ghosts // riverdale

[16]

Halloween had passed and Christmas was around the corner yet there were still skeletons hiding in the closets of Riverdale. The residents of Riverdale believed that the worst was over when really, it hadn't even begun. They could try to hide behind their giant Christmas trees and the wreaths hanging on their front doors but it wouldn't work. Ol' Saint Nick wasn't coming to deliver, he was coming to collect.

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Brooke's hazel eyes have turned red as she glides into the back seat of the SUV. She quickly wipes warm tears from her pale cheeks as her lip gloss causes her lips to stick together. She can still feel the knot in her stomach and the pain in her throat in an effort to keep herself from sobbing. But it wasn't time to cry. Not now. Not in front of him. "Hi daddy," Brooke murmurs as her eyes meet his.

Jonathan glides his warm hand down his daughters cheek, wiping away her last tear. "I told you not to get involved, Brooke," he mutters with almost a hint of empathy, "but you never listen to me." Brooke lays her hands flat in her lap as she turns her eyes to the empty leather seat in front of her. She can feel her breath rattling with the cold as irritation flows through her veins. "I thought I could help," she shrugs.

"It's not your job to help everyone here in Riverdale," he says with a deep breath, "it's your job to help me with my business. I thought I was clear on that but perhaps I wasn't clear enough." Brooke closes her eyes to prevent her from rolling them. The last time she rolled her eyes in front of her father, her pale cheek had been turned red for three days. Her teenage years had been difficult ones. Jonathan always said she was too much like her mother and not enough like him. But once her mother died, he did everything in his power to change that and in many ways, he had been successful.

"What more do you want from me? I've done everything you've said," Brooke whispers as she opens her eyes again, only to glare over at him. Jonathan's perfectly carved face lingers half in the shadows of the SUV as the moonlight illuminates the other half. He presses his lips together as he tries to conceal a smirk. He always pretended to have a good sense of humor. Hell, he pretended to have a sense of humor at all. He didn't. Nothing was ever funny to Jonathan Harlow. Everything is business to Jonathan, even pleasure.

"What I want from you Brooke is for you to grow the fuck up," he smiles through a cool voice, "don't you think you could do that for me sweetie? Please? Even for five fucking minutes?" Jonathan's smile quickly evaporates as he presses his head against the window of the SUV and closes his eyes. Brooke can feel the tension in the car rise as she looks towards the driver in the front seat in embarrassment. "And how would you like me to grow up?" Brooke whispers as the irritation in her veins turns to anger. "Perhaps I too could sleep with someone half my age or would you rather me leave my sick spouse at home to die - please tell me which one gives me the honor of being a grown up?"

"You can't sleep with someone half your age Brooke when you're too busy sleeping with everyone double your age," Jonathan bites back as he removes his head from the car window. "But you know what Brooke, me being here in a Riverdale isn't about you. Surprising, I know. We have work to do. So, you're going to cry out all the tears you need and then you're going to get over it. Clear?" Brooke takes in a shallow breath as her eyes stare at the empty headrest in front of her, "crystal."

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The soft light floats above the carpeted floor as the ceiling fan above the sloppy bed continues to swirl in a perfect circle. Although it's only a few days from Christmas, FP Jones always has to sleep with the fan going above his head. His face is buried deep within his pillow before a quiet knock wakes him from his sleep. His throat is scratchy and his chest burning from all the whiskey he had downed the night before. Brooke Harlow had helped him sober up and then Brooke Harlow had torn him apart.

FP blamed himself for believing her. When she had told him that it was all about them now, he could see it. It was like a movie playing out in his head. He would make a drawer for her in his bedroom and he would take her to the Whyte Wyrm on his arm, showing her off like a prize to all of his friends. Because that's what Brooke Harlow was. She was the prize of life. She made him want to change. She made him want to be different. For a moment, he believed that he could be. Maybe he could settle down. Maybe he could start over. Just maybe. But maybe isn't reality.

FP stumbles out of bed, adjusting his boxers as he heads towards the front door. He scratches at his beard as he doesn't even think to check to see who's on the other side of the door before opening it. His bloodshot eyes are met with other bloodshot eyes. Before he can shut the door in her face, Brooke catches it with her hand. "Wait," she murmurs as she holds it open. FP clenches his jaw and closes his eyes as he stands in the doorway. "What do you want, Brooke?" He asks through his thick morning voice.

"I need to talk to you," Brooke murmurs as she continues to hold the door open with her hand. FP takes in a deep breath before releasing a quiet laugh. "Ya know Brooke," he says with a shake of his head, "I'm getting really tired of going around in circles with you. You're here. You're not here. You love me. You love Hiram. It's exhausting. But more than anything, it's unfair." Brooke nods her head and turns her head away before responding. He's right. It makes it hard for her to even look at him.

"I know," she whispers through a nod, "and I'm sorry. All that stuff I said last night, I didn't mean it FP. Well, not most of it at least. Not the stuff about you." FP leans back slightly as he looks her up and down. She's still wearing the same dress that she had on the night before and her cheeks have been streaked with tears. "What happened to you, Brooke?" He asks with concern as he opens the door to get a full look at her.

Brooke shakes her head as if to ignore the question. "It's my father, FP. Jonathan. He's here and he's here to collect." Dread immediately forms in FP's stomach as the words leave her mouth. "No, it's too early. He wasn't supposed to be here until after the new year." Brooke nods as she leans in the door frame. "I know," she whispers, "that's why I'm here." FP presses his palm to his mouth as the dread in his stomach begins to grow. "He sent you to collect?" He asks as his dark eyes meet hers.

"Yes," she whispers, "but I'm not going to. I can buy you time. I already knew that. I'm here to talk. We've talked about it before, in the beginning and I brushed it off. But I'm not going to brush it off anymore, FP. I came here to tell you that I'm in." FP quickly takes Brooke's hand and drags her into his trailer, slamming the door behind her. He presses her against the wall of his trailer as his face lingers only inches away from hers. "You can't go back on this once you're in Brooke," he whispers, "once you're in, you're in. No go backs."

"I know that," she whispers in response, "but I've decided. Like you said, no go backs. I'm going to help you. I'm going to help you bury Jonathan Harlow and I have everything that you need to do it."

A/N:
A few things: I'm writing this from my iPad and for whatever reason it's not letting me upload a gif so I'll do that at a later date. Also, sorry it's taken me so long to get this up and for it being such a short chapter! I promise more is coming very soon! Anyways, I hope you enjoy! If you do, please leave a vote and a comment to let me know. I love and appreciate y'all so much! xx Sarah