This was written when I had only seen the first episode. And holy- Betty as a character is perfect for so, so much. I've been wanting to write something along the lines of this for a while now and would appreciate any comments.

Who killed Jason Blossom?

That was the question on everyone's mind up until they had found out it was his own father. Jason was murdered by his father, Clifford.

They all knew it now. Well they all believed that it was true. Even Clifford Blossom beliefs he murdered his son. But she knew the truth.

Betty knew the truth because she was the one to do it. Sweet, innocent, perfect, good Betty was what everyone always called her. Each adjective like a knife to the gut, robbing her of her breath, raping her free will, murdering her bit by bit. Until she just… snapped.

July the 2nd, sometime just before Betty's curfew:

Eyes down, body small. Eyes down, body small. Eyes down, body small. That's all she needed to do when walking to be invisible because even though it was holiday, Cheryl Blossom always seemed to find her in this tiny town. And the mockery that then flowed from the redheaded cunt's mouth would leave her boiling beneath the surface and just a little more dead on the inside. She would never react because her mother needed her to be perfect, more so after Polly's break from reality and that was what she was. Perfect. A horrible word with horrible connotations that always, in her mother's opinion, didn't quite mould to her in the right way. She wasn't perfect enough, never perfect enough. She tried to be more perfect, but she wasn't.

"Watch where you're going." Someone mumbled after a brief fumble with their phone, from their unexpected collide with her that sent her bumping into trash cans. "Oh great, it's you." Jason Blossom looked at her with venom in his eyes. "Come to me to tell me that I'm to blame for your sister going nuts. Shout at me like that bitch you call a mother."

She almost snorted at that. It was a good insult to her mother. "No, I'm sorry." She whisper-mumbled out, just trying to get past him. He wasn't his sister, so he wasn't as cruel but he could be.

He stepped in front of her, "You know what? I don't accept your apology. You want to know the real reason your sister left, went insane? You. You are the reason. It's all your fault Betty. Yours and only yours. Always looking for so much of her, expecting so much. You caused it all, you psycho."

She looked up at him in shock, he continued on blaming her. Saying filthy things about Polly, about her. Her fingers curled back into her hands, her nails already pressing as hard as they could. She wouldn't allow herself to become angry, wouldn't allow herself to break. He went on and she pressed harder with each insult, feeling the semi-crescent moon points of her fingernails start to tear the skin. Blood oozing out of the eight new exits. Still she didn't stop, not for the stinging nor the burn as her finger nails slid further into her hand, splitting fat and muscle the further in they went. Still she pressed harder as he yelled slurs at her, her nails fracturing near the bed and finally ripping off completely.

She brought her hands forward and watched them curiously, Jason not noticing through his mocking, the blood running from her palms as a few of the looser nails fell to the floor, the others remaining embedded. Her fingertips were also bleeding, the blood pouring from where eight of her nails had previously always been. She didn't have nails… she didn't have nails… she didn't have nails.

It was an odd thought to have, her mind agreed. It wasn't one she could ever expect to have. Not having nails. Nails meant she could keep herself perfect. She wasn't perfect but she could try. Now she couldn't try. It felt… freeing. As though she could finally breathe for once in her life. She could finally breath, she could breath and didn't need to hide. She didn't need to keep her eyes down or her body small. So she didn't. Is this what happiness felt like? It's not like she would know. Her life has been miserable since she could remember. With her mother, with Cheryl, with Archie and Jason and Kevin and all of them. All of them forcing themselves into her life, onto her, drowning her with expectations and degradations. She didn't like them but she had to be perfect. So she had made herself perfect. She had made herself good and innocent and smart and perfect. Made herself have just the perfect number of friends and perfect scores and prefect everything. It all just always had to be perfect.

"And look the freak just mutilated herself some more." He mocked but this time she heard.

"I'm not perfect." She had known it all her life but it still was an epiphany somehow. Like she had been looking through a dirty lens, still able to see the image, but now the lens was clean.

"Well of course you're not. You're Betty Cooper, why on Earth would you of all animals ever be-" He fell to the floor.

"I'm not." She said and hit his head with the trash can lid again. This time he didn't look at her with sudden fear or shock, he simply didn't look. He was unconscious. "I'm not perfect." This new revelation was amazing. She wasn't perfect. She could pretend to be, she had to pretend to be but she wasn't.

She wasn't perfect.

"Night mom. I love you." Betty said in her usual manner, cheerful and perfect. She had gotten back just before curfew, done her chores and wished her parents good nights. Her parents hadn't even noticed her hands during her mother's rant. As soon as the door to her room gently, perfectly, clicked shut she headed for the window and watched. Watched for Archie through his bedroom window. His room was dark but his window open, he had snuck out again. She didn't know where he went most nights and she could never ask because she had been perfect. She opened her own and sat on the sill, legs swinging on the outside as she prepared herself. It was just a one story climb but she didn't want to climb. Perfect Betty would have climbed down, it was safer and smarter and the perfect choice; but she wasn't perfect. So she jumped and fell, her knees buckling as she landed and finally sprawled onto the grass outside. It wasn't a smart choice nor was it painless… but she liked it. She would need to do it more often.

Jason was heavy, really heavy for someone so small. Finally she resorted to dragging him by the feet, his face bumping along getting little nicks and cuts as they went. It was late enough for Pop's to be closed already and she stuck to the shadows as often as she could. As soon as she got them back to her house she would lock him up in the shed outside. It was supposed to be for her father's garden equipment and his workshop but even he had fallen against her mother's tyranny. He may as well be castrated.

July the 3rd, just after Betty's parents left:

She looked at him, his face caked in filth except for the clean tear tracks revealing his pale skin. It was a shame to want to do this to someone so objectively handsome, but everyone one needs to start somewhere. She stood up from the floor and moved closer to him, he shuffled further back trying to put distance between them and as a result cornered himself between her and the wall he was chained to. The chain binding his neck was a metal dog collar, she and Polly had naively thought their mother would allow them to have a pet if they got it before asking and now no one had the dog, locked in on itself with a large brass lock. His hands and feet were bound by whatever she could find. Rope, duct tape, zip ties. It was overkill but she had never abducted someone before.

"I'm not perfect." She smiled at him. He tried saying something but it came out mumbled. She reached to the back of his head and pulled on the duct tape, needing to circle his head five times before it was all off.

"Yes- yes you are. You're perfect Betty. You- perfect." He sobbed almost inaudibly through the new tears, from fear or pain or both. She didn't care anymore. "Please Betty, just let me go. I'll give you anything- I won't tell anyone, nothing will happen I promise. Please just let me go."

"Say it again!" Her rage spittle flew onto his face, mixing with the filth and tears. She wanted- needed to hear it again.

"Say- say what?"

"The perfect thing." She was losing her patience now, she wasn't perfect but she was smart. Smart enough to know that if the roles were reversed she would know what he was speaking about, so she expected the common courtesy of him knowing what she wanted.

"You are perfect, Betty. You're perfect. You're perfect. You're perfect. You're perfect." She stopped his increasingly loud chant with more tape, making sure to wrap it around his mouth and head until she could no longer hear his screams.

"No, I'm not."

July the 4th, on a road to Sweetwater River:

Kevin's father's truck handled badly. The clutch was sticky and the gear shift got stuck in third too much but it was better than dragging a dead body to the river. When Kevin had asked her why she needed it she had lied and said she found the mental hospital where Polly was. Of course Kevin immediately agreed, offering her companionship for when she, the old her anyways, would inevitably cry. His persistence didn't last too long thankfully or their might have been two bodies in the back, flimsily covered by a tarp. Stopping near the edge she hopped out and grinned into the sun that was baking her. She wasn't perfect. That was all she needed to remember.

Removing his phone from her pocket she switched it on, the first time it had seen power since the moment Jason's head had collided with a metal trash can lid. Countless messages and missed call notifications popped up. Most from Cheryl, a few from other family members and friends, and a final one from the police. They knew he was gone. It soured her mood a little but not enough. It was to be expected and why wouldn't the police know he was gone. He was the star athlete at school and from the richest family in town, everyone would care that he hasn't been seen in a few days. Going through them all and subsequently the rest of his phone, she learned more about him than ever. He was a disgusting human not just on the outside but apparently on the inside too.

Cheryl, I'm going to be gone for a while. I can't say where or why but tell the police that we had an accident by the river. That I drowned. That way they won't look for me elsewhere. I promise to come back for you as soon as I've done what I need to. I love you more than Polly.

It was a simple text, the perfect Jason text. She shoved his phone into his pocket and finally threw his body into the river, watching it float down the river.

"Row, row, row your boat gently down the stream. Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream." She sing-songed while starting the truck.

The days there after:

Watching Cheryl pretend that Jason had drowned during an ill-fated canoeing venture was entertaining. If she didn't know what she knew she would believe every word that came out of the bitch's mouth, but she knew and could see in Cheryl's eyes, during her weaker moments of performance, the optimistic glint that just said she was waiting for her brother-lover to return. Incestuous pigs.

Life went on and she watched every moment she could, every time Cheryl verbally abused her she would curl her finger and sink her regrown nails in, not to keep on being perfect but to simply keep the act up. She pretended to cry, pretended to care, pretended to be perfect. She actually started falling in love with the moments that Cheryl, or her mother, or anyone really would berate her because she had a secret that no one knew. It was an orgasmic feeling to have, knowing that she had killed and no one could see she had changed.

The only downside was that she didn't know who was next. She tried to way pro's and con's but it didn't feel right. It didn't measure up to Jason. So she would wait until she found someone that felt right.

Looking at Archie was the hardest part of the night so far. She needed to show admiration, adoration, and love on her face but it was harder now. She didn't love him, not anymore, but she needed to pretend. As she confessed her, fake albeit, love to him she watched him blank completely on their conversation. Turning around Betty saw a girl enter the diner, a brunette in expensive clothes and a… was that a cloak? Why on earth would anyone wear a cloak in this day and age?

"Veronica Lodge." The newcomer greeted.

And Betty just knew it was her.

Disclaimer: This work is purely fictional, any relations to people or places is purely coincidental. It is also not intended to offend anyone, nor should it. Though I strive to implant some fact, truth or opinion in here it is meant purely to be in a fictional; and may not represent the author's beliefs.