Heather isn’t stupid. She can hear them downstairs, can hear JD talking about the drain cleaner, and hear Veronica try to talk him out of it.
She almost wants to go down there, kick them both out and crucify the shit out of them for even trying it. Almost.
They come upstairs, and Heather puts on the whole show, wondering what it was that they went with. If Veronica stood firm or went along with JD’s plan.
She takes the mug, casts some bitchy comment and glances in. Blue, straight to the bottom.
They want her dead, and Heather can’t find it in herself to disagree. She’s nothing more than an easy, bitchy whore, isn’t she?
She looks ahead, brings the mug to her lips and downs it, the liquid starting a fire that runs down her throat and tears up her insides.
She knows she won’t be missed.