Ch.20: Layers

I love my Jones men, so continuing the trend of the last chapter, here's one about Jughead.

I, Jughead Jones, had shielded myself from everyone; slowly building a defensive system and my fort was secluded from everyone else. Other children made castles and kingdoms from nothing more than blankets, pillows, and the living room furniture. But what did they have to escape from? Their childish act of disappearing into the playful world of domestic objects was nothing more than role play, broadening their imagination. I, however, spent my childhood in the playground- rain or snow. Often during the school year, abandoned of the playful laughter that resonated during the summer days, I would hoist my legs up to my chest and listen to the beating rain against the metal of the slide above me. I observed- even as a boy of eight years- how birds' nests that balanced precariously on the edge of a branch never lasted more than a day; always ripped from their safety by the harsh winds. However, the more intelligent birds, built their nests amongst the bushes, despite being less scenic and comfortable it offered security. I promised, curled beneath the slide, shivering with the cold, that I would start building my nest among the thorns so that anyone who tried would never get close enough.

Betty sat back, unsure of what to say. They had already said so much that night, anything more could be the tipping point.
"You were doing a nice thing," Jughead sighed, folding his arms on the table and leaning forward to rest his chin on the cushioned surface. "I'm a lover and a fighter," he admitted solemnly.

Jughead felt repulsed at how he had acted, hence barely able to look her in the eye. For the first time, he truly felt the inner torment surface, immediately directed onto the most underserving and easiest source. That night, he had resembled his father. After walking out of the garage, the words he'd spat at her replaying in his head, he couldn't shake the nauseating sensation of déjà vu; of the long nights, sitting beside his bedroom door, listening to his parents argue relentlessly. Their conversation was frighteningly like those in the Jones' house, and it made him sick. Jughead wanted to return to the moment in the garage, set aside his own issues with celebrating another year of one's life, and simply thank her for the effort. He should've taken her in his arms, rested his chin atop her head, and been glad that for the first time someone had gone against his wishes, and genuinely wanted to celebrate his birthday. Instead, he pushed her away. The moment she's rounded the corner, cake in hand, he had known that any misconceptions he'd harboured of her feelings were completely irrelevant. Betty Cooper was not entering the relationship with a simple desire to escape the mess that her family life was spiralling into. Instead, she truly cared for him and the fear had set in. She couldn't tear down the thorns, she would simply destroy herself in the process.

His friends had left him in the diner after explaining his father's 'innocence', when he finally decided he could return to Archie's house without confronting him at this late hour. He was so conflicted. Jughead wanted nothing more than to believe his father, but where had that gotten him before? It was a plausible accusation, including his confession. Why would he confess if he wasn't guilty? Why was there any reason for Jughead to think otherwise? Furthermore, he rolled over, kicking the quilt that tangled around his ankles. The cold air crashed against him, doing nothing to quench the rising frustration, offering no clarity to the situation. His skin itched, and he tugged on his hair, thrashing around on the mattress. Nothing helped. Sleep was beyond possible. Betty always knew how to help, but that was essentially handing over the sword to rip down his walls of thorn. By sheer habit, reverting to natural instincts, Jughead had been shoving her away since the night of his father's arrest. Deep down he knew that Betty was not involved in the scheming, but it presented an acceptable excuse to distance himself. Right now, he was at his most vulnerable, and there would be no repairing the gaping holes in his walls, caused by his girlfriend, that had once been indestructible.

He went against better judgement, however, as he found himself hoisting her window open, swinging a leg over the ledge. The smell of apples and coconut, her preferred shampoo that was now distinctly her, immediately calmed him.
"Juggie?" she whispered into the darkness, hoisting herself up on an elbow, squinting at the dark silhouette that hesitated.
"I need you." He croaked, voice breaking. No innuendos or improper intentions, just the blatant fact that she was the only respite left. Wordlessly Betty drew back the quilt covers, scooting over. Jughead kicked off his shoes, and slid in, encasing her in his arms, holding her tight and burying his face among her mass of blond hair and the pillow. Betty rested her arm atop his, lacing their fingers together, hands snuggled against her ribcage, and drifted back to sleep.

Jughead had unwittingly bared his soul to her. Betty had pealed each layer away, never flinching at each exposed surface, each rawer and defenceless. He realised, however, that each time the process had been hesitant and prolonged. Each time he'd unveiled a layer he had carefully contemplated his basic principles and the consequences first.

"He's innocent!" Jughead flung his hands in the air, exasperated by Keller's lack of understanding. Years of doubt and bewilderment at his dad's evident inconsideration for his wellbeing had vanished. F.P had conveyed the most selfless, unconditional act of love ever offered to his son. Jughead wanted his dad home. Now that he had the reassurance that his dad cared, he would no longer push him away. The vulnerability within him quacked, giving way to the sensitive teenage boy within. While his rough, indifferent exterior suggested otherwise, Jughead only ever wanted to feel loved; wanted a steady family life. Now he had the chance for that, and the law was standing in the way.

He didn't want to return to Archie's house, because the relaxed, loving interactions between father and son would hit home too strongly. He couldn't return to the trailer because it still resembled a crime scene, and the solitude would only serve as a reminder. Instead, he wandered aimlessly, lost in thought, in the image of the perfect life. In that life, he would walk home, Jellybean skipping alongside him. His mother would ruffle his hair, and despite secretly cherishing it he would groan in protest. His father, having a steady job, would stride in as dinner was laid out. Each family member would relay their day's events, and sometimes Betty Cooper would be in their company. On those evenings, Jellybean would pester her, asking to paint nails, and hang out together. While Jughead knew, the small irritations would never be rectified, he could live with it. The perfect life taunted him, almost creating a sense of guilt, as though somehow, he was the reason that it wasn't a reality.

Betty closed her text book, reaching for her buzzing phone.
"Can you come and get me?" Jughead chocked out. Betty found him down by Sweetwater River's edge, forehead resting against his knees, his shoulders hunched forward. Her hands snaked over his shoulders, as she rounded him, crouching down to eyelevel, cupping his cheeks.
"Hey, it's ok." She whispered, kissing his forehead.
"He's gone." Jughead sobbed, not caring that Betty had finally managed to break him. She didn't run repulsed or horrified, instead she shook her head in disagreement, brushing a thumb across his cheek. The thorns were finally shredded, and in their place blossomed an everlasting rose, planted by his seed of hope; Betty.

I love how broody and stand-offish Jughead can be, but equally I adore his sensitive side and just had to write about it.

Also, I have another chapter to post this evening, and while there will be mention to Bughead, it will be mainly Veronica and Archie (a request by izzy—bella004 on tumblr)