Deadline ((Jughead Jones)) 4

22

It's funny how good the woods are to clear a head. I can remember walking through woods and forests as a child, maybe along a river when I needed to get away from Cheryl and Jason, or needed to avoid my mother. I never guessed that as a young adult I would still be doing it, finding solstice in the quiet crunch of dead leaves beneath my feet, and the caress of wind against my cheeks, and the faraway bird call. It was easy to calm down here.

As I was walking, I was wondering if my child could feel their mother calming and enjoying the not so silent silence around her. I was wondering if maybe they too would find the same peace in the woods. And suddenly, while my thoughts were consumed by the possibilities of what my child could and might and every potential trait they could have, I forgave Jug. The pressure of a child is enough to swallow an adult whole, yet alone two people who were just finding their place amongst the adults of society. Would our child look like him? Would they like writing? Would they concoct magical storylines? Would they spend hours debating the best crime novel with their father?

"Betty, I'm going to work things out with Jughead, you go ahead and meet Archie," I announced, and it seemed like she had been expecting it. I didn't wait for a reply, instead just turned around and began the walk back to the bunker.

The leaves waved at me as I passed them, welcoming me along my path and pointing which way I should go. I watched two squirrels run in front of me, chasing after each other and completely ignoring my existence. The dappled sunlight kissed my skin, reminding me of its warmth.

Some people would have regrets in my position. Maybe they would regret going with my brother, and agreeing to take him across Sweetwater River to his doom. Maybe they would regret stepping onto the frozen grave and the night that came after. Perhaps they would regret not being beside Jughead on the opening night of Carrie. There was so much that people could regret, or should regret if they were in my position. One of the biggest would probably be the spontaneous night of passion that resulted in a life. But for some reason I didn't.

When you make a decision, you can't regret it, because it was the right decision at the time. I will never regret the night that gave me my child because it was an amazing night amidst the hell that was circling us. Joining the Serpents was the right decision for me. Following Jug to Southside High. Even changing my last name, all of that was the right decision. So, I would never regret it. This was Riverdale, a Wicked Little Town, and if you were going to thrive, regrets were a liberty that was not permitted.

By the time I arrived back at the bunker, I could hear Jughead inside and immediately recognised the song and the emotion leaking from inside. So, I silently descended back into the bunker, trying my hardest to not disturb my boyfriend within.

I watched as he pulled the videotape from the VCR and threw it angrily at the wall, and even from in the shadows of the entrance, I could tell he was trying not to cry.
"And then storm clouds gathered above, into great balls of fire." Whatever book had fallen when he threw the tape, he then picked up. I watched in silence and with baited breath as he collected his school books and placed them on the desk, still not knowing I was there. It wasn't until he opened every single one, pulled open the laptop and was about to begin studying that I made myself known.
"And then fire, shot down from the sky in bolts like shining blades of a knife. And it ripped right through the flesh of the children of the sun and the moon and the earth."

Jughead turned to me, eyes wide with shock at the fact I had come back. I knew he would have scripted some heartfelt apology to make up for our argument, but that was unnecessary. He stood, slowly walking over to me and continuing the song he had started, his voice rough and authentic and perfect to me.

"And Osiris and the gods of the Nile, gathered up a big storm," I immediately joined in, his arms finding their way around my waist just as our foreheads met in a peaceful embrace, "to blow a hurricane, to scatter us away, in a flood of wind and rain, a sea of tidal waves to wash us all away. And if we don't behave, they'll cut us down again. We'll be hopping round on one foot, and looking through one eye." We were quiet, singing softly by the end.