Taken- A Bughead Fanific

Chapter 14- Recognition, but not Recognition.

Flashback

"So? What do you think?"

Um maybe something a little less. . . grotesque?" Ronnie replied back with a light tone.
                                                 
"Grotesque?" She giggled, "been hittin the word-a day calendar, V?"

Veronica cracked a smile as she walked over to Betty. She fiddled with her skirt, fluffing it up, then pressing it down, then fluffing it up again, "No," she dismissed in a more serious tone this time, "You know I kid. You look perfect. It looks truly beautiful on you, B"

Betty stood under the yellow lighting, sizing herself up In front of the department store mirrors. "Maybe," she trailed off, her bare feet digging into the thin carpet when she twirled around, "... maybe a different color?" 

"No, no, you rock blue. Stepping out of your comfort zone is good," Ronnie reasoned.

Betty examined herself some more. She delicately traced the intricate sequins on the long, flowey dress.

"Well If we're gonna use big words here," Betty huffed, "then I will say I'm in love with the ornate-ness of it."

"Ornate-ness?" Veronica mocked, looking into Betty's reflection, "I'm not sure that's a word, B. I'm not even sure your using it in the right sentence."

Betty gazed into her own eyes as she answered back with a slight grin, "Aren't all words made up in the beginning?"

Veronica broke her stare from Betty's reflection, crouching back down into the stiff ottoman.

The blonde looked down to her feet and bit her lip. "Do you think Jughead will like it?"

"He will love it it. Hell, I'll be surprised if he doesn't fall over."

"He better love it," Betty replied quickly. She glanced down at the tag, "I'm gonna spend a pretty penny on this."

Veronica blinked hard, clearing her tired mind from the daydream, or, in this case, night-dream.

"She looks so..." she started, realizing she wasn't really sure how to describe how her friend looked. Not asleep, but not dead.

Jughead took in Betty's image. She had a rather large tube running down into her throat. Clear, plastic spider legs ran out every which way from her body, just like the ICU patients. Then, why was she here? An apparent , gruesome bruise laid comfortably along the right side of her face. A barely-healed laceration wrapped around her face from her forehead, through the bruise, and finally stopping at the nose. Finally, scabbed blood settling at the bottom of her nostrils, followed by another, smaller bruise around the corner of her lip.

Jughead was blissfully unaware of his loud, shaky breathing. Unsurprisingly in his own universe. He felt like he hadn't seen her in years -no- decades. Eons. But here she laid, somewhat peacefully, like she was here the whole time, waiting. He could imagine her saying, "What took you so long?" In her quintessential, passive aggressive tone when irritated.  Sometimes it bothered him, her keeping thoughts inside her head. He almost always wandered about what she really meant when she said things, or even what was going on up there in general. Jughead understood it now. It's better to keep some thoughts as just that: thoughts. Some of them are meant to be like that. Some of them aren't meant to be said, like, "Will Betty live?" Or "is it my fault she is here?" Yes, those are definitely not meant to be said aloud. Those thoughts must remain as thoughts.

He was afraid to touch her. He almost felt like he was at a funeral, for a person he didn't really know that well- a distant relative who sent birthday cards with money in it when he was young, but stopped later on. It was that feeling, but different. He didn't recognize her, but he intensely recognized her at the same time. He didn't want to dare touch her, but he also wanted to hug her and never let go.

Jughead knelt down and started with a mere finger. He traced imaginary patterns on the top of her hand, especially careful around the IV. He kept his movements consistent when Veronica cleared her throat.

"I... I remember..." she cleared her throat again, then restarted, "Do you remember that one, dark blue dress she wore to Cheryl's party?" She waited a second for a response from Jughead. He looked as though he was processing the information, recalling ever last thread of the dress, still tracing her hand.

"Yes," the softest of whispers slipped out of his lips.

"Yeah, well, I bought it with her. I convinced her to buy it."

"Yes, for the party, I know," Jughead acknowledged.

Veronica chuckled, "No, see, that's the thing, she didn't give a damn about that stupid party. She just wanted you to gush over her."

Jughead, a little amused, chirped back, glancing up at Veronica, "More than I already did gush over her? See, she would never admit that to me, if she were here she would probably be scowling at you."

If she were here. Shit. That was a thought that was only meant to be a thought, and now it's said, and now it can never be a thought again- because it was said.

Veronica, visibly upset by the, 'if she were here' statement, stepped out of the room with her hands over her face. Archie followed. Jughead didn't bother running after her. He'd rather stay here with Betty. Jughead kept his eyes on her closed ones.  He should talk to her. Maybe she was awake, but trapped. He read about that in the paper one time.

He started with an apology for doing this to her, then followed with some funny story about how Veronica was annoying him, then a cliché, 'we miss you, especially me. I miss you, B"

Almost frustrated at her vegetive state/ lack of response, he spoke again, irritated, "you know you probably can't even hear me and I'm just being a dumbass-"

His hand was then grabbed by her hand. Jughead looked down immediately, then back at her face, then back at his hand. Jughead wasn't believing what he was seeing.

"Betty," he managed to get out. Suddenly, Betty's body shot up, diligently ripping the tube out of her throat. She gasped for air, clawing at her throat. Jughead quickly sprung up and grabbed her shoulders in disbelief. Happy tears boiled over, spilling over his cheeks.

"Betty!" He started again. Failing to acknowledge him or his voice, she violently ripped all of the cords out of her at once. One, swift movement away from pulling out the last IV on her hand Jughead was previously tracing. Without thinking, he grabbed her free hand and looked at her in the eyes.

"What are you doing?" He asked, genuinely curious. A question with underlying questions, like a Betty question. Such questions include: "Why are you ripping your IV's out," and, "why don't you see me?" And finally, "Where is the real Betty?"

Betty paused. She stared back. It was a different stare, though. One that hurt him. One that was unresponsive, like she didn't know where she was, or who the strange boy was that was holding her hand hostage. A stare, nonetheless.

It was silent for a moment, apart from their heavy breathing mixing together. Then she finally spoke. A hoarse, unused voice asked Jughead in a monotone voice, "Kill me."

She collapsed harshly back into the bed. Her back arched and she shook. He recognized this from earlier this night. A seizure.

"Somebody help!" He screamed with great haste. Before he could even process what was going on, a nurse and two other people drug him out of the room as they tended to the girl he recognized, but sadly didn't.