Summary:
Jughead is missing.
Betty searches Riverdale to find him.
Will she be able to find him before he faces his last breath?
Chapter Four - Requited
It had been a week since the Sisters of Quiet Mercy. A week since the police raided the asylum and their secrets were brought to light. A week since her exposé had been printed in the Blue and Gold with Jughead's name sharing a byline with hers. A week since he'd disappeared into an ambulance and she was barred from the hospital. A week since she royally screwed up everything.
Now, Betty stood outside the Jones' trailer in the fervent hope she could make things right. She hoped she wasn't overstepping. Juggie didn't particularly like having people come over to his place. In fact, the last time she'd been here was a little over a year ago when his mom had left town with Jellybean in tow and not a single thought to spare for the son she was abandoning. To add insult to injury, it had also been his fifteenth birthday. Betty had been Juggie's first (and only) call. She'd ridden her bicycle across town and risked her mother's wrath by spending the night comforting him. In the stillness of pre-dawn hours, she'd promised she would never leave him. That she would be his constant. How she had failed at that promise.
Standing at the foot of the rickety steps leading to the trailer's front door, Betty played with the fraying cuff of his red and black flannel. It was the same flannel he wrapped around her shivering shoulders three weeks ago on the night of that godforsaken dance. Somehow she never managed to get it back to him. She'd been wearing it almost non-stop for the last week.
She still couldn't believe she'd told him no. Made it sound like returning his love was too much responsibility. That's not what she had meant at all. She'd been in shock and overwhelmed by the idea that he loved her so deeply, so passionately. Her mouth had gone off without her permission as she panicked with her mother's warnings about such love ringing in her ears. He deserved to hear the truth.
Armed with a nearly overflowing tin of home-baked cookies, Betty knocked on the door. And waited. And waited. She heard shuffling inside the trailer followed by a muffled cursing. Someone was home. She knocked again, this time adding a tenuous, "Hello?"
She worried at her lower lip and hoped that Jughead wasn't purposely ignoring her. It was as much as she deserved. But how could she make things right if she couldn't talk to him? Even if it meant losing him forever, Betty wanted Juggie to live. She wanted to let him know she'd been wrong. That she did love him. She loved him so much it scared her into looking for a less-fulfilling love.
"I brought cookies," she added more loudly as she knocked again. Food had always been Juggie's weakness. If he wouldn't come out to talk to her, he might come out for cookies.
"'M coming. Hold yer horses," a muffled, slurred voice responded.
The door crashed open, revealing a disheveled and very drunk FP Jones. He squinted into the sunlight and held out a hand in front of his face to block the sun. Blinking bleary, red-rimmed eyes, he attempted to focus on her for a whole minute before mumbling a bewildered, "Alice?"
"Um, no, Mr. Jones. I'm Betty, Betty Cooper. Jughead's friend." Betty licked suddenly parched lips. Did he know that she was the cause of his son's suffering? Was he even going to let her talk to Juggie? She tugged the end of her ponytail. "Alice is my mom."
"Mmph. Spittin' image," he muttered more to himself than her. Rubbing his blood shot eyes with the side of his fist, he peered at her for a moment longer, then shuffled back into the trailer. Before he could swing the door shut behind him, Betty stepped up and placed a hand on the door, preventing it from shutting her out. He didn't even notice.
From her position in the doorway, she could see into trailer. There was a disconnect between her brain and what she was seeing. While Joneses had never been as tidy as the Coopers (no one was as tidy as the Coopers), there had always been evidence of an effort. This was an unmitigated disaster zone. It appeared as if a tornado had swept through the interior of the trailer and dumped a liquor store worth of empty bottles across every flat and semi-flat surface. Everywhere she looked, fast food containers and dirty laundry littered the furniture and floor. How had Jughead put up with this for the last year? Or, was this new?
FP stumbled towards the fridge before realizing he wasn't alone. Retrieving a beer, he fumbled with the cap, then held the bottle out to Betty. She shook her head and gripped the tin of cookies tighter. With a shrug, FP took a long pull from the bottle before setting it down on the counter with a clatter. His breath was rank with the stench of cheap booze and stale cigarettes. It took all of Betty's ingrained Copper politeness and hatred of making a scene to keep from retching.
"If ya don' wanna drink, then why are ya here?" He slurred. "What do ya want?"
Betty cleared her throat and proceeded to breathe shallowly through her mouth. "I'm looking for Jughead. Is he home?"
Blinking slowly, FP mulled over her question, "Nah. Thought you knew. He's staying with friends."
"Which friends?" Betty prodded. He wasn't staying with her (her mom would never allow that) and he wasn't with the Andrews (Archie, bless his heart, would never be able to keep that a secret from her). Despite being best friends for the majority of their lives, Betty couldn't think of anyone else Jughead was close to.
His dad mumbled something incomprehensible.
"May I look?" Betty gestured at the trailer. Things she hadn't realized were clues were starting to fall into place. Since classes started in September, Jughead had been at school before her. Which was odd, since his night owl proclivities caused him to sleep in as late as possible and often arrive just before first bell. Furthermore, he'd been even more reticent than usual when she or Archie mentioned stopping by his place. He always had an excuse to meet at school or Pop's or the library. When they'd been looking for Polly, he always came to her house or met her at the Blue and Gold.
Losing interest in the conversation, FP shrugged, grabbed his beer, then slumped on the couch. He turned up the volume on the television and stared unblinking at the flickering screen. Did he even know Jughead was suffering?
It didn't take long to search the trailer. She could see most of it without leaving the kitchenette. It had always amazed her a family of four had managed to live here for as long as they had. Even two seemed like a tight squeeze. When Betty and Jug had first met, the Jones lived in a house with more than one bedroom, but by third grade the Jones had downgraded to the one bedroom trailer. At the time, neither Betty nor Jughead had understood what had necessitated the change, though Jughead had come to the understanding before her.
Still, Betty swept through the trailer for signs of where Jughead might be staying. There was evidence that Jug had lived there, but not recently. A box of his favorite books was sealed in a plastic tote and stashed on a living room shelf (to keep them away from the mice, he'd told her once). The lid was coated with a thin layer of dust. In the bathroom, she found only one set of toiletries. The bed in the singular bedroom had been slept it, but she doubted Jughead had been the occupant. There were no books on the bedside table, only an unemptied ashtray. The trashcan overflowed with more of the same detritus scattered around the trailer and not the bloody tissues one expected to find in the room of a person suffering from Jughead's condition. In a dresser drawer, she'd found a stash of his clothes she hadn't seen him wearing in months. Recently, he had favored the same few outfits, wearing them in rotation. He'd always been clean and neat and she hadn't given the lack of variety a single thought.
Not finding the miraculous clue she'd been hoping for, Betty returned to the main area of the trailer. She gathered her tin of cookies and headed for the door. Before letting herself out, she turned to Jughead's dad. "Mr. Jones…"
The elder Jones gave a loud snore in response. While she searched, he'd slumped over on the couch and fallen into a fitful sleep. Slipping from his fingers, the bottle tipped to its side and the dregs of beer soaked into the rough, threadbare carpet.
Her heart bled as she headed out into the afternoon. Why hadn't Jughead said anything? She would have been there for him. Helped him find a place to stay, or at least make certain he had meals to eat. No. She'd been too wrapped up in her own problems, her own fantasies, that she hadn't seen what was right before her. She needed to make things right before it was too late. But, first, she needed to find him.
—
First thing Betty did after leaving the trailer, was call Archie. It was unlikely he knew anymore about the situation than she did, but it was possible Jughead had decided to confide in someone other than her after her response to his last confession. Unfortunately, Archie was as clueless as she had been about Jughead's home situation. He had no better clue than she had concerning Jug's whereabouts. Though, unlike Betty, Archie didn't find anything unsettling about the situation. Undeterred, Betty pressed on.
Before leaving the Southside, Betty stopped by the former home of the Twilight Drive-In. While Betty had spent the summer interning in California, Jughead had gotten a job at the drive-in. He'd regaled her with the accounts of the shenanigans he'd witnessed. Some nights, she'd play the same movie he was showing at the Twilight on her laptop and they'd make their own Mystery Science Theatre-esque commentaries. One night, she'd realized they'd been talking for nearly four hours after the double feature had ended and it was well past midnight in Riverdale. She'd been worried about keeping him at work too late and he admitted there was a cot in the projection shack he'd sometimes used when the nights got late. Now, she wondered if he'd been staying there a bit more regularly than he let on. The drive-in had shut down nearly two months ago and all that remained of the outdoor theatre was a partial wall of the shack. She ran her fingers over the remnants of the message sprayed in black paint on the faded red siding.
Jughea—
Here—
She felt the energy in the defiant act of vandalism. He was silently screaming out for someone to acknowledge that he existed, that he was here. That his life mattered. That his existence would leave a mark long after he was gone. Had he known he was dying when he'd made this declaration? If she didn't get to him soon, would this be all that remained as a marker of the life of Jughead Jones? Didn't he know he was indelibly marked on her heart?
His life couldn't end here. In her bones, she knew that Jughead was meant to leave a mark on this world. A mark greater and grander than his name scrawled on the shambling ruins of a small town. His life couldn't end because she hadn't been able to admit the truth—
Betty Cooper loved Jughead Jones.
She always had and she always would. But, she had been too afraid to be honest with herself, let alone him. Too afraid of what she might lose if he didn't love her back. So afraid she allowed herself the illusion of being in love with Archie Andrews. It was so clear now. Even when she thought she was in love with Archie, those feelings paled in comparison to what she felt 'in friendship' for Jughead. She had been more willing to lose Archie's friendship than Jughead's. That should have been a sign.
These thoughts occupied her mind as she made her way across town to Pop's Chok'lit Shoppe. If Jughead wasn't with Betty or Archie, Pop's had always been the best bet where to find him. He was certainly more at home in a booth at the diner working on his novel than he had ever been at the trailer, especially this past year.
The bells over the door tolled a mournful chime as she pushed open the door. If Jughead was here, he'd make a sardonic observation starting with John Donne and ending with Dorothy Sayers. About how the mystery of the tolling bells was now solved. That he knew very well for whom the nine tailors tolled. Her lips pulled tight in the trace of a morbid smile. She loved the way he played with words and how he had a vast array of literary allusions always at his fingertips. That his reading was expansive and varied, reaching far beyond the limited expectations of their English class curriculum.
The moment Betty cleared the door, Pop Tate met her eyes. Though he clearly knew the story and Betty's role in it, there was no judgment in his face. He smiled warmly in welcome and gestured to the counter.
"I'll be with you in a moment, Betty. Have a seat," he said as he carried a tray of food to a table at the opposite end of the diner. Though others were also working that afternoon and could have attended her, Pop could always sense when his particular presence was needed.
Betty perched on a stool and rested her elbows on the counter. Her body slumped as she stopped for the first time in she didn't know how long. She'd scarcely slept this last week and the exhaustion was catching up with her. While Riverdale was shocked by the existence and subsequent closure of the dark secret which was the Sisters of Quiet Mercy, her world was crumbling at a much more personal level. When she wasn't writing their exposé, answering police questions, or attending school Betty couldn't stop thinking about Jughead. He filled every unoccupied moment (and haunted the occupied ones as well).
Everyday she tried to visit him at the hospital, every day she'd been repelled. Only family. After the first few days, the excuses changed, he wasn't allowed visitors. Especially her. It wasn't like she didn't know she had royally screwed up. She'd pushed away the love of her life when he needed her the most. The ticking clock loomed over her, a constant reminder that his time was running out. And then, today, a nurse had taken pity on her. He'd been released three days ago. There was nothing more they could do for him, so they sent him home. Besides, the Jones couldn't afford a lengthy hospital stay.
Wrapped in Jughead's flannel, she tugged it tight around her shoulders until it reminded her of the ghost of his embrace. Snuggled in the soft, familiar plaid, she wished it was Jughead's arms which embraced her instead. Juggie's shirt still carried the scent of him, though it had almost faded from the red and black fabric.
Her heart skipped a beat at the thought of him fading away. Jughead had been so pale last time she'd seen him. The red stains on this lips made his pallor all the more pronounced. Waking or sleeping, what haunted her the most was his eyes. They were feverish bright and lost. He was resigned to his fate. The fate her denial and rash words had consigned to him.
She buried her face in her sleeve covered hand and wanted to weep, but her eyes held no more tears. Her fingers clutched around the fabric in a tightening fist as nails sought purchase along the raw skin of her palms. How could she have been so stupid? So callous? He'd been taken off to the hospital thinking she didn't love him when the opposite was the truth.
"Here." The soft clink of glass on the counter drew her out of her spiral. Pop placed a strawberry milkshake in front of her. "It looks like you could use this."
"Thanks." She wrapped her hands around the chilled glass. The cold soothed the burn in her palms. It almost surprised her that the strawberry shake could still taste sweet when so much in her life felt bitter. "Have you seen him?"
"Yeah. He spends most of his time here." There was no need to clarify who they were talking about. Pop nodded over to Jughead's favorite booth. "He's been writing like a man possessed."
"It's my fault," Betty blurted, surprising herself with her outburst. She hadn't told anyone about her part in Jughead's condition—not Veronica, not Archie, definitely not her mother—and here she just blabbed it in the middle of the diner. Her cheeks turned pinker than her milkshake. "He's dying and it's all my fault."
"No. That's not how these things work." Pop shook his head slowly. "He's not on his last legs yet. That boy possesses more hope than I've seen in anyone for a long time. There's still time."
Betty sniffed, but found comfort in Pop's assurances. Though Jughead liked to play the role of disaffected youth, over the course of their friendship, she'd been privy to the softer side of Juggie which he kept hidden behind protective walls. "I need to find him."
"Good." Pop moved to gather the 'to-go' order waiting at the kitchen window. "Jughead has been going on the premise he only has days left."
Her stomach soured at the thought, but there was something in the way Pop had worded the statement which made Betty think he didn't agree with Jughead's conclusion. "O-kay?"
Pop handed her the takeout bag. "Will you bring him his lunch? The boy's always hungry."
It was impossible to disagree with that statement. He was a bottomless pit when it came to eating. But, what did that have to do with finding Jughead?
"Do you know where he's at?" Betty bit her lip as she hopped off her stool with the takeout bag in hand.
Pop met her gaze with a knowing stare. "Betty Cooper, you know Jughead better than anyone in this world. Where would he go if he thinks he only has days left?"
Betty hesitated. Jughead was a Romantic. He'd go to the places that meant something to him, trying to engrave the memories deep onto his soul. The treehouse in Archie's backyard which had become more of her and Jughead's hideaway as the years passed and Archie became obsessed with a myriad of fleeting interests. The swimming hole along the Sweetwater River where they spent many a summer break and Betty had first felt his heated, yet respectful, gaze. The town library where they'd gotten lost among the stacks as they sought escape from their lives among the pages of the books. The Bijou and its double features offering a window into worlds beyond their reach. The Blue and Gold where they wrote and worked and investigated together.
"Pop, I've got to go…" Betty was halfway to the door, her mind already rushing ahead of her.
"Good luck," Pop called after her.
—
By the time Betty reached the school, her palms were sweating and her nerves curled in her stomach like an asp waiting to strike. It was easy to make bold declarations at Pop's, but it was another thing to feel confident in the echoing, empty hallways of Riverdale High. The enormity of it all settled heavy on her shoulders and weighed down each step. She'd messed up so many times already, would she be able to make it right? Or, would she screw it up this time too? Would he listen to what she had to say? Or, would he push her away?
The paper of the white take-out bag crinkled in her hand. Pop knew what he was doing. If nothing else, between the hamburgers and the cookies, Jughead would hear her out at least as long as it took him to eat.
Standing outside the Blue and Gold, Betty hesitated with her hand on the doorknob. The faint golden glow of a desk lamp could be seen through the frosted glass. He was here.
"Hello. Juggie?" She called as she pushed the door open. There was a comfortable clutter in the office. Ever since they started the school paper back up, the room contained an energy of productive busyness. The barely concealed presence that something important was happening here. There were two desks. On their first day, they claimed them—his and hers—along with the dual editorship of the paper. The light was from the lamp on his desk and his laptop sat open like he'd just slipped out of the room.
But he hadn't. Jughead was sprawled out on the couch. It was too short for his lanky frame and his feet hung over the end. His eyes moved rapidly behind his eyelids and his breathing rattled and wheezed in his chest. In his sleep, he clutched his beanie in his hands, freeing his inky black hair to spill across his forehead.
Maybe she should go. Let him rest while he could. She doubted he was sleeping any better than she was. The door closed behind her, blocking off her escape and pushing her forward.
Moving further into the office, she touched his shoulder. "Juggie?"
He started, jerking upright and awake in the same moment. Snapping his hat on, he settled it over his head. Immediately he was taking in his surroundings and putting a story together to explain his presence. He was nearly to his feet before taking her in as though seeing her for the first time.
"Betty?" Her name rasped over his lips. He blinked at her like he might still be dreaming.
"I brought you lunch. And cookies." She thrust both offerings at him like this had been a planned session of editing and layouts.
"Thanks. Join me?" A trace of hope sparked in his eyes as he patted the spot beside him on the couch.
"Sure." She settled next to him. Her knee brushed against his thigh. The whole scene was so familiar and should have been comforting, but their last interactions cast an awkward veil over their present. He was more gaunt and pale than the last time she'd seen him. There was no escaping his condition as every breath was a monumental struggle. He coughed, bringing forth another handful of curving stems laden with the bell-like blossoms.
He's suffering because of you, the taunt echoed in a bruising refrain. It had saturated her every thought this week.
Opening the sack, he pulled out two burgers and handed one to Betty before delving into his own with gusto. They ate in silence for a while as he sated the edge of his hunger and she sated the edge of her nerves.
"How are you doing? Did you find out anything more about your sister?" Jughead asked when he paused from his eating for a wheezing breath.
Betty balanced her burger on her lap as her breath caught in her throat. She fought the urge to ball her hands into fists. He would notice and it would just add to his concern about her. It never ceased to amaze her that Jughead cared so much. He should hate her. He had every right to despise her. No one would blame him if he wanted to spend his remaining days focused on himself. In the grand scheme of things, she didn't matter—she never mattered. As long as she was there for everybody else in her life, what she wanted or needed was never the priority. No one else in their busy lives and hectic schedules had cared to find out how she was doing. Except Jughead. He'd always cared. Always asked. How had she been so blind?
"Um, I'm…I'm…" Should she lie and tell him she's fine? Or, tell the truth and say how miserable she was? Find a middle point and pretend he only asked out of politeness? Her brain stalled as it tried to find a way to say nothing and everything at the same moment. Giving up on the first question, she proceeded to the second. "I got a letter from Polly a couple of days ago. She found the opportunity to run away from the Sisters a few weeks ago and she held off on contacting me until now because she wanted to get to safety first. I'm a bit skeptical about her idea of safety. She says it's a commune of sorts and she's waiting for her baby's father to join her. Oh, yeah, we were right, she's pregnant. Though she won't tell me who the father is. She was pretty vague about a lot of the facts because she was afraid the letter might get intercepted…"
Jughead closed his eyes and rested his head against the back of the the couch. He took a long, shallow, stuttering breath. "'M glad she's okay.
"Me too." Betty handed Jughead her burger. She'd only taken a couple of bites and wasn't really hungry. His was already long gone. Nothing could dampen his hunger.
"Do you want to go look for her?" He asked before starting in on the second burger.
"Stop, Juggie, just stop." She gripped his leg right above the knee. Her eyes stung with the gathering of tears. "Stop seeing the best in me…"
"What?" He croaked. Putting the burger aside, he turned his complete focus on her. His deep blue eyes pierced through her masks and into her soul.
"Juggie, please. I didn't seek you out to drag you into another one of my problems…"
"I don't mind. There's no other way I'd choose…" He was interrupted by another body racking cough. Through the spots where their bodies touched, she felt the vibrations of the fit to the very marrow of her bones.
She waited for him to finish coughing and take a deep breath before continuing. Grasping his hand, she held it tight. "I came to apologize."
He shook his head. With the hand not clasped by hers, he kneaded his chest, while his exhalations came out in tight, gasping pants. "Betty—"
"Listen. Please." Her lips quivered. Any pretense of being put together slipped away as raw honesty bled from her words. "I'm so sorry. I panicked."
"It's okay, I understand. I didn't mean to burden you." Though he gave her hand a squeeze and his body unconsciously shifting towards hers, she felt the distance his words were trying to create between them.
Shaking her head, she bit back the frustration bubbling in her gut. She needed to make this right. Why wouldn't he let her apologize? "No, it's not okay, it's not right. And, it's not a burden. Your love is never a burden."
No, no, no. His lips formed the words in silent protest. Even unverbalized, his protest filled the room with a screaming echo.
"I lo—" Betty began, but Jughead interrupted her by placing a finger to her lips. He shook his head. The inky locks of hair escaped from his beanie swooped across his clammy forehead.
"Don't say it unless you mean it." His voice was a harsh croak, rasping painfully against his throat and lips. Each word was accompanied by a wheezing breath. "I couldn't bear it…"
Oh. That's why. His survival depended on grasping onto the last vestiges of hope. He feared whatever she said would decimate his last lifeline.
She was mesmerized by his lips. They were chapped and dry, but she couldn't think of anything she wanted to do more at the moment then kiss them. She swallowed hard. Her tongue flickered across her lips. She knew what she had to do.
Moving in close so that his face filled her entire frame of vision and her face filled his, Betty cupped his cheek. "Juggie, I love you. I always have, but I was scared by how much loving you made me feel. So, I chose the easy path, the one away from you. And I am so sorry."
Tears streamed down her cheeks. He tugged the sleeve of his blue and gold flannel over his hand and gently wiped the tears from her cheeks. His eyes were far from dry too.
Leaning in, she pressed her lips to his and kissed him. She tried to convey everything she felt for him which had been unspoken for far too long. He responded in kind. It was an awkward and fumbling first kiss for both of them. Despite clashing teeth and tangled hands trying to be everywhere at once, it was a release. A torrent of emotions which they'd kept bottled up for so long now, flowed over them in their fevered embrace and nearly drowned them with every passion she had long denied and he had succumbed to. The kiss ended abruptly as Jughead jerked back, pushing Betty away in the progress.
Betty stared in shock, the pang of rejection crystalizing for a moment before Jughead once again doubled over as he coughed. It wasn't rejection, but that brief moment when she thought she lost him was more than enough for her to forever know what Juggie had gone through for her. She moved to his side and gingerly touched his back. It had helped in the past when she'd witnessed these spells. When she felt the knotted muscles ease at her touch, she continued to work the taut lines pulled across his back. All the while he coughed, she whispered in a fevered mantra, "I love you. I love you. I love you," as though if she effused the entirety of her love into him she could ease his suffering.
After what felt like forever, the coughing ceased. Sweat beaded his brow and blood stained his lips. Betty helped as he struggled to sit upright. Though his breath smelled of blood and flowers, all Betty wanted to do was kiss him, to beg him to be okay. Even with his strength drained, he managed to give her hand a tight reassuring squeeze.
After a moment, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, filling his obstructed lungs with as much oxygen as possible. His chest heaved with the exchange. He took another deep breath.
His eyes shot open. Though surprise and disbelief ran through his expression, the deep blue of his eyes was clearer and brighter than she'd seen it in months. He scrabbled at his chest, tugging at his t-shirt and kneading the spot over his lungs. Taking a third deep breath, Jughead gave into a hoarse, near-hysteric laughter. He swayed from side to side.
"Juggie?" Betty didn't know what was happening. Was he okay? Was the disease worsening? Had she been too late? Did she need to call 9-1-1?
"I can breathe." Though there was a slight hitch and shortness of breath as he made his proclamation, it was true. The following breaths were not as deep, but they were regular.
"What does this mean?" Betty found her breathing falling in time with his.
"Usually I only get one good breath before the space is filled up with new growth." He winced as each word irritated his battered windpipe. "I think I'll keep coughing up shoots for a bit, but no more will grow."
"You're…you're cured?" Betty's mind struggled to comprehend the enormity of what had happened. It seemed too easy.
He hesitated. His brow furrowed. She recognized it as his thinking face, the one he wore when he was reviewing his facts before making a pronouncement. 'Yeah. I ought to get a doctor's confirmation, but yeah…." He slumped to the side, resting the side of his head against the top of her head. "Thank you."
"There's no need to thank me," she mumbled. Shame burned at her cheeks, if she'd been honest with herself from the beginning, none of this would have happened. "It's my fault…I should have…before now…."
"Betts, it's okay. It's not your fault. I should have confessed to loving you earlier. I was scared too." It was his turn to cup her face and turn it towards his. He pressed his forehead to hers. "No more regrets. We keep moving forward. And know that I will never stop loving you."
"I love you too. I will always love you." Silently, Betty vowed she would do her best so that Jughead would never again doubt her love for him.
With a clean slate before them, Betty leaned in to kiss him at the same moment he leaned into her. This time it didn't end abruptly. When they finally pulled apart, they were both breathing heavy in the euphoria of requited love.
Though Betty tasted the traces of his blood and blossoms on her lips, she couldn't help but look forward to their next kiss as she touched her kiss swollen lips. She sighed happily and tucked into the crook of Juggie's arm. Her head rested against his chest and she thought there was never a more beautiful sound than him breathing in a steady exchange. Each breath grew stronger. With an arm wrapped tight around her shoulders, he held her close.
Betty's eyes fluttered shut. There was a lot they would need to deal with in the coming days, but presently, she was happy and content and wanted to prolong the moment. "I like the ending of our story better than how it usually ends in the movies."
"Me too," Jughead agreed. He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. "But, Betts, our story isn't over. It's just beginning."
(~End of Part One – Lily-of-the-Valley~)
—
—
Author's Note:
Nine Tailors is a reference to one of Dorothy Sayers' Sir Peter Whimsy novels. Beyond the mystery, when reading this one, you learn quite a bit about the tolling of church bells. In bell ringing, 'nine tailors' refers to the pattern used to signify the death of a man in the community.
The line "ask not for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee," comes from Meditation XVII by John Donne. In this meditation, he reflects on death, life, community, and the interconnection of humanity.
Thank you so much for reading! Your kudos, comments, and support are greatly appreciated and mean so much. As I wrap up part one, I'm going to take a short break from 'Breathing in Your Love' to start posting another story. I'll be back soon with Part Two.