Three weeks later, Jughead was pleasantly surprised to find that he truly enjoyed spending time with Betty. She was intelligent, kind, witty, and her taste in movies was almost as good as his own (almost - he had trouble looking past her love for Mean Girls).
As time passed and their friendship grew, he found that his interest in finding out the truth had shifted from a simple curiosity to a genuine concern for her wellbeing. It often took Betty hours and sometimes days to respond to texts, and on the rare occasions when they could hang out, it was short and sporadic, and always in his own apartment.
Though closed-off initially, Betty had slowly begun opening up more and more to Jughead as time went on. He learned that she had gone to NYU for journalism for two years but had "discontinued her education" (Jughead filed this information away for later consideration), had an older sister named Polly who lived on a farm in Montana, loved strawberry milkshakes more than any other food or drink, and lived with her boyfriend of four years, Lucas.
The first time Betty mentioned Lucas, Jughead immediately became suspicious. They were lounging on the couch after finishing another movie (Hitchcock this time, thank God) when conversation turned to Jughead's job – Betty's eyes shone with desire as she listened to Jughead describe his responsibilities and his goal of publishing a novel of his own.
"You're so lucky," Betty said wistfully. "I'd love to have a job like that."
"You could always finish school." Jughead suggested. "Only two years left, right? And you could probably take night classes if you don't have time during the day because of work or whatever."
Betty's face fell and she hugged her knees to her chest.
"Oh," she said softly. "No, I don't think that's possible. Lucas probably wouldn't like it."
"Lucas?" Jughead asked, interest piqued.
"Yeah," Betty replied, playing with her hair. "Lucas is my boyfriend. I live with him now, we've been together since I was a freshman at NYU. He works very hard for us, so he doesn't want me to worry about having a job or going to school."
Jughead hummed in response, deciding not to inform Betty that that behavior was highly unhealthy in a relationship. He had found that any time he tried to bring up Betty's life, such as the fact that she rarely left the apartment building – much less her own apartment – she would laugh it off and quickly change the subject, or completely shut him down and make up an excuse as to why she had to suddenly leave.
This time around, she quickly turned the conversation around to him, asking him what his novel would be about. She was definitely hiding something from him, and Jughead would assume she was hiding it from her other friends as well, except that he wasn't sure she had any other friends.
On the following Saturday night, Jughead sat at his desk, blank Word document open on his laptop before him, thoughts turning to Betty instead of the story he had initially wanted to start working on. The information he had gathered so far on her behavior was swirling around his mind, and he quickly began typing it out to organize his material, completely forgoing his novel-writing.
What are the facts?
1. Betty is hiding something
2. She lives with her boyfriend, Lucas (4 year relationship)
3. Split lip – secretive
4. Closed-off in general…where are family or friends?
5. Dropped out of school, probably because of Lucas, restricted from getting a job
6. Lying to protect someone?
He had just finished typing the last fact when a loud bang interrupted his train of thought. Something was going on in Betty's apartment again. Jughead remained at his desk, fingers paused over the keyboard, listening. A murmur of voices, a pause, then the sound of something shattering.
Jughead shot up out of his chair and rushed to his door. He threw it open and was just about to run over to 304 when the door was flung open and a man stumbled out. Jughead retreated back into his doorway but kept his eyes on the man. He was obviously drunk, wearing jeans, t-shirt, and a flannel that was rumpled and hanging off his left shoulder. He didn't turn to face Jughead, instead stumbling his way over to the stairs, so Jughead couldn't get a good look at his face.
Once the heavy footsteps of who Jughead presumed to be Lucas had faded down the stairs, Jughead quietly moved to 304. Lucas hadn't even bothered to close the door behind him, so Jughead poked his head through the doorway and gently knocked on the wood.
"Betty?" He called. "It's Jughead. Are you in here?"
She didn't answer, but he heard shuffling and the tinkling of glass coming from the kitchen.
"Betty, I'm coming in." Jughead warned, and then made his way into the apartment. The layout was identical to his, and he quickly headed to the kitchen.
"Holy shit." He gasped as he turned the corner. Betty was crumpled on the floor against the fridge, looking quite the mess in rumpled clothing and messy hair, surrounded by shards of broken glass that she was desperately trying to clean up with her bare hands before Jughead reached her.
"Hey, hey, stop that," Jughead said, crouching down to pull her bleeding fingers away from the mess. "You're hurting yourself."
Betty didn't seem to hear him. "It – It was just an accident, I was clumsy and – and I dropped it, I swear."
Jughead brushed her hair away from her face. Her left cheek was red and well on its way to bruising. The split lip which had just recently healed over had returned, thick blood dripping sluggishly down her chin. She wasn't crying, but her fists were tightly clenched, and her eyes were empty.
"Betty, did he hurt you? Did Lucas do this?"
"It's nothing, Jughead." Betty said, pulling away from his touch. "He just – it doesn't matter. Don't worry about it."
"Jesus, Betty, you're bleeding on the floor! There's shattered glass all around you and your face –"
"My face?" Betty said questioningly. She unclenched her right hand and raised her fingers to probe at her face. Her expression turned to one of surprise as she felt the warm blood on her chin and the apparent soreness of her cheek.
"Are you hurt anywhere else?" Jughead asked, concern skyrocketing at the fact that she didn't even seem aware that she'd been hurt. "Do I need to call an ambulance?"
Betty shook her head violently.
"No, no, no ambulance." She said vehemently. "I'm fine, just a little accident."
"Betty –" Jughead cut himself off, sighing. First order of business was making sure Betty was okay. Then they could talk. "C'mon, let me help you get cleaned up."
He rose to his feet, and stuck out his hands to help Betty up. She hesitated a moment, then placed her bloodied hands into his and allowed him to help her stand and lead her to the bathroom.
"First aid kit?" He asked, motioning for her to sit on the edge of the tub.
"Under the sink." She said, and Jughead retrieved it before kneeling in front of her.
For Jughead, this was nothing new – being involved with the Serpents as well as being best friends with Archie, Riverdale's resident bleeding heart and grade-A klutz, meant that Jughead had his fair share of experiences patching up injured people. But Jughead wondered if this was out of the ordinary for Betty, if she never had anyone there to put band-aids on her cuts and ice on her bruises, if she had to do it all herself.
He took his time making sure he was thorough, while filling the awkward silence with a story about the time he and Jellybean had gotten lost while on a camping trip (totally her fault, by the way). Betty smiled softly at the mention of Jughead's sister – one of the things they had in common was their love for their siblings. As he chattered about Jellybean's terrible sense of direction, he pulled glass from her fingers and wrapped band-aids around the slices, and tightly wound gauze around her palms, where small crescent-shaped cuts were sluggishly bleeding. He rolled up the sleeves of her hoodie to make sure he had gotten all the cuts from the glass, but felt his blood go cold when he saw dark bruises on her forearm, in the distinct shape of fingers.
Betty avoided his gaze, chewing the inside of her cheek, and Jughead finished bandaging in silence.
When he finished, he carefully packed away the supplies and returned the first aid kit to its place under the sink.
"C'mon," he said. "Let's have hot cocoa."
He lead the way out of the bathroom and made sure Betty was sitting comfortable on the couch with a pillow and blanket before he headed to the kitchen. He found a broom and dustpan in the closet and quickly swept up the broken glass, then took a wet paper towel to some smears of blood. Once he was satisfied with his work, he fixed two mugs of hot cocoa, and brought them out to the living room.
Betty smiled gratefully when he handed one to her, and he sat down on the couch, making sure to maintain some distance. He took a sip of his drink and then sighed.
"Okay, Betty." He said. "What the hell is going on here?"