"What did he say?" Veronica asks when Archie walks into her room, bruised face and tired limbs, hair falling on his forehead. The sight of him like that forms a lump in her throat, something she can't swallow – she knows they've won, but he did get hurt. Somehow, it feels like they've lost.
He sits by her side on the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. His shoulders are down; he's definitely exhausted after all the adrenaline winding down. Archie doesn't touch her, hands folded on his lap. "That he was sorry."
She sighs, her mouth dry. "That's not enough. You could be dead right now, and he didn't move a finger. That stupid piece of shit could've..."
Veronica tugs at her skirt and stops talking. She's still wearing the purple dress, and she feels gross in it; she wants to rip it off with her own finger nails and tear it to shreds. She picked that dress carefully for the occasion, wanted to feel empowered and sexy and beautiful on the outside, just so she wouldn't be overwhelmed by what she was feeling inside – weak and terrified, a fragile little girl.
Veronica would do anything to save Archie; she would strip off that dress if it meant the one boy she had ever loved would be safe and sound, but still. The mere thought of it, Nick's body against hers when they danced, the way their noses brushed before the drugs started to kick in...
Her father didn't care. Archie had a fucking scar on his left palm; that should have meant something. She loved Archie. That should have meant even more. Her father didn't care. It makes her wonder if he'd care if she was raped, a despairing feeling blooming in her. She's been trying to get rid of it ever since Archie burst through that door. Against her better judgment, and will, she starts crying, embarrassing tears she can't contain.
"Oh, babe," she hears Archie whispering, as he slides a hand over her shoulder to hold her. She almost wishes he wouldn't, wishes he wasn't so wonderful, wishes he wasn't around her so he wouldn't get hurt again. "I'm so sorry all of this happened. I should have listened to you, I..."
She turns to him, tucking her face into his neck. Archie smells like sweat and blood, but underneath it all, there's still something only his, a hint of cheap soap and skin. She shakes her head. "I can't live like that anymore," she says, sniffling. "I can't live with them and you and all this danger. When it was just me it didn't matter, but you... We can't do this anymore."
"Hey," Archie says, softly, pulling back just enough to pull her hair away from her face. It sticks slightly to her damp cheeks. "Please don't break up with me just because I'm stupid. " He tries a crooked smile. Veronica breathes shakily. He knows what she meant – that they couldn't be involved with her parents' business anymore. He's just trying to make her smile, but she can't, his face is still so dirty with all that blood.
She can't smile, but she can kiss him, resting a hand on his cheek, rough under her fingertips. Her thumb brushes over his mouth. "Stay with me tonight," she breathes against his mouth, his hand resting on her lower back. "I can't let you go anywhere."
He lets her kiss him as he always does, mouth opening against her, but then pulls back, just barely. "I'm sorry," he says. "I must smell and taste like sh– do you want me to take a shower?"
Veronica's fingers curl in his hair. "I just want you."
She hears him sighing before he kisses her again, his tongue sliding into her mouth now, her hand slipping down his arm as her body leans against his. They kiss deeper and deeper, like they'll never have enough of it, until his back is on the mattress.
Veronica straddles him, her skirt hiking up her thighs, her skin pressing against the sturdy material of his jeans. Archie groans with the ways their bodies touch, resting his hands on her hips. She devours his mouth, breathing him in, she doesn't even care that he tastes like blood. She was so scared today, so sc–
