripped to be telling the truth,” Foster panted from a pace behind J.D., his cheeks red. “Jesus kid, slow down. This is a jog, not a sprint. You’ll be spent by the time we reach Veronica.”

 

At that, J.D. slowed. He wanted to have some energy left for Veronica. He had plans.

 

“Why are you so fit?”

 

The jacket, it seemed, was a nonissue, in comparison to his annoying running partner.

 

However, wanting to be on Foster’s good side, J.D. turned his head, and answered, “Martha told you I faked my own death, right?”

 

Foster nodded.

 

“Well, it was almost real. Veronica shot me, twice. The first shot blew off my finger. I used it to tell her to go fuck herself, so I guess I deserved that one. But the second shot was the bitch.”

 

Slowing, J.D. turned fully, and lifted his shirt, revealing the webbing of scars across his chest. The whites of Foster’s eyes stretched as he took it all in.

 

“Veronica did that?”

 

“Surprising, isn’t it?” J.D. dropped the fabric. “Luckily, I knew a guy. He fixed me up, but I was still pretty broken. I hardly had the strength to walk to the bathroom and take a shit. You can guess how I felt about that. I started working out almost the minute I got off bed rest.” Being fit was useful, especially in his line of work. Sometimes his hits tried to fight him off. His muscles helped ensure that none of them succeeded in fucking J.D. over.

 

Instead of telling Foster that little factoid, J.D. made small talk. “Where did you get yours?”

 

“Get what?”

 

“Your muscles, Coach. Where did you get them?”

 

Foster frowned. “I guess I’ve always had them.”

 

I see. “So you were one of those little boys blessed by the Puberty Fairy?”

 

Foster shrugged, confirming that he must have been blessed. The blessed were rarely aware of the blessing they’ve received, unlike the unblessed and the cursed.

 

I know exactly who you are, J.D. thought, and he was not able to keep his knowledge to himself. An old rage boiled up inside of him, and when he spoke, his voice was rich with distaste. … So much for staying on Foster’s good side. He probably didn’t even have a good side.

 

“Let me guess,” J.D. cooed. “You also played sports all throughout school?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Football, baseball…”

 

“Yes, yes.”

 

“And you probably did well in your classes too?”

 

“I made A’s and B’s.”

 

“I’m sure the teachers loved you. The girls, too?”

 

“I dated a little in high school. Only one or two girls, really.”

 

“Long term relationships, I bet. That means you were handsome and caring. You weren’t out there breaking hearts, even though you could have. Yes, you must have been popular. You never sat alone at lunch, or in a class, because you never found yourself without a friend.” J.D. gasped. “And fuck me gently if you weren’t voted prom king your senior year.”

 

With a snarl, Foster lunged, and grabbed J.D. by the arm, yanking J.D. to a halt so close that J.D. could feel the heat in Foster’s breath as he panted.

 

Shivering, J.D. smiled. “What’s wrong, Coach? Was it something I said?”

 

“Listen here you little shit, I’m don’t know what you’re trying to imply, but you know nothing about my life-”

 

“Oh, but I do.” J.D. ripped his arm away. “You’ve been big all of your life: that’s the reason you feel good calling me little or kid, even though you’re not that much older than I am. I’ve met dozens of you, at maybe a dozen different high schools. You’re the golden boy. Shiny, like a brand new toy. Yeah, maybe I don’t understand everything in your life. Maybe you have a father who hits you when he’s angry, I don’t know. But you sure as fuck will never understand the kind of suffering that I went through. It teaches you at a young age that people are inherently cruel. Turned me into a monster. Martha barely survived at all-”

 

“What do you mean? What happened to Martha?”

 

J.D. froze, and looked away from Foster with a curse. “That’s not my story to tell, Coach.” Shit. I shouldn’t have said anything.

 

Foster at least had the grace to drop the subject. He glared at J.D., and ordered him to keep running.

 

So, J.D. shut up and ran.

Notes:

Just a side note - I'm super pumped about the next chapter, so I'll try to get it out really soon! Thanks for sticking around!

Chapter 14

Notes:

Hello again!
I hope you all are doing well. I am, despite still not owning Heathers.
Warnings for this chapter include violence/gore, sexual content, trauma, and generally disturbing scenarios. Please keep this in mind before reading.
Enjoy!

Dear Diary,

 

I didn’t think last night’s dream was a nightmare until I woke up.

 

I dreamed I was with J.D. (I’m always with him in my dreams, aren’t I?). We were back in Sherwood, parked in the woods. Actually, it looked like same place we parked when we killed Kurt and Ram. Except this time, we weren’t there to kill anyone, and we weren’t running from the cops. We were just sitting, talking, and drinking slushies. His was blue, and mine was red.

 

We had the windows rolled down, and I could smell the earth and the musk of the forest around us as the breeze circulated through the hot car. There was a feeling of calm tranquility in the air, and J.D. especially seemed relaxed. His smile was without its usual edge, and he had an easy arm thrown over the back of my seat. He was more peaceful than he’d ever been in life.

 

That should have been my first clue that something was amiss.

 

I don’t remember what we were talking about, but I was laughing when I brought my slushie to my lips. As I tipped the cup back, the lid fell off, and the entire, icy drink spilled over my face, neck, and front. Strangely, it didn’t feel cold. Wet and sticky, yes, but not immediately, shockingly cold like ice normally feels.

“Damn,” I said, looking down at myself. I was wearing one of my favorite outfits: the black crop top and the pale blue skirt. The one I’d worn when we killed Kurt and Ram. At least, it used to be my favorite outfit, until it was stained with blood. I didn’t remember that reality in the dream, though.

 

J.D. chuckled, and suddenly, he wasn’t peaceful anymore. He had that edge in his eyes again. His teeth seemed especially sharp, like an animal’s.

 

“You would have been safer going with one of these,” he said, waggling his blue raspberry slushie in front of my face, and making the ice rattle.

 

I frowned, about to tell him that no one likes a know-it-all. For some reason, I couldn’t argue with his logic. In my dreamland rational, Red was intrinsically more dangerous than Blue.

 

But before I could say anything, the rattling of the ice in his cup grew louder and louder, until it was deafening. And the slushie on my face became colder and colder, seeming to seep straight through my clothes and my skin to chill the very core of my being.

 

When I opened my eyes, the first odd thing that I registered was a bundle of damp blue feathers an inch above my nose. While I was staring up at that, trying to figure out what it was, I realized that the sticky and wet feeling that had settled over my skin had not vanished with my dream. Neither had the rattling sound.

 

I sat up.

 

The rattling was from the door: Martha, calling my name, and jiggling the locked handle.

 

The blue feathers belonged to a dead blue jay that had been strung up over my bed. Its wings were open, and its chest had been cut, split clean down the middle, giving anyone with their head on the pillow a view of its entrails. I saw puffy, pink intestine, and a small, dark mass that must be the heart. The blue jay must not have been killed long ago. Its insides were still dripping, and I was covered in blood.

 

Too shocked to scream, I just stood up, crossed the room, and let Martha in. I felt as if I were still sleeping, processing information without trying to make sense of it, knowing, in some deep part of my mind, that my reality was not real.

 

Only, I wasn’t dreaming, and reality was unyielding.

 

Martha didn’t scream either, when she saw the bird. Her eyes went from anxious to grim as she took in my blood-soaked state. She stepped inside, and locked the door.

 

She said something to me, but I don’t remember what. I was too busy watching blood drip from the bird onto the bed, staining the sheets, and from my body onto the floor. I could feel it drying in my hairline. It itched.

 

She asked if I was hurt, and I said no. She asked if I saw anything or anyone, and I said no again. I thought about telling her about my dream, but I didn’t have the energy to say the words. I just sat at the end of my bed, careful not to sit in the wet spot by the pillow.

 

“Was the window open all night?” Martha asked. It was a good question. I said no, and that I didn’t remember opening it, or leaving it open.

 

Apparently, Heather Duke woke up this morning to find a live green snake wiggling around her bed. Foster and J.D. had gone out on a run, and Martha was standing in the hallway outside of J.D.’s apartment, locking up, when she heard Heather scream.

 

“Is Heather okay? Was she bitten?” I asked in a funny voice. It started to get hard for me to breathe. When I looked down, I saw my hands shaking in my lap. I glanced away quickly.

 

Martha shook her head no.

 

“What happened to the snake?”

 

“We trapped it into a shoebox. I offered to call animal control, but Heather told me not to. When it was free in the apartment, Heather wanted nothing more than to kill the thing, but once we got it in the box she started to get a little… attached. She made air holes, and was still trying to figure out how to give it some water when I left.”

 

“You left? You left Heather alone with a snake?”

 

Martha blinked at me as if I were dumb. “I had to check on you.”

 

At that moment, I thought about who had done this, and why.

 

“You think Vice is behind this?” I said. It was hard to talk with my teeth chattering.

 

“I think Vice arranged this,” Martha said carefully. As she spoke, she moved over to me, lifting the clean section of covers off of my bed and folding them over my shoulders. “But I don’t think he did this himself.”

 

“Why do you think that?” I asked. A stupid question.

 

Martha answered it anyway, even though she clearly didn’t want to. Her expression seemed to say, Haven’t you been though enough for one day, Veronica? My masochism knows no bounds.

 

“Vice wanted to rape you before,” she explained. “If he’d been here last night, he would have taken advantage of finding you vulnerable. But whoever did this didn’t touch you, which makes me think that Vice hired someone, and gave them special instructions not to cause harm.”

 

“Because Vice wants me for himself,” I finished for her. “This is only a threat.”

 

Martha’s lips thinned. She didn’t disagree.

 

The door handle rattled again. This time, I jumped.

 

Martha shot me a worried glance as she moved to answer it. Her hand fluttered over the holster of her gun as she peered through the peephole, before falling back to her side when she recognized the person requesting entry.

 

Martha swung the door open, and in walked J.D. and Foster, both sweaty and flushed. It was my first time seeing Foster, but I knew exactly who he was the moment he walked in. The determination in his stride matched the determination in the voice I heard over the phone last night.

 

Even traumatized and covered in blood, I felt like I’d just walked into a male strip club: knees weak and heart pumping. Foster was incredibly attractive in that tall, dark, and handsome kind of way, and J.D. always managed to do things to my body that no mortal should. Together and sweaty, they looked like Sex incarnate, drenched in the evidence of raw, physical, masculine prowess. Any other time, I might have been swooning. Or stripping.

 

As it was, Foster froze in the middle of the room with a curse, his eyes widening. What a first impression, I thought. He’s speechless.

 

Unfazed by the blood, J.D. stepped into action. He crossed the room, kneeling in front of me as his eyes roamed over every inch of my skin, checking me for injuries. Moments later, his hands did the same.

 

“What happened?” He ground out, his eyes hard and intense.

 

I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

 

In the background, I heard Martha repeat everything I had told her so that I wouldn’t have to. Grateful, I closed my eyes, somewhere between unwilling and unable to listen. The story sounded more painful coming out of her mouth than it felt coming out of mine.

 

Moments later, I felt myself lifted off my feet. My eyes flared open, but I didn’t struggle. I looked up, and saw that it was J.D., hauling me bride-style across the hall, towards the communal bathrooms.

 

When I looked over my shoulder, I saw Martha and Foster both running after him. They yelled at him, and he yelled something back. I didn’t hear a word of it.

 

J.D. rounded into the girls bathroom, kicking open the door. It was empty, save for one girl blow-drying her hair. She jumped at the sound of the door banging against the wall. She opened her mouth, as if to tell J.D. that he wasn’t supposed to be in here, but before she could, he growled at her to get out. One glance at me, and she went scampering.

 

Martha entered as the other girl left. J.D. barked at her to watch the door, and bring… something. They argued. Grudgingly, she left, and came back later with my bath caddy and another bag. She stood by the sinks, her arms crossed.

 

J.D. snapped something. Martha didn’t move.

 

I saw J.D. roll his eyes before he ushered me towards the handicapped shower on the far end of the bathroom.

 

Then, his hands were on me, peeling away layers of blood-slick clothing, simultaneously stripping away the shock deadening my senses.

 

I became aware of his soft murmuring.

 

“…You’re okay, baby. It’s going to be okay. We’re going to get you cleaned up.”

 

He flicked on the faucet, and adjusted the temperature before helping me step inside. His hand lingered on my elbow for a moment longer than necessary, making sure I didn’t slip before he stripped himself and stepped beside me beneath the water.

 

I watched the blood ooze down the drain as he worked the washcloth across every inch of my skin, buffing circle after gentle circle, erasing the streaks of red.

 

He continued speaking to me, promising that he would keep me safe, and that he wouldn’t leave me alone any longer.

 

It wasn’t until he said, “There, Veronica, you don’t need to cry,” that I realized that I was.

 

He washed my hair, but I came back to myself in time to rinse it without assistance. J.D. might have smiled when he saw me do that.

 

Distractedly, I watched as he washed himself. He was a wonderful distraction. Every inch of him was beautiful, and I wanted him. It seemed that I always wanted him. But I didn’t have the energy to go about taking what I wanted, and J.D. seemed too preoccupied with ensuring my wellbeing to even think about fulfilling our other, ever-present needs. Which was fine by me.

 

Some time later, J.D. shut the water off. I shivered, dripping and wet, only for a moment before I found myself bundled in a towel and a strong pair of arms. We dressed, and walked with Martha back to my room. When we returned, the bird was gone, and my bed was made up with new sheets.

 

The three of them began talking as I curled up on the foot of the bed. Tuning them out, I did what I always did when I felt lost: I grabbed my diary, and began to write.

 

 

“You’ve been staring at that page for a long time.”

 

Veronica set down her pen, and looked up. The room was empty, save for her and J.D. He was right: She’d been staring at the blank portion of the page in her diary, unmoving. She knew there had to be more words in her head, more thoughts and questions that needed to be spelled out on paper. But for now, her mind was blank, and the voices, silent.

 

She set her diary aside, and cleared her throat. “Where did Foster and Martha go?” She hadn’t seen them leave.

 

J.D. slid into the space next to her on the bed, and slid an arm around her waist.

 

“Foster went to speak with the campus police about tightening security, and Martha went to go check on Betty and Dick. She thinks that Betty had already gone to your class when the intruder snuck in.”

 

Veronica shivered. “What happened to the bird?”

 

J.D.’s hand tightened protectively over her hip. “It’s gone, Veronica. You don’t have to worry about it.”

 

Veronica frowned down at her knees. She knew that. She’d been asking because she wanted to bury it. She didn’t want to see it just dumped in the trash – the poor creature deserved better than that. Veronica felt as if she owed it a proper burial, or at least a respectful one, since it was her fault that it was dead. But maybe Martha and Foster needed the body for evidence… Veronica didn’t press to find out what happened to the little corpse.

 

They sat there together in silence for some time. Veronica’s floating thoughts began to narrow and focus on J.D.’s fingertips drifting soothing patters over her waist. Distraction. The feelings from the shower stirred and surfaced, and Veronica acted without thinking. She slid into his lap, straddling his waist, and pulled his lips to hers.

 

The kiss was blissfully thoughtless. A whimper cut through the room, and Veronica realized it was hers. J.D.’s breathing changed at the sound of it, and he grew stiff beneath her.

 

“Veronica,” he said, pulling back. “I don’t think…”

 

“Good. Don’t think.” Her grip on the back of his neck tightened. “I need this, if…” If you’re okay giving it.

 

J.D. nodded once before surging up and capturing her lips again, this time with more vigor. He flipped her onto her back, leaving her breathless as he pulled up the skirt of her loose blue dress.

 

His fingers felt feather light, tracing a line up her calf, around her knee, and over her thigh. He stopped at the edge of her panties.

 

“Are you sure?” He asked again.

 

Veronica nodded, and to give him more encouragement, slid her underwear off herself.

 

Then, his fingers were there. Strangely, she did not feel vulnerable as he opened her like a flower. He worked, spreading her, stroking her, tracing her every ridge and line, leading her inch by inch deeper into oblivion.

 

He brought her twice with just his touch. When she neared her third climax, she protested, stroking his length over his pants before pushing away the barriers. She felt his arms shuddering around her, as if trying to restrain himself. In the end, he lost whatever internal battle he’d waged, and entered her without holding back.

 

His movements were slow, rolling, and rhythmic inside of her, filling her emptiness with long, tender strokes. Both of them gasped each time he reached a little deeper, a little farther, joining them together more and more completely.

 

When warmth spread inside of her center, J.D. pulled away. Falling back on his elbow, he made a circle with his arms – a silent invitation. She curled into his arms.

 

And just like that, J.D. made her bed feel safe again. She stopped thinking about the bird and the blood. It was enough for Veronica to be able to lay her head down on the pillow, and rest.

Chapter 15

Notes:

I'm SO sorry this took so long, thanks to all of you for being patient. The past few weeks have been crazy, but I think I'm starting to get a handle on my life now, so that's good.
Normal warnings for this chapter (brief references to violence, suicide, etc.). I know it's been a while, but I haven't magically acquired the rights to Heathers since I posted the last chapter (though that would be pretty magical, wouldn't it?)
That being said, here's the chapter you all had to wait way too long for. I'll try to get the next one to you soon.

Martha stood staring at the door to Veronica’s dorm, her eyes narrowed, her lips pressed into a resigned line. It was quiet, but not quiet enough. The low breathing, the creaking of the bed…

 

“Martha!” Foster jarred her as he approached from the other end of the hall. She turned to see him furrow his brows as he neared. “Martha, what’s going on? Why are you just standing there?”

 

Heat rose to her cheeks, and she said briskly, “I don’t want to interrupt.” But I also don’t trust them enough to walk to a more prudent distance.

 

“I see.” Foster seemed to be of the same mind, since he too made no move to move away from the door.

 

Martha’s lips lifted into a tight smile. “You can’t really blame them, can you?”

 

“No, of course not.” He blew out a breath as he leaned against the wall beside the door. “I’d probably be doing the same in her situation.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Well, maybe not with someone like J.D., but yeah, after that kind of trauma? I’d be seeking the closest, most intimate form of human contact available. Wouldn’t you?”

 

What a strange question… “I guess. That kind of intimacy was never really an option for me.”

 

Martha peered up at Foster, half expecting him to laugh at her for being a virgin. Instead, something darkened in his eyes. He couldn’t have looked more serious.

 

“Martha, can I ask you something?”

 

“Um, sure,” she said, biting her lip.

 

“What was life like for you in high school?”

 

She didn’t know what she expected Foster to ask her, but it was not this. This was the question Martha hoped no one would ever ask. She felt every muscle in her body freeze up as she stared at him, wide eyed. Lying was her first instinct, but she didn’t want to lie to him.

 

Warmth encompassed her hand, and Martha looked down to see their fingers intertwined. His eyes and his touch both told of patience. Acceptance. Friendship.

 

“It was terrible,” Martha whispered, staring at their joined hands. “It was not a life that I wanted to live. I was overweight. I mean, I know I could stand to lose a few pounds now, but it was much worse then. They called me Martha Dump Truck.” Her voice broke over the words, and in her chest, she felt her heart breaking too. “My best friends from childhood became some of my most ardent tormentors. I had absolutely no one to rely on, not even my parents-”

 

“What about Veronica?” Foster said, looking almost angry.

 

Martha shook her head. “We weren’t close, for most of the early years. I don’t blame her: she had her own problems to deal with. But she was the one – the only one – who was there for me after…” Martha trailed off.

 

“After what?” Foster whispered.

 

“After I tried to kill myself.”

 

The air felt thick and dark in the wake of her words. She couldn’t hear Foster breathing, and she could barely feel his hand clenching around hers.

 

“People were killing themselves left and right, and I was just surrounded by it. I walked into the middle of the street with a note pinned to my shirt-”

 

Foster’s teeth clicked as he clenched his jaw, expression stricken.

 

Eyes drawn up by the sound, Martha continued, cautiously. “It was a failed attempt, and it’s a miracle that I’m not dead or paralyzed-”

 

Suddenly, Martha found herself pressed against Foster’s warm, muscular chest, her explanations silenced. She could feel his heart beating against her ear. His arms tightened around her shoulders and her waist.

 

“It’s a miracle for me, too,” Foster said in a low, tight voice. His lips graced her forehead, and Martha blinked up at him, her eyes trained on his mouth.

 

I want to kiss him.

 

However, the thought vanished as Veronica’s door pulled open, and she and Foster stepped away from the embrace.

 

In the doorway stood J.D., his hair mused, his shirt discarded, and his pants zipped, but not buttoned. Over his shoulder, Martha spotted Veronica, looking like a princess, peaceful and asleep on her bed with the covers tucked up to her chin.

 

J.D., on the other hand, looked grim. The circles beneath his eyes were dark.

 

“I want someone with her at all times,” J.D. said in a low voice, pulling the door to as he joined them in the hallway, but not shutting it all the way. “And I want that someone to be me.”

 

“You can’t be with her at all times,” Martha said, her words as reflexive as they were reasonable. “I, for one, don’t trust you in the classroom environment.”

 

“Right,” J.D. said, acrid. “Because seeing a chalkboard might send me into another psychotic break.”

 

That’s exactly right, Martha thought, but didn’t say. “Your presence would be suspicious, and you are trying to keep a low profile.”

 

“Veronica will have a friend in every class,” Foster replied. “Betty shares three of her classes, and Dick is in the fourth.”

 

“They’ve already agreed to keep an eye on her. This includes walking between classes, and meals.” Martha had just spoken with them before returning to the residence hall. Dick had the muscle to fend off an attacker, and Betty had self-defense know-how that rivaled even Martha’s.

 

Foster went on, sharing what he’d been able to accomplish earlier. “Campus security is going to be keeping a closer eye on this dorm as well, both during the day and at night.”

 

“Betty was sleeping right there, when this happened.” J.D.’s fists clenched at his sides. “And forgive me if I don’t trust school faculty to keep students safe.”

 

“J.D., this is Stanford University, not Westerberg High,” Martha said, though she was secretly inclined to agree. The teachers at Westerberg never quite figured out the concept of putting the wellbeing of their students first. Beyond the lack of concern on part of the faculty, there were major gaps in on campus security, which J.D. knew better than anyone.

 

“I want to spend the nights here,” J.D. said.

 

“Don’t you think that would be a little crowded?”

 

“The more, the merrier, if it means Veronica will be safe.”

 

Martha turned to Foster. “One of us will have to stay here, and one of us will have to stay with Heather.”

 

Foster sighed. “You stay here. I’m sure Veronica would be more comfortable with you as a roommate. I’ll stay in J.D.’s apartment next to Heather Duke.”

 

So much shuffling, Martha thought, and turned to J.D. “What about your job? And the exercise?”

 

“Easy. I’ll run there and back from here when I need to go. I mean, I know it’s not much of a run, but-”

 

“How are we going to trust you not to run away?”

 

J.D.’s eyes turned hard. “Do you think I would run away from Veronica?”

 

“You did before,” Foster said, matching J.D.’s gaze.

 

“Yeah dipshit, because I thought she would be safer without me. Now, that is clearly not the case. And don’t say that she’s in this mess because of me. I know that damn well. But at this point, without me, she won’t make it out of this fuckery alive and unscathed. Vice attacked when I wasn’t there, and can you guess why? Vice knows exactly what I’m capable of, and he’s too scared to face me head on. My presence alone will protect her from a direct attack. So from now on, I won’t leave her side.”

 

Foster turned to Martha in question.

 

I can’t believe I’m saying this, but… “I believe him. I don’t think he’s going anywhere without her.” Martha cocked her head to the side. That doesn’t mean he won’t try to steal away with Veronica, but even in that case, we’re probably best off keeping our eyes on her, rather than him. “Just know that the moment you go missing again, our truce is over, and we’ll hunt you down like a dog.”

 

J.D. flashed her a grin. “Noted.”

 

Christ, he has a dark sense of humor. Through the crack in the door, Martha saw Veronica stir in her sleep.

 

Martha frowned. “Go back to sleep, J.D.. Foster and I will be going back and forth from here, between investigating all that’s happened and making sure that Veronica and Heather Duke are as safe as they can be. Just… stay with her. Keep her mind off of this, and keep her safe.”

 

Stepping away from them, J.D. nodded, a fierce, protective look in his eyes, along with a glimmer of something else. Something that vowed revenge. Martha glanced away, pretending that she’d seen nothing as he shut the door, and locked it between them.

 

He would keep Veronica safe. Right now, that’s all Martha needed to count on him for. But as she and Foster walked away from the dorms, Martha couldn’t help but wondering what else J.D. might bring down upon them all.

 

 

 

Saturday morning, J.D. was in heaven, but he missed hell.

 

Heaven, being the 7-Eleven, which he could now firmly call his 7-Eleven, at least after the completion of the day’s training. Working there had always been a dream of his. How many times had he wished that he could simply spend every minute of every day there?

 

And yet… All he wanted was to be elsewhere. Specifically, back in the dorm room that had been the site of his most recent horrors, back with Veronica. Hell, with the exception of a single soul.

 

J.D. could barely keep from sighing as he stacked the cups beside the slushie machine. Dick, who was hovering close over J.D.’s shoulder, noticed.

 

“You seem distracted.”

 

Gritting his teeth, J.D. turned, barely restraining the urge to crush the plastic cup gripped in his hands, and use the sharp plastic edges as one might use a blade. It had been too long since he’d cut anything up, and with all the stress he’d been under, the bloodlust was starting to creep up on him.

 

Where would I start? The throat?

 

“J.D.? Hello?”

 

“How could I not be distracted, Dick?” J.D. hissed, fingertips white as he slammed the cup down, and gripped the counter at his waist instead. He rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. “Yesterday my girlfriend woke up covered in blood. This is the first time I’ve left her since then. I’m not entirely sure what I’m going to come back to. So, excuse me if my mind seems to be somewhere else.”

 

Dick’s baby-face softened. “Martha’s with her, I’m sure Veronica will be fine.”

 

“You don’t know what Vice is capable of.”

 

“I know he can probably stack cups better than you can.”

 

“Fuck you. Vice can’t stack cups for shit.” Not that J.D. had ever seen Vice try. J.D. only assumed that Vice lacked any particular talent for cup or glass stacking. Why else would Vice hire a bartender for how own home?

Impossibly, Dick grinned, which only worsened J.D.’s mood. Turning half away from Dick, J.D. tossed a hand at the tower of cups leaning beside the slushie machine.

 

“This is not a difficult task. My stack looks fine.”

 

But Dick shook his head. “It’s not the way you’ve done it. It’s the way you look doing it.”

 

J.D. arched his brow. “Am I not attractive enough for you, Dick? Do I need to work harder to give you a boner?”

Dick ground his jaw together, his cheeks flushed. “No, you need to look less like you want to murder someone, if you want to work here.”

 

“You’re not wrong.”

 

Dick took a deep, cleansing breath, washing all visible lines of tension from his face.

 

“Look, I’m not saying you have to sing and dance and smile every second, but at least try to look relaxed while you’re at work.”

 

“It’s hard to feel relaxed without my coat on,” J.D. mumbled under his breath, thinking back to where his most treasured possession (other than his mother’s wedding ring) sat on a hook in the employee’s space behind the counter. His arms felt bare beneath the sleeves of his stiff, 7-Eleven uniform smock, and his kaki slacks itched up his thighs.

 

Dick’s lips twitched while he watched him. J.D. clenched is fists.

 

“What’s so funny, Dick?”

 

He shook his head. “I pity anyone who tries to rob us while you’re on shift.”

 

J.D. snorted, a strange wave of protectiveness rising up in him at the thought of someone threatening his precious storefront.

 

On the other hand, fighting off a thief might be a great way to blow off some steam.

 

J.D. only chuckled, turning his back on Dick to return to his cup-stacking duty. He must have looked more pleasant, because Dick walked away, and didn’t press the issue again.

 

 

 

“Fuck.”

 

The low utterance echoed through J.D.’s bedroom as Foster stared at the open door of J.D.’s safe. Shards of glass littered the floor. Someone had broken in through the window last night, while Foster slept on Heather Duke’s couch next door. He was supposed to be guarding the area, and yet he hadn’t heard a thing.

 

How am I going to tell J.D.?

 

Foster’s spine stiffened – an adverse reaction to his own thought. It wasn’t that J.D. frightened him. It was just that J.D. seemed unhinged, and Foster didn’t want to put weight on whatever fastenings were already barely holding J.D. together. That would only complicate the situation further.

Using J.D.’s phone in the kitchen, Foster called Veronica’s bedroom. When Martha picked up, he breathed an internal sigh of relief.

 

“Just the woman I wanted to speak to,” he said, warmth seeping through his body when Martha picked up the phone. Even now, the mere sound of her voice was enough to cheer him from his dismal thoughts.

 

“What about?”

 

Grimacing, Foster leaned his elbows on the kitchen counter, and went on. “Listen, someone broke into the window of J.D.’s apartment last night. I didn’t hear them; they went straight for the safe. The door was open, only, it doesn’t look like they took anything – it’s still full of fake documents and cash. You said you searched this place. Did you remember everything that was inside there?”

 

“There was something… Something valuable, but mostly for personal reasons.”

 

“What?”

 

“J.D.’s mother’s wedding ring.”

 

“That’s it,” Foster said, standing erect. “Martha, that’s what the thief came to take.” But why? Just to attack J.D. emotionally?

 

Foster could hear the air passing through her lips as she sighed. “I’ll let J.D. know.”

 

“Should we?”

 

“Yes,” Martha said. “I don’t see how we can hide it from him. At least this way we can try to control his reaction.”

 

“You think he’ll take it that bad?”

 

“With him, there’s no telling.”

 

Violent images played through Foster’s mind: J.D., blind with rage, lashing out with weapons or fists at anything – anyone – within reach. Foster’s fingers tightened around the landline, and the plastic of the receiver quavered. “Do you want me to come over there?”

 

“No. I’ll live.”

 

Foster barely choked back a hysterical laugh. “Okay.”

 

Foster hung up. He didn’t feel good about this. About any of this. But most of all, he wished he could be with Martha. Not only to know that she was safe, but simply to be with her. Stifling a sigh, Foster secured J.D.’s apartment as best he could before returning to Heather Duke’s. There, he found Heather in the kitchen, feeding crickets to her snake through the top of the heated cage that she’d forced him to go out and purchase last evening.

 

“He’s playing with our heads.”

 

Foster blinked, stopping in the middle of the room. It took him a moment to realize that Heather was talking about Vice.

 

She shrugged at his accusatory look. “I could hear you talking through the walls. You have a powerful voice.”

 

“And you didn’t hear anyone breaking in last night?” Heather’s bedroom also shared a wall with J.D.’s apartment.

 

“Nope. Slept like a baby.”

 

Sure you did. Foster breathed heavily through his nose. “And what makes you think that Vice is messing with our heads?”

 

“It’s his habit,” she said, not taking her eyes way from her pet. “And habit is a powerful thing. I haven’t known Vice a long time, but I’ve known him long enough to know that. He likes to attack a person where it hurts, and Vice knows that J.D.’s weakness is psychological. Luckily for us, J.D., despite his damage, is still smarter than most people, Vice included.”

 

“What exactly do you think Vice is planning?”

 

“How should I know? Something diabolical.” She looked up. “That’s a question for J.D.”

 

The words settled uneasily in Foster’s mind. He walked way from Heather, retreating to the couch in the far corner of the living room to think. J.D. was one degree short of an evil genius, and Vice practically owned a large company of criminal works. Foster refused to let either of them get the better of him. He needed to think. He needed to plan. If J.D. intended to be one step ahead of Vice, Foster would beat him by two.

 

Still, try as he might, Foster couldn’t quite block out the sweet murmurs coming from the kitchen as Heather whispered to her snake, and the snake whispered back.

Chapter 16

Notes:

Hello again, finally!
I apologize once again for making you all wait so long for this chapter! I have high hopes that I'll be able to get the next chapter out sooner than this one!!
Thank you so much to everyone who has been leaving me such wonderful encouragement in the comments! I haven't been able to respond to each and every one of you lately like I've been wanting to, as I've been prioritizing writing the actual chapters. Know that I'm still been reading your comments, and that all of your kind words are immensely appreciated <3
That being said...
Like always, I don't own Heathers, the movie or the musical.
There is Explicit (yes, with a capital E) sexual content in this chapter, as well as some themes of violence/harm that some people might find disturbing, so please keep that in mind before reading. You have been warned.
With that, enjoy!

“So, Miss McNamara, why do you think you’re qualified for this position?”

 

That’s a tough one.

 

“Well,” Heather said, resisting the urge to rub her temples as she shifted in her seat. It had been like this – question after question – for the last thirty minutes. What was this, and interrogation?

 

The movement inched butter-yellow tweed miniskirt up her thighs – an unintentional benefit. She smiled, the answer flashing in her mind just as the deep, dark eyes of the young man sitting across from her flashed to her legs.

 

“I’m hot, and I have nice hands.”

 

The man across from her smiled, broadcasting his bright, white teeth across the dim room. “Both are excellent points. I think you’re exactly what we need for this, ah, project.”

 

He stood from his leather chair, and extended his hand. Beaming, Heather rose, and placed her hand in his for a shake. She was wearing gloves, to protect her assets no longer feeling awkward over her fingertips, as they once had.

 

“Now, I know this is unprofessional,” her new boss said, laughing awkwardly, not letting go of her hand. “But would you be willing to have the photo shoot today? I would pay you extra, of course, for the inconvenience.”

 

Heather blinked. “Oh, sure. To be honest, Sir, I need the money.” The competition in the hand modeling business was fierce.

 

“Please, call me Vice.”

 

“Vice,” Heather repeated, frowning at the feel of the strange name on her tongue. It was almost a name, but not quite. She didn’t like it. “Do I have to?”

 

Vice arched a brow. “Excuse me?”

 

“I don’t like saying it.” It felt weird in her mouth. “Vice can’t be your real name.”

 

Vice’s fingers tightened around her wrist. “As far as you are concerned, it is.”

 

“Okay,” Heather said. “It doesn’t have to be your real name. I probably wouldn’t remember if you told me.” She rocked back on her heels, thinking, deftly sliding her hand from his with the motion – she didn’t want Vice damaging the merchandise. “I’m not so good at making up nicknames.” The word Tweedy flared through Heather’s mind, and she cringed. “So can’t I just stick to calling you Sir or Boss?”

 

Heather missed when all of her best friends had been named Heather. It was the only name she had to remember. The addition of Veronica had been a major change, but Heather had handled it well. And sure, Heather knew enough names to keep up with the gossip well enough (Westerburg was a small school, so there really weren’t that many names for her to remember). But now Dad was trying to get her to network, and she had to remember a bunch of new names, and there weren’t any juicy stories to help her remember them.

 

Something glimmered in the dark eyes in front of her. Then, he shrugged. “You can call me Boss. Happy?”

 

“Very,” she said, and winked.

 

Vice gave her a weird look. Then, he laughed. “Are you ready to start working, Heather?”

 

“You know it.” Heather slid off the gloves. “What sort of jewelry will I be modeling?”

 

Vice walked across the room (it was a man cave of sorts, with a pool table and a bar – they’d been sitting in the big leather chairs in the far back of it) and picked a ring box up of the bar’s sleek surface.

 

Heather followed more slowly, picking her way across the room carefully in her tall heels.

 

Wordlessly, Vice flicked open the top.

 

“Oh,” Heather said, a small gasp leaving her as she stared at the gorgeous, vintage ring. “It’s so blue.”

 

Vice slid the ring onto her finger with the slow intensity of a lover, and for a moment, Heather feared she might faint.

 

“A perfect fit.” He let out a small, breathy laugh, and Heather’s heart stuttered.

 

Quiet, You, she thought, glaring down at her left breast. She didn’t have a good history of choosing men to sleep with.

 

“That means it would fit my friend Veronica,” Heather said absently, examining the ring in the light. She glanced back up at Vice. “We used to always share jewelry in high school. She likes blue. She goes to school around here, maybe you’ve met her?”

 

“It’s possible.” A smile played on Vice’s lips as he led her out of the man cave, and into the sleek living room, where professional camera lights had been set up for the photo shoot.

 

“You know, that is part of the reason I picked your resume for this interview. I saw that you were from the same small town as someone else. Someone I used to be very close to. Seeing that, I thought to myself, Now, wouldn’t that be strange, if this Heather knew the other one?”

 

Heather blinked at him. “All us Heathers knew each other. But which one did you mean? Heather Duke or Heather Cha-?”

 

Chandler. Heather faltered, her ankles wobbling.

 

Vice hissed a breath, and caught her by the arm.

 

“Sorry.” She hadn’t thought about Heather – about that year – in a long, long time. “Um, I’m going to sit down for a minute-”

 

And that’s when she burst into tears.

 

God, I’m so unprofessional.

 

Vice just stared at her for a moment. Then, he was on his knees, making soothing noises, and cupping her face in his hands.

 

“Breathe, Heather, breathe. What happened?”

 

“Heather Chandler was my best friend, and she killed herself,” Heather said in a rush. “Then two guts killed themselves right after having sex with me, and I thought it was me, you know? I was the link in between them all. And I was so sad and so lonely that I-”

 

Heather broke off with a sob.

 

“Ah. I see.” Vice grabbed a tissue off a nearby table, and dabbed at her eyes.

 

“I’m sorry,” Heather choked, hands fluttering uselessly in her lap. “I ruined my makeup-”

“No, don’t apologize,” he said, giving her a small smile as he rose to his feet. “Grief sometimes is like this, hitting you hard when and where you least expect it. It’s natural. Besides, there is no harm done. You’re modeling your hands, not your face.”

 

“I… I guess that’s true.” Why did she always spend hours on her makeup before a shoot?

 

Vice chuckled, and helped her to her feet, leading her to where she would stand for the shoot. “You know what, Heather? I like you. You are simple, and you are honest.”

 

“Simple? That doesn’t sound like a compliment.”

 

“Trust me, it is. It’s good to be simple. It makes the world around you much less complicated.” He flashed her a brilliant smile as he helped arrange her hands in a relaxed pose on top of a white-sheeted tabletop before her, placing one hand on top of the other to best show off the ring. “You know, I was going to let you go after this, but now, I don’t think I will.”

 

There was something funny about the way he said it, something in his tone or in his eyes that didn’t seem normal. But Heather shrugged it off, like she did with most things that she didn’t understand. She waited for him to explain more as he crossed behind the positioned camera.

 

Click. The flash blinded her momentarily. When she could see again, she focused on the crinkle in the corner of Vice’s eyes. The teardrop tattoo seemed to tremble on his cheek when he smiled at her, like a real tear. She felt mesmerized, watching it, as he spoke.

 

“I’d like to hire you to be my bartender and waitress. The last one quit. Do you think you can do that?”

 

Click. Heather squinted. “I’d have to wear gloves, to protect my hands. Probably ugly rubber ones.”

 

“I can live with that. Even with ugly rubber gloves, I’m sure you’ll still look as stunning as you do now.”

 

She knew she looked like shit after crying, which meant he was flirting. She fluttered her eyelashes, even though the mascara was smudged and clumped. “Okaay.”

 

“Do you have any experience mixing drinks?”

 

“Loads.” Heather knew her alcohol. Actually, she had a bit of a hidden talent for making cocktails and such. It was one of the reasons she was so popular, other than being hot an easy.

 

“Wonderful.”

 

Click. Click.

 

“What would the hours be, Boss?”

 

Vice’s hand stilled on the camera. “Actually, those are rather unpredictable. The days would be yours to spend how you choose. I would need your service starting at six every night, but there’s really no telling how late I will need you to stay.” He offered her an apologetic shrug. “I have a varied basis of clientele, and the work each night is a mixed bag. My last waitress simply lived here, with me. Would you be willing to do that?”

 

His words and his smoldering eyes set off her heart again – thump thump thump thump thump thump. Like a damn rabbit’s foot. Heather straightened her shoulders. “Yes. But I won’t have sex with you. I’m celibate now.”

 

It was a big word, and an even bigger pain in her ass. But, Veronica had suggested it as a lifestyle change after what happened with Kurt and Ram: that sex nearly killed her. And, really, Heather felt better about herself after learning how to tell boys no. It was less stressful, not having to worry about STDs and pregnancy tests… But it also meant saying no, even to the cute ones.

 

“Of course. I know you’re not that type of girl.”

 

Click. The camera flashed again, this time in a flurry, but not before Heather caught sight of another secret little smile. It seemed to tease her with everything she’d be missing.

 

“I do have one condition,” Vice said suddenly, stepping away from the equipment, and towards her. “I would expect full confidentiality. Do you think you could do that for me?”

 

“Sure,” Heather said, a little dazzled. “What does confidentiality mean?”

 

Suddenly, Vice was in front of her. He practically towered over her now. “It means that, whatever you see, working for me, you will keep it to yourself.”

 

“Oh, totally! I’m good at keeping secrets.”

 

Vice smiled. “Then we’re perfect for each other.”

 

 

 

Veronica leaned her head back against the pillows, her eyes rolling back as waves of pleasure coursed through her.

 

“Veronica, are you still with me?” A breathy voice whispered in her ear.

 

“Yes.” She gripped J.D.’s arms tighter. “Don’t stop.”

 

He laughed, long and low, running his jaw along the side of his neck as he did. His fair stubble scraped against her skin, making her tremble. It was maddening, especially combined with what was happening below her waist.

 

It was Sunday night, the last day before she had to return to ordinary life. Veronica was not yet feeling like an ordinary person, not after waking up Friday morning covered in blood. Most of their time together had been spent like this: with J.D.’s dick inside her.

 

And this was great. Excellent, even. Veronica couldn’t deny that. But-

 

Her thoughts cut off abruptly as her pleasure reached a crest. Her back arched off the bed, her thighs clenching. J.D.’s release chased hers.

 

He groaned, his head falling between her breasts.

 

“Fuck. I love the way you tighten up right when you reach your climax.” The vibration of his words against her skin made Veronica shiver.

 

J.D. smirked, and pressed a quick kiss to the top of her nipple before pulling out.

 

Sitting up in her bed, Veronica watched with glazed eyes as J.D. and cleaned himself. Her thoughts from earlier intruded upon her happiness. This is perfect, but but but…

 

“Hey.” Suddenly, his hands were cupping the sides of her face, his eyes level with hers. “You’re not supposed to be thinking about what happened, remember? That’s the whole point of this exercise.”

 

“That’s not what I was thinking about,” Veronica said, pushing his hands away.

 

“Then why do you look so worried?”

 

Veronica gnawed on her lip, watching as his posture straightened. Her eyes roamed his body.

 

He smirked. “Focus.”

 

“Right.” She tore her eyes away from him, looking towards the ceiling as she cleared her throat. “J.D., the past two days have been great, but-”

 

“I don’t think I like the sound of that.” He arched a brow. “What am I doing wrong?”

 

“Nothing! Nothing. It’s just-”

 

“Just what, Veronica? Spit it out. You’re crushing my self-esteem by the second.”

 

His lips twitched as he spoke. Veronica rolled her eyes, grinning now that she could see that J.D. was joking. Sighing, Veronica lifted herself onto her knees so that they were level again, and twined her arms around his neck.

 

“Can I finish now?”

 

“Be my guest.”

 

She gripped his hair. “You know you’re perfect at this,” she said in a low tone, and J.D.’s eyes gleamed darkly. “But I need to know that you’re getting everything that you need out of this, too.”

 

J.D. gripped her bare waist. “Veronica, all I need is you.”

 

Liar. Veronica shook her head. “In any case… I can give you more.”

 

He sucked in a breath. It was not a reaction that she was meant to see. But without his heavy coat on, how could she not see the sharp rising of his muscular chest, or the dilation of his pupils?

 

The moment dragged on as they stared at each other. Veronica could see J.D.’s imagination churning as she held his gaze. Soon, she felt him stiffen against her waist, raising goose bumps across her stomach.

 

“See what I mean?” she whispered.

 

J.D. closed his eyes. “You’re not ready.”

 

“I’d like to be the judge of that. And I say that I am.”

 

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

 

“I know you won’t.”

 

“You don’t understand. I want to hurt you. But I don’t want you to get hurt.”

 

She tugged harder on his hair, forcing J.D. to exhale sharply and open his eyes. “I do understand that, actually. We’ve spoken at length about this. Or don’t you remember?”

 

He chuckled, leaning his head back into her grip, relishing it. “It must have slipped my mind.”

 

“Let me give you what you need, J.D.,” she whispered, leaning her weight back on her heels. J.D.’s eyes followed her waist, hungry. She didn’t speak until his eyes were back on hers. “I won’t let you break me. We have a safe word. Or did that slip your mind too?”

 

J.D. hummed, and slid his hands down her thighs slow enough to make her pant. “I think it’s starting to come back to me now. We did have a deal, didn’t we?”

 

“Yes.” The word came out of her in a puff of air as J.D. suddenly slid her legs out from under her body, straightening them, bringing them out front. With a grunt, J.D. pulled her to the edge of the bed, so that they dangled now over the sides. His eyes fell to the space between her thighs, still slick and swollen from earlier. Veronica spread herself for him almost on reflex.

 

“And you’re sure you’re ready?”

 

“Do I not look ready enough?”

 

“Alright.” J.D. lifted his hands in truce. Then, his eyes flashed. “Actually, I think you could look… more ready.”

 

“Oh?” Veronica replied, unable to soften the nervous edge to her voice. “You sound like you have an idea.”

 

“I do.”

 

Suddenly, J.D. turned his back to her, stepping away to rifle through her desk drawers. Veronica let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. Anxious excitement raced through her, sharpening her senses.

 

When J.D. returned, he had two clothespins in his hands.

 

“Are we doing laundry?” Veronica said, perplexed as she stared at the little wooden pinchers. She’d brought clothespins with her to college for that reason exactly, since some of her more delicate clothing needed to hang dry, and she really wasn’t sure how well her school serviced as a Laundromat. Yet, since her school actually did have functioning driers, and since she was too lazy to use a clothesline even for her delicates, her clothespins went entirely unused.

 

Amused, J.D. smiled, and shook his head. He shifted the pins in his two hands, holding them between each thumb and forefinger to puppet the little jaws into biting.

“This might hurt, Veronica,” J.D. said, and when he said it, Veronica realized exactly what he intended to do with those clothespins.

 

“Oh.”

 

“Do you want me to stop now?”

 

“No.” She met his gaze, and arched her back. “I’m ready.”

 

He fixed the two clothespins to her nipples, first one, and then the other. Veronica could not keep from crying out as blood rushed to each peak. Her skin prickled, and she tippled back her head to let out another whimper.

 

J.D. captured the noise with his lips and kissed her hard. He supported her head with his hands as he gently lowered her head against the pillows. Then, he reached between them, and cupped her sex, tracing his thumb over her sensitive clit.

 

The strange, sweet agony at her breasts made Veronica hyperaware of every single inch of her skin. J.D.’s touch had her whimpering louder. Two fingers slid inside of her sex, pumping in and out.

 

“Do you like that, Veronica?”

 

“No,” she answered honestly, squirming.

 

Immediately, J.D. started to pull his hands away from her, but Veronica managed to reach between them and catch his wrist. Her eyes holding his, Veronica slid his hand back into place. She heard his breath catch, and felt his dick harden against her thigh.

 

Moments later, she found her wrists secured to the top of the bed in those damn, fuzzy blue handcuffs.

 

“You brought them with you?” She said, incredulous as she looked between J.D. and the cuffs.

 

“I can’t have you messing up my masterpiece, now can I?” he murmured, his eyes hooded on her breasts as he slid his fingers back inside of her.

 

Veronica began to scoff, but J.D. silenced her with a pinch to the inside of her thigh, sharp enough to make her gasp.

 

Pulling back, J.D.’s eyes slid from her breasts, to her vagina, to the new bruise rising on her thigh.

 

He’s really into this shit, isn’t he? Veronica thought, breathless as she watched him.

 

And you’re not? Another voice countered in her mind. Veronica didn’t have an answer. She didn’t particularly like the nipple clamps, but hell, she liked everything else.

 

J.D.’s touch pulled her from her thoughts as he slid a hand down the length of her leg, stopping at her ankle. He then proceeded to lift her foot, sucking lightly on her index toe before bracing her right heel on his shoulder. He did the same to the left foot, so that both of her legs were lifted, bent in between them.

 

“What are you…? Oh.” When J.D. leaned forward, her hips tipped upward, and all of the muscles from her legs up to her hips tightened.

 

Then, he thrust inside of her.

 

Tight. She had a new awareness of he own tightness as her body struggled to accommodate J.D.’s length in the odd new position. Veronica could have sworn she felt him right up against her cervix, and the sensation drove her insane. Her nipples were on fire now. They felt ready to fall straight off. Even the slightest movements sent a ripple of shock through her breasts. And it all added to the growing tension seated low in her core, stoked by J.D.’s deft touch at the apex of her thighs. It was agony, and it was glorious. Her cheeks flushed with the effort to endure it all, and her breath came in hard pants.

 

J.D. fucked her harder as she writhed, his breathing just as heavy as hers.

 

Veronica closed her eyes, lost in the heady weight of his gaze upon her flesh. His fingers rubbing against her clit grew more rapid, more intense, until suddenly, they grasped the raised nub, and pinched her hard.

 

Veronica came, noise pouring from her lips as the orgasm rushed through her. J.D. stifled her with his lips, his orgasm pouring into hers.

 

She felt his cum slick on her thighs as he pulled away.

 

Sighing, J.D. shifted onto his side and settled his head on her shoulder. His eyes were heavy on her breasts, fingers gently tracing patterns in the wetness on the inside of her thigh as he caught his breath.

 

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Veronica whimpered after a moment.

 

She felt his smirk against her collarbone. “No.”

 

“Fuck you Jason Dean. I’ve had all I can take. Blue-”

 

The clamps were ripped from her in a sudden burst of pain. She gasped out a moan, and the tingling in her breasts intensified as blood returned to her nipples.

 

Then, J.D.’s lips were on her breasts, soothing them with his tongue. Hissing, Veronica clutched his head tight to her chest.

 

Tears squeezed from her eyes. “You’re trying to kill me.”

 

“No, I’m not. Not this time.” Pulling away, J.D. brushed the tears out of the corners of her eyes with his lips, whispering, “It’s almost midnight, Veronica. You should sleep.”

 

Kissing her lips briefly, J.D. unfastened her wrists before moving to turn out the light. Frowning, Veronica cupped her breasts, watching him cross the room until he reached the switch, and the room went black. He must have been able to see her still; she heard the distinctive sound of his snickering in the dark before she felt him lift the blanket and slid in next to her.

 

“Shouldn’t you put your clothes on? Betty might come back here tonight.”

 

“Miss. Finn is staying in the room next door with Miss. Dunnstock. Your neighbors have chosen to relocate for their own safety, so our friends commandeered it to use during the investigation.”

 

Shit, so Betty and Martha have probably been hearing us fuck for the two hours. Veronica opened her mouth to snap at J.D. for keeping that information from her, but a massive yawn took the place of her words.

 

“Goodnight, Veronica,” J.D. whispered against her neck. “Sweet dreams.”

 

She fell to sleep with his words echoing in her ears. Strangely enough, she didn’t dream at all.

Chapter 17

Notes:

Yes, it's me, back from the dead. I could talk about what took so long, but I won't. (The new Heathers tv show came out... I've been in mourning.)
With that, here is your long-awaited update. You can expect a conclusion real soon!
Warnings: sexual content, discussion of underage sex, lack of consent, disturbing thoughts of violence, disturbing actual violence, language, attempted suicide... I don't think I forgot anything, but yeah, General Heathers warnings. Also, I still don't own Heathers.
Enjoy!

“So, are you coming to newspaper club meeting today?”

 

Veronica blinked at Dick. “What? Oh, yeah. Sure.” Their class together had just ended; Veronica had barely been able to focus on the lesson. Focusing on Dick’s words was proving to be equally challenging.

 

“Great! I need some more help with those Dear Heather letters.” He flashed her a brilliant smile before frowning. “Should we change the name of the segment? I mean, I can totally change the name, if you’re not comfortable. After all you’ve been through, I’d understand if you don’t want to be, ah, a Heather anymore.”

 

“It’s just a name,” Veronica said wearily, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. And I’ll always be a Heather.

 

 “Okay,” Dick said. They walked in silence out into the hall.

 

“Veronica?”

 

 “Hm?”

 

“Are you sure J.D. will be okay with it?”

 

“With what?” J.D. wasn’t ‘okay’ period.

 

Dick made a small, choking sound, not answering right away. Veronica forced herself to look at him, tearing her gaze away from the mass of students around her as they walked out of the classroom building, into the sunny center of the campus. Dick’s cheeks were flushed.

 

“Are you sure J.D. will be okay with you coming to the newspaper club, even though I will be there?”

 

“Don’t flatter yourself, Dick,” Veronica said, more sharply than necessary.

 

“I’m not,” he said, letting out an indignant huff. “I just don’t think he likes me very much.”

 

“He doesn’t like anyone very much.”

 

“He likes you a lot. Which is why I’m asking: will he be okay with this?”

 

Furious, Veronica whirled on Dick, fists clenched at her sides. “Our relationship might be fucked up, and J.D. might be a psychopath, but he is not my keeper. I don’t need his permission to go to a stupid club meeting.”

 

Dick held up his palms, eyes wide, the edges white. “O-Okay, as long as you’re sure.”

           

 

“I am,” she said through gritted teeth. They’d reached the door to her dorm. Pausing in front of it. Cooling, she stared at the wooden surface. “Newspaper club isn’t stupid. I didn’t mean that.”

 

“I know.” He squeezed her padded shoulder lightly – comfortingly – before letting his hand drop.

 

“I’ll see you later, Dick.”

 

“See you tonight. I’ll stop by to walk you from your dorm room, and I’ll walk you back when it’s done.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

The blood pounded in Veronica’s temples as she walked up the stairs to her dorm, each pulse seeming to grow louder with each successive step. What bothered her was that Dick’s fears were founded in truth, and Veronica knew it.

Well, too bad for J.D. He’d treated her like a very mature woman last night. She didn’t need his permission for anything.

 

Which was why she wasn’t going to go out of her way to tell him about the club meeting. She was just going to go.

 

Yet Veronica paused when she passed in front of the dorm room Martha had commandeered for her investigation.

 

Someone other than Dick should know that I haven’t been kidnapped.

 

Sighing, Veronica pressed her knuckles to the door. “Martha? It’s me. Open up.”

 

The door swung open.

 

“You’re not Martha.” Veronica stared at Foster, taking in his pressed button down shirt and kaki pants that did nothing to subdue his rugged figure. Actually, the neat style of his clothing only accentuated his natural ruggedness through contrast.

 

 “No,” Foster tipped his head to the side, amused. “I’m not.”

 

Veronica tried not to let her annoyance show, even though she could feel a nerve twitching just above her eye. “Where is she?”

 

“With J.D. and Betty.”

 

Ah. The dreaded therapy session was happening today. Hopefully they’d all make it out alive, hopefully with less mental damage than they had going into it.

 

“They’ll be out for most of the day, so in the meantime, you’re stuck with me.” Foster flashed her a charming smile. “Can I take a message?”  

 

“Sure, in a second,” Veronica said, glaring at that grin. “First, I want to talk to Foster.”

 

His smile fell, replaced by a look of concern. “Anything.”

 

“What are your intentions toward my friend? Martha has suffered more than any girl deserves to. She cares about you Foster, so if you break her heart-”

 

“She cares about me? Do you mean romantically or platonically?”

 

The earnest hope in his voice caught Veronica by surprise.

 

“Yes, I think so,” Veronica said slowly, answering Foster’s first question first. “Martha cares deeply for the people around her – friends, or otherwise. She’s more sensitive than she lets on. As for your second question… Well, I don’t know. You’ll have to talk to Martha about that. My opinion? I think it’s likely that she does feel something more than friendship for you. I mean, not to point out the obvious, but who wouldn’t?” Veronica gestured vaguely to his body. “You could have a romantic relationship with anyone you liked.”

 

Foster arched both brows, saying nothing.

 

“Not me, of course.” Veronica laughed weakly into the awkward silence. “I’m the only one attracted to maniacs. To normal people, you’re the whole package.” Then, she frowned. “That means you’ve probably had a lot more experience than Martha’s had.”

 

 “Do you think that turns her away?” Foster stared down at the ground.

 

“No,” Veronica said softly. “It’s probably intimidating, like it would be to most people. But Martha’s brave.”

 

“I know.” Foster raised his eyes. What Veronica saw shining in them… It was enough to secure her seal of approval.

 

 “Okay.” With a satisfied smile, Veronica stepped back. “That’s all I need to say about that.”

 

Foster let out a breath, and shot her a bewildered glance. “Why do I feel like I just passed some sort of test?”

 

“Because you did.”

 

“Oh yeah, that’s it,” Foster said, sounding, oddly enough, just like Veronica’s father. She cringed, and he shook his head. “What did you stop by for originally?”

 

“I wanted to let you and Martha know that I’ll be out tonight. I’m going to a newspaper club meeting with Dick.”

           

“What time tonight? And where?”

 

Veronica told him.

 

“Will Dick escort you there and back?”

 

Veronica wrinkled her nose at the word escort. “Yes.”

 

“You don’t look too excited about that.”

 

“I don’t enjoy feeling like a prisoner.”

 

“It’s for your own safety.”

 

“I know,” Veronica dragged her feet across the hall carpet. “As long as it doesn’t last much longer.”

 

 “It won’t,” Foster said, as if speaking on reflex.

 

Veronica paused. “Do you know something that I don’t?”

 

“No. I just have a gut feeling. It makes sense, though. Everyone wants to end this. It’ll be over soon, one way or another.”

 

Veronica shook her head as she walked back to her dorm. She didn’t want to think about the other way this could end.

 

 When she opened her door, she found the room blissfully dark and empty.

 

As Veronica slid down into her desk chair, preparing to catch up on homework, she noticed a present from J.D. – a slushie, still frozen, and a hot dog. Beside them was a note: See you tonight.

 

Veronica smiled wryly, and sipped her drink. Cherry. Per usual.

 

The word possessive came to mind as she stared into the red, icy vortex in her cup. Was J.D. seriously incapable of purchasing anything other than cherry, simply because she’d ordered it that first night? Blue raspberry hadn’t even been a flavor option that day. If it had been an option, Veronica would have probably picked blue over red.

 

How much would be different if she’d made a different choice when J.D. asked her to choose between cherry and coke?

 

Probably nothing, she thought, answering herself as she bit down on the end of her straw. Food dye was just sugar, water, and hue. Red and blue were just like any other colors. The only difference between blue raspberry and cherry flavors was the taste left in her mouth and the color on her tongue. J.D. was the one who attached symbolic meaning to the slush. And yet, that symbolism meant enough to alter his actions. Boycott a flavor.

 

Veronica shook her head. As much as she loved slushies, she was starting to get sick of the cherry flavor. She would have to teach J.D. to change his mind about blue raspberry. But not tonight.

 

Baby steps. Curbing J.D.’s murderous impulses was her number one priority. Possessiveness came second on the list. That bumped slushie purchasing habits to third.

 

With any luck, she’d be back from the club meeting before J.D. even realized she was gone.          

 

 

 

 

J.D. sat in a small room in the Psych building. It was a simple, square space, complete with gray-green walls, a ratty couch, an equally ratty armchair, and a coffee table. On top of the table, there sat a dusty box of tissues, and a potted plant the same shade of dying green as the walls.

J.D. had couch privileges (yippee), while Betty sat stiffly in the armchair across from him. Her patent leather shoes squeaked as she crossed and uncrossed her legs beneath a clipboard. Her wide, anxious eyes looked bigger than usual, almost owlish, as she scribbled something on the paper with shaking hands. Martha sat in a fold-out chair between them like some sort of referee, her elbows braced on her knees, her chin propped atop her folded hands as she watched them with narrowed eyes.

 

Martha was exhausted – J.D. could tell from the dark circles beneath her eyes, and the stooping shape to her shoulders. Even sleep-deprived, Martha made an imposing bodyguard. Partially because she emanated a don’t fuck with me attitude, as if she expected J.D. to fuck this up… as if she expected this to be J.D.’s breaking point.

It also helped that J.D. really didn’t want to hurt Martha; he didn’t want to put her body-guarding skills to the test. He respected Martha. Felt an odd kinship with her. So, he would try to behave himself. Try being the operative word. If he snapped today, none of what he wanted would matter. His cruelty knew no limits. He would feel no remorse.

 

Jesus. Calm the fuck down, Jason Dean, he thought to himself as he fisted his shaking hands beneath his thighs. A simple conversation with Betty fucking Finn is not going to be your undoing, even if she is a shrink-in-training. He sighed deeply through his nose, trying to ease his thoughts.

 

“J.D. – actually, what would you prefer I call you? J.D., or Jason Dean? Or something else…?”

 

“J.D. is fine, but feel free to add an epithet.”

 

She stared at him blankly.

 

“J.D. the brave, J.D. the strong…”

 

“J.D. it is,” Betty interrupted, scribbling a note. Pushing her glasses back up her nose, she looked back up, her gaze suddenly steely. Maybe it was all of the talk of epithets bringing up memories of reading “The Odyssey,” but Betty Finn, with her uncompromising, gray eyes, suddenly looked like the personification of Homer’s Athena.

 

J.D. blinked hard, and shook his head. I’m losing it.

 

“Here’s what’s going to happen in these sessions,” Betty said. “Yes, we’re going to talk and feel together, but don’t expect this to be like Ms. Fleming’s bullshit in high school. You’re not just going to say what you think I want to hear. You’re going to be honest with me, and you’re going to be honest with yourself.”

 

J.D. ran a hand over his face. “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s get to it.” I want to get this over with.

 

“We aren’t waiting for anyone but you.” Betty smiled. “You’re in control of the session, J.D. Where do you think we should start?”

 

Birth? But the moment he thought it, J.D. knew it wasn’t true. He hadn’t always been this way. There’d been a hint of that darkness in him when he was younger, but it wasn’t the all-consuming void that it was now. It started to spread when-

 

“My mother committed suicide,” he whispered, his face still buried in his hands. “I saw it happen.”

 

He hadn’t meant to say that – at least, not so soon, not so tactlessly. But when he opened his mouth to breathe, the words came tumbling out.

 

Nervously, he dropped his hand. Betty and Martha clearly hadn’t expected him to cooperate so quickly either. Martha leaned back in her chair, her face pale. Betty’s lips parted. Then, she recovered.

 

“How old were you?” She asked quietly, but without the pity that he expected.

 

He sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. “Fuck, I don’t know.” His eyes narrowed. “Old enough to remember it, and still too young.”

 

“Will you tell me how it happened?”

 

J.D. nodded once. Clasped his shaking hands in front of him, and stared at his white knuckles.

 

“My dad was demoing a library in Kansas. She walked in, waved to me, and then…”

 

He spread his fingers apart, mimicking an explosion.

 

The rest was fire. The flames swept over his mother’s face, shortly before the smoke clouded his vision. It billowing from the building in a rush as the library caved in, mimicking the feeling inside of J.D.’s chest. Destruction. Darkness.

 

“Did your father know what she was planning?”

 

“You know what? That’s an excellent question, one I’d actually like to know the answer to myself.”

 

J.D. laughed bitterly, remembering the moment he looked up at his father’s blank face. His eyes had seemed watery, but J.D. couldn’t tell if the tears were from emotion or just a reaction to the ash in the air.

 

“I think he knew she was suicidal, and didn’t get her the help she needed. I’d call that assisted suicide.” J.D. cleared his throat. “He didn’t love her right. I’m not sure if he was even capable of love.”

 

A phantom-image of Veronica flashed in his mind as he spoke those last words. Christ, he never wanted that to happen to her.

 

J.D. cleared his throat, and tapped his temple. “Of course, my dad was never quite right in the head. Pyromaniac. Misogynist to be sure. Tacky as all get out.” By his count, J.D. had only inherited one of the three.

 

“Bad taste and misogyny are not mental disorders,” Betty said into her clipboard, as if she were answering questions on a test.

 

“They should be,” Martha muttered under her breath.

 

“Technicalities,” J.D. dismissed in a dry tone. “The man gets off watching buildings explode. He likes to destroy things; he doesn’t care about anything or anyone that breathes.”

 

“This is very disturbing, J.D.”

 

“Yeah, you think?”

 

“I have to ask you: Did your father ever hurt you?”

 

Letting out a long exhale, J.D. shook his head. “No. He never abused me, physically, sexually, or otherwise. The only thing I might charge him with is neglect. He’d never taken an active role in parenting even when Mom was alive, and that didn’t change after her death. I spent a lot of time in my room, and the later, when I started to get old enough to understand the strange noises coming from his bedroom, I spent a lot of time in 7-Eleven.”

 

Betty wrinkled her nose, so J.D. went on with a grin, for her benefit. “Yeah, he moved on real quickly. Always had strange girls in the house, especially after dark. They were always young. It got weird once I started recognizing girls from high school.”

 

“Was that when you began to hate them?”

 

“Who?”

 

“The girls you went to school with.”

 

The question floored him. J.D. lost his easy, cruel smile. “I… I don’t know.”

 

“Let me ask you something, J.D. Did these girls look like Heather Chandler? Were they pretty? Popular? Were they seniors? Were they more mature for their age?”

 

Her questions were hard. Accusatory. Of course, J.D. understood the source of her anger: he’d almost killed Betty that day he’d strapped a bomb to his chest.

 

That didn’t mean he had to sit there and take it.

 

His hands fisted at his sides, and his jaw locked. “You know what? Yeah. Those girls did look like Heather Chandler. But you know what else they had in common? They wanted me to kill myself.”

 

J.D. cut off choking around the words. He closed his eyes. He could feel himself shaking inside his coat, trembling with rage. He thought he tasted salt on his lips, but he couldn’t be sure if it was tears or blood from the inside of his mouth. It was perfectly possible that he’d bit through his lip without noticing. His face had gone numb. He couldn’t feel a thing.

 

“What do you mean, J.D.?” Betty asked.

 

Flashes of the past threatened to overtake him. Red lipped sneers in bars, at home, and at school. Strange cars parked in the driveway. Whispers in the cafeteria. Notes passed in class.

 

A freak just like his father.

 

Through the ringing in his ears, J.D. heard Martha whispering to Betty, “Don’t you think this is enough for today? I wouldn’t push him any further.”

 

“No,” Betty said, her voice sharp and clear like ice. Like a blade. “I’m not done here. He can handle it.”

 

Low laughter filled the room. His, apparently.

 

“What more do you want from me? Haven’t you found out enough? Do you not have enough evidence to diagnose me with an Oedipus complex?” The words (rightly) made him shudder. Though, didn’t everyone have an Oedipus complex, according to Freud?

 

Betty showed no signs of mercy as she crossed her legs. “When you chose to stay with Veronica, you signed up for the intensive program. But if you want to quit, I’m sure the therapist in prison would be more willing to go at your pace.”

 

“Orange isn’t exactly my color.” J.D. straightened his spine, and stared blandly at Betty Finn. “Ask away.”

 

“Heather Chandler never slept with your father, correct?”

 

“Correct, though she still looked at me like I was a particularly juicy cockroach.”

 

“How many girls slept with your father, in total?”

 

“I don’t know,” J.D. huffed. “Only one or two. And it’s not like he slept with every high school girl I ever knew. Mostly it was their Moms, or their older sisters, or their friends who had just graduated.” But the faces… they were all alike. “It was enough that all of the cliques in my first two years of high school seemed to know about my father’s perverse tastes.”

 

Then, Martha spoke.

 

“There was one girl in particular, wasn’t there?” She asked softly. “One he did sleep with? One who seemed to take personal pleasure in torturing you?”

 

J.D. nodded.

 

Betty turned to him. “Who was she?”

 

“Her name doesn’t matter.” All that mattered was that she could have been Heather Chandler’s twin. J.D. pushed the thought aside. “She was a senior during my sophomore year of high school. She went to a bar one night with a fake ID, and my dad brought her home. Only, she happened to see me on her way out. Next morning, the entire school knew every detail of her sexual encounter with my father. She said that I was probably watching them the whole time, and that she was lucky to have gotten out alive.” J.D. blew out a breath. “And you know what? She was probably right about my dad. Everything she said about him was probably true.”

 

“But she was wrong about you,” Martha stated, as if she knew.

 

“Yes, she was wrong about me.” J.D. held Martha’s gaze for a beat, and then looked away. “I tried to tell myself that’s what mattered – that whatever anyone said about me, I knew that I wasn’t a worthless creep. It wasn’t enough. Everyone started saying that if I had any pride, I’d kill myself. I’d toyed with the idea before, but only ever in the back of my mind. Now, I craved it. But first, I wanted justice.”

 

Betty understood what J.D. meant by justice. “Had you killed anyone before?”

 

“Animals,” J.D. rasped. “But never a person. This was the first time I really wanted to kill a person other than myself. I made the plans and everything. However, by the time I got my hands on a gun, the rumors about my father and this girl had gotten to the teachers. We moved out of there quickly. My dad learned that porn was a safer pastime, and I put my gun away, telling myself that I didn’t need it anymore. I told myself that this town would be different.”

 

“And what town was that?” Betty asked.

 

J.D. smirked. “Sherwood.”

 

J.D. said this with an air of finality. It was all he had to say, really. Sure, he could go into specifics. He could name each and every slur the girls in cliques threw at him. He could describe the hypocrisy of the jocks who beat him up for being a pervert, only to later commit date-rape themselves. He could describe his moral questioning, tossing and turning each night trying to figure out if the girl who tormented him was a victim of his father’s lust or a perpetrator for taking her pain out on J.D. In the end, he’d decided that she was both, like him, and that neither of them would be safe from his gun.

“Why is Veronica different?”

 

The question snapped J.D. from his thoughts. He lifted his brows. “How is that even a question?”

 

“When you met her, she was very much a Heather, was she not?”

 

He shook his head. “No. I could see that she was trapped there beneath Heather Chandler’s power, just like everyone else in that cafeteria. Only, Veronica had it worse because Heather kept her attached at the hip. Veronica didn’t want to be there. Deep down, she knew that being a Heather was wrong. I could see it in her face.”

 

Interestingly, Veronica’s resistance – talking back to Heather Chandler in the cafeteria, questioning her authority – only made Heather Chandler crave Veronica’s loyalty more. Heather Chandler didn’t like someone who submitted to her easily. That was why she hated Heather Duke.

 

“Veronica confirmed what I suspected when I met her that one night at 7-Eleven: she told me that she didn’t like her friends. That’s when I knew for sure that Veronica could be saved.”

 

“So you wanted to save Veronica? Did you view yourself as her protector? Her savior?”

 

“Not exactly,” J.D. said with a snort. “I was curious, mostly. She was just like me and unlike me at the same time. She was a Heather. But at the same time, she was also a victim of the Heathers. So yeah, part of me wanted to protect her from that. I wanted to…” J.D. frowned. What did he want?

 

“What? What did you want, J.D.?”

 

“I wanted someone to love me,” he threw out.

 

Betty scoffed. “Do you think I’m an idiot?”

 

J.D. gritted his teeth. “It’s true. That’s all I ever wanted. I wanted someone to love me the way I didn’t love myself.”

 

And Veronica didn’t. The thought – the memory of Veronica’s rejection – started to unravel in J.D.’s head, like a spool of yarn. She didn’t love me. She didn’t want me. After all we shared, she turned away from me. Wouldn’t let me touch her. I gave her everything. Everything I always wanted, but couldn’t have. I killed the assholes who hurt her. I gave her justice. I started the apocalypse that would have cleansed the world from evil for her. And she… She told me that she didn’t want it.

 

That’s when I decided that she was going to have it anyway. I was going to burn the school, and make her watch, and goddamn it she was going to like it. Like forcing a kid to eat their vegetables. And if she refused to come with me down from her room, then yeah, I would have killed her. She was almost perfect for me. I wasn’t going to let her go to someone else.

 

But then, when I went up to her room to take her, I found her already dead.

 

And that’s when I realized what it was like to live without her. It’s what I’ve been realizing for the past year.

 

“J.D., wipe your face.”

 

Betty’s voice snapped him from his internal revelations. His eyes opened with a snap to see Betty leaning across the space between them, pressing the tissue box in his direction, her face finally soft… and proud. Of him?

A gasp and a shudder racked his frame. He was balling like an infant.

 

“Jesus,” he cursed, and swiped several tissues from the offered box, sending clouds of white dust and tissue particles into the air.

 

“Don’t apologize,” Betty said. “J.D., you’ve made some wonderful progress today.”

 

“Yeah, well…” You wouldn’t be saying that if you knew what I was thinking. Pushing off his knees, J.D. rose to his feet, the soiled tissues crumpled in his fists. “I think that’s enough feelings for today.”

 

“We still have fifteen minutes left of the hour.”

 

You have got to be shitting me. J.D. arched a brow.

 

“But,” Betty said, a small smile on her face. She thinks we’re all still friends. “That being said, I’m going to let you go early.”

 

Out early for good behavior. Thank you, Officer Finn.

“Of course, you’re coming back next week.”

 

“Of course,” he repeated earnestly as he stalked towards the door, thinking, Not a chance. He had what he needed from therapy.

 

“And you’re going to continue being truthful,” she went on.

 

“Yes, yes.” J.D. clenched his fist in his coat pocket. “If you insist.”

 

“I do,” Betty said, and her accompanying smile was the same smile Veronica wore when she said the words: “You know what I want, Babe? Cool guys like you out of my life.” It was a grin steeped in power.

 

After his escape, J.D. had seen that smile – Veronica’s smile – behind his eyelids every time he closed them to sleep, and he wondered how he never could have seen that power before.

 

The chill of deja vu shot along his skin, spurring his heels as he rushed out of the door. He didn’t breathe again until he pushed his way out of the psych building. The sun warmed his cheeks, cauterizing the rawness of his feelings. He closed his eyes, and stood there for a moment, still.

 

This needs to end. Only, it can’t end the same way that it ended at Westerberg. I know more about myself now. I know more about Veronica.

 

But how to end it?

 

J.D. heard Martha’s approach from behind him. Her footsteps stilled when they reached his shoulder. She paused next to him, giving him a moment to breathe.

 

Then, she spoke. “You did good in there.”

 

J.D. exhaled through his nose, and cracked his eyelid open. “Who knew Betty Finn could be such a hard ass?”

 

Martha put her hands to her hips, disapproving, but she didn’t dissect him with her eyes like Betty did.

 

J.D. sighed. “Don’t worry. I respect her for it.”

 

Suddenly, he felt Martha’s warm hand on his elbow. The tender touch made him jump.

 

“You know, I only agreed to do any of this for Veronica,” Martha said. “I never thought that you could become a better person. But now, I think I’m starting to see what Veronica sees in you. I think that one day, you could have a happy life.”

 

J.D. chuckled disbelievingly and half turned. “You mean one that’s not behind bars?”

 

“Yes, if you keep trying the way you are,” Martha insisted, letting her arm fall. “The progress you made today is unbelievable. Most people don’t open up like that the first time they go to therapy. I was impressed.”

 

“Was this your first time? In therapy, I mean.”

 

Martha shook her head. “No. I had many sessions after my suicide attempt. Mental and physical therapy.”

 

“Ah. Two for one.”

 

“Exactly.” She gave him a small smile. “I always felt more exhausted after the mental sessions. But those helped me heal the most.”

 

J.D. only stared at her.

 

After a moment, Martha sighed.

 

“Come on. It’s swim day for you at the gym. I want you to get in as many laps as you can before your shift.”

 

Without waiting for conformation, Martha set off in the direction of the gym. J.D., of course, followed. He liked swimming; liked the silence and blue peacefulness beneath the water. It always calmed his thoughts. Maybe because it reminded him of Veronica.

 

At that moment, J.D. knew he needed the calm, especially before he saw Veronica. He didn’t want to fuck up this deal they had right away. First, he had to think. First, he had to figure out what he wanted from Veronica now.

 

 

 

Heather Duke did not expect Heather McNamara to come knocking on her door late Monday afternoon, but she did. Duke was alone in her apartment, and the only house call she expected was from someone working for Vice.

 

That’s why Heather Duke nearly shot Heather McNamera when she answered the door, and found herself tacked backwards in a yellow-colored hug.

 

The gun fell to the floor.

 

“Heather, were you almost about to shoot me?” Heather McNamera gasped, her eyes wide on the weapon.

 

“You scared me, Heather!” Duke shook her head before moving to shut and lock the door. “There’s someone out there who… Oh, never mind.” Grinning, Duke moved to give Heather a proper hug. “What are you doing here? It’s been ages!”

 

Heather McNamara bit her lip, and smiled in her secretive way. “There’s a guy… who’s also my boss.”

 

Classic Heather, Duke thought with a sigh. She shook her head. “Grab a seat and tell me all about him. I’ll make some coffee. Don’t worry about the snake. He snaps, but he hasn’t bitten me yet.”

 

“Okay.” Heather McNamara stared cautiously at the heated glass box on the bar of the kitchen as she slid onto a stool. “Is it poisonous?”

 

“Yes, but honestly, who isn’t among the three of us?”

 

Heather McNamara frowned. “I don’t think I’m poisonous.”

 

“Of course you are, Heather. You’re a Heather. You’re deadly.” Heather Duke laughed as she slid the cup into Heather McNamara’s waiting, gloved hands. “This boy better watch out. Now, who is he? What’s his name?”

 

Heather McNamara told her.

 

Heather Duke’s grip tightened around her mug. “He’s the most poisonous of all.” How’d he get his fangs into my sweet Heather?  

 

Heather Duke shook her head at her own question. It doesn’t matter now. We’re just going to have to fight back.

 

“I don’t understand. What do you mean, Heather?” Heather McNamara pressed when Heather Duke continued to say nothing.

 

“I’ll explain in a second, Heather,” Heather Duke said softly. “Do you mind if I make a quick phone call first? It should only take a minute.”

 

“Sure. Is something wrong?”

 

“Yes,” She said, patting Heather McNamara’s pretty blond curls as she walked to the phone. “But not for long.”

 

 

 

The sky was nearly dark when J.D. finally returned to Veronica’s dorm. His body felt pummeled, his brain fried, and his dick… his dick was hard as a rock.

 

J.D. had spent hours thinking and swimming, thinking and swimming, but he couldn’t come up with a plan that truly left him satisfied. So far, the best he could come up was a double-suicide by poisoned slushies. He’d trick Veronica into drinking, and then he’d drink himself. While that murder had a romantic flare, J.D. knew that poison wouldn’t be enough for him. It would be a peaceful death for Veronica, but in the end, J.D. wanted something more visceral… if he really wanted to kill Veronica at all.

 

So that’s what he needed to find out. The memories of Veronica from high school were too fresh in his head. He needed to get back in touch with the Veronica he knew now. And his dick needed to be fucked.

 

But when J.D. opened the door to Veronica’s dorm – needing her there – he found darkness and empty space.

 

Veronica. Wasn’t. There.

 

He hadn’t prepared for this.

 

He trailed his hand along the empty bed, and then turned to Martha standing in the doorway.

 

“Where the fuck is she?” He whispered.

 

Martha’s eyes were wide, the whites glowing with fear in the dim light. Not with fear of him, J.D. realized after a heartbeat. But with the same fear that had all of the feelings he’d been pushing away since the meeting with Betty surging back through his chest.

 

Fear that Veronica was dead.

 

“I don’t know,” she whispered, and looked around.

 

Trembling quietly, J.D. watched as Martha’s eyes caught on the empty slushie cup and foil hot dog wrapper. The window was closed. There was no note.

 

So she was here, J.D. thought, looking at the crumbs from the hotdog bun. But then she… left?

 

J.D. stood frozen in the middle of the room, unable to move. Behind him, he heard Martha run and get Foster. Foster’s voice drifted from down the hall.

 

“…Newspaper club meeting, just left with Dick. She let me know earlier in the day. Wait, J.D. didn’t know?”

 

“No, he did not,” J.D. muttered to himself. Reanimated, J.D. stalked forward, and poked his head out into the hallway.

 

“I need some time alone,” he barked, before slamming the door shut.

 

“J.D…” Martha’s voice echoed through the wall.

 

“I just need to cool down,” he called back, his goddamn voice cracking. He leaned his forehead against the wooden frame. It felt cold against his fevered skin.

 

But J.D. knew that nothing could cool him down now.

 

Veronica… always doing what I’d least expect. This may be the last time you surprise me.

 

Suddenly, the phone rang. J.D. jumped to answer.

 

“Greetings and salutations,” he growled into the receiver. Then, he grimaced, recognizing Heather Duke’s voice on the other end. He almost hung up on her. But she talked fast. And what she said grabbed his attention. As he listened, the blind rage shifted in his chest. It sharpened; Heather Duke fashioned it into a goddamn compass needle.

 

Finally, he had direction.

 

His lips turned upwards into a grin.

 

Perfecto.

Chapter 18

Notes:

Ha! So I wasn't lying this time when I said you could expect the last chapter really soon!
Friends, yes, this is the last chapter. There will be an epilogue (I'm not sure if you can differentiate between chapters and epilogues on this website? I guess I will see) but this is the last actual chapter.
This is probably the most disturbing chapter as well, so please take that into account before reading.
Warnings include: inappropriate language, sexual content, sexual assault and rape, probably some emotional manipulation, gun violence, and violence in general. General Heathers warnings. Also, poor life choices, vampires, and some mush. Additionally, a small part of this chapter is gay. If you are homophobic, please leave. You will not be missed.
The people who own Heathers have failed to recognize my brilliance, meaning I still do not own Heathers. I make no money off of this fic.
Still, it has been fun.

The Dear Heather letters were all fairly normal, except for one, which Veronica was pretty sure was a death threat.

 

It read:

 

Dear Heather,

What’s your favorite color? Mine’s blue. I’m blue without you.

Love,

V.

P.S.

At midnight, the sky isn’t blue. It’s black.

 

“Dick,” Veronica said, pointing, and then tilting the letter towards him on the table, so that he could read it. “Vice. He’s coming for me. At midnight.”

 

Dick’s eyes flashed from Veronica’s paper-pale face, down to the actual paper, and then back up again.

 

“Right, okay,” he said, grabbing her by the arm and hoisting her out of her seat. “Time to leave?”

 

“I think so.”

 

She made sure to snatch up the paper before he ushered her out of the door.

 

            Okay, so maybe going to the Newspaper club meeting was not such a great idea. Noted.

 

The walk back to Veronica’s dorm was long, but they took it at a breathless sprint. The note crumpled in Veronica’s sweaty hand. Her heart didn’t stop pounding, not even when they made it inside the safety of her brightly-lit dorm building. Not even when they made it up the stairs, and down the hall.

 

“Get inside,” Dick ordered, shoving her gently towards her room. “J.D. should be in there. You tell him, and I’ll tell Martha and Foster what’s happened. Pack your bags, and be ready to move at once.”

 

Veronica nodded at Dick as she fumbled with her keys. The moment she heard the soft snick of metal, she threw herself into her room, and shut the door behind her.

 

“J.D.-” she began, only to stop short.

The lights were off.

 

“Hello?” she called, taking a tentative step forward into the shadows. Hectic lights danced in her eyes, flashes caused by her panic. She couldn’t see a thing, but she stepped further into the room. “J.D.?”

 

All of a sudden, someone rushed at her from behind – someone who’d hidden behind the door. A hand wrapped around her waist. A second clamped over her mouth and stifled her scream.

 

“Scared, Veronica?” Hot breath trickled down the side of her neck. “Because I was fucking terrified when I came in here and found your room just like this.”

 

The hands holding her shoved her to the ground. Veronica caught herself on her hands and knees, gasping, her pulse beating like humming bird wings.

 

The lights flickered on. Whirling, scrambling back, Veronica saw J.D. standing there behind her, his finger on the switch, his eyes somewhere between dead and crazed.

 

“You have no idea what I went through today,” he said, stalking a step towards her.

 

Oh my God.

 

A frightened sob lodged in Veronica’s throat, clogging up her airway. Veronica fisted her hand in her white blouse, clutching her chest in an effort to breathe. As she did so, the note from Vice tumbled out of her sleeve.

 

J.D.’s eyes followed the little ball of paper as it bounced onto the carpet, and rolled into the space between them.

 

“What is that?”

 

“Read it,” she wheezed.

 

“What?”

 

“Read it, you asshole,” she seethed. “And then decide if you want to finish whatever you’re trying to start right now. Your timing is impeccable.”

 

Eyeing her dubiously, J.D. stooped to pick up the note.

 

“God.” Veronica cursed, wincing as she used the bedframe to pull herself up.

 

J.D. shook his head in awe as he stared down at the note. “Well fuck.”

 

Her hand fisted around the post of her bed as she leaned on it like a crutch. “Yeah, fuck is right. Vice is coming for me, tonight.”

 

She straightened, and let out a breath before she met J.D.’s eyes once again. The zombie-like craze had left him.

 

J.D. didn’t try to apologize. He didn’t offer any sort of explanation. Not that Veronica expected either of the two, although both would have been appreciated.

 

J.D moved quickly, grabbing her backpack and dumping her schoolbooks onto the bed. Veronica didn’t say anything. She moved to her closet, and started handing J.D. stacks of clothes to shove inside of her bag. After adding her diary, a pen, and some essential toiletries, and Veronica realized that she was ready to fly anywhere.

 

J.D.’s hands were steady as he zipped up the sides of her bag.

 

“I didn’t think this would be happening so fast. It’s sooner than I would have liked. I thought I’d at least have a day. But I guess Vice has other plans.” J.D. tipped his head sideways at her. “Do you trust me?”

 

“Not at all,” she said, only partially comprehending his words. “You almost killed me just now.”

 

“No. Well, maybe. Actually, I’m not sure what I would have done. I was going to scare you, for sure. Fuck you, with or without your consent. After that, I don’t know if I would have killed you or let you live. I planned to let you live, but fuck, I forgot all about that the moment you walked in the door. You know what they say about good intentions.”

 

Wryly, J.D. shook his head, and went on. “I think… I think I would have been able to hold myself back. Your ass would have been black and blue.” He glanced significantly at Veronica’s ruler, which he’d placed strategically by the bed, on top of the desk. “But you’d still be breathing. I need you breathing, if I want to pull this off.”

 

“Pull what off?” Veronica repeated back, dazed. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. None of this fucking matters. I don’t know why we’re even trying-”

 

Veronica broke off, new tears swimming in her eyes. She’d hoped that she would be able to cure him, thinking that maybe one day, they could lead a normal life together. But now, realizing that she’d been inches from death only moments ago, Veronica saw that she’d been fooling herself this whole time. Trying to change someone you loved only hurt everyone involved. She couldn’t cure whatever J.D. had. Maybe someone could, but she couldn’t.

 

“What are you trying to say, Veronica?” He whispered.

 

She stared pointedly at the floor. “I think you know what I have to say.”

 

“Are… are you breaking up with me?” A sudden, incredulous laugh burst from J.D.’s lips.

 

She whipped her head up at the sound. “What else do you expect?”

 

“Oh, Veronica.” He caught her face in both of his hands before she could back away. His warm touch left her frozen. “I never know what to expect from you, so I’ve stopped trying to guess.”

 

That pulled a breathless laugh from her. She shook her head weakly. “J.D., you need to let me go.”

 

“No,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I’m not done with you yet.”

 

Then, for the third time since she’d known him, J.D. slammed her head into his knee, and everything went black.

 

 

 

“Come with me,” the vampire murmured, his eyes blue and green, dead and crazed, inches from her face. He stood directly in front of Veronica, his figure tall and cloaked in black, his face pale, and his hands tight on her waist, keeping her immobile where she sat on the end of the bed.

 

Veronica frowned, her lacy nightgown far too thin to protect her from the chill sweeping in from the open balcony doors, drenching her Victorian-era bedroom in nighttime air in spite of the feeble embers still glowing in the hearth.

 

“Who are you? Wait, don’t tell me. Your name has a D in it,” she said.

 

“You know my name.” The vampire chuckled; Veronica realized that his teeth were stained red.

 

That made her nervous. She tried to inch away from him, but her limbs were heavy.

 

“Um, I think I’d like to stay here.”

 

J.D. – or was it Dracula? – only laughed. “You’re coming with me.”

 

Then, the vampire swept her over his shoulder, and carried her out of the tall glass doors. Just as he threw his leg over the balcony, Veronica mustered up her strength, and let out a muffled cry.

 

The vampire cursed, and jostled her. “I’m not going to drop you.”

 

True to his word, the vampire managed to get them both down the side of the crumbling castle by use of an old tree without either of them getting hurt.

 

“Can’t you fly?” Veronica asked.

 

She could feel the vibrations in his chest as the vampire laughed. But his mirth cut off short as two heads suddenly poked out of a window high up on the castle turret.

 

Van Helsing shouted the alarm first, her cheeks red with fury behind the glass. She aimed her gun at them, but suddenly, sweet Jonathan stepped in. He slapped the gun out of Van Helsing’s hands, screaming that she might hit Mina.

 

“Atta boy, Dick,” the vampire muttered as he sprinted to his motorbike.

 

Looking up, Veronica now caught glimpse of a third face – Quincey Morris, the American, with his masculine figure – squeezing Van Helsing by the shoulders in comfort before picking up the phone.

 

That was all Veronica saw before the vampire threw her limp body down onto the bike seat in front of him, officially blocking her view. He wrapped an arm around her waist, and revved up the engine.

 

Apparently they could fly, because the rest of the drive was full of stars and clouds as they raced away from the vampire hunters at their heels. She must have looked faint because after a while, the vampire eventually pulled over, and opened a jar of smelling salts to revive her.

 

 

 

A briny breeze tickled the underside of Veronica’s nose, bringing her back to consciousness. She felt a coarse towel stretched out beneath her, and beneath that, she could feel cold, hard-packed sand. Not far off, she could hear the sound of waves crashing.

 

I’m… I’m at the beach. Am I still dreaming?

 

Confused, Veronica cracked her eyes open. Starlight and clouds stretched above her, until a face replaced the sky.

 

J.D. wore a deep frown. “How’s your head?”

 

Reality rushed back to her, like a tidal wave. You did this.

 

“Easy, Veronica,” J.D. hissed, pressing a hand to her shoulder before she could snap upright.

 

Glaring, Veronica slowly lifted herself into a seated position. She curled her arms around her knees as nausea rose with her.

 

“You were saying some weird things in your sleep,” J.D. said as he rubbed her back. “Something about vampires and flying. I thought I heard you say ‘Van Helsing’ too, but that might have been my imagination.”

 

“No, I probably said it,” Veronica muttered, eyes opening to finally take a peek at her surroundings. “I just finished reading Dracula earlier this afternoon for one of my classes.”

 

“Ah.”

 

Gingerly, Veronica lifted her fingertips to her head, probing. “Doesn’t help that you just scrambled my brain.”

 

“Yeah… I didn’t hit you as hard as last time, though,” J.D. said from beside her. “You shouldn’t have a concussion.”

 

Veronica dropped her hand. “I shouldn’t be here. What the fuck, J.D.? Why are we on a beach?”

 

“Have you ever seen the ocean?”

 

Veronica blinked. “I’ve seen pictures.”

 

He gave her his crooked grin. “That’s what I thought. Listen to me, Veronica: there’s a chance we might not both make it out of this alive, but it’s the best chance we’ve got. I figured you needed to see the beach a least once in your life. I wanted to be the one to take you. I would have liked to take you during the daytime, but well…”

 

J.D. shrugged. His eyes were luminous in the darkness. A strange pang of desire shot through Veronica’s chest, conflicting with every other thought and feeling swirling around inside of her bruised frame. Veronica winced, and clutched her head once again.

 

“Please don’t talk like a crazy person, my head can’t take it right now.”

 

Slowly, J.D. nodded. “Rest for now,” he said, and pulled her against his side.

 

Veronica didn’t want to lean against him, but she was so tired, and he was so… warm. The air off the water was frigid. Veronica found herself curling into the nook beneath J.D.’s arm to ward off the chill. Thankfully, he didn’t try to talk with her. He just held her there while she watched the waves crash, inching imperceptibly towards them with each hit. She thought the ocean was supposed to be blue, but in the darkness, it only looked black. She watched, disappointed until the moon eventually crept out from behind the clouds. Then she saw it: the blue, iridescent sheen in the middle of the curling wave. The beauty and the life of the water stole her breath away.

 

J.D. must have seen it too because his arm tightened around her waist at the same time she gave a breathless gasp.

 

“I want to go in.”

 

“In the water?” J.D. laughed at her. “Veronica, it’s freezing.”

“You have towels.”

 

She kicked off her shoes and socks as she rose to her feet, throwing her favorite blue blazer off into the sand. Her skirt fluttered off soon after. Veronica stripped as she walked towards the waves, transfixed, thinking, this is the only time I will ever see the ocean. Her blouse was halfway unbuttoned by the time her feet hit the water, sending an icy chill up her calves. But it felt good. She felt awake. The numbness in her head cleared, just a little bit. Or, maybe it numbed more. Either way, she felt better, and knew she wanted to go deeper.

 

Smiling, Veronica slid off her blouse, feeling the pale skin over her stomach prickle from the fine mist rising off the water.

Suddenly, a hand latched onto her wrist, jerking her back into a warm, broad chest. J.D. glared down at her, his green eyes flashing. He’d caught her shirt – it was dry, and balled up in his fist.

 

“Veronica Sawyer, I didn’t keep myself from killing you,” J.D. drawled. “Just to let you die because you want to go night swimming.”

 

“Let go of me,” Veronica demanded, struggling against J.D.’s hold on her.

 

“No way.” He didn’t budge. “The water is cold, it’s high tide, there’s no lifeguard, and you’ve never been to the fucking beach before. Can you even swim?”

 

“Yes, I can swim!” She couldn’t believe they were having this conversation.

 

“Can you swim faster than a shark? Haven’t you heard that sharks are more active at night?” J.D. shook his head, his grip iron on her wrists. “Don’t even answer that. I’m not risking it.”

 

“J.D.” She kicked and thrashed against him.

 

He grunted against her blows as he dragged her back to the towels. She screamed, but he deafened her screams with his hand, pinning both of her wrists above her head with the other.

 

“Cut it out,” he panted, his hips digging into hers in an effort to keep her down. “I need you to stay sane, alright? Sanity.”

 

“You’re telling me to…” That was the last straw. Veronica trailed off into laughter – eyes closed, sides aching something fierce kind of laughter. Hysterics. Her chest felt heavy with it. She could hardly breathe.

 

At some point, J.D. dropped his hand from her mouth, fumbling with something she couldn’t see through the water gathering in her eyes.

 

“You’re a psycho,” she finally gasped. “And you’re asking me to stay sane?”

 

“Okay, enough with the P word,” J.D. muttered through his teeth, his hold on her wrists tightening. “But yes, I’m going to need you to keep it together.”

 

She shuddered as fingers skimmed over her breasts. She bucked beneath him, crying out now in panic, only to feel her shoulders restrained… By her shirt.

 

Her eyes flared open to see J.D. buttoning the last button at the collar of her blouse. She stopped trying to buck him off.

 

“You’re putting my clothes back on?”

 

J.D. smirked at her faintly as he slid her skirt up her legs, and latched it at the side. “What did you think I was going to do?”

 

Veronica went limp after that, letting him put her jacket over her shoulders without a fight. Her clothes didn’t seem to fit right. Her body felt too heavy, too bulky. It was as if the concussed feeling in her head had spread to her entire body.

 

After a beat, Veronica shot J.D. a frown. “Your shoes are wet.” She could hear them squishing as he moved.

 

“They’ll dry,” he said, grimacing. He looked miserable.

 

Veronica suddenly felt extremely grateful that J.D. hadn’t let her go into the water.

 

Drying her feet with the towel, J.D. moved to slip her socks back on. She sat up to watch him. He’d just gotten the second one over her knee when a pair of bright headlights turned into the parking lot, illuminating the space between them.

 

J.D. cursed. “Fuck. I have to run. Remember what I told you.”

 

“Remember what-?”

 

J.D. pulled her into a kiss, his lips moving hard and painfully against hers. He swallowed her question before she could finish asking it.

 

“J.D.,” she breathed, trembling when he pulled away.

 

“I’ll see you soon,” he whispered back against her lips, his breath hot.

Then, he was gone, sprinting down the deserted beach until he disappeared. A figure dressed in black tore out from the parking lot after him. A single gunshot rang out from the darkness, and the pursuer fell face-first into the sand, dead.

 

Veronica stared after J.D., her bruised lips throbbing.

 

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw another figure step out of the parking lot, out of a van that had been parked there. She didn’t have to look to know who it was.

 

J.D. had left her there. For Vice.

 

A trade off, she realized. J.D. had handed her over so he could go free.

 

When did J.D. decide to do this? How long has he been planning to offer me up to Vice, giftwrapped in a nice little towel? How long has Vice known? When Vice wrote that Dear Heather letter, did he already know that I would be here tonight? He must have. J.D. picked the location, and Vice picked the time. I’d assumed that Vice would come after me on campus tonight. I hadn’t considered the possibility that I would be brought to him.

 

“Damn, I liked that guard,” Vice said brightly, coming up behind Veronica and placing a hand on her padded shoulder. “But I’d consider it a fair trade. I’ve been waiting for you for a long time, Veronica Sawyer.”

 

Veronica shivered, distantly grateful that she had her jacket to protect her skin from Vice’s touch. Still, she knew it wouldn’t protect her for very long.

 

“Too bad J.D. didn’t shoot you instead,” she whispered, and closed her eyes.

 

Or me. Veronica was dead either way. Dying here would surely have been a more painless death.

 

“Ouch.”

 

All of a sudden, the overwhelming stench of chemicals replaced the gentle scent of brine. Eyes flaring open, Veronica gasped and gagged, her lips scraping against a rough, damp cloth. Kneeling, Vice caught her against his chest as she fainted.

 

“Sweet dreams,” he whispered in her ear as her eyelids fluttered shut.

 

 

 

A voice reached Veronica through the long expanse of darkness.

 

“This is so not the job I signed up for.”

 

Wait… I know that voice.

 

Veronica stirred. “Heather? Heather McNamara?” she rasped.

 

“I think God really has cursed me this time, Veronica. I mean, look at what I’m doing?”

Veronica squinted through groggy eyes to find herself in a dimly lit bedroom, the skin pinching around her wrists as Heather McNamara cuffed her to the bed. These handcuffs were not lined with blue fuzz, and the bedroom was far too large and luxurious to be J.D.’s. Actually, it reminded Veronica of Heather Chandler’s bedroom. The layout and size were eerily similar. The only difference was that the décor was slightly less girly. There was more gold here, less pink and less bows. But there was still quite a lot of red. The sheets were satin and red, and the carpet burned crimson. At least, that’s color it seemed in the dark.

 

Luxurious… but tacky, Veronica thought. That’s the real similarity. Even so, this could have easily been Heather Chandler’s adult bedroom, if Heather had lived into adulthood.

 

The thought made Veronica feel queasy.

 

Shuddering, Veronica tore her gaze away from the bedroom around her, and blinked up at Heather McNamara.

 

“Am I dreaming?” Veronica couldn’t tell anymore.

 

Heather looked great, as usual, dressed in a short cocktail dress with sequins that reminded Veronica of mermaid scales. Sending a quick glance down at herself, Veronica realized that she was still in her blue blazer, skirt, and socks.

 

“I wish,” Heather pouted. Noticing Veronica’s gaze, Heather gestured down at Veronica’s body, and continued, “Don’t worry, I’m not supposed to strip you. He said he wants to be the one to do that. Would you believe that? Honestly, Veronica, I have horrible taste in men. Maybe it’s a sign.”

 

Veronica coughed – her mouth tasted like acid. Like the chemical-doused cloth Vice had used to knock her out. “We need to get out of here, Heather.”

 

But Heather shook her head, making Veronica wonder if she weren’t really trapped inside of a nightmare. “Sorry, Veronica, I can’t. He told me not to.”

 

“Who, Heather?”

 

The doors slammed open, banging against the walls, making them both jump.

 

Vice stood in the doorway, his frame lit by the brighter lights in the room beyond. He grinned when he saw them, the tattoo on his cheek flashing sapphire blue.

 

Fear dashed through her, and Veronica scrambled up the head of the bed.

 

Vice chuckled, and started towards her. “You can leave now, Heather.”

 

“Heather,” Veronica pleaded. “Don’t-”

 

“Yes, sir,” Heather whispered, leaving with her head bowed. She shut the door on her way out.

 

Veronica squeezed her eyes shut.

 

I’m dreaming. Please, please, tell me I’m dreaming. I’m going to wake up in my bed. The moment I do, I’ll write this all down in my diary-

 

A hand wrapped around her ankle, making her skin burn beneath her sock. Veronica gasped, and tried to pull away, but Vice was stronger. Her yanked her down the end of the bed, pulling her body flat.

 

“I thought about getting leg restraints, but that takes out all of the fun, doesn’t it? I like a little kick.”

 

She stared up at him in horror. He smirked down at her, his hand trailing up her calf.

 

“Imagine my surprise,” he murmured. “When I received a phone call from our good friend Jason Dean earlier today. He said he would let me have you, in exchange for letting him go free. He told me to meet him at the beach, anytime. Not wanting him to change his mind, I told him that I wanted to meet him tonight. Thank you, by the way, for delivering that message for me.”

 

Veronica gagged and Vice laughed, his hands moving over the curves of her hips, flipping her skirt up to reveal the skin beneath.

 

“I never thought he’d leave you – leave this – but he did. The sense of self-preservation in some people is more powerful than anything else, I suppose. More powerful than love. More powerful than lust. Of course, I’m not really going to let J.D. go free. I’ll track him down, eventually. You see, we’ve had a long history together.”

 

Vice kept talking – talking about his history with J.D., about all the men he’d killed, who and why – but Veronica was gone. She didn’t know where she went, but it was someplace far away from her body. Maybe she was with J.D., wherever he’d gone off to.

 

She didn’t know what Vice said to her. She didn’t register his taunts as his hand slid back and forth over the face of her panties. She didn’t feel the air lick against her dead flesh as he untucked her blouse from her skirt. She didn’t hear the faint catch of his zipper, or the catch in his breath, as he started rubbing himself over her with his palm, staring at her half-dressed form. She didn’t hear him when he said he liked taking his time undressing his girls – said that’s the part that really turns him on – as he opened her jacket, leaving it flared open on her shoulders as he reached for the top button at her blouse.

 

But she did hear it when Vice screamed, and jumped clear across the room, away from her.

 

“J.D. you son of a bitch!” He shrieked.

 

At the sound, part of Veronica that was lost returned to her body.

 

Curious, she looked down her torso – down her bra, down the peeled-back fabric of her jacket and her shirt – to see a black box with red buttons and a digital timer, bound to her torso with thick, black straps that went around her waist and over her shoulders.

 

How did I not notice this? The answer came to her quickly: Oh right, I’d been half concussed and hysterical.

 

The numbers glared up at her, upside down, but she could still read them.

 

4 minutes remaining. 3:59… 3:58… 3:57…

 

“Uncuff me,” Veronica said, looking up at Vice. “I may be able to turn it off.”

 

“No fucking way. You’re staying right there.”

 

As if to demonstrate, Vice cruelly tore the key out of the pocket of his jeans, dangling the silver in front, before throwing it down on the floor. Something else fell out of his pocket, too: a small, velvet box. It slid under the bed.

 

Then, Vice booked it out of the room, his dick still out.

 

“Everyone evacuate,” Veronica heard him shouting. “The place is going to blow.”

 

“But, sir-” Came the muffled replay, probably from one of his guards.

 

“I don’t care! Whatever it is can wait. Leave everything, just get me the fuck out of here. I’ve got enough cash at the safe house. Move or I’ll fucking kill you.”

 

“Yes sir…”

    

Feet trampled down the halls. A minute passed of pure chaos just outside the doors. When the apartment sank into silence, Veronica knew that she and the bomb were alone.

 

She tipped her head back, and laughed. Laughed, and laughed, and laughed, and laughed. It was just so funny. No matter how she’d tried to resist J.D. and his mayhem, she’d somehow come full circle, in a room just like Heather Chandler’s, chemicals on her breath as if she’d swallowed liquid drainer, with a bomb strapped to her chest.

 

And worst of all, no matter how she tried to fight it, she still loved him. She loved him despite everything she couldn’t change about him. She’d never fallen out of love. With two minutes left on the countdown, she knew that she’d rather be with him in hell then anywhere else alone.

 

“I- I am so damaged,” she gasped between giggles.

 

“Is that what’s so funny?”

 

Veronica snapped her head up to see J.D. leaning in the doorway, his arms crossed, his eyes bright, a goddamn cigarette dangling between his lips.

 

He stepped closer, putting the cigarette out in the silk sheets at the end of Vice’s bed, and went on.

 

“I’ve been watching you laugh for a while now, and I was starting to feel left out.”

 

“It’s an inside joke.” She pulled herself up, and rattled her cuffs. “Now, would you get these things off me? The key is down there.”

 

She jerked her chin to the floor, to the bright silver keys, next to the black velvet box, on top of the carpet that swirled red like blood. All of this… It was like some sort of damaged fairy tale. It was all swirling in her head as she watched J.D. lean down and pick up both, murmuring, “Perfecto” under his breath.

 

She took a deep breath, but didn’t close her eyes for a second as he leaned over her, and unlocked her chains.

 

J.D.’s eyes darkened over her disturbed clothes. “Did he touch you?”

 

“Yes,” Veronica said bluntly. “But Vice saw the bomb before he got to savor very much.”

 

Veronica shivered as she sat up in the bed, and smoothed her skirt back over her legs. Her undies were still on – she didn’t think Vice had even reached under them. Still, Veronica knew he’d done enough overtop to leave her with nightmares.

 

Cursing, J.D. pressed his forehead to hers. She felt his body shaking around hers as he wrapped his arms around her shoulders. She felt J.D. breaking down around her.

 

Then, he said, “I’m so, so sorry Veronica. I was hoping he would see the bomb before he touched anything. More than half the time he starts at the top, and I was hoping that he would open your shirt before he did anything else. But I knew it was a possibility that he might start at the bottom. I knew he might take that part of you before he even opened your shirt. I just didn’t know, but this was all I could think of. It doesn’t matter. I should have told you beforehand, I should have warned you and made sure you that agreed to this, knowing the risks. But I was worried that Vice wouldn’t believe your terror if it wasn’t real, he’s done this so many times. And I was mad at you. Christ. I was mad at you for leaving me to go to the Newspaper club meeting, and for rejecting me in high school. That just makes it so much worse…

 

“The moment I let go of you tonight on the beach, I knew that I’d made the biggest mistake of my life. Before all of this, I told myself that I was willing to risk anything, if it gave us a chance to get rid of Vice and live out our lives. But I never should have risked you, Veronica. You were never mine to risk. God, I’ve been more terrified in this last hour than I’ve ever been in my entire life.”

 

He was rambling. “J.D., are you crying?” Veronica whispered, startled. She knew she should be mad at him, but she wasn’t. She was just relieved to be safe from Vice. Awed at the emotion she was seeing, Veronica reached her hand up to cup J.D.’s face.

 

“Yes, I’m crying,” he laughed bitterly into her palm before pressing a kiss to her wrist. “You’re the only person in the world who has ever really loved me, even though I’m not worth any of it, and now… What I’ve done… What I’ve put you though… It’s unforgiveable. And I can’t… I can’t ask you to go with me… Not after what I put you through… I want you to be away from me ”

 

All of a sudden, J.D. pulled back, and held her gaze, his bright green eyes in stark contrast to the dark red room.

 

“Thank you for loving me,” he said fervently. “But I can let you go now. I couldn’t in high school – hell, I couldn’t before today – but I can now. I want you to be happy, Veronica. I want to give that to you, even though I know it means I probably won’t ever be happy again. No, that’s not it. I’ll be happy enough knowing that you’re happy. I want you to live the life that you want to live.

 

“Your friends are downstairs. I will take you to them, and turn myself in to the police. You can go back to Sanford, graduate… marry a lawyer or something. You’ll be safe and rich, and you’ll have a hoard of safe, rich kids. You’ll be free from Vice, and you’ll be free from me.”

 

Veronica tilted J.D.’s face up, so that she could study it. She looked through his tears, into his eyes.

 

Maybe part of him did manage to change. After all, I’ve never seen him cry before.

 

Veronica had to fight to keep from grinning; her choice was made. Damaged. Damaged. Damaged.

 

“What’s my other option?” she asked.

 

J.D. jerked his head up. “Excuse me?”

 

“I’m not that into lawyers – or kids, for that matter. Also, I kind of like having you in my life. Having to limit our time to visiting hours would be kind of a pain. So, I’m asking you: what’s my other option?”

 

Face pale and lips parted, J.D. opened the velvet box with a flick of his thumb. Inside was the most beautiful sapphire ring Veronica had ever seen.

 

“We run,” J.D. breathed. “That’s your other option.”

 

“Jason Dean,” Veronica whispered, rising onto her knees. She fisted a hand in the front of his hair. Confused, J.D. shut the box with a snap.

 

“You haven’t asked for my forgiveness; you have no right to ask for it. But I’m going to give it to you anyway. The life you’ve offered me – the first option, the life without you – it shows me that you’ve learned how to love me. Truly love me. And because of that, I can’t accept it: I don’t want to live a life without you.”

 

J.D. freed his hands, hastily shoving the ring box back into his pocket. Then, he grabbed Veronica by the face, brushed his thumbs over her cheekbones in a way that made her shudder, and kissed her. He touched her hair, her shoulders, her entire body as his lips moved against hers, cherishing each touch as if he never expected to touch her again. The force of his kiss pressed Veronica back into the bed. Tangling her fingers in his hair, Veronica laughed out of sheer, outrageous happiness, and kissed him back, losing herself in him.

 

His crazy must be rubbing off on me.

 

The bomb’s warning beeps were muffled, the sound entirely lost between their bodies. All of a sudden, a massive force erupted in between them, sending J.D. flying clear across the room, and pressing Veronica even flatter into the bed. A hard gasp escaped her. She felt like she’d just been hit by a motorcycle. However, despite the smoke billowing at absurd rates through the room, she wasn’t burning.

 

So this is how J.D. faked his death, she thought in wonder. She sucked in a breath – either to call out to him or to keep laughing, she wasn’t really sure – but she only succeeded in sucking in smoke.

 

Hands emerged through the darkness, nine fingers freeing her body from the fake box still pouring out smoke. Those nine fingers then wrapped under her legs and around her back to carry Veronica bridal-style out of the bedroom. The trail of smoke followed them as they walked through Vice’s apartment – it was just as tacky as the bedroom, and Veronica was not a bit sorry in the least to see it burn. Through the windows and the haze, Veronica caught a glimpse of red and blue lights: police cars and fire trucks, sirens blazing, had crowded around the foot of the building.

 

And then, through the flashing lights and colors, Veronica caught sight of a familiar face.

 

Veronica coughed a gasp. “Martha.”

 

J.D. nodded. “Along with most of the law enforcement in the area. Detective Dunnstock received an anonymous tip, telling her where to wait with crews if they wanted to capture Vice.”

 

I want to see this, Veronica thought.

 

“Stop for a moment,” she croaked. “Let me look.”

 

He did, though he kept a safe distance from the windows lining Vice’s back hallway. Veronica strained in J.D.’s arms, squinting through shutters.

 

It didn’t take long for Veronica to spot what she was looking for: Martha stood at the center of organized chaos, her brown eyes hard as she held Vice. He was now the one restrained in silver handcuffs.

 

Seeing the same, J.D. let out a single, vicious, victorious laugh before he continued carrying her down the hall.

 

“You delivered Vice right into Martha’s hands,” Veronica whispered. “On purpose?”

 

“I like Martha,” J.D. grunted. “I couldn’t let her know about any of this. So, Vice is a small thank you gift for putting up with my bullshit.” J.D. pressed his lips into Veronica’s forehead, and smiled. “And I get to keep you. It’s certainly the better half of the deal.”

 

“Martha… Martha will think I’m dead, after Vice talks.”

 

J.D. shrugged. “Maybe. Martha’s smart, though. Personally, I don’t think it will take her long to figure out this bomb was fake, too. Which is why we need to move fast. They’ll only stay out of there for so long.”

 

A loud bang shook the walls as J.D. kicked open a hall-closet door. Peering into the closet space from J.D.’s arms, Veronica expected to see boxed up Christmas decorations and a vacuum cleaner. Instead, Veronica found herself staring down into the void of deep, dark stairwell.

 

“An escape tunnel,” she stated.

 

J.D. nodded at her as he stepped into the closet, and kicked the door shut, sealing out all of the light. Then, he began his descent into the abyss.

 

“It’s how I always got in and out of Vice’s apartment unnoticed when I worked for him,” J.D. whispered in the darkness. His boots rang on the metal stairs. Listening, Veronica closed her eyes, and shivered. She could all too easily imagine him walking up these stairs, fresh blood on his hands…

 

It frightened her that that image of J.D. didn’t change her decision to leave with him. Veronica had a long time to think about this as J.D. walked, the steps down the building emerging into a long, rough-walled tunnel.

 

“Where are you taking me?” She asked, peeking up at him, and J.D. smirked.

 

“A surprise honeymoon destination.”

 

Honeymoon?

 

The wires in Veronica’s brain short-circuited. “But we’re not even married.”

 

“Well, the wedding venue is part of the surprise.” J.D. offered her a sheepish grin. “Maybe we’ll make a pit stop in Vegas. It’s on the way.”

 

After about a quarter mile of walking in the dark tunnel, they ran into a metal door, which J.D. once again kicked open with his boot. Walking through it, they emerged into the lower level of some sort of parking garage.

 

There, waiting for them in the parking spot closest to the door, was J.D.’s motorbike. It was loaded with two bags; Veronica recognized her backpack as one of them.

 

But there was another car parked next to his bike: a yellow Volkswagen.

 

“Heather? Heather?” Veronica’s eyes widened as J.D. set her down on her feet. As surprised as she was to see both of the other surviving former Heathers before her, she was even more surprised to see them locked in a passionate embrace.

 

J.D. smirked. “Well, greetings and salutations. Sorry to interrupt, but it’s your cue, Duke.”

 

Heather McNamara’s face reddened as she sprang backwards, but the smile on her lips was bright. Heather Duke was completely unabashed.

 

“Don’t be,” Heather Duke said, her lips curled knowingly as she walked up to them. “After all, I owe Veronica my life – did you know that she was the first girl I ever kissed?”

 

“When did that happen?” J.D. asked, arching a brow, unable to keep the growl out of his voice.

 

“Guess,” Veronica murmured.

 

“Veronica, my love, you still look like hell.” Laughing, Heather Duke pressed a kiss to Veronica’s cheek. Her lips came away stained with soot.

 

“Thanks, Heather. I love you too.”

 

Heather McNamara danced up and kissed Veronica’s other cheek before pressing Veronica into a quick hug.

 

“Have fun, be safe, and don’t forget to write.”

 

“I won’t.”

 

She and J.D. turned as the two Heathers brushed pasted them, walking towards the metal door.

 

“You’d better hurry,” J.D. said, nodding the Heathers towards the tunnel. “You have maybe a minute before they realize there isn’t actually a fire. Don’t get caught, and don’t forget to shut that closet door behind you when you leave.”

 

Heather Duke smirked as she took Heather McNamara’s hand. “We won’t.”

 

J.D. gave them a salute. “Happy looting.”

 

Heather Duke winked over her shoulder, and Heather McNamara gave them each a little wave. Then, they disappeared behind the metal door.

 

J.D. sighed. “We’d better hurry too – we have a long ride ahead of us.”

 

A yelp tore from her as J.D. grabbed her by the waist, hoisting her over his shoulder before planting her on the back of his bike.

 

Red flashed in his hand as then he reached for her hair, scooping it together at the nape of her neck.

 

Heather Chandler’s scrunchie.

 

“You’ll be more comfortable with your hair back,” he murmured. He planted a fervent kiss on her lips, soot mingling with soot, before he pulled away. Then, he passed her his helmet, clipping it beneath her chin. It pinched the skin at her throat, making Veronica uncomfortably aware of her smoke-ravaged lungs.

 

“Hey, J.D.? I’m kind of thirsty.”

 

J.D. smirked at her as he straddled his bike; Veronica wrapped her arms around his waist on instinct.

 

“We’ll stop and get a slushie on the way.”

Chapter 19: Epilogue

Notes:

Here is the epilogue, the last post on Blue Raspberry!
Warnings include: sexual content, gun violence, inappropriate language. Basic Heathers warnings.
I still don't own Heathers. I also still don't own 7-Eleven, just in case anyone was wondering.
It has been a wild ride. I had a lot of fun writing this. Thanks to everone for reading <3

Epilogue

Five years later.

 

Veronica stared out at the water, bluer than blue – an iridescent, crystalline turquoise – as it kissed the narrow stretch of powder-white sand. Her limbs felt heavy and deliciously warm as she baked in the hot sun. Still, she didn’t mind lifting her arm to write.

Dear Diary…

 

“Working on your next bestseller?”

 

Veronica jumped, whirling, her mind suddenly flashing back to another time, when another man came up behind her on a beach… but that was years ago.

 

She shook off the memory, and smiled up at J.D. “Aren’t you on the clock?”

 

He shrugged, and glanced behind him, at the small convenience store he ran right on the water. The orange and blue sign glared back at them: The Snappy Snack Shack. It was a blatant generic for 7-Eleven. J.D. came up with the name, since he couldn’t legally open his own 7-Eleven. But, like most generic brands, The Snappy Snack Shack was just like the name-brand store. Here, in their small, Mexican beach town, it was a one-of-a-kind shop that offered oceanfront service all hours of the day, popular with locals and tourists alike. She and J.D. lived in an apartment right above the storefront. J.D.’s uniform consisted of orange and blue bathing suit shorts, and a plain shirt with the logo in warm months. When it was cold, of course, he wore his jacket. But right now, it was summer.

 

“I’ll see if anyone comes in,” he said, and sank into the sand beside her. “How do you expect me to focus on stacking cups when I have this view out of my window?”

 

Veronica turned her eyes back onto the ocean. “Yeah, it’s beautiful out here.”

 

J.D. chuckled. “Goddamn it Veronica, I wasn’t talking about the water. Here, take your slushie. You looked thirsty: I thought we both deserved a break.” As he spoke, J.D. revealed two cups from behind his back: two slushies, one red, the other blue. After a heartbeat, J.D. passed her the blue, and kept the red for himself.

 

She flashed him a secret smile, knocking the side of her cup against his.

 

“Salud.” Her sapphire ring flashed in the sunlight.

 

“Salud,” he echoed, his eyes lowering to her lips as she took a sip. They then sank lower, over her bathing suit, to the notebook sitting in her lap.

 

“So, that’s not another national bestseller?”

 

“It’s the sequel.”

 

“Ah.”

 

J.D. was not being hyperbolic. Veronica had taken to writing after moving down to Mexico. On a whim, she’d sent her first manuscript into a few publishing houses under a pen name. Her novel now topped the national bestseller charts. It was a fictional story, told in a series of diary entries, about a young girl who falls in love with a certain gun-wielding, coat-wearing, suicide-faking cowboy. She’d set her adventures in the Old West so that no one would recognize the truth in her tales. The story worked well in the revised setting. J.D. made an excellent outlaw.

 

Veronica’s pen name was simply Heather. She would always be a Heather.

 

“How’d the first one end again?” J.D. asked.

 

“Mmm, the love interest fakes his own death. The new one starts out with him reaching out to her.”

 

“Sounds like a good read.”

 

“It will be.”

 

With a contented sigh, Veronica leaned her head back against J.D.’s chest. He wrapped his arm around her and held her there.

 

“Shit, I almost forgot.” Rummaging around in his pocket, J.D. pulled out an envelope. “Betty sent pictures from the wedding.”

 

“Oh!”

 

Eagerly, Veronica ripped open the envelope, dumping the photographs out onto the towel, and spreading them out so they both could see.

 

Tears sprang into Veronica’s eyes. “She and Dick look so happy.”

 

J.D.’s arm tightened around her shoulders. His lips moved up her neck and across her cheek, kissing away the tears.

 

“Are you upset you couldn’t be there?” he whispered.

 

“A little,” Veronica answered honestly, shivering beneath his lips, the slushie cold in her hands. “I always expected to be her maid of honor. Martha looks great, though.”

 

“She caught the bouquet.”

 

Veronica gasped and pulled away. “Did she? How do you know?”

 

He nodded to one of the photographs. It was of Foster and Martha. He wore a classic black tux, and she looked blushing and beautiful beneath his arm in a soft pink gown. In her hands, she held a bouquet of white roses.

 

Smirking, J.D. flipped the photo over, revealing Betty’s familiar cursive scrawled across the back, proclaiming, “Martha caught the bouquet!”

 

“Oh,” Veronica laughed, snatching the photo out of J.D.’s arms and tossing it back in with the rest. “Do you think Foster’s going to propose?”

 

“I guarantee it. And when he does, we’ll have Betty encourage them to have their honeymoon down here. While a random trip here would look suspicious, none of their coworkers would question a honeymoon in Mexico. After that, they can simply say that they fell in love with the beach here if they ever want to visit us again.”

 

Veronica shivered. She hoped it would happen. She hadn’t had direct contact with Martha in years. She missed her friend.

 

J.D.’s fingers tightened on her chin, tipping her face up to his. “Do you regret coming with me here? Marrying me?”

 

Setting aside her slushie, Veronica rose to her knees, shifting so that she straddled J.D.’s waist. She felt him harden beneath the fabric of her bathing suit. Taking his face in between her palms, she held his eyes, and whispered, “I don’t regret a moment of it. I live the perfect life: I lounge on the beach and write every day, and every night, I go to bed with a man who doesn’t murder people. What more could a girl want?”

 

J.D. had kept his word to her: he hadn’t killed or maimed anyone since they’d said their vows. He came close one night, when some kids tried to rob the store, but he scared them off with a few warning shots.

 

Their lifestyle helped J.D. lead his murder-free life. J.D. loved his job. That, along with copious amounts of sunshine and sex, made for an almost miraculous treatment.

 

J.D. still struggled. He always would. There was no true cure for what he had. That was when they called Betty, and they had long therapy sessions over the phone. But the vast majority of their days were happy and carefree.

 

Smirking, J.D. flipped them both, pressing Veronica’s back into the sand. A low moan escaped his curling lips, and his eyes fluttered shut as he ground his hips into hers.

 

“I want you. Right now.”

 

“Then take me,” Veronica breathed. “Let’s go swimming.”

 

She squealed as J.D. scooped her up into his arms, pausing only to rip off his shirt before plunging into the blue, blue waves.

 

In their haste, neither of them noticed that they’d knocked over both of their slushies. No eyes were watching as the blue raspberry syrup seeped out from beneath the lid of one plastic cup, and no one saw as cherry syrup leaked out from a crack in the lid of the other. No one witnessed the mixing of the two drinks. No one saw the way the syrups fused together and stained the sand deep purple. Later, when the sand was cool and the sky was the same shade of violet, J.D. and Veronica would return to clean up the mess, throwing away the plastic cups covered in sticky, liquid sugar and melted ice. But until then, Veronica and J.D. remained busy, melting into each other.