Do anything to keep you near Count imperfections in the mirror No, I can't let you leave So I kill my insecurities

Do anything that it could take Convince myself I'm in first place And maybe you'll pick me In an alternate reality

Shortly after she had retreated from him and slid down the edge of the bed, Jughead had gotten to his feet and was in the process of leaving the room when the door was only partially open. Because of how dry her mouth was and the aftermath of waking up in a cold sweat, she asked for a glass of water, which served several purposes. First, it gave her a moment alone to try to collect herself and her thoughts so that she wouldn't start crying again in front of his watchful eyes. Second, it gave her a moment alone so she could get a glass of water, which gave her a moment alone. Betty rolled into herself a bit more tightly, her shoulders tensing as she slumped over her lap and unfolded her hands from around the edge of the mattress to wrap around the sides of her knees. She sat there in this position for a while. She felt the familiar tingling sensation as the blood rushed back to the tips of her fingers, which had gone white from the amount of pressure she'd exerted gripping the bed for bearing rather than allowing herself to dig familiar fingernails in the beds of the palms of her hands. She had grabbed the bed for maintaining rather than allowing herself to dig familiar fingernails in the beds of the palms of her hands.

It progressed, even if it was just the tiniest step forward on a trip that was building up to more leaps and bounds backward before she felt like she was actually getting any better. But it was progress nevertheless. Patience was also crucial. Patience was essential, both toward herself and toward each other, but Betty wasn't giving herself enough time to cope with her trauma acceptably. It had not even been that long after she had been abducted Tbk, the deaths of Riverdale when she messed up with Jug and said that he had passed away in her senior year. Coping with her mother, The black hood is responsible for the construction of a great many things. However, she was already taking out her anger on herself and Jughead as an innocent, helpless spectator since she was not suddenly magically healed of the abusive and torturing tactics. As is the case with most things, she established expectations for herself that were far too high, making them hard to achieve. She should have been resilient enough to not allow these standards to impact her profoundly. She was embarrassed by the fact that they had triumphed in some way, that they had really destroyed her as a result of their actions, and that even her dreams were plagued by nightmares that gave them some degree of control over her.

Jughead returned shortly after that with a glass of water in hand, just as he had promised quietly before. Even though she tried to control the way it made her leap whenever he pushed open the door farther to declare himself, she could not. Even when she was expecting it to be him, and even when she was in the darkness and comfort of his bedroom in the trailer, her answers weren't her own. Even when she was having a nightmare about things. She took a long breath to gather her composure, and when he brought her the glass, she could not look up at him until he spoke again. She stared at the spot where his feet had come to rest in front of her. Bright eyes shot up to his, instantly filled with remorse for how fast she'd snapped at him, misinterpreting what he'd said earlier and allowing her misguided emotions to get the better of her. Bright eyes darted up to his, filled with guilt for how quickly she snapped at him. "I know…" She confirmed it feebly, her own voice being wobbly at best as she gratefully accepted the drink with a contrived ghost of half-grin of appreciation on her face.

"I just want that everything would simply vanish. I've had enough of trying, and I've had enough of fighting." She finally admitted it while holding onto the glass with both hands in an effort to keep it stable as she took a timid drink from it. Her hands were still shaking. Betty gave a little shake of her head as she leaned down to place the glass on her knee. "Am I? Tough? I'm not so certain about it anymore. Jug, that's what I believed I was. During the entire time of my life, I convinced myself that I was more powerful than all of the strategies. I told myself that I was simply biding my time until I could get through things knowing that you, Archie, Veronica, and Cheryl were all fighting just as hard from the other side. Maybe I had to tell myself that in order to get through each day. However, as of right now, I'm not so sure." She accepted it, shrugging her shoulders and revealing muscles that were already fatigued and achy from keeping all of the strain she was experiencing inside her body.

"It's possible they've had this in mind from the beginning. It wasn't about physically being there; rather, it was about how they still managed to get into my thoughts, even though I wasn't strong enough to combat any of it like I believed I was." She drifted off, going someplace by herself in her own thoughts as her attention dropped to the lip of the water as she leisurely brushed her fingers over the edges of the glass. Her voice died off as she did this.