#heathers musical fanfic

[sprnklersplashes]

time won't fly (7/?) (ao3)

I should not be left to my own devices

Exactly a week after Jason Dean’s memorial, Veronica begins her day by violently throwing up into her parents’ toilet. Which is already a crap way to start your day, but then she realises she forgot to lock the door. It creaks open, slippers shuffle on the tiles and her morning goes from bad to worse.

“That’s a little over-dramatic, Sawyer,” Heather sighs from the bathtub. “You know most kids would kill for a mom to check on them like this.” 

Veronica lifts her head just slightly, enough to look in Heather’s direction and glare at her through her tangled hair. Had her mom not come in two seconds ago, she could’ve added something else to it.

“Oh, Ronnie,” her mom sighs, oblivious to Heather’s presence. Although the puking has-for now-finished, Veronica keeps her head down. She tightens her grip and stares at a little crack on one of the bathroom tiles. “You’re still not over that stomach bug are you?”

“I’m fine,” she mumbles. She wipes her mouth with her hand before flushing the toilet and pulling herself to her feet. Her legs are unsteady beneath her; matchsticks that could crack at the slightest push. 

As she stands, the colours of the room build and swirl and blend together. They push themselves against her eyeballs, demanding entry, before again muting and settling back on their normal palette. The ringing in her ears copies them; rises up and up and then winds down, fades out like a song on the radio. Inside her mouth, the aftertaste of her vomit lingers, heavy and horrible, dripping down the inside of her cheeks.

“I might make an appointment for you with the doctor,” her mom says. “Just to make sure its nothing serious.” Veronica nods briefly and then staggers over to the sink. There, she slurps some water and rinses it around her mouth. “When did it start again? After the pep rally?”

She spits.

“Sometime around then.” She rinses once again, then smooths her hair and heads for the door. “I have to go. I’m going to be late.”

Not to her surprise but definitely to her annoyance, her mother follows her. 

“Maybe you should take a day off,” her mom says. She comes into her room but keeps a generous distance, as if she’s contagious. Or at risk of exploding.

“I’m fine.” She grabs her bookbag and jacket from her bed. A cough prickles in her throat, but knowing how it would look to her mother, she forces herself to ignore it.

“You’ve thrown up every day this week.”

“And once I get to school, it’s stopped,” she sighs. It’s not entirely true, of course, but it’s close enough. In the grand scheme of things, she’s lied about worse things. “I’ll be fine.”

“Ronnie.” Her mom is standing in the doorway, as formidable as she can be wearing a floral blouse and white slippers. Veronica tightens her grip on her bookbag and wonders if she is really about to stare down her own mother. Her mom, who up until a few weeks ago was bringing celery sticks and hummus up to her room and rearranged her closet while she was at school. Who knew nothing about her life then and knows even less now.

She buttons up her jacket.

“Mom, I’m going.”

“What do you think will happen to you if you miss one day of school?” she asks. Without warning, she steps into Veroncia’s room and cups her cheek. Her palm is cold, and her touch reaches past her skin and squeezes her heart. Veronica tries to hide it, but the shudder passes through her, wrecking her like a tree blown about by the wind. The grip tightens on her chest, her heart beats wildly. Little by little, the world around her begins to lose focus.

Eyes wide, her mom pulls her hand away. Silence hangs in the air between them, uncertain, accusing. An apology sticks in Veronica’s throat. It should take such little effort to put it into the world. But it won’t move.

“I’m going,” she says instead. “I know you don’t want me to, but I’m going.” Then she brushes past her mom and is running down the stairs.

‘What do you think will happen?’ The question lingers and although she could never say it, she has answers. If she doesn’t show up today, Martha will eat lunch alone, circled by vultures who are desperate for afternoon entertainment. Duke will barricade herself in a bathroom stall and force up last night’s dinner. Mcnamara will smile and bat her eyes while hiding a pill bottle in her pocket. And those are the best case scenarios. She needs to be there. Even if its just to hold those three up, she needs to be there.

As for her? She already knows what she’d do if left to her own devices. Early this morning, she sat with her back to the closet door and re-read her diary, from September 1st to last week and back again, searching for something that would make the last few months make sense. Over and over, her bloodshot eyes read those pages until she forgot how to breathe and she once again felt the noose around her neck. Faded pink claw marks linger on her thighs from last night, and if she stays home today, they’ll end up bigger, deeper.

So yes; she’s going. Because it’s a shitty option but loking at what she’s got, its the best thing for everyone. 

“I’m still making you that Doctor’s appointment,” her mom calls after her. Veronica jumps down from the stairs. Heather is already waiting for her at the bottom, her lip curled and her blue eyes raised up to the landing. Veronica keeps her face blank; her teeth grind until pain flashes through her jaw. If Heather picks up on it, she doesn’t say anything, just keeps looking expectantly in her mom’s direction, as though she’s a director waiting for the line that will end the scene.

“Thank you,” Veronica calls up. She raises her eyebrows at Heather, a silent ‘happy now’ thrown her way. Before Heather can react any further, Veronica runs out the door and into the bleak November morning.

Did she mean that sincerely? Probably not. Does she feel like crap about that? Absolutely. But her mom will take it as such, and that is all that should matter.

                                                                      **********

The Doctor’s appointment is on Saturday morning. Her mom told her about it once she got back from school that day. Veronica guesses it had slipped her mind because when her mom opens her curtains at 8:00am, her first words are “Mom what the hell?”. Which is responded to with a chiding “language young lady” before she reminds her the appointment is today. And seemingly to make up for Veronica’s slip of mind, her mom talks about tsaid appointment the whole way there.

“And I was so surprised at how easily we were able to get booked in,” she tells her in the car. “Especially so last minute. Heck, remember when I had that chest infection last winter? I couldn’t get anyone to see me for days.”

Veronica nods and nods, adds “mm-hms” when appropriate and doesn;t mention that it was, at best, a mild cold. Outside, the sky is blanketed by dense, dark clouds, promising rain soon. Stray trash blows around the sidewalk. Her breath fogs up the window, white across grey, until the world beyond is more like a kaleidoscope of dull colours than an actual place.

It’s kind of comforting.

“You feeling okay, Ronnie?” her mom asks. Veronica stiffens, takes a deep breath, pulls her sweater tighter around her. According to the dashboard, her mom has had the heating on the entire time. She is yet to feel anything.

“M’fine,” she mumbles. The lie is potent on her tongue, her lips clumsy when they say it. She settles herself in the seat and forces herself to look ahead. In her periphery, she can see her mom glancing at her.

“Oh honey,” she sighs. “I told you you should’ve stayed off school.”

“I’m fine at school.”

“You’d be more fine if you took a day off. Just look at how pale you are.” The car slows as they come to a red light. “Look hon, I know senior year is a big year for you and you’ve been waiting for this year since you were a kid. But you need to take care of yourself too.”

The first part catches her off-guard. Had she really waited since she was a kid for senior year? Right now, it feels close to impossible to remember anything before JD, when her life turned into a series of near-misses, close calls, unwavering passion and now, this gruelling day-to-day survival. If she looks back, she feels something, a small whisper of excitement, brushing against her fingers like smoke. Maybe she was excited for her senior year at some point, back when she thought high school was where everything would make sense. And then she was 14 and she grew up.

God, if that kid could see how her senior year had turned out, what the hello would she do? What would she tell her? Probably to run away while she’s still able to. Get as far away from the upcoming damage as possible.

None of that, however, is what her mom needs to hear right now, so she folds her arms and digs her nails into her upper arm. 

“I’m fine,” she says again. They’re quiet for the rest of the journey.

                                                                        ******

“I’ll wait out here for you, hon,” her mom says. “Suppose you don’t need your mom coming into the Doctor’s office with you.” Veronica nods in response, seeing nothing untrue in what she said. Then a second passes, and she sees the expectant look on her mom’s face. Behind her, Heather pokes her back, blonde curls bouncing as she nods towards her mom.

“Are you sure you won’t be bored?”

“Oh no,” she replies with a shake of her head. “They’ve got a stack of nice looking magazines over there. Think I’ll have a nice little catch up with the Bratt Pack.”

“How very,” she mumbles, and then the grey-haired secretary points her down the hall and to the left, to the office of Doctor Holly Mason, who opens the door with a bright smile and red-rimmed glasses hanging around her neck.

“Hi, you must be Veronica,” she greets as she lets her in. The office is simple enough-a small room with pale blue walls, equal parts decorated by cliche posters and diagrams of the human body. Holly pats the chair beside the desk. “Take a seat here and we’ll see what’s wrong.”

Entering behind her, Heather jumps up on the table and huffs a laugh. 

“Not unless you’re a psychiatrist, babe.”

And in spite of everything weighing her down, a giggle bursts from Veronica’s throat. Because… well, shit, that was a poor choice of words on Doctor Mason’s part.

Of course, Dr Mason doesn’t get the joke. She eyes her with caution, concern creasing her face, and Veronica clears her throat.

“Sorry.”

“Let’s get started then,” she says. “So, your mother tells me that you’d been nauseous most mornings?” She nods. “And how long has that been going on?”

“A week… ish.” She shrugs. JD’s memorial was a week ago on Tuesday. She’d marked that day on her calendar. “About a week.”

“I see. And your mother says you’d come home injured after a pep rally the Friday before, is that correct?”

“Well, Mommy dearest didn’t hold back, did she?” Heather asks. She’d since strolled around the room and stood behind the doctor, frowning disapprovingly. “Hm. Shame. She could be hot. Anyway.” She lifts her head. Veronica finds Heather’s blue eyes blazing at her, twin daggers flashing. “Go on Sawyer. Tell the lovely Doctor lady how you got hurt.”

Goosebumps rise on Veronica’s arms. She breathes in, then again. Straightens her back. Images flash before her like projector film; the boiler room, the bomb, JD slamming her to the ground. His body, so much smaller than it used to be, int he middle of the football field. The sky looming above her when she was thrown backwards.

“Veronica?”

“There was a gas explosion at the school.” She bites her tongue. Breathe, she tells herself. “I um, I got caught in it. I hurt my ankle, mainly. And my ribs. Sort of.”

“I see,” she says softly. “And how is the pain now?”

“Fine.” Just as she says it, a series of painful flashes flare along her ribs, one after the other. She swallows. “It’s fine.”

“Maybe we’ll get you an x-ray to make sure,” she suggests. “Now, here are the awkward questions I’m afraid.” She chuckled. “Are you sexually active?”

Behind her, Heather gasps and guffaws and laughs like it’s the funniest thing in the whole entire world. She cackles and cackles, until she falls to her knees and her perfect skin is a bright red.

“Oh my God!” she screams. “Oh my fucking God!” She wraps her hands around her middle. “Who’d have thought! Who could’ve guessed that you…” The sentence breaks off into peals of laughter and she is on her back, hand pressed to her mouth, feet drumming on the floor.

“Veronica? If the question is too uncomfortable-”

“No,” she interrupts. Heather squeals again. “I mean it, it is but it’s not… Yes I’ve had sex. With my boyfriend.”

Her first instinct is to thank God her mom is not in the room.

Then she hears what she’s said. That JD was her boyfriend. It’s the first time she’s said it, she realises, but what else would she have called him? He was the boy who made butterflies take off in her belly, the boy whose shoulder was her headrest after a long day, whose arms felt like safety and whose lips felt like home. It almost feels too weak a word, but its the closest thing she has. Regardless, a puzzling cry of false, false, false echoes in her brain.

Eventually, she realises.

“My... my ex-boyfriend.”

Heather pauses her laughing and looks at her. The Doctor nods and notes it on the chart.

“And did you and your boyfriend use protection?”

“Protection?” she repeats. She shakes her head, flexes her fingers. “I was-uh-I am on the pill.”

“And your ex?” she asks. “Did he used a condom?”

“Yeah tell us,” Heather says from the floor. “Did the desperado put his gun in a holster?”

“Oh my fucking God!” she exclaims, cheeks red. “No he did not use a condom!”

And its only when she buries her fingers in her hair and pulls that she realises her mistake. Apparently, the pain makes her think clearly. Her feet are flat against a tiled floor and there’s a buzzing coming from the light and she doesn’t see Heather or anyone else, just Dr Mason who is in real time trying to process the fact that this teenage girl just screamed at her in her office because she tried to do her damn job.

Holy crap. Is she ever going to stop?

The red in her cheeks fades away.

“I’m so sorry,” she says. She tries to breathe, but her chest feels stuffed with cotton. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s all right,” she reassures her. “So. Your ex didn’t use protection?”

“No,” she whispers. “He didn’t.” Dr Mason only nods. Her eyes flick to the door behind her, then to the chart, then to Veronica. Now, with her attention finally wher eit should be, Veronica sees her square her shoulders. Bracing herself. In case Veronica loses it again.

For fuck’s sake she tells herself. Keep. It. Together. Daringly, she glances behind. Heather is gone. She can take this. Whatever it is.

“Veronica?” she begins delicately. “Is there any chance that you could be pregnant?”

Except that.

“Pregnant?” she repeats. “No. No I’m on the pill. And we never… did anything like that.” Liar. She shakes her head again. Her heart grows faster. “No I’m not pregnant.”

“I understand why you feel that is the case,” she explains. “But it can only take one moment. And what you’ve said, nausea in the morning. It sounds like a possibility.”

“I was on the pill,” she says again, and then she flinches. Was. No, is. Right? She took it every morning. This morning? The one before? The one before the party, definitely. 

But-

Then she woke up at JD’s place.

Then Heather died.

Then-

Desperately, Veronica searches for the image of her opening the dresser drawer, tries to conjure the oh-so mundane action of grabbing the sleeve, get a pill out, get water, down it. One move at a time.

Surely, she had to have done it. But she can’t remember.

And as for her and JD. That night after the party wasn’t the only time-

“I’m on the pill,” she says again.

“Well, do you remember roughly the date of your last period?” she asks. Something washes over her, something cold, dragging her down. Its November. November started two, three weeks ago. It happened, of course it happened, it was-no, who remembers the exact date of their period? It happened though. It happened. 

Her fingers curl around the chair. Threads inside her come loose.

“I can’t be pregnant,” she says again. It’s hollow. “I’m not pregnant.”

“I understand this is a distressing idea,” the doctor tells her. Veronica heard it and she nods, but she wants to scream because no, you don’t understand, because she is not pregnant with Jason Dean’s baby. “We can do a quick test to rule it out. To make sure.”

Her first instinct is to tell her no, to jump from this chair, get to the car and just drive. Maybe flatten the hospital on her way out.

Instead, she just nods.

Dr Mason explains the process bit by bit, a strange mix of clinical and comforting. Veronica nods and nods and answers when she needs to. She drinks a juice cup. Dr Mason leads her to a little bathroom and waits while she pees in a cup. She hands it back to Dr Mason, is led back to the office. 

Through it all, Veronica doesn’t feel a thing. Once she agreed to this, she stepped outside her body and stands as a ghostly observer, a spectator who watches another girl’s fucked up life. Not with amusement or horror, but with a detached curiosity.

“Right,” Dr Mason says. “Now, I’ll just get my colleague to run a quick test on this. In the meantime, do you want your mother in here?”

“Absolutely not,” she hears herself say. This time, there’s no follow up; she doesn’t apologise, Dr Mason doesn’t respond. Instead, she opens a little cupboard and hands her a cookie.

“I’ll go and give this to my colleague,” she says again. “And tell your mother that we’re doing a test and we’ll be done soon. Okay?” She smiles. Her voice is higher, her tone more suited to a preschool teacher than a doctor. “I’ll leave the door open. I won’t be long. Will you be okay?”

She forces herself to nod. Doctor Mason smiles and tells her to eat and then she’s gone, urine in hand, door open, the black-and-white tiles of the hallway sitting before her.

Slowly Veronica can feel the clothes over her skin. She pulls apart the cookie in her hand. 

“Well,” Heather sighs. She’s back on the floor, probably gathering all kinds of dirt on her robe. “Preggo huh?”

“I’m not.”

“Something about rivers in Egypt,” Heather sighs. With impeccable grace, she rises from the floor and shakes out her glossy hair. Not a strand is out of place. “Have you thought about what happens if you are though?”

She swallows. An answer appears in her mind, but she pushes it away in a second. Because she won’t do that to her friends, to Martha, to her parents. And because she promised JD she’d stick around.

So Heather doesn’t get an answer. The best she can do is shake her head.

“Shame,” Heather tuts. “You’re smart, Sawyer. Or, you were. Can’t believe you didn’t plan for something like this.”

“Did you ever?” she asks. Goosebumps rise on her arms. Her hands sit limp in her lap. “When you were… like, with Kurt and Ram? Or…” She pulls at her sleeves. “Anyone?”

Heather laughs, a short, bitter-sounding thing.

“Did I never tell you?” she replies dryly. And its that moment, with her knees pulled to her chest and her chin resting atop them, that the Demon Queen of High School looks… well. 17. Like a 17 year old who should be off screwing the entire football team and making sure they have condoms.

Neither of them should be here. Heather has stuff she wanted to do and Veronica should’ve done anything else.

“Don’t fall apart now, Sawyer,” Heather says. She nods at the door. “We’ve got company.”

Veronica looks up and Dr Mason is coming back into the room, a piece of paper held carefully in her hand. She sits up straighter, tightens her shoulders and her jaw and her back, as if screws are wedged in her joints and forcing her to stay together. Her heart stops and starts and stops again. The cookie lies in crumbs on her lap.

God, how long has it been?

“Veronica,” she begins. “We have your results.”

If she’s expecting a reply, she doesn’t get one. From head to toe, her body trembles with the effort from staying in this chair. She thinks she should pray, beg the universe to stop this. She doesn’t.

“Veronica… you're pregnant.”

Silence.

All at once, the air is sucked from the room. The colour goes next, then the warmth. Dr Mason is saying something to her; her lips move but the sound can’t travel and its just meaningless movements. Her rigid joints come loose and float from each other. Her mind is gone too. The Doctor is speaking to a collection of scattered parts, not a person.

Weakly, Veronica presses her hand to her abdomen.

She’s pregnant. With his baby.

Someon speaks beside her.

“Well.” It’s not Heather. Its low, smooth, the unplacable accent curls around the words. “Quelle surprise indeed.”

No. No.

She turns her head. Just a fraction.

Jason Dean is at her side, a grin cutting wickedly across his face, dimples indenting in his cheeks, dark curls falling in front of his face. His eyes glitter.

Veronica stands.

“Maybe I should’ve worn a condom, Ronnie,” he shrugs. “My bad.” He doesn’t look sorry at all. He looks so fucking glad. 

“Veronica?” the doctor asks.

She finds her voice then. It starts as feeble moan, quietly emerging from the back of her throat.

Then, she opens her mouth and starts screaming.