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They’re dead. They’re probably truly, actually, for real dead. Fuck.
There’s a cop. She can hear him. His radio? Probably. I mean, who else would it be?
Jason Dean opens the door to a car. It’s his car, right? Probably. Doesn’t matter. She gets in.
She can hear something hard and she almost convinces herself it’s construction somewhere but she realizes it’s her heart. JD gets in, too. He slams the door behind her and, to Veronica’s complete and utter surprise, immediately puts her in his lap. She doesn’t even feel like she’s breathing right, so she doesn’t complain.
“C’mon, take it off,” he says. His sounds garbled by radio static. Or underwater, maybe. Take what off?
She gets her answer when he grabs at her shirt. Veronica lets him, even though she doesn’t want to. She connects the dots and figures that the only scenario where she doesn’t go to prison for double homicide is the one where she’s just a horny teenager making out with her boyfriend in his car in the only place where they could think of. Hopefully, anyway. JD’s hands are on her hips and his lips are on hers and all she can think of is about the blood oozing slowly out of the dead jocks’ bullet holes. Fuck.
“Veronica,” JD hisses, squeezing her waist so hard it hurts. Right. She’s not selling it.
“Sorry,” she manages to say, and this time when he kisses her she kisses him back with a passion. The passion of not wanting to get caught, just with much higher stakes than not wanting a teacher to catch her under the bleachers. Her heart is beating so hard it feels like it’s going to fall out of her, and she grabs on to JD’s hair like she’s hanging on for dear life. She kind of is. And anyway, JD seems to like it, because she’s on his lap and can feel him liking it, and because his hands wander and grab her harder and he’s really kissing her. Well, at least one of them is having fun.
In the distance she hears the crackle of a police radio. JD slows down for a moment that feels both too short and too long. Veronica doesn’t dare open her eyes right now, and she doesn’t dare stop, either. She’s not supposed to even think that there’s someone out in the woods other than them. She just keeps making out with JD like she’s done before, but this time it’s like her life depends on it, on him. And as long as she can just think of his hands on her body, maybe she can stop thinking about — fuck! Fuck.
She pulls away for a second. “JD—” she starts.
“Shh,” he says, grabbing her jaw and pulling her in for another kiss.
“Wait, stop—is he gone?”
JD sighs. “Yes, he’s gone. We’re fine, promise. C’mon,” he says, kissing her neck, the kisses running down to her shoulders.
Not one month ago Veronica daydreamed of nothing but this, her alone in a car with Jason Dean, both their shirts tossed in the backseat, his hands on her thighs, her waist. But, fuck, not like this. Not to say she doesn’t want it, and she thinks she might actually be the worst person in the world, because she kind of does still want it right now. It would for sure clear her mind. Jesus, I’m a bitch, she thinks. A bigger bitch than Heather Chandler.
FUCK. Heather Chandler, who’s dead. Like Kurt. And Ram. All dead.
I mean, Jesus motherfucking Christ, they were awful! All three!
She doesn’t want to think about them. She doesn’t. But all she can see is Heather Chandler, lifeless and pink, curled up like a baby, surrounded by glass. Ram, bullet hole right in the middle of his throat, unresponsive on the floor while she touched him. The blood and how it looked so much darker and both slower and faster than in all the movies. And Kurt, dropping to the floor in a way a guy so big should never do, after she put a bullet straight in his heart. Fuck. Did she do it knowing she was going to kill him? No. Or did she? I didn’t know, she tells herself. She didn’t know, but, well, she did know, right?
Am I really that fucking stupid?
JD’s hand reaches up under her skirt and grabs at her underwear. Veronica lets him.
What the fuck else is she supposed to do? At least this way she’ll have something else to think about for a while.
“Veronica, you’re beautiful,” JD whispers in her ear. And that, and his hands, makes her melt. She can’t help it. He’s like the sun, pulling her towards him with his gravity. God, she really is going to hell. Well, then she might as well have her fun while she can, before the flames of hell come for her. Or jail. Or both. At this point, it’s probably all the same. Who knows, it might not even be that much different from fucking high school.
If she had an angel and a devil on her shoulder, the devil would probably be faking the angel’s suicide, or something like that. It’d almost be funny, if it wasn’t so goddamn awful. (Well, it’s still funny.)
But right now, Veronica gives up. Fine, she’ll end up wherever she ends up. She can’t keep spiraling. She can’t do this whole ‘thinking about it’ thing anymore. She feels like she’ll break if she does.
So she reaches down for Jason Dean’s belt buckle and undoes it. She unbuttons his pants.
Veronica stops delaying the inevitable.