Alone Together | Bughead Oneshots

PTSD ("Trauma" Part 2)

TW: sexual assault, PTSD

Jughead's POV

Ever since I told Betty about what happened to me last week, she wanted to take every single procedure to make sure I was safe. She stayed over last night and cooked for me.

We watched a few movies and I tried being close to her and snuggling, but it was scary. Sometimes she looks like Penny with her hair, which made it hard to do the things I love with her like cuddling or running my hands through her hair as she lays her head on my shoulder.

"Jug, I know you don't want to...do anything, but I at least think you should take a shower, just so you can...get used to your body again. And I'll be right on the couch if you need anything," Betty coaxed me, trying not to put her hands on mine.

I've noticed the way she started to restrain herself from making physical contact with me ever since I told her.

"You...you won't leave?" I asked to clarify, my head down. "No, no, of course not, baby. I'm here, I'm here," Betty replied, slowly putting her hand on my back on support.

"Is this okay? Are you okay with this?" She asked. I nodded, acknowledging her effort of support. "Okay. Okay, then, I'll go run the water for you and when you're ready, you can hop in," Betty said before getting up.

"Betty, wait!" I said, holding out my arm. She turned around and took my hand in hers, saying, "I'm right here, baby. I'm here," before she walked off and started running the shower.

I sat for a minute in silence. I tried to calm down my anxiety, but all I could do was replay that horrible scene from last week in my head.

"Aw, what's wrong, Jonesy? Can't handle your roofie?"

"Get...off."

"Don't you get it? Getting off is my full intention here. Why don't you help your little gal-pal out?"

"Penny, s-st...stop."

"You mean 'go?'"

"No."

"You mean 'yes?'"

"Aw, don't worry, Jonesy. I'll be much better than that inexperienced ponytail you call a girlfriend."

"Jug?" Betty called out from as she leaned against the wall. I looked up and she must've noticed my tears, because she came over and asked if she could wipe them away.

I felt so bad that I let this drive a wedge between us to the point where Betty can't even lay her hand on my shoulder without asking. And even if she does ask, she's always worried she'll trigger my PTSD and I'll have an anxiety attack.

"Your shower is ready," she spoke as I nodded and got up. "I'll just be right out here if you need anything," Betty said, about to sit down.

"Wait, Betts," I said, holding out my arm. She stood up again, worried. "What is it, Juggie?" She asked, concerned. I lightly grabbed her arm and spun her close to me.

She was taken by surprise when I kissed her. She slowly departed from my lips and whispered, "This is okay?"

"Yeah," I replied in a whisper like hers. "This is okay," I said before slowly walking off to the shower. I shut the door and slowly reached for my shirt.

This wasn't my first shower since then, but today I was easier to trigger for some reason. Every move I made I made it carefully. Everywhere I looked, I felt paranoid.

Slowly, I took my shirt off and caught a glimpse of the mirror with my reflection in it. And then it all came hurling back.

Flashback after flashback, memory after memory, trauma after trauma-- it all hit me like a silver bullet.

I slowly started to fall to the ground, screaming and crying, anxiety getting the best of me. "Jug? Jughead?" I heard faintly.

The bathroom door opened and Betty came rushing in as I held my arms out for her. She dropped to the floor next to me, holding me tightly as I laid my head on her chest.

"It's okay, baby. I'm here. I've got you," Betty said soothingly, running her hand over my hair. "You're okay," she repeated. "I've got you."