Lifeline ((Jughead Jones)) 1

8

"I'll have you know, Jughead Jones, that my parents ground Cheryl and I, but we are risking death to come here." I announced I walked through the door to the booth. He smiled when he saw me, lifting his head from where he was setting up the movie. He gestured to the small bench that he had placed next to the projector and I quietly took a seat. It seemed as if we were back to those young teens that first saw the movie, the awkward glances and the denial of feelings. I had declined Cheryl's offer to help me get ready, choosing to do everything myself tonight. Jughead hadn't seen me in casual outfits, it was always slightly designer or figure flattering. For tonight, however, I had chosen a blue shirt dress and black leggings. I had matched it with a brown beanie and brown heeled boots and a scarf. I threw my phone and charger into my bag, grabbed my draped jack then threw the bag over my shoulder. I had then quickly and messily fishtail braided my hair and pulled the beanie on.

It wasn't until halfway through the movie that he spoke to me.

"You look better when you don't wear outfits that make you look like a typical rich girl." He whispered. The small bench meant that when he spoke, and I turned to face him, our noses were about 15cm apart. In the dark booth, the light of the movie illuminated his face, making his eyes darker as his hair shaded the top of his head.

"So, I'm a typical rich girl, Mr Jones?" I asked, speaking in a posher way to tease him. He chuckled at me, looking towards the screen before turning to me. To break the intense stare we were having, I gently moved my arm behind so that he wouldn't notice. Just as he was about to open his mouth, I pulled the infamous Jughead beanie off his head and jumped up from the bench, so he wouldn't get it back. He protested quietly, pouting like a child. Feeling bad for him, I took off my own beanie and threw it to him and pulled his on my head. With a grumble, he pulled mine one, not wanting to be without a hat. I sat down beside him again, chuckling at his pouty face. I stared back at the screen.

"My parents don't like me wearing stuff like this. They say it doesn't keep up the Blossom family appearance," I spoke quietly, knowing that Jughead had turned to face me but I kept staring at the screen, "How can they keep up appearances with a daughter who is so broken?"

"Isn't everyone a little broken?" He asked, not turning his head. I turned to look back at him, smiling at his words. His eyes looked like they were trying to work out what to do, studying me; his lips looked as if they were holding back a thousand words. "It doesn't matter what our parents think of us, because they aren't you." His voice low.

"Also..." He began, but stopped himself.

"What?" I encouraged. Whatever Jughead was about to say, it was a now-or-never kind of statement. Jughead had always been good at finding the right words and speaking his mind. Somehow, this thing had taken all of his words from him and he didn't know what to say.

"What?" I smiled, confused as to why he was looking at me the way he was. His eyes shone with wonder and worry. Swiftly, as if he would back out if he didn't do it quick, he pressed his lips to mine, his large hand supporting the back of my neck and head; the left wrapping itself around my waist to draw me closer. My eyes immediately closed in bliss as our lips moved together, slowly, worried the other would pull away. On instinct, my right hand cupped his face, keeping him in position, the other holding his right arm. For my first kiss, it was indescribable. It made my stomach do jumps and flips as I tried to control it. The guy that I had like for years was kissing me. When we pulled away, our foreheads resting against each other, smiling as we opened our eyes. I saw Jughead exhale in relief that I hadn't pulled away. Our hands didn't move away. Our eyes didn't move away. I connected our lips again, wanting to taste them one more time, wanting the butterflies to return. Jughead stood up, pulling me with him, parting our lips, noses grazing over the others. We were both smiling.

Cautiously, so he wouldn't scare me away, he pulled me towards the camp bed where he had been sleeping since he left his dads. He laid me down like I was a fragile doll he had to protect, and in some ways, I was. Jughead lay next to me, hovering his torso over me so out faces were millimetres apart. My hand found the back of his neck, the other resting on his chest. His arm was rested beside my head to support his weight, the other cupping my face so our noses and foreheads rested together. The movie was long forgotten as we lay in simple bliss.

"I really like you Cynthia Blossom." He whispered, grinning at me, my beanie discarded beside me as we looked at each other, his still warming my head.

"I really like you too, Jughead Jones." I leant up and connected our lips. I don't know how long we had stayed like that, kissing and smiling. It couldn't have been longer than 10 minutes, but I had lost the perception of time the moment our lips met. Jughead Jones made me feel a way that no one else had.

"Stay with me tonight. Please." He begged, looking into my eyes as if he were a puppy begging for food. I nodded, connecting our lips again. We broke apart at the sound of the film ending and Jughead rushed to turn it off and watch the cars slowly leave. While he left to lock up everything, I texted Cheryl that I wouldn't be home, and she sent back 'Can't wait to hear about it 😉.' I put my phone back in my bag and watched Jughead come back through the door, locking it behind him.

We lay together that night, cuddling in the small shed with cinema reels lining the walls. It was the most peaceful night I had gotten after Jason's death and I didn't want it to end.

"What are we?" I asked as he pulled away from our kiss. He never forced himself on me, never made me kiss him back. His kisses were always sweet and loving, as if at any moment I would be taken from him.

"Princess, will you be my girlfriend?" He said, rhetorically. Jug didn't like labels, he thought they restricted things and tied them up in nice little boxes. It gave things a cliché to abide to and expectations to follow. However, I don't think he cared as I said yes that night. That was the best night of my life: I got the guy, I kissed the guy, and I spent the night in his arms.

In the morning, he packed everything up into a bag. I saw him pick up a photo of him and Jellybean. He missed her so much and I know it killed him not to have her with him and watching her grow up. I had taken that photo, Jellybean watching her dad who was standing behind me. Ever since it was taken, Jughead took it everywhere with him. And now it would follow him where ever he ended up.

I pulled my bag on my shoulder as he slung the hiking bag on his back. Holding back tears, he grabbed my hand, entwining our fingers. I stood behind him as he spray-painted the shed, his final stand again whoever was demolishing the place. At least he stood up for what he believed in.

He walked towards me kissing my head as I wrapped my arms around him in comfort. I felt him tense someone approached. I knew immediately who it was.

"They'll tear that booth down too. Raise the whole place. Send it to the junkyard. And us with it." FP was Jughead's dad. We had always gotten along when he was sober. I had only ever seen him drunk once and that was when me and Jughead lost track of time watching movies. FP came in and shouted at Jughead, saying it was his fault that Jellybean and his mom left. I, angry that Jughead was treated that way, shouted back at him. I said it was his fault for getting drunk off his ass most nights and being gone doing stuff with the serpents in the day. Furious, FP had moved to hit me, just he often did with Jughead. Before he could strike, Jughead pulled me behind him and took the hit for me. FP then passed out on the couch while Jughead took me home.

"Yeah. Maybe they'll save it. All the pieces. Store it in the town attic and rebuild it in a hundred years. Wonder who the hell we were." Jughead smiled, happy that his dad was making an effort to talk to him. He still kept his left arm wrapped around my waist, as if partly warning his dad not to try anything.

"So where you gonna live now?" FP asked. Jughead's face dropped, his smile gone. I turned to him slightly, rubbing his arm in comfort.

"I'll figure it out, Dad. I always do." He pulled me with him, guiding me in the direction of Thornhill and away from FP. Even in his situation he still walked me home before worrying about himself. That's why I loved him. He was Jughead, and I loved him.

Every town has one. The spooky house that all the kids avoid. Ours was Thornhill, the Blossom family mansion, with its very own graveyard. And trapped within its walls, like some gothic heroine was Cheryl Blossom, still grieving for her beloved brother, Jason. Linked in death, even as they were in life. Encased inside the stone prison was, also, Cynthia Blossom, the innocent rose between a house of thorns.

b