A/N: My first attempt at movies. My first attempt, actually, at anything but Gilmore Girls. But, God, this is one of the only movies that I couldn't get out of my head for so long that I had to right something about it. It's short, and probably bad, but tell me what you think.
Disclaimer: Sadly, no. I don't own Heathers.
"Pretend I did blow up the school," J.D. said, his voice filled with his usual sadistic arrogance. "All the schools. Now that you're dead, what are you gonna do with your life?"
Veronica flinched for a moment, her pulse stopped in mid-beat. If she ignored the actual words, it was almost like they were just starting out again. She had committed his voice to memory long ago; every arrogant, sarcastic, twisted pitch reached her ears like a memory gone bad.
She hated that, even when he was limping; bullets deepening by the second in his skin—bullets that she had shot; that she had meant to shoot, because the only way to stop a killer is to kill—even when she knew that he needed to finish what he started, that this was the only way to solve the problem, she still wished there was some way she could stop that bomb from ticking away his seconds to live.
"Please," Veronica said. "J.D…"
"What is it, darling?" he asked, the crack in his voice barely noticeable.
"J.D., please," she cried. "Please."
"Don't you see?" he asked, spreading out his arms wide. The clock on the explosives was at 30 now. "Don't you get it? If they're not gonna die, I am. This is it, baby. The only way to escape Heather is to join her."
Veronica sighed, helpless. "I know," she whispered.
"I am society!" he shouted, his arms still stretched, the sun sinking into his black coat; reflecting off of his permanently tilted expression. "I am Westerberg High! Don't you understand, Ronnie-girl? You are, too. So it Martha Dumptruck and my dad and Betty Finn and that goddamn guy at the Snappy Snack Shop. Every person in this world is put here for one reason and one reason only: to screw over everyone else."
"J.D., stop it!" Veronica yelled, and J.D.'s usually placate expression was momentarily thrown. "That's not true!"
"Oh, believe me, babe," he said, ignoring the beeping noise coming from below his neck. "It's the truest thing there is. This whole world is one big suicide. It's just a matter of who's gonna go first." He reached down and pressed a button, and Veronica's eyes grew wider as she watched the number on the screen go from fifteen to fourteen.
Something inside her screamed, and she ran up to him, frantically pulling wires out of the explosive. J.D. spun, but the clock stopped ticking and she quickly grabbed his wrists to stop him from starting it up again.
"God, you're so stupid. Don't you get it, asshole?" She pressed her lips against his, mentally slapping herself because how could she ever kiss the guy that killed not just her best friend, but her common sense? How could she kiss the guy that convinced her that she wasn't a murderer, she was a humanitarian? Killing wasn't sexy! It wasn't right in any sense, and neither was he. Neither was their relationship. But as she pulled apart she realized that nothing she said to persuade herself otherwise would work. Because of one thing.
"I love you," she whispered. "That's why it's not true. 'Cause if society is so goddamn fucked op, then how the shit would I be able to love you?"
J.D. smirked, kissing the one girl that could sway him from his ideals.
"I knew you'd be back," he said.
Then he reached up and lit her cigarette.