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Isn't in messed up - how I'm just dying to be here?

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Veronica is smoking in the toilets when she first meets Heather Chandler.

Well, that’s a lie, she met Heather just after second grade, when she moved to Ohio after her parents divorced.

But the first time she talks to Heather Chandler, apart from the small things about homework or being in the way and such, is in the toilets.

Heather is a walking stereotype; blonde, blue-eyed, cheerleader, dating the quarterback, all she needs is a teen pregnancy and she fits it perfectly. Veronica supposes that she is a stereotype too, with her mullet and leather jackets and burns from when she zones out and her cigarette ash drops onto her skin, but she’s a much cooler stereotype so she gives herself a break.

She’s mean too, Heather that is, saying biting things to people in the hallway, making a couple of girls come into Veronica’s bathroom, crying, then cleaning themselves up in the mirror. They barely pay attention to Veronica, if they even notice her, she’s almost part of the scenery, it gives her the ability to watch everyone from her perch on the window sill.

So when Heather goddamn Chandler shows up halfway through a period, Veronica is surprised; especially when she turns to the other girl and demands, in her normal gruff tone for a cigarette. She debates what to do, ignoring her could catastrophic, but it’s not as if she has a cheery life at school anyway so it wouldn’t be the end of the world. She’s one of the few people not so terrified of Heather and her reign of terror. On the other hand, something about her is different from the way that she normally is, walking down the hall, everyone parting as she saunters past. She hands one over and watches as the cheerleader lights it with practiced ease before tossing the lighter back to her.

She clearly hasn’t found out she’s pregnant then, unless she doesn’t care. For someone so obsessed with popularity and looks and all that jazz, Heather cares for very little else. She doesn’t care that she holds her popularity with fear, that everyone is stuck oscillating between hating her and being scared of her. She doesn’t care for teachers or tests or homework, only that she’s on top. It’s something that’s always interested Veronica, how Heather deals with her shit, deals with herself.

Does she cry at movies? Does she have coffee in the morning? Does she argue with her parents or move throughout her house like a ghost or get on with them?

Who the hell is she?

To be clear, Veronica fucking hates her, but she’s a curious creature and Heather Chandler is simultaneously the easiest person to read but also the hardest person to understand.

Heather stands dead still in front of the shitty school mirrors, smoking like a robot, hands gripping the sink so tight that her knuckles are the same colour as the porcelain, only her bright red nails that are against the school rules stand out against the sink. She’s tapping her foot at a solid tempo, Veronica starts humming a song that matches it perfectly, Heather’s head turns to her.

“Watch it.” She snaps to her.

“You’re in my realm now Demon Queen.” Veronica jokes, she clearly thinks that Veronica’s not worth it and rolls her eyes, going back to staring at herself. They remain like that for a bit, ignoring each other’s existence. Veronica stares out of the window to the rest of the school, she thinks of all the times she’s jumped out of this window to head to 7/11 with JD for slushies before coming back to school with a blue tongue and ready to debate Fleming about her dumbass interpretation of a dumbass book they have to read.

They’re both waiting for the other to speak. Veronica is waiting for Heather to spew hate, while Heather is waiting for her to be flippant and sarcastic. Somewhere in her mind, Veronica can tell that Heather is going to be silent, she clearly came in here for some alone time, not expecting for someone to be in the bathroom.

“What’s eating you?” She finally asks the other girl.

“Like you care.” She scoffs. “Like I’d tell you.”

“Who am I gonna tell? My three friends who are too scared to make eye contact with you?”

“Didn’t your Mother teach you not to get involved in shit that’s not your business?”

She’s not doing a very good job at insulting today, normally she would have gone for all of Veronica’s weak spots, including her body, fashion and family life, but she’s going down the easy route. There’s something wrong, and she is fascinated in Heather Chandler’s psyche, so she carries on. Pressing, finding out what’s making her act so unlike the beast that she is.

“Ooh, close one. I have Daddy issues, not Mommy issues. You, however, seem like you have both.”

“Fuck off Sawyer.”

Jock pot. She’s broken through the first layer of her walls, she’s stopped trying to insult her, instead pushing her away, normally one of her groupies would have said something or the boyfriend would have jumped in.

“You know my name? I am flattered.”

“Everybody knows who you are, the school fuck up.”

“I’ll have you know that I’m the top of every class I’m in.”

“Well everything else about you is a tragedy then.”

Veronica throws her cigarette butt out of the window and jumps from the window sill, landing quietly on the linoleum floor.

“That’s weak, I expected to be crying by now.”

“Yeah right, like you feel anything.”

“Weak again, what is going on with you?”

She sees Heather turning the idea over in her head, Veronica pops some gum, the strawberry flavoured stuff that JD bullies her for buying instead of mint.

“I don’t feel right about Ram.” She finally admits. It’s weird phrasing, she chooses each word carefully, purposefully avoiding Veronica’s gaze in the mirror. She nods and they stand close together for a second, not  making eye contact, or really noticing each other, just being there in the silence. Veronica checks her watch.

“I’d clear out of here soon if I were you, Fleming checks this bathroom at half past.”

“Thanks. And Sawyer-“

“Don’t tell anyone unless I want my head on a spike, got it.”

Not that there’s anything to tell, just a hidden sentence said with odd phrasing. As she walks down the corridor, she hears the bathroom door open and close and the sound of heels click in the opposite direction to where Veronica is heading.

It’s at that moment, where Veronica turns around and sees the vision in red walking quickly, almost running from her, and she decides that she’s going to get to the bottom of Heather Chandler.

She’s going to understand her.

--

The next time they meet, it’s in the same bathroom two weeks later.

It’s raining this time, as Veronica stares out of the window, they’ve needed the rain for a while, the ground was beginning to get cracked and broken beneath her feet. She’s thinking of their last interaction when Heather almost slamming the door on her entrance.

Heather comes in, same time, different feeling, same demand.

“Cigarette, Sawyer?”

She’s caught Veronica in between smokes.

“Do I have to ask again?”

“This is my last one.”

She makes an aggravated noise, pushing against the sink slightly.

“We can share it.”

“I am not sharing anything with you.

“I assure you I am completely STD free.”

She stomps her foot petulantly, it makes Veronica smile.

“Come on,” she jumps from the sill again. “who am I gonna tell?”

“That’s not the point.”

“I kept Mum on the Ram thing didn’t I?”

“What does that even mean?” She sounds exasperated, already done with the conversation. It’s strangely open for her, she should be telling Veronica everything that’s wrong with her, maybe even mock her friends a little bit, but she isn’t. She’s letting herself be vaguely open.

“It means I didn’t say anything. Not that there was something to say, what did your little secret even mean?”

“If I share the cigarette will you stop interrogating me?”

“Maybe.”

“Good enough I suppose.”

Heather leans against the wall by the sink and slips down, Veronica joins next to her, painfully aware that she can feel Heather’s heat through her jeans. She lights the final cigarette and takes the first drag, before handing it to the other girl. Her head thumps against the wall, the nicotine starting to make it light headed, for someone who smokes so often, her tolerance is still pretty low. She can feel Heather’s gaze on her, but she can’t quite read it, it leaves a warmth in its path that Veronica doesn’t know how to interpret on her end.

“So-“

“Shut it Sawyer.”

“There she is.”

“You are infuriating to be around.”

There’s Heather Chandler, I was wondering where she’d gotten off too.”

She sighs, grabbing at the cigarette before you could even take a hit.

“Hey, don’t hog it. Where are yours anyway?”

“I don’t smoke.” She says, with a lit cigarette in her hand, inhaling, holding it in her lungs, barely any smoke coming out of her mouth. Veronica is drawn to her mouth, the way in works around the stick of tar and tobacco, the way she pushes what little smoke there is out.

“Right.”

“Fuck you Sawyer.”

“You wish you could.”

“Why can’t we just be silent?”

“Because you’re interesting Heather.”

“No. And I am not talking to you.”

“What if you ask me a question and I ask you a question?”

“No.”

“C’mon, it’s boring being here in silence.”

“What’s your damage Sawyer?”

“My parents are divorced, the homophobia at this school is insane and my friends are bullied by you. What’s yours?”

Heather’s face is stony at her candor, she takes the cigarette from her now still hands, their fingers brush slightly. Heather’s hands are cold.

“It’s true, you don’t need to keep staring.” Veronica says, suddenly feeling under inspection from Heather’s gaze. She was so confident a second ago but it’s rapidly fading the longer Heather examines her. Before she just stared in the mirror, Veronica felt brave, she could say what she wanted, but it becomes very real. This is Heather Chandler, and she just laid out her biggest insecurities to her.

“I feel alone.” She says, finally staring at something other than Veronica, instead focusing on her shoes.

It’s not much. It’s crumbs, it’s the first line of a novel before you can even think the rest of the story, but it’s something. And it feels like a promise, like she’s saying that she won’t tell if Veronica won’t.

“What time is it?”

“Fleming’s not here today, she’s got a trip with the Juniors.”

“Oh.”

“We can be in silence.” She turns to Veronica. “If you want.”

“Okay.”

So they do. Passing the cigarette back and forth until it hurts to touch and she puts it out on the sole of her shoe before dropping it in the bin. Veronica expects her to leave immediately after it hits the rubbish, but she stays. They remain in silence until the bell rings.

That’s when Heather almost sprints from the bathroom, Veronica can hear her down the corridor, insulting a freshman, she can’t hear what she says above the bustling of the corridor, but she can hear as people ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ and the freshman comes into the bathroom on the verge of tears.

“Hey.” The freshman jumps at her voice, she stands, grabbing her bag from the window sill and turns to the girl in front of the mirror. “What did she say to you?”

“She – she said that it’s a wonder that I’m even allowed in public with the way I look.”

Jesus Heather. What is it about this bathroom that makes her so different from how she is outside?

--

They next meet at 7/11 at three in the morning.

Veronica’s not smoking this time, she’s slurping on a slushie instead. Brain freeze isn’t the same as a nicotine rush but she’s trying to cut back slightly so she’s been chugging slushies left right and center. JD’s been helping in the endeavor easily, the amount of time she spends sitting on the handlebars of his bicycle, carting them back and forth from 7/11 is slightly ridiculous.

She also hasn’t been back to the bathroom since her last interaction with Heather.

It’s not like she’s ignoring her, well she is, but it’s not like it’s a thing. She’s not ignoring Heather, she’s just, avoiding her on purpose?

Who’s she kidding? She’s ignoring the girl, something about her unsettles her. Not just the 180 her personality does as soon as she leaves the threshold of the bathroom, but how she will speak to Veronica like she’s confessing some almighty sin but ignore her presence everywhere in the school. She doesn’t want to be friends with her, she just wants to understand what’s going on underneath all of those blonde curls and behind those blue eyes and what’s inside the walking stereotype.

Wait is that what friendship is?

She doesn’t want to think about this too deeply, because then she’s sure she’s come across answers she’s not quite ready to face just yet.

Veronica’s sitting on the curb out front, slushie and Red Vines in hand, staring at nothing when the sound of heeling clicking garners her attention. If it were any earlier she wouldn’t have payed attention but it’s at that point in the evening where it’s after people get home from parties and before people have to get up for the early shift, and the sound of heels is loud and almost unwelcome in the evening.

“Sawyer.” She says, standing above Veronica, there’s a lamppost behind her head that makes her hair golden. She squints to see Heather’s face, she’s all made up. She looks good, Veronica absentmindedly thinks. She’s all made up, even more than normal, with eye-liner and blush and even redder lips than normal.

“Morning Heather, what brings you out at such a time?”

“Party.”

“Bit late to be leaving.”

“Had an argument with Ram.”

“He’s a douche. Slushie? I’m afraid I have no nicotine for you tonight.” She offers Heather the drink, she crinkles her nose before sitting down next to her. She takes a second fixing herself, crossing her ankles and leaning on her knees.

“I have my own.” She roots through one of her famous blazers for a bright packet of cigs and a plastic red lighter. God, does she own anything that’s not goddamn red?

“Congrats.”

They stay in silence. Maybe it’s the emptiness of the parking lot, the open space that lets them not talk. Veronica wants to know it all, how she ticks, how she works. Is that creepy? Maybe, probably, she doesn’t know, she’s feeling particularly apathetic tonight.

“What did you argue about?”

“Sex.” She says, Veronica is surprised by how easily she speaks. It’s normally like pulling teeth to get her to admit anything, but this was easy as anything. Maybe Ram being a dick is easy to admit. Who is she kidding, Ram sucking is the easiest thing in the world to admit.

“As I said, douche.”

“I put out.” She says, defensively. Veronica rolls her eyes.

“I know you put out, everyone knows you put out, but that’s different to actually wanting it.”

“He’s trying to convince me to go condomless.”

“Scratch douche, he’s a little dickhead. Can I have one?”

“No.”

“You owe me. I’ve given you 1.5 cigs at this point.”

“Fine, but don’t tell anyone.” She recites her favourite line as she hands Veronica one, it’s expensive, of course it is.

“Don’t tell anyone what? That you ‘don’t feel right about Ram’? No one feels right about Ram, he’s a misogynistic, homophobic asshole that doesn’t deserve even you. That you’re lonely? Everyone is. And they’d never believe me anyway.”

“What do you mean even me?”

“I mean that you suck, tremendously, it’s like you live off people’s tears and misery and fear but even you don’t deserve to get stuck with a piece of shit who will treat you like an object.”

“Wow. Say what you really think.”

“I figured you would have excommunicated me by now, so I took a gamble.” She stands, and walks to the bin, throwing her empty cup in and standing to light her cigarette, but she stops just before it’s lit. Heather’s followed her. To the little bin by the side of the 7/11, an almost hopeful look in her eyes.

“You told me what you actually think about me.”

“Yes, I’m stupid.” She focuses on how her lighter isn’t working, not how close Heather is, not how she can almost smell her perfume, something flowery and expensive.

“You’re brave.”

“Which really is a synonym for dumbass.” She shoves the lighter into her pocket, stupid piece of shit she stole off Betty. Which is when she really takes in what Heather said to her. “Wait are you calling me brave for talking to you? Full of yourself much?”

“I know I have power, you just don’t care, or you act like you don’t.”

“I am fully aware that you could ruin my life, but you haven’t so far. So…” She lets herself trail off and watches as Heather goes through all the stages of grief before shoving Veronica against the wall and pushing her lips against hers.

Veronica thinks she must be dreaming, or asleep, or this can’t be happening, but if it were either of these things, her heart wouldn’t be hammering out of her chest, she wouldn’t feel the cold from the bricks against her back seeping through her t-shirt and she would be kissing back. Heather pulls away for a second, Veronica grabs her shirt and pulls her right back against her.

It’s no surprise that Heather Chandler is a good kisser.

She dominates it, hands grasping at Veronica’s t-shirt, tongue pushed into her mouth, lips attacking hers. Veronica gives as good as she gets, biting at her lips, and thrusting her hands into the other woman’s hair. Heather makes a noise against her lips that only spurs her on and she kisses across her jaw before going down and sucking on her pulse point. Another strangled moan leaves Heather’s throat, followed by a filthy one when Veronica starts biting down slightly; hard enough for the feeling, but not hard enough for any marks. Heather pulls her back to her lips and Veronica doesn’t know how long this has gone on for, but her hands are under Heather’s shirt and her lungs are screaming to breathe and she doesn’t even think before she speaks.

“So that’s what you meant about Ram.” She whispers against Heather’s lips, she leans in for another kiss but his name seems to pull her out of her homosexual stupor and she snaps back from Veronica.

“Fuck. Ram.” She steps away, wiping where Veronica’s lips have smudged her red around her mouth and tries to fix her hair, Veronica has done a number on it, tugging and pushing and pulling to make delicious sounds fall from her mouth, beautiful whimpers and quiet moans that she wants to hear echo in her room instead of muffled against her lips.

She probably should care about the fact that she has Ram.

She doesn’t.

Any care she had for the boy left as soon as he threw JD in a dumpster and poured a Slurpee on Betty’s head.

“Veronica-“

Something makes Veronica’s heart skip at the first use of her name.

“Not a word, I know the gig.”

“I mean it.”

“Have I before?”

Heather just looks at her before nodding and walking off so quickly that it’s a surprise she doesn’t break an ankle in her heels. She leans against the wall, finding the cigarette that Heather gave her and finally lighting it.

Jesus Christ. What is she to do?

--

“This is becoming a habit. I might have to start charging you.” Is the first thing she says when Heather comes in, hand primed for a smoke. Veronica’s been thinking of what she should say, whether they should talk about it, whether Heather will even talk about it. She pretty much ran away after the thing that happened, and isn’t expecting Heather to start telling her everything.

“I can afford it.”

So they’re not talking about it.

Veronica gives her one, staying sat on the windowsill. It’s easier to not think about Heather’s lips against hers, the feeling of her throat pressed against her mouth, the taste of her lipstick, mixed with her expensive cigarettes.

And now she’s thinking about it again. Christ, it hasn’t left her head all weekend.

She’s Veronica Sawyer, top of her class, aloof, doesn’t care about what others think. Except now, she really cares about what is going through Heather’s mind. Is she thinking about it too?

Heather looks the same as she normally does. That is, emotionally constipated and stony, she’s left the cigarette that Veronica gave her on the sink as she grabs her lipstick and starts re-applying it.

“Are we going to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?” She does that thing where she rubs her lips together to check it’s all even, Veronica’s never really understood it, but that comes from having little to no make-up experience under her belt.

“7/11? Saturday?”

“You mean how I wasted one of my cigarettes on you?”

She jumps down from the sill and walks into Heather’s space. The flowery, expensive scent catches her attention again. God, one kiss and she’s turning into Rambo Sweeney, she’s meant to be above it all, she’s meant to be the one that just watches it happen. Now she’s in the shit.

Oh fuck she’s in the shit.

“No. The part where you pushed me into a wall and kissed me until I forgot how to breathe.”

“As far as I’m concerned, I left after I gave you a smoke.” Heather finally looks at her. Her eyes scan Veronica’s face. She’s worn heels today, and Veronica’s just worn her converse. For once the other woman towers over her. Veronica’s eyes are stuck on her freshly painted lips, she wants to ruin them again, wants to watch her fix it again.

“Heather.”

A finger prods her right in the chest, she can feel the nail pressing through her t-shirt into her skin, her eyes are drawn back to Heather’s.

“No, you listen here-“

The door opens to reveal a freshman, her eyes dart in between the two of them, fear in her eyes, mouth dropping open. They both turn to the girl standing in the doorway.

“What are you looking at?”

Freshman are scared of her because she’s a ‘bad kid’, freshman are scared of Heather because, well, she’s Heather.

Needless to say the kid is scared shitless.

“Beat it.” Heather snarls.

She almost runs from the bathroom.

“Listen, I left after I gave you a cigarette.”

“We should-“

“I don’t give a fuck, Veronica. That’s it. Nothing happened, it never happened and now I’m leaving.”

“Heather-“

Veronica reaches out and grabs Heather’s wrist, tugging until she turns around. They’re close. The kind of close you get before kissing a person, something that they’ve actually done before. She can feel Heather holding her breath, not quite knowing what to do. Veronica doesn’t even know what she would have said.

Which is stupid, she always knows what to say.

Heather pulls her arm from hers, Veronica’s hand drops to her waist.

“Thanks for the smoke.”

--

She ends up at a party. And not their normal kind.

It isn’t in JD’s empty house, or Betty’s shed, instead they’re standing in front of a house that could be considered a mansion.

“So we’re actually going to a proper party.”

“Haven’t been to one of those since Junior year.” Betty pipes up, looking at the house as if it’ll bite.

Apparently JD’s been getting close to Heather McNamara since they’ve been lab partners all year, she’s yet to find out if it’s a flirting situation or a friends one, either way she’s not entirely too mad about it. McNamara has made him smile a bit more, and honestly it’s all she needs, plus there’s a high chance that Heather will be here and she hasn’t been back to their bathroom since Heather decided to pretend that they never made out.

Needless to say, they won’t get beaten up or thrown out because McNamara has given them immunity at her parties.

“So are we going in or what?”

“Are you sure we won’t get mobbed? I don’t feel like getting beaten up tonight.” Betty says.

“She promised, now let’s go.”

They walk up to the house, music pumping through the bricks, and ring on the doorbell. Heather opens the door, and not the Heather they really wanted to open it.

“What are you doing here?” She sneers.

“McNamara is neutral ground.” JD replies, disgust also clear in his tone.

“JD!” Someone in yellow yells, giving him a hug, he relaxes into the hug slightly, still giving Heather, her Heather, a dirty look. “Did you bring anything?” He takes a bottle of gin out of one of his ridiculously long pockets and gives it to Heather, who stays stationary, watching this all go down. Then he brings out a Slurpee from 7/11 and hands it to McNamara.

“You haven’t lived until you’ve had a vodka Slurpee.” And with that they head off into the house, it’s full of the people they normally avoid, preps and jocks line the halls, talking, laughing, dancing, kissing. Some part of Veronica whishes she’d bailed like Martha had, but she does want to talk to Heather. Betty looks at Veronica and shrugs before, taking a beer out of her pockets – they’ve all discovered how easy it is to line their pockets with alcohol – and walking after them.

That leaves her and Heather, surrounded by people who aren’t really paying attention to them.

She looks the other woman up and down, simple red dress ending far too high and revealing parts of her that Veronica never thought she’d find appealing, the shoulder, the collarbone, but she does.

“Mums the word.” Veronica says to her, hands shoved in the jacket’s pockets, walking in the same direction as the others, that is, towards the music blasting through the house. She hears Heather’s heels as she clicks past Veronica, hitting her with as shoulder as she goes.

Normal parties are boring, Veronica comes to realise. Apart from watching McNamara and JD flirt and dance and have fun, there’s not much entertainment. Watching Ram and Kurt get more and more into their arm-wrestles as they get progressively drunker can only keep her occupied for so long, you know. Maybe it’s not the fact that it’s ‘normal’, maybe it’s the fact that Betty is off in the garden with some stoners she’s found and JD is off with the yellow Heather and she’s drunk drinking and watching everything go down.

Veronica Sawyer, perpetually on a window sill in the bathroom, watching everyone go by.

She’s also doing a good job of pretending not to notice Heather pretending not to stare at her.

A song comes on that everyone is crazy for, and everyone crowds McNamara’s poor kitchen, jumping and pushing and shouting the words at each other. Heather saddles up next to her, getting pushed next to her as the chorus pumps through the room.

“Do you have anything miraculous in your pockets?” She asks, her lips brushing against Veronica’s ear in a way that sends something down her spine.

“Cigarettes, gum and some rum.”

Heather somehow manages to pull back, or at least enough so their eyes stare into each other.

What would she do if she asked?

“Do you think this castle has a bathroom?” She asks Heather, liquor loosening her tongue, increasing her confidence. She watches as Heather thinks about what to say, before landing on:

“Follow me.”

No one notices them leave or duck under the bright no entry sign on the stairs, they’re all too far gone to see anything apart from who’s in front of them or hear what song is playing. Veronica sorts through her pockets, finally coming across her packet and lighter, until Heather interrupts her.

“Mac doesn’t let people smoke inside.”

“So what are we doing here?”

“You asked about the bathroom.”

“Because I wanted to see your reaction.”

She waits for Heather to do something but she just crosses her arms, waiting for Veronica.

“You’ve missed me.”

“I miss you like I miss a stomach bug.”

“Once again, a pretty weak one. I know it’s been in your head too.”

“What’s in my head?”

“7/11.”

She says nothing, just twitches her mouth, Veronica carries on.

“House this size, I’m pretty sure that there’s a bathroom downstairs.”

“Shut up.”

Heather pushes her against the door, they’re in each other’s space, waiting for the other to make a choice, a move, for something to happen.

“Make me.” Veronica whispers against her lips.

And she does, dear God does she.

Heather pushes her even further into the door, her lips pressing against Veronica’s at an almost bruising pace. Veronica tries to keep up, attempts to keep up but she just can’t. It’s a desperate kiss from Heather, it feels like she’s trying to eat Veronica alive. She uses her hands in Heather’s hair to push the other woman back.

They stare.

A wanting stare.

Veronica pulls Heather towards her this time, their lips meeting in a slow, hard kiss. Heather’s hands snake to her hips, pulling her vest from her jeans, her cold hands meeting warm skin. Veronica gasps at the feeling, Heather takes advantage and pushes her tongue into her mouth. Heather makes little noises against her lips, god, those noises are addicting. Veronica somehow manages to maneuver them back until she can push Heather against the porcelain sink. She shrugs her jacket off her shoulders, Heather’s nails press against her bare shoulders as they pull her closer, closer than she ever expected to be.

It's a good kiss.

It’s a great kiss.

It’s a kiss that Veronica will most definitely remember, she can taste Heather’s last drink on her tongue, she can feel her nails dragging down her back, she can barely hear the music over the pounding of her heart.

Her hands make their way onto Heather’s thighs, gripping slightly as their torsos press together. She makes more noises as Veronica’s hands tighten, their kisses becoming more heated and wet by the second.

If someone had told her that talking to Heather Chandler in a bathroom around a month ago would lead to this, she would have wondered what the hell their cigarette was laced with.

But it somehow feels impossible and like coming home and finally sitting down after a long day at the same time.

One of Heather’s hands drops from under her vest and nudges Veronica’s elbow so her palms drift higher. She gets the message and starts pushing the far too small dress up and up until she can feel the edges of Heather’s underwear and-

“Heather are you in there? Ram’s looking for you.” McNamara’s voice is like a bucket of cold water.

“Yeah, give me a second.”

“Are you throwing up? Because I can-“

“No. Heather, I just needed a second.”

“Oh. Okay. See you downstairs.” She hears McNamara’s heels click away and Heather relaxes slightly into her. “Now get off me.” Veronica steps away, the warmth of Heather’s body leaving her, Heather jumps off the sink and picks up her heels.

So they’re not going to say anything, that sounds about right.

Veronica takes two travel sized bottles of rum out of her pocket, offering one to Heather, she takes it and immediately drinks, wincing as it goes does her throat, grimacing as it reaches her stomach. Then she looks at herself in the mirror, checking everything is in place, with a satisfied nod she turns to Veronica.

“See you around Sawyer.”

And she leaves.

Well at least it’s better than pretending it never happened.

--

They meet again in the bathroom when Veronica is staring out the window, the sky full of promising clouds heavy and grey and wonderful to stare at.

“Sawyer.” Heather’s voice cuts through her daydreaming. She fights all urges to look at the blonde, instead shrugging and answering.

“I’m out of cigs.”

“I’m not here for that.” She finally looks at her and jumps down.

“What are you here for then?” She teases, Heather’s face flashes with something before grabbing her jacket and pulling her into a kiss. Good to know that the kissing is sticking then, they probably shouldn’t, this is the bathroom where everyone bunks a lesson but Heather’s lips are insistent, her hands and persistent and she feels so good against her.

“Is Fleming in?”

“Nah, she’s out on Tuesdays remember?”

“Good.”

“Good?” Veronica teases, Heather rolls her eyes.

“Shut up.”

“You really love telling people to shut up.”

“Can you use your mouth for a better purpose than annoying me?”

“But you’re a so much better kisser when you’re pissed.”

She lets out this little growl from the back of her throat that Veronica’s only heard once before in this bathroom; when she had her pushed up against the side of the stall and bit a little harder than normal at the base of her throat. The sound repeated in her head for hours, days, until she’d forgotten what it sounded like, until now, and the sound itches a scratch in her brain that won’t leave her alone.

Time becomes gravy when their lips meet. She never knows if hours have passed, or if seconds have, she only registers Heather’s hands against her body, Heather’s lips against hers, Heather’s goddamn noises.

Until something worms it’s way into her mind.

Veronica’s not the kind of girl who needs a definition on things, she kissed JD for half year without them talking about it for god’s sake, but right now she feels like she needs something. Because this thing started with Veronica annoying Heather into talking to her and is ending with their tongues in each other’s mouths and their hands roaming with clear intents in mind. And she is just confused, and she doesn’t want to be confused, she doesn’t want to crave Heather’s lips and stolen smiles but she does so maybe if she understands what this is, then maybe she’ll stop being so goddamn confused.

“As much as I love making out with you-“ Her lips slide off Veronica’s and start making their way down her jaw. She learnt a few make outs ago that Heather wears now smearing lipstick on these days, the idea that she plans for them burns something in her stomach that is entirely unexpected but not entirely unwelcome.

“Uh huh.” The noise vibrates against the column of her throat as Heather’s tongue moves against her skin.

“We should talk about this.”

“What is there to talk about?” She travels up and bites her earlobe, Veronica feels her eyes roll into the back of her head. She almost loses her train of thought, but she keeps it steady enough that she continues talking.

“Um, what is this? Don’t get me wrong, I know we’re not together, but I would just like to know. And what about Ram?”

She finally moves away and replies.

“You don’t have to worry about him much longer.”

“What are you murdering him?”

“We’re messing around, Veronica. That good enough for you?” She says, running her hand through her hair in the way that you know is a warning sign for her about to get pissed.

No, not at all.

What does that mean? She’s even more confused now. But she’s not going to get any more out of her so she acquiesces. It’ll be enough, for now, if this even continues.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

--

The news that Ram and Heather break up spreads like wildfire, even Veronica and the other misfits hear only hours after the event. To be fair, the fact that JD and McNamara are becoming even closer might have been a factor. They’re getting so close that they saw JD wearing a yellow t-shirt the other day, and of course teased him for wearing colour for the first time in years and for it being yellow of all colours.

They see Ram confused and slightly dejected the entire day while Heather remains the same, head held high, sneering at the people around her, biting people’s heads off for no other reason than because she wants too. They watch, at lunch, as Ram goes over to the coveted table or Heathers and get shot down immediately. She makes eye contact with Heather as he walks away; her face is a language she can read, but not quite understand. Veronica breaks the contact first, turning her gaze to where JD is narrating a thumb war between Betty and Martha, she claps a hand across his shoulder and gets involved.

Veronica bunks next period, it’s not their normal time, but she has this gut feeling that she will come in.

And she does.

Veronica is sitting on the sink this time, reading one of JD’s fancy philosophy books that he’s always lending her. Heather barges in like she always does, looking slightly surprised at Veronica’s new position. They take each other in for a second, not quite sure what the other is doing just yet. It’s Veronica who breaks the silence, dog-earring her book and dropping it into her bag.

“So you and Ram are kaput huh?”

“And what about it?” She’s defensive, her eyes searching Veronica’s for some kind of reaction, it’s the same kind of energy that she had on their second meeting, where they shared a cigarette and they opened themselves up for inspection.

“You going to Kelly now?”

“Fuck you Sawyer.”

“Now we’re talking.”

She rolls her eyes. She does that a lot, but lately they’ve been less in irritation and more of a friendly annoyance.

“You know I miss talking with you.” Veronica finds herself saying, Heather raises one perfect eyebrow. The blonde makes her way into her space, walking in between her legs. One of her hands drifts up her leg in a familiar way.

“It was hardly talking.”

“What else would you call it?”

“Me indulging your fascination with me.”

“I do not have a fascination.”

“Why else did you ask ‘what’s eating me’?”

“Because I have a death wish obviously.”

“Obviously.” She agrees and leans in.

It’s different this time, she’s freer than before, her hands aren’t gripping in a tight but lovely way against her skin, instead just holding firm.

Huh.

That’s new.

--

Things have gotten out of hand.

Because it was just meant to be kissing, it was meant to stay at school or the rare occasion they end up at a party at the same time.

But no, things have gotten out of hand because Heather gave her a note after they’d kissed until their lungs screamed. And the note gave her an address and a time. She recognizes the address as somewhere fancy on the other side of town, the time is late, as if Veronica doesn’t have shit to do, Heather’s lucky that it’s a Friday and she’s a damn good kisser and who the hell is she kidding?

She’s into Heather.

Totally not cool, not what she wanted and not what’s good for her.

And yet.

She cycles over the address and gets there five minutes early. In true Veronica fashion she lights a cigarette. And waits for her watch to click into position. Time flows slowly, until she sees Heather open her door and look around until their eyes meet. Heather nods and Veronica follows.

“Can I leave this on the porch?”

“Bring it in, my parents aren’t back until the end of the month.”

This is what she’s always wanted, a glimpse into her life, her mind, how she operates and works and why she is the way that she is. But that isn’t what she’s focused on. She’s focused on how Heather’s lips aren’t painted, how they’re pink and smaller than she thought. She’s focused on why the hell she’s here, why Heather has her invited here.

Then she leads her to her room and pushes her onto her bed and then they’re back to what they do best.

Her mind is blissfully empty as they carry on in their dance. Heather’s tongue tracing shapes up and down Veronica’s throat and shoulder and her mouth, Veronica’s hands grabbing and scraping parts of Heather to pull noises, those delicious, shuddering noises that she loves.

They end up on her bed, Heather’s thighs on either side of Veronica’s, her shirt long gone, one bra strap hanging off her shoulder, Veronica’s not in a much better state, her jacket is somewhere in Heather’s room, her nipples straining against her vest. Now and again Heather’s wondering hands press against the hardened nub, causing her to gasp into the other’s mouth, which always garners a smirk in response.

Until Heather pulls away slightly, one hand resting on Veronica’s sternum to stop her from following her lips like she’s been in the desert and Heather’s lips are full of water.

“I want to feel something Veronica.”

Heather takes her hands from where they’re resting at the bottom of the blonde’s thighs and pulls them up her soft, beautiful, pale legs to the top of her thighs. She takes her hands and holds Veronica’s face, Veronica moves her thumb slightly so it pushes against her inner thigh and Heather bits her lip, god, this is so very wrong, she shouldn’t, this is Heather. Heather Chandler, the walking stereotype with the 4.0 and ex-boyfriend to prove it, but if feels so fucking good that she doesn’t care – she’s never going to see Heather after school ends, might as well have some fun along the way.

“I want to feel you, against me, touching me. Fucking me.” Her voice dips down and starts rasping, her cursing makes Veronica exhale some trapped air that she couldn’t let go. Heather is whispering in her ear, then biting slightly down on the lobe.

“Christ Heather.”

She can play Veronica like a violin.

“I don’t want him. I don’t want that life, the one that’s been written for me. I want you and me, now.

Who is she to refuse that?

Veronica thinks at the back of her mind that she’s thankful that they’re not on the floor of the school bathroom and instead in Heather’s big, empty house and her big, empty bed.

“You make me feel something.” She says against Veronica’s mouth as her guides her hand even further, until her fingertips find the edge of her damp underwear. A groan spills from Veronica.

“Are you sure?”

“When am I not?”

“I’m serious Heather.”

“I want you to fuck me, please.”

She pulls her underwear down her thighs, eventually pulling them off long legs and tossing them off the bed. She slowly pulls her hand back up, she feels the heat but stops just before she gets there. All she wants to do is feel her, feel her keen into her, feel her come around her fingers but she needs to be sure.

“Are you sure you’re sure?”

“For god’s sake Veronica-“

“I just want to make sure.”

“I’m sure, I’m so fucking sure, I’ve wanted you to touch me since Mac’s, but I’m sure as hell not getting fucked in a school bathroom.”

“You’ve waited this long?”

“I’m loud and my parents don’t need to know that.”

“Oh.”

“Now will you?”

Veronica responds by dragging her fingers through such wonderful wet warmth and Heather’s head drops on her bare shoulder. She uses her other hand to keep Heather’s hips still, to stop them begging for more friction.

After what feels like forever, Veronica finally sinks a single finger into her. Heather makes this groaning sound against her body, which only spurs her on more. She curls her finger slightly, Heather nods, as if she’s never done this before. She carries on slowly, moving in and out at a snails pace, her thumb eventually coming and pressing in broad strokes across her clit.

“I thought you knew what fucking is.”

“I’ve done this before.”

“Then act like it.”

Veronica laughs slightly.

“I like to go slow.”

“And for what?”

“It’s more enjoyable, trust me.”

With that, she finally adds another finger and presses harder against her clit.

Heather was right. She is loud.

She slowly, ever so slightly, pics up the speed.

Her two fingers twist and curl and move in and out, Heather’s hips help the rhythm, helping her press in the spots that makes her moan, so loud that she’s surprised that everyone on the block doesn’t hear and makes her hands tangle in Veronica’s hair in the most beautiful pain.

She presses and pushes and leaves open mouth kisses against her throat until Heather is shuddering and moaning against her. And she would normally stop, but she doesn’t want Heather to forget this, she knows that she never will, so she carries her through her orgasm until the second one crashes even harder and Heather is silent as she stops moving and falls against her.

Veronica leaves her fingers for a second until Heather’s hips stop moving and she retracts them, almost dripping and a slightly smug smile drifts across her face. She makes her way down the bed, until Heather can lie on her without any discomfort on both of their parts.

“Told you I knew what I was doing.”

“Arrogance makes you less attractive.”

“So you admit I’m attractive?”

“Piss off.”

They stay like that, Heather lying on Veronica’s chest, evening out her breathing into her normal rhythm. Somewhere in the back of her mind tell her that she told her Mom that she’d be back home tonight, but she doesn’t really care, not when this feels like a blanket on a cold day.

“I like you.” She says it so quietly that Veronica almost misses it. It takes a second but she registers the words and has no other outcome but:

“What?”

“That’s why I told you stuff the first time ‘round.” Heather admits.

“You liked me?”

“Maybe- stop laughing.”

“I’m not!”

“You are.”

“Maybe a little, I just didn’t expect you to admit it first.”

“You like me too?”

“Everyone likes you.”

“You like me like they do?”

“No, Heather, no. I liked you after we started speaking, I couldn’t stand you the first time, I was just interested as to why you were there.”

“Hm, there’s a thin line between love and hate.”

“Apparently.”

She offers Veronica a solid, simple kiss, and they stay like that until she finally asks.

“What are we doing on Monday?”

“What do you mean?”

“Who will we be?”

“I can’t tell them, I just can’t. But, I’d still like to meet you, in the bathroom, at 7/11, here. I’d like to still see you. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, that’ll be okay. We’ll make it okay.”

Heather nods and places a small kiss on her clothed sternum.

Yeah, they’ll make it okay.