Screw her.
Cheryl Blossom back at the restaurant, probably plotting a new way to keep Betty from her friends or screw over what remained of her family.
It was unfair to blame Cheryl for everything that happened, but damned if Betty wasn't going to try. She was tired and scared and angry and splattered in another man's blood. And Cheryl was the only one around.
Since Betty had pushed Veronica away.
God, she should have left with Veronica, she thought for the six hundredth time since dawn. But back in Idaho, her head had been so filled with dread for Riverdale, dread for having to face everyone back there.
Everything sucked.
Probably Betty's own fault.
But Cheryl and her filthy family started it.
Betty played mental ping-pong like this all the way to the beach, every step a conflicting thought.
Should have left with Veronica, would rather die than go back to Riverdale, should have left with Veronica, the drug dealer's blood smeared across her kitchen floor…
Guilty, murder accomplice. No, it was self-defense, self-defense. Still dragged a dead body out into the woods and pushed his car into a river.
(Bad person.)
But not worse than some, like the Blossoms. But maybe not Cheryl, because Cheryl had certainly never assisted in covering up a murder. No, Betty, not a murder, it was self-defense, self-defense...
"It was self-defense. It was self-defense. Not guilty."
She repeated it over and over, trying to make it undeniably true, as if she could stabilize her morals with words like cement between bricks.
She looked up and saw the Pacific Ocean.
So, there it was.
She'd made it. She looked upon it and wanted to feel something great. Mostly, though, Betty just felt tired.
Tired of moving, of thinking, of breathing, of trying to justify her actions…
Maybe if it was any other time, Betty would have felt better. But it was spring break, and so the beach was crawling with drunk college students, scantily clad and ardently showing off their finely-sculpted bodies. Everyone was loud and rowdy, Betty wished for a quiet place.
She hoisted herself up onto the stone half-wall dividing the beach and the street, set her feet down in the sand. She looked out at the ocean and thought of the werewolf from the film, who'd killed animals and hurt people and drowned.
A flash of swinging the knife at the man from Greendale, of his blood that then turned to the blood on her kitchen floor.
Why did she have to contact Chic in the first place? What good thing was she possibly hoping would happen? He could only be bad news, given his past, his issues, his blood…
And back to the werewolf, arms frantic like she was just goofing around. She understood why Cheryl wanted to drown so many months ago at Sweetwater River. Not just because of Jason or her father, but because of the drama, the metaphor of it all. The long, drawn out suffering, spluttering for air and getting only damaging water, water that stings the lungs and sticks inside, that pushes her closer to death, pulls her unrelentingly under…
Everything felt like water.
A few tears slipped quietly from Betty's eyes, heavy and fat, landing on her lap in soft plops. She tried to keep from being obvious about it, allowed herself only a few quiet sniffles. No one likes crying in public.
A frisbee landed at her feet and Betty scrambled to wipe up her eyes and nose as the thrower approached.
"Hey!" The man hollered.
"Hey." Betty blinked the gloss from her eyes, leaned down and grabbed the frisbee.
"Thanks," the man said, taking the disc when Betty held it out. He was tall and lean, had hair dyed black, but red roots were peeking out at his scalp. And he was staring at her, head cocked. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," Betty lied, trying to keep her smile from wavering. "Rough day." Understatement, of course.
"You wanna play some frisbee?" the man offered. "We could hang for a while."
"Oh, I don't know." Betty smiled politely. "But thanks."
The man took a step closer. "Well, maybe you need to blow off some steam."
Betty shifted uncomfortably, wondering if he was about to proposition her.
"Because my buddies and I," he gestured toward his friends, who splashing about in the shallow waves without their frisbee, "are going to have a party tonight. A real wild party. But fun. Not like, gross and annoying."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, we'll have good music, good alcohol… Good other things."
"Drugs?"
"You're not a cop, are you?" The man with the frisbee laughed. "You look too young to be a cop."
"I'm not a cop."
"Then, yeah, good drugs. The stuff of legends."
"I'm not usually much of a party person," Betty admitted. She pictured the werewolf with black gums extending from her lips, fangs slipping out, well-manicured hands growing into coarse and clawed paws. "But I think it might be fun. I'm really only in town for tonight."
"Oh, that's perfect!" The man laughed. "It's one of those theme parties. End-of-the-world. Apocalypse. The last night on earth. You've gotta come."
"Okay, I might just do that. Can I bring my…" she hesitated to call Cheryl a friend, but she did so anyway, for lack of a better word.
"Yeah, I suppose you can." The man extended a hand and Betty shook it. "I'm Ben."
"Nice to meet you, Ben. I'm Betty."
"Betty. That's a nice name. The party's at the West Road Hotel, if you're serious about coming. Down that way just a couple of blocks." He pointed down the street. "Starts at nine."
"Nine PM?"
"Yep. Nine PM."
"Wild."
"You'll be there?"
The beach buzzed with carefree students, with sunshine, water on water.
"Yeah, I'll be there."
Ben smirked. "Sweet." He leaned against the half-wall. "So, what are you and your friend doing here only for tonight?"
"We're kind of on vacation," Betty said. "It's like a road trip thing."
"Fun."
"Uh, something like that."
"Not fun?"
Betty shrugged. It had been fun, at the beginning, when they were wearing robes and sipping champagne straight out of the bottle. And Betty thought Cheryl actually cared about her at least an ounce… "It has its ups and downs."
"I promise you the party will be an up," Ben smiled.
"If you say so."
"I should get back to my friends."
"Oh. Okay," Betty said. She sounded more disappointed than she was, just because she didn't want to go back to the diner and face Cheryl. She wouldn't really miss Ben's company, though she let him believe that was it because he gave a little smirk and stroked her shoulder.
"Can't wait for tonight."
"Can't wait."
And after another walk between the beach and the diner, Betty was entirely in her head, scolding herself, her friends, her family, mumbling and cursing under her breath.
She swore softly as she saw the walls of the diner rising up from the sidewalk in front of her. Back to making stupid decisions.
/
The party was probably one of those decisions. Cheryl had been easy to sway; she was always down for chaos, and the most apt word to describe the party was indeed chaos.
The bass pumped across the ballroom, which was poorly-lit and throbbing with a smattering of drunk teenagers dancing to the beat.
"Jesus, Betty, leave it to you to find the trashiest party in town."
"You threw a party exactly like this over Jughead's birthday."
"Uh, you were the one that planned that party, Cooper."
Betty rolled her eyes, opened her mouth to retort, but was interrupted by a hand on her shoulder.
"Hey, you came!" It was Ben.
"Hey! I did," Betty said and slid his hand off of her arm. "Ben, this is Che—" Cheryl had left. "That's Cheryl," Betty corrected, pointing across the ballroom to where Cheryl was pouring something into a red Solo cup.
"She looks nice," Ben said. "Not friendly-nice. Well-groomed nice."
It was probably a lie; Betty and Cheryl had been wearing the same clothes all week and they were certainly not well-groomed.
"Do you want to come meet some of my friends?" Ben asked.
"Sure," Betty agreed, only because she couldn't think of anything better to do.
Ben walked her over to another room where the music was quieter, though the bass could still be heard thumping from the other room and rattling around in Betty's chest.
Ben introduced her to the people standing in a close huddle and drinking from red Solo cups. They were all dressed like he was: in dark colors with jewelry and piercings. Betty's mother would have called them delinquents and ruffians.
Despite this, they had gentle names like Ben and Andy and Ted. Betty found this oddly endearing, so she planted herself in the huddle and let them make conversation with her.
"So, Betty, Ben tells us you're on a road trip. You take a lot of road trips?" the one named Ted asked.
"Nope," Betty said honestly. "This is kind of a first."
"Nice. You and that other girl traveling alone?" Ben asked.
"Yep. Just blowing off steam, I guess."
"Are you still in high school?"
"Yeah. I'm a sophomore."
"Well why aren't you traveling with family, then?" Ben asked. "I always had to be with my family during break till I was in college."
Betty avoided the question. "You're in college? Where do you go?"
"Nowhere, anymore." Ben's face darkened a bit.
"What happened?"
"Money. Stopped being able to afford it."
"Oh. I'm sorry."
"It was just one of those things, I guess."
"I know what you mean."
Betty realized that Ben's friends were dispersing, mulling about the smaller room, leaving the two alone.
"I'm having fun on this trip," Betty lied, "but I do miss my boyfriend."
Ben raised an eyebrow, as she was hoping he would. "Boyfriend? Where does he live?"
"Same town as me. Far away from here."
Ben nodded solemnly. "Where's your friend? She seemed, uh, excited to be here."
"What do you mean?"
"Just that I saw her earlier and until just then, I've never seen anyone drink that much straight-up vodka before."
"She did what?" Betty hoped she'd misheard over the music from the other room.
"Yeah," Ben laughed, "she's crazy. But it's cool. That's what spring break is for, right?"
"I guess?" Betty turned around, looked back to see if she could spot the redhead somewhere in the other room, but it was hopeless. "But how do you have a spring break? You're not in school. Did your work give you time off?"
Ben laughed bitterly. "Oh, I'm eternally on break now, Miss Betty. All four seasons."
"Oh. Sorry."
"It's okay. I think my luck's going to change soon."
"Why do you say that? Something coming up?"
"Something like that."
"What have you got planned, like—"
Betty was interrupted by Cheryl grabbing her on the shoulder, other hand white on the neck of a brown bottle.
"Betty!" She squawked drunkenly, too loud over the music.
"Cheryl… God, are you okay?"
"I'm grrrrreat," Cheryl slurred.
"You sound like Tony the Tiger," Betty said flatly.
"Hell yeah! I love Toni."
"Really? The tiger?"
Cheryl bared her teeth in a mock snarl. "She's no tiger, she's a classless serpent bitch but she is, like," Cheryl grinned flirtatiously, "yeah."
Betty stood in silence for a moment. "Okay?"
"But that's not why I found you. Betty. I am having an insane night. Perfect climax to our Kerouac trip."
"What?"
"Only because of the intoxication. Not the misogyny and thinly-veiled racism."
Again, Betty could only say, "Okay…"
"Try some of this!" Cheryl foisted the bottle into Betty's hands.
"What is it?"
"No idea. Exquisite?"
"No thanks."
Cheryl's face went angry. "Come on, Cooper."
"Yeah, Cooper, it's spring break!" Ben cheered from behind her.
"Yes!" Cheryl pointed at him excitedly.
Betty rolled her eyes, took a swig, expecting beer. Instead, it tasted like hand sanitizer.
"Ew!" Betty shoved the bottle back to Cheryl, smacking her tongue against her mouth, trying to rid it of the strong taste. "Be careful with that."
"Just wait," Cheryl said with a snap and a point. "You'll feel it in a second."
"Cheryl, why on earth would you drink that?" Betty asked, shaking her head angrily. "Do you not remember the fiasco with Nick St. Clair?"
Cheryl reached forward, grabbed Betty by the collar. "I do."
She let Betty go with a push and stormed away.
"Your friend's a trip," Ben chuckled.
"I guess," Betty said reluctantly, annoyed at Ben and Cheryl's cavalierness. "I'm kind of concerned for her."
Ben wrapped her arm around Betty, and she eyed it hesitantly. "Actually, later tonight my friends and I are going to this little beach that no one goes to. It's a great place to talk and rest. You could bring your friend Cheryl. No drinking, no drugs."
"There are really drugs at this party?" Betty asked tensely. "Hard core drugs?"
"Yeah, honey, I told you there would be drugs at this party," Ben said as if he had warned her it was going to rain and she hadn't listened. "But there won't be at the beach. Can I count you two in?"
There was something not quite right about following a flirtatious, older, near-stranger to a secluded beach, Betty wasn't stupid. But the party was probably a worse scene, all drugs and alcohol and music so loud no one could hear you scream.
"Sure thing. When are we going?"
"My friends and I were thinking of taking off in like an hour."
"Sounds good," Betty complied. She found a couch in the corner, old and worn and stained with mysterium, but empty. And not drenched in strong-smelling liquor, like most everything and everyone else at the party.
She took a seat, started to feel whatever it was Cheryl had made her try. It was in her head, her ears. All fuzzy and warm, numbing. But something else, something sickening. Nothing like what she had felt after the champagne that damned first night on the road.
Betty tried to stop herself from ruminating in the rise and fall of the whole ugly journey. She had moped enough in the past few days. Instead, she got up and found an unopened brown bottle, retreated to the couch with it.
Whatever that chemically delicious beverage was, it sure made the time fly as Betty felt her rationality and her worries slip further and further from herself.
Fifteen blaring songs later, Ben approached Betty to tell her they were headed to the beach soon. Betty had to find Cheryl and drag her out of the madhouse.
It was hard to navigate the party, swimming in her own head and pushing past crowds of dancing drunks. "Cheryl?" Betty called, the alcohol putting her holler in a singsong voice. "Cheeeryl?"
"Betty!" Betty whirled to see Cheryl right in front of her, leaning back on her heels, still trashed.
"Hey, Cheryl, we're going to leave and go—" Betty was cut off by the feeling of Cheryl pressing her tongue against Betty's.
She pushed her cousin away, staggered backwards. "What the hell?"
"Come on!" Cheryl shouted around her tongue, still hanging out, a white dot on the tip. "It's a game!" She took the little white pill out of her mouth. "I try to get it to dissolve on your tongue! It's fun, it's fun!"
"What the hell is wrong with you? What is that?"
"Oxycodone!" Cheryl beamed.
"What?" Betty's stomach twisted. "No, no, no. We are leaving and we are leaving now."
"We can't leave! They have heroin!"
"They have what?"
"Heroin! I might as well at least try the stuff that got my family so rich, right?"
"No. I'm not going to let you shoot heroin."
"Come on, Betty. We're not going to shoot heroin, we're going to snort it," Cheryl said as if it made a difference.
"I'm not going to let you do that, either!" Betty said shrilly, trying to reason over the alcohol. "You'll like, die, you're already so trashed."
"I am not," Cheryl huffed. "I'm fine."
"Yeah, Cheryl? You're not. You just said you were on X," Betty said, her voice hoarse from trying to talk over the music.
"Well, yeah, that's exactly why I'm so fine, Cousin Betty!"
"Come on, we're getting out of here."
"At least tell me where we're going."
"To the beach. With Ben."
"Who the hell is Ben?"
"Some guy."
"I'm leaving just because you want to flirt with 'some guy.'"
"Well, I'm not letting you stay and probably kill yourself by overdose," Betty said with a roll of her eyes. She grabbed Cheryl by the arm, pulled her through the crowd and outside as Cheryl protested. She could only hear fragments of Cheryl's retaliation as the beat rose and fell.
"You know what your problem is, Elizabeth Cooper?" Cheryl shouted as they made it back to the street corner. Betty didn't answer, just folded her arms and waited for Ben. What she really wanted was to get back to a hotel and sleep off the cotton that that drink had packed in her head. "Your problem is that you think you're so much better than everyone else!"
"That's not true," Betty grumbled. "I just know that you shouldn't do freaking heroin at a sketchy party two thousand miles from home."
Cheryl scoffed.
"But, hey, fine, Cheryl. Next time you want to overdose on drugs or drown yourself in a river or burn your own house down or take some other insane, off-the-handle, glaringly dangerous course of action that could get you killed, maybe no one will be around to stop you."
"No one will be around to stop me? Hey, I didn't ask anyone to stop me from doing any of those things."
Betty raised an eyebrow. That Cheryl had been behind the fire at Thornhill was a drunken, angry guess. But of course she'd been right; why would anything in Riverdale ever just be a tragic accident?
"Maybe someone should stop you before you beat the shit out of someone who's already down! Maybe someone should stop you from roofying someone and almost drowning them in a hot tub as a torturous interrogation tactic!"
"I didn't—" Betty started, but stopped when she realized she had nothing to truthfully deny. "I'm not like that. I'm not like you, Cheryl."
"Really, Betty?" Cheryl paced back and forth. "Because I think you're exactly like that. I think you can feel it. God, Betty, I thought you were so much better than everyone else. You thought you were so much better than everyone else! But you know what, Betty? You're a Blossom. You're cruel and poisonous and selfish just like everyone else. I saw you abandon Veronica Lodge the other night. I know you're running from something. Something awful. You're—"
"Shut up, Cheryl. I am not like that. No one's evil just because of their blood." Betty though she could feel her skull rattling behind her eyes.
"You are a Blossom, Betty," Cheryl said evenly, dangerously. "And the Blossoms are evil. That's why your great grandfather is dead. That's why our families split down the middle and want strangle the other side out. That's why the Uktena are just bone meal in the ground, why Jason's gone, why Riverdale just keeps getting darker and darker and more and more corrupted and everything around us is so twisted and vile. The Blossoms are irredeemable, Betty. And I thought maybe you were proof otherwise, but I was wrong. You are the same. You are exactly the fucking same, Betty Cooper."
The road called from miles away, drowned out by the muffled party and by the awful tension left by Cheryl's words. Betty stared at the ground. Her blood felt hot and mean. Betty wanted to prove Cheryl wrong, wanted to put her in her place but she couldn't think of the right words.
She looked up.
A dark and empty street, Cheryl Blossom gone.
/
A/N: Holy hell guys how bout that Cheryl/Toni kiss last week… I yelped. I cried. That moment is one for the history books. It's homophobic that we have to wait so long for A Night to Remember but whatever. Reviews will help April 18th come faster.
