Veronica doesn't like the quiet.
Quiet gives her time to think, and with thinking comes realization; with realization comes guilt, and then comes the pain. It's the ugly kind of pain that tears her chest apart and leaves her feeling hollow, like somebody had punctured straight through her torso and ripped her heart out; squeezed until it was nothing but dust.
She hadn't minded it too much, before. If anything, she had welcomed it. She had spent some of her best nights in silence, hunched over a book with a blanket dressed lazily over her. Now it was torture.
She's left to wallow while she stares at the ugly creme walls, head against her lover's chest. His heart thumps loudly, following a lullaby type rhythm. It threatens to send her to sleep, but she doesn't allow it to. Sleep would be worse than silence.
Veronica hates the comfort she finds in him. Despite all the bullshit, she manages to unearth some solace, whether it be by the crickets chirping loudly outside the building, or the warmth that the teenage boy under her radiates.
She doesn't like it. She didn't like how she could be comforted by the warmth of another human being, yet disturbed by his existence at the same time. It's cynical.
Veronica's head moves when she feels fingers in her hair, and she exhales noisily. She's pressing her face completely against his chest now, as if it could mute the thoughts in her head. She's not stupid - she knows it'll only amplify the sounds he's been pestering her with, so she's clueless as to why she does it. It drowns the crickets out, but now her entire body seems to thrum along with each pound of his heart, the sound of blood rushing through her ears and the rise and fall of his chest doing nothing to help.
Vaguely, she can hear his voice - or really, a voice. She's not sure if it's his or the unnecessarily loud one that had been playing from the television before. Nothing seems familiar, nothing seems grounded. She's not stable enough. Briefly, she even wonders if any of this is real.
It's a silly thought, but she can't help but wonder when her eyes begin to unfocus and the wall paint morphs. It doesn't form anything exact, or at least to her. She can't tell with the bits of light that float within her vision. Maybe it's that, or the fact that the little bit of concentration she had slipped away a long time ago.
The voice speaks again, though it has a more urgent edge to it now. Still, she lays her head and floats mindlessly, ignoring the way the fingers in her hair tighten. It stings slightly, her forehead crinkling to form a tiny 'v.'
Without thinking, she slowly lifts her hand to lay her fingers over his. Within a second, the roles are reversed and he's tightly gripping her hand, his wrist angled in a no doubt painful way.
Her fingers curl against her scalp, straining the thin flyaway strands that he had pulled up before with his own fingers. It's a bit of a wakeup call, and reluctantly she forces herself from her dissociative state.
"Veronica."
She finally hears him clearly. He speaks sharply, angrily. It makes her go ridgid.
She lifts her head to peek at him, flinching when she comes to narrowed eyes. He stares at her for a moment, searching her face. He doesn't say anything at first, only giving her a sigh.
"Christ, Ronnie." He releases her wrist. She pulls it back immediately, glaring at him for half a second and letting it fall against the mattress, wincing when she's faced with a little bit of tenderness.
She scowls, and she sees him do the same.
"Don't touch me." She mutters angrily before laying her head back down. It's hypocritical - ironic if she would. She's telling him to leave her alone with such ferocity, yet she was leaning against him like she was exhausted. She couldn't help it though, not when she was mourning that blissful ignorance she had been floating in a minute before.
She snuggles her cheek against the fabric of his shirt, inhaling the smell of the flowery fabric softener. It doesn't smell like cigarettes for once. It's a change she happily takes.
Sleep calls out for her once again, but she pays no mind to it. She wouldn't lie and say she wasn't tired, but it wasn't something a nap could fix. Mentally she was worn, and a part of her wishes for a slumber that she would never wake up from.
It's not exactly in the suicidal sense. No, that was too simple. Too simple and too stupid; completely useless. She knew death would not free her from the sins she had committed, nor would it redeem her. She would die a coward.
She just wants to curl up and forget her existence, become comatose until this horrid nightmare is over.
There's another loud sigh, followed by a mumbled complaint.
"Ronnie?"
Veronica's brows raise when she lifts her head to look at J.D curiously. He doesn't sound angry this time. Empathetic, in a way.
"I asked if you were hungry."
Veronica blinks. "I don't want hotel food."
The empathy drains and returns the anger, and his chest hitches under her with a tired sigh.
"Well, what do you want then? There's not much around here." He lets his head fall flat against the pillow, squinting almost angrily up at the ceiling. Veronica's attention follows, and she frowns when she's just met with the wavy design above them.
"We're in the middle of nowhere, Veronica. And I'm not going back."
Veronica's eyes continue to search the ceiling. It's pointless, but it's all she can really do. She can't bring herself to scrape together any semblance of a sentence. Whatever she said would piss him off.
"You can't starve yourself."
"I'm not."
"You're skin and bones, Ronnie. Take a fuckin' look at yourself." The words bite angrily at her, and in a way they hurt. She knows she has lost weight; she feels the shift of her skirts around her waist, notices the way her tank top no longer clings to her already small torso.
She doesn't want to eat anymore. She can't bring herself to. The taste of food shrivels her stomach, sends her reeling for a toilet so she can retch her throat raw.
He must be tired of it by this point. He was tired of it from the start, from the very first time he had to pull her hair back and hold it while she emptied the little bit of food she had managed to swallow down. It bothers him- disgusts him, in a lot of ways. He doesn't bother hiding his grimace when she lays her head against the toilet seat and squeezes her eyes shut, muttering a quiet profanity. He doesn't hide the grimace when he's wiping at her forehead with a cold rag. He doesn't hide anything, because what good would it make? She already knew she was crashing. They both did.
"You need to eat."
"No." Veronica sets her jaw.
"Eat, Veronica. I'm not playing with you."
"Then don't."
She knows she sounds stingy, but frankly she doesn't give a shit. This place was gross, cold and unkempt. She misses her home, as miserable as it was at times. It was warm and clean. She had a fresh blanket to cuddle up with, and not some dingy, hole covered one that had been bought thousands of years ago.
She knows she's whining an awful lot for being the only other survivor of a school massacre. But she can't help it. She's tired and sick and she wants nothing but to sink into the mattress and disappear.
"You need to eat. If you get sick, I can't take you to a hospital."
"I won't get sick." She says, though the rawness of her throat suggests otherwise.
There's a sigh again, but this time it sounds different. It's not one of irritation, but this time confusion. He sighs like he doesn't understand her, doesn't understand something that isn't her weak stomach.
"How can you not like this?"
Veronica's thick brows knit together, and without thinking she shoves herself up and away, stumbling. She places a hand on the side of the mattress, propping herself up in a way that doesn't require him. It's a bit of an overreaction, though it seems fitting with the incredulous look she gives him.
"Enjoy this?" Veronica repeats. He pulls himself up along with her and shuffles until his back is against the wall and his eyes are directly on her. Veronica doesn't understand the confusion he shows. It's genuine – as if he didn't get why she hated the life they were living. They were constantly on the run; there was nothing good about it.
"Christ, J.D. This is…this is fucking messy. This shit is uncomfort-" Veronica stops mid-sentence when he shakes his head conciliatorily.
"Not this place, Ronnie. I meant all this." He gestures off into a random corner. "What we're doing. What we've done. You don't enjoy that, even a little bit?"
When he's met with silence, he exhales noisily. The silence holds for a few moments longer until Veronica breathes a quiet, "What?"
"C'mon, you know what I mean." His voice spikes when he speaks. It's the same spike he had given her when he had ranted about chaos, and that ended with him shooting his television and laughing about it. This was not something she enjoyed.
"I mean the pride. The glory, if that's what you want to call it. Eventually, things will trace back to us and we'll be huge." He throws a hand up excitedly, waving once again to nothing in particular. "We'll have done something. Isn't that what you wanted all along?"
Veronica's gone completely pale. Her nails dig into her palm painfully as she stares at the boy across from her, wondering just how far gone he really is.
"You want to be known as a murderer?" She whispers. She doesn't want that. She doesn't want that at all. She would rather be Veronica Sawyer, the girl that supposedly perished inside a horrible explosion. Not Veronica Sawyer, the arsonist.
"Don't think of it that way. Think of it as fame. You'll be known for doing something. You won't be a fuckin' nobody anymore."
"I'd rather be a nobody than a killer!" Veronica shuffles back farther. How one could go from the topic of not eating to mass murder within minutes made no sense to her. Jason Dean didn't make sense to her.
"A little late for that, don't you think?" He's sardonic this time around, though his excitement is still palpable. He's not slowing down, no matter what.
"I'm just saying, you've got something to be proud of. You've got something good in front of you. Shit, Veronica. We've got something good in front of us."
Veronica releases her fingers from the piercing grip she has around her palm, only to move onto the comforter below her.
"It's just us, Ronnie. Isn't that what you wanted? To just grow up and die?"
Veronica swallows uneasily.
"Not like this." She whispers. Seconds after, laughter fills the room.
"Well, shit doesn't tend to go our way, regardless. This world is a fuckin' shithole, and we've got to make it ours. That's what we're doing, isn't it?" He asks rhetorically.
Veronica's getting tired of the questions. She just wants him to shut up. She'd eat again if it meant his silence.
The bed shifts under her when he moves from it, leaving behind a crinkled comforter and an out of place pillow. Veronica stares at them while he moves around the room, his footsteps unnecessarily loud.
"I don't know what you want to hear." Veronica looks up to the source of his voice to find him lingering around the window. He has his back turned to her, hands on the faded fabric of the curtains.
"If you're waiting for some fairytale shit about how everything is good and dandy then you're not going to get it. Things are different. You're just making them bad."
Veronica's surprised she doesn't get whiplash with the speed she turns her head. She glares at him disbelievingly. She was not making this all shit. This was all shit the very moment Heather downed a cup of poison.
She scoffs.
"I do not!"
"You do." His fingers around the curtains tighten, and without warning he rips them open. Veronica flinches when light devours her, lifting her hand before her eyes and squinting. "You do when you really shouldn't. There's no reason to hate all this."
His grip on the curtain holds for a second longer before he releases them and turns to face her. There's a maniacal smile gracing his features, and an excited glint in his eyes that was anything but good.
"It's all about the glory, Ronnie. That's all murder has ever been." He finally addresses this for what it is. It's not humanizing like Veronica had hoped. It doesn't even stabilize the rocky atmosphere around them. Just reminds her of who she's dealing with and the carelessness that came along with him.
The horror of the situation aside, Veronica knew it wasn't true. Murder wasn't only about the attention it got you; it went deeper than that. Murder was emotion. Murder was just pure, unadulterated emotion. Whether it was a quick flash of anger that fueled the puncture of a knife, or a long, drawn out thought process of nothing but rage and unfiltered humanity, it was more than just glory.
It wasn't just anger. There was fear, there was sadness. There was the despair from blood on a person's hands, the suffocation of truth when they realized what they had done. It was not just a yearning for fifteen seconds of fame.
It wasn't anger that had brought her hand in Heather Chandler's demise. It was fear of what she would have done, and even then she hadn't meant to kill her. One thing led to another, and her seemingly harmless defense ended with the blonde crashing face first through a glass table.
"It's not just that." A strand of hair falls in front of her eyes when she lowers her head. In what, she's not sure. Maybe shame.
"Then what is it?" He questions her. He knows she doesn't have an answer, and that's why he doesn't bother waiting to laugh. He laughs and shoves his hands in his pockets. "We all want something in this world. You've been given it. Maybe you don't see that now, but one day you will."
He stands silently for a moment or two. She doesn't know what he's waiting for. She has no answer for him. She has no answer for anything anymore.
She just stares off mindlessly until he sighs.
"Oh, c'mon, Ronnie. I didn't mean to scare you." He takes a step forward. Instinctively, she leans away.
"Really. I was just saying." He seems genuinely apologetic.
Veronica's shoulders sag with a tired exhale. There he went with switching moods, going from malnourishment to murder until finally reaching the weird, unstable softness he only had towards her.
"It's only because you're not taking care of yourself. I just meant to say that there was a reason to." It dies off into a mumble when he reaches her. He towers over her smaller frame, though it's not menacingly. It's awkward. He doesn't know what to do either.
His sock clad feet disappear from her range of sight when he steps back, but it's quickly replaced when the bed sinks under her again and she feels him behind her.
When he reaches for her, it's uncoordinated and ungainly. An arm goes around her waist while another surrounds her collarbone, pulling her against his chest. He rests against the wall that peeked above the small bit of headboard they had.
"Sorry." He mutters. Veronica remains tense, but it's no longer because of the psycho talk he had been spitting out minutes before. It was more so because he wasn't. He was being gentle, kind if she wanted to push it. Jason Dean was not kind.
"You can't be mad at me forever, y'know." He kisses her hair softly, his fingers flexing around her side in what she believes is supposed to be a comforting way.
"You always forgive me, Veronica. There's no point in holding it out." He means it in a humorous way, but it does more damage than repair. Only reminds her of how she always went crawling back like she was some lost puppy.
"You suck." Veronica mutters.
There's the twitch of a smile before he answers, "Only sometimes."
"More like always." She returns. She's already falling into what he had said earlier, leaning against him and affectionately covering the hand across her chest with her own.
"You're a pain." She mumbles when he kisses at her jaw softly. It's a strange angle, and his own jaw juts against hers awkwardly, but she doesn't mind. She likes the contact, even if it is from a raging lunatic.
"You are, too. You still need to eat."
"I'm fine." She mutters, squeezing his hand gently. She likes how this is now. He wasn't rambling off about some serial killer bullshit, wasn't arguing with her. This is soft, and despite it being everything he was not – kind. The same thing she had thought against not even five minutes before.
Make up your mind, Veronica.
She inhales deeply when he gently bites at her skin, kissing over the spot after as if it could dull the throb.
The hand on her waist drops to loosely lay against her inner thigh. He doesn't fully grip her at first, but his fingers continue to down until he meets the barrier of her shorts.
"What can I do to make you eat?" He mumbles, nudging her jaw with his nose gently.
"You can fuck off." Veronica continues to resist him. She's kind of hesitant now, not wanting another tyrantic episode, but she's not going to budge from her argument. She can't stomach jack shit; there's no point in eating.
"Don't think that'll work, Ronnie."
"Well, go ahead and try it.
"Christ, Veronica."
"I don't want to eat, J.D. Okay?" She says what's supposed to be a final statement, but it falls deaf to his ears. He groans, and she knows he's rolling his eyes.
"I can make you eat."
"Don't threaten me-"
"It's not a threat, Veronica." He says, and she can hear the eyeroll in his voice. She narrows her own, glaring off into space. She moves slightly when his chest rises, and she's once again made aware of their position. His hand still rests on her thigh, though it's moved closer now. She can feel his fingers through the thin fabric of her shorts.
"It's an offer."
Veronica twists to look at J.D, blinking at him.
"What?"
J.D closes his eyes and shakes his head. "Turn back around, Ronnie."
"Jason-"
"Turn around, please."
Veronica continues to look at him. She knows he won't fess up to anything if she asks, and he'll probably just become irritated if she questions it again. She has no options except to listen to him.
She searches his face for a final moment and turns, laying against him stiffly.
"I wasn't threatening you, Veronica. That wouldn't do any good." He begins again. His hand travels with his words, and soon he's cusping her sex, lightly running his finger along the edge of the elastic."I was saying I could help you. Tire you out, if you will."
It takes a moment for things to piece together, and when it does Veronica scoffs.
"You think fucking me will make me eat?" She asks disbelievingly. He had to be stupid if he thought that was any cover for the fucking weird horniness he got from his equally as weird rant. She knew where it was coming from. It was the fucked up Bonnie and Clyde fantasy he had of them. That, and the glory bullshit he was going off about.
"Not necessarily fucking you, though I'm open to it. I just mean getting you off." J.D replies. He speaks with confidence, and it does nothing but floor Veronica. How he could suggest the idea so seriously made her question his sanity more than the murders did.
"Look, Veronica. You don't have to do anything. I can just jerk you off, and it'll tire you out. You eat and then we can sleep. It's not complicated."
"It's stupid."
The side of J.D's lip twitches. "A little, but it'll work."
Veronica's about to tell him no, fuck off when there's the cramp of her stomach. It sends pain wracking through her body, and without thinking she places a hand on her stomach.
J.D retracts his hand to rub at her thigh comfortingly for a moment. It's awkward and badly done, but she gets the gesture.
"C'mon. Just think about it."
It's fucking stupid as hell and gross and overall just a shit fucking idea and Veronica knows that. She's well aware of just how fucking dumb it was, but the stomach cramp was new. She had just felt sick beforehand, but now her body was actively starting to destroy itself. That, plus it was an orgasm.
"You're a bastard, J.D." She says. He hasn't done anything in the moment, but she knows this is a thing for him. No normal person would resort to sex while their girlfriend was starving.
She doesn't know why she's surprised, though. Jason Dean was not normal.
"Of course. What else would I be?"
Veronica gives a glare, but it's short lived and in no way very serious. It doesn't hold up how it should, the twitch of her lips giving away her amusement.
This is crazy. Veronica thinks when her hair is swept away.
The thoughts questioning her sanity continue, broadening to you're fucking stupid when he gently rubs at her through her pants with one hand, the other reaching to cup her breast. The fabric bunches when he squeezes lightly, mouth continuing to work along her jaw until he reaches her earlobe, moving to tug at it gently.
Absolute bullshit, she continues. Crazy, stupid, stupid, stupid.
Briefly, her stomach cramps again, and she grimaces. The action isn't missed by her lover, and in response he presses a gentle kiss below her ear.
He moves his hand upwards, his fingers briefly playing with the elastic of her shorts. They dip under, and Veronica shivers at the skin on skin contact. It's basic, nothing incredibly sexual, but it's enough to wake her body up.
She pays less attention to the pain in her stomach when his hand slips below the waistband, into her underwear. She's not wet yet, and she knows it'll take some time, but her body is ready for him - welcoming, almost.
Involuntarily, her thighs spread. It's not much, but it causes J.D to chuckle, hot breath ghosting her skin. Her cheeks burn red, but she's really not sure if it's from embarrassment or her body reacting.
She's not proud of it, but she breathes out a tiny whimper when he begins to rub at her clit. Her breathing stutters, and suddenly she's a thousand times more aware of the things around her.
His body is warm against her, comforting. She's so close that they've basically become one, Veronica relaxing against him entirely. Her knees begin to bend, heels digging into the comforter.
He does this for awhile, occasionally muttering encouragement in her ear. They're little things; him telling her how pretty she was, how he loves seeing her like this. They were things that he had said to her a million times before yet still made her hips roll.
It only changes when he mumbles, "You infuriate me, you know that?"
Veronica feels the indents of his teeth along his lower lip when he gently mouths at the soft skin, and vaguely thinks about tugging it between her own teeth, releasing it only to kiss him again. She would have if they were in a different position. She can't do anything except let her head roll to the side, giving more space to the man she should've been shoving away.
Sick bitch.
"You never listen. You never fuckin' listen, Veronica. You never listen to a goddamn thing I say." He doesn't say it to manipulate her. He breathes it, whispers it in a twisted endearing way. "You never listen, yet I take care of you because you're mine."
Again, Veronica digs her heel against the mattress, her stomach hitching. She can't help the rolling of her hips against his hand, can't help the tight grip on her fingers around his wrist. She's squeezing tight, probably to the point where she's hurting him, but she can't do anything about it. The thought of letting go seems stupid, painful almost.
He ends his sentence with, "You're mine, Veronica. Mine and mine only."
Her shirt rises when her back arches, exposing the skin of her waist to the cold air of the hotel room. The fabric of her pants shifts along with his knuckles, clinging to the prominent bones of his hands as he circles his fingers, never moving his lips from her throat.
Veronica has to keep in mind that they're not the only people in the hotel when he noses her hair out of the way and mouths at the slope of her neck, nipping at the skin gently. It's not enough to hurt, but a part of her wants it to.
She lifts her arm to cup the back of his neck, her fingers gently playing with the thin wisps of hair that stray from his scalp. His chest hitches when his breathing stutters, and through her haze Veronica manages an almost transparent smirk.
"C'mon," she breathes. Her free hand curls around the comforter when he increases speed, adding pressure that she hadn't even known she wanted. His wrist bends when she involuntarily grinds against the mattress.
"C'mon, what? You gotta tell me, Ronnie." J.D returns her encouragement, following his words by hooking his foot over her own, forcing her thighs apart further. Veronica whimpers softly, letting her head fall back to look at her partner.
She can't see him well because of the angle they're at, but she's able to find the grace of a smirk. It's the same one he had given her when he sunk to his knees in the shower, the same one he had shown when he tangled his fingers in her hair, forcing her down onto her knees in the car. It was a promise, and she'd be damned if he didn't fulfill it.
"You know what to say." He murmurs.
Veronica strains against him in a desperate attempt to close her legs when he moves his fingers a certain way, leading her towards the end that she was so desperate for. She's shaking now, her chest rising and falling roughly, hitching every few breaths while she attempts to keep herself quiet.
Absentmindedly, she presses herself closer to him. She's about to close her eyes again when she feels him slow, humming in her ear as his touch becomes leisurely tantalizing.
"Tell me, Ronnie. What do you want?"
Veronica's not sure what she's waiting for. She's already lost all her pride; she lost that when she let him fuck her in a car in the middle of nowhere directly after a screaming match. Perhaps it's the play of power, maybe she likes leading him into it.
It humiliates her a bit, she won't lie and say it doesn't. Shame still lingers, even when she starts an attempt of fucking herself on him. Through the desperation and the gross, incredibly fucked up attraction she has for him, she is still ashamed.
"Quiet, Dean." She mutters while she tries to rub against him. She drops her hand from his head to try and get herself off, but he catches her mid movement, moving both their hands away from the spot that they need to be.
"You ever been tied up, Veronica?" The conversation takes a swift turn, and for a moment Veronica forgets to be irritated.
"I could tie you up right now, leave you all pretty on the bed. You know that?" He mocks her when he speaks, but she doesn't mind. She's not paying enough attention to mind, too focused on the imagery he's offered her.
"I can do that, Ronnie. If you want to be a brat, I'm more than happy to end this."
Veronica stares at the wall stubbornly. She doesn't want to give in yet again, but she knows he'll actually do it. He'd tie her to the headboard to suffer while he went out and broke every law there was to break, spending an extra few hours doing absolutely squat just to prolong it.
"And if I say no?"
"Then I'd let you go, but wouldn't you rather me touch you? Wouldn't you rather have me get you off? That's part of the satisfaction, isn't it?"
They both knew the answer. Of course, she'd rather have him do it. It was always better that way.
"Bullshit." Veronica mumbles, trying to pull her hand from his grip. It's not a real fight. It's a taunt really, something to end this argument so they could both get what they wanted.
"You wouldn't give the opportunity up." She knows he wouldn't. It's a form of control, and if Jason Dean loved anything in this world, it was control. It was seeing somebody bend under his will, knowing that he had the upper hand. He wouldn't pass up a chance to play god, no matter what it was.
He laughs quietly. "Your choice, Veronica. Just tell me what you want and I'll happily give it to you."
There's a sense of embarrassment that comes with the words that rest on her tongue, but she forces herself to swallow it down. She's already humiliated herself by grinding against the mattress, already shown herself to be his whore the countless times they had been with each other.
"If you can't say it, then show me." He offers after a moment of silence. They're not words of pity; she can still hear the smirk in his voice. It's impatience.
Veronica exhales and leans against him. He releases her hand to reposition them so his is posed how hers had been before. His wrist is bent slightly, making it easier for her to grasp it.
This isn't the same as earlier. This is nowhere near how she had been grinding against his hand earlier, nowhere near the desperate rutting that she had so shamelessly done. This isn't anything for her. It's all for him, and she's reminded of that by the excited hitch in his breath when she presses her hand against her cunt, closing her hand around his so the pressure resumes.
She rolls her head back against her shoulder, twisting her torso to try and get a look at him again. He moves with her, adjusting their bodies so their hands stay where they belong and he can finally kiss her again.
He tugs at her lower lip with his teeth before properly kissing her, molding his mouth against hers. They're both uncomfortable in their position, but it doesn't matter at the moment. Veronica's so focused on chasing her orgasm that she can't even bother to care.
Whatever shame she had before dissolves when she forces their hands under the waistband of her pants. Her hips stutter when his fingers move along her clit, reminding her of how truly sensitive she was.
She doesn't need to guide him for much longer. They soon return to their earlier position, her fingers around his wrist while he fucked her with his own. Her thighs shake as he roughly plays with her, switching between fucking her with his fingers and rubbing at her clit, smirking against her jaw when she whines loudly, raising her hips off the mattress in a desperate attempt for more.
She wishes she doesn't reach her climax as quickly as she does, despite it being the very thing she had been begging for not too long ago. Her knuckles have begun to hurt from her hold on him, the heat in her stomach coiled so tight that it's almost painful.
Them not being the only residents in the hotel means nothing within the moment she orgasms. She squeezes him, her stomach hitching and her eyes closing as she gasps louder than she'd like to admit.
He continues to fuck her though her orgasm, stopping only when she yanks him away, hips stuttering from sensitivity.
She exhales a breathy laugh after a few moments of silence. J.D moves his feet to release her legs, and with an overexerted simper she brings them to her chest. J.D quickly follows the movement and cages her against him with his arms, turning to bury his nose in her hair.
She can feel his problem against her lower back, but doesn't say anything. She's abnormally tired, unable to do anything but close her eyes and lay against her partner.
As they rest together, she thinks over everything that led to this; everything that he said before.
I'm just saying, you've got something to be proud of.
Veronica blinks. Did she? Did she have anything at all?
You've got something good in front of you.
We've got something good in front of us.
We. It was almost always 'we' nowadays. It was either 'we' or 'us.' She was J.D at this point. She couldn't separate him from her, call him crazy and then claim her innocence. Not when she was doing shit like this. She had become him, and there was no changing that. He was all she had.
"We can stay here a few more days, if you'd like. We're pretty far from Sherwood, and this isn't too expensive." He speaks quietly.
Veronica didn't want to stay here. This place was gross and the food repulsed her, and despite the experience she just had, she wanted to get the fuck out of here.
It didn't matter in the end where she went. A part of her would always be miserable because of who she was with. She'd always be angry in some way, and they'd always fight. They'd fight, fall into whatever this was, and then go back to loving each other for a few hours. It didn't matter where they stayed; shit sucked regardless.
They'd repeat their dangerous dance until everything crumbled, and she knew that. This would never get better. He would never get better, and neither would she. They'd both meet their doom, and there would be nobody to blame but themselves when the moment came.
Veronica breathes out quietly.
"Sure."
Vaguely, she hears J.D say something about ordering room service, and she nods.
They'd destroy each other, and as horrifying as it is Veronica doesn't really find herself minding.
END