Jason ‘J.D.’ Dean

But still, she needed somewhere to go that wasn't a cubicle. She had spent way too much of her time near toilets recently, and just she sight of them made her sick to her stomach. Sometimes it felt like toilets spent more time with Heather than her own friends. At least if she hid away elsewhere - like the library - she could try and distract herself from the raw burning in her throat.

In her bag, her hand knocked against her pencil case, her notebooks, and her purse before she finally pulled out a half-empty packet of mints. She looked down as she fumbled with the packet in her hands, desperately clawing at the wrapper as she tried to pull it down enough to reach the mints at the bottom. Come on, you piece of shit. Why do they never open when you need them most? Was she doomed to just suffer with bad breath for the rest of the day? Well, it'd certainly match the rest of the doom occuring in her life right now. Oh my fucking God, why won't they-

Heather suddenly bumped into someone, causing her to lose her grip on the packet of mints. She watched helplessly as they fell to the ground, the mints finally deciding to come out of the wrapper as they spilled at her feet.

Life fucking hates me.

"Shit! Do you not watch where you're going?!" She began to yell furiously, still staring at the mints on the ground as if that would somehow teleport them back into her hands, "What would you do if I-"

She stiffened as she looked up to see J.D standing in front of her. Great, her other tormentor. Life really fucking hates me. Just the very sight of him made her feel powerless, yet again. Heather Chandler, J.D, and food really were her three evils, apparently.

Heather could have just picked up her mints and moved on, but she didn't trust him enough anymore to even look away to reach for them, and she didn't want to feel any more beneath him than she already did. He literally meant nothing in the big scheme of things, and yet he meant everything at the same time - in the worst way possible.

And so, she just held her stare, hoping that by some miracle, he would be the one to walk away.

- @call-me-heather

J.D. was walking to his next class with his hands in his pockets. He looked smug and indifferent to the world around him as he usually did. Like everything in life was suddenly looking up for him, because to him? It actually was for a change. No, the world hadn’t magically became any less shitty than it was before or anything. If only that were actually the case…But, no it was still the same old Westerberg and the same old routine that made him feel so bitter inside. No, he had just found life sucks less when everything in your orbit is going as you wish it were.

There seemed to be a distinct lack of Heather Duke bothering him lately after the whole book situation between them. Not that he was even surprised by that. Why would she ever want to bully him again knowing he has dirt among other things on her? Her copy of Carrie still sat on his nightstand at home, almost as if it was a trophy for his success in getting what he wanted out of her and by the looks of it, he was likely never going to have to deal with Heather ever again. Peace, serenity, and his mom’s legacy were to be his in no time at all now.

As he was so lost in his own success and cocky triumph he didn’t even notice the person in front of him until he had barreled straight into her. Or maybe she had bumped into him instead? Hard to say with all the mints flying everywhere. Couldn’t people fucking stand to not get in his way for once?!

He recognized that voice anywhere by now. The familiar cadence of the facade of superiority.

Life fucking loves him to the detriment of her.

His eyebrow arched, tilting his head and observing her like a predator observing its prey caught once again in a bear trap and this time? He didn’t even have to trap her himself. He could see the way she stiffened as she had come to realize who was standing in front of her. The knowledge he could make her stiffen up like that only managed to make him feel more powerful over her. That the big bad wolf in green was cowering before him, one of her previous victims of all people. It was well deserved. More thoroughly earned karma coming to pay its debt. A punishment for her unending corruption and martyrdom.

She didn’t do anything besides stare at him as if she had expected him to simply just run along and mind his own damn business. She had to have known better by now. He wasn’t one to just let her off the hook so easy, now was he? After all, she hadn’t let him off the hook so easily herself. No, Heather had made him cry and kept doubling down like she always did. Why should he afford her any such luxuries when they both know she wouldn’t do the same for him if the shoe was on the other foot?

Instead of backing away like he knew she would’ve wanted, he bends over, picking up each and every one of the mints she had dropped and then held out his palm to give them back to her. It would’ve been a polite gesture in any other situation.

And he did. That was what sucked the most. Just the thought of him having her copy of Carrie made her stomach feel weak again. If it wasn't already empty, she might have thrown up right then and there. She felt like that every time she saw the gap at the end of her bookshelf at home. She knew how this all worked - he could do whatever he wanted with that book and she'd just have to sit back and watch.

Now, if she was in his shoes, she would have already pinned pages of the book to all the school walls for everyone to see. Or at the very least, she would have used the book as blackmail to get free favors. The fact that he hadn't done anything yet worried her. She hated waiting. She'd much rather him just get it all over and done with; why was he taking so long? Did he have some sort of an elaborate supervillain plan that would somehow ruin her life far worse than she ever would have expected?

Well, of course not. He was a nobody - he wasn't smart enough to know how to use blackmail like that. So maybe he was just being a complacent bitch, as always.

When J.D began to pick the mints up off the floor, Heather stared at him in horror. Why didn't he just know how to drop something? Why did everything have to be a game with him? It was weird. He was weird. But, fortunately for her, it gave her enough time to wipe her mouth with her hand, quickly smelling it to check for bad breath before forcing it awkwardly by her side again.

When he straightened and held out his hand, she hesitated. With him, showing even the slightest sign of submission would likely make her seem more vulnerable than she already was. But, then again, what choice did she have?

"Why the fuck would I wanna touch those after they've been on the floor?" she asked with a grimace, but took the mints from him anyways, making sure to do it quickly in hopes that it came across as more of an angry action than a submissive one.

As J.D prompted her to finish the threat she had been making earlier, Heather panicked. Shit. Well, there went the remainder of her bravado. She couldn't exactly finish that threat without provoking the angry bear in front of her. He knew that - it was an unfair power move. How did he always seem to win constant checkmates over her in social interactions? That was supposed to be her strong point. If even an antisocial freak could do better than her at her own strength, then was she really good enough? Was she ever truly good enough?

"Forget it. I wasn't saying anything important, just- can you move? I'd like to actually be able to get to, uh... The library. It's important!"

That wasn’t what this was at all. It was rather obviously another power play and he was clearly taking enjoyment out of every second he had messing with her. He knew he held all the power in this situation by being able to hold her book hostage and therefore keep her right where he wanted her at all times until his plans could truly be put into action. Which wouldn’t be too far off from now if everything goes as he wants it to. But, Heather doesn’t know that yet.

The suspense must be eating her alive, not knowing what his next move will be. The thought of that alone amuses him immensely. That someone she’s deemed as inferior to herself is now the biggest threat to her own peace and stability socially. Oh, how poetic indeed.

He knew for a fact if she had been the one to steal his annotated book it would’ve been plastered all over the school by now for all to point and gawk at. All in the pursuit of reminding him of “his place” in the world which was inherently below her. Everything was always a spectacle with her, especially if it meant she could show off and look superior to others. It wouldn’t have been completely out of bounds for her to have tried to blackmail him as well though to very little success. He didn’t exactly have any skeletons in his closet like others to exploit.

Since he was busy cleaning the mints off the floor he hadn’t noticed her wiping her mouth with her hand. He had been too distracted with his own pettiness to notice her smelling her breath either. By the time he had stood back up, she had adjusted to her normal position once again like it had never even happened in the first place.

He watched the way she hesitated to take the mints from him. He knew she was likely at war with herself on what to do. As bending over into submission for others was something she did often, but this was different. He wasn’t a Heather, and she was practically allergic to showing any weakness or vulnerability to anyone who wasn’t a Heather. Especially if they had the power to destroy her life. Her stubborn resolve to act like she was everything when she was nothing was likely to be her own undoing.

He smiles as she takes the mints from his hand, still attempting to look as put together as possible when he already knew better than to believe that. After all, who was it who told him how she really felt under that overly confident facade of hers?

“Beats making the garbage guy have to clean it up. Have some respect for the people around you why don’t you? Someone could’ve tripped on those mints for all you know.” He teased condescendingly, as if he was talking down to her. “What do you even need the mints for anyway? Did Westerberg’s very own second in command forget to brush her teeth or something? And here I thought your appearance was what mattered to you most in this cruel and uncaring world you pretend to run.”

If he was being honest, he wasn’t entirely sure why she needed the mints after exiting the bathroom in the first place. But, he knew it was probably something of interest to him in some capacity.

He didn’t believe her library excuse either. Something told him he knew better than to, probably the desperate stutter in his voice. She was still trying to get away from him and he wasn’t going to let her go so easily.

Seeing J.D smile like that made Heather's entire being grow hot with rage, and honestly, she wanted nothing more than to punch him in the face right then and there. He deserved it - there was no doubt in her mind about that. And it'd be funny, too. Maybe she could have played it off with a cool joke, like "Sorry, thought I saw an annoying asshole who should have been wiped off in his father's sock!" Well, the punchline would need work, but...

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides as she pulled her gaze onto the floor instead. Unfortunately, resorting to violence probably wouldn't be the best idea, especially considering that empty gap in her bookshelf. It seemed to match just about every other fucking thing in her life at the moment - like the empty gaps she constantly creates on plates, and then the empty gap in her stomach afterwards. It was a cycle she'd never escape.

"Well, maybe the 'garbage guy' should do his job," she spat, "He literally gets paid to do it. If he wanted a better path in life, then he should have worked harder for it. Everyone creates their own futures."

She regretted saying those words as soon as they came out of her mouth. They seemed so meaningless when her very own future sat in the palm of somebody else's hand. Like a book character randomly deciding to claim free will, blissfully unaware that the writer scriped them to say that too.

Heather scoffed dramatically at J.D's questioning. She knew he didn't actually care and that it was probably just painfully obvious to everyone around her that she was a state. Maybe even appearance wise too, she hadn't bothered to check herself in the mirror before leaving the restroom. The thought of not knowing what she looked like was a worry, but she also didn't really want to know. If she saw all that extra fat in her reflection, she could end up in that restroom until her insides felt numb and she passed out. It wouldn't be the first time in the past week, but she'd much rather it not happen in school - a place where everyone's eyes were already constantly watching for a slip up.

...And that'd be annoying considering she had just wasted so much effort trying to comfort her. So, instead, she just brushed her hair with her fingers to the best of her ability for comfort.

"Oh, have you never heard of the basic concept of freshening up? Actually, it wouldn't surprise me if you of all people hadn't..." she said slowly, as if genuinely thinking over the matter, "Well... The food in the caf is pretty grody. I don't want my breath to stink of it all day. That good enough for you, detective?"

Damnit. He hadn't bought the excuse - the overly fake nice offer might as well have screamed that in her face. She should have just faked illness. Demanding a pink slip from the nurse would be easy enough, and it wouldn't be complete lie. But her parents would probably kill her if her attendance slipped. Then there was also the risk of them getting suspicious. She wouldn't hear the end of it if they knew anything in her life was amiss.

She shook her head quickly, "No way! I don't need you brooding around me trying to work on important stuff! You'd just be a pain in my ass and I wouldn't get anything done. Leave me be. We don't need to be speaking to each other."

J.D. watched as Heather’s fists clenched and her eyes couldn’t seem to leave the floor. He knew what that means. Heather was likely seeing red, like the cover art of a certain book her room was lacking in of late. Oh, how could she ever be mad at him when he was only being polite to her? Picking up after her was a charitable act, he didn’t have to after all. Though they both knew it wasn’t about mints on a dirty school floor. Like everything about the two of them, there was always more to it than meets the eye.

He knew what that look meant. The look of someone who wanted to lash out, and rather violently too. He would’ve known that look anywhere by now. It was that same look he had given Heather that very afternoon when all of this had began. Or at least, that’s what he thought it was. Hard to say given the fact the memory of that day his book had collided with Heather Duke’s head remained hazy with the overwhelming memory of smoke from a condemned library in Texas and the waving of a mother he wished he was with instead.

To the best of his memory he remembered his fists had been clenched as well, though in his case he had been more violent with himself. Punching his own leg repeatedly with more force with each and every punch as if that would’ve grounded him in the moment he was actually in. When his mind seemed to drift away, when he found himself stuck in the past with no real way of escaping from the suffocation of his reality, he found pain was his only way out. Pain brought the world back into focus with a newfound clarity. Being in pain was what healed him most when other things wouldn’t as much. It’s why he used to open his veins, why his arms were still scarred with the memory of a time where bleeding was all that gave him comfort in the world.

He hadn’t intended to hit Heather with that book, his brain had gone to a dark place as it so often does. It was simply an outburst of rage at her own behavior and words about him, nothing more than that. It was an extreme action, but what was he better at than causing extreme and violent acts? Just because it was an accident didn’t mean he felt apologetic then or even now. Heather had never given him a reason to feel bad for what he had done before so why should he expect her to start now?

But, more than anything in her attempt to stare down at the floor, Heather looked scared to him. She knew where the power dynamic lies and no matter how much she wants to clobber his face out, there was nothing she could do to change that.

“I couldn’t agree more, you know. Everyone creates their own futures. That is, if they actually choose to. Isn’t that right Heather? No, you choose to let others dictate your life and then blame everyone but yourself for your own problems instead. If you want to play follow the leader into the void while the world around you bursts into flames so you never have to face consequences for pouring gasoline onto the fire plaguing the earth, then go right ahead. But, what really matters is the blame game, isn’t it? You’re never at fault for anything. Blame Heather Chandler, blame popularity, blame me, it will never be enough to keep your own soul clean when it’s as dirtied and littered as the floor beneath us.”

J.D. couldn’t believe the hypocrisy in her own words. To say everyone created their own futures would’ve been to acknowledge that Heather had willingly sold her soul and given up her freedom to a future all her own in a Faustian bargain with a devil in a red scrunchie. And Heather had never proven that self-aware before. It must’ve been merely a small slip of the tongue she hadn’t expected him to call her out on. After all, when you’re at the top nobody ever has the balls to correct you.

He hadn’t bought into her excuse as to why she had needed the mints either. Of course she tried to insult him in the process of trying to throw him off the scent, and quite literally too…Nobody who truly needed the mints for the purpose she had declared would be this defensive about it. They were just a pack of mints. What else could she possibly be trying to hide from him? Maybe it was rather invasive to ask someone what they were doing in a restroom but with Heather he had to pick up anything of use he could get…

“Had no idea you knew so much about cleanliness as I can practically smell you from here.” He teased. “Well, we can’t all eat five course meals at home in the real, civilian world. What? Is the food too inexpensive and mundane for someone of your holier than thou status you couldn’t even manage to keep it down in that sensitive stomach of yours?”

Her desperation for him to not come along with her and her hostile attitude didn’t appear to affect him. If anything, he only grew more smug. He rested his arms behind his back, an innocent smile appearing on his face.

“And here I thought you wanted your book back.” He said softly, kicking the air in front of him. “What a shame. Maybe we could’ve even went and replaced it together.”

Whatever lies Heather had been trying to feed herself immediately crumbled when J.D called her out. And that was just it - he seemed to be the only one who did. Heather Chandler happily played into her delusions, probably just to get whatever she wanted from her, and Heather McNamara was too dimwitted to notice. It was terrifying.

"Shut up! You don't know me - stop acting like you do. People don't dictate me. They never have. You just think they do because I'm not afraid to actually learn how to fit in rather than spending every day of my life alone, holding onto the belief that maybe, just maybe, a light might appear in my self-inflicted void some day, when I'm not even doing anything to make that happen! Let's face reality for a goddamn second. The only future you're creating for yourself is a funeral without guests. And that's a pretty fucking pathetic way to live."

The accusation of her playing the blame game upset her the most. Who gave him the right to say that? Was he raised in a barn with no human connection all his life, or was he just purposefully dense? It wasn't fair. Saying she never blamed herself was like saying a fish didn't swim. She blamed herself every time she fucked up. Every time she had to be forcibly silenced, because she always overstepped her power. She was just a dwarf-ish elf wearing a giant's robes - if wearing could even count as the right word. It usually felt more like she was drowning in them, guttering, choking, inching slower to her demise.

And she blamed herself in more private ways too, that no one else would ever see again.

Seeing those little flashing numbers constantly increase in front of her no matter how hard she tried to keep up with her eating was the worst thing of all. It was proof that even Heather's own body couldn't be controlled by her. Instead, it just took up more space than needed when she'd much rather just reduce to nothing. She felt greedy, like she was breaking some sort of rule. Except the rule didn't exist, not really. It was just in her head, growing impossibly, much like her body beneath her. And the self-loathing got so relentless that she had to punish herself to chase relief. A relief that came in the form of a hollow ache ripping right through her organs and out from her mouth. The ache told her that she had paid for her mistakes, so she didn't need to feel disgusted anymore.

But afterwards, she never really felt better. It was only a temporary fix, and she hated herself for needing it in the first place. She hated herself for being so careless, and also for caring way too much at the same time. So, yeah. It was unfair to say she didn't experience blame. It was basically coded into her very existence.

Heather had to cross her arms to stop her from lashing out at J.D. He had somehow managed to stab straight through an even deeper nerve with simple teasing. Or rather, teasing that seemed simple on the surface. She didn't need to be sent back to that place - that corner in the cubicle - in her head when she had just been there physically. She was a little confused as to how he had caught onto her throwing up, but then realised it was probably obvious enough in everything about her current state. Or even a lucky guess would have worked. And then the confusion exploded into anger again as she attempted to defend herself.

"Jesus, you act like it just happens to me! Oh, yeah, here comes the sickness fairy! Come to plague Heather's stomach yet again!" Heather argued, speaking dramatically with her hands. "I'm not this hollow little object that you think I am but-"

"I'm not going over that again. Seriously, fuck you."

She finished her little argument by flipping him off, as if simply saying the words "fuck you" wasn't enough. And, to be honest, it wasn't. He was a dick. He deserved to be treated like one.

The heated conversation had already caused her eyes to swell up a little - although she managed to blink them back. But when her cockiness was cut off by the mention of her beloved book, she couldn't help but feel the need to curl up into a ball and sob. Of course, she couldn't, she was in public after all, but the idea lingered. Everything that had happened between her and J.D, and her and Heather Chandler, had been steadily building up inside her. Unfortunately for her, J.D seemed to know exactly how and when to break her internal dam.

Heather looked around her - partly to distract herself from the thought of crying, but mainly to check if anybody around them could see what was going on. To check if anybody cared enough to listen to her or even interfere with her being verbally attacked in the middle of a corridor. However, with teenagers being teenagers absorbed in their own lives and useless gossip, nobody seemed to bat an eye. It was impossible to be alone in a crowded room, and yet so easy to feel like you were.

And so she was stuck with the devil in front of her, who liked to use blackmail as his pitchfork. The reminder of that tugged at her. He could use it at any moment, in any way that he pleased. There wasn't really any choice for her to make in the end.

J.D. couldn’t believe the nerve Heather had to say that to him. With the fate of her reputation completely at his whims she should know better than to lash out at him. Not when he could punish her for it. Besides, is it really an insult if it was the truth? He didn’t think so. Evidently Heather was not used to people seeing her so clearly and telling her the simple truths about herself that might be too ugly to face for someone as incapable of taking criticism as she is. It seems to him if it had been Heather Chandler slurring out these “insults” at her she would’ve bent to the knee and taken it as she usually did. Since when did the show dog know how to bite?

She appeared to be grasping at straws in her attempt to fight back at him. It was almost adorable as it was pathetic. They both knew he was holding all the aces up his sleeve and even now, after he successfully had pulled one over on her and had her book full of underlined passages that could spell the end for her and could do god knows what with it she was trying to retaliate and exert control over a situation she had no control over. His face didn’t even move as she fought back. He looked smug, like he genuinely felt untouchable. A perfect mask of cockiness and overconfidence in himself.

But, it wouldn’t be a mask without a few cracks. He’d be lying if he said her words hadn’t gotten to him at all. “The only future you're creating for yourself is a funeral without guests. And that's a pretty fucking pathetic way to live." A part of him knew that to be true. Ever since he was around the age of nine he had wondered what it would be like to die. After witnessing his mom leave this world all those years ago and how people had responded to it he had wanted to know what it would be like for him when his time finally came. He knew the truth better than most: if he died tomorrow nobody would even care. He would’ve done nothing of meaning in his entire life. His funeral would be full of empty chairs. Maybe she would show up, but she wasn’t anything to him in the grand scheme of things. A means to an end now a loose end when he dies.

It was always in the darkness of his mind when it blinded him most that his thoughts would turn this bleak. When he would do things he could never truly take back.

“Your mom left you because you’re so unlovable she couldn’t stand to live with you anymore. She hates the man you’ve become in her absence even more. It’s why she watches you every night. To punish you for who you are. Your dad wouldn’t even care if you died. He’d just pop another beer and make another son to replace you. You know it to be true. One more card flick to the face, another bruise to hide, another insult burned into your soul forever. Your sister would be glad to be rid of you. One less monster in the house. Big brothers are supposed to fight the monsters for their sister and you left her to be eaten by one. ‘Doing it to protect her’ my ass. What kind of brother are you? Poor Jason, no friends. No family. Last time you were around some kid your age it didn’t end so well now did it? You don’t deserve to live. Nobody would even notice you’re gone. One less ant in the colony. No less disease plaguing mankind.” His mind would never let him forget.

“One more cut until you bleed out, one more pill until you overdose, one more knot til you can’t quite feel your neck hurt anymore, and the world is a little more quiet…”

“The adults can’t help you. They don’t want to help you.”

It was days like this he felt he only lived to spite those who wanted him dead. To prove something to the cold uncaring planet he despised with every fiber of his being…But, Heather didn’t need to know that.

He didn’t say anything but he took a step closer, the smug mask still glued onto his face to the point you could almost mistake for his face. If his still healing bandaged hand wasn’t twitching, his face cringing slightly as it moves. Normally he’d soothe himself in another fashion but he doesn’t have to anymore. The pain of his hand and the consequences of what happened last time he showed weakness in front of Heather gives him enough clarity to not do anything at all.

In that clarity, J.D. took notice of something Heather had said. Another slip of the tongue he had caught as she crossed her arms. A thought entering his mind.

“So, the vomiting doesn’t just happen to you? Isn’t that supposed to be how sickness works? Unless, that is you’re actually throwing up on purpose…”

The fact he was staring at her with his undivided attention in this newfound proximity made it appear he was looking for the answer in her soul. He had heard of girls being bulimic before but Heather Duke? Well, that would be unexpected indeed. And downright useful to know too. He flipped her off in return, fair was fair after all.

He could tell Heather was avoiding his gaze, she looked like she wanted to cry but was trying not to. A true staple of Heather at this point. He had seen her cry before and would likely see her cry again before this was all over between the two of them. He knew nobody was listening to their conversation, nobody had even noticed Heather trying to escape the bathroom. Hell, he probably wouldn’t have noticed either if she wasn’t barreling straight into him. If it was her fault or his he didn’t particularly care to know.

People only pay attention to the world around them when it involves them or entertains them to do so. Humanity is a self-centered and self obsessed thing. Though it comes with benefits if you know how to use it to your advantage in spite of how disgusting and deplorable it really is. He knows a thing or two about weaponizing the way the world is to his own benefit. He didn’t see anything wrong with that. Everyone’s out for themselves anyway. At least his own cruelty behavior will bring change to benefit those who deserve to be benefited by a world with less people like Heather.

But still, she needed somewhere to go that wasn't a cubicle. She had spent way too much of her time near toilets recently, and just she sight of them made her sick to her stomach. Sometimes it felt like toilets spent more time with Heather than her own friends. At least if she hid away elsewhere - like the library - she could try and distract herself from the raw burning in her throat.

In her bag, her hand knocked against her pencil case, her notebooks, and her purse before she finally pulled out a half-empty packet of mints. She looked down as she fumbled with the packet in her hands, desperately clawing at the wrapper as she tried to pull it down enough to reach the mints at the bottom. Come on, you piece of shit. Why do they never open when you need them most? Was she doomed to just suffer with bad breath for the rest of the day? Well, it'd certainly match the rest of the doom occuring in her life right now. Oh my fucking God, why won't they-

Heather suddenly bumped into someone, causing her to lose her grip on the packet of mints. She watched helplessly as they fell to the ground, the mints finally deciding to come out of the wrapper as they spilled at her feet.

Life fucking hates me.

"Shit! Do you not watch where you're going?!" She began to yell furiously, still staring at the mints on the ground as if that would somehow teleport them back into her hands, "What would you do if I-"

She stiffened as she looked up to see J.D standing in front of her. Great, her other tormentor. Life really fucking hates me. Just the very sight of him made her feel powerless, yet again. Heather Chandler, J.D, and food really were her three evils, apparently.

Heather could have just picked up her mints and moved on, but she didn't trust him enough anymore to even look away to reach for them, and she didn't want to feel any more beneath him than she already did. He literally meant nothing in the big scheme of things, and yet he meant everything at the same time - in the worst way possible.

And so, she just held her stare, hoping that by some miracle, he would be the one to walk away.

- @call-me-heather

J.D. was walking to his next class with his hands in his pockets. He looked smug and indifferent to the world around him as he usually did. Like everything in life was suddenly looking up for him, because to him? It actually was for a change. No, the world hadn’t magically became any less shitty than it was before or anything. If only that were actually the case…But, no it was still the same old Westerberg and the same old routine that made him feel so bitter inside. No, he had just found life sucks less when everything in your orbit is going as you wish it were.

There seemed to be a distinct lack of Heather Duke bothering him lately after the whole book situation between them. Not that he was even surprised by that. Why would she ever want to bully him again knowing he has dirt among other things on her? Her copy of Carrie still sat on his nightstand at home, almost as if it was a trophy for his success in getting what he wanted out of her and by the looks of it, he was likely never going to have to deal with Heather ever again. Peace, serenity, and his mom’s legacy were to be his in no time at all now.

As he was so lost in his own success and cocky triumph he didn’t even notice the person in front of him until he had barreled straight into her. Or maybe she had bumped into him instead? Hard to say with all the mints flying everywhere. Couldn’t people fucking stand to not get in his way for once?!

He recognized that voice anywhere by now. The familiar cadence of the facade of superiority.

Life fucking loves him to the detriment of her.

His eyebrow arched, tilting his head and observing her like a predator observing its prey caught once again in a bear trap and this time? He didn’t even have to trap her himself. He could see the way she stiffened as she had come to realize who was standing in front of her. The knowledge he could make her stiffen up like that only managed to make him feel more powerful over her. That the big bad wolf in green was cowering before him, one of her previous victims of all people. It was well deserved. More thoroughly earned karma coming to pay its debt. A punishment for her unending corruption and martyrdom.

She didn’t do anything besides stare at him as if she had expected him to simply just run along and mind his own damn business. She had to have known better by now. He wasn’t one to just let her off the hook so easy, now was he? After all, she hadn’t let him off the hook so easily herself. No, Heather had made him cry and kept doubling down like she always did. Why should he afford her any such luxuries when they both know she wouldn’t do the same for him if the shoe was on the other foot?

Instead of backing away like he knew she would’ve wanted, he bends over, picking up each and every one of the mints she had dropped and then held out his palm to give them back to her. It would’ve been a polite gesture in any other situation.

And he did. That was what sucked the most. Just the thought of him having her copy of Carrie made her stomach feel weak again. If it wasn't already empty, she might have thrown up right then and there. She felt like that every time she saw the gap at the end of her bookshelf at home. She knew how this all worked - he could do whatever he wanted with that book and she'd just have to sit back and watch.

Now, if she was in his shoes, she would have already pinned pages of the book to all the school walls for everyone to see. Or at the very least, she would have used the book as blackmail to get free favors. The fact that he hadn't done anything yet worried her. She hated waiting. She'd much rather him just get it all over and done with; why was he taking so long? Did he have some sort of an elaborate supervillain plan that would somehow ruin her life far worse than she ever would have expected?

Well, of course not. He was a nobody - he wasn't smart enough to know how to use blackmail like that. So maybe he was just being a complacent bitch, as always.

When J.D began to pick the mints up off the floor, Heather stared at him in horror. Why didn't he just know how to drop something? Why did everything have to be a game with him? It was weird. He was weird. But, fortunately for her, it gave her enough time to wipe her mouth with her hand, quickly smelling it to check for bad breath before forcing it awkwardly by her side again.

When he straightened and held out his hand, she hesitated. With him, showing even the slightest sign of submission would likely make her seem more vulnerable than she already was. But, then again, what choice did she have?

"Why the fuck would I wanna touch those after they've been on the floor?" she asked with a grimace, but took the mints from him anyways, making sure to do it quickly in hopes that it came across as more of an angry action than a submissive one.

As J.D prompted her to finish the threat she had been making earlier, Heather panicked. Shit. Well, there went the remainder of her bravado. She couldn't exactly finish that threat without provoking the angry bear in front of her. He knew that - it was an unfair power move. How did he always seem to win constant checkmates over her in social interactions? That was supposed to be her strong point. If even an antisocial freak could do better than her at her own strength, then was she really good enough? Was she ever truly good enough?

"Forget it. I wasn't saying anything important, just- can you move? I'd like to actually be able to get to, uh... The library. It's important!"

That wasn’t what this was at all. It was rather obviously another power play and he was clearly taking enjoyment out of every second he had messing with her. He knew he held all the power in this situation by being able to hold her book hostage and therefore keep her right where he wanted her at all times until his plans could truly be put into action. Which wouldn’t be too far off from now if everything goes as he wants it to. But, Heather doesn’t know that yet.

The suspense must be eating her alive, not knowing what his next move will be. The thought of that alone amuses him immensely. That someone she’s deemed as inferior to herself is now the biggest threat to her own peace and stability socially. Oh, how poetic indeed.

He knew for a fact if she had been the one to steal his annotated book it would’ve been plastered all over the school by now for all to point and gawk at. All in the pursuit of reminding him of “his place” in the world which was inherently below her. Everything was always a spectacle with her, especially if it meant she could show off and look superior to others. It wouldn’t have been completely out of bounds for her to have tried to blackmail him as well though to very little success. He didn’t exactly have any skeletons in his closet like others to exploit.

Since he was busy cleaning the mints off the floor he hadn’t noticed her wiping her mouth with her hand. He had been too distracted with his own pettiness to notice her smelling her breath either. By the time he had stood back up, she had adjusted to her normal position once again like it had never even happened in the first place.

He watched the way she hesitated to take the mints from him. He knew she was likely at war with herself on what to do. As bending over into submission for others was something she did often, but this was different. He wasn’t a Heather, and she was practically allergic to showing any weakness or vulnerability to anyone who wasn’t a Heather. Especially if they had the power to destroy her life. Her stubborn resolve to act like she was everything when she was nothing was likely to be her own undoing.

He smiles as she takes the mints from his hand, still attempting to look as put together as possible when he already knew better than to believe that. After all, who was it who told him how she really felt under that overly confident facade of hers?

“Beats making the garbage guy have to clean it up. Have some respect for the people around you why don’t you? Someone could’ve tripped on those mints for all you know.” He teased condescendingly, as if he was talking down to her. “What do you even need the mints for anyway? Did Westerberg’s very own second in command forget to brush her teeth or something? And here I thought your appearance was what mattered to you most in this cruel and uncaring world you pretend to run.”

If he was being honest, he wasn’t entirely sure why she needed the mints after exiting the bathroom in the first place. But, he knew it was probably something of interest to him in some capacity.

He didn’t believe her library excuse either. Something told him he knew better than to, probably the desperate stutter in his voice. She was still trying to get away from him and he wasn’t going to let her go so easily.

Seeing J.D smile like that made Heather's entire being grow hot with rage, and honestly, she wanted nothing more than to punch him in the face right then and there. He deserved it - there was no doubt in her mind about that. And it'd be funny, too. Maybe she could have played it off with a cool joke, like "Sorry, thought I saw an annoying asshole who should have been wiped off in his father's sock!" Well, the punchline would need work, but...

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides as she pulled her gaze onto the floor instead. Unfortunately, resorting to violence probably wouldn't be the best idea, especially considering that empty gap in her bookshelf. It seemed to match just about every other fucking thing in her life at the moment - like the empty gaps she constantly creates on plates, and then the empty gap in her stomach afterwards. It was a cycle she'd never escape.

"Well, maybe the 'garbage guy' should do his job," she spat, "He literally gets paid to do it. If he wanted a better path in life, then he should have worked harder for it. Everyone creates their own futures."

She regretted saying those words as soon as they came out of her mouth. They seemed so meaningless when her very own future sat in the palm of somebody else's hand. Like a book character randomly deciding to claim free will, blissfully unaware that the writer scriped them to say that too.

Heather scoffed dramatically at J.D's questioning. She knew he didn't actually care and that it was probably just painfully obvious to everyone around her that she was a state. Maybe even appearance wise too, she hadn't bothered to check herself in the mirror before leaving the restroom. The thought of not knowing what she looked like was a worry, but she also didn't really want to know. If she saw all that extra fat in her reflection, she could end up in that restroom until her insides felt numb and she passed out. It wouldn't be the first time in the past week, but she'd much rather it not happen in school - a place where everyone's eyes were already constantly watching for a slip up.

...And that'd be annoying considering she had just wasted so much effort trying to comfort her. So, instead, she just brushed her hair with her fingers to the best of her ability for comfort.

"Oh, have you never heard of the basic concept of freshening up? Actually, it wouldn't surprise me if you of all people hadn't..." she said slowly, as if genuinely thinking over the matter, "Well... The food in the caf is pretty grody. I don't want my breath to stink of it all day. That good enough for you, detective?"

Damnit. He hadn't bought the excuse - the overly fake nice offer might as well have screamed that in her face. She should have just faked illness. Demanding a pink slip from the nurse would be easy enough, and it wouldn't be complete lie. But her parents would probably kill her if her attendance slipped. Then there was also the risk of them getting suspicious. She wouldn't hear the end of it if they knew anything in her life was amiss.

She shook her head quickly, "No way! I don't need you brooding around me trying to work on important stuff! You'd just be a pain in my ass and I wouldn't get anything done. Leave me be. We don't need to be speaking to each other."

J.D. watched as Heather’s fists clenched and her eyes couldn’t seem to leave the floor. He knew what that means. Heather was likely seeing red, like the cover art of a certain book her room was lacking in of late. Oh, how could she ever be mad at him when he was only being polite to her? Picking up after her was a charitable act, he didn’t have to after all. Though they both knew it wasn’t about mints on a dirty school floor. Like everything about the two of them, there was always more to it than meets the eye.

He knew what that look meant. The look of someone who wanted to lash out, and rather violently too. He would’ve known that look anywhere by now. It was that same look he had given Heather that very afternoon when all of this had began. Or at least, that’s what he thought it was. Hard to say given the fact the memory of that day his book had collided with Heather Duke’s head remained hazy with the overwhelming memory of smoke from a condemned library in Texas and the waving of a mother he wished he was with instead.

To the best of his memory he remembered his fists had been clenched as well, though in his case he had been more violent with himself. Punching his own leg repeatedly with more force with each and every punch as if that would’ve grounded him in the moment he was actually in. When his mind seemed to drift away, when he found himself stuck in the past with no real way of escaping from the suffocation of his reality, he found pain was his only way out. Pain brought the world back into focus with a newfound clarity. Being in pain was what healed him most when other things wouldn’t as much. It’s why he used to open his veins, why his arms were still scarred with the memory of a time where bleeding was all that gave him comfort in the world.

He hadn’t intended to hit Heather with that book, his brain had gone to a dark place as it so often does. It was simply an outburst of rage at her own behavior and words about him, nothing more than that. It was an extreme action, but what was he better at than causing extreme and violent acts? Just because it was an accident didn’t mean he felt apologetic then or even now. Heather had never given him a reason to feel bad for what he had done before so why should he expect her to start now?

But, more than anything in her attempt to stare down at the floor, Heather looked scared to him. She knew where the power dynamic lies and no matter how much she wants to clobber his face out, there was nothing she could do to change that.

“I couldn’t agree more, you know. Everyone creates their own futures. That is, if they actually choose to. Isn’t that right Heather? No, you choose to let others dictate your life and then blame everyone but yourself for your own problems instead. If you want to play follow the leader into the void while the world around you bursts into flames so you never have to face consequences for pouring gasoline onto the fire plaguing the earth, then go right ahead. But, what really matters is the blame game, isn’t it? You’re never at fault for anything. Blame Heather Chandler, blame popularity, blame me, it will never be enough to keep your own soul clean when it’s as dirtied and littered as the floor beneath us.”

J.D. couldn’t believe the hypocrisy in her own words. To say everyone created their own futures would’ve been to acknowledge that Heather had willingly sold her soul and given up her freedom to a future all her own in a Faustian bargain with a devil in a red scrunchie. And Heather had never proven that self-aware before. It must’ve been merely a small slip of the tongue she hadn’t expected him to call her out on. After all, when you’re at the top nobody ever has the balls to correct you.

He hadn’t bought into her excuse as to why she had needed the mints either. Of course she tried to insult him in the process of trying to throw him off the scent, and quite literally too…Nobody who truly needed the mints for the purpose she had declared would be this defensive about it. They were just a pack of mints. What else could she possibly be trying to hide from him? Maybe it was rather invasive to ask someone what they were doing in a restroom but with Heather he had to pick up anything of use he could get…

“Had no idea you knew so much about cleanliness as I can practically smell you from here.” He teased. “Well, we can’t all eat five course meals at home in the real, civilian world. What? Is the food too inexpensive and mundane for someone of your holier than thou status you couldn’t even manage to keep it down in that sensitive stomach of yours?”

Her desperation for him to not come along with her and her hostile attitude didn’t appear to affect him. If anything, he only grew more smug. He rested his arms behind his back, an innocent smile appearing on his face.

“And here I thought you wanted your book back.” He said softly, kicking the air in front of him. “What a shame. Maybe we could’ve even went and replaced it together.”