Just a drabble or several…
This is a work of fanfiction, no copyright infringement is intended. I own nothing oertaining to The Archie Comics/Riverdale Universe.
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Hanging her keys on the rack near door, she shook her umbrella out before fully stepping over the threshold. It had been raining for most of the day, her converse were soggy from running to her car from the Register. It was the same routine for the last ten years, maybe more.
Wake up, make coffee, rush out the door with her to-go cup she'd recieved from Jughead a few Christmas' ago. She was lucky to even see him in the morning if at all anymore. It started out as opposite schedules, him working late at the Whyte Wyrm, going over the bills and writing in his spare time; shooting her an email of his latest article when he was through. There was an understanding at that point. She had to open The Register when he was barely asleep for three hours. Yet now, it was barely living.
Forgetting her sopping wet hoodie and shoes at the front door, she'd left wet foot prints for him to find when he came home from checking on the guys at the Wyrm. He let Sweet Pea run it now, just doing the books and writing payroll checks, ordering food and liquor, it was braindead action.
He nearly tripped over her discarded tennis shoes, laces sprawled out with the wet sleeves of her hooded sweater. It pissed him off, a surge of anger jolting through him.
"Fuck! Just leave all your wet shit by the door why don't you!" Deciding to give up whatever angry outburst was sure to come, he did the same. Toeing off his wet boots and socks, tossing his very wet leather jacket on top of the pile, a puddle was quickly forming around the shoes and fabric. Pulling his beanie off, he shook his hair out, he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt anything, anger, sorrow, happiness; there was nothing he could recall.
Noticing the slender wet marks of her feet on the wooden floor, he followed them down the hallway to their one and only bathroom. The door was open, the sounds of water running and Betty humming something to herself. Silently, he walked next to the watery prints, taking a deep breath, listening to the haunting humming of his wife. Jughead suddenly wished he'd been aware months before. He hadn't noticed she'd taken down the pictures in the hallway, nor had he noticed she had taken to wearing her Chuck Taylor's again. Leaning against the door frame of the bathroom, he watched her through the clear film of the shower curtain. He hadn't seen her naked body in months either, they'd been sleeping in separate rooms for longer than he'd cared to admit. His mouth went dry, suddenly realising that he'd quite literally thrown away nearly a year of their life together. Coming back to reality, steam billowing up and over the shower curtain; Betty was shampooing her hair now, eyes closed as she sang a little louder. He didn't know how to say the words, to ask her if she still wanted this life with him. He didn't blame at her all if she didn't. He'd more or less abandoned her and their marriage to run a damn bar, to parade around in jacket and be a badass on the streets of Southside. He decided to take action, rather than use words. Pulling his shirt off from the hem, he tossed it somewhere in the hall, he couldn't care less where. Unbuttoning his jeans and letting them fall to the floor with his boxers, he stepped out of them. Pushing the shower curtain open, he watched the water slide down Betty's shoulders, suds sluesed down her neck from her hair. He stepped in, letting the curtain fall back into place soundlessly.
"I'm so sorry Betty. I'm such a schmuck." Startled at the voice behind her, Betty jumped a little, eyes wide she turned to face him.
"Yeah, you can say that again. No more sneaking up on me! What are you doing in here anyway?" She ignored the index finger he swiped down her shoulder blade, and the look of longing on his face.
"What are we doing Betts?" The use of his name for her caused a sharp pang in her heart.
"We can't go on like this, we aren't even people anymore." she turned around not looking at him, letting the water run through her soapy hair.
"That's what I'm talking about." His heart was hammering in his chest. Afraid of what was really going on in her head.
"It's up to you Jug, I'll love you either way."
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