𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 ⚢ beronica

【 eight. 】

On Tuesday night, Betty is discharged from the hospital and instructed to return to regular activity on Friday, with a follow-up (to remove her cast and further test her recovery from a concussion) scheduled for Saturday. As her mother signs the release paperwork, Betty glumly awaits her in the spartan, sterile lobby, absentmindedly fidgeting with her sling while surveying the nighttime view of Riverdale afforded her by an extensive glass window.

She was born in this town; she grew up here. Everyone's always been here; everyone and everything has always been the same. Until Jason's death. And until Veronica's arrival.

Despite Betty's best efforts, there's no way to avoid her mind's natural trek down the well-trodden path of reminiscing about Veronica. She's been seesawing between sleep and reality during the entirety of today; dreaming of Veronica whenever she closed her eyes, and thinking of her whenever she woke. And as she's reminded of this inevitability, she almost groans, because she hates it.

Betty can literally split her life into a before and after of meeting and befriending Veronica, and now the girl is such a constant presence in Betty's conscience that it's like her brain has been wired into an endless loop, and no matter where her thoughts and plans and ideas begin, or where she tries to lead them, Betty ends up back in the same place-Veronica Lodge. The girl might as well be with her even when she's not with her at all, as though she's built-in to every feeling Betty generates, as though she were weaved through each of her memories, as though she's the marrow in Betty's bones.

She's aware that she needs to talk to Veronica. To sort things out, to make things clearer in this haze of miscommunication. At the same time, the fact that this is her best friend only makes the prospect more daunting. Each of their arguments has gotten progressively worse than the last, and doesn't every friendship have some kind of threshold for the amount of hurtful things you can say before its binding strands are permanently severed? She reminds herself not to be dramatic, to reason her way through this quandary, but the mere idea of losing Veronica already feels as though the axis of her life has been knocked lopsided.

The thought of not having Veronica around, of not having any of this anymore-no one who will push her to face the things she fears, no one to talk her into watching a documentary about Tennessee Williams (for no other reason than "Streetcar! Named! Desire!"), no one she can text a picture of a B-graded assignment to, who will text her back "obviously your genius continues to be under-appreciated," no one who will see the worst parts of her and truly know her, but like her anyway, and always believe her and believe the best of her-the thought terrifies her unlike anything else. Out of all the things she became this year-Vixen cheerleader, writer for the Blue and Gold, a braver person-her favorite is Veronica's best friend.

And yes, Betty's feelings run much deeper than merely friendship, but every time her mind wanders towards the not-quite-platonic realm, she remembers the last time she liked a friend.

("I'm asking you now-right now-if you love me, Archie. Or even like me?")

Last time she did that, she loved the person much less (and, as it turned out, in a starkly different way), and the rejection still burned her enough that she felt the sting of the scald for weeks.

Clearly, her priority here is to mend the rift in their friendship-trying to be anything more to Veronica seems dishearteningly distant at this point-and yes, she's been occasionally impulsive these past few weeks, but if there was ever a time to revert back to her usual sensible, practical self, this is it.

"Betty," her mother calls from the hospital counter, equal parts stern and tender, "let's go home."

As Betty expected, Alice Cooper does not budge in her grounding restrictions: Betty remains deprived of any internet or cellphone access until Friday. It's exactly what Betty expected, as the circumstances behind her sprained arm are not exactly the finest example of good behavior, but she still can't help the nauseating wave of frustration that overcomes her.