"Veronica, I need you to do me a favor and get me the hell away from this party."

Heather's typically demanding, brash tone does not take me by surprise, but I'm a little taken aback by the fact that she wants to leave a partyearly.

"The almighty Chandler wants to leave a party?" I say, just to be a pain in her ass.

"Shut up and just come get me. I'm at Kurt's house. It's three blocks down from Ram's. And hurry up."

"Are you alright?"

"Jesus Christ, Veronica. You're not my fucking mother. I'll see you in ten minutes."

I sigh and put the phone down, knowing I'll never get any more out of Heather than she wants me to have. In every aspect, I think bitterly, before shaking my head and swearing at myself under my breath. No. No. Bad Veronica.

Okay, so I don't know what's going on...but lately I've been doing some self-analyzing and not liking the results. So...I've always kinda had a girl-crush on Heather Chandler. Every girl at Westerburg does, okay? So that's not abnormal, but like...here's the thing. When they first recruited me into the Heathers, everything Chandler told me to do, I did out of fear that I'd lose my status. But now- and mind you, it's been three weeks- I do whatever she asks- rides, forged notes, corn nuts, of all things- because I want to. What the fuck is that? What does that mean? I don't want to think about it.

So I get off my ass and drive over to Kurt's, because anything is better than thinking about Heather Chandler like that.

I let myself in quietly, since nobody would answer the door over the deafening music anyway, and catch a completely shit-faced Kurt stumbling out of the kitchen with what is probably another beer in his hand. "Hey, Kurt, where's Chandler?"

He grins at me. "Upstairs. Damn, she is such a good fuck...maybe...maybe you'd like to show me what your pretty mouth could do sometime, yeah? Eh?" He tries to touch my arm but I brush past him, trying not to think about them together. Or Heather...with anyone. Nah. What do I care? Right?

"Heather?" I push open the first door. The lights are dimmed and the bedsheets rumpled. Kurt's belt is on the floor, and Heather's shoes. "Heather, are you in here?"

"Fuck, Veronica, can't you wait a goddamn second? I was gonna be down in a second." I hear a faint wince after her sharp reply.

"Hey...are you alright?" I push open the door to the master bathroom, where Heather's only just pulled up her skirt, from the way she looks up frantically. When we make eye contact, the look in her eyes makes me regret not waiting outside, and instinctually, I blush all over. But I quickly get over myself when I catch sight of a swipe of blood on her thigh. My own blood boils. That fucking bastard. What did he do to Heather?

"Heather...what's that? Did Kurt-"

"He was just a little rough this time, that's all." Heather says abruptly. "Not that it's any of your business."

"Sure it is. I'd say it is if I went out of my way to pick you up. Why didn't you call Heather or Heather?"

"Because they're out shopping on the other side of town." Heather says. "Not that they care anyway," she adds as she walks past me to get her shoes, barely audible.

"Woah, woah." I say, following her out. "What do you mean? Heather...?"

"What the fuck do you want from me, Sawyer?" Heather turns to me, completely exasperated. "Why can't you just take me home?"

"Because Kurt raped you!"

Heather stares up at me, almost in disbelief that I'd say it out loud. Is it just my imagination, or do her eyes look red? And she looks so small...she's not indignant, she's defensive...because of what that stupid dick did to her. Why doesn't she want me to know?

"Heather..."

"God, would you fucking stop it?!" Heather screeches. "It was just like any other time! He took what he wanted and I didn't particularly enjoy it, so fucking what? I never do, I don't really have a choice."

"Yeah, you do." I say gently, reaching out and touching her shoulder carefully. "Heather, that's not okay."

Suddenly she grabs me by the shoulders, shaking me a little, and looking kind of deranged, to be honest- her eyes wide and wild, her blonde curls slightly out of place, her makeup smudged at the corners. "Nobody cares, Veronica." She says, barely above a whisper. Now that we're so close, I can see the tears that's she's holding back.

"I care."

And at that, Heather Chandler-heartless bitch and high and mighty sex queen of Westerburg high school- breaks down in my arms, crying into my neck.

What the fuck?

Is this really happening?

Yes, it is. My neck is wet and Heather's arms are cutting off the circulation in my shoulders and I'm so fricking aware of every inch of her body quivering like a leaf against mine.

Here in my arms, Heather's making me rethink every feeling I've ever tried to invalidate. Seeing her hurt, and now crying- I want to protect her. I have to. I want to go outside and strangle Kurt for what he did, and then I want to take Heather to my house and give her a shower and let her fall asleep in my arms-

The fuck, Veronica. She's your best friend, fuck.

"Listen, Heather. Please listen to me. It's okay, you're okay now-" I pull her away from me so she has to look at me. "Do you want to-" I pause. Am I going to regret this? "-do you want to stay at my house tonight?"

Heather's grip on me loosens, and she stares at me, like she doesn't understand. Exactly what she doesn't understand? I have no idea. I don't understand either.

Then, something in her snaps as if her momentary relapse into actual human behavior is over, and she pushes my arms off of her and wipes her eyes as they turn back into cold, calculated grey. "No. I'm fine. Just take me home."

"...okay."

And at the end of the silent ride home, Heather turns to me and says. "McNamara and Duke."

"What?"

"They don't hear about this. Nobody does."

"Of course." I say, because what else could I say? And trust me, I want to say more- I so painfully want to say the right thing that will make Heather open up to me, and be honest and soul-bearing and maybe- affectionate? Like she was. Damn, it's only been twenty minutes and I miss the way her eyelashes felt on my neck; her lips gently grazing my collarbone and her shoulder pressing into the side of my own. But with Heather Chandler, it's always better to suffer in silence, because she's straight and emotionless and much too fucked-up to deal with her best friend having a goddamn crush on her.

"See you on Monday."

"See you."

And when I get home, all I do is lay in bed and run my fingers over the black smudges on my neck, closing my eyes and wondering if Heather's crying again, and if she wishes that I were there to hold her.