"Just because you're breathing, doesn't mean you're alive."
-Tablo.
When I was a kid, mum used to warn me of the dangers of talking to a stranger.
The lights in the club almost blinded me. I blinked rapidly in the afterglow of the singing, the dancing and moshing. Some overplayed pop songs screeched in my ears. It was the same song with a different beat. Normally I'd roll my eyes at the repetitiveness, but it didn't bother me that evening. School was becoming a nightmare; exams in a week, so I thought I'd cool off. Normally I found solitude with just my guitar, locked inside my room. But that night I felt like a different person. Like the sky was the limit, I could be anyone, do anything because you only live once. All that "seize the moment" bullshit.
I'd found myself feeling anxious, maybe a little lost, in the middle of some bar I'd heard kids at school like to visit. It was everything I'd expected. It was packed, kids throwing themselves in the air to any song that blasted from the speakers. Mocktails were sold at alarmingly low prices, yet the air already stunk of cigarette smoke, stale vodka and body odour. So the owners were already doing a pretty shitty job at trying to stop kids from smuggling in alcohol. It was everything I'd expected a teen club to be. I recognized a few faces from my classes, but they were all caught in their wave of euphoria as whatever drug they'd ingested or stuck in their veins began to take effect.
It was hot that evening. The air had been thick with humidity, the type that sticks to your skin, dries your throat out. My hair had been an unbrushed tangled mess after showering. I'd not bothered with drying it, so most of my fringe stuck up in different directions. Mum pointed it out. "Honestly," she flashed me a smirk before leaving for work, "if you weren't so handsome I'd tell you to brush your hair."
"Thanks mum," I retorted with my own smile.
She was right. I was beyond thankful to grow up in an attractive family. I had mum's olive skin, dad's crinkled brown eyes and spiky black hair. Though annoyingly, I also inherited dad's nose. Which stuck out at an odd angle. I'd learned to live with it though. My older sisters are beautiful; they have mum's dark curls, her strong cheekbones and warm, honey coloured eyes. They are flawless, like my mother. I, on the other hand, am like my father.
Throwing on a white dress shirt and my cleanest pair of skinny jeans, I bid goodbye to my family, and set off to La Bonne Nuit, a pretentious sounding name for a glorified underage drinking club.
It didn't take long to find it. The club sat on the strip in front of the beach. After standing outside in a queue that stretched right down the strip, I walked straight into a mosh pit. Some screamer band was raging through the speakers, everyone going mental. After stumbling around for a while, I situated myself right in the middle of the crowd.
Except I was completely sober. The glass of water felt almost wrong in my hands. I would have ordered a mocktail, but anxiety had spiked my gut at the thought of reading out one of their tongue twisty names: "Hot Toddy," "Tom And Jerry," the "Porch Crawler." I couldn't imagine myself saying them without either laughing or stumbling. In the end I chose water. It was a school night, and mum would kill me if managed to get myself drunk. Sure, it was fine when I was with family. It's practically a tradition on the island. But getting pissed on trashy vodka would definitely be a no-no.
At first I wasn't sure what to do. Do I dance? Join in with everyone else? I was always a loud kid growing up. With friends and family I could let myself go. Though letting myself loose in a club full of strangers didn't seem appealing. Especially if my drink of choice was water. I took a long sip, reveling in how refreshing the water felt dribbling down my throat. I had half a mind to press the cool glass to my perspired forehead.
That's when it had hit me. Strangers. I spun around, my mind a carousel. Bright lights shone between my flickering lashes. So many strangers.
Mum's words came from nowhere, her voice filling my mind, "Always keep your distance from a stranger, sweetheart."
Except I'm not five anymore.
I surprised myself with a laugh. Strangers? How could I be scared of strangers? I stopped believing in the boogeyman when I eight. All of his forms. Child snatchers, faceless demons hiding under my bed. The lot of them. I wasn't scared of them anymore.
Facing a stranger at seventeen years old is different from when I was a kid. A stranger to an adult is a potential friend, or significant other. It's a best friend, or an enemy. You could find you soulmate in a crowd and never know until you spoke to them.
Until you make a connection.
"Hey!"
A girl squeaks when I push past her, very nearly splashing my water all of over her dress. I vaguely recognise her blonde ponytail and wash of freckles over her cheeks. Zoey… her last name is lost in my muddled thoughts.
"Watch it!" she hisses, glaring at me.
"Shit, sorry!" I reply quickly, though she disappeared into the crowd before I can prolong my apology. Another thing that separates me from my perfect sisters. I'm clumsy as hell. I'd lost count how many of mum's favorite vases I'd broken.
Nice going, idiot. The dancing bodies around me are suddenly closing in fast, and I held my breath, pushing my way through the growing crowd. Maybe I'd visit Cathedral Cove, down by the beach. It was where I spent most of my time, either cooling off in the shallows or burying myself in sand to avoid the vicious glare of the Late December sun. Though as I was making my way out, something struck me.
Stay.
It murmured in my ear, a phantom in the growing mass of bodies. Stay, it repeated. My legs seemed to follow the voice, leading me back into the horde. This would be so much easier if I'd came with fucking friends.
Squinting at purple and blue spotlights dancing across the tiled floor, I take another swig of water. I vaguely recognise the lyrics in one of the songs blasting, and I start to sing along with the crowd. I was finally starting to enjoy myself, relaxing into the arms of a random boy who wrapped his arms around my waist, when I found my gaze lazily scanning the crowd. Maybe for a familiar face. Maybe one of the boys from the rugby team were here. The guy holding me started to sway, bellowing out the lyrics to Come on, Eileen. The crowd were getting progressively more rowdy, the louder and faster the song got. Suddenly it was a synchronized cry, one I was glad to be joining.
"Come on, Eileen, oh I swear (what he means)
At this moment, you mean everything
You in that dress, my thoughts I confess
Verge on dirty—"
That's when I saw her. She stood out in the bustle of screaming kids, glistening in the neon haze, though she was like no other girl I'd ever seen.
The girl was laughing. At what? I wasn't sure. Except I couldn't look away. Her head was tipped back, long velvet hair cascading down a golden back. Her dress sparkled under the spotlights. All at once I snapped out of the spell from the song, and stagger from the guy's grip, very nearly face planting to a girl's cleavage.
"Sorry!" I yell again, though everybody's too caught up in the music.
Unlike me.
I had to see her again. Suddenly I was drunk, possibly drugged from her. She was the only one in the room. The only girl I've ever wanted to talk to.
I stand on my tiptoes, looking for her. And I glimpse a flash of obsidian in the gathering of kids. My eyes widen when she flings her hair back, and it moves with her while she grinds on a random guy. The crowd go crazy and I stay completely still.
All I see is her.
The girl was my age, but any fool would mistake her for eighteen. She oozed maturity. I couldn't seem to tear my gaze from her. She moved with the music, twirling on her own, her arms spread out as if she was flying. Though she never stumbled or looked uncomfortable. Her cheeks were flushed scarlet, her ruby lips open in a sparkling smile which made my chest ache. I found myself lurching forwards, as if my body was on autopilot. My cheeks flushed. My heart stampeded in my chest. I was a mess.
I looked away, fixing my shirt collar, swiping my sweaty forehead with my sleeve. I run a hand through my hair, trying to straighten it out, wishing I listened to mum.
God damn it, why didn't I brush my hair?
After somehow managing to steel myself and tame my wayward locks, I risked looking back at the girl, catching a glimpse of her standing at the bar. Though there's someone next to her. When I crane my neck, I spot broad shoulders and a head of dark curls.
I couldn't resist rolling my eyes. Of course a guy had found her. Though when I look closer, it's not a creep like I was expecting. This kid looked around my age, maybe a few years older. He looked like he hasn't slept in days and somehow managed to pull it off, dark circles underlining his eyes. He runs his fingers through bedraggled brown hair hanging over his forehead, a knitted grey beanie sitting on top of unruly curls. I frowned at him. I'd never seen him at school. He was the kind of boy I'd definitely remember seeing.
The boy's skin was pale which definitely makes him stand out. I'm so used to seeing golden brown, almost burnt skin around the island. But he looks like a ghost. The boy wears casual jeans and t-shirt, an expensive looking camera hanging around his neck. I'm trying to figure out what brand of camera it is when the boy looks up, his gaze landing directly on me. Just like the girl had. Though where her eyes had sparkled with mischief, her lips a flirtatious grin, he cocked his head in confusion.
I stared back stupidly while the boy seemed to drink me in, folding his arms across his chest and leaning against the bar. The girl sipped tentatively on a mocktail.
"Hey!" his lips mouthed the word over the music, and I found myself smiling back, dragging a hand through my hair. My cheeks were on fire.
The girl nudged him. She was laughing. He beckoned me over, and I moved through the crowd, as if in a dream. When I reached the bar, the boy surprised me with a high five.
"Hey!" the boy yelled in my ear over the overbearing music. His cologne — a chocolate scent — tingled in my nose and throat. "I thought you were never going to come over!"
His accent was like a slap in the face. American. Why did I not think of that? His pasty skin practically screamed American or European. He ignored my baffled expression. "So my friend here likes the look of you." When he winked, I laughed nervously. He smirked when I took a slow drink of water. The boy wore a bemused smile. "Planning on getting wasted?"
"Jug!" the girl giggled, shoving the boy- who now has a name. Her accent shines through just like his. American. It's somehow bolder than his.
I swallowed the urge to ask if he was taking the piss. "Jug?" I repeated, glancing at the girl. She still hasn't revealed her name. "Like the thing you put water in?"
Jug held my gaze for a moment, and there's something flickering in his eyes. His lip twitches and his shoulders relax before he opens his mouth to speak, but the girl cuts him off, clearing his throat. "Juggie, sweetie, I believe I said he was mine."
Oh, they're serious. That's his name.
Before me or the boy can say anything, she holds out her hand. There's a pretty damn expensive ring sparkling on her index finger. "The name's Veronica Lodge," she purrs.
I startle at her. Veronica? What a name. Though I've heard it before. The name sounds incredibly old, buried deep in childhood memories long since suppressed.
"Jughead Jones," the boy mutters after a moment. Something's changed in his expression, but I can't read it. When I meet his eye, he looks away, leaning across the counter to order a drink. What's with the weird ass names? I bite my lip. Something about that name too. It stirs something in my mind. Veronica and Jughead. It's on the tip of my tongue.
"What's your name, sweetie pie?"
I snap out of temporary reverie. Veronica's eyes are on me. She sits there, glittering, ruby red lips stretched into a perfect smile. She reminds me of a cartoon. I've had girlfriends and boyfriends in the past, people I've been interested in but none of them can amount to Veronica Lodge. She's sexy, stunning-
"Oi, Gormless," Jughead snapped his fingers in front of my eyes. He's scowling. "She asked you what your name is."
"Oh right," I chuckle. Wow, what an ass.
"Sorry, my name's _"
Suddenly it's like all the sound is sucked from the room, the moment my name comes out. Before slamming back into my ears, the roar of the crowd and the music knocking back into me. I shake my head, blinking. What was that? When I look at Veronica and Jughead to see if they noticed it they looked none the wiser. Veronica grinned. So I guess she heard what I said. "Exotic!" she says brightly to what must be my name.
"So, how long have you lived here?"
"My whole life." I try to smile back, but my my chest starts to ache. I take a swig of water to calm myself down. I'm okay. I'm not going crazy. I know my own fucking name.
I squeeze my eyes shut, concentrating. Forget about the crowd, about the music. My name. I sound it out in my mind, forcing letters together. But they get tangled and become confusing knots I can't get my head around. It's a simple name. So simple. Sweat starts to bead down my forehead. I can feel my heart start to pound.
"Are you okay dude?" Opening my eyes, Jughead has a funny look on his face. He's not quite smiling, but his green eyes are wide. Far too wide. He nods at my drink sitting in a ring of perspiration on the bar. "Why not have a drink?"
"Sorry, I…" My head starts spinning, and I take another drink of water. When I look at Veronica, the sparkles on her dress are pulsating; neon orange and yellow. "... don't know what's wrong with me." I mutter, blinking rapidly at the spotlights above the bar. Tendrils of light flicker, glowing brighter and brighter.
"Hey." My attention snaps back to Jughead; his abnormally wide eyes. His smile is soft.
"You're okay," The boy's voice is gentle. I can feel him suddenly grasping my shoulders. "Just drink your water," he says. "Everything is going to be okay Archie."
"What?" I manage to hiss. "N-no, that's not my name." I'm babbling now. My eyes are stinging. "My name is _." I can't say it. I let out a soft sob, and Veronica is suddenly draped over me. I can feel her hands rubbing circles into my back. I look over her shoulder, mystified. The girl's scents, the rose and lavender perfume that she wears, is suddenly in the air in perfect clarity. The smells swirl around in a confusing, mystical light.
No. Shutting my eyes I shake my head. No, no, no. I'm seeing things
Hearing things.
"My name—" I splutter, the words becoming like alphabet soup in my mouth.
Jughead sighs. "Drink your water, Arch. You'll feel better."
Frustrated tears burn in my eyes. "What are you talking about?" I can't stop the slur in my words. "That's not my—"
The world spins, and I drunkenly look down at my glass of water. It's fizzing. And hell, it's filled to the brim. "Did someone refill—"
The words are muddled on my tongue, suddenly a tongue twister. Jughead only smiles at me. He's so calm.
"It's okay sweetie," Veronica says. Her voice is like an explosion in my mind. When I'm too tired to lift my head she holds two fingers under my chin to support my neck. I peer at her and Jughead through bleary vision. Jughead smiles brightly. "Don't worry Arch. We're your best friends. We're going to take good care of you, okay?"
I don't reply. The two of them take told of my weight and I feel myself being dragged across the dance floor. My legs are unresponsive. "How long is this going to last?" Veronica's voice is different suddenly; a whole new tone. She's dropped the sexy, flirtatious 1950's purr for a modern American hiss. "Are you sure he's the one?"
"Almost positive," Jughead replies in his not-Jughead voice.
Veronica lets out a frustrated cry. "How can you be so sure? Have you seen the size of him, I can barely carry him—" she groans with effort. "What if he doesn't submit?"
"Then we do it again until he does submit," the boy growled. "I estimate the Gamma will wear off in about half an hour. Which means we need to move fast."
Huh. A hysterical laugh tumbles from my throat as Jughead's grip on my shoulder tightens. His fingernails dig into my skin but I barely feel the sting.
Well whaddya know?
Mum was right.
"Okay Betty!" Veronica squeaks after I'm sure my whole body has turned to ice. The water still sloshes against my bare thighs. I can barely feel it anymore. The girl smiles down at me and I can see the suppressed scream on her lips. They're knitted shut. But who's doing this? The three of them are puppets, acting for a higher up. That thought sends tingles down my spine. They're constantly being monitored. The only thing the three of them told me before dousing me in ice water was that we're being watched.
We're always being watched.
Veronica snaps me out of it. Her annoying shrill voice slices through my ears.
"Why don't we get you ready, hm?"
After my torturous ice bath I'm still shivering. Even an hour later when the only name that slips from my numb lips is Betty Cooper, they hoisted me out as a three. I didn't complain or think about my disintegrating pride, any dignity I'd managed to keep hold of was gone. I didn't speak, only sobbed through numb lips, as a fluffy pink bathrobe was thrown over my shoulders. Veronica wrapped my dripping hair in a towel and the boys push me out of the bathroom and I find myself on a hallway I've never seen before.
I was brought here unconscious. I've only known of the bathroom. The hallway is modern; a plush white carpet stretching right across, a bear skin rug sitting in the middle. When I'm shoved forward, hunched over, trying to hug warmth into myself, my feet sink into the carpet and for a moment, there's relief.
The three of them don't waste any time. I'm taken to what looks like a dressing room. There are four stations, each labelled: Archie, Veronica and Jughead. As I pass them, I glimpse hair product and multiple brushes, boxes of makeup and tubes of hair dye and wigs. There are clothing racks too, full of different outfits. I can't help staring before I'm ragged roughly by Jughead, shoved into a chair in front of a station labelled "Betty Cooper." It's just like the others, strewn with makeup, brushes and bits of red ribbon.
Finally, I can't keep quiet any longer. "What is this?" I whisper.
I catch Veronica's lips twisting into a scowl, before she shakes her head, smiling brightly. "What are you talking about, Betty? This is where you get ready!" Her over the top voice is driving my mad. I clench my fists, wincing when my nails stab into the flesh of my palms. I flinch when a warm hand closes over my fist.
"Don't do that." Archie stands over me, that ridiculous cheesy grin is plastered on his face. But his brown eyes crinkled around the edges. He peels my fingers back before I can try and fight back.
I try and ignore him, snatching my hands back and burying them in my lap.
"Ten minutes," Veronica glances at her watch. My heart stammers in my chest.
"Until what?" I blink in the fluorescent lighting, scoping for an exit. While they fuss around me. My name is _. I'm not Betty Cooper. I'm...
I'm _.
Fuck!
My old name won't grace my mind but I'm not going to give up. I'm not going to give in and let them turn me into somebody else. Tears spring to my eyes as I stare down at my lap. No, I can't cry. I can't show that I'm weak. There has to be a way out of here, and when I'm out, when my head is clear, I'll remember my name. I know I will.
I just need to hide behind this facade for a little longer. I'll play their sick game, pretend to be Betty Cooper. Until they're least expecting it. Though there's a thought skating the back of my mind. What if I fall under the spell too? These kids are like me, prisoners, pawns, in someone's game. They're pretending to be someone they're not. But how much is pretend? How long have they been here? What if their demented grins are real? Had they tried to fight? Had they had their names taken from them too?
I cry out when Archie drags a comb through my hair harshly. He chuckles. "Betty, you love it when I brush your hair." he murmurs. He continues. I can feel the nick of the metal comb scraping my scalp as strands of my naturally curly hair are straightened.
"You haven't answered my question," I say softly. "What are you getting me ready for?" My voice quivers, no matter how hard I force it not to.
Jughead leans against the dressing table with his arms folded. "For the show of course!" he says playfully, that same smile on his lips. But I can sense how stiff he is. His dark eyes don't stray away from me. He cocks his head to the side. "You remember, right?"
"Of course she does," Archie murmurs. When I look up, the red ribbon from earlier dangles from his fingers. My stomach sinks.
"Yes." Biting my lip, my gaze slides back to my lap. "Yes, I remember."
When Archie's finished with my hair, Veronica starts on my makeup. She dabs my cheeks with pale powder before applying pale purple eyeshadow. "Open your mouth," she orders, and I obey almost automatically. I can't help staring at the girl as she applies gloss to my lips. It smells like mango. Veronica is beautiful, like a china doll. I wonder how much of her is makeup and make believe. Is her perfect raven hair a wig? Is there a real girl underneath, silently crying out through that cheshire cat smile?
"Done!"
Whoever Betty Cooper is she doesn't wear much makeup. Veronica backs away and I flinch when Jughead comes over. There's a small white case in his hands.
"Contact lenses," he says when I stare at him.
I can't seem to make my mouth work. "No," I manage to splutter. "I don't-I don't wear them."
He chuckles. "Yes you do," he says, his tone splintering ice. When he opens the case and delicately presses one to his index finger my eyes water.
"No..." I moan, grabbing the arm rests of the chair. Archie grabs me almost automatically. He holds me down, gripping my shoulders. "Get off me!" I squeak. "I don't-I don't even know how to put them in!"
"No problem," Jughead murmurs. He's getting progressively closer. His warm breath tickles my cheeks once more. The boy's expression looks staged. "I'll do it for you," he says. "Ronnie, can you hold Betty's eyes open please?" He shakes his head with a quiet laugh. "It seems she's forgotten how to put in her contact lenses."
"What?" I stiffen. "No!" I squirm under Archie's grip. "No, Let me go!"
"Did you forget the rules?" Archie's fingernails stab into my shoulders. I bite back a scream. "Betty, you know we mustn't use profanity."
"What?" I struggle violently. The three of them share a glance, before Veronica nods, as if volunteering to be the one to calm me down. The boy's stay silent.
The raven haired girl dances towards me. "Silly Betty, don't be scared!" she giggles, kneeling in front of me. I can't bear the thought of her holding my eyes open.
"No, I'm-I'm okay!" I gasp out. Tears are rolling down my cheeks. My voice is a childish squeak.
"I'll-I'll do it myself!" Wrenching myself away from Archie's grasp, I grab the case from Jughead. His smile makes me feel sick.
After ten minutes of tackling with the lenses, my eyes are itching, streaming with tears. I'm barely able to breathe before a bundle of clothes are thrown into my arms and I'm shoved into a tiny bathroom outside the dressing room. Veronica follows me in and dresses me in Betty Cooper's wardrobe. She tells me to be perfectly still. I listen to her.
When the girl is zipping my dress, I swallow hard. "Please," I sound like a child. My eyes are itching again. I swipe at them angrily. "You have to let me go. I'm not the girl you think I am. I'm—"
"You're who?" Veronica smooths the creases in my dress. Her blue eyes are challenging, her tone teasing. She looks up for a moment, searching for a camera. I follow her gaze, raking my mind for my old name. The one I was born with. But it's lost.
I clench my fists. "My name is _." I spit out. Veronica's eyebrow quirks. "Sorry, what was that?"
I try again. A dull pain thrums in the back of my head. "_!" I try and scream it. But no matter how hard I try, my name will not come out.
I can only splutter. The girl raises her eyebrows. "You're Betty Cooper, my best friend, my sister," she says softly. Before I can say anything, like spit out something I shouldn't, ask her real name, she's turning to go with a swish of velvet hair. "You've got five minutes before the show, Bets." She winks at me and I wince. "Break a leg!"
When the girl leaves, I'm finally on my own. The room is tiny. With only a mirror and a small stand with a bag of overflowing hair products. The dress is heavy on me, weighing me down. I pick up the skirt and take slow steps towards the mirror. I stumble in the pink heels Veronica had squeezed my feet into. I'm not, at least, I wasn't… I wasn't a girly person. I never used to wear heels like these. I preferred comfy converse.
I glare at the mirror, at the girl in front of me. It's like looking in a fun mirror. Betty Cooper stares back, wide eyed. When I lift my hand to trace the tear stains running down my cheeks, she copies. When my lip curls in disgust, so do hers.
My name is lost to me. But I remember who I was. I remember my short blonde curls, the striking green eyes that my mother used to call lucky. My dress sense was long sweaters and leggings with converse. When I wasn't at school or working part time at Domino's, I spent most of my days in my pajamas watching trashy Netflix shows.
Yes. My lips curve into a small smile. They didn't take all of me.
I can see traces of my old self. Pieces of me they couldn't remove; the stubby nose I'd inherited from my mother. It's the only thing that stops me from punching the mirror. The only way I can see my old self. Because the rest of me has been photoshopped.
Betty Cooper's skin is pale, cheeks flushed scarlet. Her cornflower blue eyes are half lidded, as if in a trance. I keep blinking, the contacts scratching my pupils. But I still glimpse the girl in perfect clarity. Her blonde hair is tied into a neat ponytail with a red ribbon. Her skin is flawless after Veronica scrubbed my body with wire brushes until my skin was burning red, until every patch of skin stung. My old clothes have been taken and incinerated, replaced with an old fashioned lime green dress and pink pinafore. When I tug at the dress the material slips easily through my hands. It's soft, expensive garment. I find myself smoothing my hands down the creases of the dress.
"Betty!" Veronica's standing outside the door. She knocks twice. "Are you ready?"
I don't know what to say. My body freezes up. The door opens, and the girl's standing there with that same bright smile. She dressed into a tight purple dress that hugs her perfect slim figure. Her hair is pulled back by a navy headband.
"Wait," I stagger backwards, but she sighs and grabs my arm.
"Sweetie, have you forgotten how much you love live shows?" she giggles, linking her arm with mine. She drags me down the same carpeted hallway. There are paintings strung up, colourful drawings that are suddenly familiar to me.
How? I've never been here before, how can I remember the paintings?
"Live shows?" I whimper. I want to drag my feet, but the heels will slip off and I'll cause another commotion.
It's impossible to escape. Every room is locked except for a set of automatic doors at the end of the hallway. The smell of freshly cooked bread tingles in my nose the closer we get. Veronica comes to an abrupt stop at the threshold, her hold on my arm tightening. She turns to me for a moment, her smile wavering. "Ready?" Her voice is soft.
I can only stare back at her. My lip quivers. A scream climbs up my throat but I swallow it. She doesn't wait for me to reply, dragging me inside before I can try and wrench myself away from her. My legs shake as I follow Veronica into what looks like a dining room. The walls are warm orange, the same paintings in the hallway dotted across the perimeter. There's a kitchenette in the corner; a refrigerator and oven packed under a curved marble worktop. Archie and Jughead are sitting at a long wooden table which has already been set. There are four plates and matching sets of cutlery. Jughead is sitting up straight with that same fake grin. "Finally!" he beams at me. "I was beginning to think Betty wasn't going to join us for dinner."
His voice grates my skull. It's far too high, almost cartoon like. Veronica is readying drinks in the kitchen. "Of course she's here, Jughead!" she giggles.
I can only stand stupidly. Veronica turns from her task pouring drinks. "What are you doing Archie?" My gaze follows hers to the redhead. He's leaned over on his chair, his eyes stuck to something in his hands. My heart jumps. It's a phone.
The boy looks up through thick strands of red curls hanging in his eyes. He's smiling but I can tell it's practiced. From the mischievous gleam in his eyes to the curl in his lips. "I'm just playing a game," he says, but when I inch closer to him, my stomach folds over. He's staring at a blank screen. the phone isn't on.
Frustrated tears spring to my eyes. My chest is aching. My gaze flitters around the room before glimpsing four red lights in each corner. Cameras. Veronica's words come back to haunt me and bile climbs up my throat. Live show. We're being watched right now.
No wonder the three of them have seemingly taken on exaggerated versions of the people they were pretending to be. I swallow hard. I don't even know how Betty acts!
"Betty, it's your turn to set the table." Veronica says without turning. I must look flustered because Jughead clears his throat. "I think there's food in the oven?"
My legs quake as I slowly make my way over to the oven. My head pounds, my stomach pinching with anxiety. They want me to play a role. I grab some oven mitts and open the oven, coughing when smoke flies in my face. There's a freshly made lasagne sitting on the middle shelf in a glass dish. I stare at it for a moment. The other three haven't left my side since I woke up here. Who cooked this?
"Betty?" Jughead's voice rings out. He sounds like a child. "Come on, I'm starving!"
Archie laughs. "You're always starving, Jug." There's a collective laugh between the three of them. I grab the lasagne before hurrying over and setting it on the table.
"Dig in," I spit, before taking the only empty seat next to Jughead. Veronica gets to work shovelling out lasagne to everyone. When she moves to my empty plate I shake my head. If I eat, I'll throw up. My cheeks burn at the thought of god knows how many people staring at me. "I'm okay," I say politely. Though my voice breaks. "I'm not hungry."
Veronica looks rattled for a moment. She hesitates, before her smile is back. "Nonsense!" she laughs lightly. "Betty, I'm sure you'll feel better after you've eaten."
My stomach lurches at the thought of eating. "I said I'm good," I say without looking up. I'm too scared to lift my gaze.
The girl hovers over me for a moment longer before moving onto Archie. I watch Veronica dump a piece of lasagne on the boy's plate with far too much force. Tomato sauce speckles her chin but she doesn't wipe it away. "Jughead," she says. When I glance at the boy his smile is strained. "Betty has forgotten the rules after being gone for a while," she continues to deposit dinner. "Can you remind her what happens when we don't follow them?"
Ice slides down my spine. Jughead scratches at the mahogany table with his fingernails. "We get punished," his voice broke. When I look at Archie, his eyes are wide. His over the top cheesy grin is gone.
Veronica nodded. She moves to me quickly, still holding the food. My stomach twists. "No." I rasp out. "No, I-I said I'm okay."
Unable to hold myself any longer I stand up, stumbling from the table. After a moment, Veronica hisses in frustration. She sets down the glass dish. "The camera's have gone off," she says through her teeth. Archie and Jughead make twin noises of disdain. Veronica's icy blue eyes settle on me. All at once it's as if the spell over the three of them has been broken.
"You need to eat it," she growls, in her normal voice. The one that slipped out when she got angry. That's the girl she's trying to hide. I shake my head stubbornly.
Veronica looks like she might hurl the lasagne at me. I stiffen but the girl only drops back down in her seat. "Sit down," she says. Her tone is defeated.
I nod, retaking my seat next to Jughead.
There's a long moment of the four of us sitting there. I can hear their heavy breaths as if anticipating something terrible.
At first there's a long beeping noise that fills the room. Before three short beeps.
"Fuck," Veronica swears. The girl she's tried hard to hide is splintering through the facade. She lets out a shaky breath. "It's the long beep."
"The long beep?" I repeat. "What's that?"
The girl doesn't answer. She only squeezes her eyes shut. I start to speak. What I'm going to say, I'm not sure. But before I can, there's a sudden ear piercing screeching rattling in my head. My first reaction is to scream, but I can't hear myself. It's the lovechild of a dentist drill and car alarm, it splits into my brain, tearing it apart. It rips through my body, sending my legs and arms spasming.
I end up with my head pressed against the wood of the table, my hands clamped over my ears. But the noise persists. "What is that?" My lips move, but my voice is drowned by the noise. It's like a physical entity creeping inside me, snapping my spine, shattering every bone in my body. It races through my veins, turning my blood into ice.
I'm crying, screeching into the expensive wooden top of the dining table. But it continues, blaring, filling the room, filling me to the brim with poison. I'm barely aware of warm fingers peeling my hands from my ears when I spring up. My hair sticks to my face, glued to my cheeks. There's someone trying to force my hands away from my ears.
"No!" I press down harder on my drums. My brain is going to explode. The noise isn't going to stop. Pain inflates in the back of my skull. The rock hard grip on my ears slips for a moment and my attacker manages to pin my arms to the table. I'm screaming. But the noise is all I can hear. Jughead is the one holding my arms down. His face is contorted, but he's not crying or screaming. Across the table Veronica is sitting perfectly still. There's a tear sliding down her cheek, but her lips are pressed into a thin line.
She looks barely fazed. Archie's hands are trembling on the table, his lip quivering. But he stares straight forwards, his brown eyes half lidded. I can see the painful cry pricking on his lips. But he stays completely still. There's a thin line of scarlet pooling from his nostrils. Blood. My head spins. A noise powerful enough to make them bleed? No wonder they were so desperate to follow the rules. My thoughts become a foggy mess of confusion and I start to panic. I'm going to die. Oh god, we're going to die.
After what feels like a millennia has passed, the noise comes to an abrupt stop. I expect the others to pass out, but they quickly go back to what they call normal. Veronica wipes her eyes, and fashions her lips into another strained smile. Archie swipes at his bloody nose, grimacing. His voice quivers, but he manages to catch himself.
"Guys, the camera's are on in three… two..." His lilted accent slips out instead of the voice he normally uses. Part of me has missed it.
Archie tips his head back and scopes out the camera's glaring down at the four of us. I follow his gaze. My head is still spinning. The room swirls around as if I'm riding an out of control carousel. The cameras blink red and the redhead straightens up and resumes his role. He's smiling again. He shoves his trembling hands in his lap. Jughead doesn't speak. He sits closer to me and I can feel his quaking body against mine. His breaths come out in short gasps. It's the first time I've seen him let his guard down.
I want to move away from him. But the look on his face turns my gut. After a moment he takes a deep shaky breath. "Smile for the camera," he murmurs, his eyes dark. Before he snaps back into his exaggerated self. The boy leans away from me.
"Come on Ronnie!" he groans. "Get a move on, I'm starving to death!"
Veronica's laugh sounds so natural. "Give me a second, Juggie."
The girl hovers over me once more. That stupid slapstick smile is back on her lips. She's holding the cooling dish of lasagne once more and the smell is repulsive to me, but anything is better than the noise that just ripped my skull open. I look up and paste my best ear splitting grin on my face. "Betty?" She gestures to the food. Her cartoon voice is back. "Care for some dinner?"
I feel every gaze burning into me. Please. I can practically see the word in Jughead's bright smile. His eyes are screaming at me. I imagine his voice, the one he tries to hide. It's a strange kind of comfort knowing he's trapped like me. Somewhere, deep down, he's pushed down his old self.
"Please, God, just eat the fucking lasagne."
I have to be the girl they want me to be. If I don't, whoever's doing this can pull a switch and blow my brains out. The others have been through it before. Has it happened so many times that they've become desensitized to it? I can't help wondering what Jughead's first reaction was to it. It affects him the worse out of him, Veronica and Archie. They managed to keep neutral expressions but his face had been contorted in agony.
Swallowing bile climbing up my throat, I nod. I suppress the ever growing cry in the back of my throat. "Yes." I give each of them my best cheesy grin, even when my stomach is twisting and my heart feels like it's about to explode.
"Yeah, of course."
"Your name!" Jughead yells. "Say it!"
"Get off me!" I splutter, trying to get the upper hand. But he's far stronger. My body feels weightless. There's no way I can fight back.
"Come on!" Jughead has hold of my hair, tugging it violently. My eyes are squeezed shut, ice cold water fills me. It chokes my mouth, searing my throat. When the boy forces my head forwards again, everything is red. The rim of the bucket of ice water. My white shirt, splattered crimson. It drips from my burning scalp. I can taste it in the back of my throat. My head still spins from the drugs. I try and say my name, whimpering it, my fists clenched by my sides stubbornly. I refuse to say it. I will never say it.
My name is _.
Oh god, my name, what is it?
"Say it, Archie!" the boy growls. He's losing his temper. He doesn't dunk me yet. I'm on my knees, staring into glacial water. There's red everywhere. It taints the water, stains my knees digging into marble flooring already ruined by red. The red confuses me. What is it? It's not blood. I'd know if it was. I rake my sloppy mind for an answer, but its barely responsive. I can only call it what I see. It's red. It's terrifying, glistening red painting every surface. Even me. I grit my teeth against a cry.
"You're dead," I hiss, struggling in Jughead's impenetrable grip. The boy only laughs.
"We'll both be dead if you carry on like this, Arch," he says. "Now say your name nice and clearly for me and Ronnie here, or you're going ice bobbing."
"I'd do it if I were you," Veronica chirps. I can sense her leaning over me too. "C'mon baby," she murmurs softly in my ear. Her icy breath makes my stomach turn.
"Say your name and we'll stop," she purrs.
I can't resist spluttering out a laugh. "You're both fucking crazy!" When I try and pull away, Jughead hisses out in frustration. Before I can stop him he's forcing my face into the bucket once more, and it's like hitting splintered glass. I hold my breath against the water, but it floods my nostrils, burning my throat. When I scream into the bucket, Jughead yanks me back, and I gasp for precious air. There's something tingling in the air, a smell my sluggish mind can't register. "Archie!" I cry out, spluttering ice water.
Jughead's fingernails dig into the back of my neck and I squirm, yelping. "Archie what?" he demands. The boy hovers my face over the bucket once more and I stare, baffled, at strands of my hair dripping in my eyes, and then it hits me.
My hair is red.
"Archie what?" Jughead repeats. "Come on dude, I don't wanna do this again!"
"Andrews!"
Something in me snaps. All the rebellion that had burned inside me disperses. Jughead loosens his grip and lets out a relieved breath.
I glare at the floor, trying not to think about the quick dye job the two of them had performed when I was out of it. I take quick breaths, holding in sobs constructing my chest. "My… my name is Archie Andrews."
"Finally," Jughead lets me go, but I don't move. I only stare hard at the bucket of swirling red water before he picks it up and pours the rest of it over my head. It hits like a wave and I cry out, curling into a ball. I'm numb. My skin prickles and my teeth chatter, my body trembling around me. "Please," I manage to splutter. "Stop."
"You better remember it."
Jughead's voice is the last thing I hear, along with the bucket landing on the floor next to me with a metallic clang.
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