Chapter Text
October 11, 2013
They didn’t talk. Not for a long while. Days, weeks, maybe even months, from what it felt, though the flimsy reality of the world told her it had only been hours. She was confident of nothing but the everlasting length of time which stretched out before her, trailing behind her, blanketing all around the both of them.
Chloe’s truck was loud, as always, but it wasn’t nearly as deafening as the silence that permeated the cab. Her ears rang. The dry, cold, infinitely long bench seat was all that stood between them. Physically, at least.
Max kept to herself, kept the walls of her emotions high as she picked at the corners of her fingernails, worn nearly to the bone. For all she knew, it could’ve been years before they reached the edge of the world — meaning, the sign at the edge of Arcadia Bay. Time had ceased to be real long ago.
Despite the silence between them, she heard Chloe exhale through her nose as soon as the ragged street sign was no more than a speck in the rear view mirror. Maybe that was why she let herself do the same — breathe. Surely her face had grown pale and blotchy, gray and morbid. Surely the feeling of stone inside her chest meant she was dying. In all the times she’d watched Chloe die, all the times she’d seen others die, all the death that followed behind her like a ghost, Max had never once experienced it herself. Her skin prickled. Would she recognize when it was her time to be called towards death? Would it hurt? Would it hurt worse than—?
She wanted to close her eyes but found that she couldn’t. The only feeling stronger than the swirling guilt, malice, and agony inside her gut was the raw fear that lingered in her shadows. Fear of everything. Fear of nothingness. Fear of isolation, of desolation, of everything that had already happened. Max didn’t fear the future, for she couldn’t imagine it ever reaching her. Max feared the havoc wreaked road behind them, littered with broken buildings and shattered vehicles. She feared the calamitous apocalypse that had wiped the memories of her youth out of existence. She feared the storm that had already quieted. She feared the hushed silence that filled her lungs. She feared…
Chloe’s phone rang, startling them both. To her credit, Chloe was able to keep both hands firmly on the wheel as she jumped then cursed with a hiss. A week ago, a day ago, Max would’ve smiled. She didn’t. It ached to even think about it.
It was strange seeing Chloe, the headstrong, fearless, cocky and confident woman that she was, in a state of despair. For Max knew that’s what it was — despair. Or shock. Or both. Regardless of how she phrased it, she knew just by looking at Chloe’s hunched, tense shoulders and her tight grip of the steering wheel that she hadn’t yet processed the weight of Max’s actions. The weight of her choice.
They were both blind and deaf, merely inching along the world and waiting for time to pass. At least that was one area where Max wasn’t alone.
Her fingers twitched, wanting to grab the offending phone from the center console and toss it out the window. But she’d thrown away enough of Chloe’s life that day, so she looked to the trees blurring by and worked on burning her eyes by staring at the center of the sun. It wasn’t until minutes longer of repeated phone calls that Chloe fumbled and grabbed the phone herself, tensing her jaw as she stared at the screen with a scowl. Her thoughts were loud, though she didn’t voice any of them. When Chloe shook her head and threw the phone onto the floorboards, Max flinched again.
“Fuck, sorry,” Chloe whispered. “It’s just…the sound is bothering me, you know? I don’t know why he keeps calling.”
Max forced herself to breathe. The phone still rang, though it had grown muffled from where it lay face-down on the tattered floorboard.
“You can, uh…turn it off,” Chloe said. “If you want. Or, whatever, I guess.”
As with everything in Max’s life, the ringing soon ended. Somehow, the silence was even worse after. She cleared her throat and it hurt. Good.
“Who?” she asked.
Chloe ran a hand through her hair, tossing her beanie to the seat between them. It was still wet. Max kept her distance, though she debated grabbing onto it, if only to have a solid object between her fingers to remind herself that Chloe was alive — that Max was alive. That they were together.
“Step—” Chloe hesitated on the word, gears turning in her head. “Uh. David,” she answered quietly.
A small part of Max’s stomach unclenched. One survivor. After all the bodies she’d seen that day, it was a sliver of hope to hear that David was at least well enough to call his stepdaughter. A small sliver, but a sliver nonetheless. But before she could even think to prod Chloe towards calling him back, her throat tightened. There was a reason David survived the storm. And it was the very same reason why her hands still shook, her muscles ached, her body felt weakened. The real demon lurking in the back of Max’s head wasn’t the power of nature or the mystery of time, it was the cruelty of man. It was the sharp needle stabbing into her skin, the bullet piercing Chloe’s body, the drugs coursing her veins, the dark grin of the predator behind the camera.
If Chloe wanted to say more about it, she didn’t. Max was grateful, she thought. Or maybe she resented Chloe for her silence. For forcing Max to face the open world on her own. For forcing Max to do the impossible, for twisting her arm and asking her to pick which lives she wanted to save. Not lives — life — she reminded herself. Singular. One. Only one.
Only Chloe.
Max didn’t save anyone else.
She couldn’t even say it had been impossible, she knew she could’ve done it— she could’ve saved them all. But she picked Chloe. And as horrible, as tragic, as devastating as the choice had been, Max knew it was the only option she would ever choose. Even if she woke up tomorrow and found the date on the calendar was October 7th, she would make the same choice. A thousand times. An infinite amount of times.
To her, to Max, it would always be Chloe. Nothing in the fucking world would ever change that.
Night came slowly, creeping over the edge of the horizon like the smoke of a fire. Max didn’t know where they were, she didn’t want to ask or look at a map or try and piece together their location based on the names of the roads and towns they passed. For a moment, she wondered if Chloe knew where they were, or if she had any plan for where they were going. But even if she did, it wouldn’t change anything. Max would be lost regardless. Lost, but not alone, not really.
When the light of the sun faded to the pale, quiet moonlight, Chloe reached a hand across the seat with her palm facing up. Waiting. An invitation for touch, for comfort, for a rope to hold onto in the depths of the ocean. Max took it, grabbing on harder than she expected she would’ve.
Her hands were clammy against Chloe’s warm, rough own. Their touch was familiar, their skin against skin feeling as natural as breathing. Chloe rubbed a thumb over Max’s knuckles gently, hesitant, as if she was saying “It’s okay, I’m here, we’re okay.” And when Max felt tears bud in the corners of her eyes, she tightened her grip. Chloe let her.
They didn’t talk about it, but they both felt it all the same.
October 24, 2013
The best years of her life had been spent on the coast, beneath the hot sun and against the sandy shores. The worst day of her life had been spent doing the same. For about a week, they stayed in the sporadic motels along the coast. Maybe it was to preserve some semblance of home, maybe it was because they’d drove and drove and drove until they couldn’t keep their eyes open anymore and had to pull over somewhere. There had even been a couple nights that they’d hopped in the truck bed, spread out a blanket, fluffed a couple flat, misshapen pillows and laid underneath the stars until sleep found them. Even on those nights, Max kept to herself, arms wrapped around her own body until her silent sobs faded to a hollow emptiness long enough for her to sleep.
It wasn’t until their first night in a real, actual hotel that she risked reaching over and grabbing Chloe’s hand again. They had separate beds, of course, but at around midnight, Max had sat straight up in bed, heart racing, and cried out. Chloe was awake in an instant, surprisingly, since she usually slept like the dead. But before Max could cradle her head in her hands herself, Chloe had grabbed on tightly, pulling her fingers away and holding them in her own. The warmth of her skin had broken through the cloud of Max’s fear, just for a moment, but it was enough.
Perched on the edge of Max’s bed, Chloe watched her silently. Her eyes were calm, open, beautiful, cosmic, and it made Max sick to feel them on her.
“What?” Max barked out.
Chloe blinked. “What do you mean, what? You had a nightmare, right?” She squeezed her hand once, and suddenly Max was not okay, not even a little bit.
She jerked her hand out of Chloe’s grasp and held it to her chest like she’d been burned. Then she turned to her side, launching herself back beneath the blanket and staring a hole in the grimy yellow hotel wall. The muffled sounds of some couple arguing could be heard from the room above them.
“Go back to sleep,” Max said, ignoring what the question had been, ignoring the humiliation of what Chloe had pointed out.
She felt Chloe adjust herself on the bed, her weight making the boxspring creak loudly. Then a hand was on her shoulder.
“Max, you can…talk to me. I-I’m here for you.” Chloe breathed out a humorless laugh, and Max’s chest tightened at what she knew was coming. “I’m here because of you, you idiot. So don’t shut me out. Okay?”
Max tasted blood. She dug her teeth harder into her bottom lip, gnashing it like she was torturing herself. Maybe she was. Eventually, when she didn’t answer, she expected Chloe’s hand to retreat and for her to pad back over to her own bed. But the pressure never faded. Instead, Chloe squeezed her shoulder, tightening her hold on Max until it almost became painful.
“Don’t shut me out, Max…I can’t-I can’t do this alone.”
There was only one other time Chloe had touched her like that before, touched her in a way that felt desperate and broken. Five years ago, on a day of rain and tears and black-clad people trudging around the cemetery, where they buried a man who hadn’t deserved to die so suddenly.
The dark fog at the forefront of her mind dwindled, concern for Chloe pushing its way past until it was all she could focus on. Max sat up, faced the other girl, and saw the tears on her cheek. Her stomach fell a hundred feet.
“Oh, Chloe—” She shoved the blankets aside and fell into Chloe’s form, wrapping her arms around her shoulders as her fingers threaded in the back of her hair, sinking into her.
They fit together, Max and Chloe, like they’d been born for it.
Chloe slid her own hands around Max’s waist, pulling her in closer until nothing but clothes separated their bodies. If Max could’ve held her closer, could’ve pulled her into her skin and body and melded them together like their corporeal forms didn’t exist, she would’ve. She didn’t care that she’d broken her unspoken rule of not touching Chloe, of not allowing herself the satisfaction of feeling the warmth of someone else’s body. If it meant Chloe would stop crying, stop hurting, she would’ve done anything.
That night, they shared the same bed, though they didn’t touch again after separating from their embrace. Chloe, like she’d sensed Max’s hesitation to be next to the window, slept on the left side of the bed, facing her. Max kept her back towards her, retreating back into her semi-conscious state of self loathing as the clock ticked closer to morning. But for the first time since the storm, she felt calm. She listened to the steady breathing behind her until her eyes were able to close at last.
They slept in the same bed every night since. Though their conversations were short and meaningless and reserved only for the bright light of day, Max had the innate sense that Chloe knew exactly what she was thinking, even before she herself had the chance to. Slowly, then, the ice in her venomous heart began to thaw.
October 31, 2013
There was a knock at the door, sharp and quick. Max’s veins flooded with a deep chill and she clicked a button on the remote to mute the T.V on the wall. The knock sounded again as Max stood from the bed, and this time it was followed by a low chuckle muffled from behind the door. She felt a tug at the corner of her lips, but pushed it aside, placing her bag of chips on the nightstand and jogging over to it.
“Who is it?” Max asked loudly, standing on her tip-toes to peer through the small circular peephole. But before she could get a look, a shadow covered her vision from the other side.
“Nuh-uh, that’s cheating!” Chloe shouted. “No peeking!”
Max rolled her eyes, though Chloe couldn’t see it. “Ugh, fine. Did you leave your keycard in the truck again?” She fumbled with the lock and pulled the door open, revealing the bright, smiling face of…a pirate?
“Happy Halloween!” Chloe grinned, white teeth shining.
A cheap, flimsy pirate hat sat on the top of her head, the red color a stark contrast against her blue hair. She wore an eyepatch that looked like it’d been hastily crafted a few minutes prior with some construction paper, glue, and a dream. Even her clothes were rugged and pirate-esque, though Max recognized them as something Chloe had bought during a recent trip to a thrift store where they’d looked for fresh clothes. She’d thought there had been something shifty in Chloe’s eyes as she’d picked out a tan, weathered shirt and gaudy pantaloons, but Max hadn’t been in a cheerful enough mood to question her that day.
Max smiled without meaning to, then clapped a hand over her mouth as she let Chloe enter their hotel room. “Uh, what the fuck, Chloe?” She gave a slight laugh, pointing to the plastic fork in the girl’s hand.
“I couldn’t find a hook, so. Fork it is. What do you think, am I spooky?” Chloe brandished the fork in the air like it was a pirate hook, growling a totally-not-intimidating Arggh for good measure.
“Totally spooky, but mostly a dork. And didn’t you forget a very important question that comes shortly after knocking on someone’s door?”
Chloe turned the fork over in her hand like she wasn’t sure what to do next. “Err, trick or treat?” she asked awkwardly.
Max brushed by her with a laugh, grazing her arm against Chloe’s own and trying to push aside the spark of need that flashed up her spine as she took her seat back on the bed. They weren’t supposed to touch.
“Nice try, Captain Bluebeard, but I don’t have any candy,” Max said.
“I guess you’ll just have to give me a different treat then.”
Max tensed at the joke and unmuted the T.V so the eerie music of a random horror movie would drown out the sudden shift of the air.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” Chloe said after a pause. She fell down onto the opposite twin bed, the two of them still not willing to face the awkwardness of telling any hotel staff they only needed one of them. “Forget I said that. Here, have some candy.”
Chloe tossed a lollipop that landed on Max’s knee, then a Snickers which she caught one-handed before it whizzed by her face.
“Whoa, Super-Max.” Chloe whistled and sat back up, resting with her elbows on the bed behind her. “Did you practice that move?”
Max unwrapped the candy bar and shoved it in her mouth to avoid replying. She didn’t rewind, didn’t even try — just got lucky, that’s all. But there was an ache in her wrist, in her palm, that itched to pull against the flow of time and yank it backward. To manipulate reality until she went back, back, back to a time where she still appreciated the breeze against her hair and the touch of sand between her toes. Max chewed slowly and gave a shrug.
“Maybe.”
Chloe finished her incredibly small bag of sour Skittles and an eyebrow rose. “Wait, seriously?”
“Yeah, maybe,” Max insisted, finally raising her eyes to meet Chloe’s. “Isn’t that what you wanted me to say? That I rewound time until I was satisfied with the outcome?”
Chloe straightened from her slouch, shifting uncomfortably at the foot of the bed. “No, that’s…no, Max. I don’t know why I said that. Bad habit. I didn’t mean—”
“Didn’t mean to point out my flaws? Didn’t mean to bring my powers into this, into everything?” The lingering taste of chocolate in her mouth made way for ash and salt like the spray of the sea. Her face felt wet. “Didn’t mean to make me feel even more shitty than I already do? What does it matter, right? Max saved the day! Max saved the girl! Max killed an entire—” Her voice broke and she quieted down to avoid bursting into sobs.
Chloe stood, hesitating as she hovered over the precipice of Max’s bed as if she wanted to lash out, or grab her, or kiss her. Her mouth dropped open, words poised at the tip of her tongue, but the blasting ringtone of the phone in her pocket interrupted them both with a startle.
“Fucking fuck, David, now is not the time!” Chloe turned away with a shout, wrenching the phone from her pants and stalking off towards the hallway.
Max waited to hear the telltale sound of the door slamming, staring blankly at the T.V as a car insurance commercial took over the screen. But nothing came. She heard the clicking sounds of Chloe typing on the phone, then a final whoosh as she sent a message. When she returned to the room, her face had fallen. The signature Chloe Price confidence had made way for regret. Max was glad for it. Let them both suffer. Let it hurt.
“Look, Max, I’m sorry. I really am. But,” Chloe paused, sighed, then continued, “I can’t keep on like this. We’ve been on the road for weeks and haven’t talked about anything. I can’t keep acting like everything is fine, like this fucked up elephant isn’t glaring at us from the corner of the room. I can’t keep walking on eggshells. Whatever it is you’re feeling, whatever you need in order to-to process everything…just let me help, dammit. Please?”
Max stared at her, letting a wave of anger wash over her resolve. Chloe was tired of Max’s weakness, her depression, her inability to get over it? Chloe felt powerless? Max scoffed. Chloe didn’t know the half of it. She would never ever be able to understand the horrid visions that plagued her nightmares, the disgusting memories she had of the dark room. So, Chloe wanted to fight? Fine then. Max stood, fists clenched at her sides as tightly as her teeth grit together, and marched over until she stood right in front of the other girl. The anger felt good, felt right. Even despite how Chloe towered over her, she felt larger than her, taller, stronger, fueled with fury.
“What the fuck ever, Chloe. Poor you.” Max shoved a hand in the center of Chloe’s chest. She didn’t even know why she did, why she wanted to. She just did it. She let herself be taken over by the discomfort swirling in her head and in her stomach, let the anger flood her veins and take charge. “Fuck you,” she said. Shoved again. And again. She would never in a million years hit Chloe, but this? Pressing her hand with force and watching as the girl took step after step backward? This, Max could do.
Chloe’s back met the wall, unable to be pushed any farther. But Max wasn’t done, didn’t want to be done. Chloe was the only one she could talk back to, could push and shove and-and cry into. She was the only one Max had left in her shitty fucking life. And all at once, her rage turned into vicious, betraying tears. Max cried like her chest was collapsing, digging her fingers into Chloe’s shoulders as her forehead pressed to the girl’s collarbone.
She cried loudly, mouth open, nose running, ugly and open and raw like a fresh wound. And Chloe let her. She placed a hand on the top of her head, rubbing softly like Max was a child she needed to console. She stroked against her hair like she loved her, and somehow the idea that Chloe loved her more than she let on — more than how the two young girls they used to be loved each other — was terrifying.
Max hadn’t known the intensity of her own love for Chloe until the storm, until she’d been faced with the prospect of losing her. There, at the lighthouse, in the middle of hell, her love had been the only thing she’d known. It was a deep, dark, world-ending, twisted love. It was obsession, need, desperation, mania, everything everything everything.
She was selfish, Max was. It was why she’d grown quiet. Why she kept her hands wrapped in each other, away from Chloe, away from comfort. It was why she never let herself look at the girl for too long, wouldn’t let herself smile or laugh or feel happiness for more than a second. Because Max was selfish, and her love for Chloe had brought ruin to the world.
“Max…” Chloe broke through the sounds of Max’s sobs, her voice like stone. “Max, it wasn’t your fault.”
Everything is my fault, everything is my fault, everything is my fault—
“Max, look at me!” Chloe pulled Max’s chin until their eyes met — Max’s with the blur of fresh tears, Chloe’s with a quiet longing. “It wasn’t your fault! You can’t let yourself think that, it’ll kill you. If you need to point blame, then blame me. I can take it. Go on.”
Max shook her head. Her Chloe, selfish and confident and beautiful.
“Come on! Say it — say it was my fault. Will it make you feel better? Will that bring back my Maximus?”
“Stop,” Max mumbled, wiping her tears on the front of Chloe’s shirt. It didn’t matter if it ruined it, there was no way Chloe would actually wear the gaudy pirate clothes out in public after Halloween.
“Nah, I won’t, not until you come back to me,” Chloe insisted. “I’m pretty torn up over this too, Max. Like, majorly. I’m sure ten years from now we’ll blow up and have a huge fight over this, possibly never speak to each other again. You’ll probably move on and date some weird chick at a college, or someone who drives a Porsche, and I’ll go after Victoria in a drunken haze of missing you, or something. But now? Right now? We have each other. Fuck, Max, we’re all we have. And I need you. I need my best friend.”
Max chuckled once, but it came out as more of a breathy sigh. Then she sniffled, scrubbed her hands over her face, and looked up into Chloe’s eyes.
“Okay,” she said. “Okay, you win. But I won’t let you have the blame all to yourself. We’ll share it.”
Chloe’s lips broke into a lopsided smile. She lightly nudged Max’s shoulder. “There’s my girl. Welcome back, Max. Now, want to help me binge eat the rest of this candy?”
November 5, 2013
A new month and they were in Washington. Home — or rather, her parent’s home. They didn’t go to Max’s house at first, wouldn’t for a bit longer, until they were ready, but it was nice being in a new state. It felt like a fresh start. The wind was colder and crisper and had the sharp bite of winter that made Max’s nose crinkle pleasantly. Even Chloe looked happier, despite the fact that they’d ended up in the opposite direction that she’d wanted to be. At least, Max assumed she’d still wanted to go to LA. They didn’t talk about Rachel anymore, or even the storm, but they’d talked more than they had in October. That, too, was nice.
Unfortunately, their luck of smooth travels had run out the night before, when their faithful old truck billowed with smoke a half-mile from the nearest sign of town. Chloe managed to pull over and waft away the smoke enough for her to pop the hood and take a look at what happened. That part, Max was lost in. She knew nothing about cars, nothing about driving, nothing about how to fix them when they broke. She couldn’t even fix herself when she was broken.
But Chloe was a natural, poking and prodding around the engine like she knew exactly what all the bells and whistles were, smearing black grease on her hands and arms, tongue poked out between her lips in concentration. Honestly, it was kind of hot. Which is why Max avoided watching as she worked, instead deciding to hunker down in her seat and pull the journal out of her bag for the first time in nearly a month.
She wrote a little, but drew a lot. She wasn’t quite ready to take out her camera or snap pictures, but she at least was able to doodle in the pages for a bit until Chloe slammed down the hood and wiped her hands off on a dirty rag.
“All clear!” Chloe shouted. “Give her a start!”
Max leaned over and turned the keys until the truck rumbled to life. She might not have known what was wrong to begin with, but she didn’t see any smoke after a couple minutes. Satisfied, Chloe fist pumped the air, then got back into the driver’s side. Before Max could lean back to her own seat, Chloe snatched onto her wrist.
“You should sit in the middle seat,” she said, her skin burning where it touched Max.
“Uh, why?” Max asked, feigning obliviousness. But she didn’t pull her hand away.
Chloe buckled herself then used her free hand to put the truck in drive and steer the wheel. She moved her fingers to connect with Max’s own, threading together casually.
“Because,” Chloe said. “I can reach you here. Can’t reach you over there.” She pressed on the gas and steered them back onto the road with a slight lurch.
“But you know I’m not buckled in here, right?”
“Doesn’t matter, I’m a good driver,” Chloe countered. “Plus, I’ll keep you safe. Always.”
Max laughed, but tucked her journal away and shifted closer to where Chloe sat. That time, it was Max who rubbed a thumb across the other girl’s knuckles. Max swore she saw Chloe’s eyelashes waver.
“You are totally not the right person to be saying stuff like that,” Max said.
“Hey!” Chloe yelled and gave a frown, bumping her shoulder into Max’s and jerking the truck over the white line for a moment on accident. “Shithead…No dead dad jokes. Only I can make those.”
Max agreed with a smile, “Of course.”
They’d found a decent looking hotel not far from where they topped up the truck with gas, and Max had somehow found the strength to tell the lady at the front that they only needed one queen bed in their room. Chloe’s eyebrows had risen at her boldness, but she didn’t shoot the request down. Maybe they both looked tired enough that the desk attendant didn’t care to ask questions, or maybe she’d already came to her own conclusions after seeing the bright color of Chloe’s hair, but they got their keycards from her without so much as a shrug. Max thanked her and tugged Chloe along, heading for the elevator to take them to their room.
Even after almost an entire month of hoping from hotel to hotel, Max enjoyed seeing what new rooms and furniture layouts would greet them wherever they stayed. Her favorite hotels were the ones with indoor pools, though Chloe would always groan about how gross they were. Chloe’s favorite were the ones with free breakfast, where she could sneak down at the crack of dawn and shovel muffins in her mouth before Max woke up. One morning, after a night of sleeping in the truck, they stopped at a hotel just to pretend like they were guests who could take advantage of the free meal. It was surprisingly easy to do so, nobody had even given them a second glance, even though they both couldn’t stop giggling the entire time over their private, shared joke.
“Wow, nice digs,” Chloe commented with a whistle.
Rather than the queen bed Max had asked for, there was a king. Plus a couch, a flat-screen T.V. that had to be at least 50 inches, a writing desk, and a giant bathtub.
“Yeah…how much was this place again?” Max asked, tossing her bag onto the bed.
“More than the others, for sure, but not this much,” Chloe answered. “Hey, look, a mini-bar!” She tugged open the tiny fridge to reveal an impressive assortment of alcohol and soda. “Huh. I thought she looked at my ID. Guess she saw my age wrong. Want one?”
“Chloe, put that back,” Max demanded. The other girl jiggled a bottle of whiskey in one hand enticingly. “It’ll cost extra, and we’re almost out of money as it is.”
“Ugh, fine.” Chloe put the bottle back before kicking the door shut. “Having to buy that spark plug earlier set us back…We’ll have to skip Waffle House in the morning. Life fucking sucks without hashbrowns.”
“You’ll live.” Max gave an affectionate roll of her eyes.
They settled onto the bed together, Chloe by the window, as always, and Max flipping through the television channels. She got bored with it quickly and stopped on an old cartoon, leaving it on mute so they didn’t have to hear the annoying high-pitched voices.
Where Max was calm and collected, finally inching towards finding her own inner peace, Chloe was weirdly antsy. She shifted and tossed and turned over in bed, still fully clothed and even wearing her beanie tugged low on her head. Frustrated, she eventually sat up with a huff and began tapping on her phone.
“Are you alright?” Max asked hesitantly. Chloe may have been ready to talk about their feelings over the storm, but Max still wasn’t quite there yet. But just because she didn’t want to face her nightmares yet didn’t mean she wasn’t going to be a good friend and be there for Chloe. At least, that’s what she thought.
“Yeah. Fine. Just step-douche blowing up my phone. I can barely keep a charge on it when we’re on the road, and now he’s…”
“You should call him back,” Max said, casually.
“What?” Chloe scowled at her, dark and angry, then scoffed. “No, absolutely not. No.” She leapt off the bed and made way for the bathroom, disappearing around the corner where Max couldn’t see. Max heard the light flick on, and the sound of running water in the bathtub followed.
Max bit her lip. “Why not?”
“Because he’s a dick, and I’m tired, and we are not having this conversation right now, Max.” When Chloe came back into the room, she tossed her phone on the nightstand and left it there to ring and ring and ring. “See, now you’ve summoned him. Calling again.” Chloe held up a folded white towel, or maybe it was a flag. “Bath?”
Max picked at her nails, a sudden spike of irritation surprising her. David didn’t deserve to be ignored. He may have been the worst step-dad known to man and a verbally abusive piece of shit, but…Oh. It was hypocritical, wasn’t it? Max’s parents were alive, her mother and father safe in Seattle, oblivious to her life, to Chloe’s life, to anything about Arcadia Bay other than what the news told them. But William was dead, Joyce was dead, and their ghosts haunted the husk of their daughter, even though their souls had long since departed.
Max had killed Joyce, and in a twisted, awful way, she’d killed William too. Their blood stained her hands, among the thousands of others. She’d even killed Chloe. Her blood, Max found, was the darkest.
When she stared at her open palms, they looked the same. They had the same lines, the same curves, the same spots and dots and wrinkles of her young eighteen years of age. But the blood pulsing beneath the surface of her skin wasn’t hers, it belonged to the ruined town she’d left behind. So how could she, the murderer of Chloe’s own parents, tell her what she should or shouldn’t do? What authority did Max have? Because she loved her, she could parade Chloe around like a puppet? Was that love?
Max felt the slow, creeping crawl of anguish rise in her throat, threatening to spill from her lips and eyes and ears and every pore of her skin until she stained the entire world with inky darkness. Until the stain of her guilt outweighed the stain of the red blood across her flesh. Until she was nothing more than dust in the wind, free to be swept away in the next storm. There was a tight, gnawing, clenching of her lungs, the air around her like poison.
“Max?” Chloe called, shaking the towel in her hands. “Hello? Going to make me flood the entire hotel before you answer?”
“What?”
Her vision blurred and Chloe’s gaze stuttered, or maybe it was just the tears in Max’s eyes that made her look distorted. When Chloe came closer, launching into what she probably thought would be her coming to Max’s defense, Max only raised her knees to her chest to act as a barrier between them.
Thankfully, she stopped only a few steps away from Max’s position, rather than taking over her space.
“…You’re upset.” The towel hung uselessly in Chloe’s hands, the bathtub still rushing loudly from the other room. “Something I said?”
“No, not you. I-I don’t think so, at least…” Max sniffed, hating the tears that streaked her cheeks. She was tired of crying. The salty sting against her lips reminded her too much of the sea, of the storm. She shoved it aside, focusing her attention back to Chloe, and only Chloe. That part came easy. “I’m fine. Promise. What did you need?”
Chloe’s jaw tightened, her eyes hardening as Max shut the door right in her face. Then, like it hadn’t ever happened, she shook the disappointment away, shooting Max a cheeky smile in its place. “Nothing. Just asked if you wanted to take a bath. You know, wash off all the stink you’ve collected in the past 48 hours from sitting in the truck?”
“Are you saying I smell bad?” Max pressed her cheek on the top of a knee to fight back the smile. Maybe, after all, Chloe had powers too — the ability to make Max smile over dumb shit, without even doing anything at all.
“Yeah, like cigarettes and car oil,” Chloe explained, tossing the towel over one shoulder and leaning casually at the foot of the bed. She waved her hand dramatically. “Not a great combo, if you’re asking me.”
“So, I smell like you now?” She didn’t say, that’s my favorite combo in the world. She didn’t let herself feel the surge of something bright rise in her chest at the fact that they’d become more intertwined within the universe than before.
“Hey!” Chloe feigned hurt and put a hand over her heart. “You wound me, Maximus. Now, get off that bony white ass and hop in the bath.”
Max rolled her eyes but peeled her legs apart and slid off the bed, her bare feet cold against the well-worn hotel carpet. “Yes ma’am,” she teased.
Of course, Chloe smacked the towel at her backside as she walked into the bathroom, drawing out an indignant “Ow!” even though it didn’t hurt at all.
Max got to the bathtub right on time to frantically shut off the faucet before even more bubbles and water spilled to the floor. Chloe gave an embarrassed laugh behind her, watching Max as she scooped up the dribbling of bubbles from the bath’s edge on her hands and knees. The scent was a strong lavender that reminded her of an old middle school teacher she once had, definitely not fitting for a cold November night. But the water was warm and the bathroom mirror had fogged with steam. It was comfortable enough. Certainly more comfortable than any place they’d stayed in since being on the road.
“Oops,” Chloe said. “Good thing we don’t own this place. Water damage is no joke.”
Max dried her bubbly hands on the spare towel, then stood back to her feet. As a kid, she’d imagined more than once what her life may have looked like in the future, and where Chloe fit into it all. She’d imagined them in Arcadia Bay, taking over the diner and living with Joyce, or with her own parents in Seattle, renting a penthouse apartment in a tall building and driving an expensive muscle car (Max let herself dream, sometimes, that money wouldn’t be an object for them).
But there in the dingy hotel lighting, bubbles coating the floor, clothes smelling of cigarettes and car oil, Max saw a different picture of the future. One with their own house. One with a dog, or cat, or both. One with homemade food on their kitchen table, swing set in the backyard, smiles on their faces. One with a king size bed for just the two of them. One where they were together, for real, for good, forever.
Max smiled.
“Uh,” Chloe stuttered, confused. “What’s with the dopey look?”
“Nothing.” She shook her head, hair bobbing. She really should wash it. Or… “Are you going to join me?”
Chloe’s eyes widened and she laughed sharply. “Good one, Max. Ha ha. No, I’ll be, err—” She gestured behind her with a thumb. But the bathroom door had already been shut. “Out there. Waiting on the bed. Not waiting for you! Just, chilling. On the bed. Yeah, that.”
“Oookay,” Max said slowly, then giggled. Chloe’s face had flushed red. “Now who has a dopey look?”
It wasn’t like they’d never taken a bath together before, but she did suppose the circumstances were different this go around. It was one thing for young, innocent best friends to take a bath after a long day on the playground, hair caked with mud and scratches lining their short legs. But they weren’t those kids anymore, they were…Max didn’t know what they were, but trying to imagine herself stripping naked in front of Chloe sent a weird, nervous shiver down her spine. It was even harder to imagine Chloe doing that for her — in fact, her brain shut down that picture pretty much immediately.
“Whatever, enjoy your bath,” Chloe declared. “Don’t drown, or something. Bye.” And she fled, faster than Max had ever seen her move.
For a moment, Max appreciated the silence of Chloe’s absence. But as if there was an invisible clocking ticking on the wall, her skin soon began to itch and her throat grew dry. She palmed a handful of water into her mouth from the sink, the liquid cool and tasting of metal and chlorine. In the mirror, she barely recognized herself. Sure, she still looked like Max, freckles and dark hair and lonely eyes. But there was something else, too, something foreign, something changed. She brushed the hair out of her face and prodded at her cheeks, then her neck.
She didn’t look at herself again after taking off her clothes and sinking into the warm bath water. She slid down as far as she could go without getting bubbles up her nose, using the murky, soapy surface to obscure her body from view. It was stupid, she thought. There wouldn’t be any blood on her skin. She hadn’t hit anyone, or stabbed them, or attacked someone. Logically, she knew that much. But it didn’t erase the fear of seeing something tangible on her skin, seeing something that would prove once and for all that she was a bad person, that she was a murderer.
Max stayed in the bath for what felt like hours, until Chloe knocked on the door and announced that their food had been delivered. Given the sound of her voice, she hadn’t waited for Max before she’d shoved a slice of pizza in her mouth.
When Max pulled her body from the now cold water, she felt that some part of her invisible, heavy weight had been lifted. She patted her skin with the fluffy white towel, then scrubbed her freshly washed hair until it was as dry as it could be without using a blow dryer. Then she straightened, catching her own eye in the mirror for a final time before wrapping the towel around her body and exiting the bathroom.
She padded softly over to her bag, riffling around for a moment until she found the clothes she wanted to sleep in — a long, soft blue shirt and white underwear. It wasn’t until she heard Chloe coughing behind her that she realized her mistake.
“Oh, uh, don’t worry, I’ll get dressed in the other room,” Max stammered out.
Stupid, stupid, stupid, she thought. They’d been in various states of undress many times before, what made it any different now? God, she was so stupid! If Max had just acted casual, it wouldn’t have been weird at all!
She clutched the towel tight against her chest, even though she knew it was already doing everything it could to hide her body. Chloe waved her away, avoiding eye contact as she went in for her third slice of pizza. But as Max breezed by to return to the bathroom, she could’ve sworn she felt eyes raking over her. She made a mental note to turn down the thermostat in their room.