Other side of paradise (Jason Dean x reader)

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫

Veronica had met up with Heather D to take her home, making it so you could get inside before she got home.  She didn't know you were with JD, and you had time to prepare for the dreaded conversation.  

Veronica entered, and noticed your parents staring at her worriedly.  She was confused, and walked over to see what was wrong.

"Yes," she asked.

"You're friend Jason Dean stopped by earlier.  He seemed concerned about you," your mother explained.  "He said he thought you might try to kill yourself."

"You have been depressed lately," your father added.  "Oh, and he left this for you."

"He said to keep you away from sharp objects, closed garage doors, chemicals, prescription drugs," your mom listed.

He handed her a note, and she opened it up in a way that could be described as violent.  Inside was one sentence, poorly forged to look like you wrote it.  All it said was 'Recognize the handwriting?'  She panicked a little.  She had been forging handwriting to commit murders and make them pass as suicide, and now JD was showing he could mimic yours.  Almost like he was planning something for you...

"Oh my god," Veronica muttered, terrified.

She rushed upstairs to hide away in her room, only for her parents to call after her.  She ignored them and continued on her not-so-merry way.  She threw open the door, only to see something disturbing to go along with the note.  There was a doll in a purple blazer, handing from the ceiling from a noose.

She ripped it down, and collapsed onto her bed.  She curled up and began to dose off, and wound up falling asleep.  

She wasn't asleep long though, since she was quickly awoken by her bedframe creaking, and the sound of a turning page.

"'To neither love nor reverence wilt thou be kind, even for hate, thou cans't kill but are killed,'" JD read aloud.

"Jason..." Veronica said tiredly, still not fully awake.

"I like it," JD said, closing the book and gesturing to it.  "It's got what a cruel world, so lets toss ourselves in the abyss type of ambiance."

Veronica stared at the book, then at JD in horror.  She realized what he wanted to do with that book.  Someone was gonna die.

"Come on!  It's Heather's copy of 'Moby Dick!'  Why don't you give it a try... go on, underline something."

He gently dropped the book in her lap, and Veronica quickly pushed it off like it were white hot.

"Get off my bed you fucking psycho!  Do you think you're a rebel?  Do you actually think you're a rebel?!  You're not a rebel... YOU'RE FUCKING PSYCHOTIC!!"

JD just shrugged, and took the book back.  He didn't even bother telling her to call him JD to save time and all that.

"You say tomato, I say tamoto.  Hold it... Eskimo!  This one word... I love it!  I usually use a whole sentence myself, but this is perfecto!  Eskimo, you know, it's so mysterious."

He grabbed her hand and dragged her downstairs, and surprisingly, there was no one there.  No one to save Veronica from Jason Dean.  He lead her right outside, and to his motorcycle.  He started driving, and Veronica didn't recognize where they were going.  So imagine her surprise when he pulled up to Heather Duke's house.

You said you wanted her dead after all.

"Come on," JD demanded, forcing Veronica inside.

They went straight to the kitchen, and JD began looking for a way to kill Heather once and for all.  Then his eyes landed on a dishwasher.  He ripped it open, and pulled out a knife, as if he knew it were there.

"Jason Dean, you're not listening to me," Veronica shouted.

"Nag nag nag nAG NAG!!"

He started waving the knife around in Veronica's direction, and began to move closer.

"That knife is filthy," Veronica pointed out.

"What do you think I'm gonna do with it, take out her tonsils?!"

"Excuse me, I think I know Heather better than you do.  If she were going to slit her wrists, the knife would be spotless."

JD just grabbed a paper towel and swiftly wiped off the blade angrily.

"Here, alright?!  Can you see your fuckin' reflection in the thing?!"

Veronica looked, and sure enough, her reflection was staring right at her.  Looking at her eyes, she began to realize something about her classmates, dead and alive.

"Tomorrow, someone's going to move into her place," she stated.  "That person could be me... ha!  There's only one person who knows how to do Heather's handwriting, and if you think I'm gonna write another suicide note, you're wrong!"

"You don't get it, do you?!  Society nods it's head at any horror the American teenager can bring upon itself!  Nobody's gonna care about exact handwriting!  Look..."

JD forced Veronica's into his own, and made her grab a pen.  On a sticky note that was conveniently sitting on the countertop, he scrawled out 'Life sucks.'

"Life sucks!  It's perfecto!  I've got a meaningfully marked up copy of 'Moby Dick,' what more does a suicide note need?!  Now if you'll excuse me..."

He grabbed the knife and the note, and pulled the book out of an inner pocket, and made his way into a room jointed to the kitchen.  It looked just like Chandler's, but was green and blue rather than red and pink.  JD waltzed in, slammed the door shut, and locked it to keep Veronica from getting in.

As fast as Duke's life went, her funeral came.  The congregation for her was wearing white, and blue and red paper 3D glasses.  Flowers and vines creeped up the walls and chairs, and the pastor stood over a closed casket.

"Eskimo," the pastor began.  "Heather Duke underlined a lot of things in her copy of 'Moby Dick,' but I believe the word Eskimo underlined all by itself is the key to understanding Heather's pain."

Veronica stood in the back, by a small pillar with a covered bowl on top meant to store holy water.  She looked at the turnout, and saw you and JD in your usual seats in the back, having a make out session.  You two weren't even bothering to be discreet at a funeral.

"On the surface," the pastor continued.  "Heather Duke was the vivacious young lady we knew her to be... but her soul was in Antarctica!  Freezing with the knowledge of the way fellow teenagers can be so cruel, the way that parents can be unresponsive, and as she writes so eloquently in her suicide note, the way that life can suck!  We'll all miss Sherwood's little Eskimo, let's just hope that she's rubbing noses with Jesus!"

Then, as if this funeral couldn't get any weirder, Heather Chandler emerged, wearing a gothic red and black prom dress.

"Is this turnout weak, or what," she mocked.  "There were at least seventy more people at my funeral!"

"Heather," Veronica asked, confused.

"My afterlife is so boring," Heather complained.  "And sometimes... I cough up drain cleaner!"

"What are you doing here," Veronica interrogated.

"I made your favorite," Heather told her, removing the lid from the bowl of holy water, revealing the dish.  "Spaghetti, lot's of oregano."

Then she grabbed Veronica's hair.

"DINNER," Heather screeched.

Then she yanked onto Veronica's hair, pulling her face right into the bowl of noodles.

Then Veronica woke up, still curled up on her bed.  And there was a soft knocking on her bedroom door.

A/n: who was more psychotic, musical JD, or movie JD?