"Another one," he slurred, banging his empty shot glass against the wood-topped bar.
"No." Toni shook her head. "Absolutely not."
Her streaks of dyed pink hair looked like cotton candy to his alcohol-addled brain, and Jughead blinked twice to make sure he wasn't hallucinating the annual maple harvest festival at Pickens Park.
Betty probably loves that festival, he mused darkly, picturing her in an angelic white floral dress walking hand-in-hand with some rich preppy asshole. His eyes fluttered shut, imagining that same prick gloating after winning Betty a huge teddy bear at the ring toss booth and then convincing her to let him feel her up behind the refreshment stand.
Jughead nearly gagged.
"Please don't tell me you're about to hurl."
He forced his eyes open and glanced up to meet Toni's worried gaze in the dim bar light. The liquor bottles on the glass shelves behind her seemed to be dancing, swaying like trees in the breeze. Jughead rubbed his eyes. You're nowhere near Pickens Park, you moron. No, he was planted on an uncomfortable metal stool at the Whyte Wyrm, pathetically drowning his sorrows in cheap whiskey.
Like father, like son, Jughead thought bitterly. A wave of self-loathing shuddered through him and he cursed under his breath.
Toni watched him, unamused. "Should I get a bucket?"
"Screw you," he thundered aloud. "Pour me a drink."
Toni's hands rested on her hips. "Three shots is more than enough."
Jughead turned out the front pockets of his ripped jeans until he came up with a smattering of crumpled bills. He threw them on the bar. "You think I'm a deadbeat? That I can't pay for it?"
Toni sighed and pushed the pile of money back toward him. "Jughead, you're drunk."
"No shit, Topaz." His lips twisted up into a sour smirk. "I'm at a bar."
"At least your sarcasm is still intact." Toni rolled her eyes and turned toward the handful of other customers sitting at the bar.
Jughead huffed as Toni delivered cold beers from the tap to a group of random bikers he didn't recognize. "Are you going to serve me or not?"
Toni folded her arms over her chest and stared at him. "Jug, I don't know what happened between you and Betty, but I do know getting wasted isn't going to make it hurt less. Go home and sleep it off."
The sound of her name was like a needle scratching against his heart. But he didn't want the pain. He didn't want to think about Betty sniveling her apology as he'd waited for a miracle at her window, or how the dream girl he'd spent his entire summer in awe of was actually a weakling who'd picked her crappy, judgmental friends over him. He wanted oblivion. Wasn't that the whole point of losing yourself to the numbness of alcohol? To drown this shitty feeling out?
How much longer until I drown it out? His heart clenched. I need it out.
"Go home, Jug," Toni repeated, softer this time.
Jughead shook his head, his throat tightening in anger.
"Why do you even care?" he spat at her. A trickle of saliva dribbled down his chin and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. "Didn't you predict this would happen?"
Her caramel skin flushed. "That doesn't mean—"
"You don't feel like rubbing salt in the wound?" he cut in over her. "Suddenly you don't have the stomach to shit on what a fake, duplicitous bitch my Northside girlfriend is?"
Toni winced. "I never wanted to see you like this, Jug."
"Too bad," he seethed. "I am like this. I was born to be like this. Just ask her friends."
"Belligerent and maudlin," Toni snapped. "You're an even worse drunk than FP."
Jughead deflated instantly at the mention of his father. The same father he'd been tasked with springing out of jail earlier that week after a drunk-driving incident had landed him and his mangled motorbike overturned in a ditch. Three fucking days FP had sat in a cell until someone from the Riverdale Sheriff's Department had bothered to call Jughead. The only silver lining to the whole ordeal was that his 18th birthday was in a mere four weeks, or else those incompetent motherfuckers would probably have tried to get child services involved. As it was, his summer savings had been almost entirely wiped out on bail money.
"Just get me another drink, Toni." His lips quivered, his eyes imploring. "Please."
Toni frowned, torn. She fingered his shot glass, but made no move to refill it, clearly not really wanting to.
A familiar feminine voice wafted from behind him. "I'll get you a drink, Jones."
Jughead twisted his head around. He was greeted by the sight of his ex-girlfriend. Jess looked the same as ever. Tall, skinny, and dressed skimpily in a black camisole, pleated plaid miniskirt, and strategically ripped tights. She preened at him, her fingers fiddling with the lace over her cleavage. Jughead was too buzzed and desperate for another drink to feel his normal sense of distaste. His eyes flickered with interest.
Pretty girl, exposed skin, nothing like Betty ran like a mantra through his head. It was enough to make him reckless and stupid.
Jughead sat up a little straighter in his stool. "Hello Jessica," he intoned. "Just the woman I was looking for."
"Liar." Jess winked at him, tossing her long wavy brown hair over her shoulder as she lifted the wooden bar flap and walked through it. "You haven't been looking for me for months."
"True," he hummed. "But here we are anyway."
Jess snickered and glanced over to Toni's irritated face. "Did you forget how to bartend, Topaz? The man wants a drink."
"You shouldn't be back here." Toni's tone was flat. "Your shift ended two hours ago."
Jess ignored her. She grabbed a bottle of top shelf whiskey and poured two shot glasses, filling them both to the brim. "Put it on my tab."
Jughead eyed the glasses hungrily, but Jess playfully swatted his hand away before he could grab one. He growled with impatience, but forced himself to wait for her to return to the empty stool beside him.
"Whatever." Toni glimpsed over at him with a grimace. "I'm done baby-sitting you tonight, Jughead."
"He'll be fine," Jess trilled, clinking the glasses together before sliding one toward him.
Jughead downed the shot eagerly, sighing with relief as he swallowed.
"Better, baby?" Jess cooed, hovering close to him.
He nodded and licked his lips, the warm burn of the alcohol coating his tongue.
Jess smirked and traced her fingers against his shoulder, trailing them down his chest over his t-shirt. Jughead's skin prickled. Jess leaned in to whisper in his ear. "Want to go somewhere more private, Jones?"
His mind was too woozy to refuse. When he didn't back away, Jess took the opportunity to grab hold of his neck and pull his mouth to hers in a sloppy, wet kiss.
Jughead let Jess maul him without much thought, his hands roaming blindly over the top of her camisole.
Soon enough, he felt himself being hauled up from the stool and dragged a few yards until they were pressed up against a dirty stall in what he assumed was the women's bathroom.
Jess made quick work of his jeans, unbuttoning them and taking his cock in her hand. Jughead hissed as her thumb stroked his tip. Jess's fingers felt good, but her touch was too rote. Hollow, even. Who the hell cares? Jughead berated himself. An escape was an escape. It didn't fucking matter who with.
Her fingers tightened around him and Jughead bucked his hips forward.
Jess began to kiss messily along his neck and jaw. Her tongue slithered over the sensitive spot behind his ear before murmuring, "Bet that blonde girl you've been toting around doesn't make you feel as good as I can, baby."
Jughead's body went still, his eyes flashing with annoyance. "Don't talk about her."
"Someone's sensitive." She pumped him up and down a few times and Jughead groaned. "Oh, poor thing, did she kick your ass to the curb? You should be glad. She wasn't right for you."
"Shut the fuck up, Jess." He jerked her hand away from his boxers as a final warning.
"Aw, I'm just joking, Juggie." Jess's tone was mocking. "Don't be a baby."
Juggie. Betty's nickname for him. Only hers. Jughead couldn't breathe. He was still hers. Despite her request to cool things down, which everyone knew was code for slow death. Despite all the nasty things he'd said to her in spiteful retaliation. He was still hers. Jughead felt his head spinning. He needed to get the fuck out of here.
"Don't fucking call me that," he snarled. He shoved Jess off him and tried to right his pants despite his clumsy fingers.
"What the hell, Jones?" she screeched.
Nausea swam in his throat. "I'm out of here."
"Your loss, dickhead." Jess sneered at him. "Bet you'd be a terrible fuck right now anyway."
Jughead tuned out her invective, shooting Jess a crooked middle finger as he fumbled his way out of the bathroom and toward the bar's exit.
He clawed at the left door handle and pushed it open, stumbling down the two concrete steps.
"Go home, kid," Tall Boy called out to him from his stool by the door. "And don't even think about driving yourself there."
Jughead waved him off, staggering bleary-eyed toward his motorcycle. He could barely keep his head up as he straddled the seat. He tried to ignite the bike, but his hands were shaky, his eyesight blurred. He moaned, slumping forward against the handlebars.
The roar of revved engines roused him a few seconds later. He forced his head up, grimacing when he saw a group of motorbikes pulling to a stop in the Wyrm's parking lot. The eyes of the men on them were encircled with face paint, the black-and-white spikes even more jarring with Jughead's temporary double vision. He groaned. Ghoulies.
The leader of the pack appraised him. Even in his inebriated state, Jughead knew it was Malachai. He'd recognize that maniacal smile and those greasy dark brown curls anywhere. Not that it was so easy to forget the guy your ex-girlfriend had screwed behind your back. The same ex-girlfriend he'd almost just fucked in a pathetic bid to get over his most recent—damnit, no. A dry heave shuddered through Jughead's body. The mental gymnastics were making his head hurt.
"Well, well, if it isn't the Serpent Prince."
Jughead's nostrils flared. "Fuck you, asshole."
Malachai's brown eyes narrowed dangerously at him. "Who are you calling an asshole?"
Jughead snorted drunkenly. "You, asshole."
At the sound of Malachai's low whistle, the rest of the Ghoulies jumped off their bikes and surrounded him, fists out. Jughead's lips quirked up. He welcomed being pummeled. It couldn't hurt any worse than every other godawful emotion he was feeling right now.
He closed his eyes, preparing for the blows, when he heard the sound of running footsteps and someone shouting behind him.
"Whoa, hey there. What's going on here?"
Jughead glanced up with glazed-over eyes to see a guarded Sweet Pea towering over Malachai.
A muscle in Malachai's jaw twitched. "Tell your buddy to watch his mouth."
"Fuck you," Jughead spat out again, just as hostile.
Sweet Pea grabbed Jughead by the shoulder before the other Ghoulies could lunge at him. "Relax." He shot Malachai a look. "Can't you see the guy is trashed?"
"A real chip off the old block, huh?" Malachai turned to Jughead with a smirk. "We have some jingle jangle if you start itching for something stronger. Maybe you can snort it with your dad."
Jughead fussed against Sweet Pea's tall frame, eager to rip Malachai's head off his shoulders and roll it like a bowling ball over the pavement, but Sweet Pea held him back.
"Ignore him, Jug," he hissed.
Malachai laughed and gathered the rest of his posse. "Let's go, boys. Nothing to see here."
The Ghoulies stalked away and Jughead soon felt Sweet Pea tugging on his arm and yanking him around to the side of the building.
"What the hell was that, Jones?" he barked. "Are you trying to get the living shit beat out of you?"
Jughead crumpled against the exterior wall of the bar. "Leave me alone," he muttered.
"What's your problem, man?" Sweet Pea knelt down in a squat and eyed him expectantly. "Since when do you drink?"
Since Elizabeth Cooper ripped my heart out of my chest and stomped all over it, he wanted to shout to the rooftops.
He didn't say anything like that, though. It was ridiculously dramatic, even for him. And his head was hammering too hard to yell. He grabbed hold of a slat of wood that had shaken loose from the structure and offered it up to Sweet Pea to hit him. "Just put me out of my misery, man."
Sweet Pea threw the broken slat back on the ground and studied him, taking a minute to put it all together. "Is this about northside girl?"
Jughead shuddered at the nickname. Vomit rose in his throat and he curled into a fetal position, clutching his stomach.
"Jug?" Sweet Pea prodded softly. "What happened?"
"She doesn't want me, okay?" Jughead wailed, unable to hold it in any longer. Tears pricked his eyes. His voice lowered to a whimper. "She's done with me."
The vomit rose higher and he could no longer swallow it back. Jughead's body heaved, his throat burning as he proceeded to throw up every ounce of alcohol in his stomach. Retch after retch until he was empty. He moaned when he finished, crawling back against the wall. And then everything went black.
Did I get run over by a truck? was Jughead's first thought upon waking.
He moaned and edged the blanket off him. Harsh sunlight was streaming through his bedroom window, overheating his clammy body. Through bleary eyes, he glanced down. He was still wearing most of his clothes from the night before. Dark ripped jeans and a gray cotton t-shirt, now wrinkled and sweat-stained. Only his flannel and combat boots were missing. Jughead rolled his head toward the floor, flinching when pain exploded behind his temple. Damnit. At least his shit was here, scattered over the oval throw rug by the side of his bed.
Jughead sighed and closed his eyes again. The last thing he wanted to do was get up, but the pressure on his bladder was becoming too strong to ignore. And his mouth was as dry as sandpaper. He needed water. Or, better yet, a strong cup of black coffee.
He forced himself upright. His legs wobbled when his sock-clad feet touched the ground, and Jughead winced. All of his muscles felt sore. He had to hold onto the bedpost and then the wall as he clambered to the bathroom.
It took him a good few minutes to finish peeing and brushing his teeth and when he did, his head was pounding like a metronome. Jughead gargled water from the faucet, but it didn't mitigate the dizziness.
His hand pressed against his forehead, Jughead wandered slowly out to the living room. He found Sweet Pea there snoozing on the couch.
Jughead coughed loudly and Sweet Pea sprang up from under the afghan with a yawn.
He fumbled for something on the coffee table before looking up at Jughead with a crooked grin. "Good morning, sunshine. How's your head?"
Jughead glowered at him, his expression dour. "What are you doing here?"
"You blacked out, idiot. I brought you home." Sweet Pea extended his arm to offer Jughead two aspirins and a glass of water. "Take these."
Jughead stepped forward uneasily. He scooped the pills out of Sweet Pea's palm and swallowed them.
His hand falling back to his side, he eyed Sweet Pea warily. "Did my dad see me like that?"
Sweet Pea winced, but answered honestly. "Yeah, uh, he didn't take it so well."
"Fantastic." Jughead chuckled humorlessly and perched next to Sweet Pea on the couch. He didn't want to think about that turning of tables. It would only make him feel like a bigger disappointment. His head sank into his hands, the wavy strands of his hair soft and oily against his calloused fingers. Ugh, he scolded himself. He needed a shower. And where was his goddamned beanie? He couldn't leave the trailer without it, and he had to be at Pop's at—shit, shit, shit. Jughead shot up in panic.
"What time is it?"
Sweet Pea checked his phone. "A little after 7."
"I have to get ready for work."
Jughead lurched forward, nearly tripping over the wooden coffee table. He groaned as a sharp pain sizzled over his knee. Powering through a hangover by working on his feet for eight straight hours was not exactly a promising idea. But what choice did he have?
"Sit your ass down." Sweet Pea grabbed Jughead by the hem of his t-shirt and flung him back onto the couch. "Fangs said he'd cover your shift."
"Oh." Jughead reclined against the cushions, his eyelids fluttering shut. He was usually so self-reliant and now all control seemed to have spiraled away from him. It was humbling, and not at all agreeable. He felt like a bum.
Sweet Pea didn't say anything for a moment, but Jughead could hear his shuffling on the couch. He peeked an eye open to meet his gaze.
"What happened, Jug?"
Jughead stayed quiet. His fingers reached out to fiddle with the loose threads of the afghan, trying not to think about the half-dozen times this past summer it had been wrapped around Betty's soft, naked body. If he closed his eyes, he could still see her teasing smile in the lamplight. Always so beautiful, and never failing to drive him wild. He exhaled a pained breath. He didn't want to talk about her. It wasn't even his usual reticence about discussing his personal problems. It just hurt too much to voice aloud. Because, in addition to the elephant standing on his head, it felt like a chunk of his heart had been amputated.
Sweet Pea nudged him in the shoulder. "I know it's about Betty."
"It's nothing," Jughead muttered.
"Sure, man." Sweet Pea raised a doubtful eyebrow at him. "That's why before you vomited your guts out, you were sobbing that she didn't want you."
The tips of Jughead's ears tinged red. Somehow he'd forgotten that low point in the long list of humiliating, fucked-up shit he'd done to cope last night.
"So?" Sweet Pea pressed.
Jughead sighed. "It was her friends. And the people at her school." His fingers clenched into a fist. "It's like they brainwashed her against me. She started to sell me some bullshit about cooling things down between us, as if I don't understand the subtext of that."
Sweet Pea's eyes widened. "Just out of the blue?"
"No. They've been bullying her about it for weeks." Jughead's gaze cast around the room, his voice turning scornful. "Apparently, she couldn't take it anymore."
"Well, was it that bad?"
Jughead scoffed, a little confused that Sweet Pea's general malevolence toward Northsiders wasn't coloring his response automatically in Jughead's favor.
"Yes, but so what?" Jughead rolled his eyes, his tone growing angrier. "She was sitting there crying that I don't understand the pressure she's under. Can you believe that crap?" Jughead kicked at the threadbare rug beneath the coffee table. "I had to bail my alcoholic dad out of jail this week. How's that for pressure?"
Jughead shook his head, babbling half to himself. "But she can't take a few assholes being mean to her. Isn't that rich?"
Sweet Pea frowned, pondering something. "What did you do?"
Jughead swallowed. "I exploded at her and bailed." He folded his arms over his chest to suppress his sudden flash of guilt. "Why? Should I have stroked her hair and said, 'yes, baby, of course, I totally understand you throwing me over for your shitty friends'?"
Sweet Pea chuckled but his gaze grew pensive. "I don't know, man." He contemplated for a moment. "What if the roles were reversed? If we all hated her and made your life a living hell for it?"
"I'd tell you to fuck off," Jughead bit out.
Sweet Pea snorted. "Come on, Jug, that's easy to say. But even if you would, not everyone is like that."
"Like what? Not fucking spineless?"
"As zero fucks given as you." Sweet Pea paused. "It's hard to be boxed into a corner by the people who are supposed to have your back, you know."
Jughead shrugged noncommittally, but he knew Sweet Pea was right.
"Seriously, man." Sweet Pea forced Jughead to look at him. "Whatever else was going on, you guys were obnoxiously obsessed with each other. Did she take shit out on you? Yes. But I don't buy that she doesn't care about you."
"Sure," Jughead deadpanned. "She cared about me enough to take the coward's way out of breaking up."
"Maybe that's not what she meant. You said she was upset?"
Jughead clicked his tongue in disbelief. But the image he'd tried to block out of Betty self-harming was soon playing in slow motion in his head. He could still feel her soft hands in his, her arms shivering with goosebumps as he'd upturned her palms to reveal a patch of moon-shaped scars. Jughead jerked his head to the side. Upset was an understatement. He had never seen Betty so rattled or fragile. But was that enough to ignore what had come after? Her refusal to stand up for him. For them?
Sweet Pea interrupted his thoughts with another question. "Did you tell her about your dad?"
"When exactly?" he snarked. "Before or after she implied her friends were more important than me."
"Maybe you should have." Sweet Pea tapped his fingers against the arm of the couch. "Maybe instead of storming away, you should have stayed and forced her to talk everything out."
A fresh wave of nausea rose in Jughead's throat. So what if Sweet Pea had a point? He'd needed his girlfriend last night. Hell, he'd needed her all week, but she had just thrown him to the wolves.
"Fuck that," he spat.
"Yeah, fuck that, except it's been 12 hours and you're still sitting here feeling sorry for yourself over her."
"Because I love her," Jughead snapped, his body immediately freezing. The words had come up like vomit, spilling out without warning. He'd never said them before, not even really allowed himself to think them. But there they were. He slumped back against the couch slowly. His head was throbbing, his ears buzzing. He loved her. Fuck.
"Great." Sweet Pea slapped his back. "Then why are you acting like such a little bitch?
Jughead gritted his teeth. "Excuse me?"
Sweet Pea began to list on his fingers. "Getting shitfaced. Starting a fight with random Ghoulies. Hooking up with Jess."
Jughead's mouth opened to issue a halfhearted denial, but Sweet Pea cut in over him. "Yeah, Toni told me." He shot Jughead a disgruntled look. "Seriously, dude, this isn't you."
Jughead hung his head but remained silent.
Sweet Pea appraised him. "The Jughead Jones I know, when he wants a girl badly enough, does something about it. Everyone else be damned."
"Oh yeah?" Jughead grumbled. "Like what?"
"That's your department." Sweet Pea's hands flung up into the air. "You're supposed to be the romantic one."
"I'm all tapped out on romance."
"Some of that wild and crazy shit, man," Sweet Pea encouraged him. "Show her that what her friends think doesn't matter."
"Right," Jughead drawled. "I'm sure she'd love it if I camped out on her lawn with a boombox like Lloyd Dobbs." His voice rose mockingly. "Oh, Betty, please be mine again."
Sweet Pea perked up. "That's an idea."
Jughead groaned. "Yeah, or I could hijack her car and hold her hostage until she agrees to take me back."
Sweet Pea rolled his eyes. "Enough with the dramatics. Do you want to be with her or not?"
A lump welled in Jughead's throat. Despite everything that had happened last night, he did. The question that plagued him, though, was did Betty. And was just wanting to be together enough?
"I called her pathetic," Jughead admitted in a low voice. "And conceited." The words grated at him. He had been rightfully angry, but she hadn't deserved that.
Sweet Pea cocked his head to the side. "If you can forgive her, she can forgive you."
Jughead snickered, but it soon morphed into uncontrolled laughter. Maybe it was that simple. Only a matter of showing Betty he would fight for her if she'd fight for him back. Not outright stalking her, but frequenting places he knew she'd be. Giving her enough breathing room, while letting her know he was still there, waiting. After all, that was how he'd charmed her the first time. And who knew? Maybe his stubbornness would be rewarded a second time as well.