serpent ♔ juliet

When she sees the blood, the bubble bursts, as Betty takes in the image in front of her, everything appears to crack: the congealing solidity of the liquid her mother is feverishly attempting to sweep up, Chic's stuttering hyperventilating across the kitchen, the unmistakable sound whooshing through her ears as if she were underwater.

Betty's brain detects that Jughead had bitten the same lip just hours before and comforted it with passionate kisses when she bites her lip. All she can taste now is the metallic tang of her own blood, heightened by the suffocating odor of blood that pervades Alice Cooper's immaculate veneer. Betty races towards the front hall washroom to vomit into the toilet after something in her stomach twists viciously. When she encourages Betty to get a handle of herself, she still hears everything through a veil, and it seems like Alice is yelling from blocks away.

When Betty comes to where Alice is wiping up blood, her heart is in her throat, and her nails are in her hands. She doesn't appear to have made a dent in the problem. There's so much of it, yet Betty's attention is drawn to the sheer volume of blood rather than the body in her peripheral vision. She could throw up again if she thinks long and hard about whether those eyes are open, whether there is life in them. Betty can't bring herself to cross the proverbial. Literal red sea in front of her to reach Chic, who is still crouched on the ground on the other side of the blood; even though she wants to comfort this person with whom she feels an inexplicable connection beyond shared DNA, she can't bring herself to do so. "Mom," she stutters. "Can you tell me what happened?"

As she talks, Alice seems upset with Betty, but as if it were over something as insignificant as Betty wearing ugly cut-off jeans and failing to inquire about the possibly dead corpse on their kitchen floor. "We don't have time for this, Elizabeth. Please go to the garage and fetch additional rags. They're the ones your father uses to wash his vehicles. Now!"

Betty Cooper listens to her mother because that's what she does. She hears her mother tell her to change out of her dress and into pants; she hears her mother tell her to run a load of blood-soaked rags in the washer. To wash Chic's hands for him, help Alice wrap the body in more towels, transport it in the back of the station wagon, drive with her to some back corner of the Southside, and carry it into a drain pipe. Betty listens since she can't think of anything else to do.

Betty attempts to find words during the agonizingly silent trip. What do you say when your mother is wearing your favorite coat to conceal her blood-stained sweater, and there's a body in the trunk, and you're traveling across town? Do you tell her you've just had your virginity taken away? You bring up the boy's father with whom you recently lost your virginity.

"FP," she quietly whispers. "Well, he." She can't get the words out of her head. "He's been known to hide a corpse before. Could we...ask for a second pair of hands?"

"He was apprehended, Elizabeth. He managed to conceal a body, albeit not very effectively." The snort Alice responds with is sarcastically mocking.

Betty's intellect finally catches up to her body as the body is placed, the thud reverberating with terrible finality, and something inside her shatters. During the return trip, Alice remains silent, although she does take one hand off the driving wheel to securely grasp her daughter's clenched fist. She's looking for solace, camaraderie, or...something, but she's not sure what.

Betty is trembling when they go home, unable to comprehend what has happened. She dashes for the entryway table, where she'd left her phone when Jughead had dropped her off. When she hits the call button next to Jughead's name, her fingers are slippery with sweat and blood—hers, not that it's any better than the alternative. He scans the kitchen lights, which are still on, for Alice's army of cleaning tools and Chic's hunched body. "Uh, Mrs. Cooper?" The elder woman doesn't explain, but she gives him a softer glance than average. Jughead determines that this is a perplexing indication in and of itself. "Could you kindly assist in getting Betty washed up and into bed, Jughead?"

He makes a blinking motion. Betty, too, raises her head slightly, tears still streaming down her face but clearing briefly to heed her mother's remarks. They listen to Alice Cooper, as one does. Jughead grabs Betty's hand in his and helps her up on her unsteady knees before walking her up the stairwell with a calming palm caressing her back. Betty freezes at her bedroom doorway as if she doesn't recognize the world around her—things have changed irreversibly since she left her room earlier that day.

Jughead, perplexed, takes the lead, snatching Betty's fluffy pink robe from the back of her vanity chair and gently escorting her down the hall to the toilet. The aroma of Betty's perfume and shampoo fills the little room, the soothing scent washing over Jughead in waves and anchoring him. He's still on high alert, absolutely baffled as to what's going on, but Betty appears to be physically fine—aside from her palms—and that alone helps to lower his heart rate.

Betty emerges with mascara rings across her eyes and damp hair plastered on her cheeks as the taps squeal off. When Jughead tosses her the robe, she shrugs it off before scooping up the goods from the counter and following Jughead back across the hall to her room. Jughead kneels down at the edge of Betty's soft pink bed, gently applying ointment and band-aids to each of the crescent sores on her hands, putting small kisses on top of each one as he finishes. Betty curls into the fetal position as he does so, grasping his hands to pull him along with her.