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She’s only seventeen when everything falls apart. Technically speaking, her life falls apart and puts itself back together on a regular basis, but she supposes this time feels a little different.

Ben’s dead. Charlotte’s dead. Her only way out is fucking gone.

She’s covered in blood when she comes to Miguel, and he helps her shove all of her clothes into a plastic bag, lighting it on fire outside. She showers, doesn’t bother changing the temperature, and stays until the water until her skin is raw and her fingers are pruning. When she’s done, she steps out, dressing into whatever Miguel had left her to wear, ( her mind and body are on autopilot now ). He tells her to stay for the night, and she’s a little too numb to try and argue with him about that.

Veronica doesn’t stay long though. When she’s sure Miguel is asleep, she pulls herself off of the couch, shoving her shoes onto either foot and creeping out of the front door. She’s filled to the brim with nerves, she can’t stay there. Not where he can find her, not when every time she shuts her eyes she only sees Ben’s corpse.

With one-hundred-thirty-four dollars in her back pocket and the clothes on her back, Veronica skips town.

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“That’ll be...eleven-ninety-four.”

Veronica shoves hair back from her face, reaches into her pocket and pulls out a twenty. The clerk takes it, counts out her change and hands it over. With that, Veronica leaves the gas station, stuffing the money and heads directly towards her car. The car she’d hotwired only a few hours before she found this place, a car someone would certainly miss - and never have back in the same condition.

The sun has gone down. And she’s full of nerves - her skin itches terribly. She tries to keep these feelings to herself, it’s not like she has many people to talk to. Or anyone for that matter. She’s alone. Completely, for the first time in her life. She was always constantly surrounded by others, but always felt the same. Now, things were just like she’d always dreamed.

But it doesn’t mean she likes it either.

Veronica rubs her hands against her arms apprehensively, glances at the payphone across the street. She looks left and right, and then decides to cross, plucking up the receiver when she gets close enough. She has enough change where she can make a call, and she waits almost anxiously as the phone rings a few times.

“Hello?”

“Hey.”

There’s movement, probably him sitting up from bed, “V - holy shit, you okay? What the fu--”

“I’m fine, Dex. Fuck’s sake.”

“How the hell else am I supposed to react? Miguel said you left in the middle of the night. No calls, didn’t tell anybody shit. It’s been weeks, V.”

“Just gimme a little more time, okay? I just - I need to breathe.”

She can tell Dex isn’t happy with that answer, she wouldn’t be either. But he scoffs into the phone, “...miss you is all. Jorge doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about most of the time. No one’s counting shit. Uncle doesn’t care. I just...need you here, V.”

That makes her feel a little less itchy, a little less on edge. She looks down at her shoes, her shoes that’re barely held together and her jeans that have dried blood and dirt on the knees. Veronica tilts her head back, tries her hardest to ignore the stinging in her eyes, “I cut my hair.”

Dex is quiet for a second, and then he snorts, “Yeah? How short?”

“Pretty fuckin’ short.”

“Never seen you with short hair.”

“Yeah.”

“Sure it looks fine. Unless you did it personally or somethin’. Then it’d look like a botch.”

“Fuck you. I did pretty good.”

“Mhmm.”

“I’ll get better at it, fuck off.”

There’s laughter in his voice, but it soon goes somber after awhile, “Can you promise me you’re gonna come back at some point? In one piece?”

She fucking hopes so. “Yeah, Dex.”

She hangs up first, fingers linger around the phone before she drops her hand to her side again. Ten minutes later, she’s back across the street, filling her tank with gas, and driving off. Unfortunately, she can’t linger in a single spot for too long, it’s way too risky. She got that the hard way - things have been quiet though, for the last few weeks at least. But there’s this constant buzzing underneath her skin, in her blood and embedded into her bones that won’t ever leave. This awareness, it wasn’t fleeting. Nothing about this was.

.

She only stops driving when its morning. She’d parked on the side of the road and slept in the backseat. Her car pulls into the parking lot of a diner, out in the middle of nowhere, only two other vehicles there. Veronica is achy and exhausted, and starving, and she has roughly thirty dollars left in her pocket.

Once inside, she’s relieved to feel that there’s air conditioner. The older woman there ( in big letters on her name tag, there’s STACEY ) gives her a very unamused look and one glance over before she leads her to an empty table. But then again, the entire place is like a ghost town, Veronica can hear sounds from the kitchen, but other than that, there’s nothing. She slides into the booth, all jitters and tense shoulders.

Stacey pours her coffee quietly, has her pen and paper at the ready when she’s finished, “Want to try our special today? Comes with two eggs, two pieces of meat, and hashbrown.” It doesn’t sound very appetizing right now, but Veronica cannot deny she’s almost weak from hunger. She nods, quiet. Stacey writes it down, then regards her with a pointed look, “You’re not from around here, huh?”

Veronica narrows her eyes, locks her jaw, “And that’s your fuckin’ business why?”

Stacey doesn’t say anything to that, only clicks her teeth and leaves her with her coffee and silence. Veronica tries to sit still, has to physically plant her hands on her legs to keep them from shaking the table. She hasn’t lingered in one place for longer than an hour in the last month, and she wouldn’t start now. She’ll just eat, and leave.

That’s it.

The bell above the door goes off, and Veronica looks up instinctively. Stacey greets the guy, he’s a good foot taller than Veronica with buff shoulders and long legs. No one Veronica can immediately pinpoint, she tries to will her shoulders to relax - stop being so paranoid. He’s seated in the booth behind her, and she hears his voice, he orders a coffee and nothing more. Minutes tick by, Veronica can’t stay still anymore, she pulls a napkin from the dispenser and begins ripping it into little pieces. She doesn’t touch her coffee, she’s wired enough already.

She’s tempted to just take off, forget the food. But before she can, here comes Stacey with two plates, setting them down in front of Veronica, “Enjoy.” Veronica can’t help but wonder how long she’s been in customer service, because she sucks at it. Veronica forces herself to eat, stuffs as much as she can in her mouth at once until she feels sick.

The skin on the back of her neck prickles. She stops only for a second, twists her head slightly to see who’s staring. And she’s not surprised to see its the guy, he stares at her from over the brim of his coffee cup, doesn’t look away when she meets his eyes. Veronica turns back around fast, ice darts down the length of her spine.

And then she’s standing, taking her backpack with her - the place is so small, she doesn’t need to look for the bathroom, it’s directly across from her. When she is inside, she doesn’t even hesitate to look for the nearest exist, the window beside the sink would be a tight squeeze, but she’d manage. Turning over the small cylinder trashcan and pushing it against the wall, Veronica uses it to help her reach the window, undoing the latch and lifting it thereafter.

Behind her, the door opens.

Fear plummets deep into her stomach, she hurries to pull herself up. She doesn’t get to, meaty hands reach out and wrap around her right thigh with ease. Fumbling, Veronica tries to twist her body, using her legs to kick. The guy grunts, but doesn’t let go. He’s a lot stronger than her actually, and he makes that apparent by yanking her from the window and shoving her into the wall. Air leaves her lungs in one violent motion, and she gasps. He lets her go almost immediately soon after, and she lands on her side.

Hard.

It takes a moment for her vision to come back to her, and by the time she does, the guy is crouching down next to her, his hand touches over her left hip - he’s making sure she doesn’t have anything on her. She makes an attempt to sit up, he grips her shoulder to stop her, but she uses her weight to her advantage, slamming his hand into the sink beside them.

He makes this almost inhuman growling sound, scrambling to reach for her when she ducks underneath his arm. Veronica is stumbling for the door, she barely registers it is locked before she reaches it, tries in vain to tug it from the wall. Her fingers are shaking too bad to close around the lock, and before she knows it, he’s barreling right back into her. His weight is nearly crushing, the door makes a sharp sound when he forces her up against it.

His fingers wrap around her throat before she can gather herself, he squeezes tighter and tighter, and this terrifying thought suddenly comes to her head - she might die here. She might die by his hand, in some diner in the middle of nowhere. Where the waitress probably wouldn’t even realize she’s still in there until she begins to smell or a customer finds her ( if they even got regular customers ). And her body would be held until someone claimed it, and no one would. Because she’s Veronica, and because she doesn’t have any ID on her, and because she makes sure to never leave a trace of herself behind.

“Fucking bitch, stop squirming!”

She freezes. She knows that voice - she remembers voices and faces very well. And it suddenly comes back to her just why she’d found him familiar in the first place. She’d seen him briefly, but it was enough to leave a lasting impression. He’d been in the room when Ben had died.

“Oh? So you remember?”

She doesn’t say anything, can’t really.

“Sorry - I never really got a chance to introduce myself. Terrible etiquette, my bad. Name’s Arnold,” He squeezes his fingers tighter around her neck, Veronica’s eyes water, “West been looking for you. And he sends me on this fucking wild goose chase just to look for you. Crazy, right? All over one dried-up--”

Her foot is formally introduced to his dick. And his hold fumbles, Veronica uses it as her chance to jerk around him, her eyes focused specifically on the light spilling from the window above. She makes it to the trashcan again, hands latching onto the window sill to keep herself from falling. But he stops her again, his fingers tangle into her hair, his other hand coming around her mouth to muffle her sounds.

She bites him. As hard as she possibly can with the angle. Until she tastes blood. He lets her go again, finally. Veronica lifts her weight into the window, and just like she thought, it’s a tight squeeze. Her hips get stuck, and to keep him off of her, she kicks back - her shoe plants directly into his nose. When she’s free, Veronica’s running.

Car forgotten, bag left. She’s not looking back.

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“So what’re you going to do?” From across the table, Jax looks at the eighteen-year-old Veronica very worriedly. His hair is getting longer again, he really needs to cut it. But Veronica isn’t going to tell him that, it isn’t any of her business. She fixes him with a look, and he raises his hands defensively, “I’m just sayin’, you can’t keep doing what...whatever you’re doing right now. It’s not really living, V.”

When has she ever really lived? When did she ever have the time? Every moment of her life only stacked up to more shit, it’s been like that since she was born. She’s grown used to it, doesn’t bother resisting it or trying to change fate’s hand. It’ll always be like this, or at least, until she kicks the bucket. Hopefully, that’s no time soon.

“What else am I supposed to do?” She’s tired, it’s very apparent in her voice, “I can’t keep...running away from him. He knows where I am, all the time. Nothin’ is fucking working.”

“Rob thinks--”

“No. No Rob. I’m not dragging him into this again.”

“V--”

“Out of all people, you should know how West works. You should know how this works. There’s no...gettin’ away from him. Not completely.”

Jax fixes his lips into a straight line, he looks serious for once, “I...I want to help, V. I really do, but--”

“I get it. It’s fine. Whatever,” He doesn’t look convinced, Veronica isn’t looking at him anymore, “I’ll...talk to someone. Devin or somethin’. He still owes me and Rob.” Jax nods, doesn’t try to break in, “If he knows you’re talking to me, he’ll kill you, probably. If he knew we were talkin’ about this.”

Jax smiles this time, it’s a very familiar look on his face, causes the corners of his eyes to crinkle, “That’s a risk I’m willing to take. One time offer, for you only, V!”

Veronica rolls her eyes, but her voice lacks its usual venom, “Yeah. Sure.”

After their talk, Jax leaves before her, and she is left alone. Veronica sits for awhile longer at the bar, only picks herself up when her head isn’t swimming as much. It’s been a year - she’ll try again, she’ll keep trying until she’s out of his five-fingered iron grip. Everyone around her tells her its impossible - Borris, Nixie, Jax. But she’s never been the one to listen to reason. She’s quickly found out that she’d rather be dead than be trapped underneath his fist, forced to play his sick game of chess until he’s satisfied. Attempting to take her own life hadn’t gone so well before. Six months ago, he’d found her in bed, overdosed and still. And he’d managed to bring her back, and managed to make her life a living hell even after that. Even though a small part of her tries to tell her to accept her fate and that there’s no way to escape him, the larger and stronger part tells her to keep fighting. Because that’s all her body really knows, in the end.

She leaves the bar, leaning against the side to light a cigarette and try to clear her mind. It’s been a week since she’d last seen him, a week since she’d left the house in the middle of the night and hadn’t been back. It’s also been two years since she’d met him, and just like he knows her like the back of his hand, the sentiment can be returned. Veronica is well aware where he will look first, who he will ask, she’s not stupid.

She stays holed up on the other side of town, very far away from that massive manor he calls home. She hates that place, almost as much as she hates him. It fuels her escape, clogs her chest and makes it harder to breathe - this hate she keeps close to her heart. For herself, for him, for what the world has made her into. Too damaged, but good enough for someone like him.

Veronica tosses her cigarette on the ground when she’s finished, steps directly on top of it. Down the sidewalk, cuts through an alley that leads to the station. Apprehensively, she glances over her shoulder, she seems to be doing that a lot lately. Faces forward again, walks a little faster. She’ll feel better if she’s near light, which is only a few feet away, underneath the street lamp. Once she’s on the train, once she’s at Mr. Rubio’s where it’s safe, she’ll calm down. She’ll think of a plan, it’s the only thing she can do in a predicament like this.

Unfortunately, she doesn’t get very far. Before she can turn the corner of the alleyway, a hand darts out and grabs a tight hold of her arm. Veronica inhales sharply, a hand comes tight around her mouth and jaw before she can get a sound out. They’re surprisingly gentle though ( save for the bruising grip on her arm ), and a cold bucket of panic washes over her. She’s pressed up against the brick wall, stares straight into the cool blue eyes of his.

Must’ve been important if he showed up himself. No Arnold, no bodyguards, just him.

“If I let you go, will you promise not to scream?”

Veronica stares at him, eyes eating up her face. But she manages a careful nod of her head. West releases her arm and mouth, yet doesn’t move an inch back. He crowds up her space thoroughly, makes it difficult to breathe or focus on anything but him.

“Good girl.”

Veronica wants to spit in his face.

He tilts his head at her, reaches down and fiddles with the zipper of her jacket. For awhile, he doesn’t say anything, only drags it down until he can see her shirt underneath, “Where have you been? I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

She doesn’t doubt that. She’s very aware when his hand ducks over her side, touches her waist. It makes her feel cold all over, “Really?”

“Yes, really. I missed you this week. You left without saying anything.”

She inhales, exhales deeply. Veronica is trying hard to soothe her racing thoughts, “...I’m sorry, West.”

“Are you? I can’t tell,” His anger is there, he just has a really nice way of showing it. His eyes narrow slightly, jaw flexing when he tightens it, “You keep leaving me.” He sounds like a disapproving parent, just waiting to punish her for lying. She keeps leaving because she fucking hates him. Because she doesn’t trust herself not to smother him in his sleep or blow her brains out in one of his cars. Because she can’t breathe around him, because there is no rest when he’s concerned. There’s only the smell of blood and the bitter tastes of lies on her tongue.

“I didn’t--”

“Don’t lie,” he tells her, reaching up and clasping her shoulders in his hands. He squeezes, “Don’t lie to my face, Veronica. We’ve talked about that.”

“West--”

He hits her. Right across the face. She hears the slap before she feels the pain blooming across her temple and cheek. Veronica’s fight is instant, she tries to dislodge herself from his grip, scrambling to find purchase on the walls for any type of leverage. He doesn’t let her - he takes a hold of her arm, yanks her backwards. The sudden movement is enough to make her hiss, any harder and he would’ve dislocated her shoulder. Though, she doesn’t get to tell him this, he leans down and kisses her the next second.

His mouth is warm on hers, he forces his way inside, presses her harder up against the wall, caging her there. She cannot move, she cannot breathe like this. He’s everywhere at once. Veronica makes an attempt to twist her head away, it makes him break off, but he continues to trail kisses down to her ear, pinning her wrist to the wall behind her.

“You carve my heart out, Veronica.”

And then he lets her go. It’s so sudden that she loses her footing and stumbles backwards. She’s out of breath, left staring up at him when he draws back completely. He crouches down to her height, but doesn’t touch her. Even so, she jerks back tight against the wall behind her, back pressed tight to the brick.

“...you’ll come home, won’t you? For me?”

.

Jacob likes to cuddle. Veronica hates it.

Even though she makes sure to keep distance between them, he always seems to end up wrapped around her. Maybe the better use of words would be - she wants to hate it. She wants to hate the warmth he exudes, or the comfort. But she can’t, not really. Even though she forces herself to do so.

When she is sure he’s asleep, she pulls herself out of bed, throws off the covers from her legs and stands. It’s difficult to find her jeans in the dark, but she manages. Veronica tugs them up, clasping the button closed and shrugs on her shirt next. Her socks and shoes are next, she has to feel around to look for her jacket.

“Goin’ somewhere?”

Veronica almost jumps a foot in the air, turns to see Jacob is sitting up in bed and staring at her, eyebrows slightly furrowed. She curses underneath her breath, “Yeah. Home.”

He makes this noncommittal noise underneath his breath and sits up more, leaning back against the wall behind the bed, “Home. Right. Since that worked out so well last time.”

She wants to tell him to mind his business, but she can’t really do that. It’s not like he came out looking for her, it’s not like he’s the one who came to her covered in bruises from head to toe. It’s the other way around, and he took her in with open arms. Veronica doesn’t say anything for awhile, only sits down on the edge of the bed when she finds her shoes, “I’m only gonna be gone for an hour. Tops.”

He scoots closer to her, she can feel his body heat now. He doesn’t touch her, not yet, “If you’re going back to--”

“I’m not going back to anything. I’m going to get my shit. My clothes, stuff, money.” She doesn’t have to look at him to know he’s displeased with that answer, “You can’t make me stay.”

“I know.”

“Then don’t try.”

She’s a little surprised to feel his lips on the side of her head. And he curls his body around hers, almost familiarly. It makes her feel strange, almost makes her shoot up from the bed, but she wills herself to hold still.

“Y’said an hour?”

“...yeah.”

“Fine,” he inhales deeply, pulls back after a few seconds, “An hour.”

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She climbs in through the first story window. She has no way of knowing if he changed the locks, or if anyone will be waiting at the door, so she tries the safest approach. Inside of his study now, she takes a quick glimpse around. It’s been around two weeks since she’s been here - she’s been staying with Jacob, and though she would prefer not to, it’s the safest bet she has to staying alive.

West would find her,somehow. He always did. Things were different with Jacob though - she supposes she can say he even made her feel safe. He didn’t know the extent of what happened, he just barely knows anything about her, and still, he welcomed her back with open arms. Even after what happened with Arnold. He’s either really stupid or too kind. Or he just wanted to get his dick wet.

It didn’t matter to her. Not right now, at least.

She opens the door of the study carefully, it doesn’t creak. And then closes it behind her. If she leaves anything how it wasn’t before, he would notice and find out. From what she could see from the parking outside, Arnold wasn’t home. And if he wasn’t here, neither was Borris. Which was a good thing, if anything happened, she wouldn’t be able to take on two six-foot guys at once.

She goes through the house as quietly as she possibly can, gathering her things and whatever she needs. If any of her plans are going to go through, she’ll need the money she’d left stashed away months ago. And that’s upstairs. She has to swallow down any unease before she takes the first step, and then another, and another until she’s at the top. Veronica keeps her steps light and quick, glances out of the corner of her eye to see West’s door. It’s clamped shut, and he’s more than likely asleep at this time.

She ducks into the guest bedroom, forcefully shoves the hardwood dresser from in front of the air vent embedded into the wall. The screws are already loosened from before, so Veronica pries it off, reaching inside. The duffel bag is found with ease, and she pulls it out, slinging it above her head so it can rests over her back.

She’s leaving the room soon after, quietly reaching backwards and closing the door behind her. Down the stairs, through the foyer, she’s just about to put her hand on the doorknob when it begins to twist on its own. She blinks, backtracks quickly behind the door so when it opens, she’s behind it. Someone steps inside, closes the door behind them, and because of the limited darkness, they don’t immediately see Veronica.

West hangs up his coat, he’s whistling that annoying song him and Arnold seem to remember from childhood. Veronica absolutely loathes it. Crouched in the corner and slightly behind the foyer table, she holds her breath until he begins to head towards the stairs. Only for him to stop.

Veronica watches as he glances around the expanse of the room. Up the stairs, towards the sitting area, and then to his study. It’s quiet, Veronica still has tried her best not to breathe.

“Veronica.”

She clamps both hands over her mouth, doesn’t say a word.

“Veronica, come out.”

Nothing.

“Let’s make this easy.”

Still quiet.

“You know I hate when you do this. When you leave me. When you hurt me like this.”

Now he’s walking back in the direction of the door. She slinks further behind the table, hidden by the coats in the corner. She feels small, like anyone could step on her and crush her. She tries to steel her shoulders, inhale through her nose as quietly as she can.

“I can’t be without you, you know that,” His voice is gentle, almost like he’s talking to a child, “We’re meant to be together at this point. Look at what fate has brought us, Veronica.”

She can’t say anything. She won’t feed into it.

“Veronica!” His voice sounds almost inhuman, a guttural sound from deep within his chest. His patience has worn thin already, she jumps against the side of the wall, she can’t help herself, “Come out!! Come out now! You lying cunt!” His steps suddenly head straight into her direction, and before he can yank back the coats to see her, she attacks first.

Her pocket knife sinks into the muscles of his shoulder, and she twists. He stumbles backwards, and before he can lunge towards her again, she’s already running. Past him, towards his study, making sure to turn and lock the door once she’s inside. West doesn’t stop though, the knob is twisted, and then more violently. The door shakes and rattles hard, but the lock doesn’t give away.

“Veronica!!”

His voice sends a shiver down her spine, makes her take a half-step backwards.

“Veronica, Veronica - open the door for me. Open the door.”

And now it’s gentler, he stops yanking at it.

“Let’s not fight, beautiful. Open the door.”

She darts to the window, scrambles to pull it open. The rattling starts up again, it sounds like he’s dangerously close to ripping the door from the hinges. If it wasn’t for the expensive wood, he probably would have.

“Veronica! Open the door! Now!”

She’s already out the window.

.

“So you took care of it?”

Veronica looks up from her fries, Jacob is giving her an expectant look, eyebrows jerked up high, “Can you stop fuckin’ asking me a bunch of questions? You’re gonna give me a headache.”

“I ask ‘cause I worry.”

“Well, don’t. It’s fuckin’ weird. S’not like you really give a shit anyway.”

Jacob stares at her for awhile, reaches across and swipes one of her fries from her plate. Veronica makes a very loud complaint, which makes the waitress from across the room give them a dirty look at the profanity, “What makes y’think that?”

“Think what, dickhead?”

“That I don’t give a shit. About you.”

Veronica avoids eye contact with him, because she already knows what type of look he’s going to be giving her. That weird soft look that catches into his eyes, it makes her uncomfortable. Maybe because she’s never been looked at like that before, “Thought the point of dinner was to eat, not talk.”

“I’m still tryin’ to treat this like a date, so talkin’ is mandatory.”

“Fuck. Off.”

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