#with jd and kurt and rams dads and most of the town putting them in heaven...

[midnightdemonhunter]

What's that they say about vengeful angels?

[enneagramspam]

VERONICA SAWYER

6w7

“I wish you'd come with me-“

In response to a question asked over on r/enneafiction.

Veronica’s Six core is exploited at every turn throughout Heathers, the Musical and the clashing of her loyalty to her ideals with the desire to feel safe and secure ultimately results in an abrupt and extreme disintegration over the course of the show. 

Basic Fear:  Of being without support and guidance / Basic Desire: To have security and support

“I wanted someone strong who could protect me…”

Veronica wants, more than anything else, for someone to have her back in a world she perceives as dangerous and frightening. This is made abundantly clear in Fight For Me, the song where she falls in love with JD after seeing him defend himself. The repeated lyric; “I would fight for you // If you would fight for me,” is the most obvious example- the world itself might remain unsafe, but the potential security to be found in another person is a huge draw for her (“Could you carry me through no man's land?”).

This isn’t the first instance of Veronica’s safety seeking behaviour, however- it’s present as early as Beautiful, when she asks the Heathers; “Um. Let me sit at your table, at lunch. Just once. No talking necessary. If people think that you guys tolerate me, then they'll leave me alone…” Veronica isn’t interested in spending time with the Heathers for the sake of popularity or self-affirmation- it’s as a shield. Beautiful also sees her scrambling out of the way of anyone who might pose a threat (“Oh, sorry!” // “Aah, nothing!”), except, notably, when Martha is the one being threatened, where the first glimpse of a counterphobic Veronica emerges; “Pick that up right now … I wanna know what gives you the right to pick on my friend.” Sixes are loyal to their friends, but also to their beliefs- Veronica has a strong sense of justice and a conviction that things can become better again;

“But I know, I know...

Life can be beautiful

I pray, I pray

For a better way

We were kind before;

We can be kind once more

We can be beautiful..,”

Ultimately, it’s her loyalty to this ideal, and her ability to function counterphobically to defend and preserve it, that saves her and the school as a whole, allowing her to confront JD with the conviction that “his solution is a lie,” despite his repeated attempts to exploit her loyalty; “Please don’t leave me alone, // You were all I could trust.”

Everything comes to a head at the end of Act One. After the events of Blue leave Veronica feeling particularly defenseless, she does what a disintegrated Six is wont to, and latches onto her only source of security; JD. “You’re not alone,” he tells her, an offer of the security she is seeking, but can’t seem to find anywhere else. Veronica finds herself drawing strength from the relationship; “We’re what killed the dinosaurs, // We’re the asteroid that’s overdue,” and ultimately venerates it to religious significance, following JD’s lead; “Our love is God.” But the fantascism of these statements, and the undercurrent of violence present from the beginning of the song, betray her disintegration, and the brutality that is about to ensue. Veronica reacts with horror when she discovers that JD has in fact, murdered Kurt and Ram instead of just knocking them out as he promised, (“What the fuck have you done?”) but he remains her only source of safety, even in a world that he has just made a lot more dangerous- he is still completely loyal to her; “...I worship you // I'd trade my life for yours.” Veronica finds herself, more afraid than ever, but with no other source of potential safety, she continues to answer JD, “Our love is God,” despite the fear plain on her face, and doesn’t try to leave his embrace- letting go would mean facing her basic fear, and being without support and guidance.

Seventeen is her attempt to make their relationship into a true source of sanctuary for the pair of them, appealing to JD’s own strength of loyalty (“Can’t we be seventeen? // That’s all I want to do.”). As a Six, she is unable to make a convincing statement without acknowledging all their past pain; “Fine we’re damaged,” and the truth of more in their future, “People hurt us … And you’re right, that really blows.” The song exemplifies her Seven wing- she suggests shallow distractions from the pain, chilli fries, prom night, shopping for summer clothes- but ultimately what she is offering JD is her presence by his side; “Don’t stop looking in my eyes.” The song is filled with offers and promises of and appeals to both their senses of loyalty; “I wanna be with you,” “Your love’s too good to lose,” “Hold me tighter,” etc. Ultimately, the conclusion; “I’ll stay if I’m what you choose // If I am what you choose // ‘Cause you’re the one I choose.” sums up Veronica’s tendency towards loyalty, but also need for it, perfectly.

Disintegration to 3:

“Dreams are coming true // When people laugh but not at you!”

What drives many Sixes to disintegrate is a belief that they are not equipped to protect themselves. Veronica’s initial disintegration occurs when she joins the Heathers as a direct result of this belief- by Candy Store, she has become image-conscious enough to sabotage Martha’s popularity in order to maintain her own (and thus her own safety.) Big Fun makes it clear that this strategy, though unhealthy, is working for her, (“I'm not alone! I'm not afraid!”) and she spirals further into it.

When disintegrated, Sixes lash out- they divide the world into “them and us,” and can be driven to sabotage the “them,” in order to protect themselves. As she disintegrates further, Veronica briefly embodies an unhealthy Three’s arrogance- taken in by JD’s sweeping promises in Our Love is God- “We can start and finish wars…” and enthusiastic to play judge and jury to Kurt and Ram- but critically, not executioner. The murder is a shock to her system, and ironically, allows her to see the flaws in their previous arrogance; “We’re not “special”, we’re not “different” // We don’t choose who lives or dies.”

Integration to 9:

“Listen up folks, // War is over.”

There isn’t much opportunity for Veronica to integrate, but Seventeen (Reprise) offers us a glimpse- while as a Six, Veronica can’t put her fears aside completely; “We're all damaged, we're all frightened // We're all freaks but that's alright,” this song has a far more optimistic tone from Veronica than anything else in the whole show; “We’ll endure it, we’ll survive it.” Like a healthy Nine, she shows a willingness to let go of unproductive conflicts (“We are done with acting evil // We will lay our weapons down”,) and relationships alike,  (“If no one loves me now // Someday somebody will.”) Enneagram institute describes Nines at their best as; “indomitable and all-embracing, they are able to bring people together and heal conflicts,” and that’s a perfect description of what this song is all about; “Brand new sheriff’s come to town.”

Childhood Wound: They lost faith they would be protected.

““But the sky's gonna hurt when it falls, // So you better start building some walls…”

There’s an underlying pattern in Heathers, like in many teen dramas, of adults who are essentially untrustworthy- either helpless or unwilling to lend a hand to the kids they should be responsible for. This is arguably such a pervasive theme because it lends the teenagers more agency in the plot and gives their struggles more credibility, but in Heathers, this trope is in fact a depiction of a lack of empathy from adults who truly don’t take teenagers seriously, or are in fact outright abusive or neglectful.

In Beautiful, teachers objectify Veronica, or only recognise her once she is important enough to be seen with the Heathers. Outside of her, Kurt and Ram’s fathers’ are demonstrably abusive, and their sons perpetuate that cycle of abuse by taking it out on their schoolmates. They only repent only in My Dead Gay Son- too late. Ms Fleming is apathetic towards the students whose mental health she is supposed to prioritise from her first appearance- trying to impose a detention on Heather Duke even as she vomits from her eating disorder right in front of her. In Shine A Light, her advice to the students is facile, and her motivation is more about performing for the cameras than actually making a positive impact. Altogether, Veronica lives in a world where adults simply can’t be depended upon for help or sanctuary. Her verse in Dead Girl Walking (Reprise), directed at JD, encompasses all this;

“I wish your mom had been a little stronger

I wish she stayed around a little longer

I wish your dad were good!

I wish grown-ups understood!

I wish we’d met before

They convinced you life is war!”

From Yo Girl, we know the situation applies not just to Veronica’s schoolmates, but her, too. The intertwining of her parent’s empty reassurances; “Your problems seem like life and death! // I promise, they’re not!” with the chorus’ building, ominous reminder of the very real threat of JD drawing closer and closer, “Guess who’s climbing the stairs? // Guess who’s picking the lock?” shows that her parents aren’t equipped to protect her. Childhood wounds only have to be felt- a Six can perceive themselves as vulnerable when this isn’t the truth of the situation. It’s notable that despite the present danger, she simply answers, “You wouldn’t understand,” and works to protect herself (“Veronica’s trying to keep him out, now,”) and again, doesn’t ask anyone for help during Dead Girl Walking (Reprise). All of Veronica’s experiences have clearly built her into a Six who feels she has no-one left to trust.

w7:

“Let's be normal, see bad movies // Sneak a beer and watch tv,”

Veronica often deals with her issues by retreating, shutting her eyes to the unpleasant realities of what’s going on around her, with varying success; “Dream of ivy-covered walls and smoky French cafés // Fight the urge to strike a match and set this dump ablaze!” Her conflation of her own ideals of kindness and inner beauty with the physical beauty she achieves as a result of the Heathers’ makeover is arguably made easier by her Seven wing- “When you’re beautiful // It’s a beautiful frickin’ day!”- when she fakes Heather Chandler’s suicide note, she as much confesses this; “Believe it or not, I knew about fear ... I hid behind smiles and crazy hot clothes,” although she doesn’t admit this is partly confessional. This isn’t the only instance of Veronica’s unwillingness to confront unpleasant truths in favour of happier distractions- trying to undo what’s happened with JD with chilli fries and dancing seems another example, as does her behaviour in Dead Girl Walking, wherein she opts to distract herself from her anxieties not just by returning to her source of security, (“In here it’s beautiful,”) but with seeking baser pleasure to drown out any pain; “Make this whole town disappear!”

[sprnklersplashes]

dead girl falling

AO3 (rated teen and up)

Veronica slams her bedroom door shut, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs, her mother’s concerned cries beginning to calm down.

‘I know exactly what you’re going through,’ she had said and Veronica nearly laughs. She doesn’t know what her world looks like, no one does. No one except her and the judgemental ghosts of Ram, Kurt and Heather Chandler, looking at her with narrowed eyes and feral grins as she looks around her bedroom for anything to use, to defend herself, to attack him with, she doesn’t know yet. By her guess, JD is right down her block. Five minutes from her house. Marching down the street with an untethered brain and a gun in his hand.

Five minutes to live, how should she spend them?

She looks over at her desk, covered with notes and flashcards and text book from a time when she thought her SATs were the most important thing in her life. She remembers telling JD when they were sitting on the wall outside the school one morning “if I don’t pass English, I’m dead” and he had laughed. At the time, she had loved his laugh, the way it sounded, the way it made her feel. Now, remembering it, she felt sick. She’ll never read the Bell Jar again.

Still, she sees a blank page and a pen and inspiration strikes. She grabs the notebook and pen off the desk and dives into her closet, locking the door behind her and turning on the light. It’s almost nothing, but it will work. It has to.

She closes her eyes and pictures JD’s writing. The sharpness of his ‘f’s and how tiny his ‘s’s are and how he never crosses his ‘I’s. It’s not easy, leaning on her knees under a nearly burnt-out bulb with her hand shaking as she scribbles, trying to form the words he’d say on the page, but she can’t stop. Even when she hears her window lock snap off, she keeps writing.

“Knock, knock,” he says. He almost sounds like he’s laughing. He’s so far from the boy she used to know, who was calm and collected, even when wrapping his arms around her with a gun in his hand after shooting down Kurt and Ram. She can only remember one time he’s ever sounded out of control; when he exploded after Kurt and Ram’s funeral, telling her about the evil fucks who made life unbearable. And even that pales in comparison to how he sounds now. “Sorry for coming in through the window, dreadful etiquette I know.” She keeps her mouth shut, pressing her back against the wood of her closet. Just keep writing, she tells herself. Just keep going. “Veronica, come on, I know you’re in here.”

She hears the tap of his knuckles against her closet door. No, not his knuckles. It’s too hard, metallic even.

“I can see the light on in there,” he taunts. The door handle rattles. “Open the door.”

“Why?” she asks, her voice small. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to tell you I forgive you,” he tells her. “Come on out and get dressed, you’re my date to the pep rally tonight.”

“Why?” she repeats. One syllable words might be all her fried brain can come up with right now.

“You know our classmates thought they were signing a petition. You should come out and see what they really signed,” he explains, his voice growing higher and higher and she hopes her parents can’t hear. She can’t drag anyone else into this mess. “After you chucked me out, I fell apart, Veronica. You should have seen me, screaming, crying, punching the wall. BAM!” On the other side of the door, his fist collides with the wall and she lets out a scream before clamping her hands over her mouth. “You should be dead for what you put me through.” Tears form in her eyes at how cold his voice sounds. She wants the boy who kissed every inch of her at 2am and told her how beautiful she is, the boy who told her he worshipped her, who fawned over her. But it’s the same boy who did all that. Just the side she never wanted to see. “But then I realised something… it hit me, you know? This wasn’t your fault. Nothing could ever be your fault, you’re too perfect for that. It’s them, those assholes. It’s our class, it’s our whole damn school. They’re the ones keeping us apart. Poisoning your mind, turning you away from me.” She hears him fall to his knees outside. “But it’s okay babe. I can fix you, set you free. Make everything the way it was.” His voice catches, and she wonders if he’s crying. “Make you love me again.”

“What?” she asks, so quietly she’s surprised if he even heard her. “What did they sign, JD?”

“A note,” he explains. “Listen, it’s good. ‘We the students of Westerburg High, will die. Our burnt bodies may finally get through to you. Your society churns out slaves and blanks, no thanks. Signed the students of Westerburg High. Goodbye’. Sounds good right?” As he reads, she tears her own note off the book, folds it as small as she can, and puts it in her bra. She hears him laughing breathlessly. “I built a bomb, Veronica. Went home and took a bunch of my dad’s explosives. Our school’s gonna be Vietnam, baby. Boom, boom, BOOM!” She can only imagine what he’s doing in her room. There’s three inches of wood between them but it feels like he’s punching her over and over. “Veronica, we can do it together. Remember what we said? We’ll burn it all down and plant our garden here, together. Veronica, I… I can’t do this alone. We started this together, we’ll end it together.” She wants to spit in his face. They didn’t start anything together except… well, they kind of did. She hears his ragged breathing. “We were meant to be together. I was meant to be yours and once we make them all go away, we can be together again. That’s what you wanted, right? To be with me?”

Not like this, JD. Not like this.

“Okay,” she whispers. “Okay. JD, I’m going to open the door.”

“You are?” he asks, hopeful and more than a little surprised

“Yeah.” She raises on her unsteady legs. Deep breath. “Just, stand back, please?”

“Sure, sure, anything.” She waits for a few seconds, slides the bolt open and takes a shaky step outside. JD is almost on the other side of the room, looking like a kid on Christmas morning when he sees her. Other than that he looks awful; his hair is completely dishevelled, like he’s ran his fingers through it, his eyes are red, his face is pale.  “Hi.”

“Hey.” He crosses over to her and she meets him halfway. He looks confused, unsure whether he shoulder be happy or sad. He caresses her face with one hand. She looks down and sees the gun in his other hand.

“I was never going to use it,” he promises.

“I know,” she says.

“What made you decide to come out?” he asks.

“I think… I think you’re right.” The words feel wrong in her mouth, but she forces them out anyway. “Everyone at school thinks you’re wrong for me. That you’ll hurt me. They just got me so confused.” She covers his hand on her face with hers and grabs his coat with the other. This shouldn’t feel wrong but it does. “They messed me up, put things in my head, they scared me. They made me forget everything about you.” He smiles as she talks, leaning into her touch. “You said you’d set me free? You’d put things right?”

“Of course I will,” he tells her, kissing her head. She wants to cry. Instead, she bats her eyes and smiles.

“Then let’s do it,” she says. “Make this whole town disappear.”

He laughs again and kisses her. She remembers at the beginning, when kissing him was like fire running through her veins, making her feel like she could do anything. She remembers when he kissed her after promising he’d change, slow and long and painful, tasting like tears and hope. Now all she feels is cold, dead weight on her lips.

She follows him out her window and down the drive, down the whole way to the school without question, letting him hold her hand and whisper to her that he loves her, all while the note crinkles against her chest and his gun sits in his pocket and a bomb in his backpack.

He takes Veronica down a back door into the boiler room. Having never been down there, she’s not sure what to expect, but it’s uncomfortably hot and the boiler looks ancient.

“Norwegian in the boiler room,” she mutters as he takes the bomb out of his bag and begins setting it up. It seems more complicated than she thought; coming in different parts he sticks together with a roll of duct tape.

“Well, my dad’s good for one thing,” he laughs as he keeps working. Veronica nods, her heart clenching in her chest. Above their heads, the rest of the students dance and cheer in blissful unawareness. Students who will be dead before they can sing the national anthem if she doesn’t act soon.

She looks back him JD. Sweat beads on his forehead, beginning to stick his dark curls to his head. She said it that first night they spent together and she meant it; he’s beautiful. Deceptively so. She leans against the wall, casting her mind back over everything. All the bad, Heather Chandler and Ram and Kurt and even what just went down in her bedroom, but also the good, the rush she felt when he’d hold her, how she cried against his chest after the three-way rumour was spread around the school, the sound of his laugh, them sitting together on his bed while he told her about his love for books, walking home from school together, their hands linked. A whole kaleidoscope passes in front of her eyes of the past month, half of it painful and ugly, half of it brilliant and spectacular.

She knows he could have been beautiful inside. She saw him be gentle and soft and kind with her. She wonders what would have happened if his mom had stuck around, if his dad was good. If she had met him before everyone convinced him life was war.

“Hey.” He stops his work and stands up. It’s only when he wipes away her tear she even realises she’s crying. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” she lies. “I just love you.” He smiles and presses a kiss to her knuckles. For a moment, she doesn’t see the God complex and the violence, the manipulation and the pleading. She just sees her boyfriend.

“I love you too.” He sits down and gets back to whatever he was doing. “I brought some marshmallows. I thought it would be fun to toast them together, you know? Should have brought some crackers too, could have made s’mores.”

She presses her shaking hand to her stomach as a wave of nausea takes over. It’s now or never.

“What was that?” she asks, looking down the hall.

“What was what?” he asks, looking up.

“You didn’t hear that?” she says, pushing herself off the wall. She wills her voice to stop shaking. “I think someone came down here.”

“No one ever comes down here,” he says, but he doesn’t sound sure. He gets up and pushes her against the wall. “Stay here, I’ll check it out.”

“No,” she protests, grabbing his arm. “You’ve got this to do. I’ll do it.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, rubbing his thumb along your cheekbone. “If someone is down here you can get hurt.”

“Then give me the gun,” she requests. He takes it out of his pocket and looks from it to her. “I know how to use it, you taught me. You’ve got work to do here, and I’ll protect you if I have to.” He nods slowly, handing it over to her. He pulls her in and kisses her forehead.

“Be careful,” he tells her. “Don’t get hurt.”

“I won’t.” She starts walking away from him and hears him kneeling down in front of the bomb. She walks slowly, thinking about everything they could have done. Everything they could have been. Everything he promised her.

Camping, lying on the grass and looking up at the stars. Playing poker under blankets next to a campfire. Him letting her drag him around stores for summer clothes. Him holding her close on prom night as they dance and feel like they’re the only two people in the world.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, so low he can’t even hear. What he does hear is her beginning to cry. Behind her, she hears him stand up.

“Veronica?” he asks.

It’s time. She turns to face him, looking straight at his concerned face.

“Veronica what’s wrong?” When he steps forward, she steps back. Her arm feels like lead, but she raises it anyway. “Veronica-”

The bullet hits him in the stomach. She finds something ironic in the look of betrayal on his face when she pulls the trigger. An angry read stain grows on his t-shirt, spreading out like tentacles across the fabric. Neither one of them move, not even when the gun clatters to the floor. He gaps like he’s only just felt the pain and touches his hand to his stomach, wincing.

“Nice shot,” he says before he hits the floor with a bang, waking her up.

“JD!” she says, kneeling beside him, shaking him, forcing him to stay with her. “Listen to me, it’s over. It’s over JD! Which wire do I pull? How do I turn it off? Damn it which one?”

“You… you don’t need to,” he says weakly. “I never got that far. I never got it started. It won’t go off, ever.” He coughs painfully. “Unless you want it to.”

She reaches into her bra and takes out the note she wrote earlier. She smooths it out and drops it beside him. He laughs again and it sets him off coughing.

“And here I had thought you lost your taste for taking suicides,” he jokes. He keeps looking up at the ceiling. Veronica tells herself she shouldn’t go near him, but her body doesn’t obey and she kneels beside him. She doesn’t have the guts to look at the wound but nor is she strong enough to look at his face. She places the gun in his right hand, wrapping his cold fingers around the metal. “So what did you write?”

“What?”

“Can I hear my dying words,” he asks. He nods weakly towards the note she wrote, groaning in pain. “My final statement? I hope you made me sound good.”

She nods and lifts the page. It’s hard to read with tears in her eyes and her hands shaking, but she tries.

“Dear World,” she starts. “You weren’t kind to me. You gave me a father who never learned to love and dragged me around from state to state like a dog on a leash. You never let me stay anywhere and plat roots. You never let me grow. I was here for seventeen years and all I learned was pain and violence and anger. You were a war I never agreed to fight. You weren’t too kind to my mother either. You are cold and unfair, you give free passes to people who cause pain and let them relish in it, while giving no help to people who get hurt. Year by year you damaged me and now it’s all too late. I’m far too damaged for you or anyone.”

“Damn,” he wheezes. “You made me sound real deep.” She laughs despite everything. She pauses and considers continuing.

“To Veronica,” she reads. “I’m sorry I was never the love you thought I was. I’m sorry that I couldn’t protect you enough. I wish we had met before. I hope you remember me. Yours, JD.” When she looks at him, his eyes are closed and she nearly panics until she sees his chest rising and falling and hears his strained breathing. She sits there in silence for a while, keeping her eyes on him, assuming him unconscious. “I love you. Damn it, after everything you did, I love you, and what kind of idiot does that make me?”

“I,” he wheezes and she jolts. He heard what she said. “I love you too… As much as I could have.” She leans over him and touches his face. His skin is almost grey now. After what seems like forever, he opens his eyes. “I wanted the world to be right for you. I never wanted you to cry again.”

“I guess the irony isn’t lost on you,” she says. “After everything, you’re the one that made me cry.” He nods slowly, his eyes drifting shut again. He coughs painfully, struggling to breathe.

“That was nice, what you wrote,” he says. “Really. Especially that last part. People are gonna think I was deep. Special. Romantic, even. Some tragic anti-hero.” She nods, not bothering to wipe her tears. “I’m going to guess the similarity is incredible.”

“Yeah,” she answers, her throat tight. Part of her wants to shake him and make him hold on. Part of her wishes there had been another way.

“You need to stick around here now,” he says. “Make things better. Clean up the mess down here.” She doesn’t want to know what he means by that, but in her mind, she thinks she knows where to start. A red scrunchie that should be meaningless. She’ll make it meaningless. “I worship you.” He must be hanging on by a thread now. Nothing he’s saying is in any way coherent.

She remembers when he first said those words to her. In the back of her mind, a small alarm bell rang, but something else took over; something in the way he was looking at her, the way he was smiling. She wanted love and got worship. Be careful what you wish for Veronica.

“Our love is God,” he says. He frowns slightly, his body tensing. A whimper escapes his mouth and it hits her; as terrible as he is, as much pain as he’s caused to her and to the school, he’s seventeen. He’s scared “Our love is God.” He wheezes in and out. “Our love is God.” He coughs some more, blood escaping from the corners of his mouth. “Our love is God.”

“Say hi to God,” she replies.

JD lets out a final, long, pained breath. His hand goes limp, the gun rolling out of it. His head lolls to the side. When she touches his forehead, it feels like ice.

She pulls her knees against her chest. The pep rally is probably still going on upstairs, but she can’t hear it. She can’t hear anything.

Selfishly, she thinks about how people will see her now. Her image has changed a lot over the past weeks. First she was Veronica the nobody, the frumpy geek who didn’t fit in. Then she was Veronica the honorary Heather who dressed like hell on wheels and went to hot parties. Then she was both Veronica the ex-Heather and Veronica who was dating psycho trench coat kid.

Now she’ll be Veronica whose boyfriend killed himself. That’s a fun way to finish high school.

She looks up and sees the half-finished bomb still sitting on the floor.

Shit, she thinks. She gets up and stumbles her way over. She looks inside JD’s bag and finds it filled with packs of what she guesses are thermals, if she was judging by his dad’s methods. She wonders what his dad will do now. Will he show up to the funeral? Oh God, there’ll be a funeral. Will he care that his son died?

She decides she can worry about that later. She puts the unassembled bomb back in JD’s bag and takes it outside, throwing it in the dumpster, pushing it down below the rest of the garbage bags. It’ll end up in some landfill somewhere, buried under everyday trash like broken bikes and chip bags. Maybe some Slurpee cups.

It’s still not over. She’s got one more part to play.

She runs in through the front door of the school, nearly falling on her face, weak as her legs are. She stumbles through the hallway, her ears ringing, her stomach churning.

“Veronica!” Miss Fleming comes down the hallway. Veronica only imagine the sight she’s greeted with, her pale faced, tear soaked student stumbling through the hallway like a zombie. “Veronica are you all right?” She shakes her head silently.

“It’s JD,” she says flatly. “Jason Dean. He’s dead. He killed himself.”

He’s dead.

She finally allows herself to break. Allows herself to let grief catch up and take over her. Allows herself to cry.

The words echo through her mind “Jason Dean is dead”. She answers Miss Fleming’s questions without much thought. “I found him in the boiler room” “He called me to say goodbye” “I looked all over” “By the time I got there it was too late”. It’s amazing how easily lying comes to her now. She nods when Miss Fleming tells her how sorry she is and if she needs anything she’s here. She thanks her without thinking and excuses herself, running to the bathroom.

She finally empties her stomach into a toilet, not that it does much good. She feels hollowed out but at the same time too full, like she’ll burst.

She stumbles out of the cubicle and makes her way to the sink. God, she does look awful. Her face is chalk-white and tinted green, dark shadows under her red eyes, her hair is a mess, tear tracks and grime and sweat run over her face.

“You know, this could be beautiful,” Heather Chandler had said once. She doesn’t feel beautiful. She looks as messed up and exhausted and horrible as she feels.

“Veronica?” A familiar voice asks. It’s not like it used to be, but nothing could take away Martha Dunnstock’s heart.

“Hey,” she says weakly, turning to face her. She rides on a mobility scooter now, a cast on her left leg and right arm and although her sweater covers it, there’s a brace around her ribs.

And it’s all her fault.

She may as well have pushed her off that bridge herself, and why did she do it? To protect the boy who is lying cold in the boiler room.

“Martha I’m so sorry,” she sobs. “For everything, for writing that note, for not telling you, for letting Heather walk over me, for how I spoke to you.” Martha comes closer, tears in her eyes too. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you,” she says. Her hand reaches out and grasps Veronica’s. “And I forgive you.” Veronica knows she doesn’t deserve it, but she lets herself take it.

“I’ve missed you,” she confesses. “I should never have gone off with the Heathers in the first place.” They were never friends to her, not the way Martha is. Was. Except for maybe MacNamara.

“I missed you too,” she says. “Movie night was so dull without you.” She chews her lip anxiously. “Veronica… I’m sorry but I have to ask… is what they’re saying about JD true?” She nods, a fresh wave of tears coming over her. Martha’s mouth falls open. “I’m so sorry.” Martha pulls her into an awkward hug, but it’s the warmest, most beautiful kind of embrace she has felt and she melts into it.

“I gotta go,” she says after a long time. “But… are you free next weekend? Maybe we could pop some JiffyPop. Rent some new releases?”

“Yeah,” she answers, smiling weakly. “I’d like that.” Veronica smiles and leaves the bathroom, bracing the hallway. Students weave in and out, some too caught up in the latest gossip that’s no doubt spreading through the school to notice her. Some see her and stare, whispering in their groups. Some offer sad smiles.

“Isn’t she dating him?” she hears one say.

She pushes her way through the crowd until she finds who she’s looking for. A small, blonde girl with wide eyes in a cheerleader uniform and a sour looking girl with a red scrunchie.

“Where have you been?” MacNamara asked, throwing her arms around her. Veronica hugs back tightly, revelling in the comfort. “People are saying that JD… he didn’t, did he?” She can only nod. “Oh my God…” Veronica pushes MacNamara off her and marches up to Duke.

“You look like hell,” is all she says.

“I just got back,” she replies. She turns Duke around, ignoring her protests, and pulls the scrunchie off her.

“What are you doing?” Veronica kisses her cheek, leaving her speechless for the first time in a while. It’s not an unpleasant sight.

“Good news kids, war is over. New sheriff’s in town,” she says. “So hang up your weapons and start playing nice. Or whatever.” JD thought the only place Heathers and Marthas could get along was Heaven. Maybe he’ll be wrong about that. “Martha and I are doing a movie night next Saturday. If you want to come there’s room on my couch. BYOB. Bring your own blanket.”

“That sounds nice,” MacNamara says. She and Veronica share a heartfelt smile, while Duke looks on, her eyes conflicted.

“There’s room for you too, Heather,” she tells her. “Should you decide to come.”

She turns and walks off down the hall. Despite everything that’s happened in the past two hours, she feels a weight lift in her chest. She feels hope. She watches the social hierarchy of Westerburg fall in front of her and damn does it feel good.

Still, it’s not over. It won’t be for a long time.

She explains it to her parents. Explains that her “friend” JD killed himself. She lets them hug her and tell her how sorry they are and if she needs anything, they’re there for her. She sleeps all weekend, re-reading her diary entries from the moment they met. Laughing at the funny parts, crying during everything else. She picks at the food her parents bring up for her. She lets them kiss her forehead. She sleeps two to three hours at a time, waking up with a start each time. Sometimes she dreams of JD and her in her bed, while he kisses her and tells her that she’s the most perfect thing he’s ever seen. Sometimes she dreams of them dancing, him spinning her around and making her breathless.

Sometimes she dreams of Kurt and Ram lying lifeless with bullet holes in their chests, of Heather Chandler coughing up drain cleaner, or Martha lying broken with empty eyes under a bridge, of the school gym going up in smoke while she watches safely in JD’s arms, of JD bleeding out on a boiler room floor.

She always wakes up screaming at those.

On Monday, there’s a special assembly held in memory of Jason Dean. His suicide note gets spread around the school like a shiny new toy. Everyone sees him in a new light, the tortured romantic hero whose heart had too much pain to bear.

She hides in the bathroom at lunch. She’s unable to eat anything, so she just sits there with her arms wrapped around herself, wanting to disappear. She listens to the girls outside; JD has become a topic of bathroom gossip now, Westerburg’s newest pin-up.

They call him Jason Dean now, which makes her stomach turn more than anything. He was never Jason to her. He hated it when people used that name for him. JD was what he called himself, and it suited him. Jason Dean is the tortured soul, the one who searched for friends in the pages of books, the perfect prince to Veronica’s princess, the boy taken too soon, the perfect image of a tragic teenager, the boy who hung out at the 7/11 to escape his sad home life and stare up at the stars. JD was angry and violent, smart, cynical but cunning. Too smart, too cunning. He was the one who used books to make himself more articulate, holding on to some degree of control. He was the one who deliberately gave himself brain freezes so he couldn’t feel anything. He was all the ugly, twisted parts that the town wanted to hide away under the image they had crafted.

Jason Dean is the boy who was too beautiful to live. JD was the ticking time bomb that was bound to go off.

“Did you see what he wrote to her?” a girl says. “So romantic.”

“I wish I had a boyfriend like him,” her friend says.

No, Veronica thinks. You really don’t.

After school, she sits on one of the benches outside. It’s cold now and all she has on her is her flimsy blue blazer. She watches as her breath comes out in puffs of smoke then looks at her blank diary pages. After pages and pages of angry scrawling followed by short entries where she wallowed in misery and pity, she finds she can’t write anything. Her mind buzzes with thoughts she can’t seem to articulate any more.

Dear Diary, she writes.

What else is there for her to say that hasn’t been said already. She hates him? She misses him? She hates herself for letting this happen? She’s disgusted with the school for what they’re saying about him? How even people who never gave him a second glance are now half in love with him, waiting for their Jason Dean?

She clicks her pen closed and open, closed and open, closed and open. She’s poured out her heart and soul, her pain and anguish, rage and grief, and now what else is there to write?

Maybe the truth.

Dear Diary, I wish he’d stayed around a little longer.

And that’s it.

[shalebridge-cradle]

Crash, Bang

(Happy Holiday Season. Are you ready to s u f f e r ?)

Veronica doesn’t remember much. A crash. A bang. Black.

She wakes to a blurry red. Heather Chandler, standing over her. She’s not surprised, at this point – Heather had proven many times that even death won’t stop her from bitching. There’s something unfamiliar in her eyes, though, Veronica notes as she scrambles to her feet (and wonders how she got on the floor in the first place).

“Look at me,” Heather commands. Veronica pulls a face – she is looking at her. Examining her is looking. Jaw clenched, lips pursed, Veronica would think that it’s anger on Chandler’s face, if she hadn’t seen anger so many times to know it isn’t.

“Your diary. Get your diary.”

Heather steps to one side, giving Veronica room to move. From her position in her closet (there’s a metaphor there, but Veronica had never been one for acting things out), she looks over her ruined room.

“What happened?” Veronica asks. Heather looks like she’s about to answer, but decides against it at the last second.

“I’ll tell you later. Your diary is on your desk still. Turn to October 12th, and I’ll explain.”

Veronica wanders over to her desk, and she can feel Chandler’s eyes following her. The diary is open, today’s entry unfinished. She can’t remember why, and it’s really starting to bug her.

“October 12th,” Heather repeats, and Veronica rolls her eyes as she turns the pages. Slowly but surely, she winds the clock back to the middle of October. What happened that day that was so important, anyway…?

Oh.

That was the day of Kurt and Ram’s funeral.

That was the entry where she revealed JD had killed three people, and that the guilt was – is – eating away at her.

This is the entry Chandler wanted to see.

Why?

“Good,” Heather hums from behind her, “it’s important for the cops to see that.”

“Cops?” there’s a pang of dread, creeping up her throat like vines.

Heather sighs, and takes Veronica’s hand.

She shouldn’t be able to do that. Shit, she hasn’t been able to do that, all of her slaps and caresses passing through Veronica with the chill of a winter wind. The fact that Heather is touching her, and the fact that she doesn’t feel ice cold against Veronica’s skin means…

It hits her. Crash. Bang.

Dead.

Veronica sinks to the floor, drained, and Heather’s voice fades into the background.

  The Westerburg gym doesn’t end up exploding.

Everyone’s out of the football field, and the reality seemingly hasn’t set in for most of the students. The cops and the bomb squad have come and gone, and Heather snarks about how they actually did their job, this time.

“How are you so calm about this?” Veronica asks. Heather scoffs.

“Nothing I can do about it. Might as well make the most of it. Simple as that.”

Veronica scans the crowd, bereft of a witty response. She sees a few familiar faces – Peter Dawson animatedly talking to Dennis from the school newspaper. Courtney looking like she’s seen a ghost (and Veronica briefly wonders if she has).

The most important thing is that Martha is there, alive. Leaning over one side of the motorized wheelchair is Heather McNamara, egged on by Betty Finn (Veronica remembers this girl, she gives good answers in the lunchtime poll), and whatever McNamara’s saying is bringing a smile to Martha’s face. Maybe they’re bonding over their suicide attempts, Veronica muses, and she hates herself for thinking it. On the other side was the ghost of Ram Sweeney, looking oddly contemplative. Veronica wouldn’t have thought him capable.

Her focus returns to herself. She feels empty. Hollow. Maybe if everyone had blown up, maybe at least she’d be overwhelmed with anguish and anger and guilt instead of this suffocating nothing.

Seemingly in response to this, Heather gently takes her hand.

“Put it this way,” it’s almost a whisper, and yet Veronica can hear her clear as day over the ocean of voices, “there’s no expectations anymore. No obligations. Five million dollars and a world that’s ending. What do you want to do?”

I want to feel.

Veronica grabs Heather Chandler by the waist and pulls her in for a kiss.

Heather kisses back.

  Veronica attends her own funeral.

There’s an unexpectedly large turnout – the pews at the front were reserved for people who actually knew Veronica, instead of just immediate family members. There are distant relatives, classmates from years past, people from around town and at least two cameramen in the back row.

Heather is scowling.

“There’s at least seventy more people here than there were at my funeral,” she grumbles, and Veronica chuckles darkly.

Father Ripper gives his speech, and Veronica has to admire his ability to turn anyone into a martyr. He speaks of guilt and absolution in the eyes of God, and how Veronica’s dedication to recording everything led police to save hundreds of lives.

He says nothing about her being an accessory to murder. It hangs in the air like a bad stench.

When the coffin is brought to the cemetery and Veronica Sawyer is put in the ground, there’s a finality to it all that breaks her. She hugs herself, trying desperately to hold herself together, to keep all her memories and quirks and her identity from falling into the grave.

Heather tries to help her, but all Veronica can do is babble about how everything’s like a dream and she’s forgotten how to breathe and I’m dead I’m dead I’m dead plays over and over in her head.

“I know,” Heather murmurs, her voice like rain on a raging fire, “I know. I know.”

There’s no point in lying to Veronica, now.

  She visits her murderer in prison.

It’s like a thread, Veronica decides. Something tying them together, tugging at her when she thinks of him, but nothing so strong that she can’t ignore it.

Jason Dean gazes up at her from the floor of his solitary confinement cell with a look of awe, not fear.

“I was fixing it,” he tells her, and even he seems a little unconvinced at the statement, “Everyone gets along in heaven. You wouldn’t have to be stuck with Queen Bitch and her lackeys for eternity if everyone’s with you.”

“You killed me.” There’s an unnatural echo to Veronica’s voice. JD shies away, just slightly.

“I was winning you over with my petition, I know it. It was such a great plan. Still, I…” he pauses, and emotion reaches his eyes for what may be the first time, “I got a little, ah, heated, and my finger was on the trigger when I opened the door. A slip of the hand.”

There’s a distinct lack of apology in the statement.

Veronica leans over him. Studying him closely for a moment.

Then, without warning, she shoves her hand through his skull, and JD yells at what Veronica is sure is a very familiar sensation.

“You had a choice, Dean,” she growls, and there’s a flash of unbridled rage in JD’s eyes at the mention of that name, “You could have been more. More than just a copy of your dad with a messiah complex. But you’ve made your decision.”

Veronica pulls away, and gives JD, the lost, lonely boy once last glance.

“Now you’re left alone with your thoughts. I hope they eat you alive.”

Veronica vanishes, and the cell melts away before her eyes, replaced by the somber greys and greens of the Sherwood Cemetery.

Heather is waiting for her.

  Heather McNamara contacts her a few months later.

Veronica never really pictured the head cheerleader as an occult nut. Then again, there’s a lot of things people didn’t know about her, Veronica muses as McNamara, Martha and Betty set up the Ouija board. And candles. Like that will help the process, somehow.

The first question is from Martha.

“Why?”

Veronica feels the cold sting of regret as Chandler scoffs from the corner of the room. There’s a lot of things that word could mean – Why did you cover up the deaths of Heather, and Kurt, and Ram? Why did you stay with Jason Dean?

Why did you lie to me? Why were you so cruel?

It’s a good thing the answer is always the same. Veronica grabs the marker and moves it around the board.

A.F.R.A.I.D.

Weren’t they all?

  By turning the pages of her diary, and moving the wooden marker, Veronica deduces she can interact with some things, but not others.

She says as much to Heather. Chandler nods, understanding, and then that same something Veronica saw on the day she died creeps onto Heather’s face.

It comes out like a confession. “I tried to pull the pen out of your hands, when you were writing my suicide note. That did nothing, obviously. I tried talking to my parents, to Heather, to get someone to notice me, but the only person who heard was you.” Heather pauses. “Sorry. For what I said.”

“No big deal. I deserved it.” Veronica pushes on when Heather opens her mouth to interrupt, “What can you touch? Or, y’know, interact with? Anything?”

Heather thinks for a moment.

“Mirrors,” she says slowly, “All the ones in my house broke after my funeral, when I was yelling at my mom to listen. I think Heather Duke saw me once in the girls’ bathroom, too.”

Veronica nods, connecting the dots in her head.

  Veronica experimentally picks up Martha’s pen. Hypothesis confirmed. Objects connected to her in life.

She knows Martha won’t come up to her bedroom anytime soon – there’s too much animated discussion from downstairs, excited voices floating through Veronica’s ears as she writes. McNamara and Betty have come over for an evening of swashbuckling and true love. Veronica knows at least McNamara hasn’t seen The Princess Bride, since every accidental reference Veronica made flew straight over her head.

She has to make a conscious effort not to go downstairs and join them. It’s not her place anymore, she tells herself. Back to the task at hand.

She’s always been good with words. Even Chandler had grudgingly thanked her for the suicide note (god, that was fucked up), but Martha had been there for Veronica as long as she could remember. She deserved art.

Veronica writes in Martha’s history book. She says she’s sorry for everything she unwittingly put Martha through, for being self-centered and murderous and awful. She says she doesn’t know if life is different after high school, and that she never will, but for Martha’s sake she hopes that life outside Sherwood is better for her, and for her new friends. She tells Martha to keep them close, but to let Veronica go.

There’s a voice from behind her.

“Can you tell her that I’m sorry?” Ram Sweeney asks meekly. Veronica had almost forgotten about him. “I was shitty to her, and I get that now.”

“I’ll consider it.”

She does. Maybe it’ll give him closure, she rationalizes. Maybe then he and Kurt could move on. Maybe they can do all the things Ram’s father said he would.

Maybe she could move on, too.

 (She doesn’t.)

  It gets easier.

Veronica figures some things out. Heather makes a game of scaring the shit out of Country Club Courtney (“I’m trying to make her a better person. I’m scaring her straight.” Veronica doesn’t believe her, but plays along anyway.) Veronica spends most of her time reading books over Heather Duke’s shoulder or drawing on Ms. Fleming’s blackboard. Heather gives her a backhanded compliment on her artistic talent, and Veronica giggles as she wipes the pictures away.

Sometimes Heather holds her, or she holds Heather, because one or the other just remembered what it’s like to die. They keep each other grounded.

The Class of 1990 graduates, short five members. Then the Class of ’91, ’92, and so on. Fleming retires. Gowan resigns.

The world moves on around them, and they stay the same.

It never gets better. Just easier.