Seventeen | A Heathers Fanficiton

i; far too damaged

Veronica couldn't take it.

It had been almost a month since J.D. blew himself up in front of school.

It had been almost a month since she had taken on the responsibility of cleaning his locker, which contained a plethora of unidentifiable pills, a box of ammunition, and a beaten up copy of The Outsiders, which he had underlined the shit out of. There were little notes scratched on it in messy handwriting, like "I agree" and "Tough world, I know" and one that stuck out to her, which was just "Why, Ponyboy?" It was a little depressing, but mostly pathetic.

It had been almost a month after she finally moved out after what seemed like an eternity, and also definitely not stealing some of her mother's liquor because she knew she wouldn't cope. Even though drowning her moral crisis in alcohol couldn't really help, it could make it seem like things were okay. For a little bit.

It had been almost a month since she had hastily forced down her mother's bitter-tasting liquor and collapsed into a sobbing mess while Heather's voice echoed in her head.

It had been almost a month since she had nearly torched her diary, then, while crying quietly, decided she couldn't and locked it in a safe, tears wetting the pages.

God.