Disclaimer: Title is from Skyway Avenue by We the Kings. I own nothing.
You hope there isn't an afterlife. You think (know) that if you have to face her accusatory glare just one more time, you'll-
Well.
That's just the problem, isn't it? What happens if you find yourself locked in the pearly (flames flickering, licking at his shoes) cell of your own redemption with her (Veronica) for the rest of eternity? You'd go (in)sane and probably end up in solitary, which, considering the probable state of Hell's (he doesn't delude himself for a second that he'd get anywhere near Heaven) community soap, might be preferable.
Then again, knowing that you'll never see her smile, never hear her quip at you persistently cheesy comebacks, never watch her joke with her friends or set out on a case again, that (almost) brings you to your knees.
There's not really any point to breaking down until the last second, before it's already (mostly) over and no one can see you (wait for the universe to implode) cry, because if they see the pain that's gathering in a reservoir within you explode, they'll try and (interfere) help.
For the first time in your life, you don't want help. You want oblivion, eternity, redemption, retribution, (justice) revenge. You want it to end (begin).
The last time you saw her was in that damned food court, the look on her face one that (he thought) could last you a lifetime. The (dangerous) fucker who had humiliated the love of your life wiped all over the floor? Check. The (stupid) boyfriend who had no idea what he was getting himself into embarrassed and confused? Check. Said (reluctant) love of your life absolutely stunned and her death now imminent?
Check(mate).
–
Keith is the one to find her. She is lying on the ground outside (their) his apartment - her hair spread in a halo around her, in a pose strangely resembling Lilly's final sleep (that's a crap metaphor, Aaron clubbed her to death with an ashtray). There is a hole blown through her head at point blank range and she is still warm.
He calls Wallace, Mac, and the Sheriff's department. You find out while listening to the police radio you bought so you could tell when you and/or Dick were going to get arrested on the way to the beach, at which you immediately veer around and (nearly kills) frightens some pedestrians. You drive the four miles to the Mars' apartment so fast that you break at least ten speeding laws, all the while fervently hoping (praying) that she's alright, that there's another young blonde girl who lives there. When you reach the complex, all you see is the blood.
It's as black as the sky.
You sit down and you want to scream and cry (die) and feel your heart breaking, but you're already shattered and your heart is nothing but dust by now, so all you can do is look upwards and quietly tell God to go fuck himself.
Wallace is crying and Mac is crying and Dick is staring (why is Dick here?) and you don't realise (he was in the car) that you're not crying until he touches your shoulder and asks if you're okay, and you punch him. Twice. And then you get in your car and load your gun as you're driving away.
–
You shoot Gory Sorokin in the face. It's the most fun you've had in years.
–
You never noticed how cold the Coronado Bridge is at night before now. But then, being drunk dulls your senses and every other time you've been here you've been drunk. Not that you've been here much. (five times, but who's counting?)
You look down at the same water your mother plummeted into a few years ago and feel sick to your stomach. It looks like blood, if blood were blue. It reminds you of peace. And then you remember (forget) that blood can change colours at will (redblackyellowblue) and you let yourself crumble into the abyss. The water swallows you as a tear runs down your cheek.
It burns you to ashes and embraces you as itself.
–
Veronica.
Veronica.
She's standing in front of you and glaring at you, arms folded across her chest, feet planted firmly apart. She didn't want you to die, and yet she did. It's complicated.
It strikes you that you're going to miss Dick.
"People didn't leave you. They were taken away. They left me." Your voice sounds far away, as if it's underwater. You didn't even know that that's what you thought until the words left your mouth, and you feel a strange satisfaction when her mouth drops open and she stares at you.
"I'm sorry. Are you happy now?" It's not accusatory, just a perfectly reasonable question.
"Yes." And it's the truth. You don't have the energy to be sad any more. She's drained you, bared your soul and plastered it upon a flagpole for the world to see.
A light explodes behind your eyes, and then...
...Then there's nothing, and she kisses the side of your mouth and walks away. This time, you let her.