He didn't notice at first, to which she was immensely grateful. If there was ever a time in which Betty Cooper suddenly became eternally grateful towards the outstanding idiocy that was Archie Andrews, it was then. It had been the same old dance that she knew the steps too all too well - Betty and Archie have date, Archie cancels date to be with Veronica, Betty winds up alone. It was a sort of dance that she had never really taken the time to question, never really been able to look past all the tears, and the anger, and the angry punches to pillows to really sit down and use her extremely intelligent brain to figure out that Betty Cooper was being plain ol' stupid herself. As stupid as Archie Andrews arguably.
But on that one serendipitous Friday night Betty Cooper received her weekly phone call from Hell Frozen Over and listened as Archie weaseled his way out of another date that she had promised to go dutch with him. As she set down the telephone in its holder Betty stared at it, brows furrowed, a complicated and withdrawn look settled on her normally pleasant features. She didn't feel the usual stinging in the back of eyes cluing her in on a night of bitter sobs and snotty tissues; she didn't even feel all that angry. If Betty Cooper was being honest with herself (which was a first, and a welcomed relief to the monotony of her easily stereotyped and scripted life), she really didn't feel much of anything. She didn't want to simultaneously hit Archie on the head and kiss the living daylights out of him, she didn't want to phone Veronica and banter or argue, she didn't want to eat ice cream or watch sappy movies or write in her diary. She didn't want any of that.
And it confused the hell out of her.
Walking upstairs to her room, feet padding softly on the plush carpet, she heard her mother call from
within her parents' room. As Betty neared the door she heard the sounds of the television being dimmed. Opening the door Betty stared at the prone figures of her mother and father, and asked, "What is it Mom?"
Alice Cooper let her hair out of her curlers as she stared inquisitively at her youngest daughter, "Who was on the phone, dear? What it Archie? Did he cancel your date again, sweetheart?"
Looking blankly at her mother's sympathetic stare, Betty knew the pattern in which this conversation would occur: She would say yes, turn into a pile of blubber and tears while her father inched out of the room uncomfortable with the amount of estrogen flying around, her mother would console her, tell her she deserved better, and all would repeat indefinitely on a different day (but really exactly the same). Betty did not feel like dancing today, did not feel like performing, and did not feel like fulfilling everyone's misguided expectations that yes, she loved Archie, and no, he did not love her back (as much), and that all of this was okay in a young love, teenage crush, kind of way.
So when her mother was all about ready to put on her pity eyes Betty Cooper did something she didn't do often: She lied.
"No, mom, actually he was just calling to say he was going to be about twenty minutes late because his Dad needed him to run a quick errand. So I offered to just meet him at Pop Tate's to save him the time. I'll be back later tonight, okay?"
Her voice retreated softer and softer into her skull as she mustered the strength to smile as convincingly as possible. Her parents smiled, relieved (and surprised - she hated, yes she could hate, that they were surprised) and told her they loved her (she knew) and that to have a good time, and lock the door when you come in. Goodnight.
Goodnight.
Betty walked to her room and changed out of the clothes she was wearing, she slid on her oldest and comfiest pair of skinny jeans, a baggy concert tee and some red chucks she found hidden in the back of her closet. Hardly date clothes, but they were comfortable none the less, and with that Betty grabbed her hoodie, her keys, some money, and escaped quietly and quickly out the front door.
The sun was setting on the rapidly fading summer and Betty felt the cooler temperatures and the earlier nights beginning to push in on her summer. It had all passed in a frenzy of the same - go to the beach with Veronica, read a book, surf, go on dates, get dates cancelled, go to Tate's, go to job(s). It all had the same sick cyclical nature that for some reason never changed - they never did anything new.
Walking down the suburban streets she knew all too well Betty wondered if maybe things could change. She stared at the horizon and watched the sun go down on another day and wondered, really wondered, if change was what she really wanted. Her mind turned to Archie and Veronica and wondered what they were doing on their date, where they were going or if they had even left at all (knowing Veronica and the games she played), but even the thought of their current date wouldn't deter the detached feelings that had recently surfaced. Normally the thought of the two made her sick, but the only thing making her sick presently was herself. The way she let it happen, because she did, she really fucking let it happen. All those times she cried herself to sleep, the times she tore up his pictures only to glue them back together again; they were all her fault because she let him hurt her. She expected it, she hoped for something different but every single time the phone rang her stomach would twist with nausea because she knew who was calling and what he was calling about.
And so at 7:34 on a Friday evening Betty Cooper stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, in the middle of Riverdale, in the middle of Nowhere and covered her eyes with her hands and just cried. Cried for all the stupid things she had done to herself willingly, how blind she had become, and how disgusted she felt for all those times she could have sworn she was the last person in the world to blame. Because while Archie Andrews was an idiot, she knew better, she was the smart, intelligent, liberal-minded girl that didn't practice what she preached and made herself suffer for it.
Her face burned as the tears dropped in rapid succession down her face, her eyes burning with self-loathing and embarrassment not for sobbing on the sidewalk but wondering if others too knew how dumb and blind she'd been and guessed with a wake of new shuddering sobs that the answer was most definitely yes. Reggie knew it, Midge knew it, Veronica knew it, Jughead knew it, even fucking Moose knew it. But more importantly, Archie knew it. And she hadn't. Like a pawn she'd been there the whole time, smiling and crying and cheering and everything they expected of her and she let it happen.
Betty ran one solitary hand through her hair and clenched the blond strands as the other tried pathetically to cover her still leaking eyes. So entrenched in the disgrace and the emptiness she felt she didn't hear the screen door creak open and slam, it wasn't until she glimpsed the worn out chuck taylor's through her fingers that someone was standing right in front of her.
She didn't care, she really didn't, whoever this person was could fuck off and she wouldn't mind saying it for a fresh change of pace - Betty Cooper, who'd never been caught swearing a day in her life but would murmur them from time to time in solitude to try them out, was ready and abso-fucking-lutely ready to cuss someone out if she so felt inclined to.
But when she heard him breathe out in one astonished whispery breath, "Betty" she knew she could never do that. Not to the one person she felt could really be brutally honest with her.
Inhaling deeply, Betty ran her hands under she eyes and pushed her hair back and said with as much strength as she could, "Hey Jughead" and looked him right in the eyes. As she inhaled more deeply she felt more and more grounded to the earth - she no longer felt so far away, or as weak, as one often feels with the striking clarity that deeply felt emotions tend to provide - 'Catharsis' - the word whispered in her head and she rolled it around a few more times and felt freer each time she thought it.
Jughead gaped at her with mild horror; his attire matched hers with striking similarity. His string bean stanza was clad with skinny jeans, chucks, and a concert tee and Betty wanted to smile at how home-y it felt to look at him. He stepped closer to her and Betty inhaled again and wrapped her arms around her stomach feeling suddenly tired, but surprisingly content.
"What the heck happened, Betty?" his right arm came up to clasp her left shoulder and Betty was grateful for the reminder that she still lingered on earth, that she was solid, still here, and still capable of making mortal decisions.
Betty let out a raspy laugh, hoarse from crying, and replied with as much mirth as possible, "Oh, you know, it's just a Friday, and that's usually filled with random sidewalk sobbings and epiphanies" suddenly looking more serious and abashed, Betty averted her eyes and cleared her throat as she looked up and asked, "What's up with you?"
Jughead's eyes widened comically as he seriously questioned her sanity, "Betty seriously" he gripped both her shoulders, "Are you okay? I'm not even kidding. I'm really worried right now. I just saw you sobbing from my bedroom window and I come out here and you're laughing and crying and I don't know what."
Betty pushed his hands from her shoulders, starting to feel claustrophobic, "I know, I'm sorry. Really, I'm okay now, I just needed to ... do what I did" Waving her hand absently Betty swiped again at her eyes.
Jughead merely crossed his arms and raised a subtle eyebrow in her direction, "Why don't I believe you?"
Feeling suddenly angry Betty snapped, "Because everyone's got this Suzie-Sunshine picture of who I am in their heads and whenever I even try and toe the line everyone freaks out and asks 'Betty's what's wrong? What did Archie do? Are you okay?' and I'm so fucking sick of it Jughead." She looked at him desperately and noticed his unflinching gaze, even at her curse words, even at her predicament. She was begging him to try and understand, if he could, and she was starting to sense that he was trying, that he was giving her this opportunity to not be Suzie-Sunshine.
Eventually he said, "So, what did Archie do?"
Betty released an angry sigh, "You already know what he did Juggie, don't make me spell it out for you" Jughead's eyebrows rose slightly at the unregistered acidic tone in her voice, but if she registered his reaction it didn't show, "I'm sick of being a person only in the context of that other person. I'm only Betty Cooper, the sometimes girlfriend of Archie Andrews and best friend/competor for Archie's stupid, lame-brain heart with Veronica Lodge. I wanna be me, for once" She threw up her hands and half-shouted, "For once! Outside of everything, just me. I want to make myself-" She cut herself off as she stumbled, put her hand to her head and felt everything just pound away at all the emotions, all the revelations. She was tired. Just plain ol' tired.
"Betty?" Jughead worriedly came up to her and put his arm around her to steady her. Unable to care, Betty put her arm around his waist and rested her head on his shoulder, "I'm hungry, wanna go to Pop Tate's?"
Jughead was concerned with Betty and all her newly surfacing emotions but felt there was something she needed to get out, to clarify for herself and if he could figure it out along the way then that couldn't hurt either. He shook her shoulder in friendly comradery and laughed, "Of course, I'm kind of hungry too. You gonna explain some things to me while we're there?"
She laughed from her position against his shoulder and mumbled, "I'll try"
"Good" he said as they walked in the direction of Pop Tate's.
A/N: so this is a new story I'm trying out, let me know what you think. Obviously it's gonna be a few chapters, I'm not sure what direction I'm really headed in but I have a general gist. More explanations will be provided in later chapters.