Heathers Oneshots!

[CHANDLMARA.] saturday.

[trigger warning for suicide attempt.]

     Heather McNamara and Heather Chandler have had a sleepover every Saturday since the fourth grade. Memories. So many of them. First movie. Nails being painted. Laughs. Photographs. First kisses.

First kisses.

Their seventh grade.

"Have you kissed a girl before?"

Chandler's fingers stop braiding McNamara's blonde hair. A pause. Confusion.

"No."

Tick.

"Have you?"

She moved slowly again, continuing. She ran a pale hand through the girl's hair. She's glad they can't make eye contact right now.

"No." It's hesitant. Almost curious.

"Why?"

"I'm just—never mind." The cheerleader winces.

"What?" Chandler frowns. The braid drops. She scurried across the bed, sitting in front of the other.

Heathers' as red as her best friend's outfit. She leans back on her palms.

"It's not important."

"You asked for a reason."

"No I didn't—sorry, forget it. Let's watch the a movie." Mac reaches for the remote. Chandler grabs her wrist.

"What? Heather you were gonna say someth—"

Lips against her own shut her up. McNamara's wrist drops to the comforter.

It's startling when Chandler's free hand lands on her cheek gently. The freckled girl broke away, inexperienced. Her features are burning, embarrassed. It's inches, too close.

"That's why, Chan." She barely gets out the whisper before she's being kissed again.

She thinks this is the first time she's missed a sleepover. Chandler's on some trip with her family to the mountains for break. Won't be back for a week. McNamara's glad. It's her first time doing this (and last) and her girlfriend doesn't need to be here to witness it.

First time.

Sixteen years old.

McNamara's door has been shut at sleepovers for a few years now. Their dating. It's this weird title. Not at school—no. Not at school. That's dangerous. Every Saturday it is. The closeness is normal now. Pressed together with kisses until they can't breath. It's not a problem. No one will walk in. Mac's Dad is never home.

That's all it's been. Breathtaking makeouts that left her dizzy. It's enough for her, though. Chandler's presence is enough for her. She doesn't need much.

That night is different. Chandler's kisses are different then. Almost hesitant. An odd meaning behind them. She's straddling her—McNamara's hands resting on her girlfriend's waist. They break, breaths hanging in the air. The queen bee of their new high school smirks.

Her lips trail down to McNamara's neck and she has to remember to catch her breath.

"Chan—" it's a murmur. It's new. It's new when she keeps going down. Farther down than every before. Far enough down to where McNamara is left a mess of sharp whines.

First time overdosing that was. For clarification. Then again—nine out of ten people only overdose once, don't they?

McNamara was going to be the tenth.

She's already shaking and she hasn't taken anything yet. The orange plastic is in her hands, rattling. It's nearly six now. The sun is setting. She wonder's how her girlfriend's trip is going.

The blonde jumps when she hears her bedroom door creak open. An airy laugh. Her face flushes.

"I let myself in."

Chandler.

Her mind spun. She nearly drops the pills. Nearly. Her blue and scared gaze flickers to the locked bathroom door.

She doesn't answer.

"Babe?" Red heels. She knows there red. There always red, after all.

Heather bites back a sob. Shit. Shit. The bottle cap won't close. Her hands won't still.

"I—" it shakes and she has to get it together. "Y-you're back early?"

"Mhm," a giggle. "Surprise!" The footsteps are closer now. "Are you taking a shower or something? I hear the bath running." A sigh and a rattle of the doorknob rattles.

McNamara audibly gasps. Fuck. She had forgot. How? She scrambled, placing the bottle down to stop the tub from over flowing.

"I—uh—one second."

"Can you unlock the door? I need to redo my makeup. My parents dropped me off. Can I borrow yours?" A lazy sigh.

"No—uh, wait a second I'm doing something." Can the bath drain any slower?

"What?" It's confused, almost offended. "I'm not gonna look. As if there's nothing I haven't seen already." It's a joke, but barely a whisper. "I seriously just need to do my lipstick. Mac. Open the door, sweetheart."

"Wait."

"Are you alright?" It's almost laced with worry. A frown. "Open the door." The knob shakes. Heather McNamara can't breathe.

"N-no. Chan, I'm fine. Please wait." She staggered over to the counter. Pills. Pills. Where her—one cracks under her feet. God. She had spilt them. Her mind is bogged down. She hasn't slept in two days, after all. Ironic she's trying to overdose on sleeping pills.

"What the fuck—are you pranking me? Open the door. Mac this isn't funny."

Her mind swerved. If she opens the door can you tell she was sobbing? She dropped to her knees, trying to pick up the white powered pills. The white bullets.

There's a sharp thud and the wood door flies open with a smack. She had meant to get those locks replaced. It always undid with force. She doesn't move.

Grey eyes scan the scene. Quick. Terrified. So, so confused.

"What the hell?" That's the first time she'd heard Heather Chandler's voice crack.

She drops the pills. No use in picking them up now.

"Baby—what—what—" the girl fucking slid across the floor. McNamara squeaked as she was yanked forward into her girlfriend's trembling arms.

There's a drunken string of why's and what's but McNamara answer because she's too busy sobbing. Someone else is crying through their questions. It almost shakes her. Has Chandler cried before? In front of her at least.

"I'm sorry."

They both say it.