It started when she was five.
The young blonde hyperventilating at the playground and struggling to breathe had her rushed to the ER in the arms of her concerned mother, worried about what it could be. Alice figured cystic fibrosis or asthma was the most likely answer, although both broke her heart.
The doctors weren't sure what to call it besides chronic respiratory issues, making treatment that much harder to acquire. They had Betty on a ventilator for a few days in the hospital before sending her back home.
Thirteen years later, the breathing problems remained; she couldn't have the windows down in the car because of the air passing by too quickly, she ate slowly to ensure taking in an adequate amount of air, and most challenging of all was the hyperventilating that came with anxiety.
Her anxiety got worse as Betty got older, which only added to her breathing troubles. And as if speaking wasn't already difficult, anxiety attacks left her practically mute.
The steady sound of deep inhales and exhales acted as white noise against the silence of the room as Betty read her way through the new book she'd gotten. "I brought you some tea," Jughead said, setting the steaming mug on the nightstand beside her.
The blonde smiled and replied with a meek, "Thank you," as she set down her book on the nightstand. "Breathing treatment?" she asked as Jug opened the bedside cabinet. "You know how this goes," he chuckled, setting the small machine up and handing Betty the mask.
"It's only for a few minutes," he said before flipping the switch on the machine as her eyes closed. "You been feeling any better?" he asked as he walked to his side of the bed, worried that the coughing fits she'd been getting lately were worsening.
Betty nodded slightly as Jughead got beneath the covers, offering her his hand. The blonde smiled, her fingers sliding over the back of his hand before into the spaces between his fingers. She sighed slowly into the mask before complications arose and she was coughing again.
She reached over to try and switch off the machine, hitting her teacup and sending the glass mug to the ground. Tears came to her eyes as Jughead got up to turn off the treatment, carefully treading over the broken glass on the floor.
Quick breaths replaced Betty's coughs as her anxiety slowly rose, her eyes wide and hands shaking. He reached over slowly, taking the breathing treatment's mask from the blonde and setting it beside the machine before getting back into their bed o take the blonde in his arms.
"Shh, baby. You're okay. Everything's okay," he eased softly, his hand over her ear and chin on top of her head. "In." Betty inhaled as deep as her lungs would allow with his words leading her. "Hold," he said gently, a kiss to her head acting as the punctuation. "Out."
A long exhale begat more rushed breaths before a gently-spoken word had the blonde repeating the process. "Again." After some time, Betty was counting breaths on her own, listening to sweet nothings, and finding peace in the well-intentioned syllables.
"You're okay, baby. In. Hold. Out. Breathe, baby,"