Chapter Text
Veronica stumbled down the road, trying to stay upright as the street swayed beneath her. Wavering off the sidewalk, she leaned against a tree for support. She cursed Heather Chandler for what seemed to be the hundredth time. If Heather hadn’t tried to humiliate Martha, then she would still be having a good time, would still have a ride home, and would still have a future at Westerberg come Monday morning. Veronica had sold her soul to the demon queen for a chance at popularity and now she had collected it, preparing to stomp it under her bright red heels. She needed someone, anyone, to vent to.
Through her drunken haze, it came to her. JD. The hot, mysterious new kid. The one Veronica was sure was the Receiver to her Writer; that what she wrote on her skin showed up on the skin hidden beneath his signature trench coat. He’d understand. She pushed her back against the tree, letting the bark catch on her blazer as she shoved her hand into her pockets, her uncoordinated fingers searching for her pen. After a few embarrassing minutes, she found it and used her teeth to get the cap off. The cap still in her mouth, Veronica went to work, pulling up the sleeve enough that her forearm was visible. The cool pen nib touched her skin, and in a sloppy rendition of her handwriting wrote “Fuck Heather Chandler”. Studying her handiwork for a moment, she recapped her pen and put it away, walking in the direction that she thought JD’s house was. At least now, if her theory held true, he would have some clue as to why she was showing up at his house so late at night.
Heather sulked against the bar, taking a sip of her drink while McNamara danced with Ram, and Duke made out with some senior guy she couldn’t be bothered to know the name of. This wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go. Heather was supposed to be partying with Veronica as she proved herself to be worthy of being apart of their clique. But no. Fucking Veronica Sawyer just had to go and ruin it by being all noble over Martha fucking Dumptruck. Who was Martha Dumptruck compared to her: Heather fucking Chandler. Martha was a speck of dust in the corner of a gas station bathroom compared to her, and Veronica just threw it all away over her loser friend.
Heather had distracted herself by making out with Kurt for a little while after Veronica left, but now she was left to stew in her own bitterness as Kurt played beer pong with some of the other football players. She took another sip, which turned into a full-on chug, letting the alcohol burn Veronica’s face from her brain. She didn’t want to think of the way the other girl had looked at her, the anger and hurt on her face as Heather promised to end her on Monday morning. She glared at her empty glass. No, she didn’t want to think about that traitor.
A familiar, cool sensation broke out on her left arm and Heather let out a sigh of relief. It was if her soulmate had read her mind, knowing she needed something to distract her. He always seemed to know when she needed something to cheer her up, whether it be some lame poetry verse or something as simple as a doodle. Putting her glass down, she left the bar and headed upstairs, the people in her path parting out of her way like the Red Sea. Heather didn’t like to show off her soulmate’s messages; they were for her and her alone. The other Heathers (and the girl she didn’t want to think about) knew she was a Receiver, but she never let any of them see what messages she received, always making sure they were covered, either with a jacket, long sleeves, or concealer.
Opening the bathroom door, Heather found a pair of juniors making out against the sink. All it took was one of her more vicious glares and the two bolted, scrambling to leave her presence. A smirk graced her lips as she locked the door behind them. At least some people still had an inkling of self-preservation. Double checking the lock, she let the smirk fall and a small smile take its place. She let out a shaky breath and pulled up the sleeve of her red dress.
Fuck Heather Chandler
Her smile fell. Heather dropped the sleeve and blinked. She couldn’t have read that right. She lifted the sleeve again. It was still there. Her soulmate’s handwriting was more sloppy than usual, but it was undoubtedly his, and her name was right there in his scrawl.
“What the fuck!” she exclaimed, her brow furrowed as she stomped her foot, her eyes stinging.
She had always dreamed of the day her soulmate would write her name on his skin and their bond would open so that she could write back on hers. God, what Receiver didn’t? She even had a fantasy for how things would progress after that point. They would start a conversation until they finally realized who the other was, and then kiss passionately before falling into a long embrace. Was it realistic? No, not really. But it was her fantasy; she was allowed to be a little unrealistic.
She had never expected that this would be the way her name would show up on her own arm. This didn’t make any sense. How could he say something like that to her? They were supposed to be the best fit for one another; he wasn’t supposed to hate her.
As she stared at her arm, the angrier she got. How fucking dare he talk to her like that, his own soulmate. Heather let the emotion fill her; anger was much easier to manage than the sinking feeling that had been trying to overtake her. She jammed her sleeve down and unlocked the bathroom door, throwing it open and letting it slam against the wall. Her fists clenched, she stalked back down the stairs. At the foot of them, she surveyed the main hall until she found who she was looking for. She pushed past anyone who didn’t move out of her way fast enough until she reached Heather Duke, who was sucking face with… was that Keith from the country club? Whatever, that wasn’t important. Grabbing Duke’s shoulder, she broke the two of them apart, turning Duke around towards her.
“What the fuck?!” Duke yelled, her face scrunched up in consternation until she realized who had broke them apart. Her face lost its color as she stared, her eyes widening as the boy she had been kissing ran for it. “Heather, you’re crying.”
Heather wiped her eyes and traitorous tears stained her sleeve. Fuck. “Shut up, Heather! I need your pen. Now.”
“What-”
“PEN.” She narrowed her eyes further than they had been before. “NOW.”
Duke’s shoulders slumped in submission, and a look of fear adorned her features. Reaching into her blazer, she pulled out the pen Heather had known she always carried. Heather snatched it and walked away, stumbling slightly from the alcohol in her system until she reached the bar. She could sense Duke following behind her, but Heather couldn’t give a shit, too focused on the object of her anger. Reaching the bar, she slammed her left hand down and wrote on the back: “Well fuck you too”.
She clicked the pen closed and shoved it back at Duke before grabbing an empty cup, pouring herself another round of beer. Behind her, she could feel Duke’s confused gaze making holes in her skull. Annoyed, she ignored her and chugged the contents of her cup.
‘Fuck soulmates,’ she thought as the alcohol burned her throat.
Veronica stumbled over her feet as she walked onto JD’s lawn, feeling the cool grass slip between her toes, her shoes now in her hand. She surveyed the house. It was only one story, which helped her current crusade, but now she had to figure out which window was JD’s. Somehow, she didn’t think JD’s dad would appreciate a drunk seventeen-year-old falling into his room. Only one room was still lit up.
‘It must be that one,’ Veronica thought. Adults went to sleep earlier than teens more often than not, after all.
She made to head towards the window, when she felt a cool sensation break out over the back of her hand. She raised it to her face, but it blurred, splitting into two the longer she stared. She closed her eyes and willed the world to go back to normal. Opening them again, there was one hand again, now with black words written on it. She furrowed her brow; she had written on her arm, hadn’t she? She turned it to the side, so that the letters faced up the right way.
Well fuck you too
Veronica froze. That wasn’t her handwriting. She looked again. Nope. Definitely not hers. She tried to think. Had she written JD’s name? No. She definitely wouldn’t have told him “fuck you” either. Then what…
It hit her like a truck. “No,” she whispered. She pulled up her sleeve. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no.”
And sure enough, there it was. Heather Chandler’s name – the only name she was sure she had written today. And the only one she had written that justified a response like the one on her hand.
This couldn’t be right. This had to be some sick joke. There was no way Heather Chandler was her soulmate. No way. There was no fucking way Heather fucking Chandler, evil incarnate, demon queen of Westerberg, was her soulmate. And yet there was no other explanation. The only way her soulmate could be talking back to her is if she had written their name on her skin and sure enough, the only name she had written was Heather’s.
“What the fuck!” Veronica yelled out loud.
She glared at her hand. This wasn’t fair. It was supposed to be JD. He was the one who had the same interests as her, who had that cool, mysterious aura, who seemed into her as well. She didn’t mind that Heather was a girl. She had figured out the previous year that she liked both girls and guys. The issue was the fact that Heather was, well, Heather. Maybe, if she glared hard enough, the words would fade away, or she’d wake up and find that this was all a bad, drunken dream.
“Veronica?”
Veronica’s head shot up. The window to the lit room was now open. JD was leaning out, a confused look on his face.
“JD, I…” Veronica trailed off. All things considered, her previous plan didn’t seem like a good idea now.
He studied her for a moment. “Wanna grab a Slurpee?”
Veronica took a long sip from her Cherry Slurpee and let the cold ice freeze her brain like JD had suggested earlier. The whole soulmate thing had sobered her up significantly, but the Slurpee was definitely giving her a little more clarity. At least the world wasn’t spinning or doubling anymore.
“So,” JD asked from his place on the curb, fiddling with the straw of his own Slurpee, “do you want to talk about why you were on my lawn?”
Veronica groaned. “Actually, I’d like to forget tonight ever happened.”
JD raised an eyebrow. “Went that well?”
“Yeah, it was a real rager.” Veronica took another sip. “I threw up on Heather Chandler’s shoes after basically committing social suicide.”
JD laughed. “So, you resigned from the lipstick Gestapo and then puked on their leader. Well done.”
“Yeah, well, flushing my reputation down the toilet isn’t exactly what I consider a job well done.” She mumbled as she stirred her straw around, edging it around the plastic top of the Slurpee.
“What’s not to like? You freed yourself from the Heathers and humiliated the head Heather in one go.”
“Like it’s that simple. Heather has everyone in this school under her perfectly manicured finger; no one’s going to associate with me come Monday. They’re all too scared of her.”
“Maybe the majority of the morons at this school,” JD countered. “But not everyone is so far up Heather’s ass that they’ll listen to her bullshit. Like me, for example.”
‘God,’ Veronica thought. ‘Why couldn’t it have been him?’
JD’s eyebrow rose. “Why couldn’t have what been me?”
Shit. She said that out loud. So much for sobering up. “Nothing.” She said quickly, her cheeks heating up. “Forget I said that.”
JD smirked. “Well now I’m even more intrigued.”
Veronica sighed. Well she needed to talk about it to someone; might as well be him. “I found out who my soulmate was.”
An unreadable expression crossed his face. Was that disappointment? “Oh.” It passed and the smirk returned. “You know, generally, finding out your soulmate’s identity is considered a good thing.”
“Usually is the key word there.” Veronica replied. “It’s not in my case.”
“Come on, short of being tied to Satan, how bad could it be?”
“I think being tied to Satan isn’t far off,” Veronica said as she pulled up her sleeve of her dress, revealing her drunken message, and displayed it so he could read both the one on her arm and the one on her hand clearly.
The amused expression faded off of JD’s face as he read, and one filled with an equal amount of understanding and disgust took its place. “Oh.”
“Yeah,” Veronica said, as she shoved the sleeve down again. “Oh.”
An uncomfortable silence overtook them as JD’s face contorted, looking as if he was trying to figure out how to proceed.
“So,” he said after the world’s longest minute, “um, did you find out before or after the puking?”
“After. About a minute before you opened your window actually.”
“Oh.” The silence returned for a beat. “And, um, how are you, uh, feeling about that?”
“I don’t know, how would you feel if you found out you were bonded to the head demon of Westerberg High?”
JD winced. “Point taken.” He ran his fingers through his dark locks. “So, what are you gonna do?”
Veronica ran her hand over her face. “I have absolutely no fucking idea. If I tell her, she’s going to freak, and if I don’t tell her and she finds out later, she’s going to freak.” She kicked one of the pebbles by her feet. “Honestly, I don’t even want to deal with it, especially after what she did tonight.”
“Why, what shitty thing did they do at the party?” JD asked, looking glad for a change in subject.
Veronica gave him the rundown of the Heathers’ attempted prank on Martha: how they had dressed up the pig piñata to resemble Martha, how they tried to have Martha break it open without her knowing what it was dressed as, how Veronica had thrown the pinata away before she could see, how she had resigned from the Heathers with the prank being the last straw, and how she had puked over Heather’s shoes immediately after. She conveniently left out the fact that she had been heading to his house to sleep with him, instead saying that the message was intended as a way to vent her frustrations.
“God, just when I think the Heathers can’t get any scummier, they defy my expectations.” JD said after Veronica had finished her story.
“I know.” Veronica stabbed her Slurpee with her straw. “How can my soulmate be someone so heartless? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she didn’t even have a soul.”
“I don’t know. It doesn’t make sense that someone like you should have to be bonded to someone like her.” JD put his empty Slurpee cup down on the curb beside him. “It’s so fucked up.”
Veronica took another long sip of her Slurpee, enjoying the rush her brain freeze cause. She could see why JD liked the feeling. It definitely helped to drown out her thoughts.
“What am I going to do?” She asked. “There’s no scenario where Heather doesn’t freak the fuck out.”
“Hmm.” JD snapped his fingers. “I got it.”
“I’m all ears.”
“Well, why don’t you make her work for it?” JD suggested.
Veronica raised an eyebrow. “Explain.”
“Well, Heather’s probably had everything handed to her on a silver platter, right? I mean she drives a Porsche for fuck’s sake. Keeping your identity from her would drive her crazy.”
“As fun as that sounds, and it definitely does,” Veronica replied, “Heather will kill me when she finds out that it was me the whole time. She’s so touchy about her soulmate that she doesn’t even let the other Heathers see the messages.” Which, in hindsight, made it obvious to how she hadn’t figured it out sooner.
“Maybe, or maybe you guys can talk it out and you can turn Heather’s soul from the dark side or whatever.” Veronica gave him an unimpressed look. “I’m fucking with you. But this way, you can come out on top of the situation.”
“And how exactly would that happen?” Veronica was still unimpressed.
“So, hear me out. You give Heather enough clues that she thinks she has a chance of figuring it out, but not enough that she’ll actually catch on. And when the time comes, she’ll be the one that had all the signs but didn’t put them together. Plus, messing with her can be some sort of payback for what her and the other Heathers did to Martha.”
Veronica thought it over. Whether she liked it or not, her and Heather were stuck with one another, glued together by this stupid bond. She was never gonna have this chance again. Once Heather found out the truth, there was no going back. She might as well milk this as long as possible. Plus, she did like the thought of payback.
“You make a good case.” Veronica lifted her half-empty Slurpee cup. “To fucking with Heather Chandler!”
JD grinned. He tapped his cup to hers. “I’ll drink to that.”
The first thing Veronica was aware of when she woke up was her head pounding. She opened her eyes, only to slam them shut again as the bright light from the window seared her eyes. ‘Alcohol bad,’ she thought as she covered her face with her comforter. Though the Slurpee had probably helped hydrate her a little, it didn’t take away all of the side effects. Edging her eyes open from under the comforter, she peeked out, prepared this time. It was still bright, but not as bad as before. Putting her hand to her head, she shut her blinds and closed her curtains. Why did she even leave those open last night? Now more fully adjusted, Veronica examined her arm and prayed that the events of last night had been a bad dream.
They hadn’t. Still on her arm was ‘fuck Heather Chandler’ in her own handwriting and still on her hand was ‘well fuck you too’ in Heather’s. Veronica sighed. What was she even supposed to follow that up with? Somehow, last night, she had completely forgotten that in order to enact the plan JD had come up with, she was actually going to have to talk with Heather.
Deciding to procrastinate dealing with that for as long as possible, Veronica headed for the shower, trying to think up some ideas as she let the hot water run over her, but coming up with nothing. She scrubbed the message from her skin, hoping to erase the current reality and go back to when things made sense. Her writing came off easily enough, but she couldn’t wash off Heather’s, no matter how hard she tried.
‘Heather’s overabundance of concealer makes a lot more sense now,’ she thought as she looked pitifully at the red skin around the stark black writing.
As she dried off, Veronica contemplated if she should just forget this stupid plan and go apologize to Heather so she could get back in her good graces. On the one hand, being on Heather’s good side would make this whole situation blow over more smoothly once everything came to light, and not being an ex-somebody would certainly be a plus. On the other, there was no guarantee she would even be forgiven, and keeping this a secret would be a lot harder if she was around Heather constantly, the blazers and long sleeves be damned. Plus, Veronica didn’t know if she could stomach going back to being one of Heather’s lapdogs, especially after what happened with Martha.
Now completely dry, she pulled on her outfit and made sure she looked decent. Taking one last look at her hand, now covered in concealer, she headed downstairs, grabbing her keys as she opened the front door. There was someone she needed to apologize to, she concluded, but it sure as hell wasn’t Heather Chandler.
Heather’s face twisted as the prairie oyster she concocted slid down her throat. Forcing herself to keep it down, she threw the cup into the sink and made her way back through the empty halls and into her room, where she promptly plopped back onto her bed. She put her face down in her pillow in an attempt to block out the light that was streaming in from between her blinds. In that moment, Heather felt a stab of envy towards Heather Duke, a foreign feeling that only surfaced whenever she was hung over. No matter how wasted she would get during a party, Duke never suffered from hangovers, while Heather and McNamara were left to suffer in a misery of their own making. She wondered how Veronica-
‘No,’ Heather thought, stopping herself in her tracks. ‘I’m not thinking about that traitor till she comes crawling back. Besides,’ Heather lifted her head so that she could glance at her arm, ‘there’s another traitor that needs to be dealt with.’
Her soulmate’s message had disappeared before she woke up, but her own was still on her hand, proving that the whole ordeal hadn’t been some drunken hallucination. She glared at the blank spot where her name had been. What had prompted him to write it on his arm? It had to have been something to do with the party. Maybe she had been bitchy to him inadvertently. It wasn’t impossible. Actually, it was the furthest thing from impossible; she was bitchy to someone daily.
Or maybe he was sympathizing with Martha Dumptruck. That she doubted, since the only one who seemed to have a problem with it at the party was Ver- the traitor, and the message had appeared about a half an hour after the girl had left. Heather had taken her anger out on a lot of people who had deigned to get in her way after that, so it was most likely one of them. She tried to conjure up their faces, but none of them came to mind, all of them too beneath her in the moment for her to take notice of.
Whoever he was, she was growing more irritated with him by the second. Not only had he not replied to her, but now he was trying to hide the evidence of his crime. Coward, she thought. He thought he could shit talk her but hadn’t expected her to be the one on the other line listening in. Now he was trying to run from the truth. Well fuck him. Nursing her head, which was still pounding (thanks for nothing you useless prairie oyster), she walked over to her vanity and grabbed the washable marker she had bought ages ago for this very situation and began to write.
“Are… are we going to be okay?”
Veronica was sitting with Martha on the latter’s couch, Martha still in her PJs, not looking Veronica in the eye.
“Well,” Martha started, fiddling with her fingers, “it really sucks that you forged that note from Ram, knowing how much I liked him.”
“I know,” Veronica interjected, swallowing. “And I’m so, so sorry.”
“But…” She continued on as if Veronica hadn’t said anything. “…you still stopped me from playing into the Heathers’ prank, even though you knew they wouldn’t forgive you.” Martha made eye contact for the first time since Veronica had explained herself. “You did a crappy thing, but also a good thing. So, I think we will; I’m just going to be a little hurt for a while.”
Veronica gave a sad smiled and nodded her head. “I understand. Again, I’m- “
“Sorry. Yes, you’ve said. A lot.”
Veronica used her left hand to move her hair behind her ear. “I don’t think I’ll ever not be though.”
Martha sighed. “Look, Veronica. I…” She trailed off, her eyes widening, a gasp escaping her lips. “Holy crap! Veronica! Your arm!”
The same cool sensation from the previous night broke out on her arm and with lightning speed, Veronica moved her left arm down, watching in horror as red letters formed words on her forearm.
So what? You’re just ignoring me now? Real charming.
Veronica bit back a groan as Martha squealed beside her.
“You opened contact with your soulmate?!” She exclaimed, grabbing Veronica’s arm and looking at it in awe. “When? How? Why didn’t you say anything?!”
Veronica rubbed her face with her free hand. “It’s complicated.”
“Complicated?” Martha gave her a look of exasperation. “This is your soulmate we’re talking about! It’s supposed to be the least complicated thing ever! It’s destiny!”
“Yeah, well,” Veronica moved her arm out of Martha’s grip and put her head into her hands, “if this is destiny, it sure is shit.”
Martha frowned, her eyebrows scrunching together. “I don’t understand. Veronica, this is what we’ve always dreamed about, what we fantasized about during our sleepovers. What’s going on?”
Veronica bit her lip. She debated the pros and cons of telling Martha the truth. On the one hand, there was no lost love between Martha and Heather, or any of the Heathers really, especially considering the events of the last few days. On the other, she didn’t want to lie to her friend, not when she had just betrayed her trust.
“Martha, you know how we don’t get to choose our soulmates, right?”
Martha’s brow furrowed. “Of course. Veronica, why does that matter?”
“Just…” Veronica took a deep breath. “Just keep that in mind. Ok?”
With that, Veronica launched into her tale, picking up where she had left off before: with her drunk and angry after the party. She watched Martha’s expressions closely as she told her about the following events, at how her face shifted from curiosity, to confusion, before settling on some cross between horror and shock.
“Wait!” Martha exclaimed, grabbing Veronica’s arm again and pointing to the loopy red writing. “You’re saying that’s Heather Chandler on your arm?!”
“Unfortunately.” Veronica avoided Martha’s eyes.
“That’s… wow… ok… holy crap.”
Veronica grimaced. “I told you it was complicated.”
“But it doesn’t make sense!” Martha threw her arms into the air. “How could you be bonded to someone so… so…”
“Heartless? Manipulative? Bitchy?”
“Evil.”
Veronica nodded her head. “I have no idea, but I am, and it sucks.”
Martha’s expression turned to one of concern. “What are you going to do? Are you gonna tell her?”
“No. Yes. Maybe. Eventually.” Veronica groaned, putting her head into her hands again. “Ugh, it’s complicated.”
Martha put her hand on Veronica’s back and rubbed small circles into it with her thumb. “I think that might be the understatement of the year.”
Veronica looked up at Martha and saw nothing but compassion on her face. God, why did she ever give into the Heathers about the forged note? How could she hurt someone so good, someone who was still trying to comfort her despite everything she had just confessed to less than ten minutes ago?
She took a deep breath. “JD and I thought up a plan to handle all of this, but I don’t know what you’re gonna think about it.”
Veronica quickly gave Martha a rundown of JD’s idea.
“Well, normally I wouldn’t be okay with something as underhanded as that,” Martha replied after a beat. “But considering it’s Heather Chandler we’re talking about, I think it’s a fair exception. But Veronica, you know if she finds out, you’re going to be toast, right?”
Veronica laughed humorlessly. “I’m already dead come Monday; Heather said so herself. What do I have to lose?”
Veronica stared at her arm, studying the red loopy handwriting Heather had left about an hour ago. Her and Martha had talked for a little while longer before she had come straight home. It wasn’t as if she had any weekend prospects now that her social death hung over her, the scarlet words of her executioner stained on her skin like blood. She fiddled with her blue marker as she sat against her bed frame, her monocle fastened to her eye as she tried to concentrate.
How should she go about this? Should she be apologetic for her words? No. That was too easy and there was no chance in hell Heather would accept it, not when her line opening message was the written equivalent of Veronica spitting in her face. What about oblivious? No, Heather would never buy it. Depressed? No, Heather would mock her endlessly. Angry?
Veronica straightened and prepared to start writing. Yes. Angry could work.