As Betty had predicted, December had been a crazy month. The Bulldogs had a successful playoff run, eventually taking the championships, but the preparations leading up to it and the late cheerleading practices had been grueling. Not to mention organizing the special Blue & Gold holiday edition and studying for end-of-semester finals and projects. By the time winter vacation rolled around, she was thoroughly and completely exhausted.
She and Jughead had managed to sneak a few trysts here and there, but it had been difficult. Even their texts, between all the school work and holiday preparations her mother was demanding her assistance on, had started becoming fewer. There seemed something aloof about him too, the few times they were able to meet and be alone. Betty couldn't quite put her finger on it, yet she kept feeling a tinge of something wrong. But every time she tried to ask him about it, he reassured her he was fine and there was nothing wrong. He would hug her, alluding to vague issues with his dad and the Serpents, but never elaborating.
She sensed, though, that their whole situation was wearing on him. She noticed him covertly looking at her at school more, specifically her interactions with Jason. Sometimes she'd catch his eye on her at lunch, where Jason had a tendency to wrap his arm around her possessively. Or at one winning football game, when the cheerleaders ran on the field to celebrate, and Jason had given her a very wet victory kiss. She could swear she saw his hard glare from the shadows watching.
Christmas had come and gone with a stiff, formal dinner celebration involving a bunch of random Cooper relatives. Her mother had spent days cleaning the house and planning and cooking the menu before their guests arrived, with Betty designated to assist. So, even with the Blossoms out of town for a week, Betty had only been able to see Jughead once over the break before they returned. Then, with Jason and Cheryl back, there were multiple get-togethers with friends and demands for her help with the New Year's party at Thornhill. It hadn't been a very restful winter vacation to say the least.
New Year's Eve fell on a Thursday, with school scheduled to return the subsequent Monday. Betty had written to wish Jughead a happy holiday early in the evening. He'd responded several hours later with a picture of him and his friends goofing off at the Whyte Wyrm party. She'd managed to sneak off for a minute of respite during the Blossom party to look at his text and send back a smiling emoji. She was genuinely happy he was having fun, but she also felt a painful tug inside her heart. Her night was going as nightmarishly as possible. Jason had spent half of the party with his arm gripped tightly around her shoulder as they made the rounds making mind-numbing small talk to ingratiating guests and the other half whispering angrily to her about how the dress she was wearing was too low-cut and he didn't need people saying his girlfriend was a slut. She had started to dig her fingernails into her palms, but stopped before she broke the skin, knowing someone among the dozens of people at the party would notice if she very obviously started bleeding. She tried to channel Jughead's calm blue eyes telling her she was okay. It got her through most of the rest of the night. Until Jason demanded she stay over to sleep and she felt a rush of nausea through her whole body. They'd hooked up and she'd gotten him off with her hand, feeling disgusting the whole time. It felt like betraying Jughead and she knew she was reaching a crossroads. But she was far too afraid to bend all the way for fear of breaking.
Jason had fallen asleep almost immediately, and was now snoring, dead to the world. Betty tossed and turned for a half hour knowing she was too upset to fall asleep, before officially giving up. She lay in Jason's giant bed staring at the ornate ceiling of his gothic mansion and wishing she were next to Jughead on the Twilight's small cot. At around 3:30, she heard her phone beep, and she grabbed it greedily, hoping for something to distract her. Her heart skipped when she saw Jughead had written again.
Jughead: Can you come to the trailer on Saturday morning? FP shouldn't be around.
Betty: Yes…I really missed you tonight, Jug.
He didn't answer for a while and Betty stared at the screen for a long time, understanding and also not understanding why, her stomach a twist of knots. Finally, she saw the dots forming.
Jughead: See you around 9, Betts.
She didn't know how to interpret the message and finally fell into a fitful sleep with a jumble of thoughts still racing through her mind.
Betty woke up at 8 am on Saturday morning to her alarm, feeling anxious. She could hear her parents bustling around downstairs, probably finishing their coffee. When she'd gotten home from the Blossoms the afternoon before, after suffering through brunch with Jason and Cheryl's scarily intense parents, her mom informed her they'd likely go into the Riverdale Register office in the morning to catch up on work. Betty had nodded and lied that she was going to meet Veronica the next day for breakfast.
She quickly headed into the shower, hoping the steaming hot water would calm her down. The house was quiet when she got out and she slowly threw on a fitted navy tracksuit with green and white lining. Under it, she wore a matching cotton pink bra and underwear combo with lace trim. She could already tell from the gray sky that it was freezing outside and she just wanted to be warm and comfortable. She put her wet hair up in a bun and secured it with a small clip. She didn't bother with makeup except for strawberry chapstick. Uninterested in looking at herself in the mirror with the weird sense of dread she was feeling, Betty grabbed her puffy winter coat and headed out of the house.
She directed the car south, in the direction of Sunnyside Trailer Park. She drove for about 15 minutes before pulling inside and looking for a place to put the car close to the Jones trailer. The two other times she'd been here, she'd parked outside and walked, but she had Jughead's Christmas gift with her and it was heavy. She'd been storing it in a box in the trunk of her mother's car, telling her it was old clothes for donation. She found a spot near Jughead's motorcycle that wasn't blocking too much space and exited the car with the box in hand.
She knocked on the door, her stomach doing flip-flops. Jughead answered and offered her a small smile, pulling the door open for her to enter. She placed the box on the floor near the coffee table before standing up to meet his glance. He looked younger than she'd ever seen him, in a plain gray t-shirt and plaid pajama pants. Although it seemed he'd been awake for some time, he appeared as tired as she felt.
"Coffee?" he asked.
"Please," she replied.
He motioned for her to sit on the couch and she did so, watching as he poured them both mugs. "I don't think we have milk," he said apologetically. "But we do have sugar."
"That's fine," she said, and he nodded, pouring a spoonful in and mixing it around, before bringing both mugs to the coffee table and sitting next to her. They were quiet for a few moments, a silence not quite awkward but also not quite comfortable hanging in the air. "Hi," she finally said, softly, looking over at him.
"Hey," he said back.
"You looked like you had fun at the Whyte Worm on New Year's."
"Yeah, it was nice," he replied. "How was your party?"
Betty winced slightly. "Not so great."
"No?" There was so much weight and emotion being held in that one word. She could hear sadness for her, but also satisfaction that she hadn't had a good time without him. There was also an undercurrent of anger, she felt, that she continued to put herself in the situation for them to be apart. "You didn't like your midnight kiss with your boyfriend?" he continued, his voice edgy. It sounded like he was trying to make a joke, but it came out twisted.
"I didn't like anything with him," she answered honestly.
"What's anything?" he asked, eyeing her now suspiciously. "What did you guys do?"
"Jug, come on," she said, turning red, looking away. "What's with the interrogation?"
"Answer the question, Betty," he said, his voice sizzling at its lowest register.
"I slept over. We…hooked up. I touched him…" she replied, nearly whispering, unable to finish the words. She clutched her coffee mug tightly, looking anywhere but Jughead's eyes.
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him close his eyes momentarily and then let out an angry breath. "Did he touch you? Did he get you off?"
"No," she murmured, but her voice was firm.
"Did you want him to?"
"No, God no," Betty replied, her voice rising at the anger and humiliation she was starting to feel. She placed her mug on the table and now glared straight into Jughead's darkened eyes. "It felt disgusting and wrong to touch him. I couldn't sleep after. All I could think about was you. Is that what you wanted to hear?"
"Yes," Jughead said emphatically, his body trembling in a mixture of fury and arousal. He grabbed her and pulled her toward him, his mouth consuming hers. Betty barely had time to react before she could feel his teeth tugging at her lips demanding entrance for his tongue. She opened her mouth to him, as he pulled her body closer so she was straddling him over the couch. Jughead's hands grasped her ass, digging his fingers into the fabric of her sweatpants so her center brushed up against his erection. Betty could feel herself moaning into his mouth against the contact. He did it a few more times between kisses, before moving his mouth to suck on her pulse point. He bit into her and Betty let out a gasp at the mixture of pleasure and pain it evoked. He seemed determined to leave a mark.
"Jug," she moaned, squirming against him as he soothed the bite with several swirls of his tongue. "Jug…you can't."
Ignoring her, Jughead stood up and lifted her with him, making sure her legs were tucked around his waist before carrying her determinedly into his bedroom. He deposited her on his bed, hovering his body over her, as he moved his lips down from her neck to kiss the exposed skin of her clavicle. Not wasting any time, his hands snatched the zipper of her sweatshirt, pulling it down and then dragging the fabric off her arms. His hands grasped her breasts over her bra, his thumbs and index fingers massaging over her nipples. She arched her back into him, and his fingers moved to her back to unhook the bra. She wriggled out of it and his mouth was immediately on her, taking turns sucking each hardened nub.
"Oh my God," she panted, feeling her arousal seep into her underwear.
Jughead moved his mouth down, kissing her stomach, before finding the waistband of her pants and removing them along with her underwear in one fell swoop. He pulled them off her legs, ripping off the sneakers from her feet along the way. Betty sucked in a breath. Of course, she'd been naked in front of him before, but there was something so animalistic about the way he stood above her now appraising her body, his fingers skimming greedily down her skin, his eyes hungry.
His eyes still on her, he threw his t-shirt over his head. She sat up and reached out to trace his stomach muscles, but he grabbed her hand and held her wrist in place. "I'm touching you now," he said gruffly. Her eyes widened in a mixture of annoyance and excitement. Her wrist still tucked in his fingers, he twisted her arm back slightly using the movement to propel himself to sit with her resting between his legs. He released her hand and dragged his fingers up her leg until he reached her hip bone. She wriggled against him, desperate for his fingers inside her, and she could feel the bulge in his pajama pants twitching against her lower back. He grabbed both her hips, settling them, and hotly whispered a warning in her ear, "Sit still, Betty." Slowly, he teased his fingers down from her hip bone, before finding his desired location. He dragged a finger from the bottom of her opening and ran it up to the top, her arousal glistening against his finger. He rubbed the slick around her clit leisurely, as she sank against him, moaning breathlessly. "Who are you wet for, Betty?" he asked.
"You," she said, and he rewarded her by inserting a finger inside her up to his knuckle. He began to move in and out slowly as Betty tried to rock her hips to his ministrations.
"Who else makes you wet like this, Betty?" he asked, suddenly inserting two more fingers inside her. She gasped, unable to think or even respond from the sensation. She couldn't remember him ever putting three fingers inside her at once. It felt so tight, he barely had room to maneuver. "Answer me," he demanded.
"No one. Only you," she finally moaned out. He growled in response and used two of his fingertips from his other hand to rub circles over her clit. Betty felt as if her body were about to splinter apart and a string of jumbled curses escaped her mouth. Three of his fingers were buried deep inside her, petting the inside of her walls, while his other hand exerted just the right amount of pressure and speed against her clit to throw her over the edge. All she could do was writhe helplessly against him as the tingles spread across her body, overwhelming her. "Oh God, Jug, oh my God," she called out as her body erupted in ecstacy. He kept stroking her clit through each crest of pleasure, spurring her to two climaxes, until her body finally slumped against him like a ragdoll, totally spent.
He removed his fingers slowly, bringing them up to his mouth to lick them clean as Betty tried to regain her breathing against his chest. "You always taste so goddamn good," he muttered, gently moving her off him and laying her down against the bed. He stood up to remove his pants and, once free, pumped his cock a few times staring at her. Her body was flushed pink and still trembling slightly from the after effects of her orgasms. Her blonde hair was falling out of its clip and her green eyes were wide ogling him. "And how are you so fucking gorgeous," he said, shaking his head and turning away momentarily to bring a condom. He placed it on himself and then climbed back on top of her, resting his tip against her ready and willing center, before easing himself fully inside her.
"Say you're mine, Betty," he said, staring straight into her eyes. It sounded like a cross between a demand and a plea.
"I'm yours," she promised, her heart pounding. She knew that even if her promise wasn't fully factual, a part of her would always be his. She felt it truly in that moment.
He nodded and began to move inside her, not bothering to go slowly. She could feel the weight of all of him—his body, his soul—pushing against her. She wrapped her legs around him and clasped his neck, as he pounded into her. She closed her eyes and matched his motions, holding him against her with each thrust. He bowed his head against hers, his lips grazing her ear, and she kissed his neck, inhaling the scent of him. He jerked deep inside her and Betty pulled her legs around him tighter. With one final thrust, she could feel the bottled pressure inside him pop and he exploded inside her, his body shaking as he chanted her name.
"Say it again," he whispered, still hard inside her, as his forehead came to rest against hers.
"I'm yours," she whispered back, and he kissed her softly but ardently, unwilling to move away. Only when she felt they could no longer breathe did he break the kiss and pull back from her.
Jughead got up to discard the condom and Betty followed him up, gathering her clothes together in a pile. She felt overwhelmed by the intensity of their lovemaking and the conversation that had preceded it. The undercurrent of tension in their interaction was tangible. She silently watched Jughead pull his pajama pants back on as she herself started to dress. She got her sweatpants on, but she struggled with her bra. Her fingers felt numb and she cursed as she once again faltered over the hook. She then felt Jughead's smooth fingers securing the clasp. His hands lingered for a second, before he took a few steps toward his dresser and pulled out a small turquoise box.
"I got you this," he said, softly, handing it over to her.
She opened the box to see a thin gold chain with a pen-shaped pendant. She could feel tears forming in her eyes. It was perfect. A simple gift, but completely personal to her. "It's beautiful, Jug," she said, smiling up at him. "I love it. Thank you." He smiled back, but it didn't quite reach his eyes, and when she took a step toward him, he backed away slightly. "What's wrong?" she asked, her tone already slightly jumpy.
"What did Jason get you?" he asked, his voice low. Betty gaped at him, too shocked by the question to even come up with a response. Almost immediately though, Jughead clenched his fists, clearly angry at himself. "I'm sorry. Don't answer that." He sighed and sat down unhappily on bed. He ran his hands through his hair several times, seemingly lost in thought.
Betty closed the necklace back in the box and took a seat next to him, placing his gift on the edge of the bed. Her whole body was abuzz in frustration and what she knew was an undeserved anger toward him. "Jughead, what's going on with you?" she asked, dreading the answer. She knew it was the moment of reckoning.
Jughead shook his head several times. "Betty, I…I don't want to do this like this anymore. I can't do it."
"Jughead, I…" she started but he held up a hand to quiet her.
"Please let me finish," he pleaded. "I have to get this out." He was silent for a few moments collecting his thoughts. "I love you, Betty. I'm in love with you," he said punctuating every word. "More than anything, I want to be with you, in public. I don't want to have to hide how I feel toward you anymore. I don't want to have to lie to my friends all the time about why I disappear for hours at a time, and I don't want you to lie to yours."
"I want to be with you too, Jughead, but…"
"But what, Betts?" he asked, his tone full of sorrowful exasperation. "Listen, do you have any idea how it feels to see you on his arm, the way he parades you around, knowing how he treats you? Knowing how much I want you and yet can't have you fully." He paused to look her straight in the eye. "Betty, I'm already having nightmares about this goddamn prom night months away. About him touching you, sleeping with you. I'm literally sick to my stomach at the thought of him having you."
"Jug," she started, her voice breaking. She was fully tearing up now. "I've tried before to end it. He's never let me. And what if he lashes out and does something to hurt me? What if he hurts you? And what if my parents find out? You know what they did to Polly. What if they send me away too?"
"Betty," he sighed. "He can't do anything to hurt me, and I would never let him lay a finger on you. As for your parents, we can figure it out together. I know it seems like a lot, but these aren't insurmountable problems."
"Jug, I can't see how…" she cried. "I'm so scared."
"I know, Betts, I know you're afraid," he said trying to sound calm, but his voice was filled with hurt and anger. She could feel him trying to restrain himself from yelling. It made her heart flinch. "But to tell you the truth, I don't really understand what of. Because the longer this goes on, it feels to me like you're just embarrassed to be seen in public with me. That you're just using me. That what I think we have isn't real."
"Come on, Jug," she said, through a veil of tears, "You know it's not like that."
Before she could continue her attempt to find the words to convince him, they both heard the loud bang of the front door and the sound of something crashing, before a string of drunken curses.
"Fuck," Jughead whisper-shouted, wrestling into his T-shirt. "I have to deal with this."
Betty quickly zipped up her sweatshirt and followed him into the living room. A drunk FP was spread out on the couch, slurring in a stupor to himself. A broken whiskey bottle lay near the front door, the brown liquid spilling across the vinyl flooring.
"Shit, dad, seriously?" Jughead shouted into the air, tugging his hair in aggravation.
"I'll clean this," she said, softly, touching his back and he nodded. She found a broom in the kitchen, but no mop, so she wetted a few rolls of paper towel. She knelt on the floor to sop up the mess, careful to avoid getting close to the broken shards of glass in only her sock-clad feet. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Jughead lift his dad from the couch, and try to steer him toward his bedroom. As she stood to sweep up the glass, she could feel the eyes of the older man, now semi-alert, on her.
"Who are you?" he slurred, before turning to his son. "Who is she?"
Taught since birth to always practice politeness, Betty answered him as she would anyone. "Hi, I'm Betty. Betty Cooper."
"Betty Cooper," he repeated, his eyes blinking several times, as he tried to wrangle out of Jughead's hold and attempt to pull him away. Suddenly a look of recognition came over his face. "You're Alice's daughter," he said, sounding almost sober, before starting to laugh maniacally. "Boy, you fucking Alice Cooper's daughter?"
"Dad," Jughead seethed.
"It's okay," Betty reassured him, trying to smile in spite of herself. "Yes. It's nice to meet you, Mr. Jones," she said looking at the older man, pretending to herself for a moment as if this was a totally normal situation of her meeting the father of the boy she loved.
He shook his head chuckling, and finally let Jughead pull him away. "She's a nice one, boy. Don't fuck that up," she heard him say before they disappeared into the bedroom.
Betty finished sweeping and threw out the dirty paper towels and glass shards. She sat back on the couch, apprehensive, waiting. Jughead returned to the living room a few minutes later. He was carrying her sneakers and his gift to her. He placed them neatly beside the couch and sat down next to her but not looking at her.
"I'm sorry about that," he murmured.
"It's okay," she repeated, tentatively taking his hand. "I'm sorry you have to deal with this all alone."
He didn't pull away. He let her hold his hand for several hushed minutes before he finally looked at her. "Betty, I want to hug you and tell you I appreciate you for staying here and not getting freaked out by my fucked-up dad and helping me clean up his mess. It's part of why I love you. But then I think, well Jughead, that's great, but she can't commit to being with you. You're just her guy on the side. And you're tired of waiting. And you're tired of her not being strong enough." He was quiet for a moment, squeezing her hand before extricating his own from the embrace. "Can you understand that?"
She nodded, choking up. She understood him, she could feel his pain and anger, but she also didn't know how to do this differently. She felt frozen and helpless, like he was slipping away from her and even though she knew what to say or do to stop it, her tongue was trapped and unable to form the words.
"Betty, do you know why Jason wants to be with you? Because you're smart and kind, and of course beautiful. People like you, appreciate you. And he wants that for himself because otherwise who is he but an asshole with average grades who's semi-talented at football. He puts you down to push himself up, to cover up his own insecurities and failures. You're amazing, Betty. And I thought I could make you believe that, but I can't. Only you can. You deserve so much better than what that prick can give you, but…I deserve what I want too."
"Jug…I know you deserve more than what…but I…I lo…" She tried pitifully to get the words out, to express that she was hopelessly in love with him too, that she would fight for him and prove her strength to him, but something stopped her. She wasn't ashamed of him; she was ashamed of herself. But she couldn't say that. It felt like a jumble of chaos and noise inside her head, puzzle pieces that wouldn't match together. All she could do was watch the tears fall as her lips contorted into nothing.
"I can't, Betty, I'm sorry," he said, his voice breaking, tears now forming against his blue eyes. "Please. Please just go."
She nodded several times, trying to blink away her tears, but it didn't help. They wouldn't stop falling now. She put on her shoes and coat in a trance, tucking his gift inside her pocket. She kept waiting for him to tell her to stop and come back to his arms, to his bed. But he didn't. He just sat stoic, a handful of crystal drops staining his cheeks.
"My present for you is in the box there. I hope you like it," she managed to get out, as her hand clutched the door handle. The words felt alien on her tongue, like they belonged to someone else, someone not devastated or heartbroken. A girl happy to be giving the boy she loved a Christmas gift. But that wasn't her. That could never be her.
He nodded, unable or unwilling to look at her, and she fled.
