The devastating splash of cold water over my head feels like multiple needles stabbing into my exposed shoulders. It floods down my naked back and I shiver, gasping for precious air. It's like standing in the pouring rain, except I have no means of escape. I'm stuck, helpless as the onslaught continues to lash my back, ripping down my chest and neck.
Crying out, I stifle sobs constructing my aching chest. At the sound of his voice, my eyes blink open for a moment, and I peer through soaked lashes.
"I'll ask you again," his voice is soft but stern. If I concentrate I can sense it quivering slightly. "What's your name?" The boy's shadow looms over me. He's in the center, between two others who stay silent. He's the only one who speaks. The one who's holding the next bucket filled to the brim with icy cold water. I know this because I've already been through this three times. My body is ice, pressed against the marble surface of the tub. My eyes are squeezed shut. Every time I open them, I'm blinking back water, my vision is cloudy like I'm looking through a foggy mirror. They want me to say a different name, but I won't do it. I won't say it. My name—" my name is—"
I cry out, reveling in the comfort of my own name. But I can barely hear it. They want to take it away from me. I choke out a sob when the water comes down once again, soaking me, flooding inside me. It poisons my blood, solidifying my veins. But I don't give in. Not yet. Clenching my fists, I tip my head back, keeping my eyes stubbornly shut. "My name," I gasp out, spitting out water, "is-"
Again, I can't hear it.
"Again." another voice growls. This time it's a girl. The pretty raven-haired girl with cat-like green eyes and golden skin. I imagine her standing over me, unsmiling. Her eyes are like daggers. I gasp out once again when the fourth pail of water is poured all over me, but my skin is already frozen. My heart is already slamming in my chest, very nearly catapulting from my ribcage. I'm already suffering. I blindly slip and slide around the tub, flailing my arms, but they're quickly restrained by warm hands I can't wrench away from. "You're making this harder than it should be," the girl says. Her tone is softer than the boy's. But I know it's a lie. It hides under a facade I had fallen for.
"My name-," I say through gritted teeth, gasping once more when water splashes down my back once again. My hair sags in front of my face, glued to my cheeks. I flinch when soft fingers peel it from my eyes. "Come on darlin'," a voice sighs softly. I recognize the redhead's voice automatically. The boy with the lilted accent. The one he tried to hide. "all of this will stop if you just tell us what your name is."
I can feel hot tears sliding down my cheeks, and for a moment, they're a relief against the bitterly cold water dripping from my body.
"...!"
What?
Why can't I hear my own name?
Panicking, I try again when I've gathered enough strength. I scream it at the top of my lungs.
"It's-!"
Another bucket of water comes down, soaking me. But I ignore it, biting so hard on my tongue I taste blood. Wrenching my arms from the boy's phantom grip, I cling onto the tub and allow my eyes to flicker open. For a moment I'm blinded by the warm golden light of the bathroom. It's huge, with pale blue tiles, a shower and towel rail.
I'd almost forgotten I'd even been inside. It feels like I'm kneeling in minus temperatures, letting thunderous rain cascade over me.
"Hey!"
I'm pulled back to reality by a voice, and I let my gaze flit to the three figures standing over me. I'm sitting, stripped of my dignity, completely naked, in a fancy marble tub. Spotlights shine above me, revealing me to an audience; millions of anonymous watchers. I'm submerged up to my stomach, the water lapping around my thighs. "My name is..." it's like my lips move, and sound comes out of my mouth. But I don't register it.
What's happening to me?
One of the boys lets out a heavy sigh. I flinch, but the water doesn't come this time.
I stay bent over, hugging my chest, muttering my name to myself. I press my face against my bare legs, whispering it into my icy skin. But it's becoming tangled on my tongue. It sounds wrong, even cried out in my own mind.
"She's not submitting," the girl murmurs, and I lift my gaze to stare at her, blinking ice water from my eyes. She and I are very different: me, sitting naked in a tub of freezing cold water in front of three strangers. While she stands over me with what I can only describe as some kind of triumph. Her hair perfectly sags on pale white shoulders, her fringe pulled back by a blue headband. She's wearing a neatly pressed black dress and tights. I notice she's fiddling with something, twirling it around her index finger. It's a red ribbon.
My heart drops into my stomach. It's for me. From the look in her eyes, she can't wait to slip it through strands of my hair once its dry. Her fingers play with the thread as she eyes me, her lips parted into what might be a smile. But it never quite reaches that point, only curving slightly. She dangles the ribbon playfully. Teasing. Taunting.
"She has to. Do you realize how much trouble we'll be in if she doesn't?"
The boy next to her makes my skin crawl. He frowns at me through narrowed brown eyes. He's tall and wiry with red hair poking from underneath a knitted beanie. There's something strange about him. He looks at least sixteen, much like the girl, but he's wearing clothes a modern teenage boy would laugh at: a bright green sweater with a bow tie and skinny jeans hugging his legs. His skin is pale, the freckles splattered across his cheeks look almost fake. Like someone had drawn them on with a permanent marker.
I can only stare at him, swallowing the screech building in the back of my throat. His voice scares me. Sometimes it hitches, from new age American to something entirely different, and so does his expression, going from neutral to terror in seconds flat.
"I got this," the other boy holding the bucket says in finality. He looks like the girl's brother, the same golden skin, narrowed green eyes and raven hair. Except his hair is shorter, splayed across his forehead and messy as if he hasn't brushed it in a while.
Like the others, the boy is also in strange clothing. He wears a grey sweater bearing an embroidered S on the front, tight jeans, and strangest of all, a fitted silver crown sitting on top of his unruly curls. He's smiling down at me, but there's no warmth in it, no friendliness. He stares at me as if I'm a slab of meat. The boy leans forward, the points of the crown on his head look sharp enough to do damage. I wonder if it's real.
His breath is so warm, refreshing against my glacial cheeks. I can't help but let out a soft gasp of relief. He feels so warm, even if he's not even touching me. But I crave it. Shivers fly down my spine. I need warmth.
"Your name is Betty Cooper," he says. His teeth are gritted, and I sense a hint of desperation. "Do you understand me?"
That name. My heart feels like it's being shredded. It feels so wrong.
But so right.
I want to nod. Just so I can get out of the tub. So I can cover myself, shade my bare body from their eyes. But I've always been stubborn. I shake my head like a child, strands of my wet hair slap against my cheeks and the boy leans back with a frustrated hiss. "Fine," he grumbles, reaching for the bucket once again.
I jump back, letting out a squeak. The water sloshes around me in the tub. "No!" I cry out, but the girl and boy grab for me, gripping my arms tightly. They kneel next to the crown boy, their expression's hard and merciless. "Please!" I skitter back, flailing helplessly as my bare feet scathe the sides of the tub. The girl is so close, her breath hot and heavy like the boy's.
"Just say it," she murmurs. "Then I promise this will be over."
I watch the boy with the crown fill the bucket with water once again. He rubs at his head with a shaky breath. The cuff of his sweater is soaked. His crown wobbles as he thrusts the bucket under the stream. I stay still, shivering as the spray hits the rim. Water splashes from the sides and I flinch, trying to push myself back. But the other's have me in a tight, impenetrable grip. "Okay, one last time." The boy with the crown drags the bucket from the tub and holds it over my head. I can only stare up helplessly.
I can feel the others gazes stuck to me, waiting for me to speak. The boy wastes no time. "Your name," he sounds impatient. "What is it?"
Swallowing hard, I blink rapidly. How much longer until the water freezes my heart? I'm surprised it hasn't happened already. All they want me to do is say a different name, but my name means so much to me. It's who I grew up as. I am...
I'm...
Oh god, who am I?!
"We're waiting," Crown grumbles. He rattles the bucket a little, and a startled cry rips through my lips when the water hits my shoulders once more.
Something breaks inside me then, any rebellion I'd tried so hard to grasp onto. I throw my fists down, tugging myself violently from the others. They let go. "B-Betty Cooper!" I squeak.
The skin around the boy's eyes wrinkles. He raises an eyebrow before tipping the bucket, the whole load hits me at once, knocking the breath out of me. My head hits my bare knees from the momentum and I gasp for air. "I don't believe you," he says. I sense him moving to the tap, filling up the bucket once again, and my body cries out.
"N-no!" I manage to splutter, straightening up. "My-my name is Betty Cooper." I whisper, making shaky eye contact with him.
He hesitates before nodding. "Say it again."
I glare at him. "What?" I can't help letting out a laugh. "I just-I just said it!"
"But did you mean it?" His lips curve into a spiteful smirk, and I want to hurt him. I want to wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze until he's the one choking. I'm left to flounder for words, while he fills the bucket once again.
My name is-
MY NAME IS-
I say it to myself, wanting to scream so loud that I deafen myself. But my thoughts grow foggy and lackadaisical.
My name is...
My name...
"Say it, Betty," Crown growls. He holds up the bucket once again, and I curl into myself, pressing myself further into my knees. The other name slips from my tongue so easily.
"Betty Cooper." I whisper.
The water hits again.
I'm so cold. So numb. My body screams out in pain, but they don't listen.
"Again!" his voice echoes in my head, and the water gets colder and colder as the seconds and minutes pass by. It folds over me, cascading, a vicious glacial storm raining over my unresponsive body. My lips become numb. I can't cry out my name anymore, even when the water keeps coming, drowning me, hollowing me out and filling me up with poison.
Finally, it stops, and I'm left quivering, shivering, sobbing. I'm trembling so hard my head spins. I sense Crown kneeling next to me.
"What's your name?" he sighs softly, and I feel his fingers playing with strands of my hair, peeling it from my skin. Bile burns at the back of my throat when I feel the brush of the ribbon in his hand. I want to pull away, I want to scream. But my throat is raw. My lips are numb. I'm so cold. I'm so cold.
When I try and move, the water around me sloshes against the tub. "Come on Betty," his voice is sing-song. "What's your name? Say it loud and clear so we can hear it."
"Betty," I whimper. "My-my name is B-Betty Cooper."
I don't see the look of relief on his face. He sighs softly. I can feel him tying the ribbon into my hair. His fingers move coarsely through strands, bunching it into a ponytail. The girl begins humming softly, and when I open my eyes and peer through spasming lashes the three of them stand over me, identical smiles on their faces. I shrink back, suppressing a cry. My hair feels so wrong, hanging in a soaking ponytail, held in place by the red ribbon. I can do nothing but stare helplessly at the three.
Crown cocks his head, folding his arms across his chest. He speaks softly. "It's Jughead," he says with a smile. "Remember?" His green eyes urge me to nod, and he gestures to the girl and the redhead. "And they're Archie and Veronica. We're your best friends. You remember now right?" Questions fly through my head, a hurricane of thoughts buzzing around my skull. What kind of name is Archie? It's so old-fashioned. Along with Betty and Veronica, that's a name from decades ago. Going back to the '40s and '50s.
Except I've heard these name before. They've been plastered across my childhood, and yet I can't think of anything, despite my brain screaming.
The answer is on the tip of my tongue.
The redhead -Archie- chuckles. "Silly Betty forgetting who we are," he says, nudging the girl who giggles.
"I know right? Betty is just feeling a little under the weather, aren't you Betty?" She puts so much emphasis on the name, I feel like I have to answer. Her eyes bore into mine. They say something completely different, dripping with desperation, torment, and agony.
This girl is playing a role. It hits me like the tumultuous waves of icy water they had subjected me to. All three of them are playing a role. And they want me to join them.
"Betty?" Archie murmurs. "You remember us, right?"
I find myself nodding. Anything to get out of this tub. "Yes," I whimper, staring up at them with childlike bafflement. Crown -Jughead nods and smiles brightly at me. Except I can see something past the smile, a glimmer he's trying so hard to hide. It's obvious in his body language. Like the others. They're stiff. Their smiles are fake, their eyes haunted. "We've missed you so much, Betty. It's really good to have you back."
Betty.
That's my name.
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