Moose asked Archie where he'd wanted the kegs. My steely glare was on the red-haired demon, but it didn't seem to matter much. Because Archie's lips broke into a wide smile, and he replied, "One in the kitchen, one in the backyard!" And that's when all the people here to party began to cheer. And it's when Jughead flooded with disappointment and started for the back door. Unwanted guests started pouring in and the sound of disgust I'd made was easily drowned out by the noise.
I turned on my heel, and headed for the garage. It was the one place of refuge among this train wreck of an idea. And it was the one place I found Jughead. He sat in the plush chair next to the couch, scratching behind Vegas's ear. The dog sat beside the chair, looking just about as alone as I was sure Jughead was feeling, when I walked in. Jughead's eyes looked up. "Hey," he said, all emotion void.
"Hey," I replied, sighing. I took steps toward him. "I'm really sorry, Jughead."
"Did you know about this? About what was going to happen tonight?"
It wasn't as accusatory as it sounded. It came out sounding more curious than anything. I dropped into his lap, swinging my legs up over the large arm rest of the chair, blowing a puff of air through my lips. The music was obnoxiously pouring in through the open door of the garage. But I tried my best to tune it out.
"Yeah. I honestly tried to stop them, but...I don't know...I thought maybe- maybe you'd actually like something on your birthday this year. I know it's a stupid thought—you never like to do anything on your birthday. I really thought Betty was actually going to keep it inner circle," I explained, gently.
He sighed. "It feels like we're in the middle of a Seth Rogen movie."
"Couldn't have said it better myself."
I'd nodded a little, before dropping my head onto his shoulder. He was quiet a short moment. Even without looking, I could tell he was deep in thought. And then, he spoke, putting me in a position I'd never thought of being in before then. "It's just so...not me. Why would Betty do this?" he questioned, slightly just thinking out loud.
"I don't know. You're her boyfriend now, Jug. And you know Betty—she wanted to do something nice. She just didn't really think it through," I answered, slowly. Then, pulling up my head, I used a bit of a more upbeat tone. "But, hey- at least now she knows what not to do next year."
"How do you do it, Diana? How do you act so happy on your birthday?" he asked, finally meeting my eyes.
I sat up a little, gathering my words. I'd never been asked that question. Mostly because the only person that knew every year that I was faking, was Jughead. "I tell myself it's for Cash. I'd rather be in physical pain than see her cry, I guess," I shrugged. A sudden knock on the garage's wooden door caused me to startle, twisting to see it behind me.
FP was slowly entering the small building, something tucked under his arm. A present. There was something off about his expression. A certain shade of something resembling awareness. It was in his eyes—how they flickered between Jughead and I. Like he'd interrupted something more than what it really was. But it changed as soon as he spoke.
"Happy birthday, Jughead," he said, stopping a few feet from the chair. I pushed myself off, standing up. Jughead got up the second I was off. He seemed just as surprised as I was to see FP, of all people, here at Archie's house. "I didn't know you had this many friends."
"I don't," Jughead shook his head. "Fair warning—you're the only adult here."
"So I gather. Where can I put this?" FP held up the present.
I gestured toward the house with a hand, "There's a table. In the den."
He nodded, and suddenly that shade of awareness flushed back to his face, this time accompanied by something else—warning. He started out of the garage, saying he'd be back, and disappeared into the crowd. "What was that about?" Jughead asked, just as clueless as I was. I'd opened my mouth to speak. But, as soon as I had, Betty stepped into the open doorway of the garage. And suddenly the temperature in the room dropped a degree.
I excused myself then—saying it was to get a drink—and quickly ducked outside. I'd wanted to stand up for Jughead. But he needed to have this conversation with Betty by himself. He needed to fight at least some of his battles on his own. I wandered from the garage and into the house. It was a struggle, fighting the sea and crowded spaces to get to an empty spot. I was a bit surprised to find FP and Joaquin in the kitchen.
There was no trace of Kevin where they leaned their lower backs into the counter, watching Ethel cut and serve cake at the island. Crossing my arms, I walked over to the Serpents in civilian clothing. "You two look cozy," I sighed, commenting sarcastically. The words drew their attentions to my presence.
"Could say the same for you and Jughead a few minutes ago," FP replied, sliding his hands into his pants pockets. "There's, uh...nothing going on there—is there?"
My eyebrows furrowed. "Me and Jughead? How high are you?"
FP almost—almost—rolled his eyes at me. Joaquin responded, smirking. "Five-nine, depending on the fast food joint," he commented. Then it was my turn to almost roll my eyes as I huffed a chuckle. Ethel offered me cake, but I politely declined, blaming it on my athlete's diet. Even though, Lord only knows I never had a diet plan. Then Joaquin poked fun, saying something about me going soft. To which FP warned him to watch his next words.
It was surprising, but it was nice. FP really was stepping up. Acting like a father. Still only to the wrong man's child, but he was making visible steps. It happened in a second. Jughead had entered the house, come through the living room and into the kitchen. He dodged Ethel's cake offering to say he was basically ditching his own party. My eyebrows drew together in concern at the agitation in him.
I hurried forward, grabbing his arm to stop him from leaving the kitchen. And he turned on me with such fury—the kind I had never seen from Jughead Jones in all of his existence. "Nice job, Diana. You couldn't have- oh, I don't know- given me a head's up? Or maybe tried harder to keep this from happening?" he spat at me, his tone in an almost whisper-yell. "You're like my sister—you're supposed to make sure things like this don't happen on my birthday."
"Jug, I told you- I tried!" I instantly replied, my head recoiling from the force of his words.
His eyes were dark, words almost venomous, "Yeah, well, you didn't try hard enough, did you?"
His heated gaze bore into me with such intensity—I thought mine might actually burst into flames. If looks could kill, my mom would have said. But he was right. I could have, and should have, tried harder. Then you have to ask, wouldn't Veronica have pushed Betty to do it anyway all the same? Apparently Jughead wasn't thinking like that. He wasn't thinking of reality.
Jughead was too full of anger to see anything other than my biggest failure. And he was taking it as a betrayal. The funny thing was—that's how it felt to me, too. "Jughead...I'm sorry-" I choked on the last word, stopping myself when my voice cracked. I was about to cry. I could feel it creeping up in my throat, the water surging into my eyes. This couldn't have been happening—and yet it was. Jughead only shook his head with a heavy sigh as he pulled free from my hand on his arm.
He promptly left the kitchen. Leaving me in stunned and emotional silence. His outburst was not only unexpected and uncharacteristic, but it cut into my chest like a sharp butcher's knife. All hopes I'd had for that night deflated with my shoulders. Just another thing to leave me. It'd felt so final. It'd felt like the end. Like Jughead and I had just broken up. And this time, I was the one getting dumped.
WARNING:
THE FOLLOWING CONTENT MAY BE STRONGLY TRIGGERING. IF YOU HAVE/HAVE HAD THOUGHTS OF SUICIDE OR SELF HARM, PLEASE MOVE ON TO THE NEXT CHAPTER, WHERE YOU WILL BE FILLED IN ON THE PREVIOUS PARTS MORE MILDLY. PLEASE USE CAUTION.
It was safe to say that my will to live was shattered that night. Whatever piece I had left of it, anyway. I'd left the party shortly after Jughead stormed out of the kitchen. There was no reason for me to be there after that—especially since my one reason for being there in the first place had left. My feet had taken me straight to Ben's.
My life had been one big mistake after another. That much was clear. I'd shut Killer out of the bedroom, gone to the bathroom and turned on the light. My mistakes were evident on my face as I looked into my own eyes in the mirror. There was pink in the skin around my eyes, my cheeks puffy, covered with dried tears. I hadn't tried hard enough. Jughead was right. Except I didn't just not try hard enough with him. I didn't try hard enough with everyone.
I hadn't tried hard enough with my parents in begging them to stay that Sunday morning two years ago. I hadn't tried hard enough to get Jason safely out of Riverdale and he died in the following days of my mistake. I hadn't tried hard enough with Archie—he fell in love with someone else because I wasn't good enough for him anymore. And I hadn't tried hard enough for Jughead. The one person in my life I couldn't stand to lose...left.
And that was enough. The moment my life began to end was coming full circle. It started to end on my front porch. It would end in my bathroom. Being the type of girl that liked shaving, I had a razor on the side of the tub. And to have a razor, you needed extra blades. Those blades were always stored in the small cupboard inside the mirror. I dug out the unopened box of blades and set them on the counter. All I could do was look at them.
For a long moment, I just thought. I thought about the things leading to this moment. I'd wondered if it was enough to take my own life. Little did I know that the real answer to this question was always, with absolutely no exception, no. Right then, in that moment, seeing my life in a box of razor blades—i'd told myself the answer was yes. It was all too much. Hiding from myself and everyone I ever loved. Pretending to be someone else.
I couldn't remember the last time I felt comfortable walking around as me, not this North side rendition of whatever in the world I used to be. And that was enough for me. Cash would be safe with Ben. With my death, there'd be no way he wouldn't feel guilty enough to keep her around and take care of her. Maybe Jughead would help sometimes? He knew how much I'd cared about my sister. I'd dropped my weight onto the floor.
My back was against the wall, opposite from the toilet a few feet away, a small blade in my open palm. I gripped the blade between my fingers in my left hand and held up my right wrist. That's when I stopped myself. Earlier this week, i'd gotten a small sweet pea bloom tattooed on my right inside wrist. It was closer to the base of my thumb. The image brought me to tears. It was a searing pain in my chest, the feeling of helplessness.
A strangled sob escaped me. I'd had no choice. There was no way to escape this web of lies i'd been spinning for two years. That's what I told myself as my hands began to shake. I gripped the blade tighter and I pressed the sharp edge into my skin. Pain immediately followed, causing more tears to fall from my eyes, but my desperation kept me pressing. I'd cut a deep line across the width of my wrist. Blood was coming through.
It trickled off my wrist and onto my clothes. But I didn't care. My body was in pain, but it was overtaken by a numbing determination to finish it. So I switched hands and began cutting my left wrist. It was jagged, uneven, from the trembling of my entire body. When I finished was when I knew—there was no going back. And it came to me then, all the people that would miss me. But it was too late. I'd already died in my heart.
Why not die everywhere else? I killed the one thing I might've had left after all of this. Myself. Hot, sharp pain was pulsating up my arms as I dropped the blade in the tub beside me. I sat back against the wall, taking deep breaths. It wouldn't be long. An overwhelming sense of guilt sent my hand into the front pocket of my sweatshirt. Blood was covering everything I touched. But I didn't care. I'd pulled out my cell phone and typed in a familiar number.
I'd sniffled hard to try and stop myself from crying further, waiting while the phone rang in my ear. I could feel it. Dizziness. Nausea. I was dying. Finally the other end clicked, but it was a voicemail. It beeped, letting me know I could start talking. So I did. "Hey, it's me. I just wanted you to know...no matter what happens- I love you," I spoke into the phone. My voice sounded like a tin can, shaking violently almost to a fault. "I've wanted to say that for so long, but this is my last chance. So don't forget that, okay? I...I love you so much. But it's better this way. And someday, you'll understand."
That's when I stopped. The moment I ended the call. Then I sat there on my bathroom floor, bleeding from both wrists, and I cried.
It was just after midnight. Sweet Pea made it to Diana's front door. It was odd, being so close to the front of the house. He'd never made it this close to the door before. Usually if he'd wanted in, he'd have to climb the trellis and knock on her window. But, this time, he was knocking on her door. A small voice came from the other side, "I'm coming!" It'd sounded like a child. Because it was. Cash was in the living room, watching cartoons.
Normally, she'd be in bed long before then. But it was the start of the weekend. Diana hadn't come to get her for bed time, so she'd stayed up as long as she could that night. She unlocked the door, pulling it open. It was unexpected to see such a tall man outside her door. But she noticed his tattoo, his leather jacket, almost immediately. And before he'd said a word, she'd pulled open the door fully. "Come on in," she said, relaxed in tone. "Diana's room is upstairs."
What was more unexpected, was the easiness of getting inside. But Sweet Pea went in, and Cash closed the door behind him. She promptly went back to the couch and jumped onto the cushion. Sweet Pea stood there in a stunned silence for a moment, eyes narrowed at the back of her head in curiosity. "Did Diana tell you I was coming?" he asked.
"No," she shook her head, twisting around to see him over the back of the couch. "But you're a Serpent, right?"
He nodded, though still confused. "Do you always open the door for Serpents?"
"Yeah. They don't come by as much as they used to, now that we live here. But Serpents are family so I let them in."
Sweet Pea took steps toward the stairs, shooting one last comment over his shoulder at the nine year old, "You've got to be careful with that, kid."
She seemed to ignore him, too invested in the plot twist of her cartoon to really listen anymore. Sweet Pea shook his head with a sigh, and continued up the stairs to Diana's room. He'd knocked once before he entered. There'd been no immediate response. But, what was more curious, was Diana's absence. Then he noticed it—the light pouring from beneath the closed bathroom door. There was no sound, only light.
He hadn't given it a second thought at first. But after a long moment of quiet, sitting on the chest at the end of her bed, he began to worry. So he stood and walked across the room to the bathroom door. His knuckles connected with the wood twice before he spoke. "Babe, you in there?" he asked, through the door. There was no response that followed, so he tried again. "Diana? Is everything okay?"
Nothing changed. The silence remained the same. He hadn't wanted to interrupt if it was something serious, or she needed to be alone. But something wasn't right about this. It hadn't seemed right since he walked in the bedroom door. Out of curiosity, he tried the knob. It wasn't locked. The knob turned, and the door opened. As the back of the door hit the wall, his heart moved into his throat, his eyes becoming as round as a full moon with sudden panic.
Diana was in the bathroom. But she lay still, sitting limply against the wall. It looked like she'd fallen to the right against the tub. What scared him was the red. Dark crimson covered the floor, her clothes, the side of the tub—it was everywhere. "No, no, no, no, no," he mumbled under his breath, surging forward. He nearly slipped in the red, but caught himself, dropping to his knees beside her body. "Diana? Diana, baby, come on."
His arms encircled her, pulling her unconscious body into his lap. The deep wounds on her wrists were all he could see. Desperately, he gripped both of her wrists, covering the wounds with his hands and squeezing tightly. It was an odd sensation. The blood from her wounds seeping through his fingers. There was no thrum of a pulse against his skin. And maybe there wasn't one. Maybe that was why the blood wasn't rushing out, just draining?
"Cash! Cash, get up here!" he shouted. It wasn't the best option. But it was all he had to work with. It took a moment for Cash to get up the stairs and into Diana's room. It was odd to hear his voice coming from the bathroom as she crossed the room.
Her face contorted in confusion, she arrived at the open bathroom. "What?" she questioned, before her eyes saw the gruesome scene. Then she gasped, concern causing immediate tears to fall from her eyes, onto her small rosy cheeks. "Diana! Wha- is she okay? What happened?!"
"She got hurt- you need to get a phone and call nine-one-one," he spoke quickly, trying to stay as calm as he could in front of Cash. "Go, Cash—go!"
Cash sprinted from the bathroom, through the bedroom, and down the stairs. The only phone she knew of to use was in the kitchen. It was positioned on the wall above the counter, next to the refrigerator. A place she could not reach. But she dragged a chair in from the dining room to use as a stool to get up. When she climbed up to the counter, and took the phone off the wall, her hands were shaking. As small as they were, they were trembling.
She pushed the nine once and the one twice and held the phone to her ear. When the operator answered the call, her panicked words came out in a rush. "My sister's hurt—there's blood everywhere! You have to hurry, please, we need help!" The operator tried to calm Cash down to get something more coherent out of her, all the while sending medics to the address.
Sweet Pea held onto Diana for dear life, hands clamped down around her wrists. This was the scene no one saw that night. It was the broken boy, holding the dying girl, hoping that holding her tightly enough would keep her alive. It was the shaking, the near-tears. His voice trembling as he begged her to stay. "Don't leave me, Diana," he pleaded. "Don't you dare leave me."