Chapter 1: Sidestep
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.
Chapter 2: Leap
Summary:
November. One month later.
Notes:
possible TW for unintentional self-harm and references to death (obviously)
there's some fluff too, don't worry, I actually like these characters unlike a certain team of developers out there
Chapter Text
November 10, 2013
Whether it was good or bad timing, they made it to Max’s house in Seattle before the holiday season. The sad, haggard face of her father had been the first to greet them at the door, eyes lighting up the moment he saw his daughter alive, in one piece, safe. She was glad she’d sat in the parked truck with Chloe for twenty minutes beforehand to decide what their cover story would be. Her dad didn’t need to know the specifics of what happened, neither did her mom. Family was complicated, but luckily for Max, Chloe had gone along with everything she’d suggested for them to say, though there was a tightness at the middle of her brows that hadn’t yet faded.
Point being, Max would rather have been caught dead than to tell her parents what had happened in Arcadia Bay. What kind of daughter would she be, if she told them the truth? If she told them how her teacher, the beloved Mark Jefferson, tortured and framed her and pumped her full of drugs as the world collapsed around them? It was an awful feeling, to know that the truth hadn’t happened; not in this reality, even if Jefferson would rot in prison for his crimes anyway.
But the Max in the dark room had been a different Max, even if she bore her same face and memories and shaking hands and bloodied fingernails. That Max was different. Dead. Gone. So she buried her deep inside her chest and locked the coffin shut, swallowing the key so no one would be able to get in without tearing her to shreds and ribbons.
She’d missed her dad. She hadn’t even realized it, not until he pulled her into a bear hug and wrapped his arms around her tightly. There, he rocked them back and forth, swaying like when she was a little kid dancing in the living room.
“My girl,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Oh god, Maxine. My Max. We’re so, so thankful you’re home. God, your mother has been distraught — what happened?” He disconnected from the embrace but kept his large hands on either side of her shoulders and squeezed gently, like he was trying to convince himself she was real.
Max took a glance behind her at Chloe, who stood with her arms crossed and beanie pulled down over her ears, foot tapping quickly against the porch stoop. At least they were both nervous.
“We…we got out before the storm hit,” Max answered. Lied. She swallowed hard, tongue thick. “We got lucky.”
Her dad kissed her forehead again, cupping the sides of her face. “God, Max. I just can’t believe…I’m just so happy you’re here.”
“Ryan, who—? Max!”
And then her mother was there, sweeping her into another tight hug that took her breath away. That time, she cried, eyes shut tightly in hopes of stopping the tears. They disengaged, her mother smiling despite the blurred makeup around her eyes.
“Hey, mom.”
She hugged her mother again, needing just a second longer of her comfort — the familiar scent of her shampoo, the softness of her shirt, the weight of her arms around her waist. Mom.
Chloe cleared her throat, nodding at Max’s dad as he turned to her next. She gave an awkward, half hearted wave. “Uh, hi. Been a long time, Mr. Caulfield.”
Ever the straight-backed business man, her dad appraised Chloe head to boot, face a mask. But Max saw the glint in his eyes when he realized who exactly it was that stood on his porch. Though she’d cut her hair, dyed it, and littered her body with tattoos, Chloe hadn’t really changed, not to those who knew her.
“Chloe Price!” Dad swept a hand over his beard, somehow even more shocked than he’d been when he’d seen Max. “Long time, indeed!” He clapped a hand on her shoulder and she stumbled, then he was hugging her, too.
Chloe’s arms were rigid at her sides, eyes sending a silent, confused plea towards Max as the man hugged her tightly. Max laughed behind a hand, giving her a gesture of encouragement. So Chloe hugged him back, though it was more like an uncomfortable pat against his back until he stepped away, inviting the both of them inside the house with a cheerful, “Come in, come in! Mom just finished up dinner, I hope you haven’t eaten already.”
“Only air and some chips,” Chloe said plainly. “The dinner of champions.”
As Max’s parents led them to the kitchen, Chloe slipped a hand in hers, fingers intertwined like they were riding in the truck alone, rather than in front of anyone else. Her mom saw. Of course she saw, though she didn’t say anything. Her lips pursed, not in anger or disgust, but as if it was just something curious.
Max’s hand grew hot and she jerked it away from Chloe, wiping her palm on her jeans. She didn’t want them to think…she didn’t want the image of her and Chloe, together, to be in her parent’s mind.
“You okay, Maxi-Max?” Chloe whispered, leaning closer to her ear so her parents wouldn’t notice.
“Yeah. Peachy.”
She wasn’t. Her heart raced like a drum, the scent of her home flooding her senses and sending her right back into the memory of when she’d left for Arcadia Bay. Back when she thought she’d never see Chloe again, back when she thought Mark Jefferson was the greatest person that walked the earth, back when she was able to hold a camera in her hands without them shaking. The house smelled like home, like warm bread and fresh pasta and a pine scented Christmas candle Mom had decided to light a whole month ahead of the holiday.
Chloe’s brows furrowed. Max silently cursed at how observant the people around her were, knowing with a pit in her stomach that Chloe would ask her about what she was hiding later that night. Luckily, her mom had already moved on, hard at work setting two more plates and sets of utensils on the table aside where hers and Dad’s already were.
It wasn’t until she sat down that Max realized just how tired she really was. The fork felt as heavy as lead as she shoveled spaghetti into her eager mouth. Chloe, at least, ate a bit slower, still on edge by being in the same room with someone other than Max — especially since it was her parents. And just as Max had expected, the two of them both came loaded with questions, alternating back and forth on who they pestered for answers, like they’d practiced it beforehand.
“So. Where have you two been staying?” Dad asked first. He cut his spaghetti with a knife, like he always had.
When she was younger, Max had laughed at him for the way he ate his pasta. She’d called him a silly little kid, and had gotten a flick of sauce at her face in response, much to her mom’s chagrin with the both of them. Now? She was grateful to see that he hadn’t changed a bit.
“Hotels, usually,” Chloe answered. “I had some money saved up.”
Stolen money, Max thought, but it didn’t matter any more.
It must have been a sufficient enough response because Mom and Dad nodded along like it made perfect sense. There was a lot they didn’t need to know — Chloe and Max sharing a bed was one of them.
Mom asked next, “Do you know anyone else who made it out?” She raised her hands a tiny bit, lips down-turned in regret. “Sorry, I don’t want to be insensitive, that is.”
“No, that’s okay,” Max said, it being her turn to answer. She gripped a fist underneath the table and Chloe bumped her foot against the side of her leg in support. “My friend, Kate, texted me. She’s okay, she was…out of town, at the time. A few others, people I went to school with, mostly.”
“Good. That’s good,” Dad noted, chewing slowly, though nothing about the conversation was particularly good at all.
They talked about mundane shit next, mostly Max asking her parents what had happened in Seattle since she’d left. Mom had gotten a promotion, Dad had received some award at work, the old ice-cream shop they liked going to had shut down a few weeks ago. Their lives had gone on like everything was normal. Until the storm.
Dad said that they watched the news religiously, eyes glued to the television like they couldn’t believe what they were seeing. Mom had wanted to jump right into the car and drive out there, but he was able to convince her to sit on the couch instead, both of them crying as they waited to see their daughter’s name float across the list of the deceased. But Max didn’t show up. They held onto that hope, as tight as they could, reminding themselves that Max was smart, Max was crafty, Max could still be alive.
With the topic of the dead, the air shifted. Her mom looked at Chloe, question poised at the tip of her lips. Max could read her like a book, knowing, just knowing, that Joyce was the question in all of their minds. Sitting up straighter, Max interrupted before her mom could voice her thoughts, hastily reaching for the basket of bread sticks. She wasn’t ready for the Joyce conversation. Hell, Chloe hadn’t even called David back yet. Joyce could’ve been dead for all they knew. She was probably dead.
“Uh, dinner is great, Mom,” Max said. “Thanks again.”
“Yeah, thanks, Mrs. Caulfield. Nothing like a home cooked meal to lift your spirits in the face of disaster, right?” Chloe asked with a hollow chuckle. Nobody else laughed.
“Of course, sweetie.” Her mom smiled thinly.
Dad finished his plate first then leaned his elbows on the table, eyes hard. He shared a knowing glance with Mom, one that felt awfully familiar to the way Max and Chloe seemed to communicate even without words.
“Honey,” he said resolutely. “You know we have to ask. What took you so long to get here? Arcadia Bay is — was — nowhere near a month’s drive from Seattle. And why didn’t you text us? Or call us? Or—” Mom placed a hand on his forearm, quieting him.
Max set her fork down with an accidentally sharp clatter, no longer interested in eating. “I…”
“It’s been a long night, guys,” Chloe said loudly. “I mean, Mr. and Mrs. Caulfield. We’ve been on the road for weeks, Max is tired, I’m tired. Hell, sorry, heck, I’m sure you’re both tired too, what with all the waiting and worrying over your daughter. How about we call it a night and revisit the trauma later?” She stood before Dad could open his mouth to respond, chair scrapping against the hardwood, then moved to stack Max’s dishes with her own. “I’ll clean up, then be out of your hair for the night.”
“What?” Mom asked sharply.
Second guessing herself, Chloe paused. “Uh. Sorry, I haven’t exactly had much exposure to normal family dinners. Do we…not clean up afterwards?” Quieter, she asked directly to Max, “Dude, do you have a maid here or something?”
“No, not that. What do you mean be out of our hair?” Mom joined Chloe in collecting the dishes with the practiced ease that only a parent could have. “You’re not going somewhere else, are you?” She glanced at Max, who shrugged. “Maxine! We just got you back, sweetie, you aren’t going anywhere.”
“Oh, no, I wouldn’t — I,” Chloe stumbled over her words.
At the same moment, Dad announced, “Neither of you are leaving.”
His expression was unreadable, but Max’s heart soared. She hadn’t asked Chloe earlier what her plans were once they accomplished their goal of reaching Max’s house, too afraid to hear what her answer might have been. Selfishly, she wanted Chloe at her side. Forever. She would rather have left, would rather have slammed the door shut on both her parents, would rather have flipped them off and cursed them out, anything other than seeing Chloe walk away from her.
“Is…is that okay with you? That I stay here?” Chloe questioned.
“Honey, you’re family,” Mom said. “Stay as long as you’d like.”
And who were they to talk back to Vanessa Caulfield?
November 11, 2013
Knock knock, sounded quietly from the bedroom door, so quiet that Max laid there for several more seconds, debating on if she’d heard anything at all. Then it came again, knock knock, with a smidge more force than before.
Max sat straight up, adjusting her sleep shirt groggily, not that she’d been able to sleep any at all yet that night. The corners of her room were dark and full of old memories, with shadows that crept and crawled like demons reaching to grab hold of her. Even at eighteen, especially at eighteen, she found that the dark, intrusively grim thoughts were nearly impossible to fight off.
“Hello?” someone asked.
Chloe.
Max tossed off the sweltering blanket and lunged for the door, opening it only an inch as she saw who waited for her at the other side.
“What are you doing?” she whispered intently. “It’s after midnight, my parents are sleeping!”
Chloe leaned on the door frame, hands shoved in the pockets of her sweatpants — Max’s sweatpants — two sizes too small and revealing a good few inches of skin above her ankle. God, what was she, a virginal Victorian peasant? Why did looking at her make Max feel like the room was spinning?
“Couldn’t sleep,” Chloe mumbled, then put a hand on the door to push it open.
Max resisted, holding it firmly in place to prevent Chloe from muscling her way in. Her room was dirty! She’d forgotten to clean it before she left for Blackwell, telling herself it wasn’t that important anyway; but karma had a way of biting her in the ass. Her mom hadn’t cleaned it while she’d been gone, understandably, and now Max had to deal with the hassle of tidying it up herself in the morning.
“Okay? Me neither. Go back to bed,” Max instructed.
“It’s too fucking cold, dude. Come on, let me in,” Chloe said. “What, no room for a best friend in there? Should I go crawl into your mom’s—”
“Shut up,” Max hissed. She pulled the door open, causing Chloe to stumble forward after the weight that held her back was removed. “Fine, come in, but be quiet.”
Face hot, she stalked back over to bed, kicking a few scattered pieces of clothing underneath it on the way. Max was not the religious sort, but she prayed then that there weren’t any embarrassing things hung on her wall or displayed on her shelves. It wasn’t even like Chloe hadn’t ever been in her room before — she’d snuck into Blackwell a time or two, and when Max’s family lived in Arcadia, they basically lived together. But here? The home she’d made after leaving Chloe behind? The room where she’d built a life without her? It was wrong. It was terrifying. It was the collision of two worlds, ones which were not meant to merge.
As expected, Chloe did not go quietly to bed. She lingered by the door, hands clasped behind her back like a curious cat, and looked, scanning the room as if she was a kid in a lingerie store. She touched the books on her shelves, appraised the wall of photographs of Max’s old Seattle friends. Then Max’s heart dropped. Fuck, not that one!
“Who’s this?” Chloe asked, lingering on a particular photograph of a girl with long black hair and piercing eyes.
“None of your business, detective.” She’d have to deflect, soon, before it was too late. “Aren’t you cold? The blanket is nice and warm, I promise.” For good measure, Max snuggled down in the sheets and pretended to relax.
Through the darkness of her room, she saw Chloe squint at her unnervingly. To have Chloe there, tall and strong and still smelling of fresh smoke from her last cigarette an hour ago on the porch, was nothing short of a miracle. A scary miracle, but a miracle nonetheless.
“Are you trying to seduce me, Caulfield?”
“What? No!” She was too quick, too hasty, too loud for it to be a believable lie.
“Shh, your parents are sleeping,” Chloe hushed sarcastically. But Max won, and Chloe left the picture alone in favor of tucking herself beneath the blankets next to her. “Hey.”
“Hi.” Max shifted away, their faces too uncomfortably close together, the warmth of Chloe’s breath too inviting. Her back touched the wall. Fuck this tiny ass twin bed.
“You okay?” Chloe, oblivious to the raging turmoil in Max’s stomach, put the back of her hand against her forehead. “You’re burning up.”
“I’m fine.” Max batted away the offending hand. “Sleep now?”
“Yeah, move over, this bed is small as fuck.”
“You could, I don’t know, go back to your own room?” Max offered.
“Nah.”
“Great…”
Chloe shuffled in closer, trying to keep all her limbs contained beneath the blanket. Since it was practically impossible to keep their bodies from touching in some way, Max gave up, laying on her back instead and staring at the dull stars she’d stuck to the ceiling a few years ago.
It was quiet for only a minute before Chloe resumed her tossing and turning, the worn mattress creaking beneath her. Hard elbows stuck into Max’s side, then a shoulder jut against her own, but the straw that broke the camel’s back was when a sharp knee dug into her stomach, drawing a hiss from between her teeth. She flinched to the side, then sat up, glaring.
“Chloe. Stop moving. My parents are going to get the wrong idea.”
Sleeping in the same bed as your childhood friend was nothing to look twice at, girls did it all the time. Max remembered every one of their sleepovers, even those that included some of her other friends, too. But she’d been younger then, more innocent, more…straight. If her mom knew, if her dad knew, that Chloe had crept into her bedroom in the middle of the night, there wouldn’t be enough excuses in the world to assure them they were just friends. She’d have to rewind to fix it, to erase the entire awkward conversation.
“Ugh, you’re no fun.” Chloe huffed, but listened and eventually grew still. But before Max could even close her eyes, she smacked her lips back open. “Hey, Max, can we talk? Like, actually talk?”
Her breath hitched. “About what?”
They both moved simultaneously, turning to face each other, noses nearly pressed together. Chloe rested a hand on the side of her waist, so casually that Max figured she didn’t even realize it had happened, trapping her there.
“…It’s been a month,” Chloe said quietly.
Max swallowed, then nodded. “Yeah. It has.”
Midnight had passed awhile ago, November 11th now greeting them with a bright moon and calm wind. She hadn’t wanted to say it, wanted to keep it hidden in her chest with everything else, but she’d felt it all the same. The turning of the air, the coldness of her reality. No amount of blankets or fires or body heat could warm the chill she kept inside herself.
The storm felt longer than a month ago. It felt like an entire lifetime had passed her by, that she’d aged a hundred years since standing atop the hill by the lighthouse. In the morning, she’d have to wake up and face the facts, she’d have to steel herself and flip on the news, to force herself to see the aftermath of the havoc she’d created. They’d been in a bubble, a private room, a secret house built for just the two of them, but that wasn’t what life was. It was insulting of her to hide away from what had happened to the thousands of people she’d killed.
“Well. It’s strange,” Chloe started, “knowing that I should be dead. Today should’ve been one month in the grave for me, but it’s not. I’ve had an entire month with you, when really I should’ve only had a week. And…”
Max waited, unsure of what to say. The tense conversations between them were difficult to trudge through, like a sickening swamp that threatened to pull them down into the murky mud until they couldn’t move from all the hatred they harbored.
Resentment would come easy, if she allowed it. It was always simmering below the surface, just barely within reach. But Max didn’t want to say the wrong thing. She didn’t want to fan the fires of resentment; knowing that if she brought them to reality, there wouldn’t be any going back. She didn’t want to talk at all. If Chloe wanted to open her doors and air out the dirty laundry of their past, Max only wanted to listen. She’d have her time later, she knew, though it wasn’t anything to look forward to.
“And I’m grateful. I’m fucking happy, Max, and I hate it. I hate that I feel so happy, when really I should feel nothing but guilt.” Chloe’s jaw pulsed as she took a moment to breathe. When she opened her eyes again, they glistened.
Max cupped the side of her face and swept the tear away with a thumb, pressing their foreheads together. In all the forms and personas and attitudes the other girl had, she liked Chloe best like this — open, inviting, wanting, like the pressure against their shoulders was only pulling them closer together, like Max was the air in her lungs and the blood in her veins. Like she needed Max just as much as Max needed her. That was the Chloe she loved. That was the Chloe that made her words stutter, made her face flush, made her laugh when nothing was funny, made her skin tingle with a feeling no one else had ever given her.
“You deserve to be happy, Chloe,” she told her. “Fuck everything else.”
Chloe laughed against her, all soft skin and awkward hands. She leaned down, and for a moment, Max thought she was going to kiss her, but instead she sighed into Max’s neck and pulled their hips together.
“You deserve happiness too, Max,” Chloe whispered, lips tickling against the skin of her throat as she talked. “I know I can’t take away your pain, but…”
“You do enough.”
Chloe moved her head side to side, her hair still smelling of fresh shampoo. Max’s shampoo. Another reminder that life was real, that Max got the girl in the end, even if they weren’t together together.
“I don’t. But I will, one day.” Chloe pressed a kiss to the column of her throat and every inch of Max ignited to life at the touch, air stuttering in her chest. Then Chloe looked up, faint smile across her lips. “Partners until the end, right?”
Max didn’t trust herself to speak, or open her mouth at all, in fear of what impulsive decision she might have made. So she settled for a nod, and pulled Chloe’s face back down to her collarbone, where she wouldn’t be able to see the flush across her cheeks.
November 18, 2013
She settled into a routine, afterwards, of maintaining her calm facade around her parents. They took only one day off work, to be there for Max as she pretended to process what had happened to her hometown and watched the news with dead eyes. Then they both went back to their respective jobs, leaving the spare key in Max’s hand and telling her and Chloe they were welcome to do whatever they wanted around the house while they were out. Her mom in particular gave her a pointed look as she told her to take it easy, pinching against her cheek like she knew some secret Max wasn’t telling her.
And slowly, as the days passed by, Max started to believe that maybe everything was okay. That perhaps she had successfully faked it long enough to make it true. The farther they left Arcadia Bay behind, physically and mentally, the closer she was to finding the spark of happiness she once had. Her fingernails eventually healed after she stopped picking at them, though a faint redness still lingered in reminder of the pain she’d inflicted. She didn’t mind it, though. Max enjoyed the comfort of seeing a tangible result of her actions, one that was restricted to her own body and not anyone else’s.
Her days were simple: Wake up at just after six in the morning, shove Chloe out of bed and back towards her own room, then climb back underneath the blankets and warm her toes until she heard Mom walking around downstairs. Only then would she would get dressed, clean herself up, and avoid her reflection before meeting an always hungry Chloe in the kitchen for breakfast.
The rest of the day came easier than the effort it took to wake up alone; she’d mostly just sit on the couch and scroll through her phone. She’d unfollowed everyone from Arcadia, alive and dead, except for Kate, and Chloe, of course, though she rarely used social media to begin with. Kate still texted her, and they’d even talked on the phone once. That was when she’d learned that Warren died. She cried alone that night, after Chloe had fallen asleep holding onto her back.
She could feel that Chloe was worried about her, even though Max’s own parents thought that she was recovering well. There were some things about Max that they’d never understood, never tried to understand, like they were able to pick and choose which parts of her they wanted to hear about. Her love of photography was easy, simple, malleable to the vision they had for her. Her love of women, not so much. They knew, though, and that was enough for her. For the moment.
“What’s the plan for today, Mad Max?” Chloe asked, still elbow deep in a bowl of cereal and flipping through the Seattle newspaper Dad had left on the table.
Max toyed with her own food, pushing the bits of marshmallow around as they grew soggy. “I wanna go on a walk.”
“Damn, really? Finally time to get some fresh air? Wow.” Chloe laughed teasingly. “And here I thought you wanted to be a hermit forever. Not that I’d mind, I could lay in bed all day if you’d let me. Though you’re gonna have to introduce me to your dealer soon, not sure how much longer I can stand listening to your dad talk about his boring ass job without getting high.”
Max smiled, mustering the courage to take another bite. “I don’t have a dealer, Chloe. I’m straight edge.”
“You’re straight?” Chloe piqued an eyebrow, inviting her to argue.
“Straight edge, dork.” Max didn’t answer the other part.
The good part of their friendship was their ability to know aspects of each other even without saying them aloud. The bad part? The same damn thing. They’d never had the sexuality conversation before. Fuck, Max had never had it with anyone really, other than her parents finding out by accident. But she knew herself. She wasn’t subtle. Or, wait, was she? Girls were confusing.
Chloe shrugged, switching the conversation over to some video game she’d delved into during their pseudo-vacation, and Max retreated back into herself as she listened to her talk. When the sun filled the kitchen with heat from the open window, she got up to close it, then they both wandered outside. They’d barely made it ten steps down the sidewalk before Chloe grabbed hold of her hand, swinging their arms together like they did when they were young.
Max may have been held captive in her routine, but she tried to break free. She did. Maybe in a week, or a month, she’d feel free from the lingering presence of Arcadia Bay. Maybe if she held on long enough, the pain would fade away without her having to face it.
She doubted it. But she held Chloe’s hand tighter than before.
November 21, 2013
As all good things came to pass, life got worse before it got better. The tension between her and Chloe shifted slowly, without her noticing a difference until it was too late, until it had already festered and rotted and turned bitter in her mouth.
Max was okay. She was fine. She went through the motions of being a human, of being a daughter, of being a friend. So what that she closed up when her mom brought up the prospect of the future? So what that she turned over each time Chloe tried asking about her feelings? Fuck feelings, Max thought. Feelings were nothing but toxins coursing in her bloodstream.
It came to a head, eventually, after Max accidentally scraped her arm against the sharp corner of the downstairs filing cabinet. She’d hissed at the sting of it, but couldn’t look away from the red lines of blood as they streaked her skin.
“Are you okay?” Chloe asked.
Max bit back her fury, so close to lashing out just to feel something different from her usual pain. Every beat of her heart brought her closer to the threshold of letting go.
She slammed the drawer shut and her camera clattered to the ground. Great, just fucking great, another hassle she had to deal with on her own.
“Whoa, chill out, Max. It’s not—”
“Stop. Just, just stop,” she snapped, though it hadn’t been Chloe’s fault. “Stop asking me if I’m okay, I’m not fucking okay. You keep asking me every goddamn hour if I’m okay, like I could ever be okay again! Okay? My head is always hurting, my heart feels like it’s going to explode from the sheer overwhelming grief of it all, of everything I did. No matter what I do, every choice I make is always the wrong one, and I’m sick and tired of it! Why can’t I just be happy? Why can’t I be oblivious, uncaring, chill like you are?”
That was wrong. Max knew it was wrong, but she’d spewed out the poison anyway, not wanting to kill herself any longer by keeping it deep in her guts. Chloe’s face morphed to anger, finally, and she clenched a fist at her side.
“I’m not fucking oblivious, Max. But I’m not bottling everything up inside myself and waiting for someone I love to come pop me open like champagne.”
Max scratched at her fingernails, digging her thumb into where nail met skin and pressing as hard as it took until a bead of blood blossomed forth to join the smarting wound on her arm. The blood was red. Human. The scars there would never heal now.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. Sorry for keeping her thoughts locked up, sorry for feeling guilt, sorry for letting it affect the way she looked at Chloe. She was sorry for the way she shoved her love aside just so she could feel the ache of punishment by keeping it hidden.
“No, you’re not,” Chloe spat. “You’re not sorry. You regret not going back to watch me die, you said it yourself! Glad to know where your head is at, finally. Happy to hear that you made the wrong choice. That’s so goddamn wonderful of you.”
The door slammed shut behind Chloe, rattling a family picture on the wall until it nearly fell. Max stared a hole in the crooked frame, boring her eyes into those of her younger self. Her hair had been longer, her freckles darker, her eyes had still sparkled with the ease of youth. The photo had been taken before William died, before the catalyst of her anxiety had been set into motion.
“Fuck.”
She looked at the floor, wishing it would swallow her whole. Chloe’s truck roared to life outside, then she was gone, pealing out of the driveway like it was on fire.
“Fuck,” she cursed again.
The farther away the sound of Chloe’s truck got, the farther Max fell off the careful edge she’d placed herself on. She dragged her hands through the sides of her hair, feeling the length of it and tugging the strands just to have a spike of pain jolt her back into the present moment. Her breathing became labored, hard and heavy, and maybe she really was dying this time. Maybe Chloe walking out the door and leaving her behind would be the last time she ever drew breath.
She didn’t know when she fell, only that one moment she was standing and the next she was cradling her head in her hands and pressing her palms deep into her tears. Her phone slid from her pocket, showing the time was 4:24 PM. She pressed her tongue against the back of her teeth, hard, wishing away the aching sobs. Her mom would be home soon, and she could not let her see the state she’d ended up in.
At 4:38 she stood up.
At 4:42 she began to panic.
Shit. With Chloe gone, her parents would ask questions. She needed to plan, she needed to prepare her excuses.
Oh, Chloe? She went to see a friend.
No, that wouldn’t work. Chloe had never been to Seattle before, she hardy knew anyone there.
Chloe? Who’s that?
Fuck, that one was even worse.
Max clenched her phone in one hand as she worked to steady her breathing. The easiest thing to do, she realized, would actually be the hardest. She dialed Chloe’s number anyway, clicked the call button next to Partner in Crime, and waited for it to ring.
“Please pick up,” she asked, yet the room remained empty.
The phone rang, then clicked.
“What, Max?” Chloe growled from the other side.
Immediately, Max felt her shoulders fall, her head thumping back against the wall. She didn’t hear the truck’s engine, and found relief in the fact that Chloe must have stopped somewhere. She’d worried that the other girl would be on the highway by then, speeding as fast as the old truck would allow, straight towards Oregon, or California.
“Hi,” Max said stupidly. She massaged bridge of her nose. “No, sorry, that’s not what I wanted to say.”
She heard a heavy exhale, full of smoke that likely billowed out the truck’s window.
“Why did you call me?”
Max paused. Why did she call? They weren’t married. Chloe didn’t belong to her, she wasn’t entitled to her time or attention. She didn’t live there like they were family, she was free to roam wherever she pleased — with or without Max in tow.
“Because.” She struggled, the venom in her chest fighting back against what she wanted to say. “Because I want you back here, with me.” Because I need you. Because fuck you for leaving.
If she closed her eyes, she could almost see the red cherry of the cigarette as Chloe inhaled another drag. “Really? Are you going to regret that choice too, like all the others you made to save my life?”
Max looked to her free hand, losing herself in the curve of her thumb and the scars surrounding the cuticles. She could do it, she decided. She could reach her hand up, through the invisible barrier of time, and pull the cords of reality. She could rewind until Chloe was back home, back to a time before she’d said the wrong thing. She could do it, she should do it. And yet…
“Chloe. Please come back. I’m-I’m sorry. I know I’m fucked up, I know.” Max held her breath, holding it in her lungs until stars danced behind her eyelids. “Please, come back. I’ll get help, I swear. I’ll find a therapist, I’ll talk about everything, everyone, I’ll get it all out. I need you too, Chloe. You’re the only one I’ve ever needed.” Then Max went quiet, mouth still parted as if she was ready to beg or plead or say whatever she needed to in order for Chloe to come home.
“Okay, Max.”
Then the line went dead.
November 22, 2013
They fought. Chloe came back, and Max apologized. She loved her throughout it all.
Chapter 3: Hover
Notes:
blushing giggling kicking my feet
TW for use of the word "hella"
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
After Midnight, November 25, 2013
“Man, fuck off! Get your cold ass toes off my leg, dude.” Chloe jerked to the side, face in a scowl as she fluffed the blanket between them to act as a wall.
Max only giggled, pushing away Chloe’s stiff arms as she fought her way back onto her lap, legs braced on either side of her thighs to keep her still.
“No way, you’re too warm,” she said. “Take some of my cold.” She pressed her hands on Chloe’s cheeks, savoring the difference in their body temperature. With Chloe around, in her bed, Max swore she could’ve given up blankets forever. They’d never compare.
And Chloe froze.
Max kept her hands in place, resisting the urge to run her fingers all over Chloe’s face, down the line of her throat, down her bare arms. She didn’t know where the sudden burst of confidence came from. Maybe it was her higher vantage point of sitting atop the other girl, looking down at her and admiring as she so clearly struggled to keep calm. Or maybe it was the therapy that Chloe encouraged her into. Maybe Max really was healing. But, on the other hand, maybe she was just horny. She…she shouldn’t have gotten this far.
“Um. Are you going to move?” Max asked.
“What?” Chloe gaped at her, eyes like a deer.
Max’s hands twitched and she moved to pull them back, but Chloe was faster. She held onto Max’s wrists and kept them firmly in place where they cradled on either side of her jawline. Max became painfully aware of how vulnerable she must have looked from the outside, wondering if Chloe was able to hear the thundering of her heart.
“Sorry,” Chloe hurried to say, letting go of her hold on Max before shoving her own hands underneath herself. “Hands to myself. Wouldn’t want you to get the wrong idea or anything, right?” She gave a nervous laugh.
Max sat up straight, their hips aligning together, and her hands trailed from Chloe’s neck to the center of her chest. “And what idea would that be?”
“…Huh?”
It would be easy, Max knew, to make a move, to let herself play the role of someone who knew what they were doing. But that voice in the back of her head kept reminding her that whatever it was that she was picturing, it certainly wouldn’t be good to act upon. Instead, she took a deep breath, forcing herself to think about weird stuff like parchment paper and bicycles until she trusted herself to carry on without doing something stupid.
“You’re cute, Chloe.”
“I am?”
“Hella cute.” Max grinned.
Satisfied that she’d teased her sufficiently for the night, Max swung her legs to one side and collapsed onto the bed beside her, deflated from the stress of the day. It wasn’t that it had been particularly intensive, just long as hell. After the initial relief of being home wore off, she’d grown tired of being around her family all the time, and she knew Chloe felt the same, if not even more frustrated than she was. But they’d ran out of money a couple weeks ago, and Max was no mooch. She needed to get a job, or start freelancing, or something, so they could get the hell out of Seattle.
Dr. Lang helped, at least a little, with helping Max overcome her fear of the future. Their first session had been entirely focused on the past, her childhood, things that really didn’t have any impact on who she was, in her humble opinion. But after that, they’d delved headfirst into Arcadia Bay, minus the whole “time traveling superpowers” aspect. As Dr. Lang got to know her as a patient, he’d given her the homework of figuring out what she wanted to do with her life moving forward. Because that was the key, she realized: moving forward.
Arcadia may be a stain on her past, and she may very well have made some mistakes along the line, but she couldn’t change what had already happened. People weren’t meant to be cursed with the ability to manipulate time, they were meant to live in the moment and be free from the constant question of “What If?”
So that was what Max went to sleep thinking about, and what she thought of first thing after waking up (or the second, depending on what position Chloe’s hands were on her in the morning). She kept her eyes on the future. On moving forward.
“I can feel you thinking over there,” Chloe commented.
The dull stars on the ceiling were the only visible light, but there, blanketed in darkness, Max traced the outline of Chloe’s lips with her eyes. It would be fine, she told herself, to linger in the feeling of want for a moment.
“I’ve been known to think.”
The sound of Chloe’s laughter was her favorite thing to hear.
“Yeah, sometimes too much, you big nerd. You talk with a therapist a few times and suddenly you’re a philosopher.”
“Hey, no insults! I’m too sleepy to fight back.” Max stifled an unintentional yawn. Talking about sleep only made her crave it more.
They’d stayed up way past when they should’ve gone to bed, too busy playing round after round of an old fighting game Max was particularly good at, much to Chloe’s displeasure. But, hey, Max had let her win a couple fights, if only just to see her cocky attitude. The way Chloe was always so sure of herself never failed to make Max feel just slightly less alone in the world.
“Hmm, are you?” Chloe rustled underneath the blanket, and even though Max had already closed her eyes, she could feel the girl turn to face her. Then arms were around her waist, pulling her back flush with Chloe’s chest. “So are you too tired for…this?” Her fingers dug into Max’s stomach, then thighs, then everywhere else on her body that was entirely too ticklish for comfort.
Max yelped before bursting into laughter, fruitlessly fighting off Chloe’s quick hands. “Stop! Wait, wait—” She could barely get two words out before falling back into another fit of hysterics. “Wait — Chloe, really, my parents!”
Chloe halted at that, though her fingers still hovered over Max’s skin, one hand stuck just slightly underneath the bottom of her sleep shirt. “Ugh. What about them? They already think we’re fucking.”
“Chloe!” Max shoved her shoulder backwards, rolling on her side until they lay facing one another. “That’s vulgar.”
“Vulgar, maybe, but still true.” Chloe removed her hands, returning them to her own body, and Max immediately felt the loss of her warmth.
“Is it? I don’t remember doing…that.” She’d meant it to be teasing, to be confident, but her brain wouldn’t let her say the word in relation to Chloe. There was an invisible barrier there that she wasn’t quite ready to cross.
“Oh? Max, getting all shy? Afraid of saying a little explicit word?” Chloe grinned, then tapped the tip of Max’s nose teasingly. “But you know what I meant. Even if we aren’t actually doing it, your parents definitely think there’s something going on here. They know we sleep together.”
Max lifted herself on an elbow, a strand of hair falling across her eyes that she brushed away. “What? No they don’t. You have your own room here.”
They’d been careful. Right?
“Uh, Max, I ran into your mom like two days ago after leaving your room. At five in the morning. She definitely thinks I de-flowered you.”
“Ew, that’s gross, don’t say it like that.”
“Spoken like a true virgin.”
“You would know,” Max joked.
Chloe bit her lip. She rarely did that, Max had noticed, unless she was particular hung up about something.
“Are you?” Chloe asked, hesitant, like she was afraid of the answer.
Max could lie. She often lied to her parents, to her friends. But never to Chloe; not unless she wanted to feel like she’d been shot in the chest. Dr. Lang wouldn’t like it either, if he found out that she’d tacked on another lie to her fake persona.
“Yeah,” she answered, “I am.”
Chloe groaned, covering her face with both hands. “God, I’m such a fucking dick.”
“Why?” Max asked with a noise that was almost a laugh. She shifted to lay on her stomach instead of hovering over the other girl, resting her chin on the back of her crossed arms. “I know you’re not a virgin, Chloe, you’ve made that pretty clear. That doesn’t make you a dick.”
“Max. Yes, it does.” Chloe sobered up, not that she was even drunk or high or anything other than tired. When she turned her head, Max saw the same fear in her own eyes reflected back. “Because I really want to fucking kiss you right now.”
“Okay.”
Chloe continued like she hadn’t heard. “But you’re so perfect, so innocent, so goddamn beautiful that it hurts. It’d be such a dick move to — Wait, what did you say?”
Emboldened, Max reached out a hand, stroked the side of Chloe’s cheek, and admired the way her breath stopped and how her heartbeat could be felt at the side of her throat. She enjoyed the fact that no matter how many times she touched her, Chloe was caught off guard every time.
“I’m not that innocent, you know,” Max said softly. “I’ve…killed people.” She licked her lips, wanting to rid them of the flavor the admission brought. It had been the first time she’d really, truly, said it aloud without panicking.
For a brief moment, Chloe paused, perched atop the cliffside. Then she laughed. “You’ve killed people? What are you, an axe-murderer?” She took hold of Max’s wandering hand, entwining their fingers together in the middle of the bed. “You aren’t a killer, Max. You’re a victim of shitty circumstances just like the rest of us fucked up souls out in the world.”
“And you’re one of these self-proclaimed fucked up souls?”
“Yeah, totally. Now go back to what you said before.” Chloe shuffled closer by only an inch, but god, Max thought her heart would pound right out of her chest.
“I said okay.”
She should stop. Fuck, she needed to stop. Her head had started spinning, the room tilting on its axis until she was weightless, breathless, desperate.
Chloe’s hand slid through the back of Max’s hair, tugging her in. “Okay?”
“Ok—”
Chloe’s lips pressed against her own, and a torrent of pent-up emotion rushed out. Max surged forward, fingers grasping and tugging at the collar of Chloe’s shirt, anything to get her even an inch closer. It was different from their first kiss, if a stupid dare based around confused feelings could even be counted as such. It was different from when she kissed other people, too. Better, deeper, like Chloe was her lifeline in the middle of a storm, and Max the helpless ship caught beneath her waves.
There was something else, too, a swelling hunger in her stomach, in her heart. She’d always felt it there, locked away with the rest of the feelings she hadn’t wanted to acknowledge. But the touch of Chloe’s lips against her own, hard and pliant and aching, had shattered the dam which kept them hidden.
She resumed her earlier position of sliding atop Chloe’s thighs, pinning her to the mattress beneath Max’s weight. There, she had a better vantage point to scratch her nails across the back of Chloe’s neck, in her hair, on her shoulders, savoring the sweet, smoky taste that invaded her mouth.
Max groaned through the kiss as a flash of teeth tugged at her bottom lip. She wanted it to hurt, she wanted to bleed, to pour herself into Chloe until there was nothing left of her to give. But Chloe turned her head to the side with a well placed hand on her throat, where she planted a harsh kiss right below her ear, then another an inch lower, continuing her trek down, down, down.
Max couldn’t breathe, eyes fluttering closed as her forehead dropped against the pillow beside Chloe, her entire body now lit up in a gnawing desire. A pulsing need — red, hot, demanding — flashed through her, and her body moved.
“Settle down, Casanova,” Chloe breathed out. She separated from where she’d nipped a mark on her collarbone, smoothing down Max’s stray hairs that her hands had ruffled.
“Huh?” Max could tell she was panting, but somehow, shame wasn’t one of the emotions coursing through her.
Chloe’s hands clutched at her waist, then she removed Max from where she’d been perched atop her thighs, settling her back onto the bed as an alternative, increasing the distance between them. “Any more of this and I’m pretty sure your dad would actually storm up here in a rage.”
“He wouldn’t,” Max assured, still disoriented and dizzy. Her legs felt hot, she needed to get rid of her sweltering pants. “Was-was I loud or something?”
Chloe’s soft, kiss bruised lips split into a smirk. “Or something. But damn, Caulfield, I didn’t know you had it in you. Been practicing?”
Max couldn’t tear her eyes away from Chloe’s mouth, her lips, the slight poke of tongue through her teeth. Fuck. They’d actually kissed. Fuck, fuck, fuck…
“Are you…going to say something, or just stare at me all night? Don’t make it weird.” Chloe ran a hand through her hair awkwardly.
“Sorry,” Max muttered. Reality rushed to greet her, the sweat drying on her skin making her feel like sprinting downstairs and out the front door. “Uh, well, goodnight!”
She tossed completely over until she faced the wall, arms crossed over her chest in hopes of soothing the strong beat of her heart. Exhaustion filled her limbs, making her feel heavy and slow. Soon after, the sheets rustled as Chloe’s arms slipped around her waist, her nose pressed to the back of her neck.
“It doesn’t have to mean anything, Max,” she whispered. “You’re still my best friend. That’ll never change, no matter what.”
Max fell asleep without saying much else, still happy and warm as her buzzing high faded to a comfortable calm.
Morning, November 25, 2013
She slept in until half past eleven, a whopping 4 hours later than she’d expected. By the time the sun had streaked across her face through a break in the curtains, Chloe had already been gone for hours, the bed where she’d slept now cold and empty.
Max stretched, feeling the dull thud of a headache brewing. Her mouth was dry and she licked her lips to moisten them, then jerked upright as she remembered the night before. Her fingers flew to her mouth, softly running over her lips as she struggled to recall the taste of Chloe on them.
When she reached to grab her phone from the nightstand, she saw that she’d already missed a few text messages from her mom, and one from Chloe from 8:07 that said: hey super-max, omw to the shop. saw ur dad this morning tho.
Max ran a hand through her tangled hair and sent a groggy good morning text back. She made a mental note to avoid her dad that day and hope he didn’t read too much into why Chloe had been sneaking out of her room at the crack of dawn. Especially now that she did have something to hide. God. They really needed to get out of Seattle.
Chloe must have been bored working on the truck because she texted back immediately with a finally awake, thought u died, that Max elected to ignore until she finished getting dressed for the day.
With Chloe gone and her parents at work, Max found herself with a strange amount of alone time. A few weeks ago it would have terrified her. Hell, a few days ago it would have terrified her. But she didn’t let herself linger on what past-Max would’ve thought, she packed her bag with her journal and laptop and looked up the route to the closest coffee shop. She even looked at her camera, though she didn’t take it with her. But looking was more than she’d done yesterday, and maybe tomorrow she’d have enough strength to touch it without freaking out.
The sky was thick with gray clouds and she felt the chill of the November air even through her multiple layers of flannels and jackets. Thankfully, her destination was no farther away than a quick bus ride and a couple blocks of walking. The cafe had the heat blasting at an almost sweltering level, but they had the cheapest cup of coffee across town and free WiFi, so she tolerated it.
She wanted to leave, to see the world, to remind herself that even after all the destruction she’d left behind, that life was still worth living. But…a capitalist society meant that she’d need money. And to have consistent money, she’d need a consistent job, or something of the sort. Her parents wanted her to find a local high school, to finish her education, to go to college, to do something that would erase the stain of Blackwell.
Max had other plans.
She didn’t know where the future would lead or what career she would be shoehorned into after eventually being chewed up and wrung out by the depressing cog of the job market. But she knew Max Caulfield was a damn good photographer. She knew that someone finding passion in their work was rare, but something far more rare was someone who had the skill to put their money where their mouth was. It had taken her a long time to realize that she had both.
Her dreams were filled with cameras, even though it’d been so long since she used one. Holding a camera to frame a scene perfectly, memorializing those moments forever, that was what she was meant to do with herself. Fuck high school, she’d get her GED in a couple years if she really needed it. The new and improved Max wouldn’t waste any time dwelling on the negative. Well, maybe she’d let herself be a little negative, but only sometimes.
She pulled up the photography folder on her laptop and sifted through her old work for around an hour, then moved to looking through her journal and appraising the Polaroids she had tucked away. There were an embarrassing number of pictures that featured Chloe — including some that she’d swiped directly from her room when she hadn’t been looking. Chloe smoking, Chloe driving, Chloe flipping off the camera, Chloe pulling Max into a one-armed hug, Chloe looking at Max like she hung the stars in the sky herself.
There was a picture of Rachel, too. Max tucked that one away in the very back of the journal.
She sipped her now-cold latte after finishing a new entry in her journal, which had mostly turned into unintelligible gibberish over the fact that Chloe had actually, wholeheartedly kissed her last night, but she’d still had a few sketches and musings about potentially leaving Seattle in the new year. She left the cafe $12 poorer and antsy to get back home.
Max couldn’t be sure when exactly something had shifted in her mind, but she realized then that when she looked to what lay ahead of her, the clouds had cleared. All those childhood dreams she’d had of walking hand-in-hand with Chloe had followed her into adulthood. Wherever she decided to go next, and whenever she left to get there, she knew it would always be the two of them. Together.
November 28, 2013
Max had no idea why she’d ever been afraid of Chloe. Keeping her feelings locked away inside had been difficult, but keeping the secret of their friends-with-benefits type relationship from her parents was easy — thrilling, even. It felt dangerous and exciting and made her feel like she was high.
They weren’t dating, or girlfriends, or anything with a society-dictated label attached to it. They just…were. It was as natural as breathing to pull Chloe in by the back of her neck and kiss her as hard as she’d always wanted to. And sure, her obsession with Chloe was probably on the border of being unhealthy, but the adrenaline rush she got from their quick kisses in the hallway, or when Chloe pressed her against the bathroom door, or even the sly brushes of fingers against thighs beneath the kitchen table, all the little moments together made everything worth it. She felt free. Chloe didn’t need to know she loved her, Max was completely fine with where they were.
Her therapist had been proud that she’d opened up about it all. He didn’t know half of the trauma Max endured back in October, but she’d at least told him of her problems with physical intimacy. How she used to shake at the idea of anyone touching her hand or her neck, or how sick she felt when she thought about possibly letting herself be happy for once. And while they still very much kept things above the belt, she no longer flinched away from Chloe’s touch. They’d come a long way, had too far of a journey, both geographically and emotionally, to turn back now. All that was left was to finish falling over the edge.
Unfortunately for Max, David existed. And even worse so was the fact that Chloe still, still, almost 2 months later, wouldn’t call the dickhead back. Max couldn’t say she understood the feeling, knowing that outside of some friends or people she’d talked to a few times, she hadn’t had anyone close to her die before. Not like Chloe had. She’d lost her dad, lost Max, for a few years. She’d lost Rachel, then found her again in the absolute worst way possible, with her hands in the dirt and the smell of death filling her lungs.
Even if Max couldn’t relate to what it must have felt like to have David pester her, she still empathized with the situation. She remembered what David had endured in the dark room. She remembered what it sounded like when he cried, when he killed, when he thought Chloe had died.
And despite it all, she still wanted Chloe to cross the very same bridges she’d encouraged Max across — to move forward, to move away from the hollow pain. But whereas Max had tip-toed across that bridge and faced her fears, fighting back against her guilt and shame, Chloe remained stagnant. Unmoving. Even then, where she decidedly ignored her phone on the table to lounge on the couch and watch some Thanksgiving special as Mom busied herself in the kitchen making dinner.
Max stood when a commercial came on, peeling herself away from Chloe’s side and padding over to the kitchen where the salivating scent of roast turkey greeted her.
“Do you need any help, mom?”
Her mom paused from chopping potatoes and gave Max a curt smile. “No, sweetie, I’ve got it handled. Moms like me have lots of practice hosting holidays, this one won’t be anything new.”
Max nodded, thanking her again for getting everything set up for the rest of the family. On her way out, she wiped up a spill on the counter, even after being told that she didn’t have to. After she snatched a fresh roll from the cooling tray and wolfed it down, she moved to head back towards the living room, but her mom caught her by the elbow at the last second.
“Actually, Maxine,” she said, “let’s talk for a moment.”
Max swallowed heavily. Mom only busted out the full name whenever she meant business. Had she done something wrong?
“Sure, mom.” Careful to be as casual as possible, she asked, “What is it?”
Even though she was an adult, Max still had that same teenage fear that her mom had somehow discovered her deepest, darkest secrets, like maybe she’d found bondage porn on her computer, or read naughty text messages she sent to a girl in her class, or maybe she’d seen a deepfake picture of Max pointing a gun at someone. Or, the obvious secret, that she’d spent the last 4 days manically making out with her best friend like the world was going to end.
“Nothing bad, don’t worry, I know how you are with your anxiety and whatnot.”
Max allowed herself a breath of relief, but only one, electing to ignore the casual brush-off of her panic attacks. She’d long since given up trying to convince her mom to take her life seriously.
“It’s about Chloe.”
Oh, fuck. She knew. She fucking knew. Play it cool, Caulfield.
“…What about her?”
Mom released the hold from her elbow, then smoothed down her skirt. “Is she…okay?” she asked. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, of course, it’s just…I’ve noticed something different with her the past few days, and your father agrees. We’re checking in, that’s all.”
“She’s fine, I think. What do you — what have you noticed exactly?” The living room was only a few feet away, it wouldn’t take much effort for Max to dart over there, where the murmured sounds of the television could be heard, where Chloe sat waiting for her to come back. Or, better yet, she could rewind to the beginning of the conversation and leave the kitchen before her mom even started the interrogation.
Her mom sighed, turning back to the cutting board on the counter and picking up the knife again. “You don’t have to pretend you haven’t seen it either. I was a young girl once, too. I know what a hickey looks like.”
“Wha-? Mom!”
Gross, she really, really didn’t need to have the mental picture of her mom having a hickey back in her promiscuous days. Even worse was the fact that she knew, without any doubt, that she hadn’t been as careful as she thought during her exploits with Chloe. It was only a matter of time until her parents pieced things together, until they caught them on the couch or in her room or even in the back of the truck. And while the thrill of sneaking around was hot in theory, it was such a turn off to have her mom confront her over it.
“Maxine, please. I don’t need to know who put them there, I just want to make sure she’s being safe. Boys can be so dangerous these days. And when she’s under our roof—”
“There’s not a boy, mom.”
Max cringed, covering her eyes with a hand. She shouldn’t have said that. Thankfully, her mom hadn’t been looking at her, or she would’ve seen the crawling blush spreading up her cheeks and realized exactly how Max knew it wasn’t a boy.
Her mom’s knife strokes paused, teetering on the edge of a new cut. “Well. Women can be dangerous too.” Then she continued like nothing had happened.
They lingered in that heavy, awkward silence for longer than Max wanted to. Still…at least she’d taken it better than when she’d found out Max wasn’t straight. Though, that didn’t make her feel any better, and if anything, it made it worse to know her mom was more accepting of her daughter’s best friend liking women more than she accepted her actual daughter. But whatever. Maybe Dr. Lang would have some mystical insight about it during their next appointment.
“Right, I’ll be sure to….warn her about that. So, uh, if you don’t need anything else…?” Max poised a thumb over her shoulder, silently begging her mom to release her from her duty of standing awkwardly at her side.
“Oh, yes, please,” Mom replied, shooing her away. “And send your father in here, I need him to help check on the turkey. Should be done soon!”
“I will,” Max said. “Thanks, mom.”
Weirdly enough, Chloe and Dad had miraculously bonded over some college football game he’d decided to watch instead of the usual Thanksgiving classics. When Max plopped back down onto the couch between them, they were in the middle of a heated debate on which team they wanted to pull ahead before the end of the game. It was kind of endearing, in a “holy shit, the girl I like is making friends with my dad” sort of way.
Chloe, of course, asked Max to come to her defense, to which she decided to stay completely out of it by raising her hands and stating she knew nothing about sports-ball to begin with. Dad raised his glass of scotch at that, explaining to Chloe that he’d tried his best to get her to join any kind of sport while growing up, but nothing stuck. Max was just too damn clumsy. She punched him in the arm as he split into laughter. Dad was always fun when he was tipsy.
After he left for the kitchen, Chloe finally put an arm around her shoulders, relaxing back down into the cushions.
“Damn. Not even dinner and I’m already beat,” Chloe said. “Your dad’s pretty cool though, once you get past the adulty masculine stuff.”
“Adulty masculine stuff? What exactly were you talking about in here?” Max asked, leaning her head on Chloe’s shoulder.
Chloe shrugged. “Work. Cars.” She pressed a light kiss to the top of Max’s head. “You.”
“Me? Oh god. Not another embarrassing story of my toddler days.”
“Ha, no, not at all.” Chloe toyed with Max’s hair, idly spinning it across a finger. “Okay, maybe one or two, but we mostly talked about how much you’ve grown. As a person, that is. I’ve seen middle schoolers taller than you are.”
“Hey! I’m not that short. And middle schoolers are freakishly tall now.”
“Uh, you’re totally that short. But anyway, that’s not the point.” Chloe’s hand paused where it had been stroking her hair. “Point is…he’s proud of you. You should be proud of yourself.”
Max couldn’t find anything to say, but she curled her face inward until the scent of Chloe’s shirt filled her lungs. Her face almost hurt from smiling so much. Almost.
After taking a second glance back at the kitchen to make sure no one was watching, she pulled Chloe’s face down to meet hers in a kiss. When they pulled away, Max ran a finger across the red bruise just barely visible at the collar of the other girl’s shirt.
“I fucked up,” she said quietly. “Mom asked me about this, you know.”
“Oh shit. Does she…did she…what did she say?”
“She told me to tell you that boys are dangerous.”
Chloe stiffed a laugh, ruffling Max’s hair and pushing her away. “Noted. Max Caulfield, the most dangerous boy I know.”
“Shut up,” Max said and shoved Chloe in return.
On the coffee table, Chloe’s phone buzzed loudly against the glass top, and they both jumped apart after hearing the blaring ringtone. David’s name ran across the screen. Max felt her mouth go dry. It made sense, for him to call that day. A day of family, of blessings, or whatever sappy shit old people told themselves so they could sleep better at night by ignoring the dark aspect of every American holiday. It made sense, but Max had such a sharp moment of vertigo anyway that she nearly fell over.
She’d grown accustomed to what it felt like to reverse time, though she hadn’t used her powers since October. She didn’t even know if she could still use them, and she didn’t want to find out. This was different, though; the exact opposite, almost, like if she poked her head through the curtain, she’d be able to look into events that hadn’t yet happened.
Chloe reached for the phone and held it in her hand like she was afraid David himself would jump out of it. And although it went against everything she’d asked Chloe to do in the past, Max almost begged her to hang up, to not answer, to put the phone down and lay with her on the couch and pretend like nothing in the world was wrong. But she didn’t.
Time seemed to bend around her, and Chloe stood almost as if walking through water. “I’m gonna…go answer this,” she said.
No, no, no, Max said desperately to herself, but all that came out was a tentative, “Alright.”
Chloe left to the front porch, her breath hitting the cold air like a puff of smoke, and she raised the phone to her ear. Max looked away, palms a sweaty mess as she clenched them tightly.
She resisted the urge to pick and prod at her nails — resisted as long as she could, but the room kept spinning and Chloe was talking so slowly and her parents were still in the other room and the candle burning in the corner smelled thick and sour and coated her insides until she finally, finally gave in and dug her thumb into the scars at the side of her nail. The pressure eased the pulsing, swirling intensity of the room, and soon her racing heart stilled to a regular level.
Max took a breath in, then let it out, just like Dr. Lang told her to do. She heard her dad laugh from the other room.
She was fine.
Chloe came back in, head down. Max knew what was coming and she couldn’t stop it, couldn’t stop the flow of time. She saw the tears threatening the corners of Chloe’s eyes as she looked up.
“My mom’s dead.”
Notes:
there might be a slight plot developing, but there's still a good chance of this just devolving into smut :/ sorry
Chapter 4: Fall
Notes:
whoops let's go ahead and bump up that rating
TW for some kinda sorta sexual content (don't get too excited yet)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
December 2, 2013
The glittering Christmas lights reflected through the window, cascading a warm glow across the snow in the driveway. She didn’t even mind that the last time she’d seen snow had been during the freak weather conundrum caused by the storm; it was beautiful. Although, the very start of December was entirely too early to start preparing for Christmas. Not that her mom had listened. And Max wasn’t in any mood to talk back to her parents, not with Chloe there too. Not while the wound of Joyce was still so fresh.
The temperature outside was well below freezing, but it had been hard to keep Chloe inside the house recently, so Max had bundled up with every hoodie and jacket available and borrowed Mom’s battery powered space heater. They kept warm enough that way, laying in the bed of the truck atop a stack of blankets. Chloe didn’t even give a sarcastic quip when Max slipped her freezing hands underneath her shirt to feel skin.
Chloe tossed her empty box of cigarettes to the other side of the truck bed, far enough away from the glowing space heater that they didn’t have to worry about it catching fire. She put out her finished cigarette against the bed liner then tossed it to join the box, the last of the smoke on her breathe having barely faded in the air before she’d pulled a fresh one from her jacket pocket.
“Hey,” Max started lightly. Chloe wouldn’t look at her, still fighting with her hands cupped around the lighter as she tried to get it to spark. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough? Those things are going to kill you.”
Another strike of the lighter and a flame emerged, searing the tip of the cigarette as Chloe inhaled. She’d always smoked, ever since Max had returned to Arcadia Bay. But never like this. Gradually, one smoke a day had turned to two, two became five, and five became a pack. And that was Max’s limit, whether Chloe liked it or not. Max had gotten her confidence back, her passion, her will to live, and she wasn’t going to let Chloe throw her own away just because she couldn’t process the loss of her mother.
“Good,” Chloe mumbled, tapping the ash off the side of the truck and staring blankly up at the stars.
Max tensed. Good? She pulled her hands away from Chloe’s warm stomach, sitting up with a start. Chloe frowned at her as she sensed what was going to happen, but Max was quick. She tugged the lit cigarette from her mouth and held it over the side of the truck.
“Dude! Give it back, dickhead.” Chloe snatched her wrist and fought to wrangle her back in the truck bed, but Max dropped it over the edge where it fell into the snow. Chloe huffed, leaned back against the cab, then moved to pull the box back out of her jacket.
“Chloe, seriously. Stop.”
“Why?” Defiantly, Chloe put an unlit cigarette in her mouth, as if she was just waiting for Max to lash out at her. Like she wanted the fight.
“You’re not being yourself,” Max insisted.
“You don’t know that.”
“What? Of course I do.” Max had seen Chloe after her father died, when they were too young to know what death really was, but she hadn’t stayed in town long enough to know how she acted after the shock had faded. She couldn’t say she was a fan. “I know you, Chloe. I’m your…”
Chloe waited, eyes full of anger. “Go on. What are you?”
“Your best friend, dumbass.” Max shook her head. “I care about you. So, you should care about what you put in your body.”
“I do care, Max.” Chloe flicked her lighter but didn’t raise it to her mouth, watching the way the small flame danced closer to her thumb. “There’s a lot of things I could be putting in my body. But you don’t wanna talk about that, do you?”
“Don’t…don’t do that.”
“Do what?” Chloe asked, feigning an infuriating obliviousness.
“Don’t turn this around to be about me. We’re talking about you.”
“Yeah. And who am I, without the all-powerful Max around?” Chloe scoffed, raising the lighter up, and Max dove for it. Her palm landed right on the searing orange top, but she was able to wrench it away, shoving it down her jacket. The welt on her hand burned with a thudding pain.
“Wow, Max” Chloe growled. She threw her hands in the air in defeat, but Max didn’t get the feeling that she’d won. “Fine. Let’s talk. What do you want me to say? That I’m a fuck-up? That I killed my fucking mom? That I’m the worst mistake you’ve ever made?There’s so much shit I could say, where do you want me to start?”
Max winced as she looked away, down at the snow, then at the house across the street where their neighbors were still setting up their Christmas tree inside. Chloe could never be a mistake, she thought. But the words wouldn’t come, still stuck in the cage of her chest.
What could she possibly say, anyway? That Max thought it was worth it to sacrifice everyone they’d ever known just for her? That timelines and fate and destiny could go fuck themselves? Whether it honest or not, she knew it wouldn’t remove the resentment from Chloe’s eyes. Nothing would. Chloe would have to conquer her own guilt; Max couldn’t take it from her, no matter how badly she wanted to. There were some journeys they couldn’t follow each other on.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Chloe kicked her feet out to pull her boots back on, tucking the unlit cigarette between her ear and beanie. “The roads are clear enough to drive on now. I’m gonna head back to the shop.”
“It’s ten PM, Chloe, you can’t leave.” Never mind that the shop was closed, Max didn’t want Chloe to leave her sight even for a second. Not like this. Not when she was a danger to herself.
“Whatever. I’ll go somewhere else, then.”
“Sure you will,” Max agreed languidly. “You’ll go upstairs with me and get in our fucking bed.”
“So now it’s our bed, is it?” Chloe countered, already halfway off the end of the truck.
Max scrambled after her, clicking off the space heater as she went and watching as Chloe’s face fell even darker beneath the night sky in the absence of its light. She tugged Chloe’s hand and put it over her chest, letting her feel the beating of her heart through the multitude of layers she wore.
“You make me so fucking scared, Chloe. Scared that I’ll lose you. Scared that you’ll lose yourself.” Max clenched her fingers tighter around Chloe’s hand, pressing her harder against her chest and hoping she would tear right through her ribs to reach her heart, to rip it out, to give it back to the person it belonged to. “I know it hurts, and I know I have no room to talk about Joyce at all, but I want to be there for you. Like you’ve been there for me.”
“You know what I really need, Max?” Chloe asked, her jaw tense. She tore her hand away from Max’s chest, wrapping an arm around her waist instead to pull Max until she sat at the very foot of the tailgate, trapped in front of her. “To fucking forget it all.”
Chloe advanced forward, her free hand tangling in Max’s hair as she tugged her into a heated kiss. Their teeth knocked together and Max tasted the smoke on her tongue, her thighs moving apart as Chloe wrapped them around her waist. Looking back, she should’ve expected it. She should’ve guessed that Chloe used her relationships with other people as a band-aid for ignoring her problems. But Max hated to think of the past. That, more than anything, had been her greatest blind spot.
For a moment, Max lost herself in the feel of Chloe, in the taste of her, in the way their bodies fit together like something out of a movie. She let Chloe’s tongue swipe over her bottom lip, let her hips press forward until a building pressure rose inside her. But the cigarette lighter inside her jacket dug painfully into her ribs when Chloe forced her to lay back against the open tailgate, and she broke away from her with a heavy breath.
“Wait, Chloe…”
She didn’t — couldn’t. Chloe nipped at her ear, at her neck, her teeth like a brand as she sucked hard against the skin of her throat until Max felt a whine escape her. They’d promised to not leave marks there, not where other people could see, but Chloe was lost in herself, too blind to notice. Max reached up and dug her fingers into Chloe’s shoulders, yet couldn’t find the strength to push her away.
“You want me to touch you like this, don’t you? Isn’t this what you want?” Chloe’s breath hit her ear, hot and heavy, as her fingers wandered to Max’s waistband, thumbing across the front of her jeans. A bucket of ice water crashed over her.
“Stop, not like — not like this.” Max summoned all the willpower she was born with and shoved Chloe back, just far enough to see the wetness of her eyes. She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth and raised a knee to be a barrier between them. “This isn’t talking, Chloe! This isn’t healthy.”
Max could read through her eyes like a book, right into her very soul. Chloe must have thought that if she could distract herself for long enough, if she could feel good with someone else for long enough, that everything bad would fade away. And maybe Max couldn’t blame her for that, but it didn’t mean she had to go along with it.
They all had their own toxic way of dealing with problems. For Max, it had been to push everything down until it festered from the inside out, until she couldn’t hold it in any longer. For Chloe, it was smoking and drinking and going out to find some stranger to lose herself in. It meant nothing that Max was the one she ended up with. Max could’ve been anyone. Her stomach sank at that; at the realization that maybe Chloe didn’t like her or love her or see her as anything more than a friend, that she’d only kissed Max as a way to get out of thinking about her own life. They’d never talked about their relationship, after all. They slept in the same bed, they kissed each other like nothing else mattered, they’d survived a goddamn apocalypse together. But that didn’t mean Chloe loved her, not in the way she wanted her to.
“Right, and you’d know all about being healthy, wouldn’t you, Max?” Chloe straightened, the moon like a halo behind her head. She gestured to Max’s hands and the raw, red lines beside her fingernails.
“That’s not fair.”
“Why not? You’re tearing yourself to pieces, but I’m the problem?”
Max jerked the lighter out of her jacket and tossed it at Chloe, where it bounced off her chest and landed in the snow. She didn’t want it on her any more, didn’t want that piece of Chloe so close to her skin, didn’t want to feel the reminder of what it stood for — an escape, an addiction, a poison. Like Max.
“Grow up, Chloe. At least I talk about my feelings. I’m not asking for you be someone different, or start acting like it doesn’t hurt you, I just want you to talk to me. Sound familiar?”
Chloe bent to pick up the lighter, wiped it off on her denim jacket, then paused, her lips a tight line of frustration as she appraised Max with the intensity of the sun.
“Please, Chloe,” Max said. “I’m tired of avoiding all the ghosts in our lives.”
For a moment, Max thought she was able to yell, or run away, or call her a bad friend. But Chloe just sighed, her head lowered. “Whatever. You win. I’m…sorry for being a bitch.”
Max huffed and rubbed at her eyes. It was exhausting, to be an adult about things. “Look,” she said, “can we just go inside? I can’t feel my face anymore out here.”
Chloe didn’t respond, but she did offer a hand to help Max hop down off the truck, then slammed the tailgate shut. The rusted, bent hunk of metal surprisingly stayed in place, unlike a week ago when it would’ve fallen open no matter how hard it had been closed.
They were quiet opening the front door and creeping up the stairs, taking extra care to avoid the particular wooden steps that creaked loudly. After they took turns washing up in the bathroom, Max had the sneaking suspicion that if she let the matter die for the night, that Chloe may never open up again. She needed to be bold, to channel her inner extrovert, to…
Chloe sat beneath the windowsill in Max’s bedroom, head leaning back to where she could look out at the stars outside. The pale light illuminated the top of her blue hair, freshly washed and still wet, and Max thought she’d never looked more beautiful.
Eventually, Chloe caught sight of her loitering by the doorway and tossed something at her feet. “I have a proposition for you, Maxi-Max,” she said.
Max looked down and saw a half-folded picture lying there, with a face she’d rather not think about. “Very funny,” Max remarked, sticking the photo back onto the wall next to the others with a pushpin.
“You don’t even know what I was going to say!”
“Yes I do,” she said. “Let me guess. I tell you about her, and you tell me about your mom? That sound right?”
Chloe remained silent while she pouted, then shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe I had a different idea. Guess you’ll never know now.”
“Right.” Max smiled, joining her on the floor by the window. “Go on, then. Spill.”
“Nu-uh, you go first. My shit is sad.” Chloe pointed to the picture again, smirking. “Goth chick over there gives a different vibe.”
Max’s smile slid slowly from her face. “Her name is Sofia. We went to school together.”
“Ooh, and you fell in love?”
Max shoved a shoulder into Chloe’s side. “No, dork.” You’re the only one I’ve ever loved. “We were friends.”
“God, Max, it’s like talking to a brick wall.” She gave Chloe a glare that she shied away from. “Sorry, sorry, hypocritical, continue.”
“I never told you about her because…I don’t know. It felt weird. You’re my best friend, and she was just a girl I hung out with when I missed you.”
“Wow, Max the Heartbreaker,” Chloe commented. She put a hand over Max’s knee and squeezed it. “But you could’ve just texted me back, dummy. You didn’t have to go out and replace me.”
“Yeah? So what does that make Rachel?” Max intended for it to be funny in a twisted, ironic way, but Chloe’s face fell and she pulled her hand back just as quickly as it had arrived. “That…didn’t come out right.”
“No, you’re right,” Chloe said, letting out a frustrated sigh. “Rachel saved me, pulled me out of the lowest point in my life. I couldn’t believe that a girl like her wanted anything to do with a fuck up like me. But god, I was…terrible. We had all these plans together, of leaving Arcadia Bay and getting out in the world, of acting and dancing and doing a lot of fucked up drugs and hooking up with hot chicks. Then she was gone. And I hated her for leaving me behind.” Chloe’s head rolled to the side and her eyes caught Max’s, then she stole a glance down at her lips. “Like I hated you for leaving. Because I loved you.”
“Oh.”
Max had a thousand thoughts racing through her head, but she didn’t want to jeopardize the direction of their conversation by voicing any of them. Not that she thought she’d have been able to formulate two coherent words at all, anyway.
Chloe bit her lip, then looked back up outside the window, a hand raised like she wanted to snatch the stars out of the sky. “But now? I don’t know who I am anymore. It’s like the strings that held me up have all been cut, first with dad, now with mom…there’s no one left for me out there. I’m so fucking alone, and it’s not fair.” She clenched her raised hand into a fist, then it dropped down into her lap.
Max slid a comforting arm through Chloe’s own, curling into her wordlessly as she waited for her to continue.
“And I can’t even fucking complain about it, or say shit to anyone, because no one would understand. They’d put me in a goddamn institution if I tried telling someone I’ve already died a hundred times before. And-and Rachel died alone, and I didn’t even have a fucking clue it happened. All those nights I spent being mad at her for leaving me…it should’ve been me in that shallow grave, Max. I deserved to die there. Not her. Not…not my mom.”
The tense air swelled, and then Chloe cried. She didn’t try to hide it. She didn’t fight it. She just cried, falling into Max’s arms as she shushed and stroked her hair until the night grew long.
Gently, quietly, Max whispered, “Thank you, Chloe.”
Chloe sniffled, scrubbing a hand over her face as she lifted her head from Max’s lap. “For what — crying all over you? Happy to have been of service.”
“Thank you for being honest. For being you.”
“Yeah, well, can’t be anyone else, can I?” Chloe gave her a lopsided grin.
“Just take the praise, dork.”
“Fine. You’re welcome. God, you sure do have a way of making me fold, don’t you?”
Max felt her palms itch and her skin begin to tingle as if she was on the cusp of touching the strands of time in front of her. But she didn’t raise a hand, or even a finger, not taking the opportunity to meddle in where she didn’t belong.
“Y’know, I’m sure there’s another universe out there,” Max said after a moment. Chloe raised an eyebrow with interest. “A lot of other universes — an infinite amount, probably. And I bet there’s one where you have your family back. One where you have Rachel again. One where your mom makes you breakfast and brushes your hair. Where you’re both alive and happy.”
A smile spread across Chloe’s lips. “Yeah, Max. I bet you’re right,” she murmured. “And I bet there’s a universe out there where we’ve been happily married for years now.”
Max ignored the way her heart fluttered at the idea. “I’m only eighteen, dude,” she said with a chuckle. “I’m way too young to have the government involved in my relationships.”
Chloe’s laugh was infectious, and Max found herself joining in alongside her. When she finally moved them to the bed, after the sun had already risen across the edge of the horizon, she kissed Chloe’s forehead and wiped the dried tears from her cheeks. And Max placed a kiss on her lips, just once, to remind them both that they were still alive. That they still had each other.
December 9, 2013
Sheets of silent snow fell to the ground outside the living room window, blanketing all it touched in a soft white glow. In Seattle, the snow turned to slush in the streets, a dreary gray that clung to the undersides of the cars and buses. But that was fine, she thought. If Chloe couldn’t drive in the harsh weather, that only meant Max would have more time with her.
It had been nearly a week since they’d last spent time together, outside of going to sleep at night. With all the time she spent at the mechanic, Chloe had somehow started taking odd jobs from the guys there and had amassed a small amount of actual savings. And, shockingly, she’d even started talking with David on the phone every few days. Max’s dad had sent him a flower arrangement for Joyce’s wake. Chloe didn’t go.
There had been a brief period of time after Thanksgiving where Max could feel their two paths splitting apart, where Chloe had started down a road Max couldn’t follow her down. But they’d made it out alive. Chloe never slammed the door on her, and Max never shut her out. Despite the perpetually dark skies of Seattle, her spirits felt brighter. It had been nice to reminisce about their youth, of all the days Max had spent at Chloe’s house, all the nights Joyce cooked them dinner and kicked them outside when they got too rowdy. She thought it helped, at least a bit, for Chloe to think of the good memories too, instead of all the bad.
Her own parents had stayed the night at a family member’s house the night before, and given the amount of snow still on the roads they probably wouldn’t be home until the next day. But even with their newfound alone time, Chloe refused to tear herself away from the large flatscreen television and PlayStation downstairs. To her endless frustration, Max had fallen asleep alone last night.
She shuffled down on the couch with a book in her hands, her feet firmly in Chloe’s lap as the other girl cursed at the T.V for the hundredth time that hour. “Dude, fuck you! I had that shot, and —”
Max cleared her throat.
“Sorry. Quiet.” Chloe shrunk back sheepishly, then tossed the controller to the side. “I’m done anyway, can’t win for shit today. Want anything from the kitchen?”
Chloe gingerly pushed Max’s legs off her lap then stood with a stretch, the bottom of her shirt riding up by an inch.
Max forced herself to look back at her book instead, staring a hole in the pages. “Uh, no, I’m good. Thanks.”
Chloe shrugged and wandered up the stairs, decidedly not towards the kitchen, but before Max could start to wonder if she should join her up there, she’d already jumped back onto the couch, a bottle in her hand.
“Whiskey? Really?” Max asked, closing her useless book and sitting up.
The bottle wasn’t very big, not that Max knew much about alcohol in the first place. It had a black label with some artistic design etched onto the front that gave her the distinct impression it had been super cheap.
“Why not? No parents, no rules.” Chloe twisted it and cracked the top, tossing the lid onto the coffee table. “Copped this from Kyle at the shop. Think he has a crush on me or something.”
Max laughed once at the absurdity of it all. “Does he know you’re only nineteen?” Does he know you’re not available? Does he know you don’t even like guys?
“Probably,” Chloe answered before taking an impressive swallow, flinching away from it as she pulled back. “Ugh. That’s fucking shitty. Want some, Ms. Straight Edge?”
Max rolled her eyes but plucked the bottle from her hands, bringing it to her own lips. She pretended to take a sip, lingering there, if only to keep it away from Chloe for a moment longer. The smell of it was strong and thick.
“Alright, that’s enough faking it, Maximus. Hand it over.” Chloe leaned across the couch and took the bottle back, chugging from it for a solid few seconds before grimacing. “Jesus, this better hit quickly so I can stop tasting it.”
“I can give you something else to taste.”
“You — huh?” Chloe blinked at her.
“Uh, I meant like a…chaser. A soda or something. Or water.”
“Water doesn’t have a taste, Max.” Chloe smirked, and suddenly her tousled, fading blue hair and the bottle at her lips made her look so devastatingly sexy that Max struggled to breathe. “That’s fine, take your sex joke back. I didn’t need it anyway.”
“…Give me that.” Max grabbed the bottle again, this time actually pouring it into her mouth. She swallowed as quickly as she could, the amber liquid burning like a matchstick as it went down.
Chloe threw her head back and laughed, arm clutching at her stomach. “Your fucking face, dude! You don’t have to drink, Max, you’re too…pure.”
Max pouted, then slid a leg over Chloe’s lap so that she was straddling her, arms resting atop her shoulders. She thought she’d been obvious, but maybe Chloe’s blindness outweighed her efforts.
“Well, whose fault is that?” she asked.
Chloe’s eyes flashed when Max pulled the bottle away from her lips, set it to the side, and kissed her. Her hair was soft beneath Max’s fingers, her mouth falling open and breathing her in. Arms slid around her waist, Chloe’s fingers scratching beneath her shirt, and she savored the bitter sting of alcohol between their tongues. When Chloe’s teeth tugged at her bottom lip, Max felt her hips rock forward, and Chloe’s fingers tightened their hold at the small of her back.
Their foreheads bumped together, her nails scrambling at the back of Chloe’s neck as she pressed forward. Max whimpered when they kissed again, when Chloe used her leverage to grind Max harder onto her thigh, guiding her through the blooming pleasure.
“Fuck, Max, that’s so…”
“Shut up,” Max breathed, biting at the corner of Chloe’s jaw. She thought she might actually explode if Chloe finished her sentence.
Slowly, Chloe’s inching fingers rose up the back of her shirt until they met the clasp of her bra. There, Max stuttered, her hips coming to a pause.
“Uh, can…” Chloe faltered, pulse thundering where Max pressed her lips against her throat. “Can I take this off?”
Max nodded, head spinning as she leaned back on Chloe’s thighs so she could tug at the latch. When she felt the clasp release, she grabbed hold of Chloe’s hands and guided her through peeling the shirt and bra off over her head, then hauled her into another searing kiss the moment the bundle hit the floor. Only then did Max feel the rushing pressure rise in her veins, feel the room closing in on her, feel the warmth of Chloe’s hands travel from her shoulders to her back to her stomach to her chest.
“W-wait,” Max babbled, digging her nails into Chloe’s wrists to keep them from wandering higher. She kept her eyes slammed shut, too afraid of what she might have seen if she were to open them.
They hadn’t talked about doing anything more than kissing, and sure, sometimes things got a little heated, but never anything as far as clothes coming off. It had happened so quickly; much quicker than she’d imagined it would’ve been, when she pictured their first time. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t think of it all the goddamn time.
The air was cold on her bare skin and she kept her body pressed firmly against Chloe, both in aching need and also with irritating embarrassment. They needed to talk, they needed to—
“Stop fucking thinking so much, Max,” Chloe mumbled against her collarbone, placing a small bite against her sensitive skin and drawing a hiss from Max’s throat. “Do you want me to keep going, yes or no?” Chloe’s fingers hesitated at the edge of her breasts, waiting for her answer.
Max took a staggering breath, trying to ignore the need that pulsed between her legs where she sat upon Chloe’s thigh. She loved her, she wanted her, Max had never been more sure of anything in her life. She let go of her hold on Chloe’s wrists, returning her own hands to where they rested against the other girl’s shoulders, steadying herself.
“Yes. Please.”
Chloe exhaled against the fresh red mark that marred Max’s skin, always out of sight, then crashed their lips together, a content sigh falling from Max’s throat. She could probably kiss Chloe for hours, until her jaw ached and her head swam, without ever getting tired of it. And then Chloe’s blistering hands traveled up, up, up, where a thumb swiped across the sensitive peak of Max’s chest, and they both groaned into the kiss.
Max collapsed forward, clutching at Chloe’s shoulders as her hips jerked with every stroke of her fingers. Her mouth fell open, panting, chest rising and falling with each breath that was stolen from her lungs. The friction against Chloe’s thigh grew hot as Max moved with more confidence, the desperation swirling in her stomach outweighing her nervousness. Chloe reciprocated her ministrations with nails scraping down her back, with a thumb swiping across her nipple, with her own hips thrusting higher to give Max a better position.
“Fuck, I need to touch you.” Chloe moaned, her hands sliding away to travel in a line down Max’s stomach as she kissed a trail from her lips to chest. Chloe’s fingers shook as they slipped past her waistband, and Max inhaled sharply at the feel of her ghosting across the front of her underwear. “Take these off for me?”
Max rose onto her knees, regretfully distancing herself from the enticing friction of Chloe’s thigh. But Chloe’s hands worked quick as she shoved Max’s pants down to her knees, then ankles, then to the floor beside her shirt. And when Max settled back onto her lap wearing nothing but her underwear, she hid her face in the apex of Chloe’s shoulder with a mumble.
“Sorry, I…”
“Christ, Max, you’re so fucking wet,” Chloe hissed, gripping a hand on Max’s hip and rolling her thigh to encourage Max to keep grinding down into her.
Chloe busied her mouth with planting wet, open kisses across Max’s chest, all until she reached the curve of her breast, where the only warning Max got was a heady look before she swiped an eager tongue across her nipple. Warm, wet lips wrapped around her and Max cried out, tangling her fingers in Chloe’s hair as she held her in place. Chloe’s free hand skimmed across the flesh of Max’s thigh until she reached the apex of her legs, hesitating as she slowly pressed the pad of her thumb against the damp underwear.
“Tell me to stop,” Chloe panted, pulling her mouth away from Max’s chest. “Tell me to stop now, and I will.”
But Max dug her fingers harder into Chloe’s hair and jerked her head backward until she was able to brush her lips across Chloe’s own, tasting the salty sweat from her own skin. She darted her tongue against Chloe’s lips and her mouth opened, feverishly hot, without any trace of alcohol still lingering on their breath.
“Don’t stop, Chloe,” Max whispered, her body an aching mess of need.
Her heartbeat thudded in her ears, blocking out everything else but the way Chloe felt against her and the fire that spread from her wandering fingers. She took hold of the hand that teased patiently at her core, then slid their connected hands through the side of her underwear, pushing her to where she needed her most. Chloe tensed, holding herself back, just tantalizingly out of reach.
God, she really was wet; she could feel her arousal dripping down onto her fingertips. But Max didn’t want to think about how she felt, she wanted Chloe to feel her, to touch her, to close the distance between them and break the barrier of their friendship. She was so fucking in love with Chloe that any second longer might have killed her.
“Please,” Max whined, her hips rocking forward in hopes of Chloe’s fingers reaching their mark. “Please, touch me.”
Beneath her, Chloe cursed and shuddered, then Max felt the world tilt on its axis as their positions flipped, her back now pressed into the cushions of the couch as Chloe hovered over her, one hand still caught inside Max’s slick underwear as the other supported her weight.
Chloe kissed against her stomach, then her jaw, then rested their foreheads together as a single digit finally, finally pushed forward to glide against her wetness, so light that she could barely feel it there at all. Max clutched her nails into Chloe’s unfortunately still clothed back, whining in frustration from the slow circling and teasing at her entrance.
“Are you sure?” Chloe asked quietly, nuzzling their noses together. It would have been cute, if Max wasn’t so close to falling off the deep end.
Her hips bucked upwards when she felt the soft pressure of Chloe’s finger stroke against her. “Yes,” she breathed out. “God…”
A knock sounded against the door, loud and quick, then she heard muted voices of a conversation on the front porch. Chloe was off her in an instant, face tinted red and eyes still smoldering. Max stared at her, unmoving, as her heartrate slowly faded back to normalcy, her breathing hard and staggered.
“What the fuck?” Max cursed quietly, covering her flushed face with both hands. “What the fuck?”
She could kill them. She would kill them. She heard her dad mumble something to her mom outside, who returned his irritated complaint with a frustrated groan of her own. Yeah, relatable, Max thought bitterly. But at least Max had tugged the curtains shut earlier, mostly, so her parents weren’t able to see their nearly-naked daughter laying on the couch. Shit. Maybe her and Chloe really would leave that night, go to California and never look back. That would definitely be less embarrassing.
“Uh, you have, like, maybe ten seconds to get dressed,” Chloe said, discreetly wiping her fingers clean on the edge of her shirt. She reached for Max’s discarded clothes on the floor and tossed them onto her, avoiding eye contact. Thankfully, she grabbed their forgotten bottle of whiskey and hid it from sight. Even if her parents had seen Max in her disheveled state, at least they wouldn’t find out they’d had alcohol.
Max was halfway through tugging her shirt back on, sans bra, when her phone buzzed from between the couch cushions. She fished it out and pressed answer, not bothering to check who it was. “What, mom?” she snapped.
“Hi, Max, we left our key — are you alright?”
Max closed her mouth with a click, working to relax her breathing and lower her voice. “Yeah, I’m…in the shower. It’s…hot…out?”
Chloe spread her hands in confusion at the lie and mouthed What? while Max continued the struggle of slipping back into her pants one-handed, shooing her away.
“Okay. Huh. I thought I heard you in the living room. Is Chloe there?”
She looked at Chloe, who’d chosen to stand right in front of the door, ducked out of view from the window while she kept a hand on the doorknob like it would somehow stop them from coming inside.
“Yes, she —” Max shook her head, mind still swirling. “Mom, just give me like two minutes and I’ll unlock the door. Bye.” She hung up, fastened her pants, then smoothed down her hair, spot checking it in the hallway mirror.
“Maybe you should go upstairs,” Chloe whispered intently after taking a glance at her. “Y’know, because of the sex hair.”
“Fuck you,” Max said lowly, then unlatched the door. She ignored the irony of it.
December 11, 2013
Max’s frustration with her parents had waned after a few hours that night, and she did end up taking a shower before dinner, cranked to the coldest setting she could handle without shivering. Yet, it had been two days since their incident on the couch, and Chloe hadn’t said a single word. She thought maybe Chloe regretted it, or thought Max was too inexperienced, or too awkward, or too…much. But she still kissed her in the mornings before sneaking back to her own room, she still held her hand when they went out shopping, she still cupped Max’s face in both hands and made her feel gorgeous.
But, of course, as Max was so often reminding herself, they were friends. Friends who kissed, sure, but friends all the same. She tried to not feel like there was something wrong with her. There was an ache inside her that felt different from before, more primal, more weak.
She toyed with a pencil in her hand, fidgeting it across her fingers as she stared at her journal with a blank expression. All she’d written thus far was the date next to a scratched out drawing of a door lock. Max was horribly, aggravatingly stuck — with her parents, with her future, with writing stupid shit on the page, with Chloe.
Well, she supposed she could tell Chloe how she felt. The pencil spun around the back of her knuckles. Or, she could pretend like the invisible wall between them didn’t exist, that everything was fine, and that gluing a label to their situationship wasn’t necessary at all. She flipped the pencil in a circle, then it slipped from her hand down onto the floor.
Ugh, okay, not that idea, then, she said to herself. Maybe it was a sign. Max was willing to consider anything at that point, anything that would help her muster the courage to just tell the fucking girl that she wanted to be with her until the day she died. That she wanted to be with her for longer than that, if it was possible — if an afterlife existed, or if reincarnation was real, or even just knowing that when their bones were buried in the ground that they would go hand-in-hand.
Max pressed her head against the blank journal, grumbling with exasperation. She couldn’t say that part, for god’s sake, she was so fucking stupid.
It was only a few minutes later that she heard the tell-tale sounds of Chloe stomping up stairs, then the door flung open.
“You really should knock,” Max said without turning from the desk.
“Nah, I keep hoping one day I’ll walk in on you naked or something. What’s up, hippie?” Chloe tossed her phone on the bed then lounged out on the rug, one earbud still blaring music.
Max gripped the pencil tighter in her fist. You could do something about that, you know? Yet she didn’t say what was poised at the tip of her tongue. Instead, she answered with a curt, “I’m writing, obviously.”
“No, duh,” Chloe said. “You’re always writing. Gonna publish a book or something?Make us millionaires by selling your spicy monster erotica?”
Max shook her head, then dropped the pencil back into the old coffee mug atop the desk. She couldn’t find anything else to write, not that she had been able to get much out to begin with. She certainly wasn’t going to write any sort of smut book, either. Probably.
“You okay?” Chloe asked when Max stood from the chair and stretched.
She shot her a look. “I thought we’ve been over this. You don’t have to—”
“Don’t have to ask if you’re okay, yeah, yeah, got it.” Chloe nodded then pat the ground next to her, gesturing for Max to lay with her there, then she wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “So, Maximus, my best friend in the whole world, the light of my life, my…I don’t know, something sappy. I’ve been thinking.”
Max tried to resist the spark of excitement that flashed through her. “Go on.”
“Well, you want to get out here, right?” Chloe bit her lip. “How about January? You and me and the open road?”
It wasn’t what she’d been expecting, but maybe it was what she needed. Chloe had, not for nothing, spent the last few weeks working on the truck specifically so that they could leave one day and not have to worry as much on if they would break down somewhere. She’d even saved enough money to kick-start their life on the road. Max had no worries on if they could survive out there, they’d done it before — under much worse circumstances. What she did worry about was…
“Where will we go? What would we even do out there?” she asked. “I don’t have a job, Chloe. I’ve tried, really, but—”
“You don’t have to worry about that, Max. Do you trust me?”
“Always.”
Chloe smiled. “And I trust you. I know you’ll find something big and bold to do out there, out in the real world. It might take some time, but you’ll figure it out. And I’ll be right there with you. We just gotta get away from your helicopter parents first.”
They both laughed at that, and Max pushed away the memory of her parents nearly walking in on them. They would’ve had a damn heart attack if they’d succeeded, she knew. And Max probably would’ve too. She was trying not to think about how Chloe’s hands felt wandering over her body.
“Well?” Chloe prodded her with an elbow. “Yay or nay?”
“Definitely yay,” Max said. “Let’s do it. January.”
Chloe sat up to reach underneath their bed, then pulled out a familiar brown bag from behind a few rogue pillows. “I was hoping you’d say that. Now, a celebration for our future! Cheers!”
Max had an eerie sense of deja-vu as Chloe revealed the barely drank bottle of whiskey and took a swig. They passed it back and forth for awhile, laughing and joking around like they were little kids again. As it turned out, Chloe already had their first stop figured out — some nature reserve about four hours away that allowed people to camp for free during certain months. She’d even bought a pop-up tent that fit on the bed of her truck, and a matching air mattress to go along with it. Of course, it wouldn’t be nearly as comfortable as their real, albeit small twin bed at the Caulfield’s house, but it would do.
After their reserve of whiskey dwindled to nothing, Chloe suggested for them to steal Max’s twin mattress by tossing it out the window in the middle of the night. Max, unfortunately, had to veto that idea. But she’d considered it. Or rather, the whiskey churning in her stomach had made her consider it.
Max could remember maybe three or four times total where she’d ever had a drop of alcohol in her system, and none of them had been enough for her to actually feel a buzz. But her cheeks had grown hot, her fingers tingled and tickled, her tongue felt thick and soft. It was…not entirely unpleasant, but the way the ceiling grew and shrunk and spun in circles made it hard to keep her eyes focused.
“Feel it yet?” Chloe asked, plucking the empty bottle from Max’s limp hand and kicking it away.
“I…want to dye my hair,” Max blurted out.
Chloe wiped her mouth then licked her lips to rid them of the last drops of whiskey. “Really?” she asked. “Huh. And here I thought therapy was working for you.”
“Fuck off,” Max said with a chuckle. “It is working, that’s why I wanna dye my hair. To prove to myself that I can move on and try new things. To be a badass!”
“Hmm. That would be kinda hot. But you’ll have to bleach it first. Your hair’s dark.” Chloe scratched a hand around the back of Max’s neck, tugging her hair gently. “It’s so…beautiful, y’know. You’re pretty.”
“And you’re pretty drunk,” Max said, smiling like a fool. But the compliment warmed her skin more than the alcohol ever could.
“No, I’m not! Barely tipsy…” Chloe tapped her on the nose. “You are the one who’s drunk. Fuckin’ lightweight. What’s that look for?”
Max said nothing, but she tipped her head forward and kissed her. It was slow, exploratory, as if they were discovering each other for the first time and not the hundredth. When she pulled away, Max steeled her nerves and whispered, “I have to tell you something. Please don’t hate me.”
Chloe wiped a thumb over Max’s cheek, eyes still glued to her lips. “I’d never hate you. What is it?”
Maybe it was the alcohol coursing her veins that gave her the emboldened desire, or maybe Max had simply reached a point where she didn’t care anymore. But she was ready. Her anxiety had stilled, fading to a dull glow rather than its usual roaring fire.
She took a deep breath, came face to face with the realization that there wouldn’t be any going back, and said, “I want you to be my girlfriend. Officially. Like, us together, so we can kiss, and…”
Chloe’s lips spread in a slow smile. “Okay, Max.”
“And, and I wanna hold your hand in public. Well, more than we already do. And I wanna shower with you, and I wanna wake up in your bed, and I wanna make you breakfast, and I wanna see your, wait, did you say yes?”
“Yes, you fuckin’ nerd,” Chloe repeated.
“Really?”
Chloe rolled until she hovered over Max, her arms bracketing the sides of her head, their hips pressing together. “Yes, Max. I’ll be your girlfriend. On one condition.”
Max’s brain misfired and short circuited all at once. Chloe’s necklace dangled from her neck, grazing the center of Max’s chest. “Uh. What condition?”
“That you, Max Caulfield,” Chloe started, kissing her between every word. “Be my girlfriend too. Yeah?”
“…Yeah.” Max smiled into their kiss, and didn’t let her go.
Notes:
I finished playing DE :/ now I need to write a toxic co-dependent hooking up w/ your ex gf fic
Chapter 5: Plummet
Notes:
Max keep your clothes on challenge: impossible
CW: brief mention of a gay slur and implied parental homophobia
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
December 14, 2013
It turned out that KoolAid hadn’t been the best option for dyeing hair, Max had discovered. The movies had lied to her. She’d given it her best shot, of course, but all that happened was her fingertips got stained cherry red and her entire body smelled like a cough drop for hours after. Chloe had laughed at her. That made it worth it, at least a bit. They’d driven to the store later that day and spent an outrageous $34 on hair bleach and old Halloween temporary dye that had been on clearance.
It wasn’t until they got back to the house that Max grew nervous. Chloe was a pro at dyeing her hair — she’d consistently had it blue for years, something that required a fair amount of upkeep for it to remain as vibrant as ever. She’d dyed her hair a dozen times, maybe more, but definitely enough to be considered experienced. But Max? She’d never done it before. She’d gotten close, once. Max exhaled heavily. She was absolutely only thinking about hair dye, nothing else.
Honestly, she hadn’t ever wanted to change her hair color, not really. Not until recently. Perhaps it was an impulsive thought, like Chloe seemed to assume. But it was too late to back out now, she’d already spent the money and draped a spare towel over her shoulders, staring at herself in the bathroom mirror as Chloe played chemist by mixing the bleach according to the strangely long directions.
“You ready?” Chloe asked, shaking the small bottle of bleach until the liquids all mixed together.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Max answered dully. “Please be gentle.”
Chloe smirked, catching her eye in the mirror. “Damn, you caught me. I was actually planning to burn all your skin off with this.”
Max paled. “Would that happen? Does it burn?”
Chloe flicked the fan on, a dull whirl acting as a calming background sound. “Maybe. Guess you’ll have to find out.” She kissed Max on the cheek before pulling the thin plastic gloves on.
Max had the urge to ask her to wait, but she knew if she did she’d never go through with it. It was a problem she was working on, so surely this would be good exposure therapy, right? She closed her eyes as Chloe squeezed a handful of the bleach onto her glove. The smell of it was strong and chemical, not unlike an all-purpose kitchen cleaner. She told herself it was essentially the same thing, just her cleaning part of herself, scrubbing herself free from the past.
Tentatively, Chloe spread the bleach onto a few strands of Max’s hair at the right side of her face, careful that it didn’t touch her skin. She massaged it in thoroughly and Max peeked an eye open, admiring the intense look of concentration on her face. When she moved to pour more bleach out, Max caught her wrist.
“Um, actually,” Max started, hesitant. “I don’t…want to do too much.”
Chloe’s eyebrows rose, but she put the bottle by the sink and leaned against the counter. “Sure. How much did you want to do?” she asked. “It’s gonna look strange if you only have like three hairs a different color. But I’ll do whatever you want, Maxi-Max. It’s not every day a woman loses her hair-dyeing-virginity for the first time.”
“Ha ha. Very funny,” Max said sarcastically.
She looked at herself in the mirror, watched as her fingers shook beneath her grip on the towel. She turned her head to either side and pictured what it would have looked like if she did color it all. Only within the last week did she manage to muster the courage to face her own reflection again. It had been difficult, to forget the nightmare she’d lived through during the storm. To forget what it had been like to see the worst version of herself. She was worried that if she changed too much of herself at once, that she’d never be able to remember who she truly was.
“Hey,” Chloe said, straightening back up from where she’d been lounging on the counter. “How about this?” She moved to stand behind Max then held the last two inches of the bottom of her hair between her fingers, showing her in the mirror. “This way you don’t have to bleach it all, but you’ll still look hot as fuck. Yeah?”
Max leaned back into Chloe, quite enjoying the way her girlfriend stood so much taller than she did. Her girlfriend. Sometimes Max couldn’t believe how lucky she’d gotten.
“Hello? Is that a yes?” Chloe asked, lowering her hands to rest on the counter on either side of Max, caging her in.
“Right, yeah, sorry. Just thinking,” Max said. “Go ahead and bleach me up, please.”
It took about fifteen minutes for Chloe to finish spreading the bleach over the bottom of her hair, and it’d used only a third of the bottle. They tossed the rest in the trash as they waited for it to set in her hair, talking about nothing in particular. Chloe had dropped her phone off the side of the truck a couple days ago and had to buy a new one, to which Max insisted for her to get a better phone case to protect it. She rolled her eyes and said Yes, mom, before hopping on top of the counter and gesturing for Max to come closer. And sure, maybe they did get a little carried away making out, losing track of time until Max’s phone alarm blared loudly. But she didn’t care.
She hunched down over the bathtub to rinse out the last of the bleach, holding her breath all the while, even though none of the water actually went over her face. Chloe toweled her off when she was done, fluffing her hair like Max was a dog fresh out of the bath. It was strange, after, to see the brassy-blonde hair in the mirror. Chloe was quick to get the red dye prepped, excitedly talking about how putting in the actual color was her favorite part.
It was easier, Max thought, to put the color back into her hair, rather than the off-putting dread she’d felt when it was being bleached. It didn’t take nearly as long to set, either, though they again lost track of time after Chloe forced her up against the door. When the timer went off with a loud ring, Max sensed a thrill of eagerness run through her. She knew precisely how she wanted to spend the rest of the day.
“I think I should take a shower,” she said. “You know, to actually rinse all this off.” She let the weight of the suggestion linger between them.
Chloe swallowed, then cleared her throat. She reached for the door, saying she’d wait for her in their bedroom, but Max pulled her by the edge of her shirt.
“Actually, you should stay,” Max said. She turned the lock on the doorknob with a click. Chloe’s gaze flickered down to her chest and Max smiled as sweetly as she could. “Turn around.”
A pink tinge crept up Chloe’s neck and she turned around, back rigid as she faced the door. Max turned the shower faucet until the steaming water poured out, then she stripped off her clothes into a pile on the floor. Chloe didn’t even turn to look at her once.
The clock on the wall read 4:52 when she finally stepped past the curtain and let the warm water hit the top of her head. She rinsed the leftover red dye out of her hair and watched it flood down the drain like blood before she asked, “Do you…want to join me?”
Chloe was silent for so long that Max started to wonder if she’d even asked it out loud at all or if it was all in her head. Then she heard the sound of clothes hitting the floor with a dull thump, and Chloe’s head poked through the edge of the shower curtain, gaze locked onto Max’s.
“You sure?” she asked.
Max rolled her eyes. “Get in here, Chloe.” She kept her face towards the water, letting the heat of the shower mask the flush in her cheeks as she heard Chloe step in behind her. Her confidence came in waves, she’d realized. Part of her still wanted to hold back, to keep herself private, to lock herself in a box of obscurity until nothing remained. But with Chloe’s promise of the entire world ahead of them, Max didn’t want to be stuck like that; not forever.
Chloe whistled and Max turned her head to look at her, seeing at the last second as her eyes shot back up, cheeky grin on her face. Before she could feel any sort of embarrassment, or kick herself over starting the entire affair, Chloe wrapped her arms around her waist from behind, resting her chin on her shoulder.
“Hey,” Chloe said.
“Hi.”
“Now, don’t get me wrong here, Max. This is really fucking hot, but…” Chloe tightened her hold and Max tried very, very hard to ignore the way her chest pressed against her back, the way she felt a blazing fire every place their skin touched. “I, uh, haven’t exactly done this before.”
“Really?” Max didn’t bother to hide her surprise. In her head, Chloe was this larger-than-life figure, blessed with tons of wild, raunchy experiences. But Dr. Lang would say that was probably just her own insecurities.
“Well, yeah,” Chloe said with a laugh. “I haven’t exactly had the most exciting time with relationships, you know.”
“But, not even with, uh, Rachel?”
Chloe tensed, but her thumb started rubbing circles at the bone of Max’s hip. “…Let’s not talk about her. I’m trying to take a shower with my girlfriend here, you nerd.”
Max smiled, though Chloe couldn’t see it, and put her own hands over Chloe’s own. “Help me wash my hair?”
“Duh,” she joked, “that’s like the whole reason I’m in here.”
Chloe lathered her hands with shampoo and massaged it into her scalp, only letting the water spray in Max’s face once on purpose. When all the soap was washed out, Chloe spun her around, their eyes finding each other through the stream of water. The first thing Max noticed was that Chloe’s hair had gotten soaked already, and the strands sticking to her forehead made it look longer than it actually was. The second thing she noticed was that it was remarkably difficult to look anywhere other than her face.
After a moment, Chloe eventually asked, “Are you going to look at me? I seem to recall you asking for this specific thing to happen, once upon a time.”
“Am I…allowed to?” Max didn’t know the proper etiquette, they’d barely started dating, for fuck’s sake. They hadn’t even gone on a real, proper, romantic outing yet. What was she supposed to do? Was there a Girlfriends for Dummies book out there that could spell it all out for her?
“Max, come on.” Chloe grabbed her chin between a thumb and forefinger, then kissed her softly. “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t okay with it. With you. You talk big game, y’know, inviting me in here then pussying out. Don’t…make me feel weird.” Chloe’s eyes widened and Max could sense that she’d started losing her own nerve. “Or, wait, fuck, do you want me to leave?”
“No, no, uh,” Max scrambled, her fingers tightening on Chloe’s arms. “Don’t leave.”
Chloe wet her lips with her tongue, despite the fact that the water had already saturated her from head to toe. “Okay. Staying.”
Max ran her hands from Chloe’s biceps all the way up to her shoulders, then down the sides of her body until she reached her waist. There was a lot of skin she wanted to explore, a lot of places she wanted to kiss and touch and —
Max needed to cool off.
She’d gotten Chloe’s shirt off a total of three times before, and one of those was only because they’d jumped into an empty pool in the middle of the night. The other two times had been remarkably more exciting, once while making out in the bed of the truck, and the other beneath the blankets one night. But, still, she’d never been fully undressed. To have her there now, definitely, a thousand percent naked, was almost as terrifying as remembering that she too wasn’t wearing anything at all.
“Max,” Chloe started, face inching closer to her own. “Can I kiss you now?”
“Please.”
All at once, they were kissing, Chloe with one hand fisted in Max’s hair and the other clenched around the back of her waist. Max deepened their kiss, draping her arms over Chloe’s shoulders and tugging her closer, tongues dancing together. They’d been in there so long that the hot water had started to turn lukewarm, but she didn’t even mind it. The chill of the cold air each time she moved out of the stream of water was bracing, grounding her amidst the thundering of her heart.
When the doorknob jiggled, Max’s heart nearly stopped. Not again, she cursed to herself, banging her head back on the shower wall. Chloe stiffened, her hands solid against Max’s waist. At least they hadn’t had the chance to do anything more exciting, that time.
“Maxine, are you in there?” her mom asked.
“Uh, yeah, be out in a moment,” Max called back. She would never, ever, ever forget that her mom usually got home around five in the afternoon.
Chloe grinned wickedly, then slicked her wet hair back so it stayed out of her face. She lowered down to reach Max’s throat, sucking and licking over where she’d bitten her the night before. Max’s mouth fell open and she nearly whined before Chloe placed a hand over her mouth.
“Have to be quiet,” Chloe whispered in her ear. “Wouldn’t want her to know I’m in here too.”
She removed her hand once Max nodded in confirmation, then her fingertips trailed down to cup beneath Max’s breast.
“Okay,” her mom answered loudly. “Did you want anything special for dinner? How about we order a pizza?”
The steam from the shower swirled around them like fog, but when Chloe shifted her backwards, the wall was sharply cold against her back. Chloe’s thumbs swiped across both her nipples and Max hissed, her eyes falling closed.
“Mom, I’m — I’m busy,” Max said, her voice strained. “Just…let me finish.”
“Of course, sweetie,” her mom replied. “Hey, have you seen Chloe around? Will she be joining us for dinner? I’ll order two larges if she is. Maybe breadsticks?”
Chloe grabbed onto the back of one of Max’s thighs, lifting her leg until it wrapped around Chloe’s waist and she pressed their bodies together. Then she kissed her way down Max’s chest, nipping along the way until she replaced where her hand had been with her mouth. And Max’s gaze turned to the ceiling, fighting back the moan rising in her throat as Chloe’s tongue swirled around her sensitive tip.
“Whatever you want. I can’t, uhm, talk right now,” Max panted. “Going to…wash my face.”
Her mom made a noise of understanding and said she’d place the pizza order for whenever Max was done. And as soon as they could be sure that she’d wandered back downstairs, Chloe moved back up and laughed into her neck.
“Is it just me or is your mom totally obsessed with cockblocking me?”
Max pressed their lips back together, enjoying the feel of her center grazing against Chloe’s lower stomach. When Chloe lifted her other leg to join the other, Max squeezed tighter around her waist to keep from falling, yelping in surprise. They only stumbled once, nearly slipping against the soapy shower floor and laughing into each other’s mouths.
She felt like she was flying, held up only by the strength of someone else. It was vulnerable; every curve and flat plane of her body smoothed out against that of another. Chloe’s hands cradled beneath her ass, supporting the weight of her for as long as she could before Max could feel her start to shake.
“Chloe,” Max said, turning her head to the side to stop Chloe from repeatedly kissing her. “We should get out. Mom’s gonna be suspicious.”
Chloe groaned her complaint, touching their foreheads together as she let Max hop back down to a standing position. “Fine,” she conceded. “I’m tired of being waterboarded anyway. Pizza?”
Max let herself laugh as she pushed Chloe out of the shower, and it wasn’t until they both stood by the door, towels wrapped around themselves, that they realized.
“Oh, fuck,” Chloe said, eyes wide just the same as Max’s. “She can see the bathroom door.”
If her mom was in the kitchen she’d be in full view of the upstairs bathroom door, and even if she’d wandered over to the living room, there was still a chance that she’d hear the door open and look over out of reflex. Besides, Max hadn’t brought a change of clothes in there, and she was not about to put on the same clothes as earlier.
Her fingers itched, like her body had started to prepare to rewind time if she needed to. But that…that would be cheating. Max didn’t want to have an unlimited reset button, she didn’t want to have the chance to re-do her life. She enjoyed the thrill of not knowing what came next, and she’d came to terms with the fact that her actions had consequences. She wasn’t about to throw that all away just to stop her mom from seeing her girlfriend coming out of the bathroom after they’d showered together.
“I’ll leave first,” Max said. “Give me five minutes to get dressed, and then I’ll go down there to distract her. Then you can run to the spare bedroom. Got it?”
Chloe nodded, opening her arm wide to allow Max passage to leave. “As you command, Lady Max.” Max twisted her face in discomfort as Chloe grimaced. “That one was weird, sorry.”
Maybe they’d gotten lucky, or maybe Max had gotten really, really good at sneaking around places she shouldn’t be in, but they were able to join her mother back downstairs right on time for the pizza delivery. And they would’ve gotten away with it, too, if Mom hadn’t complimented her new hair-do and asked if they’d enjoyed their shower.
As Chloe coughed, almost choking on a slice of pizza, Max fumbled to give an excuse. “Uh, yeah, and I-I was able to write in my journal when Chloe took her own shower. Alone. When I was in my room. Also alone.”
Chloe shot her a look, face red, that said Are you serious? as her mom piqued an eyebrow. Thankfully, her dad got back home at the same moment, keys jingling in the doorknob before he shuffled inside to snag his own plate of food. And that was that — conversation over, though Max did avoid her mother’s eyes for the rest of the evening. Just in case.
December 19, 2013
Victoria reached out to her.
It was only an email — one that Max had almost deleted and marked as spam before she’d taken a second look at who’d sent it and noticed the words VChasePhotography next to the email host. She’d opened the message, of course, but hadn’t replied yet. She couldn’t. Not yet, not until she was confident on what she wanted to say. If she wanted to say anything at all.
Someone like Victoria lived an entirely different life from Max, and it had always been that way, even back at Blackwell. After the storm, after the dark room, she wasn’t sure how much Victoria knew about what happened, or if she was only reaching out to Max in selfish pity.
Chloe had scoffed when she told her. “Victoria’s always been a bitch. I wouldn’t be shocked at all if she’s just trying to milk the whole ‘everyone I know is dead’ thing in order to get more attention for herself. And her shitty work.” She exhaled a stream of smoke into the chilly night air.
“Her work isn’t that shitty,” Max said, not even sure why she was defending someone who wasn’t there. Maybe that was it, she thought. Her wanting to stick up for the underdog. Or maybe it was because she felt like she had finally, finally, made progress with Victoria, at the very end of it all. They had some animosity, sure, but what teenage rivals didn’t? Max had outgrown her jealousy, and she hoped Victoria had too.
The club they stood outside had grown too lively for comfort, the bass booming so loud it rattled through her bones and made her teeth chatter. But Chloe had insisted she come along with her, to get out of the house and to ‘experience a real thrasher’ as she’d so eloquently put it. And up until she saw the email from Victoria, she’d been having a fun enough time, if only just because it was cute seeing Chloe so excited.
There was a local band playing, a group of two guys and two girls, that neither of them had heard of before other than the poorly designed flyer that Chloe had found at the shop a few days ago. Though that hadn’t stopped Chloe from speculating who was fucking who amongst the band members, making Max blush a bright red as she’d watched them playing on stage.
They’d stepped outside for Chloe to have a cigarette, the first and last of the day, and Max kept a hand firmly shoved inside Chloe’s jacket pocket for warmth, even though she had her own jacket on. Chloe just felt warmer than she did, that was all. No other reason.
“So are you gonna reply back, tell her go fuck her selfie?” Chloe asked, scraping the finished cigarette against the brick wall before tossing it into the venue’s ashtray.
“I don’t know yet,” Max answered honestly. “Definitely won’t be antagonizing her though, so don’t get your hopes up.”
“Aww, why not?” Chloe pouted, shoving her own hands back into her pockets to join Max’s.
Even with all the people around them, Seattle was mostly liberal. She felt safe enough to hold hands beneath the jacket’s pocket, hiding in plain sight. While it would’ve been nice to be more upfront with their affection, Max didn’t think she was that into PDA to begin with. Some things were better kept to themselves.
“Because Victoria doesn’t deserve that. So she’s a bitch, whatever. She survived Arcadia just like we did. That has to count for something.” Max had only briefly told Chloe about what she’d experienced in the dark room, and what Victoria had lived through beside her. Regardless on if it happened in their current reality or not, it had happened. Max had seen it. She had lived it.
“I’ll trust your judgment on it, Maxi-Pad,” Chloe said. Max pulled a face and nearly got her hand back before Chloe jerked it back and apologized with a pathetic, “Noooo, I’m sorry, I’ll keep working on the pet names!”
“You better,” Max said with a scoff.
It was one thing for Chloe to have a thousand nicknames for her when they were friends, but as a girlfriend? Chloe was still hard at work finding the perfect name, though Max theorized that at this point, she was picking terrible names on purpose just to make her squirm.
They returned inside once Max’s nose was sufficiently frozen and red, and by that time a new band had already started playing on stage. Still, it was hard for her to focus on the music when she kept thinking of Victoria, of Kate, of all the people she’d known just months before. Victoria would bounce back — she had enough money for it. But Max was alone. Her camera back in her bedroom was the only connection she still had to the person she once was, of the person she wanted to be.
She just needed to cross the bridge of being able to pick up that damn camera again.
December 24, 2013
When she was younger, Max had thought that Christmas Eve was the longest day of the year, full of anticipation and baking cookies and watching long-winded classic movies with her family, all while waiting for that magical moment her parents would let her open up a single gift — always pajamas. As an adult, the notion still proved to be true. Especially with the added bonus of having an entire girlfriend she needed to get the perfect gift for.
She’d thought about it for weeks, even before they’d made things official. While her and Chloe had gone shopping at the last minute to get gifts for Max’s parents and a few aunts, uncles, and cousins, she hadn’t exactly had an easy opportunity to get Chloe something. And Max may not have been the most experienced girlfriend out there, but she knew one thing: you had to make it count for the holidays. She’d heard too many horror stories of couples getting each other cleaning products or kitchen utensils or other shitty things that implied outdated gender roles. She would never let that happen to them.
Her first idea had been to get Chloe a new journal, to hopefully encourage her to start writing again (selfishly, Max wanted to use that as a chance to read into the thoughts she kept private). But it didn’t feel right, it didn’t feel like them.
Her next idea had been rather scandalous, and she’d only thought of it in the first place after watching some terrible reality T.V. show — that she would buy a sexy lingerie set to spring on her the night of Christmas. Though when she thought of it for more than two seconds, she’d realized that sexy and lingerie and Max didn’t exactly go together. Plus, her parents would definitely ask where her gift was or why she didn’t get Chloe anything. So she’d settled on something different. Something that they could do together, that wasn’t sexual or fleeting or stupid. Something that would last as long as they would — forever. She’d sketched it out herself and had even made the appointment, though she still hated making phone calls to people she didn’t know. Her only fear now was the worry that Chloe wouldn’t like the idea, or wouldn’t want to go along with it.
Chloe must have noticed her internal turmoil because she bumped a shoulder into her side. “What’s up, hot stuff?” she asked, leaning on the kitchen counter as Max waited for the current batch of cookies to finish baking. “No, still not right…”
Max shushed her, tilting her head in the direction of where her mom and dad sat on the couch across the other room. “Save the nicknames for when we’re alone, please.”
“Oh?” Chloe gave a smug smile. “You want me to get more sexy with it, do you? Some dirty talk?”
“Stop talking so loud!” Max hissed.
“What if I call you,” Chloe raised her voice, hands cupped at the sides of her mouth, “Daddy’s little whor—mph!”
Max shoved a hand over her mouth, shooting her a glare she hoped would kill. But it didn’t phase her. She felt Chloe chuckle behind her hand, then she licked her palm until Max flinched back.
“Did you call me, honey?” Her father stepped past the entryway behind them, an empty hot chocolate mug in his hand.
Chloe burst out laughing at the same time Max shouted, “No! We’re good, sorry that someone over here can’t be quiet for two seconds.”
“Hey, no need to fight, girls,” he said. “It’s Christmas.”
“We’re not fighting,” Max assured.
“We’re totally fighting, Mr. Caulfield.”
Max, again, shoved an elbow into Chloe’s side, though there wasn’t any true anger behind it. Her dad refilled his mug from a simmering pot on the stove and helped them to pour their own with him.
Time dragged its feet, but eventually Max successfully waited long enough to open her present for the evening. Her mom even passed Chloe an identically wrapped box, much to the other girl’s surprise. They opened them at the same time, and where Max feigned surprise at unwrapping a red flannel sleep shirt, Chloe looked genuinely grateful.
“I hope you like it,” Mom said, “I had to guess on your size. But I figured with your…” She gestured to her blue hair. “That it would match better than red or green.”
Chloe held up the matching flannel shirt, hers a black and white design with a tiny Christmas tree at the middle. “No, it’s — it’s great, Mrs. Caulfield. Really. Fuck, I should’ve gotten you something better, I only have one gift to give you tomorrow. I mean, sorry for saying fuck. Twice. I’ll be quiet now.” She shrunk back on the couch, clutching the shirt in her hands.
Mom brushed it away, taking a sip from her glass of wine. “I don’t need anything at all other than for the two of you to be happy. That’s plenty gift enough.”
Chloe flushed, looking to Max like she’d be able to save her. But Max only smiled. It really was cute when Chloe got flustered.
Despite her big age of eighteen, Max still went along with her mom’s request to leave out a plate of cookies and glass of milk for Santa. When her mom and dad retired to their own room for the night, Chloe snatched half the cookies from the plate and shoveled two of them into her mouth while the rest followed them upstairs to their bedroom.
Chloe opened and shut the door to the spare bedroom, something that she had grown accustomed to in their attempts to keep their actual sleeping arrangements secret. It hadn’t even been ten seconds from the time Max flopped down onto their bed that Chloe asked, “So, what did you get me?”
“You’ll find out tomorrow,” Max said as she rested her arms over her eyes. “Patience, young one.”
She felt the bed dip as Chloe climbed next to her, then her arms were lifted away, Chloe’s smiling face crowding her vision. “But what if you give it to me now?” she asked innocently.
“That would spoil the surprise. It’s not Christmas yet.”
Chloe leaned down, their noses brushing together. But when Max lifted to kiss her, Chloe shifted away, and she huffed in complaint.
“That’s not fair,” Max groaned. “Are you bribing me?”
A hand drifted up the bottom of her shirt, rubbing in circles around her stomach, then lower to her waistband. “Maybe. Is it working?”
“No,” Max lied.
Chloe shrugged, then kissed her quickly. “Guess I’ll have to try harder.”
She lifted the blankets and disappeared below, fingers digging into Max’s sides until she laughed and squirmed, then her breath hitched when Chloe bit at her lower stomach.
She fisted a hand in the back of her hair and tossed the blanket off, revealing Chloe’s smirking face as she rested a cheek against Max’s thigh.
“You’re not supposed to look,” Chloe commented.
“And you’re not supposed to be making a move on Christmas Eve,” Max retorted. “Santa’s watching us right now. I don’t want him to see me naked.”
Chloe chuckled and tugged down Max’s pants, and she let her. It was getting too hot for comfort anyway. “Who said you have to be naked?”
“Dude, you’re taking off my clothes right now.”
“Am I?” Chloe pushed up her shirt next, kissing a trail from her stomach to her chest until Max tossed the shirt onto the floor. “Maybe I just wanted to be close to my girlfriend. Is Santa homophobic?”
“Shut up, dork.” Max pulled her up for a kiss, enjoying the way Chloe’s warm body rested against her bare skin. “Okay, you can have your present early.” Chloe’s eyes lit up and Max raised a hand for her to wait. “But! Only because it would be embarrassing to show you in front of my parents.”
“Ooh, got me something sexy?”
“No,” Max insisted, rising from the bed and padding over to her desk. Her face flushed, trying not to picture what she’d originally thought of for Chloe’s gift.
“Boo. Maybe next year.”
After finding the folder she needed, Max hopped back onto the bed, clutching it to her chest so Chloe couldn’t see it early. “Okay, you have to promise not to laugh,” she said.
“Sure, sure, whatever, show me!”
Chloe’s hands fell to rest on Max’s thighs, so casually that Max felt a spike of pain at the remembrance she hadn’t been the first person Chloe had been with like that. Jealousy was scary, she’d discovered. Especially when the people you’re jealous of weren’t even alive anymore. It wasn’t fair.
After a breath, Max opened the folder and revealed the paper inside. On the page, she’d sketched out the design of an intricate butterfly. Chloe reached for it, holding the paper up as she appraised the design, and god, Max was close to bolting out of the room and burying her head in the ground so she didn’t have to withstand the embarrassment of someone else seeing her work.
It was only a moment before Chloe said, “This is beautiful, Max,” then she grinned at her. “Should I…hang it on the fridge?”
“No, dummy.” Max laughed, nervously scratching her fingers together. “It’s for a tattoo. A matching tattoo. With me.”
That got Chloe’s attention. She lowered the paper and stared at Max, surprise evident across her face. “Wait, seriously? You want to get a matching tattoo?”
“I don’t just want to,” Max answered, “I’ve already made the appointment. January 5th. We’ll have to stay in Seattle until then, but I thought…Oh. Do you not want to?”
“No, I do!” Chloe cupped Max’s face in her hands, thumbs stroking across her cheeks. “I’d even tattoo your name across my forehead, Max. But, god, this makes my gift look stupid as fuck.”
Max nuzzled into the hand on her cheek and said, “I’d love anything you get me.”
She wanted to say more — to say she loved her, to say she was in love with her. But what kind of stereotype would she be, to tell her girlfriend she loved her after just a couple weeks? It didn’t matter that they’d said it before as friends or that they’d known each other since the dawn of time. Max wanted nothing more than to do things right — to not fuck things up for once in her life.
Chloe hopped down to pull something out from underneath their bed — a place Max had come to find out was her unofficial hiding spot, after accidentally stumbling across a respectful number of “emergency joints”— then she asked Max to close her eyes. She did, heart picking up speed as Chloe maneuvered her hands to lay open on her lap. Then she felt the weight of something drop into them, thin and square.
“Is this a CD?” Max asked, eyes still firmly shut.
Chloe stiffened across the bed. “What the fuck, you cheated!”
A smile spread across Max’s face. “Nah, you just told me. Can I open my eyes now?”
“Might as well, cheater,” Chloe grumbled, crossing her arms across her chest as she pouted.
It was, in fact, a CD — three of them, actually, Max saw as she opened the case. There was a tracklist on the back in Chloe’s own handwriting, and a cute drawing on the cover with a cheesy amount of little hearts around the corners.
“This is really fucking gay, Chloe. A mix-tape?”
“Well, you said — I mean, you’d mentioned before that you…I wanted us to have good shit to listen to on our road trip.” She groaned again, head in her hands and avoiding Max’s eyes. “I knew it was stupid.”
Max gingerly set the CD on the nightstand and pulled Chloe’s hands into her own. “It’s not stupid, it’s sweet.” At the awkward blush rising on Chloe’s neck, Max kissed her. “I told you I’d love it.”
“There’s…songs from that band we saw. And songs that remind me of you.” Chloe toyed with the edge of the blanket and Max felt her heart grow. “Whatever, we don’t have to listen to them.”
“My first mix-tape from my first official girlfriend? We’re definitely listening to it,” Max announced. “You can’t cute your way out of it this time.”
“What?” Chloe laughed at her. “I don’t cute my way out of anything.”
“Uh, yeah, you do.”
Max pulled Chloe on top of her, laying back on the mattress as her eyes grew heavy. Arms wrapped around her waist, and Chloe put her chin in the crevice of Max’s collarbone, huffing her disagreements for several more minutes until they fell asleep tangled in each other.
December 25, 2013
Max didn’t even care that they’d been caught that morning.
Her dad had busted into her room at five AM, face shining with excitement until he’d seen that Max wasn’t alone beneath the blankets. Thankfully, she’d gotten cold that night and had put her pajamas back on, or the day would’ve gone in a much different direction than it actually did. As it was, he didn’t even comment on the fact they’d slept together in the same bed. It was normal, she thought, for friends to share in their excitement for the holiday. That’s what she told herself, at least, as her distant family members filled the house for an early lunch and gift exchange.
She got more hugs than she wanted, and twice as many sad looks still. Arcadia Bay followed her like a shadow, always there in the corner, just barely out of sight, until someone pointed in its direction with accusing hands. Max had perfected her pleasant, empty smile as she thanked everyone for their sympathy, biting back the bitter sting of the lie. Other than those few tense interactions, she was mostly avoided. A small victory.
Chloe mingled upstairs for most of the day, awkwardly avoiding the people in Max’s family that didn’t know she existed. One of her cousins had found his way up there too, where he’d smoked in the bathroom before wandering into Max’s bedroom, running into Chloe and asking her if she was a dyke or something. Max had been there right on time to pull him away before he got himself a fist to the nose. Instead, she not-so-lightly shoved him back down the stairs where his mother scolded him in front of everyone else for getting high after she’d kindly asked him not to.
By four PM the house had returned to a much more comfortable state after everyone except her parents and Chloe meandered their way back to their cars to leave. Max felt the tension dissipate from her shoulders as the last of her aunts shut the door for a final time and Chloe poked her head around the corner.
“Damn,” Chloe said, “kinda glad my whole family’s dead now.”
Max felt only a little guilty when she laughed at that.
Even after all the food she’d eaten that day, Max still looked forward to dinner. Despite the anxiety sitting thick in her stomach, she had a plan. The last step in her plan, actually. The last thing that she needed to do before she left in January with Chloe.
Her dad sat at the head of the table, as always, with Mom at his side, both oblivious to the news they were about to hear as they ate the honey-baked ham. Max stared at the fork in her hand so long it started to wobble and waver, then she blinked. Her palms itched, the same familiar feeling she’d been shoving aside since October.
“Mom, Dad, I have, uh, something to tell you.” All eyes looked to her, but she only found comfort in Chloe’s. There, she nearly backed out — but she needed to be brave, to be as strong as Chloe always said she was. “We’re…leaving. In January. Me and Chloe.”
Her mom frowned, setting her utensils down. “Leaving where? For how long?”
“Leaving Seattle. For…” She wanted to say ever, but didn’t want to assume she knew anything about what the future held. “For awhile. Maybe months, or years, or—”
“Years?” her dad shouted, then let out an uncomfortable laugh. “Maxine, what do you mean years? You live here!”
Mom snapped at him to hush, to which her dad argued back that Max didn’t know what she was talking about. When Chloe opened her mouth to join in, Max stood.
“Dad, let’s talk. Alone.” She stared a hole in his eyes, trying to hear his thoughts as his jaw tensed and relaxed.
“Fine.”
Her mom left first, gathering their dishes silently and starting to run the water in the kitchen sink. Chloe coughed awkwardly and left to join her, patting Max on the shoulder before she was out of view, leaving Max alone with her father for the first time in days.
His heavy stare made her feel like she was fifteen again, caught kissing Sofia on the way home from school. Then he exhaled heavily, rubbing between his brows. When he looked back at her, his eyes were wet.
“You really want to leave, huh, kiddo?”
“I do. I am.”
Dad nodded, softly tapping a fist on the table top to keep himself busy. “I suppose you are eighteen. I can’t exactly force you to go back to school, though I — well, you know where my head’s at there. Jobs can be tricky.”
They were so similar, her and her father. No matter where she went, how far she got from Seattle, she knew she could never scrub her skin clean of her DNA. Ryan and Vanessa would be part of her blood until the day she died.
“I know, dad.”
“‘Course you do. You’re so smart, Max. Look at who raised you.” They shared a smile, then her dad scratched against his beard. “Did I…did your mother and I do anything wrong? Are you leaving because of us?”
“No, it’s not you,” Max assured, though it didn’t feel as genuine as she wanted. She loved her parents, she really did. And after witnessing everything Chloe had gone through, even with all the problems between her and Joyce, she would never take their relationship for granted again. But Max didn’t want to be stuck in Seattle, she wanted to have her freedom back. Unfortunately, that wasn’t something she was able to explain to her dad. “It’s…me. I need to do this.”
“Like you needed to go to Blackwell? …I understand, Max.” His eyes hardened after he took a glance at the kitchen, seeing Mom and Chloe laughing and washing dishes together through the open door. “Is it her? Is Chloe why you’re leaving? No, hold on,” he said and raised a hand when he saw her go to respond. “I know you’re together. You don’t have to hide it.”
“What? You — when?” Please, please, don’t be because of that day on the couch. Or the shower. Or this morning.
He cracked a smile. “Well if I wasn’t sure before, your face says it all. Don’t worry, your mother doesn’t know. It’s…it’s alright, Max. We’re aware of your…” He made a flippant gesture with his hands.
“That I’m gay?”
Her dad tried to maintain his composure, and maybe that counted for something, but he still winced. “Yes. That.”
“Okay.” Max could feel herself pulling away, feel the ravine between her and her father widen and split and crumble around them.
“We want you to be careful, to do good things with the life we gave you. If you think you can do that with someone like Chloe at your side, then…well, that’s your choice. We’re just trying to push you in the right direction,” he said, grim smile still spread on his face, like it pained him to say it. Like Max pained him just by existing. “I love you, Max.” He clapped her on the shoulder, but that was all.
“Yeah. Thanks, dad.”
His expression wavered as she breezed by him, swallowing the lump in her throat as she entered the kitchen. Chloe put an arm over her shoulder once she saw her, her brows knitted together even as Mom maintained her bright, cheerful, painfully oblivious facade. She wanted to savor the last few days she’d spend with her parents, in her own home, with family. But the other part of Max wanted to be wanted — wanted to be craved, desired, needed — something her parents had long since given up on.
At best, her parents tolerated her. They were proud when she was successful, they were upset when she failed, they said all the right things in all the worst moments, they told her happy birthday and I love you and be careful, but they only saw the parts of her they wanted to see, not the person she truly was. She could try to frame it any way she wanted, but she knew. She knew her parents weren’t the people she wanted them to be. That was something they had in common, she supposed.
Notes:
idk when the next chapter will be out, but it's coming (hint hint)
Unfortunately, I am important at work and must fulfill my managerial duties this week, which will take up a lot of my time
Chapter 6: Dive
Notes:
sorry for the delay and for the fact that this chapter is so short, I’ve been having an existential crisis recently. the good news is that I’m done with interviewing people! the bad news is that it’s apparently 2016 again and my parents openly hate me :/
you win some, you lose some. speaking of losing something…enjoy
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
December 31, 2013
Ever since the holiday, her parents had started giving her some much needed space. Maybe it was because they knew they couldn’t change her mind, or maybe it was because they were trying to change her mind anyway — thinking that if she started missing them before she was even gone, that maybe she wouldn’t leave after all. Max didn’t have the heart to tell them otherwise, though she did appreciate being able to spend more time with Chloe around the city. She didn’t want to think about her father, or her mother, or their strange, half-loving relationship with her. She just wanted to be Max again.
In a shocking twist, Chloe had discovered that a couple of her old acquaintances from school had migrate to Seattle. She visited them once, while Max stayed home. It wasn’t until two in the morning that she got back home, sneaking into their bed still smelling of weed and smoke and pressing her cold hand against her. Max, on the other hand, hadn’t reached out to any of her old friends in Seattle. She didn’t seen any point to it, knowing that she was going to end up leaving anyway — knowing that even if she did start up a new friendship again that it would only be superficial.
The only person she was sad to leave behind was her therapist, Dr. Lang. Though, Max had overheard him talking to the secretary before their last appointment, where he’d casually dropped the news that he would be moving to Vermont within the new year. It was sad, sure, but maybe she’d see him again one day, if she ever visited there. Not that it seemed likely. So really, to her, there was nothing to stay for. She was ready.
She’d pushed herself, honestly, to pick up her camera. That was the only secret she kept from Chloe — that Max wasn’t yet able to take pictures again. But the night before, when her girlfriend was in the shower, Max had done it.
It had started with a gnawing feeling in her gut, like there was a thread attached to her middle that was tugging her towards the camera on her desk. She’d stood, walked, and hesitated over it, hand poised as if she was seconds away from re-winding. But she’d done it — she’d grabbed the camera, lifted it, turned it this way and that, then set it back down. Only then did she breathe, air flooding her lungs and turning her vision spotty as she came down from the fear.
It was a good step. It felt…normal. The world didn’t end. There was no man at the other end of the camera just waiting to capture her innocence or defile her personality. It was just a camera, and just Max. She’d taken pride in that quiet accomplishment, and rewarded herself with a walk down to the kitchen for one of her dad’s hidden cookies.
Unfortunately, or fortunately, New Year’s Eve meant that the streets of Seattle were way too crowded to go anywhere that night, and being a Tuesday, her parents had gone out on a business trip and weren’t scheduled to get back until the day before Max and Chloe planned to leave. Her mother had texted her earlier, telling her to enjoy herself and be responsible. Her father had texted the same, surprisingly, though he also told her there was a bottle of wine at the top of the pantry that she was welcome to break into, so long as she didn’t plan on the leaving the house after. It was a peace offering, an olive branch, them saying they still loved her. Max didn’t text them back.
Max had the television turned up loud downstairs as she curled around a pillow on the couch, idly scrolling her phone. She’d followed Victoria back, even if she still ignored her last email. It was nice to see that her life carried on after the storm — after Max. One day, after she was able to get back into photography without crying, she’d call her. That was her next goal.
Before she reached the end of whatever episode was mindlessly playing, Chloe stomped through the front door, shaking off the rain from her jacket. Max took one look at her and laughed.
“What the hell is that?”
Chloe kicked off her boots and marched over to the couch, falling onto it dramatically. “What’s what? Oh, this?” She tapped the gaudy, glitter-coated headband with bold numbers showing 2014 and it bobbed. “Just getting into the spirit. New year, new me. Want one?” She fished around her jacket pocket before procuring an identical headband.
“No, thanks,” Max rejected with a smile. “I’m not cool enough to pull that off.”
“What?! You are so cool, Max!” Chloe sat up in alarm and the headband bobbed more furiously. “You’re, like, the coolest cool who ever cooled. It’s why everyone has a crush on you.”
Max pushed her away playfully. “They do not. No one has a crush on me except you. I hope.”
“You hope correctly, Maximus.” Chloe held an arm out invitingly, and Max burrowed herself against her side. “But, alas, other people like you too. It’s tough being me, having to fight off all your seven evil exes and whatnot.”
“Oh yeah? Name one example,” Max argued. It wasn’t that she wanted to hear the answer, so much as she just wanted Chloe to keep talking — talking about her.
“Uh, that guy who works at the gas station, the one who pisses me off. And-and that girl at the cafe you go to when I’m at work. And—”
“Okay, that’s more than one,” Max stopped her with a laugh. “They don’t like me, they’re just…friendly. I give them money, they don’t yell at me. It’s transactional.”
“Classic Cool-Max response,” Chloe noted, then she changed her tone, taking on her best impression of Max. “Oh, me? People don’t like me, they just look at me with big, puppy dog eyes and obey my every command because I pay them!”
“I do not sound like that,” Max said through her laughter.
Chloe laughed too, looking at her with so much affection in her eyes that Max started to believe that maybe Chloe had been speaking from the heart after all. Max brushed a strand of blue hair out of her face, her fingers lingering at the edge of Chloe’s jawline.
“You know,” Chloe said, voice lower. “It’s New Year’s Eve.”
Max dragged her fingers down to Chloe’s throat, feeling the thudding of her pulse point. “Yep. Hard to believe, but I risked a look at the calendar today.”
“And your parents are gone.”
“Yeah.”
“And…we’re alone,” Chloe said quieter.
“We are.”
“So?”
Max continued her trail downwards, scratching a line down Chloe’s clavicle, right to the center of her chest. “So, what?” she asked softly.
Chloe licked her lips and Max wanted to bite them, but she resisted. For now.
“So, we should…” Chloe leaned in, so close that it wouldn’t take more than a slight tilt upwards for Max to kiss her. “Talk about our New Year’s resolutions. Duh.”
Max blinked at her. “Right. Sure.”
It took only a couple seconds for Chloe’s mask to break and a smirk to spread across her face. “What, my dear Max? Were you perhaps imagining something different?”
Max bit the tip of her tongue until it hurt, hands curling into a fist on the front of Chloe’s shirt. Surely she had waited long enough, right? Surely Chloe was just fucking with her at this point? Max wasn’t subtle — she hadn’t been subtle for weeks, if not longer. She threw a leg over her girlfriend’s lap, looking down at her and thinking every dirty thought she could imagine, hoping that for once in her goddamn life Chloe would get a clue.
“Yeah, I was,” Max answered. Her free hand grabbed hold of Chloe’s hair and tugged until her head fell back and the infuriating smirk was wiped from her face, expression shifting to one of cautious fear.
“Oh,” Chloe sputtered, “Well—”
Max connected their lips, tightening her fist until Chloe whimpered in pain and a moan slipped between their tongues. She must have kissed Chloe a thousand times on that couch, sat atop her like she knew what she was doing instead of just pretending. But the air was different somehow — more charged, electrified, and Max was thankful her parents were nowhere near Seattle, so there wasn’t even a microscopic chance of them interrupting.
Chloe reciprocated the kiss as she always did, with both hands scrambling for a better grasp around her waist, at her hips, in her hair, under her shirt, touching Max like she was a fragile piece of art to be admired and savored. Her shirt smelled like smoke, and for once, Max was able to pull it off before any part of her own clothing was removed. She dug her nails into Chloe’s bare shoulders, forcing their lips back together in a heated clash before they’d even had time to breathe.
Her hips jolted forward, and she lingered there — on the cusp of what she wanted to say, what she wanted to ask for, demand, take. But Chloe tensed below her, mouth coming to a pause, and Max pulled away.
“What?”
It was hard to talk, hard to do anything but gasp and move and claw her way to pleasure. She kept a hand poised on Chloe’s stomach for leverage, and to make sure she wouldn’t run away.
“Max, I…” Chloe hesitated on an inhale, mouth still open and lips bright red. “I don’t want you to rush things, or-or make a decision you’ll regret, or—”
Max swiped a thumb across Chloe’s bottom lip and her eyes fluttered. Couldn’t she see? Couldn’t she feel whatever it was between them — whatever it was that made Max’s head spin and hands sweat and stomach tighten? She pressed her thumb in further, past her lips, running across Chloe’s teeth and tongue in anticipation.
“You’re not a mistake, Chloe,” she said softly. To prove her point, she kissed her with all the love she was capable of inflicting, teeth clicking together. When she moved to kiss her jaw, then throat, she asked, “Can we…go upstairs?”
Chloe swallowed, nodded, and they left.
She didn’t bother turning the light on when they got to their bed, comfortable in the silent darkness that pervaded the room. Despite all her talk, despite how often she looked forward to when Chloe would touch her, Max was still nervous. Her hands felt heavy as she ran them over Chloe’s shoulders, her legs slightly spread as her girlfriend hovered over her. When Chloe pulled off Max’s shirt, she felt the icy touch of the bullet necklace touch her skin, and she shivered.
“Are you cold?” Chloe asked, mouth working against Max’s throat.
Max felt her skin ignite where their bodies touched — where Chloe’s knee pressed between her legs at just the right angle. A breathy moan fell from her lips in answer and she felt Chloe smile into the side of her neck.
Her bra fell away with little effort, Chloe’s skilled hands unclasping it and tossing it to the floor with her own pants after she’d shuffled out of them. Max’s shorts came next in a slow, languid slide down as Chloe pressed kisses down the length of her legs, then back up again. When Chloe rejoined her in a kiss, she shifted a hand to the waistband of Max’s underwear.
“I-I have to ask again…” Chloe gave a short laugh that was more akin to a sigh, Max still toying with the hair on the back of her neck. “Can I take these off?”
Max nodded and lifted her hips, allowing Chloe the room to slide the last of her clothes off her body. Then she pulled her in, legs locking around the back of Chloe’s thighs. She felt hot — wet — and, fuck, Chloe would be able to feel it, too. The thought of sharing her entire self with her sent a new thrill down Max’s spine, and she took hold of Chloe’s hand, guiding her down her stomach. When they reached the apex of her thighs, she felt Chloe’s fingers twitch, coming to a halt right before they reached her center.
“Are you — are you okay?” Max asked, one hand on top of Chloe’s, the other still clutching the back of her shoulder for support.
“Uh, yeah, I’m…I’m okay,” Chloe said, eyes firmly shut. She exhaled and rested her head against Max’s collar, body tense. “Fuck. Sorry.”
Max could practically hear the racing of Chloe’s heart and the way it thundered in sync with her own. “We don’t…have to do anything,” she whispered.
At that, Chloe breathed a laugh into her neck. “That’s supposed to be my line, Max.”
Max separated their hands then let her legs fall to the side, giving Chloe some distance. Chloe sat up, running a hand through her hair as she exhaled. Her face was twisted in an uncomfortable expression, and Max felt her heart stop for a moment at the fear that it was because of her — that she’d done something wrong, that she was wrong.
“No, don’t look at me like that,” Chloe said intently, and Max closed her mouth. “This isn’t…I should be better for you. You deserve someone who knows what to do, someone who knows what to say. Someone better than me. God, I’m so fucking lame.”
“What?” Max leaned up against her elbows. “I don’t want someone else, I want you. And you can be lame. I like lame.”
Chloe looked at her sadly, cupped her jaw. “I’ve fucked up the mood, haven’t I?”
Max shook her head, grabbing Chloe’s hand and putting in on the left side of her chest. She knew she wasn’t the best with words, or communicating her feelings, or making people feel better. But her heart beat for Chloe — for their lives together. Nothing would change that. She’d put Chloe’s hand over her heart as many times as it took for her to realize.
“No, you haven’t,” she said. “I can wait. For you.”
Chloe’s hand shifted, fingers splayed over Max’s bare chest, and she just looked at her. She looked at her, naked, for what felt like hours, until Max felt her heart return to a normal, steady rhythm.
“Is it okay if I don’t want to wait?” Chloe asked, her eyes lingering on Max’s.
“Uh, duh.”
Then Chloe kissed her, pushing her back onto the bed as her tongue pressed against her lips, demanding entry, like they hadn’t stopped at all. She sensed Chloe’s arms shaking at either side of them, heard her sigh, then felt her hand wander back down Max’s stomach. Her skin jumped at every slight brush of Chloe’s fingers, breath stuttering through their kiss as she spread her legs farther apart. Chloe’s thumb stroked against her lower stomach, then down.
“Max…” Chloe exhaled sharply. “You’re beautiful.”
And she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but dig her nails into Chloe’s back as she slid a middle finger across her wetness. Max gasped into her mouth, muscles turning to water as Chloe started working against her with slow, circular motions. Her touch was slow, exploratory, until Max gave a needy whine, spurring her on with a slight thrust up with her hips.
“Fuck, Chloe,” she panted, core tightening with want. “Can you…please…”
Chloe groaned, her teeth nipping against Max’s chest, leaving a smattering of red marks in her wake. Two fingers poised against her opening, waiting and teasing, until Max lifted at just the right angle and they pressed inside to the first knuckle. She curled a hand around Chloe’s jaw, pulling her into a kiss as she clenched around her.
“Tell me if it hurts,” Chloe asked, lowering herself to straddle one of Max’s legs so she could get a better position.
Max didn’t trust herself to speak, couldn’t remember how to pronounce any words, not when Chloe started moving inside her. She got lost in the feeling, in the pressure, and didn’t realize she’d scrapped her nails down Chloe’s back until she hissed in pain against her lips.
“Sorry,” Max whispered.
Chloe shook her head, sucking and biting at the edge of her throat — somewhere people would see the mark, but Max didn’t care anymore. “Go ahead. Hurt me,” Chloe said. “That’s fucking hot.”
Max turned her face away, skin slicked with sweat as she continued grinding up into Chloe’s hand. When she curled her fingers, Max’s back arched and she moaned louder than she’d wanted to hear. Her eyes fluttered closed without meaning to, all her senses fading away as the pleasure surged and coiled around her like she’d plunged into a freezing lake.
Chloe’s palm shifted direction, pressing down against her until stars danced behind her eyes. They moved as one; sharing sighs and lips brushing against skin, the moment rapidly coming to a peak as Max crested over the edge. She held her there, against her, within her, until the tension of her shoulders faded to a deep relaxation. When Chloe removed her fingers, she only hesitated long enough to make sure Max was watching before she licked them clean.
“Chloe!” Max covered her eyes and bumped her with an elbow.
“What? You taste sweet.”
“Ugh, stop,” Max groaned, letting Chloe nuzzle down into her neck over the marks she’d left. “That’s a myth.”
“Oh, have you been doing research?” Chloe teased. “If you wanna know what pussy tastes like—”
“Stop!” she blurted hastily, fighting to keep the embarrassment from reflecting on her face.
Chloe conceded with a light chuckle, rubbing a thumb across the inside of Max’s thigh as her sweat cooled and they melted into each other. But Max still felt the racing of Chloe’s heart as it touched against her chest, felt the tension in her leg and stomach and jaw all pressed against her, and her own fingers trailed over the lines she’d accidentally scraped on Chloe’s back.
“Do you, uh, I mean, can I…” Max paused, unsure of how to win the battle against the gears turning in her head.
“Hm?” Chloe mumbled, only half conscious where she rested against her.
Max braced herself, hand coming to a stop on Chloe’s lower back. “Well, you…touched me. And, I wanted to…Chloe. Don’t make me say it.”
She felt Chloe smile against her skin, then she lifted up to look at Max. The new perspective rewarded her with an unfiltered view of the way Chloe’s hair fell over her eyes.
“If you can’t say it, you shouldn’t be doing it. Come on, keep up with the lessons I’ve been teaching you.” She swat her gently on the shoulder.
Max wanted to fight, but couldn’t find the strength. “Whatever, Professor Price.”
“Hey. That’s Doctor Price to you. I went to school for years to get that title. Put some respect on my name.”
“You literally dropped out of high school.”
“Yeah, well.” Chloe clicked her tongue. “Welcome to the club.”
Max rolled her eyes dramatically and resumed her warpath of touching as much of Chloe’s skin as she could. She drank in the sight of her, all the stretches of her skin and angled bones and thinly veiled muscle beneath the surface. The tattoos.
Max had never been someone that was overtly sexual, not through most of her life. Sure, she’d found people attractive in movies, and manga, and even just as a concept, but it hadn’t been anything deep. It hadn’t been anything real. Even her crushes, few though they were, were starkly different than now. She’d never wanted to run her fingers over every inch of someone, never wanted to bite and suck and tongue her way down their body. Not until…
Like she could sense what Max was doing, Chloe smiled softly. “Your awkward attempts of seduction will have to wait till another day, Super-Max.”
“Excuse me, awkward?”
But Chloe had already tugged up the blanket and covered them both, obscuring everything with darkness. They rested there for a long while, until the clock turned 12 and Max nudged her awake to share a final kiss. And perhaps it purely because of a post-orgasm haze, but Max had the feeling that 2014 was going to change her life — Or that maybe it already had.
January 5, 2014
The tattoo hurt less than she’d anticipated, being that it was on the inside of her wrist. Chloe had gone first, knowing what to expect and giving off an infectious excitement about the entire affair. She’d made it very clear that the tattoo shop Max found was way, way cleaner than where she’d gotten her others. The artist himself had looked at her funny, but he’d taken the compliment anyway, hunkering over her as he touched the gun to the skin just beneath her collarbone.
Max had sat awkwardly at her side, all bouncing knees and anxious energy. Chloe had asked her to ‘unclench’ already, though Max couldn’t exactly turn off her fears with just a snap. Life would’ve been a lot simpler if that was her super-power.
When it came time for her turn, she’d nearly bolted from the room as the artist manhandled her arm into the perfect position, sweaty palm facing up. The worst part was the anticipation — the moment before knowing what sort of pain would greet her. That second seemed to last forever; then it was gone, never to return. The pain wasn’t even that bad. She could tell how people got addicted to the feeling — the subtle buzz, the sharp sting, the dull throb, the stretching and scraping of her skin.
The past three months were nothing if not ripe with ‘firsts.’ Her first girlfriend, first time getting drunk, first time having sex, first tattoo. Max worried, then, that perhaps she was letting the time pass by too quickly. That if she didn’t slow down, didn’t stop to smell the flowers, that in the blink of an eye it would all be over.
But, the tattoo was pretty.
In just a few short days, her and Chloe would be gone. Max had already packed all her stuff, not that she had much she wanted to take with her to begin with. The rest of her belongings were tidied away in shelves and corners and drawers around her room, if not tossed into a donation bin. Chloe didn’t have as much to take. She tried to not linger on that thought.
Together, they’d filled about three suitcases full of clothes and essentials, plus a few trinkets to keep as memories on the road. The bags sat by the door to Max’s room, waiting like a heavy stone for the day that she shoved them in the back of the truck.
There was just one last thing she needed to do. Something that she’d been putting off for nearly a week.
Max stared at the camera on her desk, still in the same awkward position from when she’d set it down last time. It wasn’t as hard to pick up, that time, even despite the shaking in her fingers. She let the warmth of her hands break through the cool touch of the plastic and metal, proving to herself that she was the stronger of the two. It helped.
When she flicked it on, she braced herself for the noise. The memory of camera shutters and clicks and snaps haunted her dreams, her waking hours, her blood. But Max knew she was stronger. She was alive, still, after everything. She prevailed. She always would.
For the first time since October, she pointed, framed a scene, and clicked. And when the camera printed, she took the photo and set it on her desk to develop, camera next to it, collapsing down into the chair after.
The window was open, the brisk January air breezing through the curtains and chilling her down to the bone. Slowly, black faded to white, and the image of her bedroom speckled through on the Polaroid. She bumped a finger against it, trying to admire the colors and art and beauty of it. Her bedroom had been a safe haven in a city that didn’t want her. She’d cried there, laughed there, hit a fist against the wall there. She’d loved Chloe there. She’d started to love herself there.
Max tucked the photo inside her journal, leaving the title of it blank. It seemed fitting.
On her next breath, she felt the tightness of her stomach ease. She wasn’t perfect, never would be, for she could never erase what had happened. But she was getting there. She was better than December, better than November. Better than October.
Max didn’t allow herself to dwindle on the past for much longer, instead deciding to get back outside and join Chloe in the living room. But she did allow herself to feel pride, to marinate in the success of taking another step forward, though an infinite amount of miles still faced her in the future. She’d get there. She would.
January 7, 2014
The universe hated her. It had to. There was no other explanation, no other reason, no justification for why, only a week from when they’d leave Seattle, only two days after their tattoo appointment, Max was sick.
She’d felt it that morning in the form of a dryness at the back of her throat — as a swallow that went down wrong. She’d barely been awake for five minutes at that point, and afterwards, she’d decided she didn’t need to get up after all.
Max would just lay in bed, scroll on her phone, wallow in her misery, wait for Chloe to get back from work. Fine. Whatever. It didn’t bother her.
Until it bothered her.
Regretfully, she’d stumbled to the bathroom to grab the thermometer, head spinning like she was seconds away from falling over. After an agonizing minute standing there, glaring at herself in the mirror for having the nerve to get sick, the thermometer beeped and showed an unfortunate 101.5 F. Just fucking great.
She went ahead and washed her hands, careful to not agitate the peeling tattoo on her wrist, and lurched back to bed. By the time her cheek hit the pillow, Chloe had texted her.
Chloe: u up yet?
Max: Unfortunately
Chloe: aw why? bc im not there to keep u company?
Max: I think I’m sick
Chloe: u think? well i think ur the sickest mofo ever
Max may have laughed, but she didn’t reward Chloe with a response. She tossed her phone on the nightstand and shut her eyes, pressing her palms to the sides of her head like she would be able to squeeze out whatever it was that made her feel like she’d been injected with poison. And as if her throat wasn’t dry enough, the thought of drugs injecting into her bloodstream only made it worse.
She was lucky, she knew, to have finally reached a point where she rarely thought of what had happened to her. But some things would never fade, no matter how far from them you got. Some things would linger in her skin forever; things like Jefferson and the dark room and the storm and the countless deaths that she’d caused. But Max was too weak to fight them like she usually did, too tired, too feverish.
The sheets grew wet beneath her sweat as she lay there for hours, tossing and turning and wishing for sleep to come. Though when it eventually did, she found it was even worse than remaining awake. Dreams of weird but mundane shit quickly turned to a nightmare of slowly going blind, of men chasing her through her house, where she stumbled without vision as vines reached from the floor and wrapped around her body, rendering her powerless as they got closer. It lingered in her memory long after she woke up, hazy and disoriented as the bedroom door opened.
“Wow,” Chloe said from the doorway. She chucked her keys and wallet onto the desk then walked over to Max, sitting on the bed. “I think you might be the only chick in the world who can manage to get sick without ever leaving the house. I’m impressed.”
“Fuck off,” Max said, her voice struggling. “It’s just a cold. And I do leave the house.”
Chloe laughed, leaning over to kiss her. Max was so slow that she wasn’t able to move in time, not registering what Chloe had planned to do until it had already happened and her lips were on her.
“Nooo, I’m contagious,” Max groaned, pushing Chloe away with a hand on her cheek.
“Gimme your germs!” Chloe kissed her again, keeping their lips pressed together until Max really did have to break away just to breathe.
“What time is it?”
“Just after 3,” Chloe answered. “Why? Got a hot date waiting for you?”
Max sniffled, her nose fully blocked after she’d slept at the wrong angle. “Clearly not. Why are you home early? What’s that?” She pointed to a plastic grocery bag Chloe held discreetly behind her back.
Chloe shrugged, rifling through the bag. “Shop was slow, Kyle let me go. Not that it matters, I’ll be ditching them for good in like three days.” She held out a Gatorade bottle to Max, who accepted it gratefully. “I figured taking care of my girlfriend was more important than fixing the brakes on some old grandpa’s car. If he dies, he dies.”
Max cracked the bottle and took a swallow. “You don’t have to take care of me.”
“I don’t have to wear clothes or breathe or dance really fucking badly, but I do it all anyway. It’s okay, you can say I’m a super-hero. I won’t let it get to my head.”
Max smiled. “You definitely do need to breathe, Chloe.”
“And how’s that going for you?” Chloe emptied the rest of the bag, taking out a can of chicken noodle soup, cough drops, and a single pack of cigarettes that Max piqued an eyebrow at.
“Point taken. Thank you for the soup.”
Chloe tossed herself onto the bed, arm thrown behind her head. She made an encouraging motion with her hands. “Keep the praise coming, Maxi-Max.”
Max shifted to face her, cuddling her way to rest against Chloe’s chest and listen to the beating of her heart. “You’re totally amazing.”
“Okay, now we’re talking. And?”
“And you’re very humble, too.”
Chloe scoffed. “Duh, of course.”
“And you’re fucking hot.”
“I am fucking hot, thank you. Though, that’s only happened once.”
It took longer than it should’ve for it to sink in, which Max blamed on her fever-brain, then she laughed. “Okay, horndog, settle down.”
Even if she felt guilty about it, Max couldn’t deny that Chloe coming home early definitely did make her feel better. There was something to be said about not being alone in times of unease — of having someone at your side that you could rely on. Chloe would be that person for her, she knew. And Max would do the same for her. In sickness and in health, or whatever they said. Not that Max was thinking of marriage. Not at all.
Notes:
thank you for all the lovely comments, I appreciate all of them :)
take care of yourself and don't let anyone stop you from being who you are!!!!!
Chapter 7: Sink
Notes:
just as a note, I will not be doing much research into America’s geography. so if anything is wrong, no it isn’t.
CW for underage drinking
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
January 12, 2014
As the moon grew closer towards reaching its fullness, the sky sparkled with the illumination of a billion stars, even through the foggy hazy of mankind’s making. Max spied it through the glass ceiling, watching the way a white plane flew overhead through the black sky as someone to her left puffed out another hit of their vape. The concrete floor vibrated through her shoes, shaking her core, igniting her with the same buzzing thrill that everyone else around her had. She may or may not have been drunk.
Her last weekend in Seattle had been spent going out with a bang — figuratively and literally (just a little). Once she’d conquered her ugly, snotty cold, she’d elected to enjoy the last of her days in town. By whatever means possible.
Chloe had Googled a list of the top 50 cities in the country, and since Seattle was one of them, they both wanted to enjoy it to the fullest — to start their cross-country adventure off on the right foot. For Max, it had meant taking pictures of her favorite buildings, her favorite stores and shops, her favorite spots to breathe and unwind. Chloe, on the other hand, had wanted to fucking party. So they fucking partied.
Max’s lovely, wonderful, beautiful, sexy, funny girlfriend had wandered off somewhere with Kyle about ten minutes ago and was still lost out there in the sea of people headbanging and drinking. But even as Max swayed on her feet, empty water cup clutched in one hand, she didn’t worry. Chloe had probably just gotten distracted trying to play beer pong, or forgot what she was originally going to do and went to smoke a joint on the balcony instead, or…something.
But Max was fine. Tipsy, but fine. She’d gotten acclimated to being alone — they didn’t have to spend every waking second together. She wasn’t that desperate. It was nice to retain some semblance of individuality, especially as she was still working to piece herself back together.
It wasn’t even like she’d gotten drunk at the concert; not really. Chloe had slapped a bottle into Max’s hand during the drive over, claiming that no one would ever believe she was 21 at the bar, so if she wanted to drink she needed to pre-game ahead of when they got there. Shrugging, Max had said fuck it. It was their last weekend there, after all.
So what if she wanted to act like a typical teenager, or be a rebel, or live dangerously? Her father had said it perfectly — it was her choice. And Max was sick of every choice being life or death; just once, she wanted to her options to be something as low-stakes as deciding what shoes she’d wear that evening. So she’d chugged the shitty vodka mixed with Sprite. And she’d picked her red Vans. Because they matched her hair.
As the current band finished their final song and started packing up their instruments to make way for the next group, the lights around the perimeter of the venue flashed brighter. Max squinted, as did the person to her left, who loudly stomped off to the bar in search of more beer shortly after.
She leaned against a nearby pillar, fiddling with the camera at her side. She preferred it when she had something solid to rest against, be it a wall or column, or just Chloe when she was there. It helped keep her steady, grounded. She framed a shot of the stage with slightly intoxicated hands, enjoying the mellow ambiance as the fog machine coated the drum set with a smoky hue. As she clicked the flash, she startled backwards.
“Whoa, fuck! Sorry, sorry,” she apologized to the woman who’d somehow appeared in front of her instantly. “Didn’t mean to blind you or anything, sorry!”
The girl had a low beanie pulled over her head and a rainbow lanyard around her neck with a badge that read STAFF. “Nah, no worries,” she said, shrugging a shoulder as she joined Max in leaning against the pillar, hands shoved in her pockets. “Whatcha doing with that, sharp shooter?”
“This? Oh, just taking a picture,” Max answered stupidly, tucking the photo into her bag aside the camera.
“Well, duh. That’s typically what you use a camera for.” The girl laughed, light and casual. “I meant, what of? Find someone cute you wanted to remember? Something embarrassing you wanna show your friends later? Maybe a little bit of both?”
Max looked over her shoulder, hoping to find Chloe walking back to her in anticipation of the next band’s performance. But she was nowhere to be found. Fuck. Max would have to talk to someone. Gross. Not that the girl was gross by any means, she was actually rather…cute, in a way.
“No, I, um. I’m a photographer,” Max said. “The scene was nice, that’s all, I just forgot to turn the flash off. Uh, do you work here? Am I breaking the rules or something?”
The girl grinned at her. “Calm down, you’re not in trouble. I don’t really care what you do, as long as you’re not killing anyone. And even then…I’m just part of the stage crew.” She stuck out a hand, a pink braided bracelet sticking out from beneath her jacket. “I’m Steph. And you are?”
“Max.” She shook the offered hand.
“Nice to meet you, Max. You look…sorta familiar.” Steph tucked her hand back into her jacket. “Are you from around here?”
“Yeah,” Max said. “Well, no, not…really. I’m from Oregon. But I do live here. Now.”
God, she was killing it. It was such a miracle that Max had already found someone who wanted to be with her, because she knew she’d die alone if Chloe hadn’t been around.
“Huh. Small world.” Steph shoved off the pillar, taking a step closer to Max since the room had grown louder with the mass of people returning in time for the next performance. Then she pointed to Max’s empty cup. “Can I buy you a drink? I get the employee discount, or whatever.”
“Oh, I’m-I’m not drinking anymore.”
Max waved her away, showing the back of her hand that had the black X drawn in sharpie. Steph didn’t look that much older than she was, if she was any older at all. Maybe a year, or two years, but surely not already 21.
Steph took the empty cup from her, placing it on the nearby ledge next to a few other forgotten cups. She’d gotten really close, Max realized all at once. Too close.
“I meant of the non-alcoholic variety,” Steph said, “but it’s nice to know that you have been underage drinking. You’re quite the rebel, Max.”
Max’s eyes widened. It hadn’t even been half-an-hour without Chloe and she’d already said way, way too much. Any longer and she might start singing her social security number or accidentally do some drugs on the dance floor.
“Please don’t kick me out,” Max said hastily. “I’m still waiting for…”
“I’m not going to kick you out, damn,” Steph interrupted with a chuckle. “Did you know you’re wound up kinda tight?” She ran her fingers down her lanyard, idly playing with the badge.
“So I’ve been told,” Max said. “It’s something I’m working on.”
Steph smirked and took another advancing step, their shoes practically touching. “Well, I’d love the chance to help you work on that. Maybe you could give me a call sometime?”
Before Max could formulate a response, someone shouted from behind them.
“Steph?”
Max closed her eyes with a sigh, feeling a familiar arm slide around her shoulders to save her from the awkward conversation.
“Chloe!” Steph straightened up, eyes lit with recognition. “No way, you didn’t tell me you’d be here tonight! What’s up, dude?”
They bumped their fists together like they’d been friends their whole lives, and Max shrunk farther into Chloe’s arms.
“It was a last minute decision,” Chloe said, brushing a kiss on Max’s temple. “I had no idea you’d be working here tonight.”
“You would, if you ever read our group chat.”
“Sue me, bitch,” Chloe joked. “Uh, I see you’ve already met my girlfriend, but. Max, meet Steph. Steph, meet Max. We went to school together. Kinda.”
“Wait, girlfriend?” Steph shut her mouth with a click, holding up a hand in defense as she caught Max’s eye again. “Oh, fuck, sorry. Forget what I said, Max.”
“Already forgotten.”
Steph cringed, scratching at the back of her neck. “Yeah, appreciated. Anyway, thanks for coming to the show. They’re probably wondering where I am by now, so I’ll just…see you later. Text me back sometime, Chloe! And it was nice to meet you!”
Chloe gave her a two-fingered salute off the side of her head, and then Steph disappeared behind the crowd of people swarming the stage. Only when the new band started testing their instruments did Chloe steer them away in the direction of the bathroom, arm still resting atop Max’s shoulders.
A hoard of girls paraded out of the door as soon as they got close, all of them giggling and yelling along with whatever words matched the song that had started playing. Thankfully, the bathroom had emptied almost completely with the group’s departure, though not so fortunately, it was a total wreck — flickering lights, a shattered mirror, and an entire wall that was covered in an obscene amount of spray-painted garbage.
“Dope bathroom,” Chloe commented. She reached to her back pocket, twisted off the cap to her marker, then proceeded to draw a rather detailed depiction of genitalia on an otherwise blank corner of the wall.
“Finally graduated from drawing just dicks?” Max asked.
“Yeah, more like upgraded. What do you think?”
Max inspected the picture, trying not to laugh like a little kid would have. “It’s…anatomically correct, I suppose.”
“You suppose? Come on, Max, that’s art!” Chloe tossed her hands in the air, a cigarette mysteriously having found its way between her lips when Max wasn’t looking. She leaned back against the sink, striking her lighter with a hand cupped around her mouth.
“Fine, it’s a great piece of art, Chloe. But, uh, shouldn’t you…?” She trailed off, gesturing to the red sign right next to Chloe’s head that said NO SMOKING ALLOWED.
Chloe glanced to the sign, taking a drag of the cigarette and huffing. She fished the marker back out of her pocket and immediately scratched out the “NO” with a tongue-out smiley face next to it.
“There. No more rule breaking.”
“Sure, that’ll hold up in court.”
“Now you have the right spirit.” Chloe gave her a crooked smile, tapping the ash into the sink. She pulled Max in by her belt loops, keeping their hips pressed together. “So? Wanna tell me something?”
“Tell you what?” As if she could formulate any kind of thought when they stood that close together.
“Like what the hell was that between you and Steph?”
“Oh. She caught me taking a picture, I thought she was there to yell at me. But she was…cool.”
Chloe stared blankly at her, then fought back a laugh. “She was cool? Steph? Mega-nerd, master of all things table-top, that Steph?”
“Yeah, you know. Cool. She was suave.”
Then Chloe made a hummed noise of understanding, even though Max didn’t know what for. She put out the depleted cigarette on the side of the sink, then crossed her arms.
“So she was flirting with you, huh?”
“What?” Max balked. “No way. She was just being friendly.”
“Like how the barista is always friendly, or the bus driver, or—”
“Or how Kyle is friendly to you,” Max retorted. “Wait, no…”
Chloe scoffed with pride, then kicked off the sink. “See? Gotcha, Max.”
“Okay, sure. Maybe, maybe she was flirting.” Max toyed with her bag’s shoulder straps. “But I didn’t know! How was I supposed to know?”
“As a start, most people are born with eyes and ears,” Chloe answered. She walked behind Max, trailing a hand around her waist until she rested her chin on top of her shoulder, looking at her in the mirror. “What’s with the panicked look? Chillax. I don’t mind if someone flirts with you. Just don’t do it back, okay?”
“I’d never. It’s just that sometimes…I don’t understand how you do it,” Max whispered.
“Do what? Flirt?”
“No. Everything. Life. Talking to people like you know exactly what to say.”
Chloe chuckled at that, kissing her neck affectionately. “Uh, Max. Hello? I have way more enemies than friends. There’s a seventy-five percent chance I leave a conversation with a bullet in my skull every time I talk to someone.”
“Don’t say things like that.” Max frowned. Something about being in a bathroom and joking about guns hit a little too close to home.
“Sorry, sorry,” Chloe quickly apologized. “But, sentiment remains. I don’t have some mystical power like you do. I just. Talk. Y’know?”
“Yeah,” Max lied.
Chloe huffed and stood up, ruffling her blue hair and tucking the discarded cigarette butt in her back pocket to trash it in the ashtray outside. “But, yeah, of course Steph would flirt with you, of all the people here. Man, if I had a fucking nickel for every time that she…never mind. Ready to go?”
That time, it was Max who tugged her in by the waist, pressing her chest against the front of Chloe and standing on the tips of her toes to kiss her. She only pulled away to say quietly, “Not exactly. You’re way more fun alone.”
Chloe smiled against her lips, a hand coming to cup the side of her jaw as Max’s backside touched against the sink. With a hand beneath her thigh for assistance, she hopped up on the counter, legs spread as she kept one hand on Chloe’s belt to make sure she didn’t leave.
“Should we start one of those national park maps?” Chloe asked, kissing a path down Max’s neck. “Like, the ones where you put a sticker on every park you visit?”
“Uh,” Max stuttered, distracted by the heat of Chloe’s mouth against her pulse. “I guess, if you wanted to visit them, we…could…” She hissed when teeth touched against her skin.
“Not actually for the parks, Max,” Chloe said after soothing the sensitive mark with her tongue. “I meant for all the bathrooms we make-out in. Duh. Gotta keep track of the best, rate them out of five stars, post reviews for all the other codependent lesbians out there to read. Stuff like that.”
Max knotted her hand in the back of Chloe’s hair, tugging her away from where she’d added to the rather noticeable smearing of marks across her throat. “You’re so stupid.”
“Hey! I’m your stupid.”
“All mine. Forever,” Max assured, smashing their lips back together until the taste of smoke on her tongue overtook the surging anxiety of knowing that in just a few short hours, they’d be on their way out of Washington.
Before Max’s hand could trail far enough to actually unbuckle Chloe’s belt, the door opened to reveal the same group of girls from earlier, now noticeably more intoxicated as they trampled all over each other to get to the row of sinks. Max shared a look with Chloe, both of them grinning, then her feet hit the floor and Chloe’s hand tugged her out of the bathroom and back into the thick crowds.
They got home only an hour later, laughing and stumbling against each other just like the bathroom girls had been, though with more brushes of fingers and knowing smiles shared between them.
Before Max opened the front door, she’d expected all the lights to be out and her parents to have already been in bed, freshly returned from their business trips. Part of her had wanted to stay out late for that exact reason — to have the excuse of not needing to tell her parents goodbye before she tossed her bags in the truck and left Seattle as dust in the rear view mirror.
Her laughter was cut short as she caught sight of the shadowy form of her father sitting on the couch, only a side table lamp illuminating his profile. Reading glasses sat on the bridge of his nose and his eyes connected with hers the second she stepped past the doorway.
“Maxine,” he greeted, paying no mind to Chloe’s arm wrapped through her own. He folded the corner of his page and set the book gently on the table, standing to his full height. “You were out late. I thought you’d…” His face fell, warped in some emotion she couldn’t place.
Max stiffened under Chloe’s fingers, sliding out of her hold without meaning to as she approached her father, giving her girlfriend a pointed look to go upstairs without her.
“We went to a concert,” she explained. “I didn’t know you were waiting on me.”
He crossed his arms as Chloe casually snuck around to creep upstairs, but Max knew she didn’t need to be that cautious. Her father had clearly decided that Chloe didn’t exist anymore; he’d been ignoring her for weeks, even if Max would never call him out on it. It was just another reason why she couldn’t wait to be free of them — to be free again.
“I’m not here looking for reasons or excuses,” he said. “But a head’s up would’ve been nice. A text, a call. At least while you’re still under my roof.”
“Yeah.” Max couldn’t hide the bitter sting from her tone. She couldn’t even blame it on the alcohol she’d had hours earlier. “Well, today’s the last day for that, isn’t it? Then I won’t be your problem anymore.”
He looked like he’d been slapped — and maybe it did feel like that, to him. “Max, don’t start with this. I’m not going to fight with my daughter. Not tonight.”
She withheld her tongue, the irritation in her blood leaving just as quickly as it’d arrived. Max had never been the best at harnessing or channeling her anger, it never stayed long enough for her to use it. The fuel always evaporated faster than she could manipulate it, leaving the thrum of disinterest in its wake. That night was no different.
“Okay. If there’s nothing else…?” She made a motion towards the stairs.
Her father reached to the table, and for a moment, Max thought he was going to share whatever book he’d been reading. But instead, he picked up a folded envelope from beneath it, crinkled white paper with blurred words written on the inside. He handed it to her. She waited a few long seconds before taking it.
“Just this,” he said. “A letter. Don’t read it tonight, or tomorrow morning. Wait until you’re on the road, out of Seattle, out of the state. Or wherever you plan on going.”
She stared at the folded envelope, debating giving it a quick read and then rewinding time so he didn’t see. Max hated that it was still her instinct to think of such solutions. But she didn’t move.
“Or…don’t listen to me,” he added, then laughed sharply. “Seems to be your favorite thing to do, after all. But, Max.” He put a hand on her shoulder, forcing her eyes to his. “Take care of yourself out there.”
“I will.”
In another life, maybe she would’ve hugged him. Maybe he would’ve hugged her. Maybe he would’ve said he loved her. But he squeezed her shoulder one final time, then let go. And Max walked up the stairs in a daze, each footstep taking her that much farther from her parents.
January 13, 2014
They left in the night, before the sun even had time to rise — before her parents had time to greet them in the morning. It wasn’t what she’d originally planned, but as Max had wiped her eyes and entered the bedroom, Chloe had already been halfway towards tossing their bags out the window.
So she’d joined her.
And it hadn’t mattered that Max didn’t feel like talking, Chloe was able to do enough conversing for the both of them.
All at once, it felt like the last few months had only been some strange blur of time passing. Like they’d never stayed in Seattle at all. Like they were still driving on the open road, fresh off the exit straight from Arcadia Bay.
After an hour of mindless driving and talking to Chloe talk about dumb shit, Max had finally decided to shove her Christmas mix-tape in the CD player and give it a listen. And it had good songs, mostly. But Max’s favorite part was the way that Chloe’s bottom lip poked out ever so slightly farther, and the way her shoulders hunched forward an extra inch, like she was quietly embarrassed by how sappy it all was.
So, really, Max had no choice but to ask her to pull over on the side of an empty road so they could take off each other’s clothes. It was out of her hands.
Eventually, after they buckled back in and merged onto the highway, they both grew too tired to stay awake safely behind the wheel. And as much as Max wanted to claim victory for tiring Chloe out, she knew it was mostly because they’d both been awake for going on 24 hours straight.
Their first night on the open road had been spent freezing their assess off in the back of the truck, inside a halfway set up tent and on top of a mostly flattened air mattress, all the stars in the sky glimmering down at them. It was the hardest Max had slept in weeks, with Chloe’s arms wrapped tightly around her waist and warm breath tickling the back of her neck. She didn’t even dream.
In the early hours of the morning light, she took a picture of the two of them — before Chloe had even opened her eyes. She was beautiful; peaceful, even, until she woke up, frowning the moment the sun hit her eyes.
“Ugh. Need coffee,” Chloe grumbled. She groggily grabbed her beanie from where it’d fallen off in the night and shoved it over her messy hair to help warm her ears.
“Good morning to you too.” Max tucked the photo inside her journal, keeping it as her own secret.
Chloe’s eyes were barely open as she yawned and stretched out the soreness of her neck. She scrubbed her face with a hand, then leaned to peck Max on the lips.
“Yeah, yeah, it’ll be a good morning after I get some caffeine,” she said. “I don’t know how you’re able to be so happy in the morning without anything extra to give you a boost.”
“A lifetime of practicing other bad habits.”
“You wouldn’t know a bad habit if it smacked you in the face, Max.” Chloe unzipped the tent and cursed again at the bright light shining in, then her feet hit the ground.
“Just because I don’t smoke doesn’t mean I can’t be…bad.”Max hopped out of the truck so she could help with disassembling the tent. She had actually beaten the habit of picking at her fingernails — at least, she thought she had. She tried to.
At some point in the night, during their constant shuffling around to get comfortable, the air mattress had deflated to a nearly flat surface, though that did make it easier to roll back up into it’s case. Chloe dug around in the truck until she found a packet of instant coffee, then poured it in a mug along with half a bottle of water.
After months of living in a city known for its incredible coffee, the instant alternative was less than ideal. But Chloe guzzled it down like she didn’t have taste buds, then offered the same to Max.
“Sure, you can be bad,” Chloe admitted. “You did just run away from home. Should I call the cops to have you arrested?”
Max rolled her eyes and plucked the mug from Chloe’s hands, probably with more force than was necessary. She gave her a kiss to make up for it, then sat on the tailgate to enjoy the cold, muddy drink as Chloe finished wrangling their camping gear back into its respective containers. And when Chloe finally finished, huffing and laying on her back with her arms spread wide, Max took another photo.
At the rate she’d been taking pictures, she’d be able to fill an entire album of just Chloe before too long. And while she was trying to start up her own photography page online, she kept those pictures reserved just for her own admiration.
Chloe was special, sacred. Because Max loved her. Because deep down, part of her was afraid of sharing Chloe with the world — afraid that if she did, Chloe might decide that Max wasn’t all that interesting after all.
January 15, 2014
Max had forgotten about her father’s letter, where it had been shoved down in the side of her backpack, still waiting from that first night they’d left. It wasn’t until they reached the top of Mount Rainier and she finished snapping pictures of everything interesting that she remembered it existed.
The rest of the day breezed by in the form of a long trek back to the parking lot, both of them panting and sweating despite the perpetually frigid air. On the plus side, Chloe had wrapped her jacket around her waist an hour ago, so Max had been able to silently admire the long expanse of her arms all the way back.
She’d barely slammed the truck door shut by the time Max already yanked the letter from its resting place. Chloe gave her a funny look but said nothing, too busy blasting the air conditioning and devouring a granola bar to care.
The first thing she noticed was the stack of money that fell to her lap the moment the envelope was unsealed.
“Holy shit,” Chloe exclaimed. “You start selling drugs or something? Should I be worried?”
“No, it’s…from my dad.”
“A sugar daddy, right? Like I said, should I be worried?” Chloe mused, picking up a few of the bills that had fallen to the floorboards. “Because this is quite the pile of cash, Maximus.”
“Shush, I’m trying to read.”
Chloe raised her hands, taking the final bite of her granola bar and tossing the wrapper in their makeshift trash can on the dashboard. “Shushing. I’ll be in the back. Moan if you need me.”
“What does that even—? Okay, bye.” Max laughed as Chloe’s form retreated to the back of the truck bed and hopped over the side to sit and light up a cigarette.
How Chloe was able to hike for miles and then immediately scorch her lungs with smoke, she didn’t know. It had to have been painful, even if Max was admittedly not the most knowledgeable of what it felt like to actually smoke anything. Regardless, it was Chloe’s decision, not hers.
Chloe knew what Max’s opinions were when it came to cigarettes, just as she knew what Chloe’s were. Sure, it was attractive, the way Chloe cupped her hands around the lighter and held the cigarette between two fingers, or how it so delicately sat between her lips as she smiled. It was really, truly hot. But it wasn’t safe. And that was exactly why Chloe kept the addiction alive.
Max couldn’t control everything in the entire world at once, and even just thinking of trying to manage every aspect of their lives made her want to scream. So she let it be. If Chloe wanted to quit smoking, she’d quit smoking. If she didn’t…she didn’t. Max tried to ignore whatever gut instinct tried to force its way into her thoughts.
She took a deep breath, the paper crackling as she unfolded it. Her dad’s handwriting hadn’t changed in years — always a smooth, slanted print using crisp black ink. It was a short letter; just barely spanning from the top of the page down to the bottom, where he’d signed his name like it was some sort of business document instead of a letter to his own daughter. But that was the man he was, she figured. All business, no play.
Max read it as slow as she could, though her eyes darted across the page like she was starving. While he didn’t agree with her choices, it was his job to love her, he said. He will always love her, despite her deviations from his wishes, he said. It all left a bitter taste in her mouth. Perhaps she should’ve thrown it out the window, or burned it, or did anything but what she actually did — shoving it back down into her bag, a new wetness coating her cheeks all the while.
His attempt of a heartfelt plea for her to play along with her family’s wishes fell flat. If anything, it was precisely why Max knew she had made the right choice.
The five hundred dollars was great — fantastic, even — and she considered herself lucky to have been in such a privileged position to receive it, to have that head start in her journey of finding herself on the open road. But money couldn’t buy her love, just like her desperation to be wanted couldn’t buy his love. He could preach and yell and shout and beg all her life, but Max wouldn’t ever change who she was for him. She wouldn’t do that for anyone.
Chloe eventually returned to the driver’s seat, warming her hands on her jeans and cranking the cold air all the way back to a dull heat that made her eyes sting. Max wiped at her face, but she didn’t conceal that she’d cried. There wasn’t any use in hiding her feelings from Chloe, not when they’d be hand-in-hand until the end of time.
“So, how was it?” Chloe asked. She gave a half-hearted smile in hopes of making the situation lighter.
“It…was a thing,” Max replied. She sniffed, then tucked the money into Chloe’s wallet. “I’m glad I didn’t rip it in half, I guess.”
“Uh, yeah, same.” Chloe tapped a fist on Max’s shoulder. “Do you even realize how hard we can ball out at the strip club now? Imagine, Max: five hundred strippers. Five. Hundred. Strippers.”
“I don’t even want to imagine one stripper, thanks,” Max said as she pulled a face.
“Whaaat? Are you saying…I’m enough for you? Wow. I’m touched.”
“That depends,” she added casually. “Are you good at dancing on a stage in your underwear?”
Chloe grinned, practically bouncing with excitement. “Maybe. You’ll have to find out.” She took Max’s hand and pulled her across to the driver’s seat, shoving open the door until they both tumbled out onto the dewy grass.
The parking lot was packed full of cars and SUVs — mostly of the Subaru variety, she noticed — but the great thing about hiking trails was that it meant nobody was actually inside their vehicles. They were all but alone, at the edge of the world, surrounded by asphalt and trees and a chilling breeze.
“Now,” Chloe started, sliding her phone from her pocket and starting to scroll through music. “I’ve only been to a strip club once, but—”
“Wait, seriously? When? Why?”
“But — you gotta have sexy music playing when you dance.”
“Let’s go back to the ‘I’ve been to a strip club before’ thing, please,” Max requested.
“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Chloe brushed her aside flippantly, finding a song and starting to play it from her phone’s speaker. “It was a birthday gift. We were only there for like 20 minutes and it was at three PM, so it wasn’t very thrilling. Anyways. Dance with me?”
Chloe set her phone on the truck’s hood and offered a hand to Max.
As Max allowed herself to be pulled into Chloe’s chest, she asked, “I thought you were supposed to be stripping for me?”
Chloe looked around the parking lot, eyes squinted in fake concentration. “Hmm, but I don’t see any poles available here. Oh, and look at that, I seem to be wearing all my clothes still. Guess we’ll have to do a raincheck on the lap dance.” She grinned as Max bumped her forehead against her shoulder. “You’ll just have to dance with me instead. Come on, Max. Think of it like…a date.”
“A date. Okay.”
She couldn’t lie and say that she hadn’t still been thinking about her parents, or about her father’s letter and the hole that it left in her heart. But as the sun rose higher in the sky and Chloe’s arms swayed them along to the music, Max told herself that she didn’t need to be loved by everyone. She was fine with not having that unconditional devotion. Because she loved herself. The mountains loved her, the dirt loved her, the clouds and birds and snails all loved her.
Love had many forms, she’d found. None were greater than another; there was no hidden hierarchy built around conceited opinions. At its very root, love was everywhere. It could never be lumped in with hatred or intolerance or disgust. Love was quiet and calm, with all the strength of a raging storm.
She rested her arms on Chloe’s shoulders, tangling her fingers in the hair at the back of her neck. And when Chloe looked at her, eyes a mirror reflection of the same affection that thrummed in her own heart, Max said, “I love you, you know.”
Chloe smiled, so soft that she barely moved. “I know, Max. I fucking love you, too.”
Notes:
this is the end of the first arc! the next portion of the story will skip through the months/years a bit faster.
to be upfront, their relationship is not going to be perfect, as I do still want to try and fit DE’s fucked up storyline into this somehow. it will definitely diverge from canon in some places (because honestly, what the hell was DE? the timeline makes no sense) but I promise they will end up together by the end of the story.
Chapter 8: Spark
Notes:
wow it totally hasn't been like 6 months since i've posted, right? haha, crazy....
Chapter Text
January 20, 2014
To hold a camera again felt like coming home. The fact should have been a surprise to her, but it wasn’t. Her home wasn’t with her family, or left behind in Arcadia Bay, it was beating in her own chest. It was passion, it was love, it was every day that passed where she felt more at ease in her own skin. Home wasn’t anything you could buy or manipulate by force, it was something you’re born with. It was in your blood.
Max had allowed herself only three days after leaving Seattle to wallow in her misery and disappointment — Then, she was off. She even emailed Victoria back, after a too-long period of working up the nerve of confronting her own internal worry. Even if it was such a delayed response that she nearly felt bad, she still went through the effort of asking more about the art exhibit Victoria contacted her about. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. The embarrassment of having emailed the one and only Victoria Chase had faded rather quickly.
She missed the security of having a house to return to at the end of the day, sure, but now that the entire world was at her fingertips, she wanted to bathe in every second of it, to soak it all in like sun rays. Max wanted to be known as more than just the quiet, slightly annoying photographer who lurked in the corner. She wanted her work to inspire people, to make them think, to make them hurt.
Chloe, it seemed, was the opposite. She didn’t want anyone to know her name or her story or anything about her, not even wanting to be observed by strangers on the street. Whenever someone dared to look at her for more than two seconds at a time, there were a few possible reactions: She’d either glare at them, or yell, or sometimes even try to start a fight. Or she’d sulk and brush by them angrily until Max pulled her away like she was some sort of dog handler.
But it was surely temporary, Max thought — or, she hoped that it was just the aching withdrawals from nicotine that had turned her into a raging bitch towards other people. Either way, Max wasn’t fussed. She liked walking down the busy streets or hiking trails right at Chloe’s side, with or without the itch to fight, feeling confident in the fact that her girlfriend would never direct that anger towards her. Plus, less time for smoking meant more time for doing other just as addictive activities.
It felt strange to return to Oregon after they’d struggled so hard to leave it in the first place, but it wasn’t horrible. The sun still rose, the trees still waved, the ground was still as cold and hard as the day they’d left it. And the motels were only slightly worse compared to those in Washington.
There had been just one motel where Max had genuinely feared for her life. They whipped into the parking lot at just after midnight, the stars above acting as the only guiding light on the empty street, free of any working lampposts. Shouldering her newly thrifted leather jacket, Chloe had strolled into the reception area by herself to collect the keys they’d put a hold on an hour earlier, leaving Max to her own devices in the truck.
The night itself shouldn’t have bothered her, but there was a weird blurred look about the old, rusted sedan parked in front of the only occupied motel room that instantly killed any tiredness she may have felt before. Something was distinctly off — and she knew she wasn’t going crazy. Right?
Max had scrubbed her eyes and tried relaxing her nerves like Dr. Lang had taught her, but the longer she stared at the car, the stranger it got — almost as if she could sense a bleeding red aura trickling from its cracked windows. Max wasn’t sure which was worse — the feeling that something wrong was about to happen, or the idea that she was possibly seeing things that didn’t exist in reality. But knowing her luck, she didn’t want to stay long enough to find out. She’d phoned Chloe immediately, asking her to get back in the truck and forget about the deposit they’d made on the room for the night.
Chloe had listened to her pleading request, of course, even if it didn’t make any sense from an outsider’s perspective. She hadn’t even complained that they were out the $50 without having a bed to sleep on for it. They had trust in each other that went deeper than any hardship life would throw their way. All she did was hold Max’s hand as tight as iron as she drove them away, far enough to where Max’s breathing soon evened out and she fell asleep still buckled in.
It wasn’t until the day after that Max realized Chloe had probably assumed she’d gone back in time — that she’d seen some horrible tragedy and rewound until it never happened.
It couldn’t have been farther from the truth. She’d just had…a gut feeling, or something. Max didn’t like to linger on her strange, innate sense to detect when bad things would happen. Her anxiety was hard enough to deal with on its own without adding new, or maybe just evolving, super-powers into the mix. So she ignored it, focusing on her photography and her incredible girlfriend instead. That part was easier than anything.
Max had Wikipedia bookmarked on her phone so she could read information out loud about the cities as they passed through, something that helped Chloe from falling victim to the intense boredom of driving for hours at a time. One of their first official stops after the freak motel incident was Newport, where it had rained the entire day and night they stayed there. Max did well, she thought, to remain calm, even as they approached the beaches and piers and the sandy shores that awaited them. The tightly knit storm clouds hadn’t been nearly as bad as she’d expected.
Unfortunately, the entire reason Chloe wanted to stop there at all was because she’d thought it was the birthplace and origination of Newport cigarettes. Max had to break her heart, eventually, and share the difficult news that Newport, Oregon was just a plain-ass town that shared the same, very popular name. Chloe did buy one final pack of cigarettes at a gas station, though. As a souvenir. She told Max it would be her last, again, and Max believed her, again.
They got a last-minute beachfront rental for 2 nights, tucked right against the coastline with a picture-perfect view of the dark blue ocean straight ahead. Max had found it advertised on some brochure at the grocery store, where they’d stocked up on more road snacks and a hundred packs of gum to curb the cigarette cravings.
The house was on sale for winter at a suspiciously cheap price, and after giving the real estate manager an anxiety-inducing call, she’d discovered that they had an opening that day at an even greater reduced rate. One quick drive later and they paid, picked up the keys, and parked in the reserved space beneath the tall house.
But it wasn’t just the price that had drawn her in, it was the way the house looked remarkably similar to the one she used to look at every day on her way to school. Two stories, white paint, slightly scary windows, definitely scary wooden steps, it had everything that was needed in a beach-front property. A harsh wave of nostalgia washed over her as they walked up the stairs and unlocked the door. Her mouth was dry when she swallowed.
The living room smelled stale and salty, so she pushed open a window to air it out as Chloe cracked open the fridge and put away their slim amount of food. Max looked up at the ceiling, trying to see if she could notice the way the house swayed on its stilts. If she closed her eyes and concentrated, she could almost feel the tug of time that she knew would spill the secrets of what would happen next. She blinked it away.
“Hungry?” Chloe asked. She slammed the fridge shut and leaned on the table, snapping the top off a water bottle and drinking quickly. “I was thinking breakfast for dinner. Pancakes or waffles?”
“Is that even a question?” Max pulled out a chair and took a seat, laying her laptop and camera bag on the table to get started sorting through pictures.
“True. Waffles it is.”
Chloe worked quickly to wash up a few plates, utensils, and a frying pan, though she could’ve been way more quiet doing it, in Max’s humble opinion. But she’d grown used to Chloe’s incredibly loud way of working. She would even dare to say she was an expert at tuning her out, so much so that she got lost in her work, falling down the pit of intense concentration and not realizing Chloe had finished cooking until she put a hand on her shoulder and Max jumped away.
“Whoa, didn’t mean to scare you,” Chloe apologized with a confused look. She set a plate in front of Max and sat across from her.
“Yeah, sorry.” Max shoved all thoughts of work behind her. Prepping her portfolio could wait for a few minutes. “This looks great.”
“Wow, you flatter me,” Chloe said, then dug into her own waffle.
“Seriously, you’re a banging chef. I didn’t even know we bought all this.” Max cut a corner off her waffle and loaded it with syrup, enjoying the home cooked meal after the long stretch of sad take-out and greasy fast food they’d had.
“Because you were off in dream-land at the store, dude.” Chloe rested her elbows on the table by habit, then removed them after a solemn pause. “But…I guess I did learn some things from mom.”
Max swallowed heavily and took a sip of water. Chloe had brought Joyce up before, a few times, but Max had always fucked it up and said something she shouldn’t have. At least, that’s how it’d felt. She stayed quiet that time, the both of them eating in silence until the waffles disappeared and the table stretched for miles between them.
When the tension grew too heavy and the sun drifted down to touch the horizon, Chloe sighed. She pushed her finished plate away and crossed her arms. “Your turn to clean.”
“Yeah, I’ve got it,” Max said with a sigh, hoping to clear the stuffy atmosphere in the air.
She collected the dirty plates and tossed them in the dishwasher as Chloe took off her jacket and draped it over the back of the couch. It all felt very domestic — to cook and clean together, working in sync without getting in each other’s way. If this is what marriage would be like, maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as she’d thought it would be as a kid. And if it wasn’t for the looming cloud above her shoulders, maybe she would’ve been happy to think like that.
But Max had been so preoccupied with keeping herself calm and pushing herself to relax in a place that looked so starkly similar to Arcadia Bay that she’d forgotten that Chloe was in the same boat as she was — she’d forgotten that Chloe had survived and experienced the freak storm just the same that Max did, that she’d lost her entire life there just the same.
“Hey, Chloe?”
Her girlfriend looked up from where she had sprawled out on the couch, head now poking over the back of it. “Hm?”
“Are you okay?” Max asked. She shut the dishwasher and clicked it on, letting the whirring noise drown out the sound of the ocean waves lapping against shore. “Being here, I mean.”
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”
If she was anyone else, Max would’ve believed her. But she knew Chloe better than she knew herself. The expression she wore was the same as the one she had in October — the same as Max’s own. The house seemed to swallow them whole, trapping them within the nightmare they’d so clearly failed to distance themselves from.
Max joined her on the couch, closing the gap between them and resting a hand against Chloe’s tensed jaw. “Come on, I know you. I know exactly what you’re thinking right now, because it’s the same thing I’m thinking about too. And that’s okay. You’re allowed to be…”
“Scared? Angry?” Chloe scoffed, shaking her head so that Max removed her hand. “Right, sure. It’s been three months, Max. And I still feel like I’m sixteen again. I should be better than this. I should be able to enjoy a vacation at the beach with my girlfriend without thinking about my dead parents.”
If her heart could break any more, it would have. Max thumbed the side of her jeans, hating to leave her hands idle for even a second. But if Max the girlfriend couldn’t help Chloe feel better, then maybe Max the therapist had a better shot.
“Don’t put a time limit on how you feel,” she started. “We’ll be here for 2 nights and then never again, and we’ll never go back to another beach if you don’t want to.”
Chloe’s face darkened and she gripped a fist on the cushion between them. “And what’s your secret, then? How do you keep so fucking calm all the time?”
Max frowned. “I don’t keep calm, Chloe. I may not be loud about how I feel, but I’m sure as hell not calm. It freaks me out being so close to—”
“Do you think this was all because of you?”
Chloe’s eyes caught hers, and that was when Max knew. Every glimpse of water they saw out the window, every time the rain clouds swarmed overhead, every instance of catching the smell of salt in the breeze, Chloe had thought of her every damn time, the silent blame boiling in her blood when Max hadn’t even had a fucking clue. Because Max had cheated time — cheated death — in that Blackwell bathroom. And no matter where she ran, that fact would never change. It would haunt her until the end of time.
“What?” Max’s voice broke at the end of the question.
“I just…want to know,” Chloe continued, barreling headfirst into certain danger. As always. “I want to know if you think this is some fucked up punishment aimed at us, or…whatever.”
“I don’t know how you expect me to answer that,” she said honestly.
Chloe was meant to be her support system — fuck, she was her only support system. She wasn’t supposed to point a mirror at Max’s face and ask probing questions that dug right into her core. And just like that, the box she locked inside herself came rushing back to the surface — all those terrible voices in her head she’d tried to silence were roaring together all at once in a terrifying symphony. The start of every fucked up, horrible thing in their lives was because Max had decided to meddle somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be, because she would rather have clawed and kicked and screamed her way to Chloe instead of having to watch her die. She’d faced off against God in the eye of the storm, and she’d won.
So maybe Max was the storm. But maybe it was Chloe. Or maybe it was Rachel lashing out at Max for living when she couldn’t, for having the nerve to be at Chloe’s side instead of her. But did it matter? Did any of it matter?
Chloe shrugged, oblivious to the fact that she’d just taken a hammer against Max’s psyche. “You don’t have to answer at all,” she said.
Max’s gaze wavered, fell, then she found herself holding her head with both hands, where she couldn’t see anything but the stained carpet on the floor. “I can’t…deal with this right now, Chloe. I can’t keep thinking like that.”
“Look, can we just…pretend that nothing is wrong?” Chloe took a deep breath, then walked over to the open window. She shut it harshly, leaning against the windowsill. “I look out there and I see everything I put behind me. The storm. Rachel. My mom.” She glanced over her shoulder at Max. “No matter where we go, their ghosts follow me. I can’t run away from them. I want to, but I can’t, because—”
“Because of me,” Max finished. She lowered her hands, helplessly watching them fall onto her lap. She hated those hands. What they’ve done. “Because I go where you go. I’m the ghost following you.”
Her palms turned to fists. She wanted to lash out and hit something, to yank the goddamn strings of time and rip them to pieces, to watch the ribbons flicker and fade until she was thirteen again and everything was fine. She couldn’t even stand to look at herself any longer.
“Yeah.” Chloe smiled sadly, returning her attention to the calm waters out front, just past the edge of the long wooden walkway that stretched across the sandy hill. “Something like that.”
The irony of it all was painful to swallow, but Max did it anyway. In all her torturous struggles and desperate attempts to prevent Chloe from becoming the ghost that haunted her throughout her life, she’d inadvertently become that very same figurehead. She was the shadow at Chloe’s back, the thorn at her side. A ghost. The only difference was…
Max stood on shaky legs, swimming through the strands of time as she reached Chloe’s side and stared out at the ocean with her, daring it to fight back against her. She could take it. She’d done it before, after all. She was stronger.
She took Chloe’s hand without looking at her, then clenched her fingers tightly around them like an anchor — anything to keep her from drifting farther away where she couldn’t reach.
“But I’m not a ghost. I’m alive, Chloe. We both are.” Max ignored the sudden pounding of her head, forcing it back, back, back to the very bottom of her consciousness. She wouldn’t let anything disturb the destiny she’d hand-made. “I don’t want to be your ghost, I just want to be yours.”
Fingers tightened around her own as they stood shoulder to shoulder, watching the clouds darken and knit together above the endless ocean. Morning would find them soon enough, even if it was hours upon hours away. Time would still pass. Max wouldn’t have minded if they had to stand there all night to reach the breaking of the dawn. She would have waited for years, until the end of infinity, until Chloe came back to her.
She felt Chloe kiss against her temple, then she was pulled into a tight embrace. “I can live with that,” she said, finally, voice edging on the cusp of breaking. “And I don’t blame you for anything. I never would. Even if…even if it was…”
“I know, I get it. Trust me,” Max said grimly. “You think I haven’t already gone over this a million times in my head? I feel like the fucking grim reaper.”
Chloe laughed once. “You’re not death, Max. You’re just…you. And you happen to have uber-special powers and are possibly some distant relative of Grandfather Time. Fuck, you might be the only person who can ever use the phrase ‘I’m not like other girls’ and have it not come across as weirdly sexist.”
Max nuzzled into Chloe’s neck as she chuckled, then she breathed her in. “Can you promise me something?”
“Anything. Everything.”
Max pulled away just far enough to run a finger across Chloe’s butterfly tattoo. She would always be a part of Chloe, right there above her heart. She’d have to tear Max out of her skin if she ever wanted to erase their history. It was as close to permanent as she’d ever felt before. She hoped Chloe was comforted by it like she was, and not scared out of her mind.
“Promise me that we won’t ever keep secrets from each other.”
Chloe’s brows furrowed. “What? Of course I won’t keep—”
“We won’t keep secrets and we’ll trust each other, no matter what happens and no matter what it looks like. We’ll be healthy. We’ll talk about our problems without making any stupid assumptions. Alright?” Max caught her gaze and watched as Chloe’s eyes soaked her in.
“Yeah,” Chloe relented. “Alright, sure. I promise.”
They crossed their pinkies together and sealed it with a kiss, the weight of the day evaporating like it’d never existed in the first place.
February 3, 2014
Max had been halfway through brushing her teeth when her phone buzzed from the other room. She’d barely had time to scrub the sleep out of her eyes and rinse her mouth before the notification of a missed call popped up on the screen.
“Who’s that?” Chloe asked, still cross-legged on the bed as she scoured the internet in search of their next destination. “Dear old mom or dad?”
Max picked up the phone like she was afraid it was going to bite her, and only felt a slight bit of relief when she saw it wasn’t actually her parents, or Kate. It was Victoria.
“Uh, I’ll be right back,” Max announced, sliding open the balcony door and stepping outside to the brisk morning air.
“Oooh, a secret girlfriend,” Chloe teased. “Enjoy!”
The phone rang three times, silent all the while. Max scoffed. Of course Victoria would make her wait. She hadn’t even been that late to answering the missed call, but, alas, she accepted the brief punishment as she leaned on the railing.
Then there was a click, and an irritated voice that said, “Hello?”
“Hi, it’s Max. Um.” She inhaled sharply, shutting her eyes for only a moment. Fuck, she was so bad at this. “You called me?”
She heard Victoria laugh, or scoff, or maybe she’d just taken a drag of a cigarette. “Yeah, I know it’s you, Max. I’ve been trying to talk to you for fucking weeks. What gives?”
Max rolled her bottom lip between her teeth, leaning farther over the fragile metal railing of the hotel room and watching the cars rush by on the street below. “Sorry, I’ve been…busy.”
“Okay?”
“Um. Sorry?”
“Okay,” Victoria said again, sharply.
Max nodded, even though no one was there to see. She’d gone out of her way to call Victoria back, trying to do the right thing and not forget about the people she’d left behind, and it was going just perfectly, wasn’t it?
“What did you want, Victoria?” Max asked plainly.
There was a quiet beat, then Victoria sighed. “You got my email about the art show, right?”
“Yeah,” Max confirmed.
She’d even responded to the email, but she didn’t say as much. She didn’t feel like talking back to Victoria just yet, plus Max knew she was in the wrong by waiting so long before she’d sent her answer. Arguments came quick between them, but Max was tired and older than she’d been back in school.
“Well, you’re too late,” Victoria snipped. “It’s closed for applications. Not that they would’ve let someone like you in to begin with, but. Tough luck.”
“…Did you really call just to tell me I missed my chance?” A chance I didn’t even want, Max kept to herself. There was a reason why she hadn’t immediately submitted her work to that show, not that Victoria would’ve ever asked the reason anyway. “Wow, thanks so much.”
“No, dumbass, that isn’t why I called,” Victoria retorted after a huff. “There’s another show. In Portland. The theme is battling adversity or whatever, it’s a fundraiser for a local college. I know one of the board members, if you wanted to—actually, I shouldn’t even have—”
“I’ll do it,” Max said quickly, before Victoria had the chance back out.
There was another pause, just long enough for Max to start second-guessing her agreement, then Victoria said, “Okay. Good. I’ll send over the details.” She heard the faint sounds of Victoria typing something, and then felt as her phone buzzed against her ear.
“Thanks.”
“There. And you better actually apply this time. The show is in March, but the deadline is the end of this week. I’ll be on the first floor with the other high value participants, of course.”
“Of course. You deserve it, Victoria,” she said.
For a second, Max thought Victoria had already hung up without saying anything, but when she pulled the phone away to check, her name was still blinking on the screen.
“Um,” Max started, filling the uncomfortable silence the best way she knew how: terribly awkward small talk. “How, uh. Are you?”
“What?”
“Right, that was weird.” Max breathed out, rubbing her nose to warm it. She wasn’t Victoria’s friend by any means, but the heavy tension between them had started to press painfully against her head. “It’s just…why are you doing this? Why are you trying to help me?”
Victoria sucked against her teeth and Max could practically see her pursed lips and the scowling expression she knew she was making. “Honestly, Max. Sometimes you can be such an oblivious bitch.”
“Go on.”
Victoria groaned, then there was a shuffle, like she too had stepped outside for fresh air — wherever Victoria actually was. Max had never even bothered to ask.
“Not many people survived, you know. Well, you wouldn’t know, actually. Because you left pretty much immediately.” There was more venom in Victoria’s tone than she’d been expecting.
“I know.”
“Yeah? Great,” Victoria said, all sarcasm but without the bite. “I thought you fucking died, Max. Everyone I ever knew — gone. All at once. And I never even got to say…Ugh. I’m not going to talk to you like you’re my fucking therapist. Are we done here?”
The faint threads of time warped around her fingertips, a pulsing blue aura seemingly clouding over her head. Max may not have used her powers in months, but she could tell when something had shifted. Her veins had changed, and her sense of time had changed with it. There was an opportunity, she felt, to do the right thing — before Victoria hung up the phone and Max risked the chance that they’d never speak again. Perhaps a year ago, that would’ve been fine by her. Why bother keeping your enemies happy when you struggled to keep yourself happy? But Victoria wasn’t her enemy, she was just a girl, and Max was tired of being alone.
“I-I can’t explain why I left,” Max said quickly, “but I am glad that you called me. I never hated you, despite what you may have thought. Y’know, if I hadn’t said that yet.”
“You hadn’t.”
“Okay, well this is me telling you. And if you ever wanted to talk about what—”
“I don’t want to tell you jack shit, really,” Victoria spat. She clicked her tongue, then her voice lowered. “So I won’t. But, I guess you should know that I never hated you either. I was jealous of you.”
“Jealous of me? Why?” Max felt an exasperated laugh bubble in her throat, but she held it back. Victoria always had everything Max didn’t — money, friends, a future, the means to becoming successful. Even Victoria’s talent rivaled that of her own. She was strong enough to admit that now.
“Because you never gave a shit about what other people thought of you. Because you have real, authentic talent, and — wow, what am I saying? I’m not going to keep complimenting you. Have a great day, Max.”
And the line went dead.
Max pulled the phone away, staring at the dark screen for several seconds before she shoved it back into her pocket. The air had chilled to match the melting patches of snow still lingering on the roadside, but there was a distinct breeze that brought the promise of spring with it.
There was a tap against the glass behind her, a curious Chloe waiting to hear about who on earth had called her on the phone at random. Max slid the door open with a screech, savoring the blanket of warmth that fell over her shoulders from the blasting heating unit.
“Well?” Chloe asked, grabbing Max by her hips and pulling her onto her lap as she fell back against the bed. “Ready to spill?”
“Hmm.” Max licked her lips, settling into a playful mood instead of the sour tone she’d just had with Victoria. “Let me get this straight, you want to hear about my secret girlfriend? Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of it being a secret?”
Chloe’s eyes flashed with an idea. “Maybe I’m into it.” She gestured to the corner of the room next to the dusty entertainment center. “We do have a cuck chair here after all.”
Max rolled her eyes at the statement, her hands falling to rest on Chloe’s shoulders. “One girlfriend is enough for me. In fact, sometimes it’s too much.”
Chloe let out a fake gasp. “Me, too much? Fuck, that’s a new one. I think I’ll cry myself to sleep tonight. But, really, who called?”
Max toyed with the hair at Chloe’s neck. It’d gotten longer recently, she noticed. Even with a tousled appearance and quickly fading color, she made it look hot.
“Victoria.”
She felt the tension rise in Chloe’s shoulders immediately. “You’re joking.”
“Nope,” Max said. “She wanted to call and say I was too late for the art show. Among other things.”
“Other things being…?”
“Another art show. One that I can definitely apply to, if I wanted.”
Chloe tightened her hold on Max’s hips. “That’s great!” she said loudly, then withdrew just a smidge. “Err…that’s great, right? A chance to get your name out there, make some money, have some fun?”
“Yes, yes, maybe, and yes,” Max answered. “If I apply.”
“Which you’re totally going to do,” Chloe encouraged. Her fingers had drifted lower on Max’s thighs, idly toying with the seams of her clothes and sending a spark of need down into her stomach.
“Obviously,” she said with more confidence than she felt.
But when Chloe grinned at her, she couldn’t help but feel like she was on top of the world. And when their lips pressed together, her mouth fell open with the slightest touch of Chloe’s tongue, desperate to taste more, more, more.
Somehow, the prospect of having an art show on the horizon wasn’t even the most exciting thing that happened that night.
February 8, 2014
Max had started to understand why people didn’t travel the country more often, or why it seemed to be only rich people that were able to do it. The money that they’d saved up in Seattle, slim though it was, hadn’t actually been able to get them as far as they’d thought. It was no small accomplishment that they were able to live paycheck-to-paycheck despite not having a steady job in the first place. Though, sooner than she’d liked, their bank accounts did start to inch closer towards hitting zero.
Thankfully, they’d paid upfront on a hotel room for an entire week-long stay, this time in a town much farther inland than before. As they’d wracked up the miles distancing themselves from the coastline, Max had felt her motivation start to return. She did actually end up submitting an application to the Portland art show, and it wasn’t even at the last minute like she was so used to doing.
Since it was a fundraising event, it wasn’t likely that she’d actually get paid much, if anything at all — if she’d even be accepted — but she was still excited. Chloe had said she would stand outside with a “totally legit-looking shoe box” to try soliciting their own donations, entirely separate from the actual event planners. But even if it was just an exaggeration of their poor finances, Max had made her swear that she wouldn’t actually go through with it.
That day, she’d covered the hotel bed with various photographs so she could parse through her favorites and least favorites and assess which would be the best to showcase at the event — or other events, she told herself. She didn’t want to get her hopes up of being accepted. At least not unreasonably so. A little bit of excitement wouldn’t hurt, right? Her work was good, and not just in a humble-brag sort of way. With a theme like battling adversity, it would’ve been more difficult to not find any photographs that matched.
Chloe laid on the left side of the bed, her head propped up by an arm as she watched Max work. Considering they were technically on the run, Chloe hadn’t been very successful with securing a solid source of income. Everywhere she tried to apply to had required a mailing address, which they didn’t have, and they were way too far from Seattle to even think about using Max’s parent’s house.
“We could sell feet pictures?” Chloe offered, and Max could tell that she was only partially joking. They’d already gone through an entire list of denied job ideas, even going as far as considering selling a few organs on the black market.
Max tossed another photo to the reject pile, then straightened her back. “Sure. Yours, though. Not mine.”
“What?! Why mine?”
Max returned the satisfied smirk that Chloe so usually wore. “Your idea, your feet. Them’s the rules.”
“…Fine,” Chloe relented. “Give me your phone.”
Before she’d even finished asking the question, she reached across the bed and grabbed Max’s phone, drawing out an indignant, “Hey! What the hell?”
“I need a camera, duh,” Chloe said like it was obvious. She unlocked Max’s phone, then paused, looking her over. “Unless you wanna take the pics for me? Put me in all the sexy poses you’ve ever dreamed of?”
Max slapped the phone out of Chloe’s hands, her face suddenly bright red as she tried to erase the mental images floating through her head — Chloe, spread out on the bed, mouth open, wearing nothing but her necklace. Chloe, thighs bracketing either side of Max’s hips, holding her down on the bed with a hand around her throat.
She shook them out of her thoughts. “We’re not actually going to do that, Chloe. We have some money left. Let’s save the porn as a last resort.”
“Yeah, but…” Chloe waved her hand casually, then laid her head in Max’s lap so she was looking straight up at her. “I wanted to…take you out.”
“You take me out every day. We kinda live together.” Max’s hand found its way into Chloe’s hair, brushing it out of her eyes and twirling it around her fingers.
Chloe bit her lip, frustration clearly displayed across her face. It was cute. “I meant take you out, like a date. A real date. Somewhere nice, instead of our usual fast food or gross gas station sandwiches. Y’know, for Valentine’s Day?”
Max stopped, her fingers coming to a halt in a dizzy daze. “Oh. Well.” She’d been so, so focused on the upcoming art show that she hadn’t even realized what day it was — that Valentine’s Day was less than a week away. “We don’t have to do anything fancy, it’s just a normal day.”
“Really?” Chloe asked. “Sure, it’s a top contender for being the worst holiday ever, but…I don’t want to take any experiences away from you. Isn’t that, uh, the right thing to do?”
Max resumed her finger’s path of running through Chloe’s hair, taking the time to lightly brush against her reddening cheeks. “Fuck that, dude. Anything you want to do, we’ll do.”
Chloe’s eyes squinted. “Anything I want, huh?” She sat up with a jolt, pushing Max down until she was lying on top of the spread-out photographs with Chloe hovering over her. “I can work with that.”
“No, wait,” Max said through her laughter, shifting to keep Chloe’s wandering hands away from her ticklish sides. “I didn’t mean today, that’s cheating! And be careful — I don’t want to bend the photos!”
Chloe paused, hands poised over Max’s stomach where her shirt had ridden up to reveal bare skin. Then she swiped a thumb over her hip bone, and Max debated wrapping her legs around the other girl and tugging her forward, saying fuck it to all the pictures spread around them. But Chloe sat up and leaned back on her feet, plucking a photograph that was stuck beneath Max’s leg, then another, gathering up all she could reach.
“This one’s really good,” Chloe praised. “Well, all of them are good, but this one? Definitely my favorite.” She flipped the picture around to show Max which one it was — a black-and-white selfie Max had taken shortly after New Year’s, her hair ruffled and messy. Chloe’s arm was just barely visible as it held around her waist from beneath the blankets.
“Give me that,” Max huffed, snatching the picture from Chloe’s hands as her girlfriend laughed. “This shouldn’t even be here, I thought I’d put it—never mind.”
“Likely story. And here I thought you were going to showcase our entire sex life during an innocent college’s poor fundraiser event.” Then Chloe’s eyes widened. “Wait, where did you say this came from? Max…do you have a secret photo album?”
“No! Well, yes, but—”
Chloe scoffed in fake disbelief, putting a hand over her own heart. “But what about our promise? No secrets allowed!”
“It’s not a secret, it’s just— something that— it’s—” Max gaped, mouth moving even as words failed her. She’d done good, keeping her stack of Chloe-centric photos out of sight. That one must have slipped into the wrong pile by mistake.
“Max. It’s fine.” Chloe smirked, tossing the stack of pictures onto the nightstand so that the bed was fully cleared off. “Keep your nudes tucked away in your private spank bank, I don’t care.”
“That’s totally not what it’s for,” Max hurried to say. “And I’ve never taken a picture like that before — I had clothes on! Mostly!” She didn’t comment on the fact that it was Chloe who hadn’t exactly been fully clothed in the picture.
“Oh yeah?” Chloe leaned down, teasing her with a kiss just light enough that it made her want more. “Wanna change that?”
Max looked over at the clock, checking to see if they had enough time before the restaurants around them started to close for the night. She ran her hands up Chloe’s arms on either side of her, meeting them together behind her neck. “Well…maybe.”
“Maybe?” Chloe kissed the corner of her jaw, then again behind her ear. “Not exactly a reassuring beacon of consent there, Max.”
Max cupped the side of her face, tugging her into an actual kiss that left them both struggling for air by the end of it. “Maybe I just need a little bit more convincing. To see if skipping dinner would be worth it or not.”
“Mm, some convincing, huh?” Chloe lowered her hips, a firm thigh finding itself between Max’s legs. She slid a hand up the bottom of Max’s shirt, inching it up at a slow and steady pace until it came over her head. “I think I can make it worth your time.”
Max kissed her again, hard and needy, tugging at Chloe’s shirt and removing it quickly so their bare skin could press together. A low groan fell from Chloe’s throat as Max dug her nails down her newly revealed back, her hips rocking upwards in search of more pressure against the thigh that teased her. Chloe writhed with her, hands never staying in one place for too long — fingers dancing across Max’s stomach, her shoulders, her breasts.
When Max’s head had sufficiently started spinning and a dull roar thudded in her ears, Chloe pulled away and asked, “So?”
“Huh?” Max asked.
“Are you convinced yet?” Chloe nipped the side of her pulse and Max’s skin prickled in her wake.
“Sure, whatever,” Max said after a breath. “Just touch me.”
Chloe’s head bumped against her collarbone with a sigh, her fingers already finding their way to the button on Max’s jeans, fumbling to get them down her legs and onto the floor with the rest of their clothes.
“But I am touching you, Max,” she said smugly, returning a leg between Max’s own to give her something to press against.
“You know what I mean,” Max countered with a groan, keeping her hands at either side of Chloe’s waist, thumbing the edges of her stomach. She wasn’t allowed to leave anymore, Max decided to herself.
“Yeah?” Chloe asked. “Still, you could be more descriptive. I thought you were an artist?”
“Stop talking already,” Max demanded. She put a firm hand on the back of Chloe’s neck and pressed her head down, down, down. And with her mouth thoroughly involved in more important activities, Chloe finally shut up.
Chapter 9: Ignite
Summary:
Max celebrates some good news, Chloe has a birthday, and the girls head to Portland.
Notes:
CW: Smut and smoking. Don’t read at the dinner table. No, really. Also, sorry if you live in Portland, I have no knowledge about anything on the west coast so it will definitely not be accurate in any way.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
February 14, 2014
Bleary eyed and groggy, Max was startled awake by the ping of her phone lighting up on the nightstand. Normally, she would’ve ignored it until the sun had risen just a bit farther in the sky, but that day was different. She had a really, damned good reason to get up.
In an instant, her heart beat quickened and she was overcome with the sense that she was only seconds away from passing out. Nevertheless, Max peeled herself away from Chloe’s side, careful to not wake the snoring girl, though really she couldn’t have disturbed her sleep if she tried, then fumbled to grab her phone.
“Fuck,” she whispered, staring at the screen. All sense of exhaustion mysteriously vanished from her body and she sat straight up, breath hitched. “Fuck. Fuck.”
Chloe shuffled at the other side of the bed, flipping over to her back and throwing an arm over her eyes. Evidently, she wasn’t as heavily asleep as Max had assumed. “Huh? ‘S too early,” she mumbled before getting caught in a yawn. “Fresh out of fucks until at least 2 pm.”
Max ignored her, a broad smile slowly spreading across her face. Holy shit. She’d fucking done it! She could’ve kissed Victoria in gratitude, but settled for jumping onto her girlfriend and tugging her arm away until she caught her eye contact.
“Oh, you want that kind of fuck?” Chloe asked, eyes already scanning up and down Max’s body, where she hadn’t bothered to dress herself after the night prior.
“No, dork, I did it! I got accepted!” Max cupped a hand around Chloe’s jaw and leaned down into a quick kiss, then another, then found herself grinning too widely to keep it up.
“For real?” Chloe said louder, the fog of sleep lifting from her eyes. “They want you at the art show?”
“Fuck yeah they do,” Max said.
Even after saying it out loud, she could hardly believe her eyes as she read the email over again. She shoved her phone into Chloe’s face, nearly blinding the girl before she grabbed hold of it and scanned the words Max had already read.
Congratulations, Ms. Maxine Caulfield!
We are proud to invite you to our 15th annual fundraising event, BATTLING ADVERSITY, hosted at Portland Community College. After careful consideration of your submitted portfolio, we have decided to place your booth on the FIRST FLOOR, BUILDING 1A, SECTION 42C. All submitted works from your application will be on display at your booth and available for purchase via a bidding process. Should you elect to add and/or change any pieces, please notify the fundraiser director before March 17th, 2014. If no changes need to be made, we will proceed with printing all submitted works per the listed guidelines.
As outlined in the application process, 80% of all proceeds associated with your stock will go directly back into the community in the form of donations to local charities to help victims of domestic violence. The remainder of your share will be disbursed to you after the event’s closing ceremony in the form of a check written to your full, legal name.
Have questions? Click the link below to view our FAQ page hosted on the PCC homepage. Thank you for your application and we look forward to seeing you on March 19th!
“Damn, Max. I can’t believe I’m dating a celebrity.” Chloe rubbed the sleep from her eyes and returned the phone, settling one hand on Max’s bare skin as the other went behind her own head for support. “Good job, kid.”
Max rolled her eyes. She ran a finger across Chloe’s tattoos, admiring the way the gentle sunlight streamed in from the curtains and fell across her skin. Most days, she could barely tear herself away from Chloe’s side. “It’s just a fundraiser, it’s not like it’s my show.”
“Yet.” Chloe smirked. Her thumb ran circles around Max’s hip bone, successfully pulling her thoughts in an entirely different direction.
“Yet,” she agreed, hesitant pride bubbling inside herself.
“So. Breakfast to celebrate?”
“Actually,” Max started and shifted closer, tossing a leg over Chloe’s waist to straddle her naked hips. She would never tire of how it felt to touch their skin together. “I was thinking we could celebrate a different way.”
“Oh, yeah? Do tell.”
Max licked her lips, framing Chloe’s head with her arms at either side of the girl, until Max was the only thing she could see. The look of raw adoration on Chloe’s face was almost enough for Max to propose right then and there, but she resisted. Chloe’s eyes darted down to her chest, then back up — and even if Max couldn’t read minds, it was painfully obvious exactly what she was thinking.
“I want you to try…saying those things you mentioned the other day. If that’s—”
Chloe sat up onto her elbows with instant excitement, nearly spilling Max from her lap. “Are you fucking kidding me? With you on top? Yes.”
Then a hand was tugging at the back of Max’s head and pulling her into an open mouthed kiss, Chloe’s tongue warm and inviting against hers like they hadn’t ever spent time apart.
Max felt electrified as Chloe’s hands traveled from her throat to her chest, then lower back down to her hips. Butterflies erupted in her stomach as they both sank backwards against the mattress, teeth knocking together at the impact, Max firmly poised on the tops of Chloe’s thighs.
When Chloe’s mouth drifted from her lips to her throat, Max’s eyes fell closed, savoring the sensation of teeth on her skin. Then she bit down, hard, and Max jolted forward, feeling wetness pool between her legs as a stifled cry escaped her lips.
“You like that, Max? You want it rough?” Chloe’s voice was low as it rumbled against her pulse point, her tongue darting out to soothe against where her teeth had bruised the skin there.
Holy fuck, Max knew she had suggested the dirty talk, but in the heat of the moment, she was painfully aware that she was not going to survive this. “Uh, y-yes.”
“Can’t hear you,” Chloe mumbled, placing another bite against Max’s collarbone, a red impression of teeth left in her wake. “Say it louder.”
Max’s thighs tensed as she squirmed in place, a roaring rush of blood in her head making it hard to think straight. “Yes, Chloe, please…”
“Please what?” Chloe’s fingertips coasted to her breasts by habit, lightly teasing over the sensitive flesh.
“Be rough,” Max rushed to say. “Please, be rough.”
“Good girl,” Chloe growled, her thumbs digging into Max’s nipples at the same moment she sucked a rough bite into the corner of her throat.
Max melted, body falling boneless against Chloe’s chest as she hissed in pleasure. She was distinctly aware of the embarrassing noises falling from her throat, but she couldn’t care even if she wanted to. It wasn’t like they’d ever been anything other than soft with each other before — to see a spark of dominance flare up in her girlfriend was entirely new, though she was all too eager to let Chloe take the reins. Perhaps they had both been worked into a frenzy at the idea of attending Max’s first show.
Chloe was everywhere on her, marking her skin like she was property, and it was exactly what Max had been needing without even knowing that was the case. She kept her face curled against the crux of Chloe’s neck, panting as the rest of her body moved in a rhythmic haze. But Chloe’s hands never strayed close enough to where she needed, and the teasing bites on her skin only added to her desperation to reach some sort of relief.
“Fuck, please, I need—” Max cut herself off, thighs tensing further as Chloe’s hands dug into her backside. “More…”
“Tell me what you need, baby.”
Chloe turned their faces to meet each other in a heated collision of teeth and tongue. Her hands ran to either side of Max’s hips, where she flexed her fingers into her skin and helped Max to grind against her lower stomach. And Max saw stars dance behind her eyelids, though she’d found that she was too slick to get enough friction against Chloe’s skin to feel any gratification.
“I need you to touch me,” she whined. Her skin had grown damp from where she slid against her girlfriend’s front, her own hands tightly coiled around the sheets at either side of Chloe’s head.
“We’ve been over this, Max,” Chloe mumbled against Max’s skin. “You know what to say. Don’t you wanna be good for me?”
Max flushed, struggling to keep her body still atop Chloe’s own, her veins like a live-wire on the precipice of catching fire. But she forced herself to steady her thighs and ignore the pounding need between her legs. “I…can’t.”
“You can,” Chloe said, digging her nails harder into Max’s skin. She closed her eyes from the pain, but Chloe soon swirled her thumbs over the marks to soothe her, pressing a gentle kiss against the side of her jaw. “Just say what you need.”
Max didn’t — couldn’t — there was a line within her chest that stopped her from crossing over into new territory. Instead, she used a free hand to grab onto Chloe’s wrist, tugging her towards her center, but at the last moment, Chloe stiffened and resisted against the pull, returning her fingers to graze against her breasts. Max could’ve cried at the torture.
“Ah-ah, Max. Only good girls get rewarded,” she purred.
“You’re such a little shit.”
“Yeah, but I’m your little shit.” Chloe made another wide stroke across her nipple, toying with the pebbled flesh between two fingers until Max all but collapsed forward. “Now, are you gonna listen to me?” She finished with a light pat against Max’s ass, adding fuel to the fire that was her desire, and suddenly the barrier in Max’s head shattered into pieces.
“Please fuck me,” Max begged.
As if she was a dog waiting for its favorite meal, Chloe groaned against Max’s thoroughly reddened collarbone. “Fuck. That’s my good girl,” she said, and finally, her right hand found home at Max’s wetness. It started as an exploratory glide of her fingers, to tease, to encourage more needy sounds to fall from Max’s lips, then with no resistance, she pressed two digits inside to the first knuckles.
“God…” Transformed into little more than a puddle of raw need, Max thrust her hips onto Chloe’s fingers, where the aching stretch was quick to turn to relief after she sank fully down.
“So wet,” Chloe mumbled against Max’s neck. She broke away after a nip to the column of her throat, her eyes just as dark and commanding as the rest of her. “Is this for me?”
Max bobbed her head in agreement, lungs tight as Chloe’s fingers curled harder against her inner walls.
“Say it, Max.” A thumb swiped against her clit this time and Max felt herself clench in tune with the strokes. “Come on.”
“Yours,” she stumbled to say, her lower stomach flexing and constricting as she exerted her muscles to keep grinding down. “Fuck, I’m yours. Harder, harder, please…”
Chloe was all too eager to oblige, and Max felt the room spin as an arm slid around her waist to pull her forcefully down onto Chloe’s fingers. “You’re mine. This pussy is mine, yeah?”
She gasped when Chloe twisted her palm to give a firm surface for Max to grind against. “Yeah. Yes. God, fuck!”
“I love it when you’re loud.” Despite the pumping of her wrist, Chloe still made the effort to press a soft kiss of encouragement against Max’s temple. “That’s it, baby. Ride my hand.”
Max’s arms gave out and she grit her nails into Chloe’s shoulders for support, marking her skin with the same affection she’d received in turn. A muffled moan graced the air, though she didn’t know which one of them it came from. All she knew is that her body had tensed to an impossible level and Chloe’s hands were burning against her, inside her, and the harsh pounding of her fingers had brought Max to the edge.
Just before she fell across the brink of release, Chloe paused, her thrusts coming to an abrupt halt. It took two seconds for Max to piece together what had happened, why the blissful release of an orgasm failed to meet her. Her heart swelled with emotion and she grew conscious of each individual point where skin met skin, like they were only one body rather than two.
She whined with need, shifting her hips in hopes to entice Chloe to keep going, but her girlfriend remained unmoving, though Max could still feel her chest rise and fall rapidly with each breath. That, and the way her pupils had dilated, were the only signs of evidence that she was just as worked up as Max had gotten.
“Max,” she whispered, her free hand moving to brush back a sweaty strand of hair from the side of Max’s face. “Look at me. I want to watch as you come.”
Max nodded, knowing she probably couldn’t string two words together even to save her life. But she tilted her lips to meet Chloe’s, though it was more breathing against each other rather than actual kissing, then she knocked their foreheads together to meet her stare.
Chloe’s eyes fluttered as she started to move her wrist again, her two fingers stroking and curling inside Max until her mouth fell open again and her vision blurred.
“That’s it, you’re so close, baby.” Chloe clutched a hand at the back of Max’s neck, keeping their gazes connected as Max rushed towards her end. “Come for me.”
Max cried out, thighs tensing for a final time as her walls pulsed around Chloe’s fingers, still pumping to guide her through the orgasm.
“Good girl, so good for me.”
Max’s limbs felt warm and clumsy as she struggled to catch her breath, hips making minuscule jerks forward as she slowly, so slowly, returned to the world of the living.
Carefully pulling out her fingers, Chloe nuzzled her nose against Max’s and whispered quiet words of praise until her whimpers faded to a peaceful silence. Her left hand occupied itself by brushing through Max’s hair affectionately, the motion so gentle that it nearly lulled her into sleep.
It felt like hours passed before Max finally found the strength to say something. “Jeez,” she exhaled.
Chloe’s hand stilled, then she let out a laugh. “Jeez? Are you serious? Best orgasm of your life and you say jeez?”
Pouting, Max lifted her head from Chloe’s chest and glared at her. “I never said it was the best. And yes. Jeez.”
Chloe rolled her eyes, shifting Max to where she was resting on her side facing her. “You didn’t have to. I could feel it.” She lifted her hand and wiggled her fingers with a smug grin.
“Shut up,” Max said and shoved her face away with a laugh before rolling over, curling into herself until Chloe shuffled forward to press her chest against Max’s back. There, she kissed the freckles on Max’s shoulder, tracing lines down her side and stomach with a soft fingertip.
Max let her eyes drift closed with the soothing motions. Surely she deserved a tiny nap, right? The sun was warm, but Chloe was warmer, and her racing heart had only just begun to slow. Plus, she’d made it into the fucking art show. Maybe Max was a superhero.
“I, uh.” Chloe cleared her throat, bringing Max back to awareness. “I love you.”
“Yeah, yeah, I love you, too,” Max mumbled sleepily. She pulled Chloe’s arm tighter around her, knitting their fingers together on top of her stomach.
Chloe scoffed humorously. “Excuse me? Have I not earned a better declaration of love rather than yeah, yeah, whatever?”
“You definitely have, but I need a smidge more time before I’m ready to start speaking human languages again, okay?”
“Ooh, so it’s like that, huh?” She could feel the way Chloe smiled against her skin, even though she couldn’t see the look on her face. Her ego would never let Max live it down. Then Chloe sighed dramatically. “Fine, you win, it’s not like it’s Valentine’s Day or anything. You’ve already used me for sex, might as well use me for a banging nap after, right?”
Max wiggled herself farther into Chloe’s embrace, holding her arm captive to act as a pillow. “That’s right, glad we’ve come to an understanding.”
“Well, some of us may have come—”
Max shushed her before she even had time to finish her sentence. And, sure, they may have overslept and just barely checked out of the hotel before the cut-off time, but Max wouldn’t have had it any other way.
March 11, 2014
One day was a fluke, two days was a coincidence, and three days was the beginning of a habit. Almost a month later, and Max still found herself waking just barely before the sun peeked over the horizon, mostly to give herself some silent time to work on her photography.
There was something so comforting about waking up before anyone else and settling into the groove of consistent work. Some days she even snuck out of whichever hotel or campsite they were in and wandered outside with nothing but her camera and phone, capturing any scenic views that called to her. If anything, it helped beef up her portfolio. And maybe one day, after her and Chloe settled down in some house in a fancy neighborhood, she’d make an album of their road trip to pass down to their kids.
She tried to not linger on that part too much.
On the morning of Chloe’s birthday, Max had a plan. They’d stayed up late the night before, until well after midnight, watching bad sci-fi movies and making up dramatic stories about the stupid surfer dudes they’d seen earlier that week. And maybe Max had spent a good few hours letting Chloe take the lead again in bed, since it was the only birthday gift she could afford. So Max had made it count. Over and over again.
She shuffled quietly out of bed before the other girl noticed her escape, slipping on her clothes before shutting the door softly behind her as she wandered down to the hotel lobby. There was only one thing she was really after — the chocolate muffins, the only food coveted enough to be remotely similar to a birthday cake. And even though she’d gotten to the breakfast nook only 2 minutes after it opened, she still had to fight off a grumpy older man for the last one. She gave him an apologetic smile, though she wasn’t sorry at all, and hurried to pile more food onto the tray, getting out of there as quickly as she’d arrived.
Thankfully, her girlfriend was still snoring away by the time she set the tray onto their nightstand. Even with a king sized mattress, Chloe was a bed hog — she lay sprawled out on her back, limbs spread out as far as they could go. And she was fucking beautiful with a smattering of hickies trailing from her jaw to chest.
Max pressed a gentle kiss on her lips, her touch just hard enough that Chloe blinked her eyes open.
“Morning, birthday girl,” Max said.
Chloe grunted, frown still adhered to her face. Without caffeine or weed in the morning, she was essentially useless. Luckily for both of them, Max had come prepared.
“Here, your first gift of the day,” she announced and shoved a small package in Chloe’s hands.
“First?” Chloe asked, taking the top off the box and looking inside to find a freshly rolled joint and new Zippo lighter with their initials carved into it. Instantly, she looked more awake, deciding to shuffle into a sitting position and get to work lighting up.
“Of course, I wouldn’t just get you weed for your birthday. I’m your girlfriend, not your boyfriend. I’ve got the whole day planned out for us.”
Chloe exhaled a plume of smoke, her head falling back against the headboard. “Any day with you would be perfect, even without a gift. The weed helps though. Where did you even get this?”
“I have my ways.”
Chloe lowered her eyes at Max, then huffed, dragging the joint back to her lips for another pull. “Fine, keep your secrets. Want some? It is my birthday.” She held it out in offering, smoke already swirling the air between them.
Maybe it was a bad choice, Max thought, to allow Chloe the privilege of smoking in their hotel room. They couldn’t exactly afford to pay any extra smoking fee, and checkout was only a couple hours away. It had become a bad habit of theirs to accidentally stay past the god-awful early checkout time of 11 am.
“You’re thinking way too hard,” Chloe said. “As your elder, I’m taking your choice away, you’re definitely smoking with me today.” Before Max could stop her, Chloe had tugged closer onto the bed.
“Toxic much?” Max laughed, bating Chloe’s hand away and watching a speck of ash to fall against the sheets.
“You like it, don’t lie.”
“Maybe. But I brought you breakfast and I don’t want it to get cold. Besides, I’m terrible at smoking. I’d just cough all over you.”
“Sounds hot,” Chloe said, and Max smacked her arm. Then she took another hit, holding the smoke in her lungs for a second before leaning her head back and breathing it out. “Food tastes better when you’re high. But you don’t have to smoke it, we can try something different. Do you trust me?”
“Duh.”
So Chloe leaned forward, cupping Max’s jaw until their lips were almost touching. Then she inhaled on the joint, pulling smoke into her mouth before kissing Max. It took Max a second to realize what had happened, then she hesitantly opened her mouth in response and let the smoke pass from Chloe to her.
Warmth spread down to her stomach, hazy and quick, as Chloe tugged on her bottom lip. Smoke trailed from between their mouths, filling her lungs and eyes. Max groaned into the kiss as it deepened, then abruptly pulled away and coughed to the side, choking on nothing but air.
Chloe clutched at her stomach and laughed, patting Max on the back harshly. “Breathe, babe, breathe.”
“Fuck, how do you-” Another cough, her eyes watering. “How do you do this shit every day?”
“First of all, it’s not every day. Second, I’m a fucking expert.” Her eyes lit up and she continued with, “Hey, do you think I could start dealing? We’d make bank, right?”
“Uh, yeah, until you get shot. Again.” Max glared. “I’m not taking any risks.”
“Relax, it’s just weed. One of these days, you’re gonna make the hottest stoner.” But Chloe listened, and they finished up the joint together until the room was so hazy that Max worried they’d set off a smoke alarm somewhere.
When Max presented the chocolate muffin to Chloe, she added a matchstick to the top and lit it with the Zippo to act as a makeshift candle. And they successfully prevented a hotel fire as Chloe frantically blew it out when the match’s flame grew much taller than anticipated, both of them laughing almost too hard to breathe.
Years ago, Max wouldn’t have thought she’d be staying in yet another dingy hotel on the side of the road in Oregon. But falling asleep each night next to fading blue hair and waking each morning to sleepy kisses and brushes of skin wasn’t anything she’d ever give up now that she had it.
It was almost enough for her to forget that the threads of time haunted her every moment, always prowling in the corner like a snake ready to lunge at its prey. For if her powers were a snake, Max was the deer ready to be felled after one bite too many at its ankles. But as the haze of THC drifted over her eyes like a thick rain cloud, Max reminded herself that she was stronger than any force of nature.
She’d saved Chloe. She’d save herself next, if that’s what it took.
March 19, 2014
In her anxiety of wanting to do everything absolutely perfectly, they’d arrived an entire hour early to the art show. Thankfully, that meant they basically had first pick of whichever parking spot they wanted, which proved to be a clutch move later that night when even the overflow parking lot was slammed full.
The only downside was now Max was forced to sit and stew in the truck, nervously fiddling with the skirt she’d decided to wear in hopes of looking as ‘professional’ as possible.
It wasn’t like she had anything to compare the experience to, unless she counted the alternate timeline where she’d won the everyday heroes contest and doomed Chloe and Arcadia Bay to tragic deaths. But Max didn’t want to think about that; she didn’t want to think about her powers at all. For if there was any day she’d be tempted to rewind, it would be her very first real art show. She practically bit her tongue in half trying to remind herself to be mindful of her words and not fuck anything up.
“Well, you look about as pale as expected,” Chloe noted with a shrug, finishing up her one and only cigarette of the day and tossing it into the dashboard ashtray. “Ready to go in?”
“…Not yet.” Max could feel her fingers grow lethargic and heavy. Maybe it was a bad idea to think she was strong enough to be there. To think that she wasn’t an imposter, a fraud, a fake. “Actually, we should—”
“We’re not fucking leaving, Max,” Chloe said, then gave a laugh. She nudged Max’s shoulder, the movement causing her leather jacket to creak. “Relax. You deserve to be here. Fuck, if anyone can say they’ve battled adversity, it’s you. Adversity could be your middle name! Do you really think these privileged, hipster-ass nobodies are better than Max motherfucking Caulfield?”
Max huffed in a sad attempt of a laugh, smoothing out her skirt for the hundredth time. “I guess you’re right. But what if…what if something happens?” Though it was weeks ago at this point, she found it hard to forget the aching feeling of dread she’d felt in that motel parking lot — the way that colors blurred around her like the strands of time had become unraveled and broken. If something were to happen here, then —
“Look at me, Max.” Chloe shifted in the driver’s seat until her body faced Max’s. There, she took Max’s hands away from their fiddling, and held them to the warm sides of her face. “Nothing bad is going to happen. This is your first art show, for fuck’s sake. Enjoy it, mistakes and all.”
She could feel her shoulders drop, not realizing she’d been so tense until her muscles finally relaxed. “Thanks.”
Chloe turned to the side to press a kiss to Max’s palm, then released her hands. “Better?”
“A bit.” The digital clock blinked dully on the dashboard, and her stomach dropped right back to where it was before. She fell back heavily against the headrest. “Ugh. Time to go.”
Chloe excitedly leapt out of the truck and Max watched as she jogged around to the other side just in time to open Max’s door before she could do it herself. There, she gave a dramatic bow and extended a hand. “After you, my lady.”
“Ew. Please don’t ever say that again.” But Max took her hand anyway, hopping down to the concrete and catching a glimpse of herself in the side-mirror. She didn’t look horrible, she supposed.
Despite the fact that they were definitely one of the first people to park, they successfully meandered long enough that by the time they reached the huge double doors of the venue’s entrance, there was already a short line of guests and artists waiting to check-in. Sensing how her nervousness increased with each step, Chloe offered a bent arm for Max to hold onto, then they pushed through the heavy door together.
“Which section did they say you were at again?” Chloe asked, eyes scanning the massive room and observing all the finely dressed people ahead of them in line.
Max checked and re-checked her sign-in sheet before they made their way over to the artist admittance room, then eventually to the section her very own booth would be at. Dim lights greeted her from the perimeter of the venue, shining directly on each individual booth to give them a pleasantly warm glow.
The subtle mumbling background noise of quiet conversations reminded her of sitting in a coffee shop, which reminded her of Seattle, which reminded her that her parents weren’t there to celebrate the success of her first art show. But she refused to let it get her down, instead electing to soak in the sight of the other artists work. In her isolated life, it was all too easy to forget that there were billions of other people in the world who also shared the same types of passion that she had.
Rows and rows of booths lined the walls, each of them already assembled with various sizes of canvases and mixed media. And while it was all incredible, nothing topped the feeling of turning the corner and seeing her own photographs. The work that she’d poured her heart and soul into — some from before the storm, some of the storm, some from after everything had settled — all of them were printed on canvas and spread out in a neat row for her to display. Gingerly approaching the booth, Max ran her fingers over the canvas prints in awe.
Chloe whistled, her hands now firmly shoved in her leather jacket’s pockets. Some of the photographs were new to her, mostly those depicting Arcadia Bay during the fallout.
At the booth adjacent to hers, a young guy in his mid 20s peered over. “First time?”
Startled, Max looked up to him sheepishly. “You can tell?”
The guy smiled, dimples appearing on his cheeks. “It’s my first time, too. Only 5 minutes till showtime.” He tapped his fingers on his booth anxiously and the sight made Max feel a bit better about her own nerves.
“Good luck out there,” Chloe said, and perhaps that was the most shocking thing that’d happened that night. Max shot her a confused look, to which her girlfriend just shrugged. “What? Just being nice to your booth-mate.”
“Hah, appreciated,” he said, then jut his chin towards Chloe who had now slumped down in the chair with her legs spread wide as she bounced a knee. “You guys enter the show together? I didn’t know that was allowed.”
Chloe laughed at that, running a hand through her hair at the back of her neck. “Hell no, I’m more of a…different type of artist. My job tonight is to be the moral support slash arm candy for Max to—”
“Okay, he doesn’t need to know all that,” Max interrupted with.
The other artist nodded knowingly. “I get it, wish my own girlfriend could’ve come tonight, but she had to work. Bartender, busy hours, you know how it is.” He leaned back against the wall, popping a piece of gum in his mouth and looking much more relaxed than he’d been just a few minutes ago. “Name’s Mark, by the way.”
He stretched out a hand towards Max and she froze as time stopped with her. Mark, Mark, Mark, Mark…
“Uh.” Chloe stood, placing herself between Max and the artist and clapping onto his offered hand in a firm shake. “Chloe. And this is Max. Obviously.”
Mark’s brows knit together for a moment, then he retracted his hand and crossed his arms together. “Pleasure, Chloe and Max.”
She didn’t breathe until Chloe was back at her side, looking at her with the eyes she’d come to find home in and scanning Max’s face to find any signs of what may have happened. To her credit, she’d pieced it together rather quickly. Understanding dawned on her, and Chloe nudged her fingers against Max’s own from behind the booth. Only then did Max shake herself out of the hole in her head she’d fallen into.
It would be okay. Chloe was there. Mark the artist was not Mark the psychopath. He was just a guy. Just a guy at a show, the same as her. But whatever friendship could have sparked that night had fizzled out before it could even get off the ground when Max found herself unable to even look at him again. The awkward tension between their booths lasted only as long as it took for the first wave of guests to come trickling in through the doors — then it was showtime.
Despite the brief panic attack, Max carried herself with as much confidence as she was capable of when talking with potential customers. It was weird to feel like she was selling a part of herself, but at that point in their road trip, there wasn’t much she wouldn’t do for the prospect of making a bit more cash — with the added bonus of getting her name out there as an actual artist.
When an hour had passed, Chloe gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before slipping away in search of food. Max stood awkwardly behind the booth as Chloe weaved through the crowd of people towards the concessions stand. And only when she was fully out of frame did someone new approach her booth.
The man had perfectly manicured dark hair, a single streak of gray running at his temple. His face was clean shaven like he’d never grown a beard before, but the corners of his piercing green eyes were the telltale signs of his age.
She smiled kindly at him, allowing him the space to peruse her pieces of work at his own leisurely pace. There was something about him that was familiar, in some strange, distant way. When he righted himself and scratched his chin, the feeling only intensified.
“You’re…Max Caulfield, right?” he asked, running a hand through his slicked back hair.
“Yeah, how did you—?”
His face split in the type of smile a shark would’ve been jealous of. “I saw your work online, it’s great stuff. You have a real talent. I’d be lying if I said I haven’t been excited to see you in person.”
“Oh. Thank you.” It wasn’t that she was upset that someone recognized her, it was just that it felt way too soon for that to have been something she needed to worry about. She didn’t even have public social media pages yet — no one there should’ve known her name, except for the event planner and Victoria, wherever the other girl had ended up.
Emboldened by her response, he leaned forward to take a closer look at one of her prints, squinting carefully like it was his first ever exposure to photography. After several minutes too long, he still hadn’t left, and Max noticed that his presence had deterred some of the other wandering potential customers.
“Err, could I help you find something?”
The man straightened his back, shoving his hands back into his crisp pockets, then shook his head. “I just can’t believe it. Your work is incredible online, but absolutely divine up close.” He gave her a friendly tap on the shoulder, but Max still didn’t trust the sly smile that was glued on his face. “I fear you may be the best photographer here, Max.”
Don’t say my name like that, she thought, then cleared her throat. She shouldn’t think so poorly of the man, after all, especially since he’d been the first person who lingered at her booth for more than 30 seconds.
“I don’t know about all that, but I’m glad you like them.” She returned his smile with a pleasant laugh, but kept the booth between them as a barrier.
“Like them?” His smile dropped for a mere second, then it returned. “I love them, Max. Truly, you should feel proud of your accomplishments.”
And just as she’d feared, that was when she felt it. It was only a slight movement, but a movement all the same, one that slowly shimmered across his face like scarlet red smoke.
Max’s heart leapt into her throat, immobilizing her until she was helpless to watch as the strands of time coiled and unfurled all at once. All at once, like an involuntary reflex, her powers came flaring back to life — not in the form of reversing time, but by showing her glimpses into the future. Of all possible futures.
She could die there, she felt it deep in her gut. Chloe could die if she said the wrong thing, or the building could burn to the ground, or someone could crash into the side of their truck — an infinite number of tragedies were mere moments from striking.
Max swallowed harshly, stumbling backwards out of her daze and shaking her head in hopes of clearing it. But it was a fruitless effort; she couldn’t blot out the overwhelming mass of energy that was the looming timelines ahead of her.
The man tilted his head in confusion. “Are you alright? Have I said something wrong?”
Her throat was drier than a bucket of sand. But she had to be strong — she had to prove to him, to herself, that she was fine. She was fucking fine. “I’m great, just-just happy to be here.”
“Hey, it’s fine to not be fine,” the man said, seeing right through the lie like he could read her thoughts. “You’ve been through a lot, I can’t even imagine what it must have been like.” He sighed, looking back to a photograph of the bench at the lighthouse. “Storms like that don’t happen every day. I wonder what happened…Arcadia Bay never saw it coming, did they?”
When he looked back up, Max thought he was about to lunge at her, to wring her by the neck until he choked the life from her lungs. But after she exhaled, the feeling faded. He hadn’t moved even an inch, standing as still as stone in his perfectly ironed suit. Then a slow coldness watered down her neck.
“I never said I was from Arcadia Bay.”
He stared blankly at her, that stupid smile still in place, but she noticed the way his eyes widened just a touch. “Oh!” He let out a low laugh, then pointed at a different photograph. “This piece here, I noticed the street sign in the back. Great framing, might I add. You can really feel the raw emotion in the landscape. Sorry, I hadn’t meant to offend you.”
Deep inside herself, she knew there was no way he’d actually noticed that the sign said Arcadia Bay. It was more likely that he’d recognized the area, or had made assumptions based on what he’d seen on the news. But the storm was months ago, and Max was nobody important. It was next to impossible for him to have connected her to Arcadia. The entire situation felt disjointed and off, like a puzzle that was missing the corner pieces.
“No offense taken,” Max said after a pause. She kept her eyes lowered, staring at her own photography like she could hide in it until the man left. And soon, he did.
“Right, then I’ll be off to visit the next stop,” he announced. “There’s a lot more art around for me to purchase for my personal gallery, though I do hope to own a few of yours, Max.”
“S-sure. Have a good evening,” she said quietly, picking at the corner of her fingernail. She could feel his smile as it lingered on her, even if she didn’t look at him again.
“Until next time,” he said before he smoothly walked away.
Max nearly collapsed against the booth as he vanished from sight, taking gulps of air like she’d just ran a marathon. Stars danced in her vision, flashes of light that were remnants of the potential futures she’d been forced to see. But eventually they faded, and she was Max again.
The rest of the show was significantly less stressful, albeit much more boring. Max was envious of Chloe after she returned, who was able to play some game on her phone in the corner while she waited for Max to do the hard part of networking.
When it came time to close the booths down, the event planner popped onto the speakers to ask guests to exit towards the main hallway for the final biding announcements. The artists were shuffled after them, sent directly to the administrator’s office to wait in line for their checks.
Chloe busied herself with tossing a waded up paper ball in the air repeatedly, up until the moment she lost control of it and it went spiraling down the staircase to land on a bald man’s shoulder. She’d looked to Max and they laughed quietly together, then it was Max’s turn to enter the admins room.
After a quick, curt conversation with the treasurer, who’d barely looked up from her checkbook to acknowledge Max outside of asking for her name and ID, she returned to Chloe’s side.
“Well? How much did you get?” Chloe practically bounced on her feet, barely holding herself back from snatching the envelope straight out of Max’s hands in eager anticipation. “Are we millionaires yet?!”
Max tore the top of the paper and slid the check from its confines and doing her best to take a deep breath to keep her expectations low enough to not be disappointed. “We made…Oh, fuck.”
“What?” Chloe peered over the edge, but couldn’t read the tiny numbers printed at the corner of the paper. “What’s it say? Something bad? Do we owe them money?”
Max read the check again. And again. Blinking rapidly, she said, “It’s for $1,627. And 34 cents.”
Chloe’s mouth fell open, her feet falling completely still. “No fucking way.”
“I sold out,” Max continued, still in shock. “Every single print was purchased.”
“Holy shit, that’s…way more than I was expecting,” Chloe confessed. Seeing the look on Max’s face, she quickly backtracked. “Not that I didn’t think you’d sell out! Just that, y’know. Eight fucking grand is insane, I wish we could’ve gotten a higher cut.” She gave a light punch on Max’s shoulder. “You did good, kid. Always knew you’d make it big.”
“This is nowhere near big,” Max said with a laugh. Her hands still shook with the adrenaline and excitement, from the sheer bliss at finally, finally, taking a huge step forward to making her dreams become reality. “But you’re right, it’s something. I did good, didn’t I?”
Chloe took one of Max’s shaking hands and wrapped their fingers together. “You did fucking great, babe. The best in the whole damn gallery.”
“Not quite, I saw on the admins list that Victoria sold around—”
“Nope! No, no, no, don’t care! Not even going to think about her for a second longer, I wouldn’t want to accidentally summon her by chanting her name three times in a mirror. Want a glass of champagne to celebrate?”
“They have a copy of my ID, they know I’m not twenty-one.” It had become somewhat of a mantra at this point — Chloe wanting to break the rules at every turn, Max then giving a reason why she shouldn’t, particularly around public intoxication or illegal substances.
“Not what I asked, Maximus.” Chloe steered her away from a nearby serving tray and deftly snagged a flute right before the waiter got too far away. “Cheers?”
Max pursed her lips, looking around at the crowd before deciding that none of it mattered. Everyone was too absorbed in their own work, in their own successes, to pay any attention to her. And for once, maybe that was a good thing. Maybe it wasn’t all bad not having everyone’s eyes on her — because the mass of artists and authors and photographers all came together for a common goal — to help others, to make a difference. It wasn’t that she was on the sidelines, she was just part of a bigger cog in society.
“Fuck it, pass it here.” Max put her hand atop Chloe’s and tugged the glass to her mouth, taking a swallow of the bubbling drink as her girlfriend still held it. And perhaps sweeter than the tangy taste of champagne sliding down her tongue was the look on Chloe’s face.
“I swear you’re trying to kill me sometimes,” Chloe said breathlessly.
Max giggled — actually giggled — and slid a hand farther up Chloe’s arm until their elbows were interlocked. “Nah, just like seeing you turn red.”
Hidden in plain sight, Chloe leaned down and pressed a kiss right on Max’s lips, just brief enough that it wouldn’t drawn attention.
Max sighed, leaning her head against Chloe’s shoulder and clutching her tighter. “God, I can’t believe I did it. We’re at a fucking art gallery right now.”
“Only a few hours late to that realization, but, yeah,” Chloe teased. “Very impressive.”
Max gave her a squeeze, lingering on the feel of Chloe’s toned upper arms. She made a promise to herself that the moment they got back to their hotel room, she was going to—
“Take a chill pill, Max, nobody is stealing her from you,” Victoria said, heels clacking on the floor as she walked across the venue to stand at their side.
A matching flute of champagne was clutched in her own hand, held as delicately as a flower. She wore a sparkling red dress with a low-cut neckline, complete with a simple necklace that fell to the center of her chest — not that Max was looking too closely.
Almost embarrassed, Max broke away from Chloe’s side, but not because she was ashamed. It was just…weird showing affection in public. She hoped that one day the feeling of dread creeping around the corner would fade, that one day the world would be more accepting instead of vaguely tolerant.
“Hey, Victoria—” Chloe started, but Victoria raised a hand to cut her off, not even looking in Chloe’s direction. Chloe’s brows rose and fell, caught off guard by the blatant show of disregard.
“Do you need something?” Max asked.
Part of her was infinitely grateful to Victoria for sending her the contact info for the art show in the first place, but the other part of her was still wary of her reasoning. The animosity that festered between her and Chloe certainly didn’t make anything better. One day, she’d ask Chloe for clarity into their history.
“From you?” Victoria scoffed, and Chloe’s jaw clenched. “Never.”
Chloe stepped forward but Max placed a hand on her side. “Don’t,” she whispered, then faced back to Victoria.
Victoria’s eyes flickered to Max, then to Chloe, then back to Max, assessing her from head to toe. Max flushed at the deep concentration written on her face, not used to being observed so thoroughly.
“You clean up nice,” Victoria said. Her gaze darted back to Chloe, briefly, and Max could’ve sworn she saw some deeply hidden emotion flash across her face. “But you could’ve done better, Price. Really, a dusty leather jacket at an art show? This your first time being away from the garbage dumps?”
“Oh, fuck off,” Chloe said quickly.
“It’s vintage, actually,” Max said. “Real underground shit. Guess you haven’t caught onto the trend yet?” She gestured to a group of nearby college students, a few of them also sporting similar jackets to Chloe.
Victoria glowered, but then shrugged her shoulders and finished her drink before passing the empty flute to a nearby waiter. “Whatever. I wanted to do the right thing and tell you congratulations before you left. I saw you made it to the first floor gallery. So, there you go. Congratu-fucking-lations.”
“Thank you,” Max replied. “And…congratulations to you, too. I’m glad to see you’re doing well for yourself, after everything that happened. You were the top seller today, right?”
Victoria straightened, already eyeing another glass of champagne. “Yeah, I was. Whatever, don’t act like you even care.”
Her words were harsh, but Max wasn’t dumb enough to miss the creeping flush on Victoria’s neck. And if there was one thing different from the two of them, it was that Max had someone at her side — a date, a partner, a girlfriend, whatever she wanted to call Chloe. But Victoria was alone.
“Can we be done here?” Chloe snapped after Victoria’s fall into silence.
“Happily.” Victoria straightened, giving a final once-over of Chloe’s form, then she turned heel and left without a second glance.
Max let out an exhale after her departure, hanging her head like it was Victoria that had been weighing her down. And maybe she had been, in a way. Maybe Max could’ve done more, could’ve said more, but it hadn’t felt right.
While she was by no means an expert at listening to her gut, she had gotten better at it. There hadn’t been any urgent, life-or-death need for her to say one thing or another — not like what she’d felt earlier. Whether that was ‘using her powers’ or not was up for debate, but…so long as she didn’t tell anyone about them, it would be fine, right?
“Hey,” Chloe said, “You good? Need me to slash her tires or something?”
Max allowed herself to smile grimly. “No. Not yet, at least. Maybe in a few months.”
“Just say the word and I’ll get it done,” Chloe promised, tossing an arm over Max’s shoulders and steering her to the emergency exit door. “Now that we have enough money for bail, we can do whatever the fuck we want.”
She paused them by a roped off door in the corner, an intrusive ‘EMERGENCY USE ONLY, DO NOT EXIT, ALARM WILL SOUND’ banner plastered over the metal handle. There, Chloe gestured smugly.
“What, you want to set off the emergency alarm at the first and only art show I’ve been to?” Max questioned with a disbelieving laugh.
But Chloe’s face didn’t indicate it was a joke. A broad, smug grin teased at the corners of her mouth — one that Max wanted to kiss off her.
“Exactly right, Supermax. What better way for you to make your grand exit?”
“Come on, I don’t want to be blacklisted. We can just sneak out the main door.”
“And risk running into Victoria again? No, thank you. That uptight bitch needs to get laid, like, yesterday.”
Max took a glance behind them, but no one was even remotely looking at them. Most guests had already left for the evening now that the biding had ended, or they were busy collecting their purchased pieces from the front desk. All that remained were a handful of waiters and cleaners from the catering company and the few artists that hadn’t sold all their work who were sadly breaking down their booths. She didn’t see the man in the suit again, nor did any visions of the future pervade her thoughts.
Plus, her girlfriend was right. It had been a long night, there was no way in hell she wanted to run into anyone else who’d spark up a conversation with her.
“Ugh,” she groaned. “Fine. Let’s ditch this place.”
Before Chloe so much as had time to cheer, Max had already slammed a hand into the door handle and the door flew open to reveal the pitch black nighttime atmosphere. It would’ve been a peaceful scene, if not for the sudden flashing red lights and deafening alarm bells. But the chaos only added to the experience, and Max grabbed hold of Chloe’s stunned hand to run with her all the way across the parking lot before anyone caught them.
Laughing into each other, they leapt into the truck and made their escape from Portland a thousand dollars richer.
Notes:
let me know your thoughts :)
Chapter 10: Light
Summary:
April, 2014. California, financial struggles, and a bit of luck.
Notes:
Chapters are probably going to be shorter for a little while as I work to get through the huge chunk of time that is 2014 - 2024. I have a rough outline up to chapter 28 and I do still plan on finishing this story, but I have 3 kids (the youngest being only a couple weeks old) so my free time is quite sparse.
If you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for sticking around, and I hope you enjoy what I have in store for these lovely ladies. I read every comment and you guys motivate me to keep going :)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
April 8, 2014
They were headed south.
After months of sight-seeing across the northwestern edge of America, Max had finally convinced Chloe to turn the truck around and book it for anywhere other than Oregon. She’d picked up a new photo album at some novelty gas station near a local park and used it to keep track of the major cities they visited, plus some smaller towns that spoke to her in different ways. Of course, she also used it to keep her favorite Polaroids of the landmarks tucked away where they wouldn’t get lumped in with the rest of her art. And she might have been biased, but Portland had been her favorite stop thus far — not just because it marked the official start of her career.
Her career.
It still felt surreal to think about, to reminder herself that she really was a photographer. She even had fans; though, she’d be lying if she said the off-putting guy from the art show didn’t make the occasional appearance in her nightmares. But it was manageable. She had plenty to look forward to in the future, and she finally felt like she’d actually left the past in the past. If only Chloe could say the same.
They’d spent a few nights at a private campsite, making good use of the truck tent and enjoying the much needed warmer temperatures now that spring was in full bloom. But Max could tell by the haggard look around Chloe’s eyes that there was something she wasn’t telling her, so she’d subtly suggested that they should snag a hotel to refuel and recharge. Money would always come and go, it didn’t really matter.
Part of her wanted to feel hurt, to confront Chloe, to ask why the hell she was keeping things from her despite promising to never do that. But the other, more rational part of her brain said that she probably just needed more time. And Max had nothing but time to spare. She would’ve bled herself dry if only Chloe would ask. Yet even though Chloe’s filter was entirely non-existent and the girl was constantly rambling about every random thought that passed through her head, she still had a tendency to mask the things that mattered most.
Nearly finished with stripping the sheets off the hotel bed, Max bundled up a wad of pillowcases and tossed them to the corner. Chloe stared at her phone, though her fingers didn’t move. Her face was free of any emotion, which could only mean one thing — David had texted again, and Chloe was pissed off.
So Max cleared her throat and said, “It’s your turn, by the way.”
They had an agreement, of sorts — to take turns picking the next city they’d head towards. The methodology was both to keep things interesting and also to visit places they might not have gone on their own. Not that Max would’ve really wanted to go anywhere without Chloe.
“Yeah, I know,” Chloe said quietly, tucking her phone away in her back pocket and readjusting the beanie over her hair. It had gotten long enough to graze her shoulders, poking out at odd angles from beneath the hat.
Max would’ve noticed that something had shifted even if she didn’t have the pressure of time stretching across her skin. She replayed in her head what conversations they’d had that day and the night before, grasping at straws trying to figure out if she’d said something wrong. Had she forgotten something important? Did she say something insensitive?
“And? Spill the deets,” Max prodded, keeping a level tone.
The weight of the flickering time-strands around her made it hard to breathe, but she did her best to keep calm, to avoid Chloe drawing attention to it — thinking that maybe if she ignored it long enough it would fade away like it had every time before. There wasn’t a rulebook on having super-powers, after all. It wasn’t law that she had to use them.
She kept her hands lowered, busying herself with tearing the fitted sheet off the bed. Yet the temptation of giving into her powers, of checking to see what possible futures awaited her by letting the flow of time crash over her, quickly became too difficult to withstand, so Max shut her eyes until the feeling dissipated. Which it did. It always did.
“I’ve been thinking,” Chloe said hesitantly. It wasn’t often her confidence faded, but when it did, Max fell right back into a defensive position.
“Dangerous thing, that.”
“Yeah. Err. I wouldn’t mind going…to LA,” Chloe continued after a pause. “For Rachel. To get closure.”
Max hesitated, swallowing the jealousy rising in her throat like bile. It wouldn’t be fair to either of them if she reacted with what her gut instinct said to do. So she settled with a curt, “That’s great, I’d love to.”
“Really?” Chloe’s mouth twisted. “You don’t think it would be…weird?”
“Well, if I’m being honest…” Max stopped just long enough to pick at her fingernail. “It’s not the best feeling to hear my girlfriend talking about needing closure from her ex-situationship. But it’s not weird. We have our entire lives ahead of us — and I know that you know that I love you. So, we can live wherever you want.”
“I don’t want to stay there or anything,” Chloe added with an uncomfortable laugh. “Just visit. Or something.”
Max walked closer, placing a hand on Chloe’s shoulder to draw her gaze back. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that.”
Chloe looked at Max’s hand where it rested on her, then she stared at her lips. “Uh, talk about what?”
“Don’t freak out, but…I think it’s time that we get an apartment.” Max hadn’t exactly been much for long-term planning, but the idea had struck her in the middle of the night last week — like the various paths forward had converged into a single thread, one which told her they should set down some roots and take a breather from being on the open road. It had felt like the right thing to do, at the time. Only the passing of time would actually tell if that was a smart decision or not.
“Together?” Chloe’s face morphed to one of confused surprise.
“No, with some random guys we pull off the street,” Max joked with an eye roll. “Add a little danger to our lives, y’know. Maybe have a threesome.”
“Good plan. You can live with the rando dudes, but I call dibs on finding a hot roommate.”
“Then I have great news for you.” Max slid her arms around Chloe’s neck, standing on the tips of her toes to reach higher.
Chloe’s hands fell to her waist, squeezing firmly as she looked away in fake thought. “Hmm, that there’s tons of models in LA that would love to shack up with me?”
Max laughed — then realized that Chloe might not have been entirely inaccurate, even if she was just teasing. She was sure there would be plenty of queer ladies in LA that wouldn’t hesitate for a second to get with Chloe, what with all her badass tattoos and carefree, cocky attitude. Thank god that Chloe was almost entirely oblivious when it came to women.
“That I’m your hot roommate. And don’t you fucking forget that.” Gritting her nails into Chloe’s skin, she kissed her hard and messy, marking her claim in the best way she knew how.
April 18, 2014
Chloe had been driving for several hours at that point, but the eager anticipation of being in an entirely new area had kept both of them in high spirits, though Max could see the hesitant glint in Chloe’s eyes the closer they grew to LA. It must have been strange to her — to head towards the very place she’d once promised to visit with someone else. Someone that may have even been her first love. Max shoved that thought in particular to the side.
She wanted closure just as much as Chloe did — if not more. The haunting memory of how rotting, decomposed flesh mixed with dirt and grime felt against her fingers wasn’t easy to forget.
In a way, Max felt like she knew Rachel Amber. That Rachel was still under her fingernails, or that she’d always be beneath her skin like a disease. That if she pulled out one of Chloe’s old photos and concentrated on it, she would be able to visit her. She had the power to revive Rachel, to undo all the unfair wrath she’d endured. She had the ability to bring her back to life as more than just a ghost or a bad memory.
Max stared at her hands. Even then, it took little effort to hone in on the prickly sensation of the time strands. She could even see the glistening, iridescent colors of the infinite number of timelines that existed. Should she choose to do so, Max knew she could toy and play with the futures as she saw fit. Nobody would stop her — nobody would even know she’d done it. She decided to look back out the window instead, watching as the highway stretched on for miles in both directions.
Home behind, future ahead.
Soon, their current mix-tape ended and rewound to start its next loop. Max leaned forward to turn the volume down, not wanting to hear I’m Just a Kid for the third time.
Chloe rubbed at her eyes after a yawn, then returned her hands to rest at the top of the steering wheel. “Goddamn, Max. I think you might actually be right, I have got to get out of this fucking truck before I ki—”
“Don’t finish that sentence.”
“…Before I kiss you passionately,” Chloe said instead. “There, now you feel bad, don’t you?”
Max groaned and her head fell back against the seat. “You’re so embarrassing.”
“And you’re stuck with me forever.” Chloe shot her a wink that did something strange to Max’s stomach.
Her head lulled to the side as she admired the way the wind ruffled Chloe’s hair in every direction, a dopey smile on her face.
“Wait.” Max blinked, frowning. “You’re just now saying I’m right about getting an apartment? What did you think before, I was just fucking around when I said I wanted to live somewhere other than this old ass truck?”
“Yeah, kinda.” Chloe shrugged sheepishly.
“Well, maybe you should have more faith in my masterplan. California is nice from what I remember of it.”
Chloe looked across the bench seat at her. “You’ve been?”
“Once. To San Francisco, never this far south.”
Chloe gave a grimace before turning back to face the road. “Yeah, that’s right. Huh. Alternate timeline Max sure got around to some strange places. Time traveler and world traveler.”
“Retired time traveler, that is,” Max corrected. “I won’t…I don’t ever want to go through that again. Ever. No more timeline hopping through photographs.” She only felt a slight pang of guilt about her earlier thoughts.
Chloe accepted it with a hum, then merged into the right lane to watch the exit signs creep by. “Sure, retired time traveler, but current master of all geographical knowledge. So, where am I going next, captain? We getting close?”
“Uh, get off right here,” Max instructed, fumbling with her phone’s GPS at the last second to see that they nearly missed the next direction.
“Damn, right here, right now?” Chloe gave an exaggerated exhale, grinning over at Max like she was proud of herself for being so hilarious. “You’re good at what you do, Max, but I don’t think I can get off that quickly.”
“You’re going to miss the—! And you missed it.” Max rubbed the bridge of her nose, feigning annoyance even though she actually enjoyed the way Chloe always somehow made warmth spread down her body.
“Oops.”
Luckily, the gods of traveling smiled upon them and they were able to take the next exit to reroute the directions back on the right track. After being on the road for so many months, adding 8 minutes to their current trek was nothing more than a drop in the ocean. Besides, California was so fucking huge that Max feared they’d never actually reach LA, despite the fact that her GPS said they were less than a half hour away now.
Ever the Virgo, Max had used the past week to extensively research apartments within their budget (nonexistent though it was) and sorted them from best to worst. She’d even begrudgingly called her parents on the phone to put out the feelers that maybe, possibly, she might need a bit of help getting her feet back under her. But hearing her mom’s quiet voice at the other end of the phone had put an end to that idea pretty much immediately.
Max didn’t want to beg or pretend that her relationship with her mom and dad was anything other than distantly strained at best. So she’d made small talk, chatted about the weather and the few states her and Chloe had visited, and she’d listened to Mom talk about her job as always. Then the call ended, and Max swallowed her guilt as she pushed it to a far corner of her mind — a corner that had quickly become overpopulated.
Their first stop in LA wasn’t exciting, though their conversation died down as they both soaked in the new sights that surrounded them. Chloe filled the truck with gas at the cheapest place they could find, but Max still heard her bitching by the pump about how outrageous it was compared to the prices farther north. Once they fueled up and bought a couple snacks from the convenience store — a candy bar for Chloe and a honey bun for Max — the first potential apartment was a quick 4 minutes away.
It was an immediate denial.
The lady at the front desk had her hair pulled up in a messy bun and loudly chewed a stick of gum with her mouth open. She’d barely taken a second glance at them as she shot down their hopes of scoring their first apartment, saying that she’d booked the last available unit only an hour earlier, and it would be 3 months before another one opened up.
The second stop wasn’t much better — neither was the third or fourth. By the time they rolled around to the fifth stop, Max was emotionally exhausted and borderline freaking out. So Chloe had cupped her face and kissed her until they both ran out of air, and that made the day a hundred times brighter. Because they were in it together — always.
Chloe shifted the truck into park at the final stop for that day, wordlessly looking at Max as she got out and awkwardly made her way to the front door. The building was smaller than the others, which gave Max the hopeful idea that maybe they had a better chance at receiving good news. But, as always, hope was a stupid feeling.
“Let me get this straight.” The office manager pointed a thick finger at Chloe, resting an elbow against his desk atop of a stack of papers. “You don’t have a job.” Then his accusing finger pivoted to face Max. “And you have ‘intermittent income’ but ain’t got any pay stubs.”
“Yes, sir,” Max said.
The man grunted, his eyebrows rising and falling at her honesty. “On top of all that, neither of you have enough money for a one month payment with the application fee and security deposit, nor have you ever lived at a permanent residence in California. And you want to move in today?”
“Yep.” Chloe shifted her weight to her other leg, anxiously crossing her arms.
The room fell silent for a good two seconds before the man burst into a fit of laughter, head tossed backward to reveal the faded tattoo upon his neck. Chloe and Max shared a bashful glance together, resisting the urge to join in with their own stifled laughter. It wasn’t funny, but it was. Only because Chloe was with her.
After he finished wiping the tears from his eyes, he said, “Good fuckin’ luck! Now you better get the fuck outta here before I call the cops on your dumb asses!”
“Are you kidding me?” Chloe scoffed. They weren’t strangers to rejection, but to have the police threatened on them was new. “We totally—”
“Chloe, let’s go,” Max said. “He’s not worth our time.”
Before her girlfriend could take another intimidating step towards the receptionist, Max grabbed hold of her arm and dragged her out towards the exit.
“Fuckin’ teenagers, man…I need a raise.” The man gave them a final stern glare before shaking his head and getting back to whatever paperwork he’d been in the middle of.
“Dickhead!” Chloe shouted over Max’s shoulder as the door swung shut.
No sooner did the dying sunlight grace them did Chloe reach to her back pocket and pull a marker from its confines. Even at the cusp of twilight, the hot California sun felt like Max was walking through the desert — and the black asphalt stretching for miles around them certainly didn’t help.
It was convenient that motels were cheap enough that they had a bit of leeway before having to secure a better way to make money, though it didn’t make it any easier to find a more permanent place to stay.
Chloe marched around the western side of the building and stalked over to an area of the wall that was more worse for wear than the rest, the red brick almost tan with age where it chipped around the mortar, a single, half-cracked window at the center. Max, ever the responsible one (or at least she tried to be), checked their surroundings to make sure no one was watching them. When she turned back to Chloe, the vandalism had already been completed. Record time.
“Real mature,” Max commented. The word ‘cocksucker’ was hastily written over a scribbled caricature of the apartment’s receptionist, complete with two dicks in both his hands.
“What? He started it.” Chloe shoved the marker back in her pocket and linked her fingers around Max’s before jumping up onto a nearby curb to balance precariously. “Now that that’s out of our system, the search continues. Any other leads, detective Maximus?”
Max sighed, squinting up at the horizon and the way the pink sky soared above. “One last stop tomorrow.” And she prayed it would be enough.
April 19, 2014
It was so hot that Max, for the third time that day, used her phone to lookup when the start of summer was — and for the third time, she was shocked to see that it wouldn’t be for another two months.
She wiped a bead of sweat from the side of her neck and shoved the truck door open, tossing her legs off the side of the bench seat to let them dangle in the slightly cooler air of the flowing breeze, still tinkering with her camera. It was days like that which made her second-guess the decision to live in California for more than a couple weeks. Not that they’d been able to actually score an apartment yet — there was only one place left to try from her list of a half dozen. At eleven AM, they would’ve been there already, if not for the puddle of oil Chloe had found beneath the truck that morning.
One good part of where they were in Cali was that mechanics were as a common as beaches, and it took little effort to cautiously drive the truck to the closest one to buy another bottle of oil. Had they been in the middle of nowhere in the mountains, they would’ve been fucked in every direction.
The slight delay of the morning had given Max a surprising amount of free time — not that her life was anything but free time nowadays. It turned out that aimlessly wandering the west coast wasn’t exactly the most high-intensity job. But regardless, the night before she’d been unable to sleep and had decided to make an official website for her portfolio, even taking the time to customize her own business cards — not that she had the cash to get them printed yet. That part would come later. But it was nice to keep progressing forward, to keep searching for her next opportunity to show off her art to someone other than just Chloe or Kate.
Max stared through the lens of her camera and watched as thin clouds streaked overhead, the beauty of the moment only slightly tainted by the muffled curses coming from beneath the truck as Chloe fumbled to get the leak patched. She had enough time to capture a good handful of pictures before an older gentlemen strolled out from the store and headed towards them, his hands firmly shoved in the pockets of his stained work apron.
“Hey there, sir!” he called to what Max assumed was Chloe, then he gave a friendly nod towards Max. “Ma’am.”
Chloe rolled out from beneath the truck, tossed her wrench to the side and peeled off her gloves. Max discretely snapped a picture before either of them noticed. “Hi?”
“Oh, sorry, ma’am, I thought you were a- well, never mind,” he said with an uncomfortable laugh, then he sobered. “Unfortunately, you can’t be working on cars out here like that.” He jerked a thumb behind himself to show a crooked sign that confirmed his warning.
Chloe brushed off a smudge of oil from her cheek, but it only made the smear worse. “Dude, come on.” She sighed loudly in hopes of sparking empathy. “I’ve had a shitty week and just want to get this fixed so we can get the hell out of here. Promise.”
The man paused, scratching at his white scraggly beard as he assessed the truck front to rear. “Looks pretty old. What’s wrong with her?”
Everything, Max thought, but she held her tongue and let Chloe do the talking — which was typically a bad choice, but she had to admit that her girlfriend was surprisingly knowledgeable when it came to cars, whereas Max could barely differentiate oil from gas.
“Presently?” Chloe asked, sarcasm already dripping from her tongue. “She’s being heckled in the parking lot. Oh, and she sprung another oil leak.”
The man rocked on his feet as he asked, “Ain’t you got a mechanic?”
“Yeah, you’re looking at her.” Chloe spread her arms to gesture to her grease streaked denim shorts and slightly sunburned legs. “There’s nothing about this truck that I don’t know how to fix. Except maybe a head gasket, but only because those bitches are expensive.”
That got a chuckle out of the older man. “Hmph. So you keep this hunk of junk running on your own?”
Chloe looked behind herself dramatically, then shrugged. “Don’t see anyone else around who’s up for the job.”
“Well, don’t you have quite the attitude.” The man grinned, showing the empty gap of a missing front tooth. “But how’s about this…I’ll let you keep tuning her up in my parking lot, and you promise that you’ll fill in an application when you’re done. Deal?”
“Application? Like a job? Like here?”
“Yep, fresh out of marriage applications, so a job app will have to do,” he joked. “What, not interested in working with a bunch of us old fellas in a humid garage?”
Chloe opened her mouth, but Max was faster. “She’ll do it,” she said quickly, grimacing in apology as Chloe shot her a wild look. It wasn’t every day that one of them was offered a job on the spot, or at least the opportunity to try for one.
“Right then, glad to hear it. No promises, of course, since I’d need to test your experiences outside of just an oil change, but we’ll see. We certainly need more young folks around here.”
“Y-yeah, sure,” Chloe stuttered. She plucked her fallen wrench and turned it over in her hands idly. “I’ll, uh, do that when I’m done.”
“What she meant to say was ‘thank you very much, sir’,” Max jumped in to add.
The man gave a curt smile to Max, a knowing look in his eyes. Then he stuck out a hand for her to shake, his palm calloused and rough from years of working on cars. “Name’s Remy, nice to meet you —?”
“Max,” she said. “And Chloe.” No matter how many people they met, or how many times they introduced themselves, it still felt good to say. Max and Chloe, the unstoppable partners.
“Alright, alright. Well, I’ll get outta your hair and let you finish up. You know where to find me if you need anything. Ask for Josh at the desk and he’ll pull out an application for you!”
Max waved as Remy retreated back into his shop, the doorbell jingling loudly behind him. Then she hopped from the truck and wrapped her arms around Chloe’s dirty shoulders. “You have got to score this job, dude.”
“Yeah, I fucking know,” Chloe said with a laugh. “Think he’ll hire me today and we can mark that as income for our final apartment application?”
“If we’re lucky,” Max answered.
She shut her eyes, placing a kiss on the crux of Chloe’s neck, careful to avoid the smudged grease that covered her skin. There, she felt the strands of time tug against her thoughts, showing glimpses of the possible futures that awaited them. Colors swirled behind her eyelids, reds and greens and blues all dancing together like flashlights, but Max was careful to not linger on any in particular.
“Uh, Max?”
“Hm — what?” Max pulled away, vision swaying as she stumbled, then she pressed a hand against her temple.
Chloe’s brows knit together. “Nothing. You just…zoned out there.”
“Oh, yeah, sorry.” Max shook her head to clear it, feeling a dull throb start behind her eyes. Then she felt it — a slow drip of blood threatening to reveal itself beneath her nose. She coughed to hide it, turning her back to Chloe as casually as she could. “Be right back, bathroom!”
Heart pounding, Max clasped a hand over her nose as she made her way to the women’s restroom. Her mouth fell slightly ajar as she struggled to gulp down air, panic seeping into her lungs like poison. She hadn’t used her powers, had she? She’d just looked — she hadn’t meddled with anything. And she hadn’t even wanted to!
But when she found herself looking into the mirror above the sink, her face was free of any blood. Tears of relief flooded her eyes and she scrubbed them away. There wouldn’t be another storm — there couldn’t be. Max was done with that, done with using her powers, done with fucking around with time. She had everything she needed, she had Chloe. Alive. At her side. Max was done with playing superhero, or super villain.
She was done. It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t…
And though she didn’t know it at the time, it wouldn’t be her fault for another six years. Destiny had a cruel way of manipulating her, Max would learn. There were some futures you could never outrun.
Notes:
cliffhanger?!
Chapter 11: Illuminate
Summary:
May, 2014.
Conversations, extremely late eulogies, and illegal activities.
Notes:
I know LIS1 and BTS have conflicting portrayals of what kind of person Rachel was / what her relationship with Chloe was like, but regardless of what you believe, she had a huge impact on Chloe’s life and that kind of relationship sticks with you long after it ends. May I never have to write about Rachel again. Amen.
CW: Brief mention of suicide
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
May 5, 2014
Chloe grunted from the weight of setting the heavily-duct taped box on the living room floor, then she dusted her hands off.
“Last one,” she announced breathlessly before collapsing onto the futon next to Max. They’d bought it for $20 from some guy who’d been moving out of his apartment the same day they moved in. It had looked clean enough, as far as second-hand couches went, and they didn’t really have any other options other than sitting on the bare floor.
“You’re a fucking rockstar,” Max said.
“Yep, I know. But, please, keep up the praise.” Chloe raised a hand to her ear like she was listening for more compliments to come streaming in, but Max just kissed her instead.
Without even telling her it was happening, Max’s parents had packed up the rest of the stuff from her bedroom and shipped it on a moving truck to their apartment. It had definitely helped to fill the empty space a bit more, but Max couldn’t help but feel like it had officially put an ending to the Seattle chapter in her life. There wasn’t any reason for her to go back now.
After Chloe had started working at Remy’s Auto Clinic, she’d gotten a surprising $500 sign-on bonus in the form of a cashier’s check. Conveniently, it was the exact amount they needed for their deposit on the apartment. Max had seen the knowing glint in Remy’s eyes as he’d handed it to her — like he knew it was precisely what they’d needed. She didn’t know how to navigate the gratitude she felt for his kindness, so Max typically kept their conversations short whenever she walked over to the shop to eat lunch with Chloe.
Her first real check came rolling in a few days later, being just enough money for them to stock up on groceries and buy some of the cheapest furniture possible. The one exception was their mattress, where Max had firmly put her foot down about needing to buy it new-ish. Bed bugs and weird bodily fluids weren’t anything she wanted to mess around with. And although it was just a mattress on the floor, it was still nice. Even nicer given that she shared it with the most important person in her life.
Overall, the apartment was small. It was only a one-bedroom, of course, but it had a decent sized living space for the area it was in. The kitchen, however, was complete shit. Somehow, Chloe always found a way to knock her head into the cabinets. That part sucked more than anything, given that she was the only one between the two of them who could cook worth a damn.
On only their second night there, Max had set off the smoke alarm within minutes of starting to cook, and they’d been forced to use towels to fan the smoke out the windows. She probably would’ve done the same during their first night there, if not for the fact that they’d been too tired to cook and elected to order a giant pizza instead. Pre-made food was impossible to burn.
Max sliced open the tape on the next box and poked around to see what it contained, finding a few random books from middle school, another box of guitar picks, and a scattered assortment of loose photographs that she scrambled to catch before they fell onto the carpet.
“Hey, that one,” Chloe said and pointed to a picture of Max’s Seattle classmates. “You ever gonna tell me who that girl is?”
Max set the photo in a stack with the others, straightening them out and sorting them into no particular order. She’d shove them in some binder later, where all her other old photos went to die.
“You already know everything,” Max said.
“Not everything.”
“…Okay, picky. Not everything,” she conceded. “But everything important. She was a girl I went to school with. Sofia. We were friends.”
Chloe plucked the photo from the top of the stack. “And? Come on, there’s gotta be more. Just look at the way she…looks at you, you know?”
“She was just a girl I happened to—”
“Love?” Chloe waggled her eyebrows.
“Like,” Max insisted, shifting her legs on the couch in a sudden bout of uncomfortableness.
“So, did you kiss her?” Chloe returned the picture with a cheeky grin, nudging into Max’s shoulder like they were just girls talking about their crushes, and not literally dating.
“Ugh. Yeah, Chloe. And my dad saw us, so it kinda ruined the whole moment. Real hot stuff.”
Chloe gave a loud cheer, ruffling Max’s hair until she swatted her away with a laugh. “Aww. My girl’s got game.”
“I was fifteen, dude.”
She shrugged. “Still counts.”
“Shouldn’t you be jealous or something?” Max asked.
“Oh, sure,” Chloe agreed. “Sophie, Sarah…What’s her name again? I’ll add her to my hit list.”
Max stifled another laugh and went back to sorting through the box of her belongings, handing random items to Chloe for her to place around the apartment.
When she finally emptied the box and tossed it to a pile with the rest of the scrap cardboard, she sunk back on the couch. Her eyelids felt heavy as her stomach seemed to unclench from all the effort it had taken to secure the apartment. But they’d done it. A 5 month lease at $800 a month. It was doable. Hard, yes, but not impossible.
Chloe stretched out her arms then crawled to join her, laying her much longer body atop Max’s own like her very own personal weighted blanket.
“So. Got my next check today. How’s it feel now that I’m the breadwinner?” Chloe asked, settling her chin at the top of Max’s shoulder.
“What are we, fifty years old?” Max chuckled. “And I’ll have you know that I made a whole $27 this week just from stock images alone.”
“Ooh, Ms. Shutterstock getting cocky?” Chloe nipped a bite against Max’s neck, hands already wandering to the bottom of her shirt.
“Shove off,” Max said as she pushed against Chloe’s jaw to turn her head to the side and away from her sensitive skin.
Her girlfriend grabbed hold of the offending hand and pressed it to the couch cushion next to her head, capturing Max’s attention all at once with lowered eyes. “But I like it, you know.”
“Like what?” Max asked. She rubbed a thumb across Chloe’s hand, already feeling where a new callous had developed from the long hours she’d spent working at the shop.
“Taking care of you. Doing this life shit.”
“Chloe Price, are you feeling sappy? Gross.”
“Now who needs to shove off?” Chloe grinned, but the smile soon slipped from her face as it was replaced with a quiet melancholy. “No, just feeling…guilty.”
There was that ghost in the room again. The air sucked from her lungs like a candle being extinguished, flickering its light into nothing more than trailing smoke. Max darkened, biting her lip through the conflicting emotions swirling inside her.
Some things she was powerless to fix, she knew that. But knowing the truth didn’t lessen the pain of it. Max knew exactly what conversation Chloe was going to steer them towards. And perhaps it was time to confront the ghost herself — so she could shed the guilt away once and for all and move the fuck on with her life.
Her own internal malice brought forth a new wave of remorse. Because Max had no idea how hard it was to lose the most important person to you, right? Except…she did.
She did know how hard it was, which was precisely why she refused to live in that reality. When the choice had been handed to her, she’d firmly told it to go fuck itself. Not that Chloe had been offered the same choice. Her loss had been predetermined from the start.
“It’s…not fair,” Chloe continued. Her brows had furrowed to meet together in the middle. “That I get to be happy and Rachel doesn’t. She doesn’t get to feel anything anymore.”
Max got the impression that Chloe would’ve said the same things even if she wasn’t there at all, the swirling emotions having finally reached their breaking point after all the time that’d passed since that fated day in October. But she was happy to witness it — to be the person that Chloe confided in at the end of the day.
Chloe sighed and said, “But I can’t keep looking behind us. I have to move forward. For you, for me. For us.”
Max hinted at a smile as she squeezed against Chloe’s hand, their noses close enough together that it wouldn’t take more than a slight press upward for them to be kissing again. “You’re a good person, Chloe.”
“Yeah, whatever.” She rolled her eyes and the tension eased from her shoulders as she released Max’s captive hand. “It’s what Rachel would’ve wanted. I know it.”
Max leaned forward into a kiss, short and sweet and conveying all the unsaid love that followed them. When they broke away, Chloe looked a thousand times happier than she had at the start.
“So. Pizza?” Chloe asked.
“Again?”
“Err…” Chloe faltered, but Max slid her fingers to the back of her neck to keep her in place.
“Kidding,” she said with a laugh. “Of course we’re getting a fucking pizza.”
May 11, 2014
Boredom was Max’s only friend. The days came and went, trickling by like an ambling creek. Chloe worked long hours most days of the week — sunup to sundown — including, unfortunately, most weekends. The occasional day off was spent lounging in bed and getting caught up on sleep, her dusty boots barely making it off her feet by the time she passed out against a pillow. And Max was grateful for it, really, she was. The $700 a week she got from Remy’s Auto Clinic was the only consistent income keeping their lives afloat.
It was just…boring, for her. To make matters worse, the apartment’s air conditioning unit had sputtered and died the night prior, just barely pumping enough cold air through the room to keep her from passing out. Being bored and uncomfortably sweaty was a hellish combo she wouldn’t wish even on her worst enemy.
Maybe her dad had been right, maybe Max should go back to school. But the idea felt wrong, even still. One day, she’d get her GED. Maybe. There were so many maybes in her life that she feared she may drown in them all.
When her phone rang, she nearly fell off the couch in surprise, heart thundering like someone had pounded on the front door, which had only happened once in the few weeks they’d been in the apartment. And that had just been a misunderstanding, not an actual threat — though, Max had still let herself feel a smidge of panic, as was her right to do, as someone who’d seen her girlfriend die from gunshot wounds one too many times.
She picked up the phone without checking the caller ID, knowing that there was only one person in the world who’d ever call her. “Chloe, what’s up?”
“Uh, this is…”
“Oh! Kate! Oh, god, I’m so sorry, I thought…” Max relaxed back against the sagging cushion, running a hand through her hair in embarrassment. Fuck, and Max had just reminded herself that she didn’t have any friends — she’d failed to include Kate in the non-existent list of her failing relationships. “Sorry. I don’t get many calls from anyone else.”
“That’s okay, I’m sorry for calling out of the blue,” Kate answered, her voice just as quiet as Max remembered it being.
“No, it’s fine, you can call me any time. Really.”
It had been months since they last spoke outside of a few back-and-forth DMs on social media, and those were usually just random memes that really weren’t all that funny. Her and Kate’s senses of humor couldn’t have been farther apart, but that had never stopped them from talking anyway.
“I appreciate it, Max. But you don’t have to baby me. We’re both adults.”
Max let out a chuckle. “Now you sound like Victoria.”
“O-oh, do I?” Kate sounded hesitant.
“Not in a bad way! In like a…confident way, if that makes sense.”
“Sure. Confident.”
The phone crackled as she shifted it to her other ear, and Max wondered where exactly Kate had ended up. Of the few times they’d talked before, Kate had been rather reserved about everything that had happened, never really revealing more details than necessary. Part of Max wanted to say something about it, or ask questions she knew Kate couldn’t maneuver her way out of, but she didn’t want to offend the other girl or cause any undue strain in their already thinning friendship. Their encounter on the dorm roof still haunted their conversations, even if neither of them addressed it. Something that like wouldn’t easily be forgotten.
“So, um, what’s up?” Max crossed her legs together on the shitty futon cushions in hopes of finding a more comfortable position — something that proved to be useless, the apartment was too sweltering to truly be comfortable.
“Nothing, really. We just got out of church, and I have a few bouquets of flowers from the women’s group to hand out later this afternoon.”
“Flowers? What for?”
“For…Mother’s Day? That’s…actually why I wanted to give you a call.”
Max recoiled, though Kate wasn’t there to see the way she sank backwards. Even despite her incredibly persistent boredom, she hadn’t even considered that Mother’s Day was on the horizon. It wasn’t like she ever did anything for the holiday, really — at least, not since she was a little kid who’d been forced to tag along with her dad for a couple hours to give her mom a break. But this year seemed different — it seemed like she should’ve done more, been better, said something special. A different part of her brain was quick to reject the idea, fighting off the guilt like a dog barking at the unknown.
Her mom hadn’t texted or called in days. She never did, not unless Max reached out first. She’d lived away from home for over half a year and every week that went by she heard from her parents less and less. It had started with a few texts a day, then one a week, then one only for special circumstances. Now? She was lucky to hear from them once a month. And Max was two states away — she could’ve been dead and they’d never fucking know.
“Right, Mother’s Day, thanks for reminding me—”
“I wanted to ask about Chloe,” Kate added. Her voice fell quieter, if it was even possible, causing Max to hold the phone closer to her ear until she could feel the dampness of her skin press against it. “T-there were a lot of good people who…didn’t make it out of the storm, and I saw that…that Chloe’s mom was one of them, right?”
“Yeah,” Max answered slowly, feeling more like a dick than ever before. She hoped that Chloe hadn’t realized what day it was either, that she hadn’t gone to work that morning with regret and shame bundled tightly within her chest. Max hadn’t even noticed. Her throat felt raw, and not just from the heat. “Yeah, Joyce was one of the…victims.”
It was even more terrible to say out loud than she’d expected. The worst part was knowing that she was the reason why she’d died. There was no way Kate could’ve known that Max had been trying to avoid thinking about the storm, or even that she harbored any resentment about it in general. From her perspective, she was just a friend calling a friend during a vulnerable moment — trying to do the right thing.
Maybe if Max went to church, she could repent for all the deaths on her hands. Or maybe she’d just catch on fire immediately upon stepping foot through the door. Either way, surely it would’ve been better than sitting in her 80 degree apartment waiting for her girlfriend to get back home so she could make sure she wasn’t going to kill herself. Maybe it was a bit dramatic of a thought, but again, her life was nothing but maybes.
Max swallowed the lump in her throat, resisting the urge to stare at her open palm until the lines on her hand blurred and swirled together like they always did. Her flesh and blood were the only constants in her life. That, and Chloe. But she could’ve argued that her bond with Chloe ran deeper than blood itself — down to her very soul.
“I thought so. I saw her name on the list,” Kate said softly. “I’m sorry for your loss. If you could tell Chloe that I called, that we’re thinking about her in my church group, I’d really appreciate it. And I’ll keep praying for you both.”
For you both. Like I deserve to be included in that.
“Sure. Yeah, I’ll tell her,” Max choked out. If Kate noticed the change in her voice, she didn’t comment on it.
“Great. Thank you.” Kate sighed, and Max was jealous of the relief she knew she must have felt. “I haven’t seen her online much recently. Do you think you could give her my number, if she needed someone to talk to? I know we were never friends, and we never really talked at all…but, I don’t know. You’re close to her, and I’m close to you. I guess I just want to keep in touch with the people who…”
“The people who survived?” Max’s gut roiled in unease.
Kate was quiet for far longer than Max wanted her to be. “Yes. I suppose that’s one way to put it.”
“I’ll pass that along,” she replied dully. “Thanks, Kate.” Max pressed the end-call button before she could hear if Kate had anything else to say, feeling only slightly bad for the other girl.
She was only trying to help, Max knew that, but it still…felt bad. Kate’s willingness to do the right thing had rubbed her the wrong way, like the collision of two people at opposite ends of a war. Max had given up everything for one person, for Chloe, and had said ‘fuck it’ to hundreds of other people’s lives. And Kate had no idea. She talked about the storm and its victims like it was a freak accident, like Max hadn’t been at fault.
She couldn’t help but think that if Kate knew the truth, she’d hate her. And maybe Max held some resentment for that fact, waiting for the day the ball would drop and it would all come crashing down around her head. Or maybe she was just fucking bored.
Max rolled over on the couch, shoving her face into the dusty cushion until she couldn’t see the streams of light trickling through the blinds. She lay there, tucked in on herself, until hours passed and she dozed off into sleep. When she woke again, the apartment was still a million degrees, she was still sweating, and Chloe was still at work.
A fucking great day.
May 20, 2014
It had been Chloe’s idea. If the decision had been up to Max, she would’ve stayed home and watched TV all day long without a care in the world. But she respected that it was something her girlfriend needed to get done. So she’d tagged along. For support, mostly, but also to keep an eye on Chloe. Call Max paranoid, but she’d been too on edge recently to let Chloe out of her sight during her days off. Plus, she may have been tired of dancing around the subject of Rachel. She was the whole reason why Chloe had picked this town in the first place, yet she still danced around the subject at every turn. Max wanted to move forward, not linger in the past.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t a guide for what to do when your current girlfriend had unresolved baggage involving her murdered ex-sorta-girlfriend-mostly-situationship that she had the misfortune of digging up with her bare hands. Max had even researched the topic, then promptly scrubbed her internet history before she ended up on a watchlist somewhere. No one had any advice.
So the two of them ended up at the local beach during a bright, sunny day. The weather, at least, had smiled in their favor, though she really should’ve brought more sunscreen than the mere smattering she’d hastily slapped on her shoulders at the last minute. Her freckles had a way of multiplying every time she stepped foot in the sun.
It wasn’t often that either of them wore such few pieces of clothing out in public — they’d spent most of their relationship in cold climates during cold months; LA had been a complete 180 from the environments they were used to. But the hot sand and hotter sun had been the perfect reason to break out the swimsuits. Max had even overcome her self-consciousness about it. Mostly. Eventually, she felt more at ease after Chloe fetched a thin flannel out of the truck for Max to wear and the usual weathered leather jacket for herself.
A couple hours of people watching, three ice cream cones, and a brief stint into the ocean later and the sun had fallen far across the horizon until it barely kissed the edge of the water. The sea was rippled with sparse waves, glistening like a thousand gemstones lay across its blue surface.
And as if she could’ve predicted the words before they were even voiced, Max felt a shift in the air as Chloe stared head-on at the ghost walking beside them.
“We talked about starting a band, once,” Chloe said.
“Really? You? I’m pretty sure guitars are allergic to your hands.” Max thought back to every time Chloe had tried strumming on her guitar and the horribly sour notes that always drifted from the frets. She was lucky she was so cute.
“Hey, I’m not that bad anymore. Prefer drumming though.” Chloe swung their connected hands between them just like when they were kids. “The only problem was that Rachel was dogshit with instruments. Like, the worst ever. It was a good thing she could sing.”
Max made a humming noise in acknowledgment. Maybe in another life, the three of them could’ve been in a band together. Or maybe Chloe and Rachel wouldn’t have invited her at all. The thought made her shrink back, falling quiet. It was strange, to have a different type of connection with both of them, even though she’d never met Rachel at all.
“But we planned on coming here, performing on the pier at night under the streetlights. I’d set up the guitar case and jam out, and we’d make a ton of money because everyone would be looking at Rachel and—” Chloe glanced over at Max, eyes flickering down to her lips. “It wouldn’t have worked out though. I know that now.”
As if their feet were propelled by the conversation, they soon made their way to the entrance to the pier. At the cusp of twilight, most of the fishermen worked to pack up their rods and buckets and were meandering their way back to their cars, leaving ample room for the drunk college kids and rowdy teenagers to take their places around the tourist stops.
But whereas Max was aimless, Chloe had a mission. They dodged the crowd of people until the end of the pier greeted them, where Chloe confidently walked to the very edge and gazed down at the darkening water, her hands tucked inside her jacket pockets.
“For what it’s worth,” Max started hesitantly. “I totally would’ve donated to your band fund.” But I’d only have been looking at you.
Chloe shot a smile over her hunched shoulders, then stepped back from the water’s edge to sit on the lone bench, elbows on her knees. Max cautiously joined her, the air electrified with a heavy grief she was eager to shake off.
When Chloe pulled a half-empty pack of cigarettes from inside her jacket, Max huffed out a laugh. “Last one, right?” she joked, only slightly bitter as Chloe placed one between her lips.
“Fuck off, I’m mourning,” Chloe mumbled through the cigarette, cupping her hand around it to block the wind from extinguishing the flame from the lighter. It took a few strikes and a long inhale before smoke finally filled her lungs. She tilted her head back and breathed it out slowly.
Max accepted the reasoning, scooting closer on the bench until their shoulders pressed together. The moment was familiar, though thankfully there was no storm on the horizon. Unless she wanted to count Rachel.
They sat in comfortable stillness, time drifting by just as easily as the clouds did overhead. Max could’ve stayed there for hours longer, until Chloe broke their silence.
“God, I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing here,” she murmured.
“We could…give a eulogy?” Max offered, kicking her feet beneath the bench.
“Yeah. Yeah, I guess so.”
Chloe inhaled sharply, thumbing the bracelet that dangled from her wrist. It looked familiar, but she’d never asked about the significance on why Chloe had worn it that day. Most days, she kept her wrists and neck free, not wanting to get anything stuck in someone’s engine at work. She hardly wore her bullet necklace either, though Max had taken to wearing that one herself instead on occasion.
“Alright. Now or never…Rachel, you were—” Chloe sucked in a sharp breath against the cigarette, then laughed it out. “A fucking mess. You were the only person in that shitty town who ever gave me a second glance, even though I never deserved it. And I’ll always love you. But I failed you. I was…too blinded by myself and my own shit that I didn’t even see your pain. Now you’re dead, and I’m here without you. In the city we dreamed of together. With the girl I always talked to you about, you remember?”
She glanced at Max, giving her a shy grimace before facing back to the open ocean. And with all the impulsiveness she was capable of, Chloe stood and ripped the bracelet off her wrist, dangling it over the edge of the pier in a clenched fist.
Max watched, waiting.
“I’m sorry for everything,” Chloe continued. “I should’ve paid more attention. I should’ve…protected you.”
Her face morphed into one of pain, tears budding at the corners of her eyes. One hand held the bracelet, the other her dying cigarette. Without a second thought, she snubbed the cigarette out on the railing and flung the bracelet off the edge of the pier before the smoke had even faded. It landed atop the water with a minuscule splash, where it floated for only a second before it began to sink into the depths. Slowly, it faded darker and darker before it was gone from sight entirely, and Chloe sunk to her knees like she wanted to follow it.
“Fuck. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Chloe covered her eyes with her hands, digging her palms as deep as they could go, shoulders hunched in on herself. “I’m so fucking sorry, Rachel.”
Max knelt at her side, just as she’d done during her first and last meeting with Rachel, and rubbed a hand on her girlfriend’s back, wishing she had the words that would make it all better. But all she had was herself — her hands on Chloe’s tense muscles, her forehead against her shoulder, her knee knocking into Chloe’s. It wasn’t much, she knew, but it was everything she had.
The moon shined wordlessly in the sky. Nothing but the gentle sounds of water lapping against the pier and the distant chattering of people behind them could be heard. But when Max looked to the sky, she could’ve sworn she watched as a star flickered and fell into its final sleep, its light winking out of existence. Thank you for watching over her, Rachel. I’ve got her now.
An hour passed. It was the longest of her life.
Eventually, Chloe ran out of the energy it took to stay curled in on herself. She sniffled just once and unfurled her limbs, looking over at Max with a somber expression. “Thanks for being here with me. I know this can’t be easy for you either, Max. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t…don’t apologize to me,” Max said, her voice feeling rough and raw even though she hadn’t done any of the crying. Had she?
“I have to. But I had to do this, too. I don’t want to be stuck in the past anymore. If…if you hadn’t come back to Arcadia Bay, I don’t know what would’ve happened to me, but I know it wouldn’t have been good.” She gingerly took Max’s hand in hers, turning it to where her palm faced the open sky so Chloe could trace circles against her skin. “I guess I would’ve died in that bathroom, yeah? Some sick fate, that is. To reunite with Rachel when I’m fucking dead.” If her jaw was any tighter, it would’ve snapped.
“I wouldn’t ever have let that happen,” Max promised.
When Max made a fist with her hand, Chloe shook her head. “I know. But you wanna know the worst part?”
Max didn’t. “Tell me.”
Chloe’s eyes were still wet when she glanced over, broken and tired. “That if I could go back in time…if I could use your powers, I still wouldn’t change a thing. Because everything that happened…it all led you back to me.” She scrubbed the back of a hand over her eyes to clear them. “I feel like I’ve spent my life waiting for you, Max. Waiting for you to notice me, waiting for you to hang out after school, waiting for you to ask your parents to spend the night, waiting for you to hold my hand, waiting for you to realize I was in love with you. Waiting for you to come back. And then you did, and now I don’t have to wait anymore.”
Max let out the breathe she’d been holding. The salty wind whipped through her hair and she shoved it behind her ear before she said, “So you are sappy.”
The thick tension between them popped like a balloon and Chloe laughed, knocking an elbow into Max’s side until she giggled in return. “That’s all you have to say after I pour my heart out to you? That I’m fucking sappy?”
“Well, it’s true, isn’t it?” Max beamed at her, cheeks hot from the attention. Maybe she couldn’t ever replace the hole Rachel left in Chloe’s life, but she had something better. She had her heart. “I love you. I’m…proud of you.”
Chloe’s mouth twisted in fake disgust. “Ew, okay, mom.” Then she placed a kiss on Max’s cheek and helped her to her feet, brushing off her flannel and straightening her own jacket. “Ready to head back? I still need to kick your ass again in Mario Kart.”
“You fucking wish,” Max said. “I’m on a ten race winning streak. But…have you said everything you needed to?”
Chloe faced the ocean a final time, hands braced on the railing as her hair breezed around her ears. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “I think I have. I’m ready.”
May 30, 2014
Max dozed in their bed for what felt like the fifth day in a row, relishing in the cool air that blasted from the AC unit which had finally been fixed earlier that week. She kept Chloe’s pillow tucked beneath her head as she pressed her nose into it, inhaling the comforting scent of cedar and engine oil.
Things had been good recently, really good. The air was lighter, and not just because of the working air conditioning. The unsaid guilt that they’d both locked inside had eased somewhat after their impromptu send-off for Rachel.
Her phone reminded her it was almost 5 pm, which meant she only had a couple more hours to suffer on her own until Chloe would get back. She’d spent most of the morning updating her blog and posted a few new pictures to various websites for sale. And, as Chloe would be happy to hear, Max had even sent in a few job applications to local businesses. While they only had one car, she didn’t want that to stop her from finding another way to make money. Besides, she preferred to walk places over driving. It was more peaceful that way.
Before she drifted back off into the realm of sleep, she heard the front door unlock. Max sat straight up, tossing the blanket off as she heard Chloe call to her from the living room. Puzzled, she looked at the clock again, but it had barely changed. Max was hyper-aware of Chloe’s schedule at all times, it was still way too early for her to be home.
“Chloe?” Max peeked through the bedroom door, seeing her girlfriend taking off her boots by the front door and tugging off her grease-soaked shirt to stand there in just her bra and pants, a peak of underwear revealed at her waistband. “You’re home early.”
“It was a slow day,” she explained, her belt and pants coming off next. “Remy cut me loose. Shower with me?”
An entire army couldn’t have held Max back from taking her up on the offer. In record time, Max found herself standing under a warm stream of water as she lathered soap on her hands to scrub the grease off Chloe’s skin.
“So,” Chloe started. She kept an arm pressed against the shower wall next to Max’s head, framing her in as bubbles ran down her body. “I have the rest of the night off.”
“I see that.” Max moved her hands lower, dancing the soap down to Chloe’s stomach and the metal piercing at her belly button.
“And I have tomorrow off, too.” Chloe gave her a smirk that might have made Max weak in the knees if she hadn’t been so invested in running her hands up and down her girlfriend’s body.
“Yep.”
“You know what that means?”
Max had some ideas. “That we can stay up all night?” she offered.
She looked up and wiped a stream of water from her forehead, seeing that Chloe’s hair had been slicked back from the water. It was so effortlessly styled that Max could barely fight off the urge to run her fingers through it until it returned to its usual messy state. So she didn’t.
“Fucking right,” Chloe said. “I knew I loved you for a reason.”
She surged forward into a kiss, a hand coming to rest lightly against Max’s throat so she could take the lead, tongue pressing against her bottom lip for entry. Max was all too happy to oblige, already feeling a fluttering in her lower stomach where Chloe’s other hand cupped around her waist.
Max’s imagination ran wild. But what she hadn’t been expecting was for Chloe to pull away so soon and say, “Alright, time to get dressed.”
Her thoughts jolted to a stop. “Huh?”
Chloe reached around to turn the water valve off, instantly making the steam in the bathroom dissipate. “Come on, I wanna take you somewhere.”
“But….it’s your day off?” You’re a fucking tease.
“Exactly! Let’s go!”
Begrudgingly, Max followed along, as she always did. It wasn’t ever easy saying no to Chloe, especially when she looked at Max like she was the embodiment of everything good in the world. Even more difficult was saying no when Chloe’s hair was freshly mussed from Max’s wandering hands, and her lips still pink from where they’d recently been pressed against her neck. It made her head spin just thinking about it.
Per Chloe’s insistence, Max tugged on her combat boots, adjusted her camera bag over her shoulders, and grabbed a wind breaker just in case it was chilly wherever they ended up. An hour later, they pulled into an empty gravel parking lot aside a landscape of sand dunes and overgrown, scraggly bushes.
“Wow,” Max deadpanned. “Another beach. How romantic.”
“Not just any beach,” Chloe said as she unbuckled the seat belt for herself and Max. “Just wait and see. You’ll like it.” She finished with a wink.
A short walk later and the moon became the only source of light around them, which meant that Max kept stumbling over her feet and tripping on anything in her path. Soon, she found them staring up at an old, wooden cabin almost entirely obscured by overgrown weeds and piles of trash. The roof had sunken in at an odd angle, giving the appearance that the house had been struck by something heavy.
“What is this place?”
Chloe trudged on ahead, stepping over obstacles like she’d been there before, then she climbed up onto the half-collapsed porch with a grunt. “Josh and the guys said it used to be an old drug den before the cops busted it a few years ago. Cool, right?”
Max nearly fell over as she leapt to avoid a particularly scary looking trash bag that was filled with a leaking, unknown substance that looked suspiciously red. “Oh. Great. Lovely date spot you’ve found.”
“I thought you could take pictures here or something. For your online diary.”
“It’s a blog,” she corrected. “And nobody reads it anyway.”
“Yet. It’s always a yet, Caulfield. I’m telling you, you’re gonna be famous one day, then I can finally live out my dream of being a trophy wife. Now hurry up!” Chloe bounced on her heels, oblivious to the fact that Max nearly had a heart attack at the mention of their future. “Nolan said he hid a bottle of moonshine somewhere on the second floor, I wanna see if it’s still there.”
“If you say so…” Finally reaching the porch herself, Max clasped hold of Chloe’s hand and let the girl help her up onto the rickety wooden beams.
“Shine a light over here,” Chloe asked, sliding a thin metal box from her pocket and opening it with a snap to reveal a set of tools that looked perfect for achieving all her breaking-and-entering dreams.
Max turned her phone’s flashlight on, directing it to where Chloe had knelt by the front door lock. To the right side of the door was a scattering of glass covering the porch.
“Um. Couldn’t we just use that?” Max pointed the light over at the busted window, where the inside curtains gently shifted from the slight breeze wafting in.
Chloe’s hands paused where they’d been maneuvering the lock pick, then she shrugged. “If you’re itching to cut yourself on open glass, sure. But don’t you wanna learn how to break a lock the natural way?”
“Hell no, I’m not built for prison life.”
“Whatever.” Chloe rolled her eyes, giving a harsh shove to the jammed lock. “Come on, Max, I have to redeem myself here. Should just take a bit more…” A few seconds of fiddling later and the door gave way. “Aha! After you, my lady.”
“What did I tell you about calling me that?” Max stepped through the entryway regardless of the tease.
If the broken glass outside was considered bad, the interior of the house was significantly worse. Her boots crunched against the floor, an odd mix of stained, patched carpet and laminate flooring panels that were mostly torn up or molded. Thankfully, the house didn’t smell too bad, but there was still the faint odor of mildew and fish given it was so close to the nearby ocean. Mostly, it was just stale. And fucking terrifying. She pulled her camera out to get started.
Chloe shuffled up behind her, glancing around the room in awe. “Wow. This place fucking sucks.”
Max adjusted the camera to focus in on the far corner of the room, right next to a dilapidated couch and end table. After the flash went off, she said, “Yeah. It’s perfect.”
“You’re so weird. I knew you’d like it here.” Chloe huffed and ran her finger along the walls, rubbing flakes of paint off to uncover bits of ancient graffiti. “Wanna head upstairs with me? Maybe find a nice, cozy, definitely not infested bed to make-out on?”
“Not yet,” Max said, trying to position herself in front of the window so the busted TV would be illuminated just a bit more for another picture. “Knock yourself out, though.”
A final shrug and Chloe stomped up the stairs, the carpeted boards creaking with each step. Despite the eerie noises, the structural integrity of the building still seemed secure, so Max forced herself to not freak out about the possibility of Chloe hurting herself. She was tempted to peer into the future just to check that nothing bad would happen. But…Chloe would hate if she did that. Fucking hell, Chloe didn’t even know Max could do that. She swore to herself that she’d tell her about it. One day.
After a good while, Max was left with over a dozen photographs that she was eager to assess back at the apartment. But there was just one left she wanted to take — a wide framed shot of the empty, expansive hallway. Multiple doors lined either side of the hall, giving the impression that they could’ve stretched on for miles.
Max lifted the camera, cradling it in her hands and inhaling sharply right as she pressed the shutter button. And as the flash lit up the hall, she saw the tall outline of a man standing at the other end of the room. The flickering light faded in an instant, taking the figure with it, but it had still been long enough for Max to feel her heart rate increase to a rapid pace.
They weren’t alone there.
She staggered away, her back accidentally hitting the wall and causing her to yelp in fear. “Chloe?” she called to the empty house. At least, it better be fucking empty.
Max peered back into the living space, the moonlight shining through the broken window. It took everything in her to not run outside then and there, knees shaking and fingers trembling.
A hand jabbed into her side and Max flung an arm out in defense, screaming before she saw that it was Chloe who’d caught her fist before it had time to connect with her face. “Whoa, Max! It’s me!” Chloe lowered Max’s arm, grinning with pride. “Did I really scare you that badly?”
“You dumbass!” Max hissed, not wanting to be too loud despite the fact that she’d screamed twice already. She used her free hand to point to the end of the hallway, the shadows in the room having grown intimidatingly long. Like the house was alive. Like someone was there with them, or at least that they had been just a few minutes ago. “Did you not see that?”
Chloe’s smile vanished, a flash of her own fear seeping in. “Max…See what?”
“That guy, or something, I don’t know!” Max breathed out a sharp exhale, running fingers through her hair. “He was…right over there. I swear.” She knew that man. She fucking knew him.
Chloe examined the direction Max had gestured to, squinting her eyes against the darkness. Max wanted to hold her arm tighter to stop her from getting closer, but she let Chloe move forward to investigate, her girlfriend taking cautious steps as she neared where the man had once stood.
“Nothing’s here,” she announced.
A thump sounded from the second floor, right above them — sounding like it had moved straight in the direction of the stairs.
Max’s breath hitched and she caught Chloe’s eyes, the same rush of adrenaline she felt coursing her own body being mirrored across Chloe’s pale expression. They both sprinted to the front door, swinging it open wildly and pilling out onto the porch before leaping over into the tall grass.
When the house was just a speck behind them, they slowed, panting heavily before they both devolved into laughter.
“Okay, Stephen King, let’s keep the ghost stories to a minimum,” Chloe said through her own wheezes.
Max knelt with her hands on her knees, gasping to catch her breath. “Yeah. Definitely. Back to the truck?”
“Race you there!” Chloe shot off again, leaving Max to fight against the burning in her legs and lungs to keep up.
The only problem was that she knew it wasn’t a story, and it certainly wasn’t a ghost. Whoever it was, whatever it was, had looked an awful lot like the man she’d met at the art gallery.
Notes:
halfway done with part 2 :)
Chapter 12: Sunrise
Summary:
July - August 2014.
Chloe has a few decisions to make, and Max has a strange dream.
Notes:
shorter chapter but we're getting more into the plot yay
Chapter Text
July 13, 2014
Max had to be the unluckiest person alive.
Especially that day, when she’d received not one, not two, but three different rejection emails from jobs she didn’t even remember applying to. She could’ve sworn that companies were emailing her preemptively before the thought of applying even crossed her mind, like they could sense that she was getting desperate to find a job and wanted to go ahead and count themselves out. At the rate she was headed, she wouldn’t find a job until mere weeks before they were set to move out — not that Max wanted to leave in the first place.
To add to the unlucky energy, Chloe was a magnet for unfortunate circumstances. Trouble followed her no matter how fast she tried running. The current bout of trouble was her brooding, sometimes-evil, mostly-depressing stepfather who she’d just gotten off the phone with.
As Chloe walked back inside from their tiny balcony, she slammed the door shut behind her and ran a frustrated hand through her damp hair. Even in the pouring rain, Chloe would always answer the phone outside. Max had thought it to be an excuse for her to have a secret cigarette, but she’d returned inside without the lingering smell of one that time. So there must have been a different reason, and Max was nothing if not a detective.
“Everything alright with David?” she asked, setting her laptop on the table, glad to have a reason to tear herself away from the dull screen.
For the most part, she knew Chloe’s relationship with David was neutral. They’d come a long way from constantly being at each other’s throats, and although neither of them wanted to admit it, they both knew it was because it was what Joyce would’ve wanted. For her family to be whole and happy. At least as much as they could be.
“Yeah. Fucking peachy,” Chloe snapped. She made no comment when Max went to the kitchen to grab a hand towel.
“Clearly,” Max noted. “Did you want to talk about it?”
Chloe exhaled, slumping on the couch as she crossed her legs over the coffee table. She pat against her thigh and Max quickly filled the space, perching on her lap as she shoved the towel over Chloe’s head to dry her off.
“He’s in fucking California,” Chloe’s muffled voice came from beneath the fabric and she crossed her arms in a pout.
“Wow, that’s horrible. Who would ever go there?” Max dropped the now damp towel away and Chloe’s scowling face returned to sight, hair successfully mussed and slightly drier.
“No, you don’t get it,” she insisted with a scathing tone. “He wants to see me.”
“Unheard of.” Max scoffed.
“And I don’t want to see him.”
“I’ve gathered that.”
Chloe groaned in frustration, massaging against her temples. “So what the fuck do I do? Tell him to butt out and fuck off? He’s…fucking lost, or something. Never mind, I don’t give a flying fuck what happens. I don’t care about him. I don’t. He’s not my family.”
Max knew her well enough to know when something was a lie, and the way the corners of Chloe’s eyes crinkled just slightly was a telltale indicator that what she said wasn’t entirely true. She did care.
Despite her insistence otherwise, Chloe was a good person to her very core. Sure, she often lashed out, she always let her emotions get the best of her, and she liked to play with fire, but she was loyal to a goddamn fault. And after losing her mom, losing everyone she’d ever known, David was the only person she had left, outside of Max. Hearing what Max had told her about his actions in the dark room, and about all the other realities she’d been in-and-out of, had changed something about the way Chloe thought of him.
But he was still a dick.
“What are you thinking, Max?” Chloe’s throat bobbed when she swallowed. “You’ve got that…scheming look on your face.”
“I don’t scheme.”
“You do. You’re a schemer every day of the week.”
Her eyes rolled of their own accord and she tossed the towel over Chloe’s face, causing her to sputter out a laugh as she tugged it away. “Whatever, I don’t have a scheme.”
“But you do have something to say. Come on, spit it out.”
Max wasn’t stupid. She spent every day of her life at Chloe’s side, she woke up next to her, she fell asleep in her arms, she knew every step Chloe took and every fear that raced through her head. It would be a lie to say she hadn’t noticed the invisible mountain that weighed on Chloe’s shoulders, and she knew Chloe had picked up on Max’s own struggles when it came to her powers — not that either of them had opened up that conversation yet.
For weeks, Chloe had simply been going through the motions, doing what had to be done for the two of them to stay alive. And while Max had her own problems with self-doubt and guilt over it, she knew they were both equally in it together. If there was one thing Max retained from her brief stint in therapy, it was to be honest with yourself.
“I just think…that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if you saw him,” Max offered. To soften the blow, she wrapped her fingers around the hair at the nape of Chloe’s neck and scratched gently in the way she knew her girlfriend liked.
But Chloe stiffened all the same, eyes narrowing. “Really.”
“Yeah.” Max shrugged. “Why not?”
“Uh, because he’s an abusive piece of shit? Because he hated my guts for years and blamed me for every bad thing in his life?” Chloe leaned forward, anger coursing her body as quickly as a switch flipping. “Because he should’ve been the one to fucking die, and not mom. I—”
Max pushed against Chloe’s collarbone until she touched the back of the couch. Her eyes were wet, as angry as they ever could be.
“So why do you still text him back?” Max demanded. She didn’t expect an answer. Chloe’s interactions with David hadn’t led to an easy relationship, they were both too infested with fields of gray to be anything close to black and white. “Why do you still call him every Wednesday after work? Why haven’t you blocked his number?”
“He’s not my dad, and you’re not my fucking therapist, Max. Stop.”
“Maybe you need to see one, then. Someone who can actually help you process—”
Chloe grabbed hold of Max’s thighs and firmly shoved her off her lap, standing up and stalking towards the bedroom without care. “I don’t want to do this right now.”
You never do, Max thought bitterly. Whatever. It wasn’t like she had a good track record for positive parental relationships anyway. But it still hurt. They were stuck in the same cycle that they always fell victim to.
Halfway through the year and Chloe had yet to say five words about her mom. Fuck, it had taken nothing short of a miracle for her to talk about Rachel in the first place. They were alone out there — in a town way too big, too bright, to be suited for loneliness. And maybe the weight of Max’s own failures had finally caught up to her, or at least she felt like they had. She was all too aware that she wasn’t on the greatest of terms with her own family or friends.
The bedroom door slammed shut, and Max shut her eyes with it. Chloe would apologize — she always did, after the anger faded and the regret sank in. So Max would wait. And maybe she’d stew in her own anger, for a bit. Sometimes it felt nice to feel something new for a change, to use each other as an outlet for their emotions, confident in the fact that at the end of the day, they would always come back together.
She scrolled on her phone for about an hour, until the door cracked open slowly, softly, and she heard the quiet sounds of Chloe trying to unceremoniously sneak over. Max cuddled farther into the blanket she’d grabbed, holding her glaringly bright phone only inches from her face.
The couch slumped as Chloe sat next to Max’s feet. “Hey.”
“Hi.” Max kept scrolling.
“I’m…a huge dick, I know.”
Max hummed, preoccupied with looking over the stats of her website. Nothing exciting had happened, as expected, but it was worth it to watch Chloe squirm uncomfortably as she tried to get Max to look at her.
“Uh, well…” Chloe cleared her throat. “I think…you might be right.”
Her thumb paused, hovering over the screen. She peaked over the edge of the blanket, just far enough to see the guilty look on Chloe’s face.
“You’re right about a lot of things, actually,” she continued with a humorless laugh. “Most everything. Except for when you say pie is better than cake.”
“No, I’m right about that, too,” Max said quickly, and Chloe’s eyes sparkled when they met each other’s gazes. “But go on.”
Chloe relented with a nod, her hand now resting on Max’s ankle and idly rubbing circles there. “Fine, we can save that fight for another day. What I wanted to say was…this place is killing me. And you deserve better than someone who argues with you over stupid shit. So…”
“Are you breaking up with me?”
Chloe’s mouth gaped open, her fingers tightening their hold on Max’s ankle like she was worried she’d fly away. “What the hell? Are you insane? Why the fuck would I—”
“Kidding,” Max laughed. “Relax.”
“Ugh.” Chloe crumpled backwards onto the couch, scrubbing a hand down her face. “Don’t ever joke like that, you asshole.”
“Sorry, sorry, bad timing.” But Max kept her cheeky grin.
Chloe looked at her from between her fingers, face reddened. “Whatever. Here I am, trying to do the right thing, and you’re laughing.”
“Just a bit,” Max admitted. She poked her foot into Chloe’s side, right where she knew it would tickle the most. “So, is your stubborn ass going to meet up with David?”
Chloe swatted her foot away before she could do any more damage. “Maybe,” she answered. “Yeah. Eventually.”
“Eventually…?”
“Fuck, I don’t know,” Chloe growled. “It’s too…soon, okay? Don’t make me pick a day or something.”
Progress is progress. The rest could come later.
“I won’t,” Max promised. She reached a hand out towards her girlfriend, her pinky finger sticking into the air. “Partners forever?”
“Always.” Chloe twisted their fingers together.
July 20, 2014
Per her typical routine, Max snagged a takeout lunch from the deli down the road from home, shoved an extra $5 tip into their jar, and made her way over to the auto shop. The sun was blazing strong, reflecting visible waves of heat off the black asphalt that the city was made of. But it was a quick walk, so Max wasn’t too fussed. It was good to get out of the house and stretch her legs.
She ducked around the back of the shop, nodding to one of the other mechanics whose name she couldn’t really remember. He gave her a friendly wave before he shoved the glasses back up the bridge of his nose, skin slick with sweat.
“She’s with a customer right now,” he said, jerking his chin towards the garage off the side of the main building. “Should be wrapping up soon, then she can head on break.”
“Thanks, I’ll tell her,” Max replied, raising her voice to be heard over the loud beeping and whirring of machines that came from all directions.
Just outside the garage, a group of three girls stood beside the frosted window, heads lowered together like they were laughing about something. But as Max got closer to the door, something about the situation piqued her curiosity. She paused, lingering a few feet away from the group.
“—think she’ll do it this time?”
“Has to, just look at her face!” One of the blonde girls pointed through the window. “She’s shivering like one of those crusty, anxious dogs.”
The three of them laughed again, until the dark-haired girl whispered, “Shh, not so loud.”
As nonchalant as she could be, Max sneaked a look through the window. There was a silver sedan parked on the shop floor, sans one tire that Chloe was currently working to re-attach. She knelt next to the car, the knees of her denim pants coated with grime as she finished securing the tire in place. The heat must have gotten to her that day, as she’d taken off the gray, button-down shirt Remy typically had the mechanics wear as their unofficial uniforms, now clothed in a plain tank top in its absence.
In front of the counter was presumably the fourth girl the group had been chatting about, given the way she nervously bit her lip and wrung her hands together. Seeing her friends, and Max, watching her, she gave an awkward thumbs up in their direction.
The group of girls returned the motion, practically jumping with excited squeals as Chloe tugged off her gloves and went behind the register to print the invoice.
“Well, if she doesn’t do it, I’m gonna,” the blonde girl said.
“You literally have a boyfriend,” her friend hissed.
“So? Boyfriends are temporary. She’s way too hot to pass up. Think she’s into blondes?”
Max shouldered her way past the girls, tugging the door open. “I don’t think she is,” she said casually, leaving them gawking behind her.
Chloe leaned with one bare arm on the counter as she tapped on the shop keyboard, face pinched in concentration. A pencil was stuck behind one of her ears, her hair ruffled and uneven from leaning over-top and underneath engines all day long.
“Let’s see, 2007 Sentra…got your inspection done, tire rotation, and a full synthetic oil change. Paying with cash or card?”
The girl handed over her card, voice nearly stuttering as she tried making small talk to keep the conversation alive. Max waited off to the side, clutching the plastic bag of lunch that she was dying to dig into. But Chloe was oblivious to her presence, still conversing with the girl until the card-reader beeped and the receipt was printed.
“Alright, just sign here and you’re all set.” Chloe handed her a pen and the girl took it, brushing their fingers together way more than was necessary, in Max’s humble opinion.
The girl scratched her name down and gave Chloe a more-than-friendly smile as she returned the signed receipt. “Thank you, uh…Price?”
“Oh, it’s Chloe,” she said, gesturing to the name tag that was pinned to her chest. “Boss-man likes us to use last names, says it’s more professional or whatever.”
“Chloe. Okay. Cute name.” The girl used the pen to gesture to Chloe’s bare arms. “Do all the mechanics here wear tank tops to work?”
“Nah, we have a uniform,” Chloe said with a laugh. “But unfortunately, it doesn’t always match up with the hot-ass weather around here. Uh, I mean, don’t tell Remy I said that. It just got too hot in here earlier.”
“I can agree with that.” The girl bit her lip again and Max almost screamed. “But don’t your arms get dirty?”
Chloe inspected her skin, wiping at the smears of oil that had spread over her tattoo. Then she shrugged. “Doesn’t bother me. It all washes off anyway.”
“Well, if you ever needed help cleaning up, you know who to call.” The girl pulled a piece of paper from her back pocket and scratched something onto it, shooting her a final wink before sliding it across the counter. “Will I see you next time?”
“Yeah, sure, I’m here most days. Tell your friend to drive safe!” Chloe gave a two-fingered salute off the side of her head as the girl exited the shop, meeting up with the rest of her friends and immediately whispering to them fiercely.
Max rolled her eyes, marching up to the counter and setting the takeout bag on it.
“Oh, hey, Max!” Chloe’s eyes lit up when she finally saw her. “How long have you—?”
The rest of her sentence was stolen as Max shoved her mouth against Chloe’s, sliding her tongue to taste the salt on her lips. While she was distracted by the heated kiss, Max felt for the slip of paper on the counter and crumbled it in her fist. When she pulled away, Chloe’s eyes were still closed.
“Uh. What was that for?” Chloe asked, blinking back to life.
“Nothing.” Max tore the paper into tiny shreds, letting the pieces fall into the trash can. The girls outside stared in through the window with slack jaws. “Just missed you. Hungry?”
Chloe’s eyes darted to Max’s lips and back, like no one else in the world existed but the two of them. “Starving.”
August 10, 2014
The streak of bad luck that July brought had only continued to worsen in August. It seemed like the higher the temperatures grew, the more likely it was that something extraordinarily bad would happen to them. Solemnly, Max touched a hand on Chloe’s shoulder in support. Behind them, the shop door jingled open and Remy whistled at what he saw.
“Damn. That’s some bad damage, right there.” He pointed to the driver’s side of Chloe’s truck, where a huge dent had caved in the rusted metal. “The hell happened?”
Chloe shot him a glare. “You think I did this?”
“Didn’t say that, did I?” Remy shook his head.
“It was a hit and run, I fucking guess.” Chloe ground her teeth, jaw clenched tight enough to shatter diamond. She waved a hand at the truck before her palm fell flat against her thigh. “Fucking dickhead hit my car and I wasn’t even driving. God, Max, if you’d have been in there, I would’ve shot the f—”
“Okay, let’s keep it PG,” Max cut her off, sparing a sheepish glance at Remy — who was very much so still Chloe’s boss, who definitely didn’t need to hear her threaten to murder someone.
“I don’t blame you,” Remy said, starting to walk a circle around the truck to poke and prod at the damage. “Looks rough.”
“Thanks, boss. I’m not blind.”
Remy narrowed his eyes at her. “Welp. You said you could fix anything, right? We need a new body guy around here. Could be a good learning experience.”
“Fuck off,” Chloe said with a laugh that was soon returned.
Max scratched the back of her neck as the two of them continued their confusing banter. It was one thing to make friends with your coworkers, but your boss? And Remy wasn’t even remotely around their same age, he had grandchildren! But, what did Max know? Chloe was employed, she wasn’t. So she kept her thoughts to herself.
It was nice, in a way, to see Chloe have such good synergy with someone else. When she wasn’t being a dick to people, she really could make friends with anyone. Unfortunately for her, those non-dick days were rather few and far between. Or maybe Remy was just immune to dickish behavior. He did own an auto repair shop, after all.
“Well, you already know what I’m gonna say, Chloe—”
“Don’t, don’t even try! My answer is still no.” Chloe covered her ears dramatically. “I can’t accept something like that from you.”
Remy looked to Max next, his mouth set in a firm line. “Good thing I was gonna offer it to Max, not you, so your answer don’t mean shit to me.”
“Me?” Max’s brows rose.
Remy gestured her over with a shrug of his shoulders, leading her to a gate at the side of the shop that led to the back courtyard. Max followed quickly, toying with the strap of her camera bag as they turned the corner to someplace she’d not visited yet. Chloe groaned beside her, tugging the beanie off her head and wadding it into a ball to shove in her pocket.
“Ugh, come on, Remy, she doesn’t want to see your beat up fucking van.”
“Let the lady speak for herself,” Remy countered.
Max giggled at the look on her girlfriend’s face. She stuck her tongue out at Chloe and turned back to the van in question, a glint of sunlight reflecting off the dashboard cover. The van was old — maybe even as old as Chloe’s truck. But it had 4 wheels and 4 doors and all the windows were intact. Its color was a faded blue, almost the same shade as the sky, but a few areas still showed that the original paint color was a neat navy.
Max ran a finger over the pinstripe on the driver’s side door. “Wow. It’s…beautiful?”
Chloe and Remy both laughed at the statement and Max felt her face flush. She was most definitely not a car girl. If it got her from point A to point B, that was all she cared about.
“Yeah, alright,” Remy said. “But can you see yourself driving her?”
“My passenger princess? Driving?” Chloe gasped in fake shock. “Never.”
Max shoved an elbow into Chloe’s side. “Sure, I could drive it.”
“Her, Max, not it,” she insisted. “And wrong answer! We don’t want to buy the van!”
“Says who?” Maybe she was having too much fun teasing Chloe, but she didn’t care.
Chloe gaped like a fish. “Uh, me! I like my truck as-is, thanks!”
Remy grunted. “That hunk of metal ain’t got but a couple weeks left in her. Less, given the new damage. You’d be lucky if she cranks on now.”
“Yeah, well, I’d like to enjoy our last couple weeks then. We’ve been through a lot. She’s my baby.”
The older man just shook his head and adjusted the brim of his hat. He looked back at Max and slapped a palm against the hood of the van. “Ms. Caulfield, I’d like to offer my van to you for two-hundred dollars. Your stubborn as a mule girlfriend here won’t accept such a low offer, wants to save up and give me five instead. What do you think?”
A van would change everything. They’d be able to travel longer distances, avoid hotels, haul all the shit they’d somehow acquired since being in the apartment. To have that handed to them felt like a miracle she didn’t even know she craved.
“I think…that’s incredibly generous of you, Remy. But why? Don’t you need a car?”
Remy put a hand to his stomach and chuckled. “Max, I’ve got more cars than I have ex-wives. I don’t need this ol’ thing. But I do have one condition, if you choose to accept.”
“Hit me.”
Chloe groaned again in the background, mumbling what sounded like a string of expletives that would’ve made Remy blush had he heard them.
Remy sighed and looked to the sky, reminiscing about something that clearly pained him to think about. “I know you ain’t gonna be staying here forever, much as I think you should. So. I want you to drive it east, until you reach the coast. The Outer Banks of North Carolina. And I want you to find my daughters there, show them the van, see if they remember. Tell them their pappy misses them.” His eyes watered, but he kept his smile like it was the only thing he had left. “That’s all. I don’t even care how long it takes you to get there, long as you get there eventually. Finding home and whatnot.”
Max didn’t even have to look at Chloe before she had her answer ready. “Yeah, of course. We’ll do it.” She stuck out her hand and Remy eyed it warily. “Deal.”
His palm collided with her own, firm and rough like the rest of him, and the fate of the van was sealed. Chloe’s fake-anger at the situation dwindled the more she inspected the interior of the van, seeing that the second row of seats had the ability to lay flat to extend the storage space of the back. And the van was nothing if not spacious — especially coming from a truck that didn’t even have a back seat to begin with. They’d even have enough room to add a mattress. Probably.
Later that evening, after surviving the last unexpected rush of customers, Chloe and the boys held a mini-funeral for the truck. When she crawled into bed that night, she still smelled of gasoline and fire. The only memento she kept from the truck was a scrap piece of metal from the hood, for some reason she refused to elaborate on when asked, only citing the fact that Max would find out eventually. And Max supposed that some secrets were okay to keep, despite their promise to tell each other everything. So she let it go. She had a good feeling that she’d come to like that secret one day.
August 16, 2014
Rain fell from the dense clouds overhead, thick drops that splattered like acid on the sandy shore, leaving craters where their impact molded the earth.
Max walked forward, legs unsteady beneath her.
Ahead was a cliff that stretched tall into the sky, the tip of it nearly touching the blackness of the raging storm. At its peak was a stark white lighthouse — the only beacon of hope for miles around. The beam of light flickered in a circle, thrumming with energy that could be felt even from where Max stood on the beach.
And Max walked forward still.
It felt as if she was walking through water, thick and hazy, where time ceased to function as it should. She tried to check her watch, but found her wrist empty of all but a simple, blue bracelet she had no memory of.
So Max walked forward.
The beach shifted farther away.
Trees swam in the wind, brushing their branches against each other in a cacophony of eerie music.
Eventually, her leaden feet placed her on the path that led to the lighthouse, one which she knew like the back of her own hand. She recognized that much of her surroundings, at least, though she couldn’t place the reason why she was there at all.
She shouldn’t be back. There shouldn’t have been another storm.
Max walked forward.
The closer she came to the lighthouse, the faster the light became, until soon it shot around in circles so rapid that she feared the entire world would collapse around them — and maybe it would.
She stopped at the base of the lighthouse, reaching a hand out and touching the cool metal, and the storm halted. Rain droplets paused in their treks to the earth, hanging in mid-air like they were in a living painting, then they retreated back into the sky. The dark clouds dissipated to nothingness, leaving a cool, crisp blue in their wake. The ocean, once writhing in anger, had settled to being as still as a sheet of glass.
Max retracted her hand, staring at the lines in her palm like they would tell her what had happened. But her vision blurred, shifted, and her hand disappeared for an instant.
When she looked back up, the bench seemed to call to her.
Max walked forward.
Someone was there with her — a woman, as young as she was, with thin brown hair. She looked down at her lap, face obscured from Max’s view.
Mouth dry, she reached her invisible hand out again in hopes of touching the girl’s shoulder. But just as her fingers made contact with the soft fabric of the woman’s jacket, everything went black.
Max sat straight up in bed, clutching a hand across her pumping heart as her eyes darted around the room in fear. A closet door, barely cracked open. A window with a blanket being used as curtains. A short, weathered dresser with a TV atop it. She was home, safe, secure.
Right?
Chloe shifted beside her on the bed, blankets tossed fully over her head so it looked like she was just a lump. She mumbled groggily and asked if Max was okay, still disoriented with sleep given that it was the middle of the night. It wasn’t the first time one of them had woken up in fear, scaring the shit out of the other. She’d grown used to it. They both had.
“Yeah, I’m-I’m fine. Just a bad dream.” Max forced herself to lay back down, her rigid body refusing to relax much more than that.
She felt Chloe shuffle closer, then she tossed an arm over Max’s stomach and tugged their bodies together. Her warmth was the only thing that soothed Max.
“Mm. Wanna talk about it?”
Stars still danced on the ceiling above her, her mind swirling and racing faster than she could keep up. She’d had dreams of the storm before, of course, but nothing…nothing had been as vivid as that. It wasn’t just realistic, it was real. Max had been there. How, she had no idea, but she fucking knew it was real.
She twisted her hands together, feeling the firmness of her fingertips. The lighthouse had been cool to the touch, the temperature still lingering on the pads of her fingers. And the other woman that had been there…who was she?
“Uh, Max?”
“Sorry, tired. N-no, I don’t need to talk about it. Just the same as usual. I’ll be fine in the morning.”
“Hmph.” Chloe already sounded half-way back asleep. “Okay, love you…”
Max swallowed heavily as Chloe relaxed around her, long limbs keeping her securely in place. “I love you, too.”
But sleep wouldn’t find her again until the next night rolled around.
Chapter 13: Burn
Summary:
September - October, 2014
Chloe goes back to her roots, Max has a terrible 19th birthday, and their lease comes to an end.
Notes:
CW: Brief sexual content, mentions of blood
sorry for any mistakes, I'm very sleep deprived and still going through withdrawals which is making me dumber than usual <3
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
September 2, 2014
Max dragged a hand through the back of Chloe’s hair, smoothing out the tangles from where she’d slept on it wrong the night before. The strands had grown long, just on the cusp of touching her shoulders, and Max had gotten tired of hearing her bitching about how it tickled her neck at night. Impulsively, Chloe had come home the night before with electric clippers, a box of blue hair dye, and a mischievous glint in her eyes.
“Ow! Watch it,” Chloe grumbled, hands braced on the bathroom counter as she stared at her reflection.
“Sorry, sorry,” Max hissed, raising the clippers and clicking them on with a faint buzz as she mentally steeled herself for what she was about to do.
Chloe’s gaze caught hers in the mirror. “Uh. You gonna do it or not? Don’t pussy out.”
The vibration from the clippers made her hand feel numb and sweaty. “What if I fuck it up?”
“You won’t.” Chloe’s eyes rolled. “If I can do it, you sure as fuck can. Besides, it’ll grow back.”
“But what if I—”
“Max.” Chloe glanced over her shoulder, giving her an easy smile that may or may not have sparked something in her lower stomach. “Would you still love me if I had a fucked up haircut?”
Yes. Of course. Obviously. I’d love you through anything. “Hard question, that…”
“Fuck you.” Chloe laughed and turned back to the mirror, tilting her head down to give Max a better angle. “Just cut the damn hair.”
In a bout of courage, Max touched the clippers to the back of Chloe’s neck and dragged them upward, involuntarily tensing at the sound of the hair scraping away. While the brightness of the blue dye had faded months ago, it was still a shock to see Chloe’s natural hair color appear from nowhere as her hair fell away in clumps.
She worked slowly, hands shaking, both from nerves and from the constant buzz, until the sides and back were all the same length, the top left longer than the rest. That part, Chloe took a pair of scissors to herself.
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Max asked tentatively as Chloe pinched a handful of hair between two fingers and snipped a jagged edge at the ends.
“Yeah, duh.” Chloe assessed her handiwork, turning her head to either side and inspecting the length. It was different than she’d had it before — shorter, cleaner, like she’d grown into the style after many failed attempts of experimentation.
Max leaned on the edge of the counter, unsure of what to do with herself now that her part was done. The floor was covered in hair and she mentally kicked herself for not setting out a towel or something to catch it all.
She eyed the clippers, debating if she wanted to try cutting her own hair too. But before she could make a decision, Chloe had already gotten started on slathering the dye on her freshly cut hair.
It was a drastically different experience from when she helped Max dye her own hair all those months ago, though nostalgic all the same. Their entire lives had changed since then — their relationship, too. When Chloe had helped her, she was methodical and gentle, like she was taking her time in the moment, but when it was her own hair, she moved with practiced ease and confident motions. It wasn’t long before her entire head was wet with dye and her skin was stained the bright color.
Half an hour later, spent watching YouTube on Max’s phone, Chloe hopped in the tub to rinse it out. Max figured that she could see Chloe naked every day of her life and still never get used to it. And maybe she’d been so distracted that she failed to realize their mistake until it was entirely too late.
“Holy fuck.”
Chloe shut off the water and snatched a towel from the rack, covering her head and beginning to dry it off. “Huh? Does it look bad?”
“No, it—” Max pointed at the tub, where a large splattering of blue dye had stained the sides and bottom. “That’s…a lot of dye.”
Chloe paused her motions, water still dripping from her damp skin and soaking the already dirty floor. “Oops.”
“Oops? We are not getting that security deposit back,” Max said. She swept at the hair clippings on the floor and tried moving them into a single pile. “Fuck. How much do bathtubs even cost? Do you think they’ll make us pay to fix it?”
“I think it’s a good thing I didn’t go for red,” Chloe joked. “They’d probably open a murder investigation for that.”
Max was too far gone to listen, really. “Should we get some bleach? Would that clean it?”
“Chillax, Max.” Chloe finished ruffling the towel over her head and wrapped it around her waist instead, standing there in the steam from the shower. And, okay, maybe the sight of her bare skin was enough to pull Max out of her own head. “The leasing office knew what they signed up for. I’m just some reckless, trouble making, unemployed stoner, right?”
“You’re not unemployed.”
“Watch yourself, Caulfield.”
Chloe’s eyes flashed dangerously and she stepped forward, crowding over Max with a carefree grin. A bead of water ran down the side of her face, where Max watched it slide down to her neck in a trance. She touched a finger to the spot, feeling the gentle beat of Chloe’s pulse beneath her fingertips.
“Or what?” she asked.
A hand found Max’s waist, searing into her skin even through her clothes. It was those moments she liked best — the banter, the teasing, the glances between them that reminded her they were made for each other. Where the outside world didn’t exist, her career aspirations didn’t exist, their infrequent fights didn’t exist. Where her passion was reduced to center around the two of them, not anything else. No ghosts or demons existed in the world they’d created with each other.
“Or I might end up staining your skin blue, too.”
Her fingers danced across Max’s stomach, teasing beneath her shirt and tugging the fabric up until it bunched around her chest.
“You are not getting those hands anywhere near me,” Max said with a laugh.
“Who said anything about using my hands?”
Chloe leaned forward and licked the side of Max’s throat before she had time to stop her, kissing right below her ear until Max shivered from more than just the cool air hitting her skin. Her shirt came off easily next, tossed somewhere on the damp floor next to Chloe’s. Max trailed her hands from Chloe’s arms to her shoulders, tugging her forward into an actual kiss and sighing when their lips pressed together.
Making good on her statement, Chloe kept her hands away from Max’s bare skin, instead choosing to force her back into the door by deepening the kiss, tongue teasing against her own. But Max didn’t care about the stupid hair dye; she wouldn’t have cared if Chloe left her mark on every inch of her skin. She shifted forward until their bodies touched together, where she used a hand to grab hold of Chloe’s wrist and cover her own chest with it.
Chloe broke away first, brushing their noses together as she groaned and rolled a thumb over Max’s hardening nipple. Growing impatient from the teasing, Max shoved Chloe’s head down until she was sucking a mark to the side of her throat, nipping at her skin until heat traveled to her lower stomach and Max was left gasping for breath.
But the universe had a different idea, and soon the annoying beep of her ringtone split the air. Out of habit, Max reached for the phone, but Chloe grabbed the offending wrist and twisted her arm to press it against the door, mouth blazing hot against her neck.
“Can it wait?” she panted against Max’s skin. “I wanna taste you.”
Max risked a glance at the phone screen, seeing Kate’s name in bold letters. A million thoughts raced through her head, none of them good. She pushed a hand against Chloe’s jaw to get some space. “It’s, uh, it’s Kate.” She swiped the accept button and held the phone to her ear, clearing her throat in hopes of not sounding like she was incredibly turned on. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Hi, Max. Um. Is Chloe there?”
Chloe smirked at the side of Max’s throat, nuzzling against her pulse point and leaving a quick bite before her mouth trailed lower. Then her knees touched the floor, hands braced at the back of Max’s thighs to hold her steady.
“Y-yeah, she’s—” Max felt her head hit against the door, Chloe’s thumbs sliding the shorts off her legs. “—she’s home today. What did you…is everything okay?”
“Oh, good. I’m great, things are great. You sound distracted, is now a bad time?”
“Yes,” Chloe hissed under her breath, kissing the front of Max’s underwear and shooting her a look that said are you gonna hang up or what?
“No, now’s perfect.” Max cringed the moment the words left her lips. She sucked in a breath as Chloe finished sliding the last of her clothes onto the floor.
Kate hummed through the phone, delving into some nonsense conversation about how she’d met up with Victoria a few days ago, or something along those lines. Max found that it was increasingly difficult to pay attention, or care, as Chloe’s hands wandered closer to the apex of her thighs, her tongue not far behind.
Through her daze, Max finally registered what Kate had said. She pushed at Chloe’s head, pressing a knee up into her chest to keep her from advancing forward. “Wait, what did you say?”
Chloe stood with a huff, crossing her arms as Max sent her an apologetic look before holding the phone closer to her ear.
“I said that I hope I see you at the memorial next month,” Kate added. “Aren’t you going?”
“What memorial?”
“On October 11th, in Arcadia Bay. It’ll be where the school used to be, hosted by the Prescott Foundation, but a lot of the other families chipped in to help the town redevelopment efforts. Wow, it’s so surreal to say that out loud…”
Like a strike of lightning, Max found herself colder than she’d ever been before. She straightened her spine, hunching over the counter as her thoughts raced. First she dreamt of the lighthouse, now…
“Are you still there?”
“Yeah, sorry.” Max avoided looking at Chloe, already knowing what she was going to say before she’d even opened her mouth.
“We’re not going to that bullshit,” Chloe snapped. “I’m not supporting that freak-show or his fucked up family, even if he is dead.”
Every time Max’s eyes shut, she saw the cliffs, she saw the storm. The swirls of light that buzzed around her head flickered images of the future, taunting her, showing her what could happen — or what could’ve happened, had she made different choices. But while she didn’t want to see any of it, there was a sinking feeling in her gut that steered her towards what she knew she had to do.
“It wouldn’t be to support them,” Max said. “It would be for the people we lost, the ones we cared about. It would be the right thing to do. Wouldn’t it?”
Don’t we owe them that much?
Will this wash their blood from my hands?
Do I even want my hands to be clean?
“That town wanted me dead, Max. And if it wasn’t for you, they would’ve gotten their fucking wish. I don’t…I don’t want to see it again.” Chloe turned a shoulder, grabbing her clean clothes from the counter and dressing herself without another word as Max stared at her palm.
If she focused just right…she could almost see…the lighthouse. She could almost reach a hand out, like in her dreams, and touch the girl’s shoulder on the bench. Almost.
“I don’t want to pressure you…” Kate added meekly.
“Sorry, Kate,” Max apologized, almost forgetting that she’d been on the phone at all. “I’ll-I’ll talk to Chloe about it. Thanks for the invitation. Yeah, okay, see you later.”
The moment thoroughly ruined, Max set her phone back on the counter and went to pick up her fallen clothes, an uncomfortable tension now pressing behind her eyes. Colors bled around the walls, swirls of red and black and green that she’d come to recognize as all the potential futures pressing in. Gritting her teeth, she ignored them all with furious silence.
“Hey, wait,” Chloe stated, blocking her movement with a strange look across her face. She finished latching the belt back on her pants and bent to give Max a hand, gingerly passing her shirt over. “What’s that look for?”
“What look?” Max tugged the shirt back over her head, a flash of heat making her skin prickle. She felt feverish, like she’d just run a marathon and hadn’t drank anything all day.
“Like you just…never mind.” Chloe opened the bathroom door and padded out to the living room. “I’ll be in the bedroom, if you wanted to…talk.”
“Yeah. Okay.” Max rolled her shoulders as she looked at herself in the mirror. Still the same Max. Still the same stupid, young girl who was in way over her head.
Fuck.
September 21, 2014
On the morning of her 19th birthday, Max ate the entire 6-count box of donuts Chloe had surprised her with, then they stayed in bed for hours to watch a shitty $1 movie rental of an indie horror film. And that ended up being the only good part of her day.
Only 2 weeks separated her from saying goodbye to the tiny apartment she’d come to love so dearly. It wasn’t just a roof over her head or a place to store her stuff, it was home. It was the home she’d built on her own, with Chloe, like she’d always dreamed of doing.
Time and distance had wedged a wall between her and her parents, her and her old life, her and her ideals of the future — but she’d persisted despite them. She’d come a long way from being the fresh-faced teenager at her first day at Blackwell Academy.
“So. If you could have anything in the world for your birthday, what would it be?” Chloe plunged her hand in their shared bag of chips and shoved them in her mouth.
Max looked at the envelope on the table as it stared a hole in her. Just a few days ago, they’d found it taped to their front door — the leasing office asking them to give a written notification on if they planned on moving out at the end of their lease, or if they wanted to renew.
And Max wanted to stay.
More than anything, she wanted to have a home with Chloe. To be in a city they both loved, around people who loved them, doing what they loved doing. The only question was if LA was that place or not, and if Chloe had similar dreams or not. She had the feeling she wouldn’t like the answer to either of those questions.
So, she answered.
“I’d want…a new guitar.” It wasn’t a complete lie, just not the most pressing thing on her mind. Surely that didn’t count as lying.
“Yeah?” Chloe offered the chip bag to Max. “Gonna go on tour in the van?”
“Only if you’ll be my groupie,” Max joked in return.
“Ooh, promoted from chauffeur to groupie, I like it.”
Chloe tossed her feet up onto the coffee table, lifting an arm for Max to snuggle under. By all means, she should’ve been happy. It was her birthday, she’d eaten tons of junk food, she’d watched a really terrible movie — the day should’ve been perfect. And yet, everything came to an end, both good and bad. Maybe Chloe was right, maybe it was time to get back on the road. But Max had to try.
“So, I’ve been thinking,” Chloe announced, like they’d both been having the same thoughts at the same time. “I know it’s your turn to pick, technically, but how do you feel about heading east next? We can drive through Austin. I know a guy there, he’d let us stay with him for a few days. Do some sight-seeing, eat some tacos, catch a few raves. It’ll be fun. And we’ll save a shit-ton of money on hotels now that we have the van.”
“Actually, Chloe,” she started hesitantly. “Can I…ask you a question?”
“Yeah, of course,” Chloe answered, tearing her eyes away from the TV to press a kiss at the top of Max’s head. “Anything.”
Max slid her arm around Chloe’s middle, burrowing her face in the side of her chest. Maybe if she held her close enough, they’d never leave. “After October, should we stay here?”
“Stay here?” she questioned. “As in, this apartment?”
“Yeah. Here.”
“Max…” Chloe shifted her weight awkwardly. “Don’t get me wrong, I’ve loved being here with you. But don’t you feel like we’re missing something out there?”
Max wasn’t missing anything. She had everything she’d ever needed — right there in her arms. “Like what?”
“Like, I dunno, all the adventures waiting for us out in the world. All the parks we haven’t visited, all the cities we haven’t explored, all the people we haven’t met. I want to see it all. With you. I want to keep moving, do as much as I can, while I’m still alive.” She must have felt Max tense at the statement, because Chloe quickly tightened her hold around Max’s shoulders. “Wait, I didn’t—”
“Nope, too late, what do you mean while you’re still alive?” Max unglued herself from Chloe’s side, scanning her face for any insight into what the hell she was thinking.
“It’s just, you know.” Chloe made a brush off of the statement, like it was casual, like it didn’t matter. “I should be dead. So, I want to…enjoy my life. While I have it. Come on, don’t make it a big deal or anything.”
“It is a big deal. That’s, like, the biggest deal ever,” Max objected. “You can’t leave me, Chloe. Not ever. So don’t fucking talk about dying. Not today. Not any day.”
Chloe shut her jaw with a click. “Right. You’re right, Max. You’re always right. Fuck whatever my feelings are, yours are the only ones that matter.”
“Stop,” Max bit back. Chloe was quick to anger — always had been. And maybe Max had learned a thing or two from her. “You always do this. You always turn it back to me every time I try to talk about you. Do you think I haven’t noticed what you’re doing?”
“Oh, you want to talk about me?” Chloe withdrew into herself, and Max could feel her slipping away, farther, farther, past where she could reach. “Real hypocritical of you, Max. Do you think I’m stupid?”
“What?” A headache had started at the base of her neck, now lacing up towards her temples. She couldn’t handle this, not now. “No, never.”
“Yeah, well I’m not blind either,” Chloe shouted. “You’ve been distant. You’ve been zoning out way more than you used to, like you’re seeing shit that isn’t there. And I know damn well it isn’t drugs, so what’s going on? What aren’t you fucking telling me? We made a goddamn promise—”
“—Max!” a voice sounded from behind her, deep and frantic. When she whipped around, there was a man racing towards her, blood streaming from his nose. He stretched out a hand, fingers curled outward like a javelin honing in on its prey. “Max, you’re gonna go back, right fucking now, you owe me—!”
Max fell to the ground, just narrowly dodging the corner of the table, her knee crunching painfully against the hard linoleum as stars danced behind her eyes. Distantly, she heard Chloe’s sound of alarm and felt a pressure around her shoulders, but the world swayed around her too much for her to focus on any one thing in particular.
“I knew you’d come around. They always do.”
There was nothing there. Just a blank expanse of emptiness. Then a light. It was hollow, faint, but visible all the same.
She was being hunted, she was in danger, she was going to die, she was—
“Max, come back,” Chloe whispered.
A wet rag touched against Max’s forehead and she blinked her eyes open. The bathroom. She was in the bathroom, not on a cliff, not on a beach, not in a storm or a busy street. Just propped up with her back against the side of the tub.
“What…?”
Chloe watched light return to Max’s face and she pulled her into a tight embrace, cheeks pressed against each other. Feeling weak, Max lifted an arm to rest on Chloe’s shoulder in return. It was all she could do.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t…I didn’t expect you to pass out on me.” Chloe’s voice had softened from earlier, filled with only concern. She pressed a cup of water into Max’s unsteady hands, curling her fingers around the cool glass. “What the hell happened?”
Max gulped down the water, her throat suddenly scratchy and dry as she tried to think of a way to broach the subject without thoroughly freaking Chloe out. What could she possibly say? Hey, I’ve been seeing visions of the future, most of them involving death and chaos. Oh, and I think I have a stalker who can also travel through time. No, he isn’t actually real, I just see him in my dreams and sometimes in real life, like the Portland art show or that abandoned house we broke into. No big deal.
“I-I don’t know,” she admitted. The room still spun around her, disorienting and hazy. She clutched the rag to her temple, using it to ground herself in the present moment — or what she hoped was the present moment. “I’ve been…seeing things, I guess.”
“Seeing things?” Chloe looked around the corners of the bathroom.
“Not like that,” she assured. “Like…the future. Or a lot of different futures all at once.”
Chloe froze. Her chin lowered and she asked, “More superpowers?”
“A fucking curse, more like,” Max grumbled. Thankfully, her fingers came back dry when she checked beneath her nose. No blood. No powers. “But whatever it is, it doesn’t make any sense.”
“Is it…are you…” Chloe paused again, pulling back just slightly enough that Max could tell exactly what ran through her head. She was worried, sure, but mostly concerned that Max would start rewinding time again. Not that she would ever—
“I swear, Chloe, I’m not doing any of this on purpose. I’m not trying to use any sort of powers, it’s just — it’s just happening to me. And I can’t stop it. I wish I fucking could.”
Max’s breath hitched as she waited for Chloe to answer, to yell at her, to cry with her, to do something. She was stuck there, motionless, waiting for time to pass by as it always did. But Chloe didn’t leave. She didn’t back down.
“Damn,” Chloe said. She sat back on her heels, letting out a sigh as the tension deflated between them.
“…Yeah.”
“Damn,” she echoed.
“I know.”
“I’m sorry.” Chloe ran a hand through her short hair. “That’s…heavy.”
Max couldn’t help but laugh with frustration. Heavy was an understatement. “Welcome to my fucking life.”
“Our lives,” Chloe corrected. She touched a fist to her own chest. “Don’t exclude your badass sidekick.”
And Max felt her own chest tighten in response. “I would never.”
“Thank you for telling me. Hell of a birthday, right?” She clicked her tongue and her bottom lip poked out in a pout. “Now I feel bad.”
“No, it’s—I’m sorry it took me so long to tell you,” Max added. “I didn’t…I guess I didn’t want to admit that it was happening. That if I said it out loud, that would make it real.”
“Max, I love you. We’re in this together,” Chloe stressed. “Nothing will ever change that. Okay?”
Now that it was out in the open, she could feel the burden ease from her mind. No matter what happened, no matter what bullshit magic followed her like the plague, it would be okay. Because Chloe knew. She knew, and she understood. And Max wasn’t a monster. She wasn’t.
“Okay.”
“Now then,” Chloe said and staggered to her feet, offering a hand to help Max do the same. “Let’s make an amendment to our promise.”
“Anything.”
“No secrets, no stupid assumptions, and no lies.” Chloe brushed against Max’s arms, needing the contact of their bodies together to remind the both of them that they still existed in the world. “Think you can do that?”
“Yeah. I can do that.”
October 7, 2014
It was just as bittersweet moving out of the apartment as it had been to move in, if not more. After taking out the last load of boxes to stack in the back of the van, Max found herself lingering on all the little signs of proof they’d been there, like the crack in the wall from when she’d accidentally launched her controller after her winning streak in Mario Kart came to a sour end, or the still-there blue stain that coated the bathtub floor. Even the kitchen cabinet hinges falling to pieces made her ache with nostalgia, even though they’d irritated her the entire time they’d lived there.
It had still been home, however brief.
In a satisfyingly cyclical turn of events, they ended up selling their second-hand couch to some girl who happened to be moving in that day, which sparked the topic between her and Chloe of: how many times has this couch been passed around, exactly? Which they did their best not to dwell on, especially when remembering all the…adult activities that had taken place on it.
The only furniture they kept was the mattress. In a rare stroke of good luck, it was a perfect fit for the back of the van — which they’d finally decided on a name for. When asked about her ideas, Max had impulsively stammered out Ted, to which Chloe had laughed for a good ten minutes before wiping the tears from her eyes and offering her own suggestion: Van-essa, which had objectively been worse, as Max so kindly reminded her that was her fucking mom’s name.
Eventually, they settled on a name, thus the van was affectionately dubbed Betsy. And Betsy was damn good at her job. In the almost 2 months they owned the vehicle, not once did Chloe have to pop the hood for any repairs. Max had hardly believed a car was capable of such a feat. It was almost like magic.
And yet, as they finished loading up the back of the van, Max couldn’t help but feel the pressure of the calendar’s date staring back at her. It was October. A whole year since her entire life had been uprooted. And she still hadn’t given Kate an answer about the memorial, even after she’d so kindly offered her own house as a place for the two of them to stay.
They said goodbye to Remy first, after leaving the apartment empty for the final time. It was a quick drive to the auto shop to pick up Chloe’s last check and the last of the few belongings she’d kept in the cramped office there.
Max had given Remy a hug, though she felt awkward the whole time. But it was what he’d deserved, after everything he’d done for them — and maybe she’d been craving affection, too. Loneliness was a hard burden to hold.
“You take care of her, Chloe,” Remy had said after. “Max is a good one. Don’t ever forget that.”
“Never.” Chloe gave him a firm handshake, as they always did, but Max saw the wetness in her eyes.
She’d miss him. Max would too. But they’d see him again, probably. They had their promise to uphold, after all. The Outer Banks were high on Max’s list of places to visit.
The final stop was the deli that Max had spent a good 1/8th of Chloe’s paychecks on in their 5 months of living in LA. She ordered her last #7 special and devoured the entire sandwich before Chloe had even pulled out of the parking lot.
It wasn’t until they merged onto the highway that Max realized where they were headed.
“Chloe?”
“Yeah?” Her girlfriend leaned with an elbow on the van door, one hand resting at the top of the wheel.
“I know I’m fucking awful with directions, but I’m pretty sure Austin isn’t north of here.”
Chloe chuckled lowly. “We’re not going to Austin yet, Max. I told you, it’s your turn to pick our next conquest.”
Max reached for her journal, currently stuffed into the backpack that rested by her feet. She flipped through the recent pages, trying to sort out her memories from the strange, prophetic visions of the future she’d been having. “So, we’re going…”
“To Arcadia Bay,” Chloe answered.
The journal shut with a dull thump. “Huh?”
“You wanted to go to the memorial, right?” Chloe pursed her lips, nervous energy coming off of her. “Unless I…fuck, did I misunderstand?”
“No, no, I do. I just didn’t think you wanted to go.” And I don’t know if I’m ready.
Chloe shrugged, turning the wheel to merge into the fast lane so she could speed ahead of the slower cars around them. Max always hated when she did that, but she hated having to be the one to drive even more, so she’d learned to stop being a backseat driver.
“Not really. But I gotta keep you happy.”
“You don’t have to keep me happy, Chloe. You make me happy.”
“There’s a difference?”
Max rolled her eyes affectionately, shoving the journal back into her bag and fiddling with her camera instead. It had been awhile since she’d taken a picture of Chloe while driving, and the light of the California sun shined at just the right angle that made her hair look like a blue halo. Like her very own angel.
“You know,” Max started, tucking the new picture away in her album. “Now that I know you’ll never see them again, I have to ask. How many of those girl’s numbers did you get?”
“Huh? What girls?” Chloe shot her a confused glance before focusing back on the road.
“Come on, don’t play dumb. Every time I visited you at the shop there was always a crowd of fangirls waiting to talk to you.”
Not that I could blame them. Max had often visited the shop for the very same reason. The only difference was that she actually made it into Chloe’s bed at night.
“Oh. Really?” Her confusion morphed into a quiet pride and she practically straightened in her seat. “Wow. Can’t believe I had fangirls.”
“Easy, Casanova,” Max warned. She was supposed to be the only person who ever gave Chloe that dreamy look on her face. “But you really didn’t notice?”
“Nah, I only have eyes for you,” she said, then took a moment’s pause, because no romantic declaration could ever be simple. “Well, there was this one woman — tall, dark hair, lots of jewelry, total milf vibes—”
“Fuck you, dude.” Max laughed along with Chloe, feeling soothed by the gentle hum of the air conditioning breezing over her shoulders.
They drove for hours longer, and Max fell in and out of a dozing, halfway restful sleep. If she didn’t know any better, it almost felt like no time had passed at all, and they were still on the run after the storm. But they were stronger now. Or maybe time really did heal all wounds, and Max had only forgotten how much the raw pain of the storm had ripped her soul into pieces.
Eventually, Chloe pulled over to buy them both a couple of coffees to stay awake, slapping against her own face to keep her focused on the road. Max sipped her coffee slowly, savoring the aromatic steam and the borderline too hot liquid. On the other hand, Chloe had chugged hers at a vicious pace — one that made Max worried she’d scalded her throat.
“So,” Chloe started, tossing her empty coffee cup in the van’s makeshift trash bag behind the front row seats. “You know why I didn’t want to go back. But why did you want to go? And don’t say guilt — that’s not allowed.”
“No, it’s…complicated,” Max answered. She turned the cup in her hands, the paper pleasantly warm. Realistically, she knew Chloe would understand. She’d always been the first person Max told anything to — even when they hadn’t seen each other in years. But it was still surprisingly difficult. After all, she knew how it would sound. So she ripped off the band-aid. “I keep seeing…these visions of the lighthouse there. Like the future is trying to tell me something.”
Chloe hummed in thought, and Max had never wanted to be able to read minds more than that moment. Was she scared? Did she think Max was insane? Was she thinking about the last time they stood on that cliffside and the impossible choice Max had made?
“Visions. Huh. Like the ‘here are the winning lottery ticket numbers’ sort of visions, or the ‘hey, you might die here’ sort?” Then Chloe brightened with an idea. “Actually, do you think you could check the lottery numbers? I’d never say no to a fat stack of cash in the bank.”
“No! Well, maybe, but—” Max took a sharp breath. “Chloe, focus.”
“Sorry, my bad.” Then under her breath, Chloe casually mumbled, “But the suggestion still stands.”
“It’s more like…a memory, if that makes sense. Like I’m watching a scene that I’ve already lived through. And, yeah, I know I’ve been there before, but this is different.” Max pressed the side of her head on the window, feeling the cool touch of glass as a sharp contrast from the coffee cup. “There’s someone waiting for me there, I think. Someone I need to see.”
She’d expected Chloe to tease her or make some sort of joke, but it never came. Instead, Chloe pulled Max’s hand into her own, intertwining their fingers. “Then we’ll figure it out. I know we will.” She pulled their connected hands to her mouth and pressed a kiss to Max’s knuckles. “Because you’re my super-hero.”
Notes:
next chapter is the end of part 2 yippee, I can't wait to write the drama of part 3
korrasamei on tumblr (be my friend)
Chapter 14: Ashes
Summary:
October, 2014. One year.
The memorial, a few unexpected encounters, and the lighthouse at last.
Notes:
CW: Brief mentions of drugs, implied heterosexual activity, ACAB, Bay ending, and suspected suicide.
happy pride month!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
October 10, 2014
The moment they crossed the state line and entered Oregon, Max felt it in her bones. The wind was cooler, the trees were taller, the atmosphere was thick with a tension she’d known her whole life. It had taken them a couple days to work up the nerve to cross the perimeter into Arcadia Bay, now a desolate, crumbling landscape filled with construction vehicles and caution tape.
By the time they’d made it to the main street, the sun had already fully set, and the darkness masked the condition of their surroundings. Maybe it was better that way, Max thought. They’d have the night to prepare themselves for what horror awaited them in the morning for the memorial.
Though she didn’t comment on it in the slightest, Max knew what Chloe was avoiding. Her home. Her memories. So she took the long route away from the old general store, away from where a bus stop used to sit, away from where the train tracks had once crossed through town. And when they pulled into the driveway of an inconspicuous two-story house, half of it currently covered in sheets of plastic where it was being remodeled, Max finally let herself breathe.
“This the right place?” Chloe asked, hand poised over the ignition in preparation to turn the van off.
“I think so.” Max double-checked the address Kate had texted her a few days ago — a text that she hadn’t even replied to. Oh well. Hopefully the invitation hadn’t been rescinded after her lack of a response.
Chloe turned the key and the van settled to silence, headlights fading until no more light was visible outside the vehicle. Then a lamp flicked on inside the house, illuminating what looked to be a dining room, where the shadow of two people could be seen.
“After you, my—”
“Don’t even say it,” Max said without sparing a glance at her girlfriend, hoping out of the van and approaching the porch with sluggish feet.
She knocked on the door only once before it opened, and there Kate was. An entire year may have passed, but to Max it had only felt like a week. Kate had been one of her closest friends there at the end, not that she’d grown close to many people at all. But seeing her face-to-face after so long felt like she’d just been slapped. All of the unanswered phone calls and ignored text messages Max never returned stared back at her with more grace than she deserved in the form of Kate’s bashful smile.
“Max!” Kate rushed into a surprising hug, like they’d only just seen each other the day before, and not last year.
Max grunted at the impact, then hesitantly pat against Kate’s back. Had it really been that long since she’d shared any sort of physical touch with someone that wasn’t Chloe?
“H-hey, Kate. Sorry to show up out of nowhere.”
“No, it’s fine! It’s great, I’m so glad to see you,” Kate assured, pulling back and brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. Where Max had let her hair grow out, Kate had kept the same style as she’d had in school. It still suited her. “Come in, both of you.” She stepped inside and gestured for Max to join her, then gave a short wave to Chloe, who’d been awkwardly standing behind Max with her hands shoved into her pockets.
The inside of the house was nice, though aggressively beige and plain. It was clear that they were still in the process of moving in, given the amount of boxes that lined the walls and the distinct lack of decor around. But Kate’s father had made it a point to decorate the kitchen and living room with as many crosses as he could fit. Chloe grimaced at the ever-looming presence of Jesus, but thankfully didn’t say anything, though she did share a quiet, knowing laugh with Max when they met each other’s eyes.
Had they arrived an hour earlier, they would’ve been able to meet the rest of Kate’s family before they’d retreated to their own rooms for the night — something that immediately made Max more at ease when she realized she wouldn’t have to play at any awkward introductions that evening.
Since half of the house was still underdevelopment, Kate suggested they head to the basement to find a place to sleep. It had been so long since Max had stayed overnight in a real house that she’d forgotten just how large they could be — even for one that only had a couple bedrooms.
The basement was dimly lit and strangely humid, though it wasn’t too much of a bother. There was a bathroom included, attached to a bonus bedroom they used as a guest space. Kate said that her parents had wanted to use the basement as a family movie night room, which definitely explained the modestly sized TV and sectional couch in the corner.
Not two seconds after Chloe plopped down onto the couch and tossed her hands behind her head did the bedroom door open with a violent swing.
“I thought you said I’d be the only one here,” Victoria hissed, arms crossed in front of her chest.
Her blonde hair was damp, fresh out of the shower, and she wore a soft set of pale pink sleepwear. It was the most casually vulnerable that Max had ever seen her, which was…quite the shock. A million questions ran through Max’s thoughts, but she didn’t have the time to voice any of them. Besides, didn’t Victoria have her own family to stay with?
She hadn’t realized that Victoria and Kate had become friends, or acquaintances, or anything other than a bully and her victim. Max could empathize with wanting to atone for past mistakes, which was the only theory she had for why the hell Victoria had ended up in Kate’s basement in her pajamas, but surely something else had happened. Right?
Kate looked between Victoria and Max, her expression conflicted. “I wasn’t sure…”
“Whatever,” Victoria said before she stomped over to Max.
Max held her ground, but she heard Chloe stand from the couch and hover over her shoulder protectively. There, Victoria pulled her signature move — looking Max over from head to toe with a critical eye.
“Just stay over there,” Victoria demanded. “And don’t you ever mention that you saw me here. And don’t talk to me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Chloe spat.
Max ignored the venom that dripped between the two of them, instead focusing her attention to Kate, who’d started to chew on her bottom lip nervously. “Thanks for letting us stay here, Kate. If you need us to leave, just—”
“No, really, it’s okay,” Kate said hurriedly. “I’m glad you could make it. Um, both of you.”
“Hmph.” Victoria grunted under her breath. “That makes one of us.”
Kate glanced over at Victoria, who returned her stare with equal measure, though the quiet girl portrayed more scrutiny than Max had expected. Maybe Max should’ve pried more into the clearly newly formed friendship between Kate and Victoria, but she didn’t want to make worse an already poor conversation.
“Right, uh, then Chloe and I will just be…in the guest room,” she said, pointing a thumb over her shoulder at the open door.
“Oh, actually—” Kate intercepted her, face suddenly red. “My dad…has some strict rules, if you don’t mind…”
Victoria rolled her eyes with so much malice that it was a miracle they didn’t get stuck in the back of her head. “What she’s trying to say is that nobody wants to hear you two freaks having sex tonight, so please spare us the misery and sleep somewhere else.”
“Jesus Christ,” Chloe leaped in after a loud curse. “So fucking sorry that some of us actually get laid—”
“Okay, let’s all calm down,” Max said, pressing a hand to Chloe’s chest to stop her from advancing any further. “Kate, I don’t mind taking the couch.”
“No, I’ll do it,” Chloe countered. “I need to keep watch and make sure Victoria doesn’t try to poison you in your sleep or something.”
Victoria was quick. “And you’d know all about drugging people, wouldn’t you, Chloe?”
“The fuck are you trying to say?”
Kate shrunk back, a dark look passing over her face that only Max seemed to notice. She had to act fast, before things escalated and they got actually kicked out of the house. Sure, they could sleep in the van if it came to it — but Max was tired of the lumpy mattress and stuffy air. And maybe, just maybe, she didn’t want to let Victoria win, especially after she’d taken it one step too far.
“So we’ll split up. Victoria in the guest room, Chloe on the couch, and I’ll…”
“Victoria can stay in my room, I don’t mind,” Kate added. “Max, the guest room is yours. Sorry, Chloe. But I swear the couch is comfortable!”
“Fine by me. I’ve slept worse places.” Chloe shrugged, finally backing down from her headstrong charge against Victoria.
Max let herself relax, exhaustion finally seeping behind her eyelids and making her limbs feel heavy. After Kate gave them each a blanket, both of them hand-sewn, Max noticed, her and Victoria retreated back upstairs without another word.
“What a cunt, am I right?” Chloe asked, tossing her blanket onto the couch as she headed straight for the bedroom.
“Ugh, let’s…not talk about what just happened.” Max followed her.
The guest room was quaint, but she could’ve cried at the sight of the twin bed that awaited her. Even if the room smelled faintly of mothballs, it was comfortable and clean and the greatest thing she’d ever seen, despite the hyper-realistic painting of Jesus that stared at her from the wall. She collapsed backward onto the bed, palms rubbing at her eyes to rid them of their sting.
The mattress dipped beside her and Max peered an eye open. “The couch is in there, dude.”
Chloe fluffed a pillow and stretched out, resting an arm under her head for support. “What, you really think I’m going to sleep out there when there’s a perfectly good bed in here?”
“Well, that is what Kate asked. And what you agreed to.”
Chloe shoved the blanket over Max’s head. “What the fuck ever. Nobody will know. We’re experts at sneaking around, right? It’ll be just like old times.”
She tugged the blanket off her face, smiling with a dopey grin. “But the bed is super small, don’t you want to stretch out somewhere you won’t give me a concussion by accident?” Max offered lightheartedly.
Chloe looked at her like she’d grown a second head. “Like I’d ever give up the opportunity to sleep with you. Be real. Now scooch over, my legs are hanging off.”
Max laughed into Chloe’s shoulder, wrapping an arm over her stomach and gluing herself to her side. “Dork.”
Chloe kissed the top of her head. “You love me.”
She did. She really fucking did.
“Maybe just a little.”
She exhaled the weight of the day and breathed in the faint, familiar scent of the nearby ocean, sinking into her girlfriend’s warmth. But even with her eyes shut and her body finally relaxing, Max could practically see the gears turning in Chloe’s head.
“So…Wanna have sex?”
“Go to sleep, Chloe.”
October 11, 2014
The ruins of Blackwell Academy had been purged and cleared out within three of months of the storm, Max had learned. As it turned out, a wealthy family leaving behind a hoard of unused cash was the perfect funding to make strides on restoring the town.
In only a year, not much progress had been made elsewhere, but it was infinitely better than Max had feared. The roads had been cleared first, of course, allowing for first-responders and emergency assistance vehicles to approach the town. Once the survivors and bodies had been recovered, the rubble had been removed. And that was only the start of the efforts it would take to get Arcadia Bay back to a shell of its former glory.
The memorial was set to start at the early hour of 10 AM. They parked outside the rebuilt school building, though now it was no longer a school at all, just a sad administration office housed out of a single-wide trailer. The campus had been turned to a wasteland — completely flattened and stripped of all its historic scenery.
Max still recognized the ghost of buildings and landmarks, places that she’d once considered to be part of her home. The memory of laying in the grass, listening to her classmates, taking pictures of the pale, blue sky had followed her in every corner she looked. But that life was gone. All she had were the memories, and once those faded, there wouldn’t be any remaining sign of Blackwell left.
Had the town really deserved such devastation? Did Max? At the rate the morning was going, she was worried she’d never work up enough strength to leave the van. It felt like a lifetime ago that she’d tried dissecting the raw, bleeding pain in therapy. But like an unused muscle, the strength she’d found within herself seemed to wither away with every day that passed since her last appointment.
Breathe, she reminded herself. She wasn’t a monster, wasn’t omnipotent. She couldn’t be blamed for letting things play out like they did — couldn’t be blamed for letting life unfold in whichever direction it chose.
“Is this weird to you?” she asked Chloe.
“What, being back?”
Max watched as a crowd of black-clad people wandered over to the pop-up canopy tent at the center of the grassy field. “Just seeing how much everything’s changed.”
Chloe snubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray. “I mean, yeah, it’s strange. This place may have been a shithole, but it was my home. My only home, really.” She gave Max a loving smirk. “Other than you, of course.”
Max returned the gesture with a somber smile of her own. She couldn’t imagine having to face Arcadia Bay alone, and she was infinitely grateful that she’d never have to find out what life would be like without Chloe at her side. “Did you want to see your house before we leave?”
“Hell no,” Chloe answered quickly . “No, I already know what I’d find. Maybe one day, when I’m ready…we can come back. And I’ll fix it up. Leave this place better than we found it, or whatever. For mom. It’s what she would’ve wanted.”
It was a nice thought. But deep down, Max knew the truth. She swore she could feel it, somewhere buried in her chest, in the same place she shoved all her other unwanted thoughts towards. She’d never come back. When they left Arcadia Bay that night, it would be the last time she’d ever see it. She didn’t even think she’d dream of it again. And she was fine with that. It felt right.
“Alright, champ, let’s get this show on the road before I change my mind.” Chloe touched an encouraging fist to Max’s shoulder and the two of them made their way over to the crowded tent.
If she’d hoped to see any familiar faces, she was sorely mistaken. Max didn’t recognize any of the people milling about, outside of Victoria and Kate, who’d both busied themselves with their own families and loved ones, pointedly ignoring each other all the while. So Max stuck to Chloe’s side, both of them outsiders in a sea of people whose lives she’d made an impact on — though none of them would ever know as much. The longer the day dragged on, the heavier the guilt weighed down her stomach.
She kept to the fringes of the memorial, lingering near the outskirts of the meager crowd of people and doing her best to ignore the sniffles and silent cries of those around her. After a few guests and government employees finished their ‘motivational’ speeches about coming back stronger, they ripped the curtain off to reveal that a large wall had been erected at the center of what was once the campus courtyard, each inch of it detailing the names of those who’d been lost in the storm.
It took far too long to find the names Max had been dreading. She’d known who died, she’d watched the news programs and read the articles and tortured herself with researching as much as she could’ve — but nothing could’ve prepared her for the moment she’d found the names of the people she’d loved, the people she’d grown up with, the people she’d fucking killed.
Etched into stone forever was the last remaining memory of Joyce, of Warren, of her friends, of her enemies, of everyone she’d known in the town she’d once loved. She read their names, over and over, until the letters blurred together and her eyes stung and she couldn’t make out the words any longer. And Chloe brushed away the tears she didn’t realize had stained her cheeks.
Before they left, Chloe ran her fingertips over her mother’s name for the last time, and pressed her forehead against the cool stone. It was quiet. Max held her hand.
Even as they returned to the van, they remained silent. They drove down the road by the shore after ditching the crowd of people, barely going half the speed limit, but that was okay, because nobody else in town drove faster than that either.
Chloe, surprisingly, kept both hands clutched over the steering wheel, eyes glued to the road directly in front of them. But Max looked. She’d hardened her heart as she observed the wreckage, the destruction — even after months of restoration progress, the damage was catastrophic.
They were both lost in their own heads until what was left of the Two Whales Diner came into view. Max sucked in a breath, her heart stopping. At first glance, the building was no more than rubble in the road, as expected, but something told her to look at it again — so she did. And there, she saw her, straight through the window like no time had passed.
“Chloe, wait,” Max said, unbuckling her seat belt. “Pull over here.”
Chloe tapped on the breaks, scanning the ruined building with a critical eye. “Here? Come on, dude, don’t make me…”
Max hardly heard her, already pulling open the van door before Chloe had time to bring them to a stop. She had to be fast, she had to see her before it was too late—
“Whoa, Max?!” Chloe shouted as Max jumped to the sidewalk and the van came to a screeching halt beside her.
A car honked behind them, but Max was halfway across the street by that point, laser focused on the glimpse of blonde hair she’d seen through the window. As she tugged open the door, it was like time had frozen around her.
Nothing had changed. The diner was a living museum.
Three patrons sat at the bar, nursing cups of coffee and picking at their plates of waffles and eggs. The jukebox played a mellow country song, with some kid standing in front of it poking as many buttons as he could. While it wasn’t slammed packed, there were still people sitting at almost every other booth, most of them reading the newspaper or scrolling their phones or focused on eating.
Max blinked, and the sight wobbled and morphed to a scene of desolation — an empty building, ceiling collapsed, blood staining the tiles beneath her feet. Another second longer and the quiet bustling restaurant returned, all the people around her entirely oblivious to what had occurred.
She clutched onto the wall with a shaky hand, looking behind her in search of where Chloe had parked. But the windows weren’t windows at all — just solid black sheets of metal. She was trapped. The air shimmered in front of her, like the convergence of two realities.
“Max, is that you?”
She whipped around at the familiar voice — the voice of a woman who most certainly shouldn’t have been there at all. Joyce was dead. Except, she was standing right there — steaming coffee pot clutching in one hand as she stared at Max from behind the counter.
“I thought you were working today, honey,” Joyce continued, thin smile on her lips as she resumed what she’d been doing, filling the half-empty cup of the trucker that sat at the bar. “Want to order something? How about your usual?”
Words failed Max, her mouth moving helplessly as her brain struggled to keep up. “I—don—”
“I’ll get that started for you, baby, go on and have a seat.” Joyce gave her a curt nod before she turned back to the other patrons, pulling out a notepad to write down their orders.
Max’s feet were locked where she stood, like a truck had slammed into her and pinned her into place. The wall was the only thing keeping her upright, until she noticed the piece of paper under her palm. She retracted her hand, reading with horrified eyes the newspaper clipping dated from earlier that week which said: One Year Since Deadly Blackwell Shooting…
“Hey, Max!” An arm slid around her waist and she jerked away, wheeling around with every intention of smacking them before she saw who it was. “Whoa, sorry, didn’t mean to freak you out,” he said, hands raised.
What the fuck…what the fuck? Max couldn’t think of anything else to say — it shouldn’t be possible. None of it was possible.
“Warren? What the hell are you…”
“Oh, I thought…after last night…” He sheepishly ran a hand over the back of his head. “My bad. I guess a second date is needed?”
His face was the same as she’d last seen it, except without the bruises and eye-bags from lack of sleep. He looked…well rested. Put together. Completely fucking normal. Not dead.
Max shook her head, fighting back the queasy turn in her stomach from the implications of what he’d said — from his existence. The smell of coffee was strong, the sound of music was loud, the feel of clothes brushing her skin and the ticking of the clock on the wall was all too real. But it couldn’t be — shouldn’t be. She didn’t belong there. Max was an outsider.
There was a pounding on the door, fast and rough, and Max flinched. Yet, despite all the people in the diner, not one other person made a reaction.
Warren’s bashful smile fell. “Uh, what’s wrong? Should I have brought you flowers or something?”
“…I don’t feel so good,” Max stammered, stumbling past him to reach the door.
The knocking grew louder, until it drowned out all other noise from the diner. Distantly, she thought she saw Joyce’s mouth move like she was trying to say something to Max. And before she reached the door, Max faced her for the last time, memorizing the lines of her face and the softness of her eyes. She did the same for Warren, watching his concerned, puzzled expression and drinking it in.
Then she burst through the door, falling into Chloe’s chest with a heaving sob, and reality came rushing back to her all at once. The diner crumbled away to reveal a pile of rubble in its wake, and they were alone. Her arms held tight around Chloe’s neck as the other girl caught her.
“Whoa, what happened?!” Chloe held one hand to the back of Max’s head, the other at her waist to help keep her standing. When she pulled back slightly, her eyes scanned Max’s face for any sign of pain. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Max clutched her own stomach, needing the harsh pressure to keep her grounded. She felt like she was seconds away from passing out, or crying, or having her mind shatter into a thousand pieces. She shouldn’t have seen the diner — shouldn’t have been torn away from her own reality. Whatever had happened, it had to end. One way or another.
“Take me to the lighthouse. Now, please.”
Chloe tightened her jaw and nodded. She didn’t ask questions.
By the time Chloe pulled off the gravel road beside the beach, Max had started to feel a bit better. Chloe had forced her to drink water and eat a granola bar during the ride over, even though it all tasted like ash against her tongue.
After she’d crinkled the empty wrapper and tossed it aside, she explained what had happened — or at least, what she thought had happened. That somehow, Max had slipped into a different reality. That she’d seen Joyce, seen Warren, seen what life could’ve been like, had things played out differently.
“You…saw my mom?”
“Yeah,” Max said, voice breaking. It may not have been raining that day, but she surely felt like she could’ve filled the fucking ocean with the pain of her heartache.
“How was she? How did she…seem?” Chloe refused to look over, her face pinched and shoulders hunched.
Max sniffled, wiping at her eyes, but her hands came back dry. She wouldn’t cry. Yet.
“She looked good, she looked—” Max stuttered to a pause. It wasn’t the Joyce they had known, but she was still Chloe’s mom. And she was a version of Joyce that had lost her husband and only child. “…She looked tired. She looked like Joyce.”
Just briefly, Chloe’s gaze wavered. Then she sighed. “Good.”
They didn’t talk about it again, but Max could see the affect it’d had on Chloe. Part of her seemed lighter — reassured that somewhere out there, her mom was alive. And happy. As happy as she could be, at least.
But the other part was angry; angry that they couldn’t be together, that her mom would never know what she’d meant to Chloe. Angry that she was powerless to change any of it. Angry at everything, just the same as Max, even though they held their anger in vastly different ways. Chloe’s anger was obvious, loud, all-consuming and impossible to ignore. She could fill a room with her anger, steal the stage with it. But Max’s anger was quiet, simmering below the surface, waiting for the day she’d lash out and release it all at once.
The lighthouse in view, Chloe shut off the van. Max’s hands had just barely stopped shaking when Chloe opened her door and helped her to her feet. They didn’t make it very far before they spotted the yellow tape that surrounded the trees and blocked off the trail.
Chloe ducked beneath the caution tape first, scanning their surroundings in search of what had happened. Max stayed back, not wanting to overstep her boundaries. Like reality-hopping isn’t the biggest fucking boundary at all.
A smattering of police vehicles were parked at the edge of the trees, all lined in a half circle that blocked the view of what lay past the horizon. When one of the officers exited the car, Chloe dipped back to the other side of the tape and rejoined at Max’s side.
“Think this is a bad omen or something?” Chloe questioned.
“I’ve done too much thinking today,” she answered, “but police are never a good sign. Come on, let’s be quick.”
Making sure they were out of the line of sight, they snuck off in the opposite direction, using the trees and brush for cover as much as possible. Evidently, the caution tape didn’t deter every person in the area, as they ran into a group of teenagers smoking at a picnic table just in front of the trail that led to the lighthouse.
Max shared a glance at Chloe, and they both nodded in agreement, no words needed.
“Hey, fellas, how’s it goin’?” Chloe asked loudly, walking over in their direction and sticking a cigarette between her lips. “Got a light?”
One of the teenagers, a boy with a red flush of acne across his jaw, stood from the table and sauntered over. “Are you a cop?”
Chloe laughed. “Fuck no. What, you got weed or something?”
He narrowed his eyes and one of the girls behind him chuckled. “Like I said, are you a cop?”
“Like I said, fuck no.” Chloe tossed an arm over Max’s shoulder. “We were just looking for a good spot to make-out, y’know—”
“Chloe.”
“—Anyway. What happened over here? Someone die?” She looked around in mock-confusion, like they hadn’t just seen the small army of police scanning the area.
The kids shared a concerned look with each other, until another one of the boys took a drag from his own cigarette and said, “Yeah, found a body on the rocks. Think he killed himself or something. Real bloody and fucked up, can’t even figure out who it was.”
“Oh, shit…” Chloe muttered, clearly not having expected that someone actually had died. Her arm tensed and Max pulled away, her ears ringing.
The world turned on its axis, clouds knitting together in a dark mass of rain and sleet. A man lunged at her, face bloodied to the point of being unrecognizable.
“Max, you’re gonna go back, right fucking now, you owe me—!”
Max blinked again and the scene was gone, though the sickening lurch of her stomach still remained. She heard a rush of blood race to her head, a fierce pounding making itself known behind her eyes. When she reached a hand to her brow and it came back wet with a cold sweat. Like rain.
Whatever was happening to her, she couldn’t take much more of it.
Chloe steered her away from the group and Max missed the abrupt ending to their conversation, the ringing in her ears too loud to focus on anything else. When the picnic table was far enough out of sight, Chloe helped her to lean against a tree where another line of caution tape blocked the rest of the trail.
“What was that, another vision? What did you see?”
“Yeah, I-I don’t know, but…I have to keep going,” Max insisted. “I’m almost there, I think.”
Chloe nodded, then lifted the edge of the tape to gesture her forward. “Got it. I’ll be your guard dog, make sure any of those cop bastards don’t follow you.” At her pause, Chloe waved a hand in insistence. “Go on, Super-Max, find your bad guy.”
Max righted herself, shutting her mouth and forcing herself to breathe through her nose. She could do this. She could do it alone, if that’s what it took.
She stood on her tip-toes to press a kiss to Chloe’s cheek, then ducked beneath the tape and set off along the path — a disorienting wave of deja vu washing over her. The ocean was still and calm, but she tried to not think about the body they’d found earlier. Death was an omen that proved difficult to ignore.
Eventually, the ringing of her ears subsided, just in time for the lighthouse to appear ahead of her. She knew it should’ve looked different, but it was just as impeccably clean as before. Just like her dreams.
Max approached the lighthouse with caution, or perhaps fear. But just like she’d done in the persistent dreams which haunted her, she reached a hand out to touch against its side. The metal was cold, firm, real.
And as she knew she had to do, she turned to the bench, and found herself staring at the back of the brown-haired woman. The person looked down at their lap, face obscured by a curtain of hair.
So Max walked forward, feeling that she was moving through a haze of fog as she grew closer. Silently, she reached forward and touched her shoulder. At the feel of her, they turned — and it wasn’t a stranger at all, wasn’t a ghost — it was her.
Max stared into her very own eyes, like a living, breathing reflection made real. The other version of her looked just as shocked to see her.
“You—you’re—” Max failed to formulate any more words, her mouth moving wordlessly.
“Wowser. You’re me.”
“Holy shit. Is this real?” She touched a hand to her own face in shock, almost losing her grip on reality for the second time that day. Maybe she had gone crazy. “Are you…real?”
“I-I think so,” Other-Max replied, eyes just as wide as Max knew her own to be. Because we’re the same fucking person, she told herself.
They stared at each other like they were looking into a mirror, and maybe they were. Paranoid, Max tried to rein in her thoughts to prevent them from spiraling, just on the off-chance her doppelganger could read her mind.
I’m dreaming. That’s it. Another dream, Max thought.
“This…isn’t a dream.” Other-Max stood, and Max felt her heart leap into her throat.
Oh, fuck, she can read my mind! Okay, if you can hear me…jump on one foot.
Other-Max didn’t budge, instead she swayed on her feet as she clutched onto her camera bag, waiting for Max to make another move.
“What are you doing here?” Max pressed. “How can this…how can this be real?”
“I don’t know, I just…felt like I needed to come here,” she said. “Did you, err, do you have dreams of this place too?”
Other-Max twisted her hands around the strap of her bag relentlessly, and Max was immediately self-conscious of the movement. She really didn’t want to know what her nervous ticks looked like in person.
Hyper aware of her own body, Max did her best to appear calm and relaxed, even despite the pounding of her heart. “Y-yeah, I did. I guess we’re both too curious to have ignored them, huh?”
That got a brief smile out of Other-Max. “Curiosity killed the cat—”
“—but satisfaction brought it back?” Max grimaced, a question pressing at the forefront of her thoughts. “So, you’re me, and I’m you, but…”
“But what’s the difference between us?” Other-Max breathed out a sigh, loosening her grip on the camera bag just slightly as she looked away towards the ocean and what lay beyond. “I think I might know where to start. What do you see over in the distance?”
Max turned her gaze to what remained of Arcadia Bay, a sick understanding settling in her chest. The once-beautiful skyline was a fragment of its former self — a wasteland of death that had been wrecked from the uncaring touch of nature.
“It’s…” She bit the inside of her cheek. “It’s chaos, I guess. They said it was one of the worst natural disasters of the century. Even though nothing about it was natural at all. What about…for you?”
Other-Max kept her eyes glued to Arcadia Bay, and for the second time that day, Max knew she was seeing a glimpse into a reality she didn’t want to believe existed.
“In my world, I went back,” Other-Max whispered, her voice nearly swept away by the wind. “I stopped the storm.” She raised a hand to point at something across the shore. “There’s a new building, just over there. And another on that side.”
They may have shared the same face, the same memories, the same mind and body, but at that moment, Max knew the other girl wasn’t actually her. In her bones, she knew she would never have made the same choices. And who was a person, if not for their choices, their actions, their passion?
Other-Max shook her head, tearing her gaze away and looking to Max with tears in her red-rimmed eyes. She wiped them away with a sniff. “Everything is perfect. I did the right thing.”
With ash in her mouth, Max cleared her throat. “Did…did Chloe…” God. What did she even want to ask? Would speaking it out loud cause some sort of supernatural disturbance? She settled on a vague question of, “What happened?”
“You already know the answer, don’t you? That’s why you made your choice.” Other-Max sighed, her jaw having tensed to an extreme level — an expression that Max was familiar with making, but hadn’t ever seen on herself before. “She died thinking I hated her. She died alone, and I—I think I died there with her. Or, part of me did. But her funeral was nice.”
Max’s breath hitched, her palms suddenly clammy and uncomfortable where they hung at her sides. She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Do you regret it?”
“Would you?” Other-Max countered.
“…Fair.”
She made a promise to herself, then and there, that she’d never take her time with Chloe for granted. Not ever. So long as she had the power to change her own destiny, there would never be a reality where they weren’t together.
“Sorry,” Other-Max announced abruptly, cutting through the tension with a laugh. “I’m making it all about me again, aren’t I?”
Is that something I do?
“No, you’re— I’m— you’re…this is confusing.”
“Very.” Other-Max smiled grimly. “So. Same person, different realities. Is this a new power or something?”
“God, I hope not. But it’s why I came back here. To figure out what the fuck is going on.” It was nice to say it out loud, even though it was possibly the weirdest interaction Max had ever experienced in her whole life. “Jeez. I feel like we’re probably breaking some kind of cosmic law or pissing off an ancient god just by talking to each other.”
Other-Max frowned, a spark of jealousy visible in her eyes for only a second. “Came back? You don’t live here anymore?”
“I couldn’t. The storm…fucked everything.” She let out a breath, looking out over the horizon and the smooth surface of the ocean. The outline of the town was flat, where it had once been filled with dots of life. If she focused, she could just barely recall the curves and shapes of it all. “I mean, I guess I could come back now. It really looks like they’re doing their best with rebuilding. But honestly…I couldn’t ever live here again. Not after everything that happened. Everything I did.”
“…Yeah.”
Were her contributions to other conversations always so…short?
Max held tight to the strap of her bag, then let go of it when she remember how it looked when she’d seen herself do the same.
“Uh. So, you stayed in Arcadia?” she asked.
Other-Max nodded. “I had to. I kept wanting to see her again. Thinking that maybe if I visited Joyce, if I went back to school, if I did what people expected of me, that it would bring her back. But it didn’t, obviously. And I still see her everywhere.”
“Now you’re…dating Warren?” Max could hardly form the question. She’d known for years that she liked girls, of course, so surely there was no way Other-Max hadn’t figured out the same.
“What?” Other-Max laughed, genuinely, for the first time, shaking her head. “No, I wouldn’t call it that. He’s just…a good friend.”
She debated telling her about the brief interaction she had with Warren at the diner, but decided it’d be best to leave it be. Other-Max would figure it out eventually. Probably. Maybe not. But it didn’t matter, Max already had her girl.
“Well, what about you?” Other-Max asked next. “Did other-me ever live out our wildest dreams?”
“In a way,” Max answered reluctantly, “yeah.”
She explained the impromptu road-trip after the storm — how she’d gone back to Seattle to be with her parents, how she’d gone to her first official art show and knocked it out of the park, how she’d gotten her first apartment. But she didn’t bring up Chloe. It felt too cruel.
Unfortunately, cruelty favored Max’s attention, and soon they both heard the sound of crunching gravel as someone walked up the path towards the lighthouse.
“Max? You up here?”
Like the mirror reflections of each other that they were, both Max and Other-Max turned at the same moment to see who approached.
“Over here!” Max shouted back, waving a hand upright for Chloe to spot.
Her heart soared at the sight of the signature bright blue hair that she loved more than anything in the world. But where Max felt relief at the sight of her, Other-Max looked like she’d just seen a ghost. And, in a way, she had.
“Is that…?”
Max tore her attention away from Chloe and watched the broken look on her counterpart’s face. “You can see her too?”
“Yeah, I— oh, god.” Other-Max pressed a hand over her mouth as she stumbled past the bench, turning a shoulder to where Max couldn’t see her expression.
Painful empathy seared through her blood. Had it been her who’d lost Chloe, she couldn’t even fathom what she would’ve done for simply the idea of seeing her one more time.
“Did you finish up your business?” Chloe tossed an arm over Max’s shoulder, then frowned. “Wait. Who were you talking to?”
“I’m talking to— uh, it’s a long story.” Max peered back over at Other-Max, who’d stayed rooted to her spot as she soaked in the sight of Chloe.
“Is…is there someone else here?” Chloe asked quietly. She looked at the bench and scanned the corners of the lighthouse, searching for something that wasn’t there in their reality.
“Um, yeah, she’s…from the dream I told you about. It’s me.”
“It’s you?” Chloe’s frown deepened. “Look, I know I believe some pretty outlandish shit, but—”
“Chloe, trust me.”
Her jaw shut with a click and Chloe nodded. “Yep, got it. Hello, Other-Max!” She removed her arm from Max’s shoulder and waved in the complete opposite direction from where Other-Max actually stood — not that she could’ve known that. “Can she hear me?”
“Yeah, she can,” Max answered softly.
Glancing at her first, Other-Max took a hesitant step towards Chloe. Max’s first instinct was to tell her to stop, to back away, just on the off-chance that for some reason they ended up swapping realities, but she couldn’t. Because if it was her, if it was Max who’d been forced to watch Chloe die permanently, she knew she would’ve done anything to see her again — even just a glimpse.
Her heart ached when they were apart for just a few hours, she could barely fathom the idea of being on her own for an entire year — then an entire lifetime after that. Having to spend the rest of her life in a world without Chloe was nothing short of a nightmare, worse than all of the terrible dreams she’d ever had combined.
So she gave a nod to Other-Max, who reached a tentative hand out closer to Chloe. And she pressed forward, the flat of her palm grazing the skin of Chloe’s cheek.
“Is she saying something to me?” Chloe questioned, not even registering the feel of Other-Max’s hand against her cheek.
Max caught her own eyes and shrugged, waiting for the other version of herself to say something.
“Can you tell her I love her?”
“I think she already knows,” Max answered.
“Know what? Ugh, this is fucking frustrating,” Chloe said with a groan, and Other-Max pulled her hand away. “Are you talking shit about me?”
Max shook her head, giving her a melancholic smile. “No, dork. I just love you.”
“Yeah, whatever, love you, too.” Chloe ran a hand through her hair and looked down the path like she was waiting for someone to come running up there. “We gotta go. There’s a group of cops headed up here for the investigation.”
In the distance, a cluster of clouds knit together over the ocean to form a thick gray blanket, still hours away from shore. She wondered if the weather was the same in Other-Max’s reality, or if something as insignificant as a one person’s decision could impact the way fate played out for everyone. Maybe their realities had spiraled so far apart by that point that there were more differences than similarities.
But before she could respond, Other-Max spoke first. “Wait, investigation?” she asked, head tilted to the side. “There was a suicide in your reality too?”
Or maybe there were still similarities. “Yeah, there…well, we don’t know for sure if it was a suicide,” Max answered.
Then it clicked. Max saw the exact moment the very same thought dawned across her other persona’s face. Something wrong had happened — something that linked their two worlds together, even still. Something about that day went deeper than Max just happening to meet herself from another reality.
“Okay, ignoring the fact that I still have no idea what the two of you are talking about — we really do have to leave,” Chloe insisted. “So, uh, say your goodbyes, I guess?”
Out of the time needed to pry further into what Other-Max knew about the investigation, Max faced her other self and took a sharp breath. But she couldn’t think of anything helpful to say, nothing could ease the pain of knowing that it was her who had the better reality. Max was lucky.
Thankfully, Other-Max had more to say than she did. “I think I needed to see you,” she noted with a faint smile. “To know that somewhere out there in this fucked up universe, I made the right choice. So I can learn to appreciate what I have in this life.” She nudged a hand into Max’s shoulder. “And you should do the same. Appreciate the fuck out of our best friend, other-me.”
“Always. She’s my everything.” And before she lost the opportunity, Max added, “Oh, and you’re definitely a lesbian. Just to save you some confusion there.”
Other-Max returned her laugh and held out a hand for her to shake. “Yeah, that makes a lot of sense. Thanks.”
Max took the offered hand, and in a flash of light, their worlds collided for a brief moment. She felt the impact of the emotions Other-Max had felt the entire last year, heard the sounds she’d heard, saw the things she’d seen, cried the same tears. The blood that coursed her veins was the same in both of their bodies. Then as quickly as it came, the feeling vanished, and Max found herself collapsed in Chloe’s arms as the sun began to sink across the horizon.
“Whoa, Max.” Chloe grunted under her weight. “Making this a habit or something?”
“Fuck, sorry.” Max touched a hand to her temple, expecting a headache. But her mind felt clear — clearer than it’d felt in weeks. Maybe months. “I’m fine, let’s go.”
Staggering back to the van side-by-side with Chloe, a strange peace settled over Max. New perspectives had a way of making the darkest nights seem lighter. With a slow dawning of realization, suddenly the huge weight which loomed over her since the storm didn’t seem quite so heavy. It hadn’t really been a choice for her to make, after all.
Life was nothing but branching pathways — an infinite number of possibilities leading to an infinite number of realities. And, sure, maybe somewhere out there, Max would have to live without Chloe. Maybe somewhere out there, Max wouldn’t have met her at all. Maybe somewhere out there, Max didn’t even exist herself. But she existed there, in her world, in her reality, with her Chloe. And that would always be enough.
“Hey,” Chloe said softly. “Feeling better?”
Max pulled her in closer, pressing their sides together with a faint smile. The sun had fallen past the tree line, casting dim shadows between the branches overhead. And some moments were too beautiful to waste by taking a picture. That one, she’d save in her memory alone.
“Yeah, finally,” Max answered, a warmth blooming in her chest. “Never been better.”
Notes:
part 2 is now finished!
fair warning that part 3 will be MUCH, MUCH more plot intensive, although I'm still working on my outline for it. I want to make sure everything "works" before I commit to posting anything, but I'm hoping there won't be as long of a wait time as there was between part 1 & 2 since I already know the main direction everything will head.
part 3 will have a time skip of 2 years and will focus on Max and Chloe doing some good ol' fashioned detective work to solve the mystery of her evolving powers + the main villain I created. it will also be the final lead-up to the DE timeline, which was such a clusterfuck of a game that it probably won't have much in common with what I decide to write. there will be some similarities - mainly the DE characters and...um...you'll see (but don't worry). however, the actual plotline of DE continues to make less and less sense the more I think about it, so I'll probably just skip the supernatural stuff from it.
with that being said, if you want to consider this chapter "the end" of the fic, that's totally fine. thank you for reading!!
Chapter 15: End of Beginning
Summary:
December 2016 - January 2017
Fast forward to the end of 2016, Max and Chloe celebrate their third anniversary before Max heads out to a show on her own. There, she comes face to face with a haunting figure from her past.
Notes:
Song Title: End of Beginning; Djo
CW: Mentioned nightmares, allusion to stalking, and sexual content.
I have about 50% of part 3 finished so I figured I'd go ahead and post the next chap :]
please enjoy! (or don't)
Chapter Text
December 11, 2016
The stars gleamed across the sheet of black sky overhead, millions of pinpricks of light casting a dim glow across the roof. Even through her multiple layers of clothing, Max could still feel the scratchy texture of the shingles irritating the back of her legs.
She really couldn’t understand how Chloe was able to lay on the roof for such a long period of time, let alone almost every single night in below-freezing temperatures at 4 in the morning after working a double-shift bartending. Maybe that was her own superpower.
But even if she didn’t understand Chloe’s constant desire to be outside, that particular night was special, so Max had joined her with only minimal complaints before she’d climbed out the rickety window of their bedroom and cautiously perched herself on the most secure looking part of the roof.
Chloe, her green hair tied back at the nape of her neck, had immediately lounged out near the edge, dangling her legs over the gutters without a care in the world.
“You’re gonna fucking die, dude,” Max had said, clutching Chloe’s jacket closer around her shoulders. It was warm and smelled like her, so of course Max had stolen it weeks ago. She didn’t even mind that it was entirely too big for her, completely dwarfing her arms like she was a kid again.
“Nah, that’s why I keep you around,” Chloe retorted. She pulled the top off the bottle of Jack Daniel’s they’d picked up in Tennessee a few months ago and carefully balanced two shot glasses in one hand as she worked to fill them to the brim. “Cheers.”
“You know I still hate whiskey,” Max said, but she took the shot glass anyway.
“Come on, party pooper. It’s tradition. Even if it’s way less exciting to buy liquor legally. Man, kids have everything better…” Chloe downed her shot without so much as a grimace, then poured herself another in the time it took Max to finish hers off. “But three years ago we got drunk on a bottle of this shit and you asked me to be your girlfriend, so sue me for being nostalgic. And it was very romantic, might I add.”
“Was it?” Max passed the glass back to Chloe, begrudgingly accepting another shot.
“Totally, you’re cute when you’re drunk. And impossible to resist. I probably would’ve said yes to anything you suggested.” Chloe smirked. “But now that it’s our anniversary, sappy as that is to say out loud, I have something to confess. Brace yourself.”
“Spill.” Max gave the shot glass back, brushing her fingers against Chloe’s.
“I definitely thought we were already dating, like, days before you officially asked me.”
“Shut up, you did not,” Max said with a laugh, lightly smacking Chloe’s shoulder.
She shuffled closer to her girlfriend, the alcohol making her a bit more ballsy than she’d normally have been without the liquid courage. Maybe the roof wasn’t so bad after all. But when she risked a look down at the yard, the world spun, and the damp grass seemed miles away. Okay, still scary…
“Uh, yeah, I did.” Chloe leaned back on the roof, her arms spread out behind her for support. “Remember that time I almost fucked you on the couch, before your parents so rudely interrupted us? Not exactly the most friendliest of gestures.”
“Jesus, you have such a way with words.”
Chloe nudged her shoulder into Max again, her eyes having drifted down to her lips. “We could have a re-do of that night. Head back to Seattle, visit good ol’ Ryan and Vanessa’s house and thoroughly soil their fancy-ass couch.”
“Pass.” Max shuddered, mostly from the cold, but also from the idea of her parents walking in on her in such a compromising position. “I’m way too old to have sex in my parent’s house.”
It had taken almost the entire three years they’d been together, but Max had finally tried mending the broken bridges she had with her mom and dad. And while things weren’t perfect by any means, they were better.
She called her mom every weekend, just to get her caught up on where she and Chloe were that month, and what shows she had coming up, of which there were a lot. Her dad was less talkative, but at least he’d started remembering to text her for holidays and birthdays again. She’d missed it. And he seemed to enjoy the periodic selfies she sent him from various cities around the country.
They still hadn’t visited Seattle again, though her mom and dad had both asked for them to at different points the past year, like they had been working together to conspire against her. And maybe Max would accept their olive branch one day, if only just to have Christmas with someone other than David for a change. But for the most part, Chloe was all she needed. Call her clingy, she didn’t care.
“So your parents are off limits, but you were totally fine with having my tongue inside you when David was in the room next to ours, is that right?”
“Hey!” Max objected, a red flush creeping up her neck. “You came onto me—”
“And you came on me—”
“Chloe.”
“What?” Chloe set her glass aside with a smug grin and licked her lips, the moonlight making the shadows on her face more pronounced. “Hey.”
“…Hi?”
“Y’know, I only brought you out here so you’d kiss me,” Chloe said confidently. “It’s on my bucket list. One rooftop kiss beneath the stars.”
Before Max could dig her heels into the roof for enough leverage to stay in place, Chloe tugged her closer to the edge.
Max yelped, accidentally kicking the pair of shot glasses in her haste to not fall off herself. The glass shattered in the driveway and Max caught Chloe’s eyes before they both stifled their laughter, hands finding each other and twining together.
She hadn’t thought about her powers in what felt like a year, wanting to finally move on without it hovering over them like a guillotine just waiting to cut their lives in half. But sometimes, when a flash of fear lanced through her, the urge would strike just as quick. It had taken time to learn how to best ignore the bleeding colors of the future that always swirled around Max’s head.
After Chloe finished glancing over the edge of the roof to check the damage, she gave a shrug. “We can blame it on the cat.”
“Pebbles would never.”
One of their three roommates, Jaden, had brought his senile, gray cat with him when he’d moved in a few months back. And as much as Chloe liked to pretend she hated the animal, Pebbles had an unhealthy attachment to loafing in her lap over anyone else’s. Max thought he was cute, except for the nights when Pebbles would sneak into their bedroom just to scratch on the bed frame.
The cat was a mastermind at breaking and entering, even more than Chloe herself. Despite their door always being shut (ever since they had an embarrassing mishap when they thought no one was home one day) he always found a way in. Maybe that was why he liked Chloe so much.
But, Jaden would never believe that Pebbles had enough brain cells to somehow escape to the outdoors and break glass in the driveway.
“Whatever, I’ll just hop down and clean it up—” Chloe shifted her lower body farther over the edge of the roof, just one mistake away from breaking her neck, and Max shouted, grabbing hold of the back of her jacket and ripping her backwards.
“Shh!” Chloe hushed, “Don’t freak out the neighbors!”
“Then don’t try to kill yourself!”
Her eyes rolled, but Chloe settled back on the roof next to Max, resting her chin at the top of her knees. “I would’ve been fine.” Then quieter, she mumbled, “Wouldn’t be the first time I jumped off from here. Or the second.”
“Pretending I didn’t hear that.” Max stuck her fingers in her ears.
Her face felt warm to the touch, the whiskey having made its way into her bloodstream in full force. In the dark of night, she could see her breath like smoke in the air. Denver was cold, but comfortable, much like Seattle had been. But the night had grown late and her eyes had started to sting from the chilly, dry air.
“Can we go inside now?” she asked, shoving her hands between her legs to keep them warm.
“Maaax,” Chloe whined, the alcohol clearly impacting her judgment as well. “We’ve been here for nine months and have yet to kiss on the roof. Nine. Months. We could’ve had a whole baby in that amount of time!” She tossed her hands in the air then laid back atop the roof, arms spread out at either side of herself.
Wandering the country aimlessly had its perks, and it had certainly been exciting at times, but Max had found a hotspot of like-minded photographers in Colorado after her first solo art show the year before. The price of rent they got on the house had been too good to pass up — even with the three roommates and the fact that they had to share a yard with the neighbors.
It was strange to have gone from their very own apartment and traveling in the van, one-hundred percent alone at all times, straight into sharing a house with other people. But Max didn’t hate it as much as she thought she would’ve. There was a certain amount of camaraderie she’d found by being around people other than just Chloe, and she knew it certainly helped Chloe to be around others as well.
One of the girls that lived there, Will, was a pretty popular local tattoo artist, and she’d even offered to give Max a free tattoo. She’d respectfully declined, but Chloe had jumped at the opportunity. Though, rather than going with a new design, she’d instead asked for Will to help her with covering up her already existing sleeve. Unfortunately, Will had made her pay for that one, citing: “You can’t just have me stab ink across your entire body just because I offered a single tattoo for free. That’s, like, a thousand tattoos in one.”
“Come on, I’m fucking freezing,” Max voiced with only a slight grumble. “Let’s go in. It’s my anniversary too.”
“Nope. Kiss first.”
“If I kiss you, then can I go back to being warm?”
Chloe nodded, her bottom lip still sticking out in a pout. So Max fisted the front of Chloe’s jacket and leaned over her, pressing their lips together for just a millisecond before she removed herself.
“That was weak,” Chloe complained.
“You’re weak.”
“You’re weaker.”
Max breathed out a laugh. “And you’re real mature, too.”
“I can show you just how mature I can be.” Chloe returned to a sitting position, snaking an arm around Max’s waist.
“Or,” Max started, leaning closer into Chloe’s hold. “We could do more exciting things inside. Since we finally have the house to ourselves.”
Thankfully, Jaden had convinced their other roommates, Will and MJ, the infamous recluse, to crash at a friend’s house that night. And all it had taken was Max accidentally startling him over his morning cup of coffee to awkwardly say it was their anniversary, then she’d suffered through the embarrassment of him winking as he said, “Say less. Wear protection!”
“Hmm.” Chloe tapped her chin in mock thought. “How exciting are we talking here?”
“Very exciting. Like…” Max dragged a hand down Chloe’s jacket, squeezing at her forearm as their faces grew closer together. “We could watch a movie. In the living room.”
Chloe gasped. “My god. Thrilling.” She craned down to kiss against Max’s cheek, then her jaw.
“And then we could finish that pizza from earlier,” Max added. She felt a bite just below her ear and fought back the urge to hiss.
“Mm, delicious.” A harder bite came next as Chloe’s grip tightened around her waist.
“And then,” Max continued, now out of breath, “maybe I’ll let you take off my shirt.”
Chloe pulled away with a grin. “Now we’re talking.” She retracted her hand and moved to open the window, letting out a wave of heat from their bedroom. “Alright, get inside.”
Head spinning, Max following. Yeah, and I’ll be saying that myself later.
December 30, 2016
The nightmares still came — for both of them. They never left for more than a month at a time, always waiting at the backs of their heads like an infected rot you couldn’t be rid of. In all the steps of her recovery, it had taken the longest amount of time before she felt okay enough to go back in another dark room. The persistent dreams about them didn’t help, the ones where she’d so often find herself back in Jefferson’s secret bunker, staring head-on as her worst enemies poked and prodded at her bleeding skin.
Sometimes it would be Jefferson himself, his eyes boring a hole in her skull as the pile of corpses behind him grew taller.
Sometimes it would be Nathan, his flesh decomposed to nothing more than rags of skin hanging off bones. But his laugh always lingered and echoed long after she woke up.
Sometimes it would be men she didn’t know, didn’t recognize, but their intentions remained the same as the rest.
Sometimes she would recognize them — in their hair, their clothes, their predatory smiles that dripped with poison.
Other times it would be just her and Chloe in the dark room, the sterile white plastic stained red with Chloe’s blood as bullet holes littered her body, where Max strained and struggled against her chains as she tried to reach her, to hold her, to press gauze to her wounds. Those dreams, Max hated more than anything.
Still, her waking hours proved to be the best days of her life. Because she was fucking lucky. Sure, their house was snug, money was tight, and Max had quit her retail job just last week after the manager pissed her off one too many times. But none of that mattered, because she would be coasting on the high of her recent news for quite some time: an all-expenses paid trip to Maryland to participate in some billionaire’s private art showcase.
She’d applied to it on a whim, not even expecting to hear back about it at all. Her online presence had improved tenfold in the last couple years, now with a steady stream of what Chloe called her “fanclub” — though she still wasn’t anywhere near being popular.
But against all odds, she had heard back — and with the best news she could’ve received.
Every few months, she’d load up in the van with Chloe in pursuit of whatever new art show she had upcoming. After the first few, neither of them considered it to be particularly exciting, other than the rush of dopamine Max would always feel when reading her acceptance letters and picking up her checks.
The Maryland show would be different — Max wouldn’t have to spend hours upon hours in the van just watching the scenery as it floated by, and they wouldn’t have to rush to get it all done in a single day to avoid missing work.
The only downside? In typical billionaire fashion, the plane ticket and hotel reservation would only be for her. And they hadn’t had enough time to save up the money it would take for Chloe to get a ticket, nor could they afford for her to miss that many days from work, even if it would only be for four days. Max felt guilty for that much, but Chloe had assured her it would be fine. She’d work both jobs, get high, play some card games with MJ, and try not to miss Max too much. Simple. Easy.
The showcase wouldn’t be for another month, meaning that she still had enough time to try and secure a new job beforehand to replace the lost income from the hellscape that was her last place of employment. However, Chloe had made a very convincing argument the day before for why Max should stay in bed with her instead of scrolling her laptop on her blog all day long. So she’d listened. She’d listened a lot.
“Your turn, Super-Max,” MJ said, hunched over his own hand of cards with a cigarette hanging from his mouth. He lifted his chin at her. “You gonna try attacking again?”
Much to her displeasure, the Super-Max nickname had followed her well-past her days of super-ing. All it had taken was one slip up of Chloe calling her that in front of the others, and MJ had immediately latched on. Now, he never called her by anything else. To make matters worse, Jaden and Will both called her Maxy, which wasn’t even slightly better.
But Chloe? She was always just Chloe. No nicknames, no teasing, just Chloe. It infuriated her more than anything, but still, despite her best efforts, all the names she so subtly suggested in front of their roommates never seemed to stick. It was like all four of them, Chloe included, were out to tease Max as much as they could. She was heavily outnumbered — unless she counted Pebbles, who mostly ignored her unless Chloe was at her side.
Max looked down at her cards, sorting through her awful hand and trying to pick what move would be best. She didn’t have enough mana to do much of anything, except play her last instant card. But she was saving that for an emergency.
Disappointed, she glanced at the battlefield. Her only creature wasn’t strong enough to land any hits, but it was all she had. For the third turn in a row, she’d drawn nothing but unusable cards. This was precisely why she always denied MJ’s request for her to join them for game night — but Chloe was working late at another concert, and Max was bored, so just that once, she’d relented. Something that had proved to be a grave mistake.
“Can I just…surrender?” she offered.
Jaden snickered from his side of the couch, sharing a humorous glance at MJ. “She’s tired of your shit, man.”
Mouth agape, MJ ashed his cigarette in the handmade tray. “No way! We’re going easy on you and everything!”
“She’s played Magic like, what? Twice?” Will asked, giving Max an encouraging smile.
“Three times,” Max corrected, trying to find a secret answer in her hand of cards yet again. But nothing changed.
“See — you should be a pro by now,” MJ insisted with a shake of his head. “But, whatever. Your loss.”
“Yeah, be a loser, Maxy,” Jaden teased as Max set her cards on the table face down.
Will smacked him on the leg and he let out an Ow! before she said, “Don’t listen to them. Stay with us, we can play something else.”
“You’re about to be gone for like a week, we need to get in our Super-Max time while we can,” MJ added.
They weren’t friends — not really. More like…acquaintances who happened to live together. But moments like that made Max second guess their friendship and what it meant to them individually.
It was hard for her to see herself as Max, not just Max and Chloe, and with that came the invisible fear that everybody was temporary and nobody was important. Thus, Max couldn’t possibly have an impact on other people’s lives, either. But sometimes, when it was just her, she could feel it. The ability to open up to others, hanging around just out of reach.
“Not for another few weeks,” Max countered. “And it’s only for four days, you’ll live.”
“What if you never come back?” Jaden asked.
MJ snubbed out his cigarette, the smoke finally starting to trail out of the cramped living room space. “Chloe ain’t going with her, she’ll be back. Codependency at its finest.”
The three of them laughed at the statement, quietly wrapping up their failed round of Magic and re-assembling their own decks.
“Nu-uh, it’s called loooove,” Jaden added with a vulgar kissing gesture that made Will snort.
“Fuck all of you.” Max rolled her eyes and stood, stretching her aching legs and back.
They’d been there for a few hours already; so late in the night that Chloe would be getting home soon. She hid a yawn behind her hand as she collected her now-empty cans from the table and padded over to the kitchen.
She flicked the light on, listening as her roommates continued their conversation in the background. But maybe they had a point, she thought. Being on her own for four days seemed daunting, she’d rarely been more than 12 hours without Chloe in years. And nights like that — where Chloe worked into the early hours of the morning as a security guard for local heavy metal concerts — were borderline unmanageable.
She couldn’t stop the racing of her thoughts or the fear that something would happen, that Chloe would be hurt by some rowdy biker who didn’t like the look of her, that Chloe wouldn’t come home because some asshole would crash into her, that Chloe needed her and Max wouldn’t fucking be there.
The fear grew and developed and snowballed into an overwhelming urge to handcuff herself to Chloe’s side just on the off-chance something might happen. So that Max would be there to save her. Because she was Super-Max and that was her real destiny in life — to be at Chloe’s side.
Max leaned on the counter next to the sink, watching as the water filled a dirty bowl and washed the grime away. She wanted to do better — to be better. It wasn’t fucking fair that she’d been dealt the shittiest hand of cards in life, or that Chloe had been dealt the same.
But she wasn’t powerless, she wasn’t out of control. She could do it. She could handle being on her own for a few days. The payoff would be worth it — a real, actual chance of getting her name out there in the art world.
January 13, 2017
Fucking hell. Maybe Max was codependent. Before the sun had fully risen in the sky, Chloe had dropped her off at the airport, where they’d shared an extensively long kiss in the drop-off lane before they got one too many honks to keep the line moving.
“Knock their solid gold socks off,” Chloe had said. “And remember—”
“Stealing is ethical if it’s from a billionaire?” Max finished, knowing it was just a joke and she’d never even have the opportunity to steal in the first place. But Chloe was so cute with how passionate she was about ‘sticking it to the man’ that Max always went along with it.
Chloe’s crooked smile widened. “That’s my girl.”
One last kiss, and maybe a couple unwanted tears at the corner of Max’s eyes, then Chloe was gone, leaving Max was alone in the world.
Her fingers shook as she handed her ticket over, doing her very best to maintain a pleasant smile and listen intently to the directions they gave her. An hour later and she was boarding the plane, knees shaking and throat dry, heart thundering faster the closer she got to her seat.
Even ignoring the last time she’d been on a plane, flying was still terrifying. It wasn’t natural. It was evil. And if she could (which, really, she could’ve) she would’ve visited her past self and gave her a giant kick for deciding to pick a window seat.
The urge to slip into her own head and peak into the possible futures was strong, if only just because she wanted to prepare herself for the inevitable demise of plummeting to the earth in fiery crash. But she held back, just barely, reminding herself that while those futures were definitely possible, they would be far outweighed by the futures in which nothing exciting would happen at all.
“You feeling alright?” the woman next to her asked. She reached to the back of the seat in front of Max and pulled out a plastic bag. “They have these, if you need—”
“I-I’m good, thanks.” Max kindly waved the offered bag away.
The woman smiled kindly as she leaned back in her chair. “First time, then? You’ll be fine.”
Max accidentally glanced out the window and was hit with a disorienting wave of vertigo. The plane hadn’t even taken off yet, for fuck’s sake.
It was going to be a long three hours.
A long four days.
January 14, 2017
Perhaps it was because she was so used to capturing photographs of halfway-dilapidated houses and abandoned locations, but the Cash art showcase was held in an entirely too extravagant of a building. And, yes, the irony of a billionaire whose last name was Cash was not lost on her — further proving her theory that fate and destiny were just out to fuck with everyone who wasn’t born privileged.
She missed Chloe, of course. The night had been hard on the sterile hotel sheets with nothing but her own cold hands to hold. But mostly, she missed not being alone. It was only thing to explore an entirely new city in an entirely new state with someone else at her side, but to do the very same thing on her own? She felt like a kid — she worried she looked like one too, what with her stumbling awkwardness and nervous stutters.
But Max was grown, she was older than she was when she first started, she had experience. At least, that’s what she reminded herself as she approached the huge, arching doorway of the glistening white building.
A young guy around her age greeted her at the door, his tuxedo finely ironed and hair slicked back. Without even speaking, he pulled open the door and gestured her in, and there she was swept into the high-class world of another tax bracket.
What differed from most shows that she attended, other than the fact that this one was clearly more prestigious and obnoxiously tone-deaf, was the fact that people knew her. She hadn’t even needed to check in. As soon as she’d stepped foot through the door, she was ushered away towards her gallery.
Yeah, gallery. Max Caulfield, your days of booths are over.
It was hard to be anything but insurmountably happy after that discovery. Besides, she really was proud of her work. She’d come a long way from being some wannabe, angsty teenage photographer. She was a true artist.
Throughout the night, she collected no less than twenty business cards from various well-dressed men and women floating around the gallery, all high-heels and hair gel. And nobody had even commented on the fact that she, and no one else, was painfully, obviously under dressed in her flat button-down shirt and dress pants. They were all…nice.
Although, after overhearing a conversation next to the open bar between two snooty looking gentlemen, it seemed like everyone just thought she was being purposefully different, and not that she’d clearly misunderstood the recommended attire. But, oh well, at least she wasn’t kicked out. It wasn’t the first time people saw her as a self-absorbed hipster, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.
To her own credit, Max did a lot more networking than she’d originally wanted to. When she’d first gotten the acceptance letter, she’d skimmed over the page detailing what sponsors and fellow artists would be attending, too caught up in the sheer fact that she’d gotten in at all. But being there, thriving in the slow environment of quiet discussions and slow classical music drifting from the live band playing, Max found herself opening up just a bit more.
Perhaps it was the champagne that helped — it now being a requirement when attending art showcases, no matter the venue. She’d even had a couple glasses at a show that was housed in some college kid’s basement, not knowing if he’d even been of-age to drink in the first place.
Safe to say, the night was perfect.
Until it wasn’t.
Until, as it always did, the room closed in on her, stealing her breath and leaving her disoriented, wondering how the fuck she’d gotten herself wrapped up in another mess. Ironically, the only explanation she could come up with was that she was a magnet for the unexplainable.
Because, as it turned out, Cash wasn’t just the name of a billionaire who happened to have a deep appreciation for art and a soft-spot for newbies to the industry. He was also a man she knew. A man she hadn’t thought about in two years — a man she’d seen only a few times before, one of which being in pseudo-ghost form in an abandoned house in the middle of nowhere, California.
She didn’t realize it was him at first, not until a picture slipped from her bag and skidded to a stop across the floor. Hurriedly, she knelt to pick it up, and found herself staring at a photograph she didn’t even realize she’d brought with her.
Because I didn’t bring this, Max thought. This picture is locked up in a box at home. Isn’t it?
However, her eyes didn’t lie, although her fingers did shake as she held it. For there he was — Cash, the ghost. Cash, the billionaire. Once standing plain as day in the middle of the rickety house, now standing plain as day in the middle of his own fucking building, smiling at the room of guests like he was on top of the world. And maybe he was.
Max flattened herself to the wall, trying to avoid his gaze as it raked over the mass of people crowded in the room. He hadn’t seen her yet, had he? But she knew it was stupid to even try to hide — he’d invited her there, after all. He knew she would be there. He wanted her to be there.
But why? Who was he? What the hell did he want with her? She was just a girl. Unless he…knew…but he couldn’t, no way. No one could possibly know. Chloe was the only person in the world who knew about what she could do. She didn’t even know if she could still go back in time, just that the urge was still there.
She stared at the picture clutched in her fist; she stared at it for what felt like hours as she searched for any clue or insight. The corners of her vision went blurry, and there was a tug in her stomach, like she was being dragged backwards against her will.
Blinking, Max shoved the photo inside her bag and took a gasped breath of air. She would not let herself get sucked back inside another picture, not for as long as she lived. The familiar feeling of fate tempting her to go back in time was almost as unnerving as realizing that she’d recognized Cash. Almost.
If only Chloe was there with her. She’d know what to do. Or, she’d at least wrap her arms around Max until none of it mattered. But some battles Max had to face alone.
Someone clinked a spoon against the edge of their glass, sending a ringing noise throughout the room and drawing a crowd of stuttering silence in its wake. Her stomach fell further, if it was even possible. It was showtime.
Slowly, the crowd made its way to the auditorium, where the stage had been cleanly decorated with minimalist curtains and a single podium. The final part of the event was, of course, Cash’s time to shine on stage and solicit more donations with some inspiring speech to his like-minded rich buddies. Max knew it was coming, it was part of the agenda, after all. But still, her jaw stayed clenched tight as she kept her fear deeply coiled within herself.
And there he was again — his suit just as perfectly crisp as it always was, hair slicked back without a single strand out of place. He looked older than she’d seen him last, which brought her a strange sense of comfort. At least he wasn’t a vampire or something.
Cash strolled over towards the center of the stage, his audience still waiting with bated breath. When he tapped the mic, a muffled boom echoed the room, and he smiled, dimples at his cheeks making his face look younger. He would’ve been handsome, had he not been so disturbingly alert, like an all-knowing owl watching over her from above.
“Hello, Baltimore!” The crowd cheered at his greeting and Cash nodded with approval. When he raised a hand, they quieted.
So, Max thought, money does buy power.
“It has been an absolutely fantastic show tonight, folks. Great show, great work. Thank you all.” He paused again, humbling waiting for the murmurs of agreement to die down.
Max stayed quiet, rooted to the spot, like if she didn’t move, he wouldn’t see her.
“If you haven’t heard of me—” He put a hand on his chest, a golden ring glimmering on his finger. “—my name is Damien Cash. Devoted husband, father, art connoisseur, philanthropist, and, of course, the founder of the Avery Cash Foundation. But my friends just call me Cash, and I consider each and every one of you to be my friend. Please, give yourselves a round of applause for all the hard work you’ve put into making this show one of our best yet.”
The people around Max erupted into cheers, clapping and nudging against their acquaintances to wish them congratulations. A woman next to her shook Max’s hand so quickly that she barely had time to keep up, so caught off-guard by being dragged into the theatrics of it all. When she looked back at the stage, she could’ve sworn she saw Cash’s eyes flicker right over her, like it was her who was the ghost.
Cash continued with his speech, passionately explaining the profits his company made during the last fiscal year, and just how much of it had been donated to supporting artists all across the world. And Max had to admit, he didn’t seem evil. As far as billionaires went.
She could practically hear Chloe in her ear bitching about how there were no ethical billionaires, how they all deserves to be thrown in the gallows, or some other justifiably barbaric way of putting them to death.
Usually, Max would agree. But Cash’s dedication to actually lifting up artists was something she found herself admiring. Too often did artists fulfill the stereotype of remaining poor for their entire lives, of having the creativity and passion sucked out of them until the bleeding tyranny of Capitalism claimed another victim. Yet, Cash used the vast majority of his wealth trying to revive creativity in the world.
As he reached the end of his monologue, Cash quieted and the room grew still at his silence. When he’d talked with excitement, the people followed. When he’d displayed any sign of sadness, the people followed. Perhaps he did have powers — the ability to manipulate others into do his bidding. But Max didn’t feel persuaded. Maybe she was immune? She clenched the champagne flute tighter in her hand, battling her own uncertainty.
“It’s important to note,” Cash continued, “that in today’s day and age, authenticity is priority. Resilience is key. Staying true to who you are, that’s the real currency in this world, and it’s not something anyone else can give to you.”
With each statement, he gestured to a different person in the crowd, and Max feared for the time it would be her turn. Surely there were enough people around that he hadn’t spotted her, right?
“And above all else, I want you to know that everything happens for a reason. Everything. Even the smallest of choices, the tiniest of motions out there in the world — it all impacts the way our beautiful lives develop and evolve.” He spread his arms wide, the picture-perfect image of a leader, his smile dripping with falsity. “The human experience is all linked, you see. We are not individuals, but one mind, one body, one soul. Each and every one of you are here today for a reason. Be that your career, your family, your friends, your passion, or even—” There, it happened, where his eyes met hers and he bore a hole right down to her very soul. Where he had once displayed a casual confidence was now overwritten with a deep, gnawing anger, his face contorted with grim pain. Then it was gone, and his smile returned. “—your future. Until next time, my friends.”
Cash stepped away from the podium and headed backstage, not sparing a glance backward. But Max had gone ice cold at his declaration — his warning of something. The people around her remained oblivious, chatting among themselves like nothing was out of the ordinary. She felt like a fish out of water, an imposter in the midst of enemy territory.
As her skin grew hot, prickly and flushed, Max knew something had happened. Something she needed to get to the bottom of.
She had to talk to Chloe.
January 16, 2017
The flight back was easier than she’d expected, maybe because it was already fully dark outside by the time the plane took off, so she hadn’t been forced to watch as the ground grew smaller and smaller. Instead, Max had plugged in her headphones and kept her eyes firmly shut for basically the entire trek back, trying to put aside her anxiety about Cash in favor of catching up on sleep she missed out on the last few nights. The only downside of the flight was that the man next to her had an unfortunately loud cough that she could hear even through her already loud music. But the trip felt quicker than the first had, so her torture was relatively short lived.
All the struggles she’d had the last few days were all worth it the moment she saw Chloe again, saw the flash of green hair ahead of the other people waiting, saw the way her eyes lit up when she noticed Max too. The stress and worry of the art show dissolved to nothing the moment her eyes connected with those of the person she loved more than anything in the world.
Max had dropped her bag and jumped into her arms as soon as she was able to, wrapping her arms around Chloe’s shoulders and burrowing her face into her neck, her feet just barely remaining on the floor. And maybe she cried, just a bit, where no one else could see, if only just to let out the pressure she’d been carrying for days.
“Hey, you,” Chloe said, pressing a kiss to the side of Max’s head. “Good trip?”
Max sighed, not wanting to lower herself back down. But eventually she did, sliding her hands to Chloe’s upper arms and giving her a squeeze.
“The show was great. But…” She looked behind them, feeling an odd sense of insecurity, like Cash was still watching her even though she left him hours away in Baltimore. But there wasn’t anyone important there, just a few wandering people looking for their own destinations. “…I’ll tell you later. Let’s go.”
Hand in hand, they finally escaped the labyrinth of the airport and Max could breathe easier as the van came into view. Her eyelids felt heavy, weighed down with exhaustion, but she needed a distraction — needed something to take her mind off the roiling thoughts which swarmed her head.
When Chloe opened the passenger side door for her, she made her move.
Chloe’s arm caged her in, lingering at the top of the door. “Need help getting buckled in, my lady—ah!”
Max tugged her in by her belt loops and pulled Chloe inside with her, until their bodies pressed together and the door slammed shut behind them. Their mouths had already found each other in the brief time it had taken for Max’s back to meet the bench seat.
“Don’t call me that,” Max insisted after a breath, just barely breaking away from their kiss long enough to chastise her before she pulled Chloe back down in their heated exchange of teeth and tongue.
Max wrapped her legs around Chloe’s waist and groaned through their kiss, pressing their hips together as warmth flooded her core.
It wasn’t just a want, it was a need.
She needed to feel Chloe on her skin, on her chest, on her thighs, inside her — anywhere and everywhere she could reach. She needed to forget who she was, forget her own name and where she’d come from, what horrors she’d left in her wake.
Max tore her nails from Chloe’s jaw down towards her chest, a sense of pride rising in her at the whimpers she was rewarded with. She grabbed hold of Chloe’s wrist and shoved it towards the front of her pants, where Chloe paused, her palm pressing only lightly against the seam of her jeans.
“Desperate much?” Chloe teased, increasing the pressure of her hand against Max.
“Stop talking,” Max argued, grinding up into Chloe’s palm in hopes of finding the friction she needed. “Just—come on, hurry up.”
As requested, Chloe bracketed one arm next to Max’s head, supporting her weight as her other hand busied itself with tugging the offending jeans down her legs. She nudged her nose against the side of Max’s throat, encouraging her to turn her head just enough for Chloe to have the room needed to bite down near her sensitive pulse point.
Max’s hips jumped at the pain of teeth against skin, her free hand latching onto Chloe’s waist and fisting the fabric of her shirt to push it up, up, up, until her own fingers could sink into her skin.
“Fuck, please, Chloe,” she whimpered. Her voice dripped with a desperation she’d be teased mercilessly about in the future, but as long as it got her what she craved, she couldn’t have cared less.
There wasn’t much room in the cramped front seat, but soon they both worked Max’s pants down her legs, though they still tangled around her thighs. Max scrambled to move Chloe’s wrist past the front of her waistband, lifting her hips high enough to give her the leverage needed to slide Chloe’s fingers through her wetness.
Chloe made quick work of sinking two fingers knuckle deep inside her, and a loan moan was dragged from Max’s throat.
“Oh, god,” she mumbled, lips pressed against Chloe’s collarbone to keep herself quiet. Or, as quiet as she could be, considering Chloe had shifted her palm to press at just the right angle against her clit. “Fuck, I…” I’m not gonna last long.
She shifted her jeans farther down her legs, until she was able to maneuver her heels to dig into the backs of Chloe’s thighs, taking control over their movement and driving Chloe’s hand forward with every writhing thrust. It was messy, clumsy, like they were teenagers who’d snuck off for a quick moment alone.
The harsh curling of her fingers made Max see stars, and one of her hands clasped against the back of Chloe’s head, tugging aggressively at her hair until she growled against Max’s skin.
“Careful, pretty girl,” Chloe panted, then covered Max’s lips with her own, swallowing the sounds of her moans like Max was her favorite meal and she’d been starving for days.
Chloe pressed her own hips down, using the positioning of her lower stomach to grind her hand harder into Max. But when her fingers stilled, Max whined, nails moving to dig into Chloe’s waist beneath her shirt.
“No, please, don’t stop—” Max jerked forward, trying to bring back the building pressure against Chloe’s stagnant form.
“Tell me you missed me,” Chloe muttered. She gave a slow, rough pump of her fingers, just once, just enough for Max to crave it like air.
“Missed you, so much. Please, I need you,” she begged, not recognizing the sound of her own desperation. Her voice faded to gasping breaths when Chloe’s thrusts increased in speed until she was fucking Max in earnest.
Impulsively, Max fell victim to the temptation of marking Chloe’s skin with her teeth. As the pleasure built in her core, coiling and tightening, she sucked a harsh bruise to Chloe’s throat, spurring her onward.
Each low groan that slipped from Chloe’s mouth sent a wave of heat down Max’s spine, until soon her legs were clenching tighter around Chloe’s waist, her nails on the cusp of drawing blood where they dug into her back.
A string of expletives escaped her lips as Max tensed, and she didn’t even care that it was the quickest she’d ever finished, too consumed by the heat coursing her body as she clenched around Chloe’s fingers. She’d have time to feel embarrassed later.
Heat pooled between her thighs as she struggled to catch her breath, and she eventually released the iron grip she kept on Chloe’s skin when she pulled her fingers out.
“Wow, that quick?”
Chloe’s voice was cut off as Max forced their lips together, one hand behind her head to keep her right where she wanted. Then, with all the strength she had left, she flipped them, Chloe’s back now pressing against the seat.
Max fumbled to tug Chloe’s pants down next, already tying her hair back, her mouth watering at the idea of finally getting her revenge on her. She’d dreamed about her, craved her for days, years, her entire life.
“Uh, wait, are you sure—”
“Chloe, if I don’t have my mouth on you in the next two minutes, I’m going to lose my goddamn mind,” Max insisted, pressing a kiss just below her belly button, trailing her lips farther down.
Chloe shut her mouth instantly, a hand knitting itself in Max’s hair as she steered her closer. And Max wasn’t blind, she’d seen the way Chloe’s body had shivered as Max found her own release. She wanted to make her come, over and over, to make up for their lost time.
Just as she’d reached the apex of Chloe’s thighs, someone tapped on the driver’s side window. A knee shoved into Max’s stomach, sending her sprawling to the floor, disoriented and confused.
“Fuck, you hit me!” Max cursed.
“Sorry, reflex!” Chloe pulled her own pants back up as she scrambled into a sitting position, then moved to roll down the window.
She spared a glance at Max, still adjusting her own clothes, damp with sweat and other fluids, and tossed the spare blanket they kept behind the seat at her.
Max pulled the blanket from where it’d landed over her head and glared at Chloe — mostly pissed off, but still unreasonably turned on.
“Uh, hey, officer,” Chloe stammered. “Can I…help you?”
A flashlight shined into the van and both Chloe and Max winced at the brightness of it. The cop who’d knocked on the window simply chewed his gum wordlessly, then he scoffed.
“You kids supposed to be here?”
“…I’m twenty-two,” Chloe said plainly.
The cop’s eyes narrowed. “Not what I asked.”
His mouth opened again as he loudly chewed, and Max wished she was the type of person who could punch men like that. But, most men were obnoxious, and all cops were evil. Besides, she really didn’t need to go to jail that day — even if she was so horny she could’ve killed an entire hoard of people just for the opportunity to have Chloe beneath her.
“Okay. Well. We were just leaving,” she added.
He grunted, not believing them, but he still clicked the flashlight off. “Go on, then.” Then he flicked the van window and nodded his head at Chloe. “This tint looks to be past the legal limit. I’d get that checked if I were you.”
“That’s actually where we’re headed right now, did you want to—”
Max cupped a hand over Chloe’s mouth. “She means thank you, and have a good night.”
Chloe’s muffled voice barely slipped through the cracks of Max’s fingers, sounding an awful lot like ‘That’s not what I fucking said.’
After a shrug, the cop sauntered off in pursuit of his next victim, and Max exhaled. Chloe rolled the window back up and searched the van for the keys, which had once been clipped to the belt loop of her pants, but had somehow fallen off in all their haste to rip each other’s clothes off.
Max found the keys on her side, hidden right under a corner of the blanket. She tossed them over with a scowl and Chloe revved the van to life.
“So,” she said, glancing at Max with a sheepish grin. “Gonna lose your mind?”
Max’s head thumped against the headrest after she clicked the seat belt into place. She made a pact with herself that she wasn’t allowed to let Chloe leave the bed for the rest of the week. “Just drive us home.”
Chapter 16: I Wanna Get Better
Summary:
January - July 2017
Scheming, bar fights, and putting plans to action. Featuring: Boyfriend Chloe. Also, strap-ons, yay.
Notes:
here is 10k words of bullshit, please enjoy
Song Title: I Wanna Get Better; Bleachers
CW: Descriptions of blood, homophobia, sexual content, and stalking.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
January 20, 2017
Hot air blasted from the vents above their table, which was almost enough to warm the chill that had crept into her bones. Chloe sat across from her and shrugged off her jacket before she tossed it towards Max, even though she was the one who sat closer to the door where all the cold air originated from. Max took the jacket wordlessly, pulling it close to her face to savor the smell as she wrapped it over herself.
“So,” Chloe started, practically bouncing in her seat. “Ready to share all the dirty secrets of your trip?”
Max glanced out the window and watched the white clouds drift by. Denver had been a good home for them, but she didn’t think she’d ever get used to the atmosphere of it. Maybe that was a her problem though — that there wasn’t anywhere in the world that felt secure enough to stay for more than a few months or a couple years.
“I think so,” she answered.
And it was the truth. She’d taken a few days to marinate on what had happened, and came to the conclusion that nothing had really happened at all, outside of her own shitty fears and worries. But, Chloe was her partner, and she didn’t want to leave her out of the loop. They’d made a promise, after all.
“Well, go on! You’ve already made me wait all fucking week. I can’t take much more of the anticipation.”
Max grimaced as she reached for her bag. “This might sound weird…”
“Most things you tell me are weird,” Chloe commented. “I’m used to it.”
She spread out the two photographs on the table, flicking one of the pictures over towards Chloe who caught it under her palm before she took an inquisitive glance at it.
“Who’s this?”
“That’s Damien Cash. I took it at the art show.”
He stood just beside the stage, a broad smile dimpling his cheeks while he kept his eyes averted from Max’s camera. It was completely unassuming. So she gestured to the next picture, and that was when Chloe’s face went pale.
“What the fuck, this is…”
“Yeah. He was there that night on the beach. In that house. With us.”
“But…I don’t remember seeing him there.” Chloe looked up at Max, eyes hardened. “What, did he teleport or something? Another super-user?”
“That’s the part I’m not sure about,” Max admitted. She took the pictures back, tucking them back where they came from so nobody else would see them. “I…saw him at the first show I went to. The one in Portland.”
She went on to explain her encounter with him, the dreams she’d had, and how she thought he might be the mysterious figure from her visions as well. And spilling all the history out into the world felt like it was solidifying her worst fears.
Chloe dragged a hand through her hair. “Portland was like three years ago. Why the fuck did he wait so long to reach out to you?”
“Well, he didn’t reach out. He’s just…there. Sometimes. And it was me who applied to his show, it wasn’t like I was invited. It was just a fucked up coincidence, I guess.”
“So he’s stalking you.”
Chloe’s hand made a fist on the table and Max touched her own hand atop it in hopes of calming her. It wouldn’t do any good for them to both get upset. And while Max retreated into herself in the face of uncertainty, Chloe always had the tendency to lash out and blow things way out of proportion.
“Maybe. But what kind of stalker waits three years between meeting their victim again?”
At that, Chloe shook her head. “Don’t call yourself a fucking victim, I’m not going to let—”
“Chloe. That wasn’t the point.”
Just thinking back to the way his expression had changed so quickly was enough to send a prickle of anxiety down her neck. She was used to bad men doing bad things, they were as common as cold weather in Colorado. But men like Cash, who had seemingly perfect lives and perfect images to uphold, always proudly displaying their shiny smiles at every chance — they were terrifying. They were the true evil in the world — those who could maim the sanctity of society and get away with it without consequence.
Chloe tensed beneath Max’s hand, then sighed. “You’re right. Still. What the hell does he want with you?”
“Maybe he knows about my…”
“Powers?”
Max cringed away. “I was gonna say my condition, but yeah.”
“Hm.” Chloe leaned back, biting against her bottom lip in thought. “Okay. Let’s go over the facts.” She drummed her fingers against the table, lowering her head. “One, this guy knew about Arcadia Bay before you even told him. Two, you saw him in that abandoned house, but only for a few seconds, and I didn’t hear anyone else there. Three, you dream about him — not happy about that one, by the way — and four, he shows up again out of nowhere at an art show and…looks at you?”
“It was more than that,” Max defended. She swallowed heavily, the stiflingly small diner walls closing in on her. “It was like he was talking to me.”
“Good lord, the horror!”
“Shut up, you know what I mean. He knew I was there, and it had to have been for a reason. Like…in a room of all those people, he only wanted me to hear what he was saying.”
“Hey, maybe we do have something in common.”
“Focus, you sap,” Max chastised.
“I am focused. Focused on my beautiful—”
Chloe’s statement was interrupted by the arrival of their waiter, a short-haired guy with a pissed off expression who asked for their order very bluntly as he clicked his pen. They ordered their typical breakfast-oriented foods, and Max hadn’t even realized how loudly her stomach had been growling until after the waiter walked away, being that she was too absorbed in relaying as much information as she could.
Their food came out lightning quick, which redeemed the restaurant a little bit from the extremely long wait time they had between sitting down and finally speaking with their waiter for the first time. But, Max could empathize with him, the kid was clearly young and likely underpaid. Plus, there were at least five other tables with hungover college kids who all kept asking for more coffee.
“So.” Chloe swallowed a bite of food and pointed her fork at Max. “What’s the plan?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, how are we gonna solve the mystery?” she asked. “Chloe and Max, back in action again. This time with a teleporting ghost slash time traveling stalker! What could go wrong?”
“Pretty sure it’s Max and Chloe, not Chloe and Max.”
Chloe shrugged, then gave her a smirk. “You do come first.”
Max choked on her food, coughing quickly to clear her throat. “Right, anyway. I do have some sort of plan, I guess.” She pulled the magazine out of her bag and spread it on the table beside her plate, careful to avoid touching the sticky syrup to the pages. “Here — he has his own art magazine, actually, so he should be easy to…”
“Revenge stalk?”
“Yeah, can we find a different way to phrase that?”
“Track down?”
“Better. But on this page…” She flipped to halfway through the magazine, pointing to an advertisement. “It says one of his companies finances an art grant. The Avery Cash Foundation. He mentioned it at the show. Every year the board selects an artist for the grant, all they have to do is donate the work they make that year to his company. Then the profits from that cycle back into the program.”
“And you want to…apply for the grant?” Chloe suggested.
“I mean, the money would be nice,” Max admitted. The grant wasn’t a small amount by any means, and there weren’t really any other programs similar to it anywhere else across the States, from what she could find in her research. “But since he’s obviously part of the board, I’d be able to meet with him in person. Alone.”
“Is that safe?”
Max clenched a fist beneath the table. “He’s not going to kill me in broad daylight, Chloe. Besides, I have…skills.” She wished she was more confident than she felt.
“And I have a gun,” Chloe offered, taking another bite of her food casually.
Max faltered, looking over her shoulder to see if anyone had caught it. “You can’t just say that in public!”
“It’s not on me, damn, chill.” Chloe rolled her eyes and Max returned the gesture. Then she added, “I do have this knife though.”
Chloe pulled said knife from her pocket and flicked it open, and Max lunged to lower the hand before anyone saw. After a brief moment of weirdly-sexually-charged wrestling across the table, eventually Chloe closed the blade and tucked it back into her pants with a cocky grin.
“You are testing your luck today, Price.” Max huffed, settling back on her side of the booth with her arms crossed.
“Oh? Using my last name now, are we?”
“You do it to me. Taste of your own medicine.”
“Duh, I like your last name,” Chloe said. She pushed her plate to the side, now empty. She leaned her elbows on the table, eyes flickering down the length of Max’s throat. “It’s cute.”
Price had always been a cool last name to Max. It sounded like the sort of name a tortured protagonist of a video game would have, or maybe the name of their love interest whose mere existence sparked decades long discourse among fans
“Well, I like yours too,” Max stammered. Even after three years, she was really, really fucking bad at flirting.
“Yeah? Wanna take it?”
Max flushed again. It wasn’t the first time Chloe had joked like that, nor even the second time. And it wasn’t like Max could say they were too young anymore, or that it was illegal, or any other shitty excuse she could think of. From anyone else’s eyes, it would have been perfectly reasonable for her and Chloe to get married. Just last week, she’d overheard her roommates betting on which of them would pop the question first, not realizing that she could hear the entire conversation from around the kitchen corner. Much to her surprise, Max had been both MJ and Jaden’s choice.
God, even just thinking of that…
She had to change the subject.
“Okay, no more teasing,” Max said. She shifted forward, flattening out the magazine again if only just to keep her hands busy with something to distract her from the wandering thoughts. “Let’s go over the plan again.”
Chloe’s smile faltered for only a second, then she nodded.
March 11, 2017
Almost exactly a year since they moved into their house in Denver, Max and Chloe loaded up into the van in pursuit of a week-long vacation. Not that it was really a vacation for Max, who still had yet to find a replacement job, thus didn’t really need a break from hanging around the house all day.
She’d planned on busying herself with photography now that they’d entered another brand new state, wanting to finally complete her side-series of Midwestern landscapes she’d had on pause for going on half a year. But most of all, for Chloe’s 23rd birthday, Max wanted her to actually, finally, truly have a break from work.
Unfortunately, since neither of them had really stayed for any amount of time in Nebraska before, they hadn’t realized until they got there that it was…fucking boring. Even more boring than the small towns across the West Coast had been. At least in Oregon they had nice scenery to observe, but Nebraska was all rural Republican wastelands and deeply rooted depression. To make matters worse, Chloe had run out of her vacation-stock of weed only 2 days into their trip. Coming from Colorado, the unofficial weed capital of the country, Nebraska was already a nightmare.
Thus, with no weed left, alcohol was the obvious choice for how they’d spend the night of her birthday. Despite neither of them being big into parties or birthdays in general, Max had long since stepped up to the responsibility of making sure Chloe made time for herself. Though, the older Max got, the worse the hangovers hit her in the morning. So, she’d probably limit herself to just a couple drinks. Probably. Someone had to drive them home, after all.
Chloe was a cute drunk, although Max was very aware of the fact that she was most likely the only person on the planet who thought of her that way. Her belligerent anger at the world always increased tenfold the moment a drop of liquor passed her lips, and there had been quite a few times Max had to forcibly drag her away from dangerous situations.
But…the drunk sex made it all worth it. And maybe that was something Max had been looking forward to.
What she hadn’t been looking forward to was the grimy dive bar Chloe had dragged her to after they’d checked into their motel for the night (also grimy in its own way, settled just on the outskirts of town and across the street from a Waffle House and cemetery).
From the moment they stepped inside the bar, she’d immediately put herself in a defensive head-space. Part of her had even expected to have a run-in with Cash, though there was no way he’d ever show his face in a place like that. Not that she knew him that well, though. Maybe she was just losing it. Whatever.
Really, she tried to not think about Damien Cash that much. There’d be plenty of time for that after she summoned all her nerves and applied for the Avery Cash Foundation art grant in a few months. And she especially didn’t want to think about him on her girlfriend’s birthday.
Though, with the way Chloe looked that night, it was borderline impossible to think of anything other than her — that green hair, tucked behind her ears; her tattoos, the black ink a sharp contrast against her skin; her baggy pants, complete with a camo jacket wrapped around her waist and a tight black T-shirt that hugged her arms in the best way possible.
“Want one?” Chloe asked as she leaned against the counter, the bartender still busy with another customer farther down the line.
The place was unsurprisingly busy, it being a Saturday night in a small town with fuck-all else to do except park at Walmart and tailgate with the people you went to high-school with. It was moments like that where Max was grateful she wasn’t stuck having to keep up relationships with the people she knew in her youth. Except for Kate. Who she really, really needed to text back, having again ghosted her for an entire month unintentionally.
“Just one,” Max answered. “But not Bud light. Anything but Bud light.” Not wanting to stand awkwardly without a drink in her hand, she sat on an empty stool at the bar.
“Right, IPA it is.” Chloe flagged down the bartender again and that time he noticed, giving her a thumbs up in acknowledgment.
“Ugh, I don’t know how you drink that shit.” Max tucked her arms together.
“It’s an acquired taste. Like me.”
Chloe moved closer to her, standing tall enough that she was face-to-face with Max from where she sat on the stool. And though she hadn’t yet had a drop of alcohol, she looked at Max with such intensity that she wondered just how long they’d actually end up staying there before giving into each other and racing back to the hotel. Maybe the chase was part of the thrill.
“Question for you,” Chloe started. “Scale of one to ten, how STD-infected do you think the bathroom is here?”
“Can’t say I’ve really put much thought into it,” Max answered.
“Yeah?” Chloe leaned in, close enough that she could count each freckle across her cheeks. “What, too busy thinking of other things?”
Max couldn’t tear her gaze away from Chloe’s lips. “Maybe. I’m a busy gal, you know. Got a lot on my mind.”
The bartender made his way over to their section of the counter and took their order with a flushed face. He looked young — like he wasn’t even old enough to drink alcohol himself. But he was good at the job, quickly pouring a Bud light from the tap for Chloe and passing over a mysterious pink colored cocktail in a fancy glass for Max.
“Just because I don’t like beer doesn’t mean I wanted…this,” Max said.
Chloe shrugged, finishing off half her beer all at once. “It had a funny name. I didn’t think it’d look so radioactive.”
Max drank it anyway, sipping from the edge like she was scared it would taste like battery acid or a melting tire. But it was pleasant. More pleasant than beer or whiskey, at least. Some guy from farther down the bar laughed when he saw her hesitation upon drinking it.
“Shit,” Chloe cursed. She pulled the buzzing phone from her pocket then pressed a kiss to Max’s cheek. “David’s calling, I’ll be right back. No shots without me!”
No sooner did the door close behind her did someone fill the gap Chloe left behind, hovering over Max’s shoulder as he nursed his own pint. She largely ignored him, focusing instead on the music that blasted from the speakers and the flickering TV playing some game of football. Typical dive bar behavior.
When his eyes drifted to her one too many times, she asked, “Can I help you?”
“Well, if you’re offering…” He gave a playful shrug. His blonde hair was long, down to his shoulders, and she could see the hint of an American flag tattoo across his chest where his shirt sagged from age.
Max finished the rest of her drink as she rolled her eyes. Nebraska was definitely not as fun as Colorado. “Sorry,” she said, not sorry at all. “I have a…boyfriend.” The lie had slipped out before she could stop it.
The man looked around dramatically. “I don’t see ‘em around. Come on, let me buy you a drink?”
“I just finished my drink.” Surely this method doesn’t actually work on girls, right?
“One more won’t hurt.” He leaned his back against the counter, arms spread out like he wanted to cage her in. The gesture wasn’t nearly as attractive on him as it had been on Chloe. “A pretty thing like you—”
“She’s not interested.” Chloe appeared at Max’s shoulder, touching a comforting hand to the small of her back where the guy couldn’t see.
The man straightened, his brows furrowing. “Yeah? And who are you to say? We were having a conversation here.”
“I’m the boyfriend,” Chloe snapped. “So back the fuck off, dude.”
“Chloe, you don’t have to—”
He came closer, almost nose to nose with Chloe as he stared her down from head to boot. “You don’t look like much of a boy.”
“Funny,” said Chloe, returning his stare with equal venom. “I was just thinking the same thing about you.”
With an insecure growl, the guy shoved into Chloe’s chest with both hands and she stumbled back. “Fuck you, bitch.”
Chloe dusted off her shirt. “Only in your dreams, asshole.”
He averted his eyes from Chloe and gave Max a disgusted glare, shaking his head. “You dumb fuckin’ queers are ruining this country. I can’t even—”
“The fuck did you just say to her?” Chloe advanced forward, countering his earlier shove with one of her own, and the man’s back hit against the counter from the force of it.
“Open your ears, bitch, I said that you dumb—” His sentence was cut short when Chloe’s fist connected with the flat of his nose, a spray of blood pouring down his face when his head snapped to the side.
Max stood from the stool in alarm, gears turning in her head. They had to leave — before Chloe got hurt, or before the cops decided to take them both in for inciting violence. She went to grab Chloe’s arm and tug her away, but the man spat on the ground near her feet and whipped a knife from his pocket.
“Scared now?” he asked with a low laugh, lurching forward.
“We need to go,” Max insisted, hand poised and ready to raise if the moment called for it. A last resort, she told herself. Her vision narrowed to the knife.
She pulled against Chloe’s arm, but the man was faster — he leapt forward with a swing of the blade and Chloe reacted on pure instinct, raising her hands and grabbing the knife head-on. She cried out at the flash of blood blooming from her own skin, but still jerked the blade to the side until the drunk asshole dropped it with a clatter. Max kicked it away, catching the gaze of the terrified looking bartender who’d watched the entire thing. His eyes flashed to the wall behind her, where an emergency lever was.
Some dickheads in the corner started up a chant, pausing their game of pool to goad the two of them on. “Fight! Fight!”
Now weaponless and trickling blood from his nose, the man reared his head back and moved to smash it into Chloe’s body, but she turned to the side just before impact and he plummeted face-first into the side of the bar-top instead.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, this hurts,” Chloe hissed, pressing her wounded hands together as blood dripped to the already sticky floor.
Max didn’t put much thought into it — she pulled the emergency lever and two seconds later a rush of water fell from the ceiling, the sprinklers activating all at once to douse the bar with freezing cold mist.
“Not again!” the bartender cried, covering his head with a plastic-wrapped menu as he sprinted to the landline phone.
All around the bar, irritated customers stood and covered themselves, rushing to finish or save their drinks before everything was ruined from the stale water.
The angry man, now cradling a lump on his head, slurred a curse at Chloe and wobbled to attack again, but he slipped on the wet floor and fell back down to his ass with a yelp.
Chloe laughed as she gave him a kick to the side of his stomach for good measure, leaving him groaning on the floor. And before any more shit could hit the fan, Max wrapped a hand around Chloe’s elbow and was finally able to lead her outside into the pouring rain.
“Can’t say this is the best birthday ever, but it’s not the worst,” Chloe said, wincing as Max pressed the warm rag to her hands. She sat perched on the closed toilet lid, hands splayed out in front of herself as Max knelt on the floor to wipe the dried blood away.
Thankfully, the cuts weren’t too deep, since the knife itself hadn’t been very sharp. Max had already made her promise to get a tetanus shot in the morning, just to be safe. Men like that guy weren’t particularly clean, and she didn’t trust that the blade hadn’t been rusty or infected or gross in some other way. Or maybe she was just paranoid. Maybe the sight of Chloe’s blood had freaked her out more than she cared to admit.
“I dunno,” Max said, “Coming empty handed to a knife fight doesn’t sound like a great day to me at all. What happened to your knife that you supposedly carry around?”
“It was in my pocket, where you insist on making me keep it. It wasn’t like I could’ve stabbed him in return or something. But, it wasn’t so bad. Especially now that my girlfriend is here to take care of me.” Chloe smirked, eyes darting down to Max’s lips. Then she sighed and wrung her head. “Looks like my hands are out of commission for a while, huh?”
Max gave her a pitying smile as she soaked the rag back in the clean water. “Then it’s a good thing I was the one who packed our bags.”
Chloe lit up, her back straightening at once. “Wait, you brought it? Really?”
“Well,” Max said, clearing her throat awkwardly. “I wanted to have fun on vacation, too—”
Suddenly, Chloe’s mouth was on hers, tongue pressing past her lips and sending a flash of need straight down to her core. Max touched a still-wet hand to Chloe’s jaw, cradling her closer as she kissed her back, again and again, until they were both breathing hard.
When Chloe moved to slide a hand around the back of Max’s neck, tugging her closer, she hissed and flinched away, flicking her hand out to ease the stinging pain.
Max giggled, her face warm as she caught Chloe’s hand to keep it still. “Let me bandage you up first, hotshot.” She grabbed the gauze from their first aid kit and began gingerly wrapping it around the cuts on her hands.
“Good idea.” Chloe spread her legs farther apart, allowing Max the room for her to shift closer and finish wrapping up the bandages. “So…your boyfriend, huh?”
“Shut up,” Max said with a roll of her eyes. “I panicked. And it’s not like saying my girlfriend would’ve gotten a better response. Clearly.”
“I don’t mind,” Chloe replied with a casual shrug. “Call me anything you want, as long as I’m yours.” She lovingly knocked a knee into Max’s side. “Plus, I like this obsessive Max.”
Max stilled her hands, still holding onto Chloe’s wrists, and she looked at her — truly looked at her, soaking in each second like it would be her last. If anything else bad had happened, if Chloe had gotten hurt more than just a few shallow cuts…Max would’ve burned the entire bar to the ground. Or worse.
If only you knew how obsessed I really am.
March 12, 2017
One quick trip to the urgent care later and Max was happy to return to their ice-cold hotel room, collapsing back onto the mattress as soon as she entered into the frigid air.
“Damn, what’d we leave it on, fuckin’ 50 degrees in here?” Chloe wrapped her arms around herself, practically shivering, even though she’d been wearing a thick jacket and beanie.
“Exactly. It’s perfect,” Max said, eyes already closing where she lay with her arms and legs spread out.
She was there for several minutes in silence, hearing nothing but the shuffling of clothing and the zip of their suitcase. They’d be leaving the next day, so it was customary for them to double check that everything was packed before heading to sleep, rather than when they were groggy in the early hours of the morning. That was a lesson they learned the hard way, back in California, when Chloe had accidentally left one of her favorite jackets draped over the hotel chair.
It wasn’t until the bed dipped under Chloe’s weight that Max cracked her eyes open, blearily looking at her girlfriend with a content smile.
She raised her arms, asking wordlessly with her eyes for Chloe to press their bodies together and hold her tightly. And Chloe answered, a bandaged hand wrapping around Max’s waist to pull her close. She nuzzled her chin where Max’s neck met shoulder, breathing deeply as Max stroked a hand across her hair and tugged the beanie off, tossing it somewhere on the floor.
“Mm, but I just cleaned up,” Chloe complained. “You better pick that up later.”
Max licked her lips to wet them. “Make me.”
Chloe lifted her head, squinting at Max like she couldn’t believe what she’d heard. “Yeah? You’re gonna be like that?”
Max trailed her other hand to meet the first, knitting her own fingers together behind Chloe’s head. “Maybe. What are you going to do about it?”
She took the bait, Chloe’s fingers already trailing beneath Max’s shirt and sliding it up over her head. Even with the bandages covering the majority of her hands, Max felt goosebumps raise on her skin wherever Chloe teased against her — the swell of her bare chest, the curves of her stomach and hips, the freckled skin of her thighs as her pants disappeared from her body. It wasn’t until the cool air touched every inch of her that she realized Chloe was still fully dressed.
“Take this off,” she asked, pushing against Chloe’s jacket and shirt until they joined Max’s clothes on the floor. They fell from her body with ease, like Chloe had just been waiting for Max to make a move.
The touch of their skin together sent a wave of heat between her legs and Max threaded her fingers back through Chloe’s hair, harshly tugging her head back so she had a better angle to bite along the line of her jaw. Even her favorite songs couldn’t hold a candle to how much she loved the sounds of Chloe’s thinly restrained moans.
Her legs parted further, allowing Chloe the room to fill the space with her own body, her lower stomach just barely grazing against where Max needed her most. It took everything in her to hold back from thrusting upwards, of using the hard planes of Chloe’s stomach for her own selfish gain.
“Fuck, Max, what’s gotten into you?” Chloe breathed heavily against her, her arms straining under the weight of holding her body atop Max without moving.
“Hopefully you,” she answered, sucking another bite against the column of Chloe’s throat and receiving a victorious groan in return.
Her will to resist quickly fading, Chloe lowered her body another inch and Max felt the cool metal of her belly button piercing touch against her. Max ran a hand down the expanse of Chloe’s back, planning the path her nails would soon follow, if she had her way.
Lips soon wrapped around her hardened nipple, Chloe’s tongue swirling circles against the sensitive flesh. Max arched her back, her eyes slamming shut as she felt herself give into the surge of emotions.
Chloe’s free hand traveled to her thighs, stroking up and down the planes of her legs with such sincerity that Max could practically feel her heart constricting. Then a hand tilted her head back by her chin, and her eyes flickered back open at the motion. Chloe gave her a surprisingly light kiss despite the heated atmosphere they’d found themselves in, her own cheeks now flushed.
“Hey, Max,” she started softly. “Mother’s Day is soon, y’know.” A curious glint was in her eyes, like what she’d said made any sense at all.
Max felt teeth tug at her bottom lip, a thoroughly distracting movement that made her shift her hips unknowingly. She could feel the wetness that’d gathered between her legs, urging her to focus on the task at hand and not get side-track by some pointless conversation.
“Is it? I thought it was in May.” And why does that fucking matter?
“Yeah, trust me, it’s real soon,” Chloe insisted. She kissed against Max’s chest again, nipping a trail of pink bruises down to her stomach. When she looked up at Max from where she rested against her thighs, her eyes were dark. “Want me to give you a reason to celebrate it this year?”
Max could feel the exact moment her brain short circuited, her breathe hitching as a thrill raced through her. Jesus. First, Chloe had taunted her with hints at marriage, then came the jokes about settling down in the countryside, despite the fact that neither of them particularly liked being that far away from the rest of civilization. She hadn’t paid much attention to the offhand comments before, chalking it up to Chloe just being her usual teasing self. But…that one was new. Different, in a good way. And two could play at that game.
Max swiped a thumb over Chloe’s bottom lip, parting her lips until she was pressing the tip of her finger against Chloe’s wet tongue and feeling the dull points of her teeth.
“…I’d like to see you try.”
Chloe surged upward, forcing her lips back to Max’s as a bandaged hand reached down to tease at her aching core. When Max groaned, Chloe used the opportunity to grind down into her, where something hard touched against the inside of her thighs.
Max broke away with a breathy exhale, turning her head to the side so she could look down between them. “Uh, Chloe…”
“What, can’t a girl be happy to see you?” Chloe grinned, pressing herself down a second time for good measure. “I seem to remember that just yesterday you were saying you wanted to ‘have fun on vacation’ with a certain device lovingly packed in your suitcase.”
She said nothing, mouth dry as she fumbled to unbuckle Chloe’s belt and unzip her jeans. Her boxers were solid black, the waistband snug and tight against the divots of her hips, but Max only cared about what lay beneath them. The hint of leather straps and buckles peaked out from the top of her underwear, a large indent bulging at the front.
“You were not wearing that all day, right?”
Chloe laughed, shucking her pants off all the way and sitting back on her heels above Max. “Dude. This shit isn’t exactly inconspicuous under clothes. It, like, digs into my skin at a weird angle. Plus, I don’t want the whole world to see my schlong.”
“Ugh.” Max recoiled, though her hands still toyed with the top of Chloe’s waistband. “Don’t call it that.”
“Huh, you don’t fuck with the schlong?” To show her point, Chloe grabbed hold of the front of her boxers, and yeah, Max understood the notion. It was painfully obvious what exactly she was hiding. Or, what she couldn’t hide.
“Not when you say it like that,” Max retorted.
Chloe ran a hand through her hair and scoffed sarcastically. “Fine, I’ll just leave then—”
Max slid Chloe’s boxers down, the purple strap springing forth. She hooked her legs around Chloe’s thighs and tugged her down until she was resting her weight against Max’s chest, their lips only inches from each other.
“Chloe,” she whispered, a hand finding the hard shaft between them and wrapping around it. She was already too worked up, too eager, too much, but she still couldn’t stop the whine in her voice. “I want you.” She pressed the toy upward, where she knew the solid base of it would grind right against Chloe.
As expected, Chloe’s arms faltered and she breathed heavily against Max’s collarbone, her hips jerking forward in search of more friction.
“Fuck, okay.” Chloe reached her own hand down to the toy, but hesitated. “Um. Bandages are in the way…a little help?”
Max kissed just below her ear, wanting to mark her skin, wanting to give herself up entirely to the incredible force of her. She laughed softly before guiding the tip of the strap between her folds and notching it at her entrance, waiting for only a second before Chloe pressed forward gently. The sting of it entered her slowly, every inch dragging against her inner walls with a delicious push.
A hand pawed at her waist, pulling them closer together as Chloe bottomed out, still keeping herself still so Max could adjust to the thickness of the intrusion. She nuzzled against the red marks on Max’s neck, on her chest, then a thumb swiped over her hipbone as she pulled out tortuously slow before pumping forward.
Max felt the air leave her lungs, her mouth gliding against the side of Chloe’s throat as their hips knocked together. But she wanted more, she wanted to hurt, she wanted to let loose in the carnal desires that lanced her spine — she wanted everything Chloe could give, wanted everything in the world to be shared between them. Chloe was hers.
“Are you okay?” Chloe asked, eyes boring a hole in hers.
Her nails found Chloe’s shoulders, her legs tightening their grip around her waist, spurring Chloe into a sharp jerk forward that ripped a moan from Max’s throat. And that — that’s what she needed.
“You…you don’t have to be gentle,” Max murmured. She dug her heels into the backs of Chloe’s thighs, pulling her in impossibly deeper as she started meeting each slow thrust with equal measure.
It wasn’t long before Chloe listened to her request, the hand at her waist sliding to press against her lower stomach instead, feeling the way the strap entered her with each snap of her hips.
Their skin grew damp with sweat where their bodies connected, and Max was drowning. Every drag of it against her inner walls sent a ricochet of pain and pleasure coursing through her as she fell apart beneath Chloe’s weight. Panting, she pressed her forehead against Chloe’s collarbone as she let herself be swallowed whole by the never ending cycle.
“Chloe, oh god—” Max bit her tongue to still herself, but her girlfriend used her free hand to grab hold of her chin, forcing their eyes to meet together.
“Let me hear you, please,” Chloe begged. Her face was twisted with the effort it took to keep herself upright, but she never once relented from the steady pump of her hips. She swiped a thumb across Max’s bottom lip, fingers trailing down to press against the sides of her throat. “Come on, pretty girl.”
Max’s jaw went slack and she tossed her head back into the pillows, useless curses spilling from her lips.
“That’s it, so good for me,” Chloe mumbled, hiking Max’s thighs up to drive into her deeper, treading dangerously close to the line of it becoming too much. “Can you take it? Can you take all of me?”
“Y-yes—” The strap was wide, much larger than the fingers she was usually accustomed to, but Chloe moved in such a way that it stroked at just the right angle, so the size of it didn’t even matter. She could take it.
Chloe ground herself harder into Max and despite her own pleasure, Max found herself enjoying Chloe’s desperation even more than her own. She wanted it to be too much, wanted to crash over that edge and let everything else fall away to obscurity. She wanted Chloe to be ruined just as much as she was ruined.
Max folded her arms around Chloe’s back, feeling the shift of muscles and the heat of skin beneath her nails. Every groan, every rake of Chloe’s fingers at her waist, every ragged sigh and touch of teeth against her lips all furthered the building throb inside her, her walls pulsing in time with every roll of their hips.
“Fuck, Max, I…” Chloe groaned, her hips stuttering out of rhythm for only a moment. Her voice was broken, desperate, and so incredibly fucking hot that just the sound of it almost pushed Max over the edge. “I’m so close—”
Max cupped Chloe’s jaw, her mouth opening against hers as they shared every breath. She didn’t know what had possessed her, maybe it was the lingering emotions after seeing Chloe get hurt trying to defend her, maybe it was the undying love that had grown and swelled in her chest, or maybe there wasn’t any reason at all. Then she tugged Chloe’s ear between her teeth and whimpered, her walls tightening with each harsh thrust, a building heat rising within her faster than she could keep up with.
“Please, please,” Max panted. Then, fueled by some unknown force, she added, “Come inside me.”
Chloe crashed into her, both hands gripping bruises into either side of Max’s hips as she picked up speed, roughly handling Max’s body like she was the toy. Her jaw had clenched tight, a growl sounding from her throat as she ground herself down into Max, filling her as much as she could. And Max felt the pulsing of her core tighten to an almost painful level, each breath hard and ragged as she rapidly approached the edge of her own climax.
“Please, Chloe, please—”
Max could feel her own arousal spilling around the toy as she came, saturating the bed sheets, but none of it mattered — the only thing that mattered was the feeling of Chloe shuddering above her, of Chloe whining in her ear, of Chloe tugging their bodies together until she was pressed as deep as she could go, of Chloe mumbling I love you, I love you when she found her own release, until she finally stilled, her boneless weight collapsing on top of Max.
It could’ve been an hour that passed, or maybe it was just a minute, but soon Chloe pulled herself free with a wince and fell over onto her side facing Max. They stayed there until the synchronous beating of their hearts returned to a normal rate, until their sweat cooled and they eventually tired of tracing lazy circles on flushed skin. And it would’ve been perfect, if not for Chloe’s big mouth.
“What was that you said?” Chloe asked smugly. “Come inside you?”
“Chloe.” Max groaned, covering her face to hide her quickly reddening cheeks from Chloe’s intrusive stare.
“Hm. Can’t say I’ve heard that one before, given my lack of, uh…ability.”
“It was—I just—did you really have to repeat that?”
“Well, yeah,” she scoffed, like it was obvious. She tugged Max’s hands away from her face and swiped a thumb against the side of her cheek. “You get this cute pout every time I embarrass you. I can’t help it.”
“I don’t pout,” Max insisted, knowing that she was indeed pouting.
“You totally do.”
Chloe draped an arm over Max’s stomach, holding her close against her side. Sure, she was flustered, but…she didn’t regret what she’d said. How could she, when Chloe had looked at her like that after? She filed the memory of it away in some dark corner of her thoughts.
“Whatever.” Max rolled her eyes and looked away like she was pretending to be angry. “But you’re the one who started it. What kind of weirdo talks about Mother’s Day before sex?”
Chloe shrugged, leaning in to place a kiss where her thumb had once stroked against her cheek, then kissed her again on her lips. “You liked it. And, please, keep saying shit like that, because I liked it too.”
“Clearly.” Max bit against her own bottom lip, already feeling a twinge between her thighs at the reminder.
“Okay, fine, make fun of me.” Chloe laughed and tossed a leg over Max’s so she was straddling her. “So sorry that my girlfriend is hot as fuck and wants me to get her pr—”
Not wanting to hear the end of that sentence — at least, not yet — Max tugged her down into a kiss, her tongue darting out to swipe against Chloe’s own. The strap bounced against her leg, shifting with Chloe as she settled her weight. When it bumped against the apex of her thighs, she went still, an idea brewing in her head.
“Can we…keep going?” she asked breathlessly.
“…Max.” Chloe looked at her with a deathly seriousness, her lips still bruised and pink from kissing. “You literally never have to ask that.”
So Max pushed with all her strength against Chloe’s shoulder, swapping their positions until it was her who was straddling her girlfriend’s waist.
Chloe’s eyes went wide, her hands falling to grab hold at either side of Max’s hips. “O-oh, like this?”
Max slid herself against the toy, the hard shaft still wet from earlier, and her breath hitched when the tip of it ran over her clit. She braced one hand on Chloe’s firm stomach, then another against her throat, pinning her in place beneath her.
“No more talking.”
And that was all it took for Chloe, surprisingly, to shut up.
July 29, 2017
In the heart of summer, the time had finally come to put her plan into motion. It was never easy saying their goodbyes, but Max was fueled by her determination to get to the bottom of whatever Damien Cash had up his sleeve. Even if it meant throwing herself straight into the chaotic streets of New York, taking the elevator to the 14th floor, and walking herself right into the lion’s den.
She silenced her phone after reading the short text Chloe had sent saying she’d made it to Arizona, complete with a blurry photo of her and David looking just as sweaty as she’d expected them to be in the desert. As much as Max would’ve loved to have Chloe at her side, part of her was glad to be forced to handle it on her own. If anything happened, Max knew she would be able to deal with it. At whatever cost necessary. Chloe was too important, too precious, to put in dangerous situations.
The secretary at the front of Cash’s office, a woman with auburn hair pulled into a bun, gave Max the sign-in sheet with a friendly smile. She took the pen that was attached to the desk and scribbled her name down, taking note of the other names which appeared on the list. She recognized only a couple, mostly people her age she’d met at previous art shows. It was a small world, after all.
The waiting room wasn’t too crowded — only a few of the dozen chairs were actually filled. Most of the people there looked more nervous than she felt, bouncing their knees or biting their lips or scrolling their phones, completely unable to sit still.
Max sat next to the window, near a boy who looked younger than her by more than a few years. He gave her a brief smile, his face pale and borderline green. She almost felt bad for him — for all of them. Because Max knew she would get what she came there for. There wasn’t any other outcome.
An hour passed, the sun still beating down through the window and making her feel flushed. The city was beautiful, though. She enjoyed watching the pedestrians on the sidewalks and the cabs on the street and the people on the rooftops wherever she looked. Every inch and corner of the city was bustling with life. It was a bit disorienting to look all the way down, the building appearing almost curved with how tall it was. But after weathering the extreme heights of flying, the 14th floor was nothing.
Eventually, after each and every one of the other artists came and went from Cash’s office, the secretary called her name. Dead last.
“Mr. Cash will be in momentarily, he had to take an important call,” she said, opening the large office door and letting Max step around her. “Please, make yourself at home. Refreshments?”
“No, thank you,” Max declined. Though she was unreasonably thirsty, throat dry from all the anxious waiting, there was no way she’d accept any sort of drink from Cash — not without knowing what his deal was first.
The secretary nodded, her smile just as plastic and fake as Cash’s, then she shut the door behind her, leaving Max in the office alone, the smell of clean leather and fresh books greeting her. She exhaled, clenching a fist at her side as time moved around her.
Okay, Max, what first?
She started at the bookshelves, scanning the spines of every book and looking for anything that jumped out as suspicious, poking and prodding at a few that seemed like they could’ve been hiding something. But there was nothing. Just finance textbooks, philosophical novels, and a surprising amount of poetry — even one book that he’d written himself, The Traveling Grief. Too pretentious for her, and that was an impressive feat to reach.
Art lined the walls, as expected — canvas prints of mountain landscapes and beach scenery and tall skyscrapers. She even saw a few of her own photographs on the far side of the room, between his desk and the floor-length window behind it. It was strange to see a depiction of Arcadia Bay on the exact opposite side of the country, but there it was.
More pictures were on the desk itself, though those were small and framed and definitely not professionally taken, in her humble opinion. They mostly featured Cash and his family, what she assumed to be his wife and daughter. The girl was a mirror image of him — the same dimpled cheeks and bright eyes. She was young, way younger than Max would’ve thought, for someone of Cash’s age. Not that he was old, per say, just…older.
She ran a finger along the edge of the desk, not a speck of dust to be found. Then after a glance over her shoulder to make sure the door was still shut, she opened the first drawer with a wave of adrenaline coursing through her fingertips.
Pens, pencils, scratch paper, a few receipts. Nothing major, nothing incriminating.
Come on, Max, what did you expect? To find a serial killer’s manifesto?
She scoffed, shutting the drawer softly to make sure nothing rolled out of place, then moved onto the next. Nothing. The third drawer was the same, as was the fourth and fifth.
It wasn’t like she wanted to be right in that Cash had a strange, off-putting obsession with her. But she’d, ironically, spent the last few months completely absorbed in her own theories and speculations about it all. She had to find something. She couldn’t let the mystery die there without a fight. If someone else was out there with powers, she wanted to know, dammit.
Hands still empty and frustration quickly seeping in, Max knelt on the floor. When her head thudded against the side of the desk, she heard a curious click. Puzzled, she traced a hand across the part of the desk where the noise came from, discovering a hidden latch just on the underside of the right side. She pulled at it, and a new drawer fell open. A wry smile threatened her lips, but before she could truly feel proud that she still had her incredible sleuthing abilities, the contents of the drawer stared back at her.
“Shit…”
Hundreds of photographs filled the drawer, all of them having been tossed haphazardly in without reason. Pictures of girls, mostly, though none of them were scandalous like one would expect to find in a hidden drawer of some billionaires desk. They were…normal. From the outside, it was like none of the women, or the few men, even knew their pictures were being taken. Quite a few of them featured a girl around her age with dark hair and glasses, a backpack slung over her shoulders. A few more were of a young boy, short and scrawny, traveling through the woods and snow and desert.
She wanted to sift through them, assess each and every bit of the pictures until a clap of clarity overcame her. But it would’ve been impossible to sort through them and still be able to place them all back in their original positions afterwards, and Max’s stomach sank at the realization that there weren’t many viable options for what she could do without giving away that she’d been snooping.
She could ignore the pictures, shut the drawer, and live on without ever knowing what they were. Or she could try to feign innocence and blame the disorganized drawer on the secretary. After all, there was no way Cash would know it had been her, right?
Or…she could…
No. I won’t.
Just as she went to shut the drawer, she saw it. A glimpse of familiar blue hair at the corner of one photo, mostly hidden beneath a picture of some man she didn’t recognize. Max raised a hand, stopping herself just millimeters away from grabbing it. Maybe it wasn’t her. Maybe it was some other girl. Maybe she was seeing demons where there weren’t any.
But, what if she was right?
She swallowed. Even with the infinite amount of possibilities in the future, it sure fucking felt like there were only two options presented to her. Interfere or ignore — and neither of them were reassuring.
Was this really something she could do — should do? There wouldn’t be any going back from it, she knew. If she used her powers, Chloe would hate her for it. She would hate herself for it. But if they were in danger, if Chloe was in danger, then it wasn’t really a choice at all.
Max grabbed the picture and the weight of her actions hit her like a punch in the gut. No going back now. She was tied to this future like an anchor was wrapped around her ankle.
Unfortunately, the picture was of Chloe — and of Max, too. The two of them were walking on a pier, holding hands, doing nothing important. It looked like just any other day of their lives. Unknowing, uncaring. Peaceful. She wanted to rip it in half, to take it away from Cash forever, to burn all the pictures from his fucking creepy drawer.
There were more. Pictures of Chloe in the truck, pictures of Max walking in LA, pictures of them sitting at a restaurant. Her hands shook as she saw each and every one of them. There were dozens — all of them from the past few years. Since the storm.
With calm coherence, she snapped a few pictures of the evidence using her phone, fingers shaking, but she knew she needed to bring proof back with her to show Chloe. To show herself. To remind herself that she wasn’t crazy, that there was something strange going on.
The door opened, too suddenly for her to have anticipated it. She jolted out of her thoughts and the pictures in her hands scattered to the floor, and Cash stared right at her. His shocked face morphed to one of anger and he stepped forward — but Max was ready, she was fast, falling back to old habits like she’d never left them. Her hand raised, weaving through the strands of time until Cash’s body reversed back through the door and all the scattered pictures flew back to their original places.
After it was done, her hand fell, lungs gasping for air. It hadn’t hurt, she hadn’t rewound long enough for it to make her bleed. But she’d done it. She’d done it. It was over, it was permanent, she couldn’t take it back.
Almost losing sight of the reason why she’d even used her powers in the first place, Max scrambled to her feet and collapsed herself in the chair across from the desk, waiting for Cash to enter again. And like clockwork, he did.
His face was hard, angry, different than it had been. For a second, Max worried it hadn’t worked, and that he actually remembered what had happened, what she’d done. But when he caught sight of her, he switched back to his normal persona, hands clasped behind his back.
“Ah, Maxine Caulfield.” Cash strolled over to his desk, dragging a hand over the corner in the same spot Max had done just a few short minutes ago. “I was hoping it would be you in here. Final guest of the day, aren’t you just the luckiest?”
“It’s a huge honor to be here.” Max stood and offered her hand out for him to shake. He stared at her palm, then shook it, an almost imperceptible glint in his eyes. “Thank you for meeting with me, Mr. Cash.”
“Please, just Cash is fine.” He sat down in his chair, the leather armrests crinkling. “New York is a lovely city, isn’t she? Have you been here before?”
Don’t you already know the answer to that, you fucking creep?
“I have,” she lied, just to see the flash of surprise on his face.
Cash steepled his fingers together, crossing one leg over the other. “Interesting. You’re so young, I’d hardly expected to be seeing you all across the country like this. Portland, Baltimore, New York, perhaps we should aim for Chicago next? I know an excellent Italian restaurant there.”
“Sure. I’ll let you know next time I’m in town.”
Cash chuckled. “You’re funny, Max. It’s rare to find a good sense of humor in young artists. You’re typically all so…morbid.” He rubbed idly at the bridge of his nose, then set his hand atop the desk. “Now, shall we talk business?”
Max nodded. The conversation was a good distraction from the nerves still bouncing through her bloodstream, she’d prepared for hours for the interview portion of the day.
He asked her questions about her ambitions, her career aspirations, her passion and motivation. She answered the questions with ease, explaining how she enjoyed capturing moments in time that other people would likely breeze over. Moments that were fleeting and imperfect, but captured in such a way that they had a life of their own. Moments that featured nature, featured wildlife, featured the under-dogs across the world.
She listed out the places she would travel to, if given the opportunity. Places like Houston, like Mexico, like D.C., like Virginia, like Toronto, like Vermont. She’d rehearsed her answers, after all, making sure she had a solid enough story to stick to even if he asked wildly different questions than what she’d seen online from other applicants in years past. But the conversation went shockingly smooth. Perfectly smooth. Unnaturally smooth, like he’d done this before. Or like she had.
Throughout the entire interview, Cash took notes, jotting down quick sentences after Max answered each question. And when she finished with her final answer, he stopped, putting his notepad to the side before he opened a desk drawer.
Max froze. She dug a nail into the corner of her thumb to steady herself as she watched Cash dig around in the drawer, his face just as much a mask as it always way. He shuffled the items around, lips pursed, and she truly thought it was over — that he’d caught her, that he’d found out what she’d done, that he’d confront her or arrest her or kill her or—
But Cash just smiled as he closed the drawer, satisfied with whatever he found. He checked his watch, brows raising when he saw the time.
“My apologies, Maxine, I fear I’ve kept you too late.” He tossed a checkbook onto the table and set his pen to it. “Now, let’s see…you’ll still have to sign a contract, go through the paperwork, and speak with the rest of the board for their approval. I may have my name on the cover of this business, but I’m nothing without my investors. You’ll need to make them excited, make them feel something, show them who you are and why you matter.” He finished signing the check, his signature elegant and practiced. “But I know you, Max. And I know your work. I’d like to give you my approval for the Avery Cash Foundation grant, and help make your dreams a reality.”
He slid the check over to her side of the desk, and the words two-thousand dollars were written on the line just above her own name. Max blinked, hardly believing her eyes. She took the check, inspecting it, then stared at Cash.
“This is for me? Why?”
His smile widened and he gestured with a hand towards it. “If you choose to accept, then yes. It’s yours. Not the full amount, of course, but enough to get you started, wouldn’t you say? I have to give you something for coming all this way.”
She blinked at it, expecting the words to change, to see someone else’s name, for her to finally wake up from the dream. Guilt swirled in her stomach. She shouldn’t say yes, shouldn’t continue down the path of no return. But…isn’t it what she’d always wished for?
“So?” Cash rolled a hand in encouragement. “What do you say?”
“Yes, I—I accept.”
Holy shit.
“Great.” Cash stood, hands still resting on the desk. “The board will be in touch with you soon for the next panel interview. I’d wish you good luck, but have a good feeling you won’t be needing it.”
“Thank you, Cash.” Max clutched the check in one hand, careful to not bend or tear it, and it was almost enough for her to forget the intrusive pictures he kept hidden in his desk.
She bid him farewell before heading to the door, hoping to soon get some fresh air outside the stuffy office, to finally be able to breathe outside of the sweltering pressure. But just as she touched the doorknob, he called out to her.
“And, Max?”
Max paused, a rush of vertigo crashing over her. She looked over her shoulder, seeing that Cash had moved to look out the huge glass window at the far side of the room. His brows were lowered, jaw tight, like he’d seen something that disgusted him.
“Yes?”
“…Welcome to the city. I know your first time can be overwhelming.” Cash adjusted his tie with indifference, then his gaze met hers like icy steel. “Don’t lie to me again.”
Notes:
naming your villain after a boss you hated is an elite form of therapy
Chapter 17: At The Beach, In Every Life
Summary:
August - November 2017
Chloe gets back home, Max has a confession to make, and things start to get better.
Notes:
Song Title: At The Beach, In Every Life; Gigi Perez
CW: Smoking, awkward holidays with parents.
ok here’s another 10k words of bullshit but DO NOT get used to the chapter length.
no smut this time, sorry, but hopefully the fluff makes up for it.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
August 1, 2017
“Would you rather…be a fish or be a turtle?” MJ asked.
Jaden answered first. “The fuck? Turtle all day, every day.”
Max finished off the last of her drink and set the empty cup on the porch railing. “Agreed.”
“No way, gotta be a fish,” Will said. The two guys and Max looked at her questioningly, but she just shrugged. “What? I wanna know what’s at the bottom of the ocean.”
“You’d get eaten by a bigger fish, like, three feet down,” MJ said. “Not worth it.”
“Well you didn’t say I’d be a small fish, you just said fish. So I’d choose to be a big fish — the biggest in the whole fucking sea.” Will spread her arms out wide, the loose cardigan hanging off her shoulders.
“Nah, nah, that’s cheating,” Jaden said. “Come on, Maxy, back me up.”
“Yeah, Maxy, be the tie-breaker!” Will asked.
“There’s no tie — MJ agrees with me.” Jaden clapped a hand on MJ’s shoulder, and the shorter guy nearly stumbled over. “We outnumber you.”
“Chloe would agree with me if she was here. Thus, two against two.” Will turned back to Max, beaming at her with a bright smile. “So, Maxy?”
“…The evidence is inconclusive,” Max replied with a shrug. “It could go either way.”
MJ sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Women. You’re gonna fucking kill me one day.”
“You could come over to my side,” Jaden offered, ruffling against MJ’s hair.
“Fuck you, man,” MJ laughed and shoved him away. “You’re not turning me gay.”
“You don’t turn gay, you’re born gay,” Will said with her arms crossed.
“Says the only cishet person here,” MJ added.
She turned her shoulder. “I’m just being a good ally!” Everyone groaned at that, spurring Will to get on the defensive. “What? Okay, fine, persecute me for it.”
“Now you’re just digging a deeper hole,” Jaden scolded.
Will slumped back on the outdoor sofa. “Right. Shutting up now.”
They were all crowded on the tiny porch, grilling hot dogs as the sky began to darken. Or, Jaden was grilling — the rest of them were just sitting around waiting to eat. But on Max’s end, she was mostly just waiting for Chloe to get back home from her trip to Arizona. She hadn’t yet shared the pictures on her phone of Cash’s desk drawer, the weight of the mystery pressing in on her. And the weight of what she’d done to get them.
But her roommates, her…friends…had been a welcome distraction. They were so far removed from Arcadia Bay, from Damien Cash, from all the time-travel-fuckery Max hated so much, that when she was around them, she almost felt normal. Almost.
Just as she finished scarfing down her dinner, headlights pulled into the driveway. Max’s heart jumped into her throat and she ran down the stairs, leaving behind the others in her haste to get to Chloe.
The van door had only barely closed by the time Max leapt into her arms, knowing that Chloe would catch her no matter what. She grunted from the force of Max hitting her, but she held her aloft and spun them in a circle before they both devolved into laughter.
“Hey,” Chloe said, kissing her with the lips she’d missed so badly.
“Hi.” Max threaded her fingers through Chloe’s hair, feeling tears already budding at the corners of her eyes as she pressed their foreheads together.
She’d have to tell her — sooner rather than later. But just for a moment, she wanted to enjoy the feel of her, the scent of cigarettes and cedar, the warmth of her arms clutching Max’s waist. Home never really felt like home without her.
“Get a room!” Jaden shouted from the porch.
Chloe flipped him off, not taking her eyes off Max. Her smile, once so wide, faded as she took her in. “You’re crying. Miss me that much, huh?”
Max shook her head, a lump clogging her throat. She squeezed Chloe’s arms, desperate to keep her there forever. “Yes, but…there’s—there’s something I need to tell you. Something that I did.”
She watched the moment Chloe’s eyes drifted away from her, hard and cruel. She knew. She already knew.
“No sexual activities in the driveway!” Will jeered.
Max wiped at her eyes and sniffed, stepping back to allow Chloe the space to pull her bags from the van. She should tell her, right then and there. Make it quick, make it easy, like ripping off a band-aid. But the words wouldn’t come. So her wound kept bleeding.
Without looking at her, Chloe asked in a loud voice, “Ready to hang with those losers?”
“Hey, I heard that!” Jaden yelled in return.
“You were supposed to! Voyeuristic dickhead!” Chloe laughed when he threw a burnt hot dog at her head and it bounced off the front of the van.
A window opened at their neighbors house and the form of an extremely hungover college-aged guy leaned out, shouting, “Shut the fuck up!”
MJ and Will immediately started heckling the poor guy, turning up their radio and making obscene gestures in his direction until he eventually shut the window with a shake of his head, clearly having lost the battle of wills against Max’s bold roommates.
Grabbing hold of Max’s hand, Chloe led them up to the porch. She only looked at Max when she knew she wasn’t looking back, avoiding her eyes even though Max knew she’d deny it if she pointed it out. But, as if she was scared Max would run away, Chloe kept an arm around her the entire evening, laughing and joking around with Jaden and MJ and Will like nothing was fucking wrong, like they were all perfectly fine. And Max started to feel the creeping sting of bitterness sizzle inside her.
They didn’t fucking know a damned thing. Life would carry on for the three of them, as it always did, oblivious to the terrible, terrible things Max had survived. If there was one thing she feared more than the past, it was the uncertainty of the future.
The whispering strands of time around her buzzed and vibrated like they knew she was thinking about them, letting her know yet again that they were just one blink away from being visible. She could reach out and take them, if only she wanted to. It took everything in her to not scream, to not tear her hair out and lash out at everyone around her. Eventually, Chloe noticed that Max had fallen quiet.
“Sorry, lads and lady, time for us to hit the sack,” she said, stretching her legs out with a yawn. “Long drive and whatnot.”
“Ew.” Will shot her a fake grimace. “I don’t wanna know what kind of sacks you hit in your free time. Keep it to yourselves.”
Jaden was the only one who chuckled under his breath as Chloe and Max retreated inside the house, a welcome wave of heat blasting from the nearby vent. With every silent step Max took towards their bedroom, she could feel the walls closing in on them, paralyzing and constricting.
What was she supposed to say?
I broke the one rule we had, sorry, it was necessary?
Also, Cash is stalking us, along with a dozen other random people. No, I didn’t find out why.
Can you forgive me?
Will you still love me, knowing that I’m a monster?
Can I forgive myself?
…Nothing seemed good.
Chloe tugged off her dirty clothes the second they entered their room, tossing them into the hamper and sifting through the dresser to find a more comfortable shirt to wear. She still didn’t look in Max’s direction, not even when she sat on the bed with her hands clasped together, idly scratching and picking at her fingernails anxiously.
“Chloe, I—”
The drawer slammed closed, Chloe leaning on the dresser with her back facing Max, wearing nothing more than a sports bra and sagging jeans. “Can I have a fucking minute first?”
Max looked away. “Yeah…anything you need.”
Chloe scrubbed a hand over her face, dressing herself in a fresh hoodie and sweatpants. Max watched her pace around the room, tossing random shit from her suitcase back into their proper homes until the bag was empty and there was nothing left for her to do other than grab her lighter and fall back onto the bed next to Max.
She flicked the lighter against the joint she held between two fingers, breathing deep before letting a trail of smoke drift to the ceiling. Max laid down on her side, staring at the familiar curves of Chloe’s face and the lines of her knuckles.
“Sorry,” Chloe snapped. “That didn’t…I shouldn’t have said it like that. It’s just been a long ass week.”
Max huffed out a laugh. “Tell me about it.”
And Chloe finally looked at her again, blue eyes glistening with her own reflection. She sucked another hit from the joint, then offered it to Max. “Want some?”
Max took it, following in Chloe’s footsteps, though she wasn’t really the biggest fan of smoking. It was too thick and hot and always made her hyper aware of her own skin and bones. She was jealous of people like Chloe, who could use it to relax, rather than just spiral into distorted panic attacks like she did.
Always more willing to engage in conversation while high, Chloe casually explained the boring trip she’d taken to visit David, mostly complaining about how hot the town was and how god-awful the drive was to get there and back, especially since she’d been in the company of only her own silence. And when she snubbed out the microscopic remains of the joint in their ashtray, she turned to lay on her side.
“Alright, your turn, Super-Max,” she said. “Share all your dirty secrets.”
If Max’s throat hadn’t already been dry, it certainly was after smoking half a joint. The barrier between her willpower and the never-ending pressure of the time strands swirling around her always seemed to shrink when she got high, and it was a battle to just stay in the present moment.
She tossed an arm over her forehead, staring up at the old water stains on the ceiling and the erratically spinning fan they left on year-round. If she focused, she could even see the bleeding colors of the future trickling in from the corners of the room, creating a chaotic mosaic just out of reach. It was…oddly beautiful.
“God, I don’t even know where to begin.”
So, naturally, Max started at the beginning. The flight to New York, the trek to Cash’s building, the wait in the reception area, the few, frantic minutes she had to investigate his office. The drawer she’d found, full of incriminating photographs. She pulled up the pictures of it on her phone, swiping through them so Chloe could see each and every one of them.
“Fuck. What does that creep want with us?” Shaking her head in disgust, Chloe pulled herself from the bed and went to the window, ensuring that the curtains were fully closed. “Do you think he’s watching us right now?” A pale strip of moonlight fell across the side of her jaw, lighting up the anxiety in her eyes.
Max locked her phone and tossed it somewhere else on the mattress, desperate to separate herself from the memory. “I don’t think so. He seemed to only have pictures of us in public locations, most of them when we were living in LA. So…we should be safe here.”
Chloe scoffed, flicking casually against the lighter just to give herself something to do. The brief flashes of fire illuminated the room, casting a red glow in its wake.
“Safe,” she repeated sarcastically. “What, is he going to come after us or something? I mean, shit, I haven’t even seen the guy before. Did you find out why he’s stalking you?”
“Us. And no, I didn’t have time,” Max replied. “I barely found the photos in the first place.”
Chloe’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, how did you pull that off, anyway? Did you smuggle in a crowbar?”
“The drawer was unlocked.” Max shook her head, the words at the tip of her tongue. I did it, I went back in time, I fucked up everything. But all that came out was an awkward, “I told you, I have skills.”
And there was that look again — the one that told her that Chloe knew the real answer. In all the years they spent together, it would’ve been impossible to not have some sort of intrinsic force that linked them. Yet, neither of them said anything about it. They left the invisible ghost of it lingering in the room.
“Okay, Max. I believe you,” Chloe lied.
A piece of Max died inside when she saw the same disappointment she felt reflected across Chloe’s face. A piece that she’d never get back. Because she couldn’t change the future, couldn’t change the past. She could fuck around, meddle where she didn’t belong, but she couldn’t control anything. Life would always slip past her like frigid water.
I did this for you.
Everything I do is for you.
Max didn’t say anything else.
It rained that night, because of course it did. Years after leaving Arcadia Bay, and the universe still tortured her with the threat of rain after every bad day she had. She’d been asleep for only an hour before she’d been woken up by a loud clap of thunder and a bright flash of lightning visible through the curtains.
Max jolted awake, her hands sweaty despite the fact that it was still freezing in their room. Her heart pounded as her eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room, and then she felt it. The way that Chloe’s arm, wrapped around Max’s stomach, had started to shake.
Groggy with sleep, Max lifted her head and asked, “What’s wrong?”
Chloe pressed her forehead between Max’s shoulder blades, breathing hard. Like she was scared of more than just the rain.
“Can you just…tell me,” she asked, her voice barely audible over the thumping of the rain against the roof. “Tell me that I’m right, or tell me that I’m wrong. I can’t stand not knowing.”
A strike of lightning flashed outside, illuminating the side profile of Pebbles sleeping on the windowsill, the cat oblivious to the breaking of Max’s heart inside her chest.
“Yeah, I…yeah. You’re right,” Max whispered.
The arm around her shifted, muscles tense and antsy, like Chloe hadn’t decided if she wanted to disappear forever or never leave.
“I want to hear you say it,” she asked in a harsh tone.
Max settled her head back onto the pillow, letting the seconds of silence drag on into minutes. She was a fucking failure. She’d failed to tell Chloe on the phone after it happened, she’d failed to tell her in the driveway when she’d returned home, she’d failed to tell her when relaying the shit she saw in New York. She couldn’t fail again.
“I…I used my powers.” It was a revolting form of torture, to come face to face with her mistakes, helpless to change them.
Chloe stiffened as she moved to pull away, but Max clutched onto the arm around her waist, keeping it in place as a sob threatened to escape. “Chloe, don’t go. Please.”
“How?” Chloe demanded. “How could you fucking do that?”
“It—it just happened, it was an emergency, I couldn’t—”
Chloe interrupted her with a sharp, scornful laugh. Her arm tightened on Max’s stomach, almost to the point of pain where fingers dug into bare skin. “When everyone else on the goddamn planet has an emergency, they deal with it. No interference needed. Like you said we would do.”
“You don’t understand, he saw me!”
“And then what happened?” Chloe poised the question with such anger that Max shut her jaw, replaying the memory of Cash’s angry face and tense brows. “What would’ve happened, Max? Did you even wait long enough to find out? Is this guy really such a devil like you’ve made him out to be?”
“He’s been stalking us, Chloe, stalking you,” Max insisted. “All I could think about was, what if he hurts you?”
It was quiet for a moment as she listened to the ragged breaths coming from behind her and how the rain thumped against the window. Chloe didn’t understand. Nobody could understand what Max had seen, what she’d lived, what villainy she knew humanity to be capable of. Because the root of all her fear hadn’t actually existed in their reality, it was long gone in some forgotten timeline, or rotting out there in a jail cell. But the memories remained, locked in her head, in her chest, waiting for the day they’d escape. And she’d die before she’d ever let anything like that happen to her, or to Chloe, ever again.
“So what if he does? I’m not special,” Chloe mumbled. “Whatever happens, happens. I have to live with that, and so do you. Like we promised. We can figure this out some other way.”
“No,” Max shut it down quickly, surprising even herself. “You know I don’t see it that way. I won’t let him get to you. I did what I had to do.”
“Maybe we’re looking in two different places, then. Maybe we—”
“Stop,” she asked, almost to the point of begging. She couldn’t deal with fighting, not with Chloe, not ever. “Stop talking like that. Please.”
Chloe took a sharp inhale, then let it out. “Alright, whatever. Goodnight.”
But it wasn’t. Max didn’t sleep. Not until Chloe’s tense form finally relaxed and her breathing leveled out. And even then, Max kept her hand around Chloe’s wrist so tightly that the indents of her fingers still remained in the morning.
September 15, 2017
All things considered, only a month and a half wait time between her application and the final decision was a relatively quick process, given the intricacies of the program itself on top of Cash’s other business ventures.
She’d found a new job, finally, at a local craft store that only had her working 20 hours a week on mostly morning shifts. It wasn’t much, really just a place to pass her time and daydream about what she wanted to do in the future. But it had given her ample opportunity to get back into journaling, which had somewhat helped with processing the feelings she had about her fight with Chloe. Getting everything out on paper was about the best type of therapy she could afford. Besides, paper couldn’t talk back, couldn’t call her crazy. It’s not like she could open up to a real therapist and tell them that she had superpowers.
After that night, they didn’t talk about it again. Max tried. She didn’t like where they’d left off — the absence of a resolution, the flickering seed of resentment planted in the muddy soil between them. But like all the arguments they ever had, eventually it faded. Maybe it was maturity, or maybe it was simply ignoring her problems, but they were in it together regardless of the explanation. They were strong enough, as adults, as partners, to forgive and forget.
At least, that’s what Max told herself every time Chloe smiled at her, kissed her, touched her, slept in their bed and made her breakfast. Everything was fine. Everything would be okay, because they were Max and Chloe, and nothing would change that. Nothing could change that.
She had been loitering behind the counter at work, sorting through a random assortment of jewelry one of the local vendors wanted to display at his booth, when she got the phone call. After apologizing to the only other employee who was scheduled that day, a girl who never really liked her all that much, Max slipped out the back door and answered the phone beneath the blazing sun.
“Hello?”
The low, boastful voice of Damien Cash greeted her on the other side. “Hi, Maxine, is that you?”
Her back hit the brick wall behind her, the rough surface giving her a welcome texture to press her palm into.
“Yeah. It’s Max,” she said, hoping he’d get the hint on her preferred name.
He didn’t.
“Excellent. Well, it’s not customary for the CEO to give these sorts of calls, but I figured…since we know each other so well, I should be the one to give you the good news.” He chuckled, the sound of a glass touching down to a table coming next. “Or maybe that was just my own selfish thinking.”
“Hm.”
“Ah, but, I didn’t call just to have any old conversation. I’m sure you must be wondering what the reason is, right?”
It was nearly the end of her shift, only another hour left to go, so it must have been after normal working hours in New York. If that’s even where Cash was. Maybe he was in Denver too, watching her right then and there. She tried to not look around the perimeter, searching for cameras that may or may not have existed. She couldn’t let herself fall back into her fear of being on the other end of a camera lens, it had already taken years to shed the memory of Jefferson’s predatory gaze. Cash had to be different.
“I’m assuming this is about the grant,” she answered. “Uh, sir.”
Cash hummed his satisfaction. “Please, Max, there’s no need to call me sir. But you’re correct, I’m calling to let you know that you’ve officially been approved for the 2018 Avery Cash Foundation art grant. Congratulations.”
He went on to explain all the terms and conditions she already knew, the fine print she memorized every night before she went to bed as she searched for whatever the catch was. Fifty-thousand US dollars of taxable income for the entire year, separated into quarterly deposits via wire transfer until the year concluded. The official start date would be January 2nd, since Cash had his offices closed for New Year’s Day, and it would end of December 29th that same year. On paper, it was perfect. But Max didn’t want perfect — she wanted to know what his fucking deal was.
The paperwork would be sent over on Monday, after his financial and legal teams had the chance to look it over one final time. Then, with her permission, they’d share the news on social media. He warned her about that part, about how she’d have the spotlight turned to her, where there’d be no going back. And when she thought of the dozens of pictures of her and Chloe just wasting away in his desk drawer, she found that she didn’t care about the supposed spotlight. She was already fucking there.
Anger came to her easily, those days. Unfamiliar and unkind, worming its way beneath her skin, just out of reach, no matter how hard she tried to scratch it out.
Cash hung up soon after, citing that he was already late to joining his wife at home for dinner — something they did every Friday night to help ‘keep the spark alive’ in their older age. Max wished she hadn’t heard that part.
The gravity of her situation didn’t fully sink in until Chloe picked her up that afternoon, and the words came tumbling out of her the moment she buckled her seat.
“I fucking did it, dude, I got in.”
On the phone, she’d been too hyper-focused on her hatred of Cash to really understand the gravity of his words. But in Chloe’s presence, she allowed herself the opportunity to feel pride. To be happy. Even though she knew she would get it, it was still nice to finally be able to relax about the whole thing.
“Got what, the art grant?”
Chloe threw the van into reverse, screeching out of the parking lot in the same manner she did everything — loudly and aggressively. No wonder Max’s coworkers never invited them to their after-work hangouts. Not that she wanted an invite anyway, but being able to tell them ‘no’ would’ve felt good.
“Yep. A fifty thousand dollar check with my name on it.”
And that hadn’t even included the money Cash had given her the last time they met, though it felt like a lifetime ago. It didn’t even feel real. She hardly even remembered the fact that the entire reason why she’d applied in the first place was just to get closer to Cash.
“Damn.” Chloe whistled and shook her head with awe. “Fifty grand. Almost a millionaire now. One step closer to my trophy wife days.”
Max gave a soft laugh. “Not surprised that you failed math class.”
“Hey! I didn’t fail math because I’m bad at it, I failed it because I didn’t fucking go to class. Big difference.” She waved her hand in dismissal.
“Mm, I’m sure.”
Max titled her head to look at Chloe’s side profile, then grabbed her hand from across the seat, stroking a thumb across the backs of her knuckles until her face flushed a light pink. It was cute how easily she became flustered, even after all the time they’d spent together beneath bedsheets and in backseats.
Chloe bit her bottom lip, tugging against it so hard Max feared she’d draw blood. But then she huffed out a sigh and released the tension from her shoulders. “Well, where to next?”
“What do you mean?”
“Traveling, duh,” she clarified. “Isn’t that the whole point of the art grant? To get out in the world and see some cool shit?”
Max hadn’t really thought about that part. She’d been so focused on what she’d say when she confronted Cash next that she hadn’t even considered about where she’d travel to, now that she’d officially been approved for the grant. It was enough money that after their lease ended they could live in the van again, could drive around aimlessly in search of the next big thing. Like they used to. They could go anywhere.
“Oh, um. It doesn’t start until January. And it’s your turn to pick, if I remember correctly?” Selfishly, she’d thrown it out there just to see how Chloe would react. If she would remember that she was supposed to still be mad at Max, or if it was something she was willing to overlook.
“Huh, I guess you’re right.” Chloe piqued an eyebrow as she considered it. “Alright, then…Austin.”
“Austin it is,” Max said. She squeezed their hands together.
October 3, 2017
Will tossed a tightly taped brown box into her room before Max had even really fully opened the door. “Hi, Maxy! Got a package for you!”
It bounced onto the bed in just as much time as it took for Will to retreat back down the stairs while laughing, leaving a very confused Max in her wake.
She tread lightly over to the bed, wracking her brain to remember if she’d ordered anything recently. But when she flipped the box over, it wasn’t addressed to her — it was to Chloe.
Max had off that day, a pleasant Tuesday afternoon with a cold breeze that drifted across the city. And while she’d originally planned to do some editing on her computer and update her blog after she’d gained a surprising amount of new followers, the mysterious box on the bed ended up drawing all of her attention.
She could’ve opened it. It’s not like Chloe would’ve been mad at her for something as trivial as that. But, with the way things were still sensitive between them, she didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize the period of peace they’d entered.
The clock changed from 11 to 2 by the time she finally texted Chloe, tired of wondering what the hell the package contained that was apparently so funny to Will that she had to give it directly to Max. Thankfully, the anticipation of waiting for a text back was short lived.
Max — 2:03 PM
Can you come home?
Chloe — 2:04 PM
be there in 20
Eighteen minutes later, she heard the van pull into the driveway. Max sat with her legs crossed on the bed, having tucked her laptop away on the desk and straightened up the blankets as best she could. When Chloe burst through the door, she was already shrugging off her jacket, only one boot still remaining on her feet as she hobbled over.
“Alright, I’m ready — oh.” Chloe deflated after seeing Max fully clothed on the bed.
Max handed her the box as she held back her laughter. “Sorry, guess I should’ve specified why I wanted you to come home.”
“No, no, it’s cool.” She took the box, kicking off her other boot into the door to close it with a thunk. “What’s this?”
“I don’t know, I wanted to wait for you.” Max twisted her hands together, hoping Chloe could pick up on the alternate meaning between her words.
Chloe spared a glance at her before she flicked a knife from her pocket to open the box, then she brightened. “Oh, shit, finally!”
“Well?” Max peered closer, but Chloe kept the contents of the box hidden from view. “Share with the class!”
“One second,” she said, already sprinting back out the door and down the stairs.
When she came back, she struggled a black stool and a familiar looking metal tray through the door frame before setting them both down next to the bed.
“Uh. Are you gonna be performing surgery or something?”
“Something like that,” Chloe answered. And finally, she upturned the box onto the metal tray where Max could see what looked an awful lot like a tattoo gun.
“Chloe,” she started. “Is that…”
“Tattoo shit? Fuck yeah, it is. Will helped me pick it out. She’s kind of a genius with this stuff, I can’t believe she doesn’t like girls.”
Chloe set to work getting the metal tray outfitted with all the equipment — sterile wipes, ink, unopened needles, everything she could’ve possibly needed. And it wasn’t that Max didn’t think Chloe knew what to do, just that she hadn’t expected her to seem so…professional about it all. But it took only a few minutes before their room looked more like a tattoo parlor than it did a bedroom.
When Chloe eventually got the gun itself up and running, Max decided to take a risk, given that her girlfriend was in such good spirits that day. Plus, she would clearly be preoccupied with playing with her new toy, and the chance of her leaving the room was much lower than usual.
Bracing herself, Max asked, “Are you…mad at me?”
Chloe immediately paused what she was doing, her frown heavy. “The fuck? Why would I be mad?”
You know why. “Because of what I did.” She didn’t want to say it again, didn’t want to give it that power. But she would’ve, if Chloe needed to hear it.
Chloe just sighed, setting the tattoo equipment back down on the sterile tray. “No, Max. I’m not mad,” she said in a soft voice. “Not anymore, at least. And I’ll prove it. Can I give you a tattoo?”
Max blinked at her, skin prickling. “Excuse me?”
She hadn’t really enjoyed the last time she got a tattoo, nor the torturous itching that followed in the week after. Having someone with no experience give her the next one didn’t exactly sound like her idea of a good time.
“Can I please give you a tattoo?” Chloe tried instead, waving the tattoo gun for good measure, like that would somehow convince Max to change her mind.
“You mean give me an infection, right? Because that’s what would happen.”
“Give me some credit,” Chloe insisted. “I’ve been practicing with Will. I wanted it to be a surprise. So, surprise.”
“You…have?”
“Well, yeah, what else did you think I was doing with her every weekend?”
Max hadn’t even noticed. She’d seen them sneak off together a few times, sure, but she’d thought it was just to go smoke in the basement without her — not to practice tattooing. That was…a big, permanent type of thing. Really permanent. But Chloe was a good artist, she thought, so maybe she would be good at it. There were very few things that Chloe tried that she wasn’t at least semi-competent at.
“I would…almost prefer if you’d been cheating on me.”
Chloe rolled her eyes and scoffed. “Straight girls aren’t my type. Come on. Tattoo?” She turned the gun on as a test and a dull buzzing filled the room.
“Let me see you get it set up first.” And buy myself time to figure out how to say no.
“Fine, don’t believe me.” Chloe pulled the rolling metal tray closer and started shaking a bottle. “I’ll show you.”
With meticulous accuracy and precise movements, Chloe got everything hooked up and cleaned. And while Max had very limited exposure to what it was like to actually get a professional tattoo, it didn’t look too half bad. She sat in front of Max with her legs spread, leaning on her knees as she tugged a fresh pair of sterile gloves on. It was strangely hot — or maybe it wasn’t strange at all. Chloe could’ve dressed in a clown suit and Max would’ve found some part of it that was attractive.
“Do you even know what you would tattoo on me?” she asked.
Chloe flipped the gun on again after setting the needle tip, playing around with the way it felt in her hands. “Duh, I’ve been thinking about this for months.”
It was a show of trust, probably. A way for Max to lay herself at Chloe’s feet and prove that she was in this thing called life with her.
“…Okay,” Max agreed.
“Really?”
“But you have to show me you can actually tattoo first,” Max added. “I don’t want shitty art on my body for the rest of my life.”
“So picky. Okay, me first.” Chloe rolled up the leg of her shorts and wiped a freshly alcohol soaked piece of paper towel over a section of shaved skin. “Hmm, what should I go for? Classic dick, or a huge pair of knockers?” She dipped the needle tip into the small cap of ink on the tray.
“How about my name?”
Chloe looked at her with a puzzled glance, then shrugged and touched the needle to her skin without a second thought.
“Uh, wait! That was clearly a joke!”
“Why?” Chloe kept her eyes glued to her work. “I’m gonna marry you one day. Need to let the fanclub know I’m locked down already.”
“Surely you could do something else, though,” Max said, though her heart might have skipped a beat anyway.
Chloe’s face was pinched in concentration, the bridge of her nose crinkled just enough to give her a serious expression. Somehow, she was able to free-hand the words in a semi-readable font even though it was at an awkward, upside down angle. Moments like that reminded Max that Chloe was actually really, really fucking smart. And talented. And, god, was she always that hot?
It didn’t take long before Chloe confidently finished the tattoo — thin letters that read Taken by Max — then she moved on to clean the remaining streaks of ink from her skin.
“Oh my god,” Max blurted out. “It’s hideous.”
“What?! No, it’s not!”
“You’re so ridiculous.” She couldn’t help but laugh at the dejected look on Chloe’s face. “That’s permanent, you know!”
“And adorable,” Chloe added. “Besides, nobody is gonna see it but you. So, do you like it?”
She stood from the stool and stuck her leg out for closer inspection, a wide smile spread across her face. Max touched her skin just below the fresh ink. The tattoo wasn’t really that bad. In fact, it looked kinda good, all things considered.
“I like it,” she said.
Chloe practically bounced with excitement. “Is it your turn now?”
“I’m not getting Taken by Chloe Price anywhere on me,” Max protested. “That’s bad luck.”
“Of course you wouldn’t,” Chloe said casually, “I’ll be changing my name eventually, that would be stupid.”
There was that feeling in her stomach again — a slow, lurching warmth that spread to her fingertips. To one day be married felt like a dream, an impossibility. But Chloe was right there, right in front of her, waiting. Wanting. Max stared at the invisible wall between them, wishing she could take a sledgehammer to it and destroy every bit of stone until it all came crumpling down and she could finally call that girl her wife.
“Go ahead,” Max conceded. “Ruin my skin.”
Already halfway done with switching out the tattoo equipment for a fresh set, Chloe gave her a kiss on the cheek before settling back onto the stool and rolling it closer to where Max lounged on the bed.
“Alright, where at?”
“Dealer’s choice.”
Chloe shot her a smug glance before she slid Max’s shorts up, running a gloved hand over the smooth skin of her thigh, her breath hitching at the touch of it. Right where Chloe had done her own tattoo. At least it’ll be easily hidden, she reminded herself.
After much insistence, she made Chloe sketch a template for the tattoo first, rather than winging it in the spur of the moment. And just to be a dick about it, Chloe agreed only on the condition that Max wouldn’t look at the tattoo until it was finished. So, Max ended up with her own hand covering her eyes as the needle sunk into her skin, nervous beyond belief.
The initial pain dulled after a few seconds, turning instead to an almost pleasant scratching sensation. Both of them now trapped until the tattoo was finished, Max took the opportunity without hesitation.
“Did you mean that? What you said earlier?”
“Mean what?” Chloe dabbed ink into the needle before pressing it back to her skin, drawing a wince from Max.
“That you’d…change your name.” She was glad to have a reason for keeping her eyes covered, already feeling the heat emanating from her cheeks.
“Maybe,” Chloe answered vaguely. “Or would you rather change yours?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Chloe went quiet for a moment, concentrating on the design of Max’s tattoo. And while Max had done a lot of reckless shit in her life, somehow getting a random tattoo from her girlfriend with limited experience didn’t even seem like it made it to the top 10. She trusted her unquestioningly. Maybe that was the reckless part.
“Of course I wanna marry you. I’ve always wanted that, even before I knew what it really meant. Back when we were just kids playing pirates, before anything bad ever happened to us. So, yeah, I’m yours, Max.” Then Chloe’s fingers wrapped around her wrist and pulled Max’s hand away from her eyes, where she smiled up at her with a crooked grin. “And you’re mine.”
She slid the stool away, moving on to start cleaning up her workstation. And when Max looked down at her thigh, she saw the word Mine.
November 23, 2017
An hour out from Seattle, the stunning views of Tacoma, Washington clouded her vision. One of her dad’s friends had a vacation home there, in a private neighborhood just off the main roads, where all the residents lived in million dollar houses with blissful ignorance and privileged attitudes. But it was a nice place to visit, and Max had left them a bottle of wine in the downstairs cabinet as thanks for letting them stay there for the week.
The rain outside was beautiful — falling in gentle waves as it trickled like mist over the quiet street. But even with the relaxing atmosphere, she couldn’t have been more nervous. Even Cash showing up in the shadows wouldn’t have made her more anxious; she was already at max capacity. For the only thing more terrifying than the threat of an evil stalker lurking in the corners was her parents — only 10 minutes away from pulling into the driveway.
“Hey, hot stuff.” Chloe fell down onto the couch next to her, tossing an arm over her shoulder that Max settled into. “Ready to confront your birth-givers?”
“Not even in the slightest.” She took another swallow of her drink, some bitter cocktail she’d accidentally added too much gin to. But it was warm and it did the job.
“Nah, you’ll be fine. They love you. I’m the problem child.” Chloe snagged the glass out of Max’s hand and took a sip, then grimaced. “Damn, that’s rough. Don’t ever be a bartender.”
Max chuckled. “Fuck you. And my parents like you plenty.”
“That was before they knew I was banging their daughter.”
“Well, we can probably leave that part out,” she deflected.
Chloe’s hand drifted from her shoulder down her arm, trailing soft lines through the sweater she wore. And as she turned to give her a kiss, lights shone in from the window and Max startled to her feet.
“Fuck. Okay. How do I look?”
“Terrified. Beautiful. Terrifyingly beautiful.” Chloe tossed both hands behind her head and sighed on the couch, the picture-perfect image of relaxation. The dick.
Max unlocked the door and stepped onto the frigid front porch. In all the places she’d lived after leaving home, no house had been anywhere near as nice as that one. It was disorienting. She felt like a real, actual adult, with a real, actual career and a real, actual girlfriend about to see her real, actual parents walk up the steps. Shit, shit, shit, she wasn’t fucking ready at all.
Her dad opened the car door first, brushing the rain drops off his coat as he moved around to the passenger’s side to open the door for her mom, who carried a casserole dish covered with tin foil. And then there they were, climbing up the porch and smiling at her like she’d only just came back from Arcadia Bay.
“Hey, kiddo,” Dad said, his arms spread wide.
She hugged him, hard, clasping her arms around his back and trying to pretend that he didn’t look older than the last time she’d seen him. She knew she’d changed, a lot, in all those years. But she hadn’t even stopped to consider that her dad and mom would also have changed. The wrinkles on their hands, on their foreheads, at the corner of their eyes, they all looked different. Older.
“Hi, dad,” Max breathed. “Hi, mom.”
She pulled away, smoothing her hair down. Would they notice how much it changed? She wasn’t like Chloe, it wasn’t a horribly different length or color, but her bangs were different, the way it curled around her ears was different. Max was different.
“Hi, honey.”
Her mom passed the casserole dish to her dad and swept her into a hug as soon as he stepped back, filling the place he once stood. She rubbed her hands over Max’s back in a way only a mom knew how. Funny how life happened like that — how Max could hug Chloe every day of her life (and she planned on it) yet it would never feel like how a hug from her mom would. She’d never forgive herself for taking that feeling away from Chloe.
“It’s good to see you, Mr. and Mrs. Caulfield.”
Chloe appeared in the doorway and held it open for everyone to head inside, giving Max a comforting pat on the back as she entered last.
“Please, Chloe, you’re family,” Mom said. “How many times do we have to say that? You can call us Mom and Dad.”
Chloe looked to Max with a wild expression, like an animal with their shoulder’s hunched over. She couldn’t help but laugh.
“Uh, how about…just Ryan and Vanessa?” Chloe offered instead, like it was a battle she’d fought a thousand times and had never won.
“Whatever you want,” Dad answered. He assessed the room awkwardly, like he’d just intruded in their house, not his own friend’s. “Hm. Haven’t been here in years. What do you think, Vanessa, should we buy a house in the area?”
“Absolutely not,” her mom replied swiftly. “Here, give me that and I’ll take it to the kitchen. Max, have you started cooking yet?”
“Actually—”
“I have,” Chloe said, and all eyes snapped to her. “Err, sorry. Max would definitely burn this place down if she tried cooking anything more than cereal.”
“Oh. Okay.” Her mom’s brows rose, but Max could tell she was pleased at the confession. Well, the part about Chloe cooking. She did well to mask her disappointment knowing that her daughter was complete shit at cooking. “Alright, Chloe. Will you join me then? Let’s leave Max and Ryan to get caught up.”
“Yeah, for sure.” Chloe nearly tripped over her feet following her to the kitchen.
Max gave her a pleading look that said help me before Chloe left the room with an apologetic shrug, mouthing Sorry! Good luck!
Then they were alone, hovering between the empty couch and the window, waiting for the other to make the first move. Her dad avoided her eyes, mouth drawn in a fine line like he was seconds away from letting all his wildest thoughts into the air.
“So,” he said first, rocking back on his heels. “Denver, huh? Still liking it there?”
“Yeah, it’s nice.”
“Good. I’ve heard good things.” He nodded enthusiastically.
“Still…enjoying Seattle?”
“Yep. Same old, same old.”
Max tugged at the collar of her shirt, the room suddenly way too humid for her liking. If the awkwardness didn’t kill her, the small talk would.
“Uh, did you want something to drink?”
“Oh, no.” He waved the offer away. “I’ll grab a beer later. Should we sit?”
“Please.”
Her dad sat first, letting out a groan as his knees clicked back into place. Then he rubbed his hands together, shooting her an uncomfortable smile. “Well. Guess you and Chloe will be sharing a room?”
“Dad, we’ve lived together for 4 years,” Max said, not even commenting on the fact that they’d already stayed in the house together for several nights now. “I think we’ll be okay. We’re both adults.”
“Just…want you to be careful.” He cleared his throat, putting on his best dad face next. “If you have any questions about a woman’s body—”
“Oh my god, please stop.”
He raised his hands in defense, the same red flush on Max’s cheeks mirrored on his own. “Okay, okay, I get it. But the offer still stands. I do know a thing or two.”
“Dad!”
“Sorry! Sorry.”
Thankfully, they were only forced to spend a few minutes in awkward silence together before Chloe popped in from the other room, sharing a tray of rolls while they waited for Mom to finish getting everything else out of the oven.
Max finished the last of her drink from earlier, only wincing slightly as it burned going down, then they all retreated to the dining room. Her stomach growled at the sight of the full spread of food on the table.
Chloe had woken up early that day to get started on everything, wanting to ‘Get off right. No, wait, get off on the right foot’ when Max’s parents got there. And, given the impressed look on both of their faces, she must have knocked it out of the park.
The longer the night went on, the less uncomfortable it became. Time had a tendency to heal wounds, to make you forget why exactly someone pissed you off in the first place — and sometimes, that could be a bad thing. But, for her parents? Max was just happy to see them again.
She’d long since come to the conclusion that she was willing to let the past stay in the past, forgiving and forgetting the malice that had once haunted the gaps between them. They’d come a long way in understanding her, even if everyone else in the world seemed to take one step forward and two steps back. But maybe she didn’t need an apology from them, maybe she just needed them.
For the first time since she left Seattle all those years ago, they had dinner as a family. And it was warm. It was so fucking warm.
When everyone’s plates were empty and they could barely move from how stuffed they were, it was Chloe who invited her dad to step outside with her, her face oddly pale as she stuttered the words out. “Hey, uh, Mr….Ryan, could you—could you join me? Outside? For just a moment, won’t take too long. Swear.”
Taking it in stride, Dad scraped his chair backward as he stood. “Yeah, of course.”
That isn’t what we talked about, Max thought. In all the conversations she shared with Chloe about what both of them would say to her parents, a solo-conversation between Chloe and her dad was not part of the list. It wasn’t even close. And maybe her mom picked up on the concern painted across her face, given that she beamed a smile at her and helped her collect the rest of the dirty dishes.
“Come on, sweetie. You didn’t cook, so that means you clean!”
Begrudgingly, Max joined her, but she still kept glancing over out the window to watch as Chloe and Dad stood beneath the moonlight as they talked. They kept at least four feet between them at all times, both of them standing rigidly straight with their hands shoved in their jacket pockets. And if it hadn’t been her girlfriend and her dad talking alone, she may have found it funny how similar they stood.
Shockingly, Chloe flicked a cigarette from her cartoon and offered it to her dad while Mom was too distracted with the dishes in the sink to notice. Even more shocking was the fact that he accepted it.
“Well, Max…we’ve heard plenty from Chloe tonight about what you’ve been up to, but I want to hear it from you as well.” Her mom set another rinsed plate into the dishwasher, moving onto the next one that Max handed her without even looking up. “So, while she’s outside, I wanted to ask. Are you happy?”
“I’m…I’m really happy, mom,” she answered. Part of her wanted to confess about Damien Cash’s strange obsession with her, if only just so someone else knew. But she couldn’t. There were so many reasons why she couldn’t. So she settled with a curt, “My life is great.”
“Yeah? And what about your…relationship?” Her mom paused on the next plate, shaking her head to herself almost imperceptibly.
Max sighed. She’d expected it to be brought up, but that didn’t meant she’d been looking forward to it. Her dad had said that he and her mom knew about everything already, which, yeah, of course they did, Max wasn’t exactly hiding it. But she hadn’t really, officially introduced Chloe as her girlfriend. They were too connected, too intertwined, for such a simple conversation to be had.
“I love the life we have together,” Max said. “I know you don’t…understand—”
Her mom set the plate down louder than the rest, turning to look at her with her hands poised on either side of the sink. “I can understand love, Max.” Her eyes were wet and she brushed at them. “I’m sorry if…if I ever made you think otherwise.”
Max paused, unsure of if she needed to comfort her or not. “It’s okay, mom, I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Her mom huffed out a laugh. “I’m not upset, honey. You’ve just grown up without me. I was supposed to be there for you, and I haven’t been. And look at you now — a successful artist, like you always wanted to be. With a partner who loves you just like you deserve.” She pat against Max’s cheek, smiling at her sadly. “I’m so proud of you.”
Max nodded, trying to fight off her own tears. “I love her, mom,” she said. And before she could second guess herself, she added, “I want to marry her.”
Her mom’s hand retracted from Max’s face, eyes widening in surprise. “O-oh.” She touched against the counter, using it to lean back against. “Wow. Okay. I don’t…I don’t know what to say to that one, Max,” she finished with a chuckle.
Why the fuck did I say that?!
Max let the words spill out of her like water before she could stop them, saying with a nervous voice, “I just want you to say that it’s okay. That you love me. That you love her, too. I just…I just wanted you to know. I just want you to be my mom.”
“Honey, I’ll always be your mom,” she answered, lips pressed together tightly. “There’s nothing you could ever do that will take my love for you away. If you want to marry this girl, then I’ll be there. I’ll help you pick out your dress, I’ll go to every cake tasting you want, I’ll visit every venue you’re interested in. Because you’re my baby.”
And all at once, Max wondered why she’d waited so long to talk with her parents again. All this time, she could’ve had their support, their love, their advice. A small, bitter part of her reminded herself that it wasn’t her fault — they were the parents, they should’ve mended those fences, they should’ve accepted her for who she was, years and years ago. But as short as life was, as fleeting as the good moments were, Max was tired of caring, tired of pointing fingers.
Her mom didn’t stop there, however. “Right. Well. Have you thought about a date? Or a location? Ooh, what about a honeymoon? Your father and I went to—”
“Slow down,” Max pleaded with a laugh. “We aren’t—we aren’t even engaged yet.”
Her mom brushed the excuse away rather quick, and maybe Max should’ve kept it to herself. Neither of her parents were exactly known for their grand abilities to keep a secret.
“You have all the time in the world,” Mom said. “Are you planning on asking her? Or will it be her asking you? Sorry, I don’t know the…etiquette for when…two women…?” she left the question open in the air.
“No, I’m not—Well, I mean, not yet. I’ve—I’ve thought about it?” Max could tell she was getting flustered, even despite the warm fluttering in her heart. It had been the first time she’d said it out loud to someone else — and it made it feel so much more real than when the idea had only lived inside her head.
“Max, maybe you should talk to you dad about this,” her mom said. “Not that I don’t want to hear about it, I do! But he’s got more experience than me in the proposing department. Ah! Wait!” Struck with a sudden idea, her mom brightened and pulled a ring off the middle finger of her hand. “It’s not my engagement ring, but it belonged to grandma. Maybe you’d like to…” She trailed off and Max took the ring, turning it over in her palm.
The band was thin and silver, with a shimmering blue sapphire studded at the middle. It was the exact color she thought of when she pictured Chloe, and as it turned out, Max’s own birthstone. Like fate had hand-crafted it just for her — for them.
“Yeah, I—I’d love to. It’s perfect. Thank you.”
“Always, my love.”
She curled Max’s fingers around the ring, both of them smiling more together than they had since Max had been a kid. Then the back door flew open and Max shoved her hand deep into her pocket, acting as casually as she could to pretend like it wasn’t there.
Chloe and her dad were laughing when they walked in the door, and Max noticed that Chloe looked a little red in the cheeks from more than just the cold weather. She had bundled the jacket tight around her shoulders, beanie tugged firmly over her head to keep warm. She was so adorable that Max knew she was going to have to resist really fucking hard to not give her the ring that damn night.
Alcohol flowed easily the rest of the evening, and it wasn’t nearly as weird as she thought it would be to get drunk with her parents. She’d seen them with wine or beer or a mixed drink in their hands quite a few times before, mostly during parties they hosted — but the little kid in her still felt strange to be on the other side of it, worried that one of them would chastise her for indulging in another drink.
Chloe, however, clearly didn’t have the same discomfort. Tying her hair back at the base of her neck, she practically cleared out the kitchen of all its liquor in as much time as it took for the TV to finish playing a single movie. She’d had a lot of practice, after many various bar-related jobs throughout the years. But she never let it get too bad, never let herself go too far. It was just another reason why Max loved her.
Her mom left the room early, giving Max a kiss at the top of her head as she passed by the couch and told them all good night. And before she made a fool of herself, Max decided to call it quits there and end the evening on a good note. Chloe had impressed her mom with dinner and impressed her dad with whatever they talked about outside, it was…perfect.
After helping her dad finish up with the kitchen, she joined Chloe back in their room, a small, cozy place with a dusty flannel blanket and goose decor spread throughout. It wasn’t the weirdest room they’d ever stayed in, but it was certainly memorable — even outside of the ominous closet that only housed empty hangers and a single creepy doll that she tried not to think too much about at night.
“Maaax, come lay down with me,” Chloe sounded from the bed, her arms spread out in an inviting manner.
“You’ve clearly had one too many tonight,” Max pointed out. She stripped off her shirt, tossing it to their laundry pile and doing her best to restrain the smile spreading across her face. So cute.
“I’ll have you know that I had the perfect amount to drink,” she insisted. “Just enough alcohol to smooth talk with your dad but still avoid getting my ass kicked. Huge win, dude.”
“He wouldn’t have done anything like that.” Max tugged off her pants next, where they joined her shirt with a thump. “What did you even talk about?”
Right before Max climbed onto the bed, she remembered a certain object still resting in her pocket. A certain object that definitely, under no circumstances, could ever be found by Chloe, drunk or not.
“Can’t tell you,” Chloe said quickly. “Secret.”
As casually as she could, Max rushed back over to the pile of clothes and fished around for it until she felt the cool metal of the ring. She clenched it in a fist and hastily shoved it in her camera bag, somewhere she knew Chloe wouldn’t ever go snooping in without permission. Then the gravity of it hit her like a clap of lightning. She was holding a ring. An engagement ring. That she planned on giving to her girlfriend.
Fuck.
Should she get a box for it? Should she get it resized? There was no chance in hell that Chloe had the same ring size as her mom — and she really didn’t want to think about comparing their hand sizes at all, given where Chloe’s had been — but she also couldn’t think of a way to inconspicuously ask Chloe what her ring size was without giving everything away.
“Hey, Super-Max,” Chloe said, laying on her side with her palm holding up her chin. “What size ring do you wear?”
Max jolted forward, almost scattering the camera bag across the entire floor. “Uh, what? Where did — what?”
Chloe snickered, her eyes lidded. “You’re so fucking easy, man. Come here?”
She lifted the blanket for Max to slide in next to her, and somehow, being only inches away from Chloe’s bare skin didn’t really help the swirling nerves still coursing through Max’s blood.
“So. Gonna answer?” Chloe pressed, cheeky smirk still present on her face.
“I—I have no idea. Six, I think?” And that was her chance — probably the only one she’d ever have. Be cool, Caulfield. “What about you?”
“Hmm, let’s see…Nine,” she answered after a moment’s thought. “Wow, look at us! Sixty-nine. Heh.” Chloe lifted a hand and pressed it flat against Max’s own, curling the tips of her fingers over Max’s shorter ones. “So tiny.”
Max jerked her hand back with a glare. “Don’t be mean. I need extra love today.”
“Nooo, ‘s not mean.” Chloe tugged Max’s hand back, touching it against her own flushed cheek instead. “You’re cute. Really, really cute. Really, really, really—”
“Okay,” Max said with a laugh, thumbing over Chloe’s cheek bone. “I get it. Now go to sleep.”
“I don’t even get a kiss first?”
Chloe huffed and stuck out her bottom lip in a pout. So, Max kissed her.
Notes:
Chloe: wow I can't wait to get married
Max: are you mad at me?
Chapter 18: Get You The Moon
Summary:
January - December 2018
A few goodbyes, a terrible dream, the erotic nature of neckties, and an important question.
Notes:
Song Title: Get You The Moon; Kina (ft. Snow)
CW: Sexual content, panic attacks, nightmares
in my defense, i don’t know what happened. something possessed me and i wrote almost 17k words of bullshit. but i promise i won’t write this much for future chapters.
yes, half of this chapter is smut, yes, it went on for way too long, no, i don’t care.
alternate chapter title: how many times can Max come in one night
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
January, 2018
“Three! Two! One! Happy New Year!”
The crowded living room erupted into cheers as the clock hit 12:00 and the confetti canon that MJ rented launched a thousand tiny pieces of paper into the air. Max had never been more thankful that they’d already moved out all their stuff and weren’t obligated to clean up anymore, now that they were officially off the lease. The idea of cleaning through a hangover in the morning didn’t sound particularly inviting.
She picked confetti out of Chloe’s hair as she pulled her in for a kiss, not even caring that everyone was watching them. In all the time they’d lived in Denver, she could count on one hand the number of times they’d accidentally kissed (or worse) in front of their roommates. But it was their last day with them, so who the fuck cared?
“Me next!” Will shouted only a centimeter from Max’s ear. She threw her hands on Max’s shoulders and spinning her around, lips pursed like she truly was going to plant one on her.
“Whoa, watch it, lady killer.” Jaden was there to clap a hand over Will’s mouth at the last second, a gesture Max returned with a grateful, albeit uncomfortable smile.
Will’s voice was muffled through the gaps of Jaden’s fingers as he helped drag her away, then Chloe squeezed Max’s hand. “Should we give it to them?”
Max watched as it was MJ’s turn to dodge Will’s wandering lips, leaping around her with a laugh as she pouted. “Yeah, might as well.”
They walked up the stairs for probably the last time and made their way to their mostly empty bedroom, which housed only a couple remaining boxes, a vacuum Max decided to let Jaden keep, and the gift they’d made for the 3 of them — a handmade 5x7 photo album filled with only the greatest memories of the Denver house.
Chloe picked up the photo album and flipped through it, running a finger over a couple of the pictures. “You have copies of these, right?”
“Of course,” she assured, taking the album from Chloe’s offering hands. “Who do you think I am?”
“Silly me. Forgot I was dating a photo-dragon, master of the memory hoard.”
“Not a photo-dragon, the photo-dragon,” Max corrected with a smug grin.
Chloe advanced closer, placing a hand on the door right behind Max’s head to make sure it closed them in, the neon lights of the downstairs party fading away in favor of the mellow moonlight shining in through the window.
She tilted Max’s head up with a finger beneath her chin, drawing their lips together. Despite all the bad memories of their past, they’d done well to add more good into the mix. Like a cup of murky water, the more fresh water you poured, the cleaner it all became. Max smiled into the kiss, reaching a hand to cup against Chloe’s jaw, sinking into her as their bodies pressed together.
When they pulled away to catch a breath, Chloe offered with a gravely voice, “One last quickie in the bedroom?”
She was only halfway kidding, Max knew. But she only laughed and pushed Chloe aside with a hand against the center of her chest.
“You wish. We don’t even have a bed left in here.”
“There’s a perfectly good wall right here.” Chloe gestured to it with a shrug and waggle of her eyebrows, and Max only rolled her eyes as she left the room, a pleasant smile painted on her lips.
It was easy to gather the three others in the kitchen, mostly because they were all so intoxicated that they listened to whatever Max had to say, but also partly because they knew it was their last day with her and Chloe. And no matter what waited for her in the future, she would always hold the memories of that house close to her heart. Maybe it meant they really were friends, and not just temporary, fleeting souls. Or maybe not. Only time would tell.
The moment she handed over the photo album to present it to the group, Will burst into tears. And Max couldn’t lie, she felt a lump in her throat, too, just from seeing the pleasantly shocked look on all their faces as they passed it around.
Denver had been one of the greatest years of her life. But remembering the ring she kept hidden in her camera bag, she knew the best was yet to come. The intoxicating call of the open road had made itself known, and Max wanted to answer it. She was ready, Cash be damned.
“These are so good, Super-Max. Like, really fucking good,” MJ said. He closed the album and Jaden snatched it from his hands for another look. “You should do this professionally or something.”
Max crossed her arms. “Wow, never thought of that before. Great idea, I’ll have to look into it.”
“Really though, do you post shit like this online?” He tugged his phone out and tapped on the screen. “Lemme follow you…oh, fuck! You didn’t say you were famous!”
“What? I’m not—” He turned the screen for her to see and Max just about died on the spot. Thirty-four thousand followers?
“Holy shit,” Chloe said, leaning over Max’s shoulder to sneak a peak. “When did that happen?”
“I don’t know…I should only have a couple thousand,” she answered. Two thousand, four hundred and seven, to be specific. Not that she was keeping track of it that closely. That would be obsessive.
“Damien Cash tagged you in something,” Will said, eyes glued to her own screen. “Wait, isn’t that the rich guy you won the art grant from?”
“Yeah. That’s him.”
Will gave a shrug. “Guess there’s your answer. Check it out.”
Max reached for her own phone, seeing the screen come to life with another notification before she even had the chance to unlock it.
As promised, Cash’s business page had posted about the new recipient of the Avery Cash Foundation grant, tagging her in the process. All across the internet, by the looks of things. No wonder they had asked for the handle to all her platforms…
Damn, maybe Max should try to be better with social media.
The cherry on top was the sudden influx of private messages and emails — most of them about nothing substantial, just dudes trying to ask for her number or someone selling her a scam product, but some of them seemed like they were legit questions from people interested in working with her. Of commissioning her.
Photoshoot requests for weddings, birthdays, anniversaries, parties, engagements, and a few graduations filled her inbox. And sure, she’d done a few shoots in the past, mostly for family friends or people Victoria referred her way when she was too busy herself, but it had never been anything on this grand of a scale. To say it was overwhelming would’ve been putting it lightly.
Chloe’s comforting hand slid around her waist, her brows furrowed together as she glanced at the phone still clutched in Max’s hand. “Is that…a good thing?”
“It’s certainly a thing.”
Whether is was good or bad, it was entirely too late for her to go back now.
While MJ and Jaden hadn’t been expecting to get a farewell present themselves, Will had scrambled to fetch her tattoo gun from the downstairs living room and offer both of them a free piece of art — the same thing she’d offered when they’d first moved in. And Max, as she’d done the first time, kindly denied the gesture. Chloe, on the other hand, was all too eager for the drunken artist to fire up the gun and scribble the outline of a house on the inside of her ankle.
“For the memories,” Chloe had said in explanation after Max asked the reason for it.
“And ‘cause she has a crush on me,” Will added just before Chloe shoved an elbow into her side and she spilled from the couch with a burst of laughter.
“I don’t think it’s even possible for you to have a crush on anyone other than Maxy. The world would have to end first, or something,” MJ said, nearly falling asleep at the other side of the room as he cradled his head.
“Yeah, remember that one guy who came onto you? At the bar last month?” Jaden asked.
“Ugh.” Chloe shook her head with a grimace, wiping her new tattoo clean. “Don’t remind me.”
Will giggled as she pulled herself back on the couch, collapsing nearly on top of Max, her breath smelling of tequila and lime. “Ohh, I remember! I thought you were gonna laugh in his face!”
“Or punch him,” said MJ.
“Nah, I thought Maxy was gonna kill him,” Jaden countered.
“It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve killed for her,” Max answered with a shrug.
The room grew silent, everyone’s eyes turning to look at her with concern, all except for Chloe, who promptly face-palmed at the joke.
“Just kidding?” Max offered.
The tension fizzled away with a few scattered laughs that gave her the impression they didn’t really know what to think of the statement. Oh well.
It was well after 2 AM by the time the party died down and everyone was either too drunk to continue or too tired to want to. And as her and Chloe loaded up into the van, she gave a last, mournful wave to her now-former friends.
Her heart clenched as they exited the driveway, exited the neighborhood, and exited the city. Chloe’s hand slid across the seat to join with hers, reminding her that she wasn’t alone. Max would never be alone, not so long as Chloe was at her side.
But the sky was dark and riddled with stars as they left Denver behind — left their home behind. Together.
February, 2018
Falling back into the routine of having no routine was actually easier than she’d expected, partly due to the dreadful knot of anxiety over their finances having completely dissolved. They weren’t rich by any means, but Max certainly wasn’t strapped for cash anymore — no pun intended. With no rent, no debt, and no bills other than their phones and maintenance for the van, it was more than easy for her to stay on top of their budgeting — even if she was dating a rather reckless, impulsive spender. They balanced each other well.
It had been a long time since Max had considered herself to be more than just dead weight chasing an invisible dream, but given that Chloe had always been there to step up and fill the gaps that her income lacked, she was happy to take the lead and let Chloe take time off from the job market for awhile.
They were a good team. A great team. Despite the occasional splurge on unnecessary bullshit or probably-too-expensive date nights, there was still enough in her bank account that they might even have some leftover by the time the end of the year rolled around. Not a whole hell of a lot, but maybe enough for…
Whatever. Max was entirely too nervous to even think about that at the moment, not with all the unfamiliar faces sitting at the corner of the bar with her, laughing and chatting like they’d known each other their whole lives, whereas she was the odd-man out. As always.
In a weird way, she’d found some sort of home in her lonesomeness. It was comfortable to be in her own skin, observing and listening to those around her, like she was nothing more than a fly on the wall soaking in the conversations as they passed right by her. She had plenty of time to mingle in the safety of her own head.
She’d worn nice enough clothes that evening, not totally sure what the appropriate dress code was for meeting up for drinks with a group of people you knew only from an online group chat. It wasn’t like they were friends, either — they were just the previous year’s winners of the Avery Cash Foundation grant, bound together by the bond of having the same odd experiences. And, as it turned out, there was some secret tradition to initiate every new winner into their ranks by drinking pretentious, expensive cocktails at a fancy bar in downtown Miami.
Before last week, she hadn’t even considered the fact that other winners existed. Her world view had narrowed to where herself and Cash were the only people left, caught in a perpetual game of cat and mouse. Then she’d been added to an unknown group chat, and everything had spiraled from there.
Her and Chloe had been halfway to Austin at the time, not that it really should’ve taken them more than a couple days to get there anyway, but Chloe had wanted to take their time. She helped Max to slow down, to appreciate the little moments of life. And without her, Max didn’t know if she’d even have been able to uphold her end of Cash’s contract.
Despite the freedom to go anywhere and do anything, she still had a job to do. Take photos. Make art. Prove herself. It was easier said than done. Art block was no joke.
Then, at the request of Brandon and the other winners, she’d been led to Florida of all places. But she didn’t drag herself and Chloe all the way there just to schmooze with people she couldn’t even remember the names of. Selfishly, she had a different motive. Nosy Max was back again for one evening only.
Chloe had been the first to toss around the idea that maybe some of the other winners had experiences with Cash similar to Max’s, and that maybe someone else had noticed his odd obsessions and had looked into it on their own. Maybe they could help her, or warn her of what he had planned. Maybe, even, they could relieve some of her fears and tell her that he was harmless (not that she would’ve believed them if they did say as much).
Yet, after she’d actually shown up to the venue an hour ago, mouth dry and heart pounding, the hope had been quickly dashed. They all seemed…too happy. Too perfect. Too innocent and oblivious. If Chloe had been with her, perhaps she could’ve asked better questions — or at least make someone pissed off enough for them to share more about Cash than was wise to discuss in public. But, no. Chloe had stayed back at the hotel, busy getting caught up on sleep after their long drive across the country.
Max tossed back the last swallow of her drink, setting the glass back on the bar top as the ice settled together with a clink. She tried to not feel bitter at Chloe’s absence. She was grown, she could take care of herself. And it was better that way, to have Chloe somewhere safe when Max went snooping where she didn’t belong.
The conversations had grown boring, not that they’d been particularly exciting in the first place. The guys had banded together, clearly friends outside of just professional settings, leaving the small group of girls on their own to awkwardly make small talk. It had been over an hour of her listening to the idle chatter about who followed who on CrossTalk, who bought a new house in the city, who just got married, who was trying for their second baby. Just bullshit that didn’t matter.
Nearly to the edge of giving in, Max had come to the conclusion that the entire evening fucking sucked — Brandon was the one who invited her, the only one she’d exchanged more than two words with prior to that evening, the only one she really wanted to learn more about, since he was the winner from the year before — and in her head, that meant he was more likely to know what the fuck was up with the pictures in Cash’s drawer. But he’d wandered off with the other guys a good twenty minutes ago, and the loud woman beside her on the bench was determined to take up as much attention from the group as possible.
Max tried; really, she did. She asked safe questions, gathering intel on the other women’s interactions with Cash. One woman had thought he was gay for the longest time, saying any guy who dressed as nice as he did and had good taste in art just couldn’t be straight. The rest of the table had laughed at that, except for Max. It wasn’t funny. Not to her.
Eventually, even though she didn’t get the answers she’d come for, she did loosen up a touch. Maybe she had the alcohol to thank for that, or maybe, just maybe…she did like hanging around other artists. Sure, not a damned one of them had any clue what Cash was up to, but Max still found similarities between her life and theirs. She found herself smiling, a warmth in her chest only growing the longer she stayed there. And it wasn’t until her phone buzzed with a third text that she realized what time it was.
“Oh, shit,” she mumbled.
Max stood from the bar, a bit disoriented on her feet as she clutched to the counter’s edge for support. Fuck, when had she gotten so far beyond the edge of being tipsy?
“You good?” One of the other girls blinked at her with a wide smile on her lips, having well-surpassed Max’s own level of intoxication a half-hour ago.
Brandon, having wandered back over the group with a fresh old fashioned held in one hand, said, “The ol’ ball and chain barking at your heels again, huh?”
Those who heard the joke over the loud music playing from the speakers laughed along with him. Max decided to ignore it entirely, her face blank and expressionless. She didn’t have time for stupid sexist jokes.
Time, time, time…the time was…after midnight? Shit. According to her phone, still vibrating with a pending phone call, it was almost three o’clock in the morning. As in, a whole three hours after when she said she’d be back.
“My girlfriend is calling, sorry, I’ll be right back.” Max maneuvered her way past the cluttered rows of filled chairs and curious faces, and stumbled her way out the door and onto the dark, humid streets. “Uh, hello?”
“…Max?”
“Yeah, I’m, uh. I’m on my way.”
She heard a shuffle on the other end, Chloe’s voice gravely and low like she’d just woken up. “Fuck, dude. What happened?”
“Nothing, I was…was just talking. Got caught up.” Max pulled the phone away from her face so she could open an app to call a ride home, then drunkenly realized she couldn’t hear whatever Chloe had said on the other end. “Sorry! What’d you say? Sorry.”
“I asked if you got what you came for?”
Max hastily clicked the confirm button, seeing an ETA of about 10 minutes before her driver would be there.
“Max?”
“Uh, right! Sorry, ride ordered, you have my full attention now.” She shoved the phone harder against her ear, like doing so meant she’d be able to hold Chloe closer to her.
“Ride ordered?” Chloe snapped. “I thought you said you were on the way?”
“I am,” Max added. She gestured with an arm before realizing that Chloe wasn’t actually there and she just looked like a fool. “Like, I’ve left the building. Hence…my way is on.”
“But you’re not on the way.”
“Well, no, if you wanna be real particular about it.” Max huffed out a sigh. The back of her head had started to hurt the moment the brisk outside air had washed over her. “I can’t exactly walk back from here, can I?”
“Whoa. Okay, attitude.”
She shut her eyes for a moment, dragging a hand through her hair to keep it still from the softly blowing wind. “Sorry. Drunk.”
“Wait, drunk? I thought you were there for strictly detective business?”
“Yeah, I am. Was. But I may have…had a couple. Or a few?” Why did it feel like she was justifying herself to her parents all over again?
Chloe was silent for a tense moment before she finally muttered, “Alright. Get back safe.”
Max lingered with the phone pressed to her cheek long after the call went dead, until eventually a black sedan pulled up to the curb next to her. With a final glance through the window to see the others still talking without her, Max collapsed into the backseat.
Her cheeks were flushed from the alcohol, her headache having progressed to her temples as it battled against her exhaustion and intoxication both. Thankfully, the driver didn’t so much as glance away from the road, only pausing briefly to check the directions on the glaringly bright phone that was adhered to the dash.
Only a minute passed before her phone buzzed again, and Max reflexively found herself growing irritated. Venom poised at the tip of her tongue, she jerked the phone from her pocket and blearily discovered that it wasn’t another call, it was a text from Brandon that read: Where did you go? Next round of shots is here!! <3
She clicked the phone off, finding safety in the plain black screen displaying a faint reflection of herself. They weren’t important. And it wasn’t like it was the first time she’d left somewhere without saying goodbye. Leaving people behind was her superpower. Right?
Max’s clothes felt itchy and tight even as she picked at them, uncomfortably shifting against the seat belt in hopes of finding a relief that didn’t exist. She barely recognized herself in the rear view mirror and looked away quickly before the nauseating sense of disassociation became too large for her to withstand. Max needed graphic tees and too large hoodies, not fancy blouses or ironed dress shirts.
Eventually, she pressed the side of her head against the cool touch of the window, watching the city lights blur by in incomprehensible waves. Like a rave. A silent rave. Chloe would’ve liked that.
Chloe. God.
It wasn’t like there was a wall between them, not really. She was her best fucking friend, the only person in the world who really knew Max, the only one who she’d go to hell and back for. But they weren’t kids anymore. They weren’t even aimless 20-something nobodies still trying to find their place in the world. Max had her future lined out for her, and Chloe had her own. It was painful to remember that not every moment between them would be smooth sailing — that there would always be conversations that led in two different direction, two different perspectives.
Once, she thought it would be easy to spend her life with Chloe at her side. They just got each other in a way that nobody else ever could. But reality wasn’t always as perfect as she wanted it to be.
Growing up with Chloe had been the greatest honor of her life, but it was still just that — growing up. And sometimes, no matter how hard you tried, the paths you once thought would always be parallel would take an unexpected turn. In times like that, what mattered more than anything was the choice to keep going back, the choice to keep picking each other, the choice to see each other for who they were.
She wouldn’t ever tell Chloe those fears, of course. Max knew that the hypothetical distance between them was just her own dumb, irrational anxiety. They loved each other. They were good — better than good. Max had a ring, waiting in her bag, ready for that perfect moment, for god’s sake. She wasn’t going anywhere. Neither of them were.
Everything was fine.
But another part of her, one hidden deep down, buried inside her chest, felt the start of something different. An unwanted wedge, firmly struck into the ground between them. She didn’t want it to be like that — she didn’t even want to bother with it. At the end of the day, the only thing Max truly wanted was Chloe.
So what that some group of talented artists wanted to be her friend? So what that day-by-day she saw her follower count grow, saw her schedule get booked farther and farther out into the year? If Chloe wasn’t there with her, everything else could fuck off and die for all she cared.
The hotel room was cold and dark by the time she got back, and Max unfortunately hadn’t sobered.
April, 2018
Max was dreaming, and the room was dim.
A clock ticked loudly in front of her, round and distorted. Spirals covered the walls, covered the floors, swirling and dancing as they laughed in her direction like it was some twisted cartoon come to life.
Her vision blurred back into focus at the same moment she realized there was a painful twinge in her neck. She tried lifting a hand to rub at it, but the limb wouldn’t move.
A metal clang sounded from where her arm had tensed, and Max looked down to see leather bindings firmly tied around her forearms, bolting her to a rusted metal chair.
Max was dreaming, but the fear itself was still real.
She panicked, tugging against the restraints with all her strength, but they didn’t budge an inch. Then she heard footsteps, one right after the other, and Max’s eyes shot up. Jefferson had found her, he’d captured her again, everything was over, the room was caving in, darkening, sinking, squeezing the air from her lungs, and she saw—
“Cash?”
He wore a navy suit, freshly dry-cleaned and ironed. The placid smile on his lips seemed frozen in time as he approached her, hands clasped behind his back like that very first time they’d met. He looked younger, somehow, though she could still see the gray that lined his temples.
“Maxine. How pleasant it is to meet like this.” He observed the walls around her with a critical eye, admiring the backdrop of white plastic sheets and hanging wires. “An interesting nightmare you’re having. Before I knew you — well, before I knew what had happened to you, I never would have imagined that a photographer’s worst fear would ever be a dark room. Isn’t a place like this supposed to be your domain?”
“It’s…not…” Max’s tongue felt thick, though she probably should’ve expected that. Her neck was sore, her limbs feeling heavy. Apparently, even in her dreams, she was still able to be drugged and poisoned.
“Hm? What’s that?” Cash leaned forward, a hand cupped around his ear mockingly. Then he chuckled, shrugging back to his typical lax posture. “Ah, my apologies. You’re never the most eloquent speaker in this state, I’ve noticed. Tell me. Do you remember the last conversation we had in this horrid place?”
Max wracked her brain for the answer. She’d seen Cash before. The-the art show. The beach. The…the mansion in…where was it again? Had they met in New York? When the sky was falling and the end of the world happened before her very eyes?
She remembered Chicago.
She remembered the sirens of an ambulance, the familiar dread that gripped her heart. She remembered rushing to the hospital…no, wait.
She didn’t remember any of it. None of those memories were real.
“Mm. Didn’t think you would.” Cash swept by her, prowling in circles around her chair like a calculating beast. “Shame. I’ve grown quite tired of explaining myself over and over and over again.”
“What do you…want…”
His laughter sounded from over her left shoulder, then her right. He made another lap around her, then trailed over to the large wooden desk that sat across the room.
“What do I want? You, Max. Or, to be more specific, I want what you can do.”
A cold chill filled the room, and he turned a dark eye at her. Then as quickly as it came, it vanished.
“Ah, but that’ll come later.” He plucked a scalpel from the desk and twirled it between his fingers. “You’re clearly not ready for that, and…neither am I. Some tests must be done first, to see if you’re the right fit. But, honestly.” He shook his head again like they were both in on some shared joke. “We both know you are. Right?” Cash pointed the scalpel at her, gesturing with it like he wanted her to take it from him.
Max flexed her hands, fingers balling into fists against the armrests. Still, her bindings did nothing more than rattle and clank. “Who…are you?”
He blinked at her like it was the stupidest question he’d ever heard. “What? Who am I?” Cash tossed his head back with a bark of laughter. “God, Max, you really have lost your mind! We must be getting closer to the end.”
He threw the scalpel to the side, not even sparing a glance in its direction, and it hit the wall with a thud, impaling through a white sheet and sticking into the brittle plaster. Then he prowled closer to her chair, the wolf finally pouncing on his prey, and Max struggled to suck down enough air to keep herself alive.
“Hmm.” Cash reached her at last, tilting his head curiously, his movements sharp and jilted. “When do you think you’ll break? A month? A year? What will it take?”
Max couldn’t say anything, couldn’t move her arms from where they were tied against the chair. She wasn’t strong. She never claimed to be strong. Right?
Cash leaned in closer, bracketing his arms at either side of the chair, pressing his palms to Max’s wrists with a flash of pain. When he smiled, his teeth were bared like an animal.
“I think I know just the thing,” he whispered. Then he ripped away from her, turning his back as he stalked to the other side of the room erratically, each step of his dress shoes sounding like thunder. “Chloe, Chloe, Chloe…” Cash clicked his tongue as he began flipping through a red photo album he’d plucked from the large desk.
Chloe…she knew Chloe. In her distorted haze, Chloe was all she really knew.
“Let…go of that…not yours,” she grit out.
He spared her only a single glance, brows risen. Then he shrugged and resumed his idle flipping of the pages. “You have a lot of pictures of her, Max. I knew you loved her, but…” He whistled and shook his head, then showed her one of the pictures with an aggressive tap.
It was Chloe, laying with an arm tossed behind her head on their bed in LA, Max’s own fading nail marks marring her shoulders and back. That picture…that picture was real. Private. For her eyes only, not something that Cash should use to violate her personal life.
Max jolted against her restraints at the sight of it, feeling fire lance through her muscles as they strained harder against the groaning leather. But Cash only chuckled at her frantic haste, then shut the album with a loud thunk.
“Typical,” he scoffed. “To get to the hero’s heart, I must first go after the girl.”
Max growled low in her throat. “I won’t…let you…”
“Oh?” Cash made an amused sound. “You’re going to stop me? Max, remember. This is all a dream. I’m not real. Besides…” He gestured to her weak form, her vision already fading to black. “You can’t even move, dear. And if we’re being entirely honest, you won’t remember we had this conversation at all. You never do.”
Max would do whatever was needed to get to Chloe, to protect her. She would walk through fire, crawl a mile over broken glass, stand in a field of lightning and wait for it to strike her down.
She bit down on the only thing she could — her tongue — teeth gnashing so hard that she soon tasted the iron tang of blood.
“Don’t…care…”
The room was quiet as Cash walked back over to her, lording over her slumped body even as she tried with all her might to summon enough strength to strike him. It was a dream, after all. Nothing she did would matter. She could even kill him. She should kill him.
“Max,” he said plainly. “Looks like our time here is up. But soon, I’ll get what I want. I always do.”
He snapped his fingers, and Max—
—woke up.
More awake than she’d ever been in her life, her chest heaved with great breaths as the bedroom illuminated in a flashing spark of color. A ringing filled her ears, like she’d been struck against the side of her head. And, god, the pounding headache behind her eyes definitely didn’t dissuade her from the idea that she had been hit.
Her fingers found the grasp of clean sheets beneath her, firmly fisting the linen to keep herself grounded. Across the room, Chloe stood beside the light switch, her hair sticking in a hundred directions as she groggily rubbed the sleep from her eyes.
“Ugh, why’d you want this on?” Chloe yawned as she padded back over to bed, already halfway done with shutting her eyes entirely.
“What?” Max choked out the question.
“Uh, the bright ass light? You just asked me to turn it on. ‘S not like I wanted to be blinded this early in the morning. Fuck, what time is it, anyway?” Chloe scrambled for her phone, clicking the lock button to brighten the screen. “Damn. Three-thirty-three. Isn’t that a bad number?”
“I didn’t…” Max almost denied what Chloe had said, but the disorienting pull back into reality still made things feel unclear. Maybe she had asked for the light to be turned on. And even if she hadn’t, she definitely didn’t want to return to the darkness.
“Whoa, Super-Max…Your face.” Chloe’s frown deepened. She touched a hand to Max’s shoulder. It was shaking. “What happened?”
The ringing sound grew louder, until it soon became a full roar, drowning out everything else. She shoved her hands over her ears, curling her body in on itself in hopes of ridding herself of the feeling — of the memory.
Her breathing was nothing more than labored panting, the echo of Cash’s terrible laughter still haunting her each time she shut her eyes.
Then the weight of Chloe’s hands touched against hers, and Max was pulled back into the light.
“Look at me,” Chloe said firmly. “What…what happened?”
The words didn’t come easy, almost like she still had whatever drug from the dark room coursing through her veins. How could she even explain what she’d seen? She could barely remember, could barely comprehend the conversation she’d shared with Cash.
“It’s…uh. Something…bad,” she answered after a pause. “Something bad is going to happen, I can feel it.”
“Something bad?” Chloe brushed a strand of hair away from Max’s cheek. “Max, what do you think is going to happen?”
She shook her head, feeling the pounding headache creep down towards the base of her neck. “I don’t…” I don’t know, she wanted to say, I don’t want to do this anymore. All that came out was a strangled, “Chloe, it…hurts.”
“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Chloe shushed and let Max’s hands fall back to her lap, then slid her fingers over the tension in Max’s shoulders. “Gonna go out on a limb here and guess that he showed up in your dreams again, huh?”
Voice failing her, Max only nodded.
Chloe breathed out a sigh. “Right. Well. He isn’t real, Max.”
She looked up at Chloe with a clearly confused expression. Her girlfriend waved her away.
“You know what I mean. Cash is real, sure, but that voice in your head isn’t.” She poked a firm finger against Max’s forehead for good measure.
Max relaxed her hands, forcing her fingers to spread flat on the sheets. A numbness ran through her wrists each time she moved them.
“He…he knows about me. About what I can do.”
Chloe pressed her forehead to Max’s shoulder, rubbing soothing circles against the small of her back. She always knew what to do on the nights Max woke up in a panic. And maybe it was guilt that trickled to her stomach — guilt that Chloe had to pick up the pieces of Max after every time she lost herself. Or maybe it was gratitude. Because Chloe knew her inside and out, she always knew what to say and where to touch her to get her back into her own head.
“It’s just a panic attack,” Chloe said softly. “Just a dream. Don’t listen to whatever that asshole said. Yeah?”
It took another minute before Max was strong enough to reply. With a croaking voice, she grit out, “Yeah. You’re right.”
Her tongue still throbbed with pain, and an iron tang lingered in her mouth. Blood. The blood had been real.
But he’s not just a voice, Max thought. It’s really him. And he’s going to use you to get to me.
May, 2018
As the days passed, so too did her sense of control. Just months ago, Max had thought she’d had it all figured out, thought that she knew exactly what she wanted in life. A job she loved, a way to make a difference in the world, a girlfriend (or, hopefully in the near future, fiancée) there at her side to support her. But was that really all life was? Surviving? Letting time pass? Waiting for the day Cash revealed his masterplan to royally fuck up everything good she had going on?
Quickly, it had all became too much to handle. She attended shows after shows after shows, attended events and galleries and parties for the most well-known artists across the country, and god was it tiring.
For the fourth time that year, they’d made their way to Austin, Texas. Home of the best Tex-Mex food and live music from all across the country. And, unfortunately, also home to intensely dry heatwaves that made her debate the pros and cons to cutting off all her hair and walking around without any clothes on.
Thankfully, the nights were rather cool, with the brisk wind and soft clouds drifting overhead. And there was always air conditioning, the true love of her life.
Max stood on the rooftop, leaning on the metal railing and looking out at the lights of the city below, too antsy to sit on the bench just a few feet to her right. It was probably the hottest city they’d ever visited, except for those in Arizona and Florida, and it was only May.
She didn’t want to think of how miserable it would be when summer actually started in full force. Not that they’d still be there by then; they’d only be in town for a few more days. Just long enough for Max to finish the current portfolio she was working on. At least, she hoped that it would only take a few more days.
Whenever she rushed herself, her work never came out right, always disjointed and missing that special spark.
In general, Max never did as well with her photography when it was something that was forced upon her. It was hard to fake passion, to fake interest, like she was trying to put together a puzzle as quickly as she could and had gotten all the way to the end before realizing not a single piece actually fit together correctly. All those struggles, all that wasted effort, just to ensure a deadline was met — even if the deadline was something she herself made — really put a damper on things. Her own expectations were funny that way.
But regardless, Max knew she did better work when it was her choice, not anyone else’s.
That evening, Chloe had dragged her out into the world in the way she did best — loudly, proudly, suddenly. While Max preferred to work in quiet spaces and the forgotten areas of the world, capturing scenes of peaceful isolation and calm silence, Chloe threw a wrench it all by pushing her to places she normally wouldn’t visit on her own. Though, where she usually took them to concerts or gross bars, Chloe had actually found a high-end, fancy restaurant who was hosting a themed party that night. It was a welcome change.
A socializing adventure, Chloe had called it. Or, really, it was just an excuse to act like they were rich.
Max’s only condition was that if she would be forced into wearing a dress (which, honestly, Chloe would never force her into anything), that Chloe would follow it up with nice clothes of her own. A black button-down dress shirt, matching slacks, and a deep red tie.
When she’d seen her outfit that morning, Max nearly had a heart attack then and there. Even if the tie clashed horribly with her hair — now cut back to shoulder length, green dye still on its way to a fading brown — it was cute.
She’d stepped away a few minutes after they finished their dinner, with Chloe watching her back to make sure nobody noticed as Max snuck up to the unmanned roof access. It was incredible how many private, restricted areas she could find her way into just by carrying herself with confidence and pretending that she belonged there. And Max was an expert at pretending she belonged.
More than a few photographs later, and Max retired her camera back into her bag for another day. She liked to think, in moments like that one, that she was the first and only person in existence who’d ever captured a picture of that particular scene. That whatever beauty in the world in that moment was unique and special, for if anyone else had seen it, it wouldn’t have been the same. It made it easier, to think that way. Positively melancholic. Just the way she liked it.
Soon, the heavy door to the roof squeaked open, but Max didn’t even flinch. She heard Chloe’s boots sounding on the concrete as she drew closer.
“How are you feeling?” Chloe asked. She leaned with her arms crossed on the railing next to Max, casually drawing a box of cigarettes from her jacket pocket.
“Better.”
Productivity was funny that way. When she wasn’t taking pictures, she wished she was. Yet when she was actively doing her job, she hated each and every imperfection of her work.
Max hoped that one day she could return to the mindset she’d had as a kid — that art was art no matter what, that it was impossible to screw up or ruin. But until then, she’d settle with chasing little victories. A solid picture, taken on the roof of a restaurant, overlooking a city her girlfriend had come to love. That was her favorite type of art. The type that you could see yourself in.
Max tucked a strand of hair behind Chloe’s ear, though she knew the wind would blow it back out of place soon anyway. Maybe she just wanted a reason to touch her. And like she’d summoned it just by thinking of it, a cold chill of wind blew by, and Max shivered.
Lighting up the cigarette dangling between her lips, Chloe shrugged off her jacket and draped it over Max’s shoulders, her hair freshly tousled from the wind.
“Wanna show me what you have so far?”
Max settled herself into the warmth of the jacket, touching a hand to the camera in her bag just to remind herself it was safe. “Nah, not yet. I want you to see the full gallery when it’s done.”
Chloe hummed in understanding, taking a drag from the cigarette and ashing it over the side of the building before returning it to her lips.
Max curled her nose at the action. “You know, that could probably land on someone down there. Some old guy with breathing problems.”
“I hope it does.” Chloe smirked, a trail of smoke curling around the fingers near her mouth. “Give him a nice silver-fox look with ashes all in his hair.”
“Or it’d set him on fire.”
“At least then he’d be hot,” Chloe countered. Then her brows knit together as she straightened, looking over at Max with a probing glance. “You seem tenser than usual. What gives? Did I forget to turn down the AC again last night?”
“Huh? No, I…I’m not tense.” I want to marry you so hard right now.
Chloe toyed with the tie around her neck, loosening it to reveal just a touch of pale skin that made Max lick at her dry lips. A new tattoo peeked out at the edge of her collar, black lines still vibrant and flesh slightly pink.
Watching as Chloe plucked the cigarette from her lips with two long fingers, maybe Max was tense.
“Yeah? You’re really fucking red, right here—” Chloe cupped a hand around Max’s cheek, drawing their faces together as she swiped a thumb down the line of her jaw. The air between them still smelled like smoke as Chloe flicked the cigarette nub over the edge.
“Hope that lands on someone too. God knows the people around here could lighten up with a cig every now and again.”
“I thought you liked Austin?”
“I do,” Chloe insisted. She gave a sideways grin, pulling Max in closer by her jacket sleeves. “I like tense, brooding people. I mean…cities.”
“Mm, sure.” Max leaned on the tips of her toes and pressed their lips together.
The thrill of being somewhere she shouldn’t be was only increased by also doing something she shouldn’t be. If anyone were to see them up there, tearing at each others clothes without any regard for the rest of the world, they’d be in a lot worse trouble than just trespassing. But Chloe’s tongue was hot against hers, her hands were scalding as they hiked Max’s dress up around her thighs, and that damned tie was a magnet for Max’s roaming hands.
She opened her mouth against Chloe’s, dragging a hand from collarbone to waist as she tugged the bottom of the shirt out of her waistband. A breathy sigh escaped Chloe’s throat, her own hands cupped at either side of Max’s cheeks.
“So you are tense,” Chloe exhaled with a chuckle. “Need some stress relief?”
“Yeah. Maybe.” Max ran a cold hand up the bottom of Chloe’s shirt, splaying out on the firm surface of her lower stomach as her girlfriend groaned against her lips.
“You’re a goddamn icicle, dude.”
“You like it.”
Chloe’s scoff choked off into a low hiss as a thumb made its way underneath her belt line. “Uh.” She let out a nervous laugh when Max kissed against the line of her jaw. “Someone could see us up here.”
“They could,” Max agreed.
With her free hand, she wrapped Chloe’s still attached tie around her fist, holding her captive from head to toe as her lips explored the grooves of Chloe’s throat.
“D-don’t tell me you’re into that?”
Max hummed. “I’m into you.” She placed the next kiss against Chloe’s pulse point, satisfied to feel it thundering beneath her touch. “Besides, we don’t know anyone here.”
Max had an idea. Something new. Something that had a good chance of sending her spiraling back down into another one of the panic attacks that seemed to follow her like a shadow. Or, just maybe, it would be something that would help her gain her sense of control back. If she took matters into her own hands, literally, and faced her fear the best way she knew how — with Chloe right there to lean on. Physically and emotionally.
She unraveled the tie from around Chloe’s neck, letting it hang loosely against her fingers as her hand joined the other at Chloe’s waist. When Max took a step forward, Chloe was forced backward, the backs of her legs now touching the edge of the bench, three stories high above the ground.
“Yeah, but—” Chloe stuttered to a halt, teeth clamping together when Max’s hands worked to unclasp her belt buckle. “But—people know you.”
Max forced herself to pull away, looking at Chloe with her lips parted and her hands still tugging at her belt. “I mean. We can stop, if that’s what you want. Or…you could sit down?”
Before Chloe could stumble out a reply one way or the other, Max lightly touched against the top of her shoulders, her intentions clear even without words. And Chloe made her way onto the bench, staring up at Max with adoration painted across her face.
“Why is there a bench up here, anyway?” Chloe asked. Her nervous anticipation was probably the cutest thing Max had ever witnessed.
“Sexcapades, obviously.”
Max lifted the bottom edge of her dress, already wishing she’d worn something else just from a comfortability standpoint, but she put a knee on the bench next to Chloe anyway, her face lighting up at the attention. Even if she wasn’t the most confident when she wasn’t in soft cotton and warm hoodies, Chloe’s roaming gaze never failed to light a spark deep inside her.
Outside of the fact that they were both still very much within eyesight of the door to the roof, she didn’t think anyone wandering the streets would be able to see them. And with the large ‘do not exit’ sign slapped on the other side of the door, the chances of someone walking in on them was so slim she couldn’t find it in herself to worry or care.
Knees bumping against Chloe’s, Max hesitantly grabbed hold of her girlfriend’s hands. A familiar flash of intrigue passed over Chloe’s expression, her eyes wide and wild as she went along with Max’s movement to press them behind her back. There, Max touched the necktie to Chloe’s wrists, pausing just long enough to think about what she was getting ready to do.
“Do you trust me?” Max asked.
“With my fucking life.” Chloe didn’t even hesitate, like it hadn’t even been a question at all.
Fueled by her encouragement, Max began gently tying the fabric around Chloe’s wrists to bind them together.
“Okay. Stay still,” Max directed.
It wasn’t perfect or even remotely secure, but it would serve its purpose. It was the thought that counted. And, fuck, Max was thinking — her mind racing with all the shameful ideas she’d never voice out loud.
“Aye, aye, captain—”
The words were swallowed by Max’s mouth knocking against hers. Chloe strained against the tie by reflex, nearly coming free from it entirely before they both laughed into each other.
Once it was tightened again, Max ran her hands up Chloe’s arms and across her collarbone, careful to avoid the fresh tattoo and fading bite marks at the side of her neck.
She swung a leg over Chloe’s waist, straddling her lap just to give herself the leverage of pressing closer, closer, closer. She could feel the tense muscles of Chloe’s arms as she fought to obey Max’s directions and keep her eager hands behind her back, entire body rigid as Max languidly explored with her fingers and tongue.
Chloe was hers. No one else’s. She was at Max’s mercy, her eyes hooded and mouth open, shirt just barely unbuttoned and belt hanging loose around her waist. And as much as Max feared having her own body restrained, and as often as she was forcibly dragged back into reliving the nightmare of Jefferson’s bunker, she felt a surging pride rise in her chest at the sight of Chloe willing and eager beneath her.
Even though Chloe was her weakness, she would still always be her strength.
One part of her couldn’t stop thinking about the bulge pressing against the front of Chloe’s pants, and of all the ways Max could touch and tease at her until Chloe inevitably snapped and took Max hard and fast. The other part of Max was worried about the way her fingers had started to shake after she’d finished tying the fabric around Chloe’s wrists — worried that she would find herself in the midst of another panic attack, or worse, a surreal, nightmarish vision of Cash.
Chloe nuzzled against Max’s throat, breathing hard as she strained forward. “You okay? Is this okay? I know how you are with…this sort of stuff.”
“Yes, dork.” Max chuckled, settling herself more comfortably on Chloe’s lap. She shrugged out of Chloe’s jacket, letting it fall to the side of the bench. “I’m fine. More than fine. Are you?”
Chloe paused her mouth’s trek down the exposed skin at Max’s chest, pulling back so she could look into her eyes instead. She shrugged, still keeping her arms where they couldn’t reach Max. “A hot chick grinding on my lap? Duh, I couldn’t be more—”
Max rocked her hips forward — and that was all it took for her to snap back to the present moment, to forget everything other than the feeling of Chloe panting with restraint as Max rolled her dress up another inch.
She was in control, she could do this. She wanted this, wanted to be made whole again.
Chloe groaned, her forehead knocking against Max’s shoulder. “Fuck. Can I touch you? Please?” Her arm twitched like she was getting ready to move it, so Max latched onto her bicep to keep it in place.
“N-not yet,” she insisted. They’d just started, she couldn’t give in yet. “I want you like this. Um. If that’s…”
Max hated the feeling of her face flushing, but her body was electrified as if she stood at the precipice of letting go. And maybe that’s really what she needed, after months of her own internal torture and insecurities. To let go.
“Yeah, Max. Goddamn.” Chloe huffed, her hips bucking up just slightly out of habit, desperate for Max to keep going, to use her, to make herself feel good.
Max’s mouth went dry, her thoughts growing hazy as all her blood rushed elsewhere. The way Chloe moved like she knew exactly what Max needed, the way she talked like she knew exactly what Max wanted to hear, it all swarmed around her until the only thing she could breathe was Chloe, the only thing she could think about was Chloe.
“Chloe…”
Max pressed herself down, feeling the firm bulge of the packer touch against her, their skin separated by just a few thin layers of clothing. Chloe didn’t wear it that often, only on days (or, mostly nights) when one of them were feeling up to it.
She braced her hands on Chloe’s shoulders, using the solidness of her body for leverage as her hips moved of their own accord. Max found herself bucking forward each time she felt Chloe’s muscles tense, each time her thighs flexed against Max’s weight atop her.
It started as controlled movement, really just a way to test Chloe’s limits for when she’d give in and pull her hands free. But she never did. Instead, Chloe kept her jaw firmly clenched as her neck bent backward to watch as Max continued grinding down into her.
Shifting to a better position, Max’s fingers slid up the side’s of Chloe’s neck, holding her in place as she roughly captured her lips. The next time she pressed down, she broke away with a muffled cry, holding herself poised there with weak limbs.
“Is that good, baby?” Chloe whispered, lips brushing against hers with every word.
Max rocked once more, then twice, then whimpered as the friction between them reached a higher level. Her damp underwear, now fully exposed after her dress had gotten bunched around her waist, touched against the barely-unzipped pants Chloe wore. Before she let herself get too lost, Max reached a hand down to tug the them out of the way just enough to reveal the strained black boxers underneath.
Chloe mouthed against Max’s collarbone, leaving a trail of quickly fading marks down the center of her chest. She nudged one thin sleeve of the dress away with her nose until it fell down Max’s shoulder, gifting her with more skin available within reach.
“That’s cheating,” Max grit out, resuming her slow, languid movement against Chloe’s lap. The moment the words left her mouth, she jolted forward, nails digging into skin as Chloe’s lips wrapped around her nipple through the fabric of the dress. “Fuck— N-no touching.”
“Mm, you said to stay still. I am still.” Chloe nipped again and Max felt teeth tease against the sensitive peak.
She collapsed down, her body shaking as the packer dragged against her clit at just the right angle. And Chloe was right, she wasn’t moving, not even a little bit. She kept her thighs tense, kept her body rigid as Max used her for her own pleasure. Just the thought of what she was doing, what Chloe was allowing, was enough for Max to feel herself growing slick with a new rush of wetness.
The next time she thrust downwards, something inside her snapped, and she left behind all sense of shame. Max groaned, mouth only inches away from Chloe’s jaw as she held tight to her shoulders. Her body moved in a rhythm that matched their shared breaths, frantic and heavy, each drag of her clit against the hard surface bringing her that much closer to the edge.
“Max, please,” Chloe pleaded with a low voice, her teeth clenched together in failing restraint. “Please let me touch you, you’re so fuckin’ pretty like this…”
She pawed at Chloe’s clothed shoulders, desperate for a release that was mere seconds away but still danced around her like it didn’t want to be found, because she didn’t want the moment to be over. If Chloe’s hands were to find her then, she’d surely come apart in an instant. And she couldn’t handle falling to pieces that quickly, not when Chloe looked so good begging for her approval, not when she felt so hard and eager under Max’s desperate movements.
“Fuck, I want you—I need you,” Chloe continued, flexing beneath her weight and coaxing out another broken moan. “Go harder, Max. Be good for me. Make yourself come all over my dick.”
Shit. That was all it took. Her walls clenched around nothing as a pulsing flutter started deep within her core. She collapsed onto Chloe, her thighs tensing with the force of the sudden orgasm, just barely holding back from crying out as she nuzzled her face into the side of Chloe’s neck.
Her underwear were thoroughly soaked, or maybe they’d already been that way since the start of the night when Chloe had teased her in the car ride over, then again underneath the table where no one could see.
She could feel the slick fabric slide against Chloe’s boxers, could see the dark patch from where she’d spread herself all over her lap. It should’ve made her blush, but it didn’t. That was the way she liked Chloe best — wearing her arousal like a badge of honor, seeking Max’s approval like she was starving.
Chloe arched forward, crashing their lips together and sucking a bite to Max’s bottom lip before they separated. Her cheeks were red, pupils dilated as she licked a stripe of sweat from Max’s throat.
“So goddamn beautiful,” Chloe groaned, shifting her arms where they were tied still behind her back. “Can I—”
Max nodded frantically, mouth still hanging open as she struggled to get enough air. Even coming down from her high, she needed more — Chloe’s hands filling her, her mouth trailing her body in worship, those quiet words whispered into her ear.
In as much time as it took for Chloe to free her hands, she clasped hold beneath Max’s thighs and lifted her to the air, and when Max was set back down to the ground, she was spun around to where she was braced against the railing of the roof and looking down at the city skyline.
She could hear Chloe’s low voice behind her as she gingerly trailed fingertips up Max’s hips and inched toward where the dress sleeve had been pushed down her shoulder.
“Gonna tear this off you later tonight,” Chloe promised as her hands made the gentle path of returning the sleeve to its proper spot.
She kissed the back of Max’s neck, letting out a soft laugh at the pathetic noise that escaped her, and slowly, so slowly that Max couldn’t be sure she was even doing it, Chloe started tugging the zipper down the length of her back.
Each new inch of skin that was revealed to the open air had the rough press of lips touch against it, until the zipper reached the end of the line at the small of her back. Chloe paused, hands still firm at her hips as she pressed her forehead between Max’s shoulder blades.
“Tear it off now,” Max asked, voice still raw and needy. Her hips shifted backward, searching for the hard surface she knew she’d find, waiting for the answering groan that awaited her from Chloe’s lips.
Chloe’s fingers dug into the bunched up fabric around Max’s thighs, then she reached beneath it all and tore at the lace lining of her underwear, ripping them down until Max stumbled and stepped out of the soaked fabric.
Max clutched against the railing, squeezing at the bar until her knuckles turned white and her arms began to shake, until Chloe’s teeth found the side of her neck and her hands slipped between her thighs.
“Jesus,” Chloe said with a sigh. “That really got you going, huh?”
“Stop teasing.” Max shifted again, her legs barely wide enough apart for Chloe’s fingers to find the room to slip through her folds.
Chloe stroked against her once, teasing just enough to gather wetness and spread her open with two broad fingers. The pad of her middle finger circled against her clit, pressing with rough intention. The welcome pressure of it jolted through her like a strike of lightning and Max’s arms buckled as she whined low in her throat.
“Fuck, please just—” Max let out a strangled cry as Chloe’s fingers curled down to her entrance, slipping in to the first knuckle with ease.
She bucked against Chloe’s fingers, trying to press them in another inch, wanting to feel them so deep that her palm would grind against Max’s clit with every stroke. But Chloe held back, running her fingertips up and down Max’s spread, swollen lips until she wished that she could come just from the frustrating lack of gratification.
“Please what, Max?”
Chloe’s free hand trailed from hip to chest like Max was something soft, something sweet, something she needed to protect, where her palm then connected with the peak of Max’s breast and the fingers between her legs threatened to pull away.
Max couldn’t stop the breathless moan from gracing the air between them, so she turned her head to the side in hopes of finding Chloe’s over her shoulder. Their lips met like magnets, like it would take some force of nature to tear them away from each other, all teeth and tongue and a building, fiery passion raging inside them both. Max reached a hand behind Chloe’s head, holding her closer as she wiggled her hips back and forth against the front of her bulging pants, encouraging her to keep going, to give her move.
“P-please let me come,” she whimpered.
She’d barely finished the sentence before Chloe thrust two fingers inside, palm striking her clit the moment she curled them deeper. A moan tore its way from Max’s throat and her hands fell back to the railing, clutching at it like it was the only thing keeping her upright — and maybe it was, since Chloe was certainly doing everything she could to bring Max to her knees.
Chloe moved at a relentless pace, all the pent-up desire from having Max grinding on her lap now freed from its restraints. She made up for the lost time in the form of harsh, swirling strokes against Max’s inner walls as her own body jolted forward to grind at the swell of Max’s ass.
“Oh, f-fuck—”
The hand on Max’s breast shifted under the top of her dress, where skin met skin and Chloe’s calloused fingers could finally tug softly at her nipple — and the blinding flash of another orgasm raced to meet her, overwhelmingly and unexpectedly fast.
“Come for me, pretty girl.”
Chloe’s breath was hot against her neck, with lips roaming her sweat slicked skin when Max clenched hard against the fingers inside her, feeling herself flutter and pulse as she crashed over the edge. Through it all, Chloe’s hand pumped at a steady rhythm, waiting for the last jerks of Max’s body to still before she slowed her movements to a stop.
The hitched gasp that had been caught in her lungs finally released just as Chloe pulled her fingers free, where she then adjusted Max’s dress back down to a modest position. It had been fast and dirty and yet there was still a deep, dark desire festering in the pit of her stomach — a raw hunger that ached and demanded more.
Still shaking and unable to move, Max waited for a soft kiss to be pressed at the back of her neck before she quietly mumbled, “Take me home, now.”
“Fucking finally,” Chloe said, grabbing her jacket and leading Max by the hand.
The hotel wasn’t far, just a ten-minute, sexually charged walk down the nearly empty streets as the night grew darker and they both avoided making eye-contact with any of the stoners who were still out at that hour.
The dress Max had worn hadn’t made it more than a few feet into the hotel room before Chloe made good on her promise and lifted it over her head, tossing it to some forgotten corner where it was soon joined by Chloe’s jacket and pants. But it wasn’t until they both fell against each other on the soft sheets that they realized their mistake.
Max shoved a hand in the center of Chloe’s chest as their lips disconnected, her shirt fully unbuttoned but still clinging to her shoulders right where Max wanted her nails to be.
“Wait, wait,” she panted, head spinning. “Your tie—?”
Chloe’s eyes widened, the haze of lust that clouded them fading slightly in favor of a surprised look. “Oh, shit. Your—”
Max covered her face with a hand as a red flush crept up her cheeks. “My fucking underwear are on the roof.”
Chloe stifled herself for a good few seconds before she burst into laughter, her knees poised between Max’s thighs where she hovered over her.
“Stop laughing!” Max demanded, but she too had a smile quirking at the corner of her mouth. “It’s not funny, what if someone finds them?!”
Chloe lifted her head from where it had fallen onto the pillow next to Max’s head, staring at her with a devastating smirk and an annoyingly pleased expression.
“I knew something was missing,” Chloe replied. “You have to admit, it’s fucking funny, dude. Whatever poor security guard or janitor that finds his way up there is going to think about your panties for the rest of his life. I wonder if he’ll try to sell them or—”
“Chloe, stop!”
But she only laughed harder, hands digging grooves in the side of Max’s hips as she swiped a thumb across her bare stomach.
“Okay, okay, just kidding.” Chloe’s laughter died off, but that damn grin remained, and Max narrowed her eyes. Chloe shrugged in defense. “I am kidding! Obviously he’s not going to sell them, he’s gonna wear them—”
“Chloe, I will put my clothes back on right now if you don’t—ah, fuck—” Her voice broke off in a sharp sigh as Chloe touched the length of her fingers against Max’s core, circling twice before ending the sudden movement with a light press at her entrance, where she frustratingly paused.
“If I don’t what?” Chloe cocked her head in mock confusion, eyes flickering down the length of Max’s body.
Max blinked her eyes back open, glaring at Chloe with a pout. “If you don’t stop.”
“Oh?” Chloe pulled her hands away, shit-eating grin on her face as she leaned back on her thighs to leave Max laying cold on the bed. “You want me to stop?”
Max made a pathetic noise of frustration as she wrapped her legs around Chloe’s waist before she could pull away too far. “You know that’s not what I meant.”
Chloe bit her lip, dragging a hand through her hair as a casual air of confidence dripped from every pore of her body. “Tell me what you meant, then.”
“I…” Max stared at her blankly, admiring the curve of her chest where it lay hidden beneath the opened shirt, admiring the toned length of her arms, admiring the way her hands idly rubbed against Max’s thighs. “I don’t remember what we were talking about. But I need you to take this off.” She tugged at the corner of Chloe’s shirt, giving her what she hoped was an innocent-enough smile before her hands wandered to the front of her boxers. “And…maybe switch this out for something more practical?”
Chloe made some sarcastic comment as she slid off the bed, shrugging out of her shirt and tossing it to join the rest of their clothes. Only a minute later and she returned to the foot of the bed, having shed the rest of her clothing and now sporting a new appendage that was definitely a welcome change of pace.
There, Max perched on her knees and leaned up to kiss a line down Chloe’s collar and across her chest, her hands scratching lines in the back of her shoulder blades until Chloe was panting where she stood, fingers threaded in Max’s hair with gentle pressure — always so gentle.
When she tugged Max away from a bruise she’d sucked to the side of her breast, her eyes were dark and desperate, filled with a primal need that Max knew like the back of her own hand. Without words, she pushed Max lightly until she was laying back down on the bed, fighting back her own eager anticipation.
But the kiss Max expected never came. Instead, Chloe sank to the floor in front of her, and Max felt a bite on the inside of her thigh. The touch of teeth against skin sent a sharp ricochet down her spine. A strangled noise left her throat, but she pushed herself up onto her elbows to get a better look at what Chloe was doing.
Fingers traced idly at the tattoo on Max’s thigh, and Chloe gave her a wink. “What? Can’t skip right to the main show, I need my appetizer first.” She licked a stripe across the crease of her thigh as Max scoffed and tried to ignore how good the attention felt.
“Earlier wasn’t enough for you?” she asked. “I seem to recall that we’re on round three of this five course meal already.”
“Ha, good joke, Max.” Chloe laughed once, then sobered. “But we’re not stopping at five.”
Chloe’s lips and tongue wandered down until she grazed against the sensitive wetness that greeted her. She spread her folds apart with two fingers, eyes raking over the swollen flesh before she lapped gently at the remnants of Max’s arousal from earlier.
Max flushed beneath the heated stare, her legs attempting to close on reflex, but Chloe just settled them on top of her shoulders before her tongue traveled from entrance to clit in one broad stroke. And then Max thought of nothing, entirely incapable of stringing any coherent words together.
Stars danced across her eyes as she found herself staring at the ceiling, her arms no longer able to support her weight. A hand had made its way to Chloe’s hair, clenching a tight fist as Max steered her where she needed her most, each lap of Chloe’s tongue making her legs shake and stomach flutter.
“God, you’re — you’re gonna kill me,” Max grit out.
Heels dug into Chloe’s back, spurring her on as the flat of her tongue wrote poetry between Max’s legs, her nose and chin soaked in as much time as it took for Max to cry out again.
And maybe it was because she’d already been plenty warmed up earlier that night, but the familiar tug of her release soared to the forefront of her mind, crashing over her with a sudden wave of arousal that Chloe was quick to lap up, humming against Max’s clit before curling her tongue at her entrance, just to feel the last of the shivering pulses.
Catching her breath, Max felt her limbs relax and fall limp against Chloe, and then the pressure of Chloe’s hands grabbed hold at the backs of her legs, tugging her farther down the bed as she leaned over Max’s still recovering body, wiping at the edge of her mouth with the flat of her hand.
“Max,” she whispered, lips grazing against hers, nudging Max backwards until they were both spread flat atop the sheets.
“Yeah?” Max asked. She could taste herself on Chloe’s tongue, the thought of it only encouraging her onward.
Chloe kissed the freckles on her shoulder, then the hollow of her throat, hitching Max’s legs up over her hips. And when she lowered herself down, skin touching against skin, the hard shaft attached between her legs slid against Max’s already too sensitive clit.
“It’s a good thing I can’t actually knock you up,” Chloe said, hands trailing against every inch of skin they could reach, drawing them closer together as their sweat mingled with each touch. “Because I swear to god, I’m gonna give it my best shot tonight.”
“Chloe,” Max panted, reaching down to notch the tip of the strap against her entrance. “Please just — fill me.”
One hand clasped at the back of Max’s knee, where Chloe arched her upwards for a better angle as she pressed in, slow and methodical as each inch stretched farther inside. Chloe’s other hand braced against the bed beside their bodies, their faces close enough to find each other’s lips and share the same labored breaths as she bottomed out.
“Hands up,” Chloe said.
A whine escaped Max’s throat, her lips pressed tight against Chloe’s jaw to keep herself still as she adjusted to the size of the new entry. Her brain was sluggish and slow, delayed in processing whatever it was that Chloe had just told her.
“Huh—what?”
“Put your hands above you, on the pillow,” Chloe continued. She brushed a strand of hair away from Max’s eyes, her thumb lingering on her cheek with a gentle pressure. Her eyes were so dark, so blue, Max found herself lost in the depths of them. “My turn. You trust me?”
Max’s arms listened before her mind had caught up with the conversation, and soon her wrists were clasped together with one of Chloe’s warm, strong hands pinning her down.
For a second, Max panicked at the unguarded state, a flash of fear reflecting in her eyes. But Chloe paused, keeping her lower body still as she touched light kisses across Max’s cheeks and jaw.
“You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
Max flexed her wrists, feeling the slight give of pressure that told her that Chloe wasn’t forcing her there. She could escape, if she wanted to. She may have been restrained, but it wasn’t permanent — it wasn’t forced. The power was still hers. Max was in control of herself, in control of Chloe, the woman who loved her, who held her tight and fucked her into the mattress every time she needed it.
And that night, with Chloe pressed against the deepest part inside her, Max certainly needed it.
“Want me to stop?” Chloe asked, her voice a heady rasp.
“No,” Max answered quickly. She clenched around the toy when she maneuvered her legs around Chloe’s waist, drawing her in deeper until there was nothing separating them, her heels touching the backs of Chloe’s thighs. “Keep going. Please.”
Chloe’s jaw pulsed as she pulled out, slower than time itself, until just the tip remained notched inside. Her hand squeezed tight against Max’s wrists, bangs falling over her dark eyes and heated gaze. The sight of her was nothing short of divine. Then Chloe rolled her hips, setting off in a harsh pace that left Max sinking into the sheets with a choked out gasp.
Immediately, Max stiffened against where Chloe’s hand tightened around her wrists, her back arching into the deep throb of her core. She wasn’t used to the feeling of vulnerability that came with having her hands shoved out of the way, and yet…it wasn’t bad. If anything, she felt herself falling further into the submissive nature of it all, opening herself for Chloe to take charge and ruin her.
“Tell me you—”
“I love you,” Chloe whined. “Fuck, I love you.” She bucked against Max, her free hand kneading against Max’s hip as she continued the rough strokes.
Max couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything other than arch her hips up to join against Chloe’s, couldn’t do anything other than let herself be swept away in the storm. Eventually, the strain on her wrists became too much, and a staggered groan spilled from her throat.
“Chloe, it—”
Another sharp snap forward cut off whatever Max had planned on saying, but Chloe still slackened her grip just enough for Max to break free, keeping her hand above them both so she could hold her weight up.
With her new freedom, a rush of gratification found Max, and she took the opportunity to wrap her arms around Chloe’s back, a hand threading in her hair to shove her down towards Max’s chest.
Not needing any other encouragement, Chloe’s lips wrapped around her nipple, swirling a hot tongue across the hardened peak until fingers sank into her scalp and she moaned against the heated flesh.
Max writhed when she felt teeth nip at her skin. The same moment, Chloe’s hand moved to clutch at the top of Max’s shoulders, using the angle to plunge deeper.
“Oh, shit, there— right there—!” Max’s legs tightened around Chloe’s waist, the thick strap still splitting her open as she kept begging for more.
The orgasm hit her all at once, propelling her into a spiral that she was helpless to avoid. She’d never been that wet, never felt that depraved in the heat of the moment. She couldn’t suck down enough air to breathe, couldn’t stop herself from falling past the point of no return, not until Chloe’s lips found her own and breathed her back to life.
For a second, Chloe slowed. Her muscles were tense and her skin was damp beneath Max’s wandering hands, and the way they fit together was closest thing to perfection that she had ever felt.
She trailed her fingers up and down the length of Chloe’s body, capturing her lips in a bruising kiss, swallowing the pathetic moans that fell from Chloe’s throat as she rocked forward gently.
“Max, I—” Chloe shifted again, the strap still pressed to the hilt inside Max. “Please, I want to—”
She scratched her nails deep into Chloe’s lower back, wanting the sharp sting of pain to spur her on as Max quivered around the rigid length of her.
“Harder,” Max said with a whine. “Fuck me harder.”
And her plan worked — Chloe hissed and bucked against her, losing herself to her own pleasure. Her walls fluttered with an aching stretch, her thighs soaked from their shared arousal. Each snap of Chloe’s hips ended with a slick sound filling the air.
Chloe choked out a low groan, moving her hand to splay against Max’s lower stomach instead. Her thumb swiped downwards, dancing across Max’s clit with satisfying pressure.
“Ah, fuck, Max—” Chloe’s eyes were shut tightly in concentration, face twisted with pleasure as she gave another hard thrust, hips pumping wildly as she dragged another desperate moan from Max. “God, you feel so fucking good, so perfect…”
Already feeling the tightening within her core, Max knew it would only take a few more frantic thrusts before she crested over the edge, again.
“Come for me,” she pleaded, echoing the words Chloe had said to her earlier, needing to feel as she fell apart inside her. Then she was coming, walls struggling to fully clench around the thick weight of the strap, still overly sensitive from her last orgasm just a few minutes before.
Chloe followed only seconds behind her, arms moving to circle around Max’s waist to keep herself pressed as deep as she could go, hips jerking in soft pulses as she whimpered out the last of her whispered curses.
They stayed there for what felt like hours, Chloe languid and relaxed as she nuzzled her face into Max’s throat, still seated firmly inside her. Not that Max minded. Sure, she’d be sore in the morning, but they’d crossed that threshold a long time ago, when a dull ache had presented itself somewhere after the first few orgasms. Now, Max was too far gone to care.
She almost flinched when she felt Chloe nip at the side of her jaw, a hand pressing against her hips with an intention that Max was too groggy to pick up on.
“Roll over,” Chloe said, but it wasn’t a question.
Max’s heart skipped a beat at the raw tone in Chloe’s voice, but her body obeyed, and she shifted as far as she could onto her side before her limbs gave out. Chloe kissed her one last time, open-mouthed and messy with a firm hand on her chin to keep Max complacent beneath her — not that it would’ve taken much convincing anyway; Max would’ve done absolutely anything Chloe asked of her.
“Go on, I’m not done with you yet,” Chloe continued. “Get on your knees.” There was a quiet pause, where a smile tugged at Max’s lips and Chloe gave a bashful look in answer. “Uh, please?”
“I don’t…think I can move,” Max answered honestly.
“That’s fine. I’ll hold you.”
Chloe lifted beneath Max’s thighs, turning her over until her face pressed into the pillow and her knees dug into the sheets. There, Chloe dragged a broad hand down the center of Max’s spine, a shiver wracking through her when she ended with a firm hold against her raised hips.
“Is this okay?” Chloe asked. “Or did you want to—?”
Max swayed, pressing herself into Chloe until the strap slid through her swollen folds. She peered over her shoulder, a hand clasping against Chloe’s where it rested on her hip.
“I’ll—I’ll take that as a yes,” Chloe stammered.
“Yes, Chloe,” Max panted.
Her thighs were molten hot, her skin a mess of slick sweat and shared arousal — but Chloe still wanted more, still wanted to call Max beautiful, still wanted to share gasping breaths, still wanted her.
And Max just knew she could’ve spent the rest of her life in that bed, hoping that the morning sunlight wouldn’t crack through the window for another few hours.
December, 2018
Their year-long journey ended exactly where, in a way, it had once started — the streets of New York City, bold and tall and writhing with life. And Max had big plans. Big, scary, life-changing plans that, for once, didn’t have anything to do with photography or art grants or time travel investigations. For once, it was only about her.
The sapphire ring, freshly resized and comfortably nestled in a square box, practically burned a hole in her pocket. The entire evening, she kept feeling for it, touching against her pocket just to make sure it was still there in her coat. And it was. Except Chloe kept looking at her questioningly, eyes darting down to the pocket every time Max reached for it.
So she restrained herself, quickly coming up with terrible excuses, if only just to avoid suspicion, and to give herself a bit more time to figure out what the fuck she was getting ready to do.
According to her to-do list, she was ready. But, according to her wildly beating heart, empty thoughts, and sweating palms, it couldn’t have been further from the truth.
Max had no idea what she was doing. Sure, she’d thought about it before. Bring the ring to New York, plan a much-needed date night, get Chloe alone, then…something. After that, everything was blank — an empty canvas with unlimited potential. The possibilities were too wide, too infinite, for her to really nail down how exactly she was going to ask the big question that haunted her like a ghost. It had to be perfect.
Except Max wasn’t perfect. Life wasn’t perfect.
Even during a time period that, objectively, she should’ve considered to be the best phase of her life thus far hadn’t been perfect. She’d thought a lot about that part in all their months of traveling, during all the sleepless nights on the open road with nothing but Chloe’s soft voice, the darkened sky, and the flat horizon outside the window to keep her company in the van.
She was, surprisingly, actually proud of the work she’d accomplished that year. And even though her contract with Cash’s company was still active for a couple more weeks, Max had basically considered herself to be done.
She’d filled what felt like a hundred different albums and collections from all across the country, and even some others. But whoever had decided to fly to Mexico in the hottest part of the year definitely should’ve had their decision making ability taken away (even though Max was pretty sure it had been her idea). After getting their passports approved and mailed out, an entire new world of opportunities had presented itself to them.
They’d left the van in Arizona with David sometime in June, who had been all too happy to prove his worth as a dad and take care of their things while they were out of the country.
July had been their longest stretch of time without a vehicle of their own, something that had felt way too unexpectedly stressful. Max hadn’t been used to the feeling of not having her personal belongings within arms reach at all times — and she hated knowing that wherever she was, she was stuck there with no way of running away.
She hadn’t realized that she’d been relying so much on the idea that if shit got bad, Chloe could always drive them somewhere else. Like all Max’s fears, she hadn’t registered that it existed until it’d been forced in front of her. The nightmares certainly didn’t help, either.
Part of her had thought that being out of the country would mean the constant dreams of Cash would stop, that she would finally have some peace after putting miles and miles between them. But he followed her, even still, like a lurking shadow, waiting for his opportunity to strike. She’d gotten good at ignoring the dreams and how it felt to wake up in a panic every morning, sweating through her clothes.
When they’d returned to the States, David had met them in Phoenix to return the van and spend quality time with ‘his favorite daughter’ — meaning, Chloe had stepped away and Max had been faced with the uncomfortable reality of having to spend a good two hours with him on her own.
After a very brief, very uncomfortable (and hypocritical) grilling session about how she needed to treat Chloe right or else, Max had finally been able to broach the subject she’d been dreading since they touched down in Mexico.
She wasn’t traditional by any means, for a thousand obvious reasons, but she knew Chloe and David were the only family they both had left, so Max thought it was only right to include him in her plans — or, the start of her plans — even if she knew she’d never truly forgive him for his past actions. By that point, she really hadn’t done much actual planning at all, other than coming up with a short list of: 1. Talk to David, 2. Get the ring resized, and 3. Propose.
She hadn’t asked him for his permission, or whatever the dumb stereotype was, not wanting to play into the usual bullshit idea that women belonged to their fathers until otherwise stated — but she did give him a heads up. And he’d cried, profusely, leaving Max to stand by awkwardly until he was finished. After, he’d made her promise that she would never, ever tell Chloe that he cried, and she made him promise to not tell her about Max’s plan. It was a fair trade.
If only William and Joyce had been there too.
Max had made her peace with their absence, seeing them in her head like they were still real each time she tried to recall the sound of their voices or the way they looked at her. Chloe didn’t like talking about them much anymore, but Max knew her thoughts on the mater. They’d always hold a place in her heart, and in Max’s. Perhaps if fate had been kinder, one day they really could have been a family together. A true family.
She would’ve liked that more than anything.
But reality wasn’t as simple as dreams, nor was it as understanding. Max and Chloe had each other, but not much more. There was no backup plan, no support system for them to fall back on, no easy way out of a bad situation. It was Max, a ring in her pocket, and Chloe, an answer hidden in her chest.
Max wanted to hear it.
She wanted to hear the “Yes, I’m yours,” she wanted to run away to the courthouse, to elope, to walk along the beach, hand in hand, to plan their future. If only she could find the courage within herself.
Chloe walked ahead of her, swinging their hands together as they plotted their next destination. They’d already traveled to all the stops they wanted to hit, but the world was still ripe with the potential of exploration. And Max sure did love hearing the way Chloe’s voice sounded when she was excited about something.
The sky was dark, but the streetlights along the road were still as bright as daytime, a smattering of multi-colored lights present along the horizon where all the tall buildings teamed with activity.
Walking along the strangely quiet bridge, there was a certain air of peace that followed them. Like her destiny was stood right beside her, waiting for her to make that first move that would push her closer to the future she wanted.
Max slowed, her palms sweaty against Chloe’s as they grew closer to the halfway mark — the part of the road she promised herself she’d rip the band-aid off at. A ripple of fog drifted across the city in the distance, like the earth itself was blanketed in a layer of calm.
Chloe dropped her hand, letting space to come between them. “Wait, uh, just a second. Do you see that over there?” She pointed ahead of them and Max squinted, not really seeing anything unusual.
“See…what?”
Her voice was tight and hesitant, wavering just the same as her knees. Was Chloe trying to distract her? Could she tell how anxious Max was, how terrifying the city felt as it closed in around them?
A thousand memories replayed in her head — their first kiss, or the night they left Max’s parents in Seattle, or the time Chloe had smeared frosting all over Max’s nose when they were baking a cake for Will’s birthday, or the way Chloe’s hand felt wrapped in her own as they stood on the edge of the cliff, watching their hometown be ravaged to the ground.
Go on, Max, this is your chance. What are you waiting for?
Her chest felt tight, heart racing just as loudly as the cars that sped by. It wasn’t until she came to a complete stop that she realized Chloe was still paused somewhere behind her. But before she could pull the words from her jumbled brain, she felt Chloe’s fingers wrap around her wrist, and Max turned around.
Fuck.
“N-no,” Max stuttered. She couldn’t— it wasn’t supposed to—
Chloe, one knee firmly planted on the gray sidewalk, looked like she’d been slapped in the face.
“No?” she echoed. “What, I can’t even ask?” A nervous hand rubbed the back of her neck, playing it cool. “Way to let me down easy…”
“No! Not no, just—” Max pressed a fist to her lips, to keep from laughing or crying, she wasn’t sure. Maybe both. Probably both. She waved a hand towards Chloe. “Just keep going. Sorry.”
“Err, okay, where’d I…ah, there.” Chloe fumbled in her pocket, hands shaking with the same fear that Max felt jump into her throat. Then she pulled out a ring, a white metallic band with a diamond set at the center.
She cleared her throat and began talking, the words sounding unsure and blunt, like a kid who’d been called to read out loud in class when they weren’t prepared. “Max, I’ve…loved you since we were kids. I’ve loved you through everything. Every storm, every nightmare, every photograph. You make…” She very subtly squinted at her palm, where smudged ink could be seen. “…life worth living. I want to spend every day at your—oh, fuck it, I can’t read this shit anyway.”
Chloe grabbed Max’s hand again, turning it so her thumb pressed against the knuckle of Max’s ring finger. She looked up into her eyes, her own shining with the reflection of the moonlight. And the world came to a stop when she asked, “Will you marry me, or something?”
Max held the air in her lungs until it burned, until the ring in her own pocket threatened to tear a hole through her jacket and leap into the world, until she couldn’t withstand her own hesitation any longer.
“Or something?”
“You know what I mean.” Chloe’s lip poked out, her expression just as open and vulnerable as Max felt. “Don’t leave me hanging here.”
They were just kids, after all. Kids playing pretend, walking through life like they had all the answers, when really, they were just as clueless as they’d been at thirteen.
“Of course I’ll fucking marry you.”
Chloe slid the ring on her finger, silently cheering when it fit perfectly. Then she stood, sweeping Max into her arms and spinning them around.
“Holy shit.” Chloe kissed her. “Wow.” Another kiss followed, against her cheek, her eyelid, her jaw, her lips. “I can’t believe it.”
“You really thought I’d say no?”
“Nah, I knew you’d say yes.” Chloe grinned at her smugly. “I just can’t believe I got your ring size right.”
Max couldn’t help but laugh. “Uh, well, you did ask me about it.”
“Huh? No, I didn’t.” Chloe brushed off what she’d thought was a joke, then her face paled. “Wait, did I? Oh god, did I fuck up the surprise?”
“No, dork, I’m surprised plenty.” Max twisted the ring on her finger, still in shock that it existed at all, not ever wanting to tear her eyes off of it. “You asked me about it last year. I think you were drunk.”
“Damn. Way to go, me,” Chloe mumbled under her breath.
“It was convenient timing, because—wait, did you make this?”
It looked weathered, sure, but also like it’d been polished religiously until it shined almost as if it were brand new. Almost. There were still the tell-tale signs of the perfectly imperfect craftsmanship that was Chloe’s signature style.
“Yeah, only like, 3 years ago. The band is made of scrap metal from parts of my old truck. I wanted you to have something that reminded you of us, not just some stupid rock.” She kissed Max’s temple, the slight breeze ruffling her hair. “But I got you a stupid rock, too. Hope you like it?”
“Chloe, I love it.” She looked up from the ring, gazing into Chloe’s bright eyes and smiling more than she ever thought possible. “I love you.”
Chloe took hold of Max’s hands, stroking over the backs of her knuckles like Max was something precious. Maybe she was. Maybe they both were. Maybe nobody else in the world existed at all, and it was just the two of them out in the universe, figuring shit out together.
“So why do you look so pissed off?”
“Funny story about that…” Thinking that it would be better to show her rather than tell her, Max reached a hand into her pocket and pulled out the ring box she’d kept hidden, finally freeing it from where it’d been caged within her heart.
When she opened the box to reveal the ring inside, Chloe laughed in disbelief. “No way, dude.” Then her eyes widened. “Wait, not like that—”
“See! You said it too!”
Chloe shrugged away from her before bumping their shoulders together. “Well? Don’t you have an embarrassing speech prepared too?”
“No, actually,” Max said, though Chloe immediately thought it to be a lie.
“Come on,” she insisted, “Let me hear it! You brought the ring with you, what was your plan? Sweep me off my feet, Caulfield. Don’t pussy out now.”
Max wet her lips, the brisk air making her shiver and wrap the jacket tighter around her shoulders. She knew it was in her head, but she felt different somehow. The weight of the ring on her finger was a solid, comforting presence, as if it was Chloe herself wrapped around Max’s skin and bones.
“I…hadn’t gotten that far,” she answered honestly. She toyed with the small box in her hand, fumbling with the urge to just put the ring on Chloe’s finger and drag her back to the van.
Instead, Chloe cupped her hands around Max’s own, tracing lightly at the back of her knuckles, and Max’s racing thoughts went silent. Chloe’s nose had turned pink in the chilly air, her beanie tugged low on her head to keep her ears warm. Max felt her heart melt where she stood, helpless as Chloe kept her anchored to reality.
“Y’know,” Chloe started, plucking the ring from its confinement and staring at it with wonder. “My hair isn’t even blue anymore. This is totally gonna clash with my style, Max.”
“It’s not just—!” Max sputtered before seeing the wry grin on Chloe’s face. She rolled her eyes, taking the ring from Chloe. “Don’t tease me. Here.”
Max moved to place the ring on her finger, but Chloe pulled back at the last second, hands raised. “Whoa, aren’t you forgetting something? A very important, very nauseatingly cheesy question? I’m not giving away my virgin finger to just anyone.”
“Ugh.” Max let out a breathless sigh, chasing after Chloe as she dodged away, quickly increasing the distance between them. “Don’t run away!”
“Ask the question!” Chloe called out, deftly avoiding each time Max tried to catch up to her. “It’s your turn, you big fucking sap!”
The wind howled around them and all the cars became invisible, until it was just Max and Chloe racing down the sidewalk, both of them trying to win the upper hand against the other. Every time Max thought she was close enough to grab Chloe, she twisted away with a laugh, and soon Max was laughing too. The two of them must’ve looked like fools, caught in a strange battle of wills as they danced around each other.
“Chloe! Slow down!”
Max exhaled through her laughter, panting from all the energy it’d taken to walk that far. Her feet slowed to a halt as she watched Chloe do the same, both their chests heaving with each labored breath.
So Max took a step forward. And another. And then she was finally close enough to grab the back of Chloe’s neck, dragging her into a kiss that rivaled the beauty of the stars, stealing the air from around them until they were both left gasping for breath.
She pulled away, settling back to the ground from where she’d stood on the tips of her toes to reach Chloe’s lips.
“Okay, Max,” Chloe said softly. “You don’t even have to ask. I’ll marry you.”
When she touched their foreheads together, she slipped the ring on Chloe’s finger with a smug grin, whispering, “I know.”
Notes:
my bad. didn’t mean for that to happen but they just wouldn’t stop fucking.
more plot next chap i swear
Chapter 19: Oceans
Summary:
2019 - 2020
Mountains, realizations, and the beginning of the end.
Notes:
Song Title: Oceans; Seafret
I actually cut some scenes from this chapter that would’ve given more insight into Chloe’s psyche, now without those scenes it’s very (entirely) Max focused. Sorry :( I just couldn’t get the pacing right and was getting frustrated by it all. Maybe one day I’ll post the deleted scenes, but whatever. I just wanted this shit done and now it is.
This chapter is 100% plot btw since next chapter will be the finale of part 3.
Also I'm not going to mention covid in this fic even though it's 2020 now lol.
CW: Venison and panic attacks (cool combo!)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
2019 — Albany, New York
She’d expected to feel different afterwards, knowing that she’d done everything right. Max had done the impossible, but she was still Max. She’d learned to love life again, learned to love herself, learned to love the world.
She’d allowed herself the time and space to love Chloe, too — now with a ring snugly fit across her finger to solidify the promise of their future. That part was nice, as daunting as it was. And she’d relished in the secret of it, both of them deciding to not tell anyone for a long while. They didn’t have to, it wasn’t like it had changed anything. At the end of the day, they were still Max and Chloe. And after everything that had happened, Max had really, truly thought that it would always be like that.
But destiny had a cruel way of coming back to bite her, always rearing its ugly head from the shadows the moment she lost sight of it.
Perhaps if she’d actually delved into the evolution of her powers, if she practiced with them, if she didn’t ignore all the flashing colors which signified the infinite options of her life, she would’ve been able to see the events before they unfolded. Maybe then she would’ve been able to stop it. But Max didn’t want that type of future for herself, or for Chloe. She wanted to be free — she wanted peace.
So she kept moving forward, as slowly as she needed to, powers be damned.
The end of her yearly contract came sooner than she’d liked it to, and strangely enough, her terrible dreams of Cash had ended along with it. It seemed that as soon as January had rolled around, he had vanished entirely.
She’d been able to sleep at night again without dreading the moment he would appear, without wondering if that night would finally be the night she’d fail to wake up. And yet, her fear of the unknown never wavered. Maybe Max was the problem in that regard — maybe she should’ve let it go, let herself move on. Maybe she was her own worst enemy, forcing herself to worry relentlessly over something that hadn’t even happened. The fear of the possibility surely felt worse than anything that could’ve happened in real life.
None of it mattered, however, when her career kept growing even after the art grant ended. She’d almost expected for the new year to bring forth the same struggles and burdens they’d had in years past — barely making rent, hopping from job to job, traveling the country in search of where their next hot meal would be. But it didn’t. Life was…fine. It was good. Max had a steady stream of commissions, had a consistent line-up of projects and events, had an admirable bank account and a fiancée who would’ve done anything for her.
She also, unfortunately, had been forced to face her fears head-on after receiving an invitation in the mail just the week before. January had passed in a beautiful blur, but the moment the calendar flipped to February, Cash had appeared from thin air. And Max was never one to back down from doing what needed to be done.
The restaurant was on the fifth floor, dark and red and ripe with the luxury of a lifestyle she was entirely unfamiliar with. Really, it was just a glorified bar — only a handful of the tables had any sort of food on them at all. But you’d be hard pressed to find a single hand there without a full glass in it, or at least the remnants of shots already consumed.
Max arrived before Cash did, with nothing but her phone and camera in tow. Call it anxious anticipation, or nervous anger, or just a calm sense of acceptance. It didn’t matter. She was there and she was ready. She wanted to confront him and wipe her hands clean of it forever. She wanted to see if her dreams had any basis in reality, or if she really had just lost her mind and had made up invisible problems for herself. She wanted him to never, ever take pictures of Chloe again. Ever.
Soon, his frame came into view under the string lights at the corner of the bar. He barely assessed his surroundings before he spotted her, his face a dark mask as he nodded to the hostess and made his way over. Then he was there, and Max gripped her fingers together under the table, heart thumping in preparation. It had been close to a year since they’d seen each other face to face. Outside of her dreams, at least.
“Lovely place, isn’t this?” Cash asked, sliding into the booth across from her. “Ah, I haven’t been here in years. That reminds me, I still need to take you to that restaurant I adore in Chicago, don’t I?”
“Name a time and place,” Max said dully. “I’ll be there.”
Cash showed his bright teeth, flashing her a smile. “Yes, I’m sure you will be. Shall we order, if you haven’t already?”
He raised a hand, flagging over their waiter so they could both order. And if Max ignored the weird, tense aura surrounding them, it didn’t seem all that bad. Maybe she had just inflated her fears to a needlessly extreme level. Now that she was no longer under a technicality of his employment, she didn’t owe him anything.
“So.” Once the waiter left, Cash drummed his fingers on the table. The rhythm of it brought Max right back to the first time she’d been to New York, that terrifying day in his office, that day she broke her promise and used her powers. “Did you enjoy your year?”
“It was nice.”
“Hm.” Cash grunted. “Any favorite places, any favorite shots? I know which were my personal favorites, of course. I even have them hung in my second bedroom back in Tennessee.”
“All of them, really,” Max answered.
He narrowed his eyes, catching on to the tactic she was using. But if he was frustrated by her lack of answers, he was good at hiding it.
They waited for their food, nursing their own drinks of choice and idly making small talk that had Max’s skin crawling on itself. And despite the roiling nausea that made it difficult for her to have an appetite, she still spooned food into her mouth when it arrived to their table — if only just to show Cash that she was unaffected by his presence.
Cutting off another forkful of venison, Cash swallowed and dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a red napkin. “Tell me, Max. Do you know why I’ve brought you here?”
“I assume it’s part of your policy. Schmooze with the artists once you’re finished with them. Maybe go over the results, tell me how much money you profited off my work. That sort of thing.”
She played it safe, waiting for him to be the one to make the first move. Luckily, Cash was nothing if not obsessed with himself. Perhaps the mirror was where his obsession with others first stemmed from.
He cleared his throat, setting his fork and knife aside the half-eaten tenderloin. Max tried to avoid looking at it, unsettled by the plainness in which he’d ordered it. No butter, no pepper, just salt and rosemary marring the corpse of the animal it once was.
“Not quite,” he said with a chuckle. “Would you like for me to tell you?”
“The floor is yours.” Max gestured to him, matching his posture and straightening her spine, hoping it made her seem closer to being his equal.
“Fine.” He scratched at his chin, where the hint of gray stubble had made itself known. “You’re afraid of me, aren’t you? Let’s begin there.”
Max kept her hands steady in her lap, resisting the urge to pick at her nails. “What’s there to say? You’re rich and famous, and were technically my boss just last year. Anybody would be intimidated by that.”
“But you’re not just anybody, Max.” His smile broadened, and she felt sick. “You’re special.”
“Am I?”
Cash took another bite, chewing the tough, stringy meat with a practiced grace. “You are, and I believe that’s precisely why you’re afraid of me. Because I know what you’re capable of.” When he looked up, his eyes held a roguish glint. Maybe it was just the poor lighting in the room, but Max thought it all seemed way too familiar. “If I said I knew the truth about your…abilities, what would you think?”
“…I’d ask what exactly you think you know,” Max answered carefully. “And I’d think you’re wrong for making assumptions.”
She trusted herself. She trusted that she could rewind if she needed to, if that’s what had to happen. She trusted that Chloe would understand.
“Hm. Am I? Wrong, that is. But mind your words,” he warned, jutting a chin towards the rest of the restaurant. “You never know who might be listening in.”
A group of people laughed from across the bar, jeering when someone ordered them a round of drinks. The sound was enough to draw Max’s attention — and to draw her suspicions with it. Any one of them could’ve been working with Cash, could’ve been stalking her like prey. The woman in the corner, head bowed low over the table as she nursed a vodka soda — she could’ve been waiting to corner Max on her own. The young man behind the counter, polishing a fresh glass as he adjusted his tie — he could’ve been waiting to chase after her when she left.
In each of them she saw a potential enemy, saw a threat. So Max only shrugged, steeling her fists so Cash couldn’t see how she’d been affected by his empty warning.
“Well, what is it that you think you know, Cash?”
He pointed his fork at her, and she remembered the way he’d held the scalpel in her dream, the way he’d brandished it like a blade. “I could turn that right back around to you. Because you’ve been watching me, too, Max. I think you’re very, very afraid of me. So brave, you are. Trying to get yourself closer, despite this fear you have.”
Max knew she wasn’t brave. But neither was Cash. She leaned forward, elbows on the table and voice low.
“If I’m so afraid, why don’t you get to the point and tell me why I’m here?” She tilted her head to the side, looking straight into his eyes quizzically. “Or are you too much of a coward?”
His expression flashed, just once. Like he’d finally started taking her seriously.
“Oh-ho, getting an attitude? That’s new.” He tapped on the table, back to drumming his fingers in the same annoying melody as before, never able to sit still. “Well, Max, let’s say that I’m right to have my assumptions, but let’s also say that you’re right to have your fear. What would happen next? Would we continue to dance around each other forever?”
“You tell me.”
Max didn’t know what to think. Cash clearly knew about her ability to rewind time. He knew — making him the only person in the world who knew, other than Chloe. But…still, he couldn’t prove any of it. He couldn’t explain why she had her powers, and unless he saw her use them, it could all just be speculation.
Yet, with that same argument, she couldn’t prove his powers, either. She didn’t even know what they were, just that he was able to appear in her dreams and seemingly teleported all across the country. They were at a stalemate — two kings in check against each other, no way out and no way through.
Cash cocked his head to the side, pondering. A tense minute passed, then he sighed indigently. “Perhaps I should phrase that differently, I know you’re still new to this lifestyle. If you are right about me, how would you explain what I can do? How would you explain what you’ve seen? Sorry — what you think you’ve seen? A man who can move through time with the power of teleportation? Or…?”
“Is that what you do?”
“You tell me, Max.” He returned her heavy stare with one of his own, then he cut off another piece of venison to shove into his mouth. “Besides. It doesn’t make any sense. The two of us? We’re alone out there, out in the real world, where nobody is none the wiser. The isolation is thick, isn’t it? Suffocating, even.”
“I’m not alone,” Max answered, though she couldn’t be sure why exactly she was so insistent.
Cash swallowed his bite after chewing slowly. Then he leaned closer, his hands resting on the table to match hers, strangely still. “Maybe so. But that part doesn’t matter. Because I need you, Max — more than anyone else in the world possibly could.”
“Why? I’m not—”
“Don’t.” He raised a hand, and somehow, Max listened. “Don’t cut yourself short. I need you, because you can make a difference in the exact way that I can’t.” His words grew faster, as if he was racing himself to get to the finish line. “You’re the other side to my coin, the heads to my tails. Are you following me?”
It was the first time she’d seen his mask slip, the first time she’d seen the frightened boy beneath the facade of a well-adjusted man. Somehow, the thought of Cash losing himself in front of her was more terrifying than him having all the answers.
“Even if I….”
Max paused, fighting back the accusations that threatened to spill out. Anger ran hot in her veins, blindingly strong.
A woman passed by their table, shooting her a confused glance when Max hastily looked away.
She needed to calm down. She needed to be…normal. Nobody knew about her. Nobody but Cash, and he wasn’t going to cause a scene. Right?
“Even if I can do what you do,” she continued slowly, “What difference does that make?”
“Can’t you tell? Think, Max.”
And Max wracked through her memories, of everything she knew about Cash and his odd abilities. She’d seen him in strange places, in her dreams, in her memories. But…nothing ever changed. He was like a ghost — unable to interact with the world, unable to sway decisions or delegate the outcome of a situation. He was a bystander.
He must have seen the dawning on her face, as a broad grin snuck across his own.
“There you go. Now you see it. You don’t just shift through time like I do, Max, you can actually change it.” He made a fist in the air between them, keeping it close to his face. “And now…we’ve reached the end of the line, haven’t we? You came here of your own volition, after all. Into my home, into my life, into my business. I didn’t make that move, Max. It was all you. I only planted the seeds, and now it’s my turn to see them grow.”
He released his fist, opening his palm like he’d finally let go of the invisible neck he’d been strangling.
“Fine. You’re right,” she relented, teeth clenched together. “Whatever you think I can do, you’re right. So what do you want with me?”
“I want you to go back,” Cash said, spewing a venom that had come from nowhere, like a switch had been flipped when Max wasn’t looking. “Back to the very beginning, where this all started. There’s something that needs to be changed, you see.”
The beginning? Arcadia Bay? Blackwell? Leaving for Seattle? William’s death? The day she met Chloe? The day Max was born? She swallowed her fear, drinking it down like the wine she’d left mostly untouched on the table.
“Absolutely not,” Max snapped. “That’s…That’s not something I can do.”
“Ah, I thought you might say that.” Cash settled back against the booth, his limbs languid and relaxed as if he hadn’t been full of fury just seconds prior. “But I don’t want you to do it right now, of course. The timing isn’t right. And you’d know all about time, wouldn’t you? You can feel it too — the way it slips away, the way it trickles by. It’s all around us. The colors, the threads. Isn’t it all so beautiful?”
Silence ate at the air between them like a leech. Each breath Max drew was lanced with pain. She felt like a little kid hiding beneath the covers, scared of the monsters lurking in her closet, not realizing that even if she hid, they still knew she was there.
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” she said at long last. Perhaps the best defense was simply deflection. She could still retreat, after all. She hadn’t said one way or the other that she did have the ability to change time.
Cash chuckled, one hand resting on his chest, atop his heart, if he even had one. His eyes were haggard as he finished the rest of his wine, then he sighed. “You do know. And if you don’t, you will, one day. You’re smarter than you give yourself credit for.”
He flagged down their waiter yet again, plastering that signature fake smile across his face before paying their bill with three crisp hundred-dollar bills, patting the young man on the shoulder and telling him to keep the change.
“Looks like we’re done for now,” Cash said. “Though, next time, I feel that your answer might be different.”
“We’ll see about that,” Max said, surprised by her own malice.
Cash took it in stride, nodding to himself. “Then I’ll see you in Chicago. Farewell.”
Max said nothing more. Though she didn’t want to see them, the threads of time had turned red behind Cash’s head, like a halo of light had slipped between the cracks of reality. Like a warning. Or a promise.
She turned away from it, not moving again until Cash excused himself and it was just her sitting at the table, left with the echoing threat of Chicago ringing in her ears.
Alone, but not.
Chloe was there to hold her when she returned — in a quaint hotel room they’d booked for 3 weeks, full of scattered clothes and two empty suitcases aside the desk Max had claimed as her temporary workstation.
Max fell into her arms the moment the door shut behind her, gripping a fist into the back of Chloe’s jacket and pressing her face to her chest. She smelled like cigarettes, like fresh shampoo, like everything good in the world.
“Hey, Super-Max,” Chloe said, kissing the top of her head as she stroked Max’s hair. “How’d it go? Kill him yet?”
Max laughed into Chloe’s shirt before she pulled away, shrugging out of her own jacket and tossing it onto the back of the chair. “It was…actually worse than expected.”
She told Chloe everything — diving head first into explaining the way Cash had acted like he already knew everything about her and was just waiting for her to tell him herself — how Cash knew about her powers, how he all but confirmed the existence of his own, how he’d ordered his venison steak bloody and rare and how the mere sight of it was enough to turn her stomach.
At the very end of her story, she’d somehow made her way over the bed, sitting poised on the edge like she was ready to run at a moment’s notice. And Chloe leaned against the wall, face like stone as she listened carefully.
Max cut herself off, mouth clicking shut. “Sorry. Didn’t realize I was rambling.”
“You’re fine.” Chloe shrugged. “But you should just forget about him. He knows who you are? Whatever. It’s not like he can tell people about it, they’d call him fucking insane and get him locked up in an asylum somewhere.”
“But…there’s something else going on,” Max added. She looked back at her hands, at the way her open palms stared back at her. “What did he mean back to the beginning?”
“I dunno, maybe he wants to see a dinosaur, or assassinate a baby before they grow up to become a dictator — there’s plenty of those fuckers to go around,” Chloe said loudly. She crossed her arms over her chest, shifting her weight to one side. “Does it matter? It’s none of your business, and he can go fuck himself if he tries to involve you.”
Max picked at her fingernails with an anxious energy, wracking her brain to try to find some hidden piece she’d been ignoring.
“All this effort, I can’t help but feel…like something is missing,” she thought aloud. “There’s something I haven’t seen yet, something important. A reason for all this.”
“Let’s just…stop talking about him, okay?” Chloe offered, her tone clipped and short. “I just want to be with my girlfriend.”
“Fiancée.” Max had said it without even thinking.
“Yeah. That.” Then Chloe smirked, and Max knew she was about to say something endearingly stupid. She walked over to the edge of the bed, knocking Max’s legs apart with just a knee. “Does this mean you’re technically my ex-girlfriend?”
Max peered up at Chloe, craning her neck and leaning back with her palms flat on the bed behind her. No matter what happened, she knew from the bottom of her heart that Chloe would always be there to make it better.
“You’re such a dork.”
“Yeah, yeah, tell me something I don’t know.”
Chloe launched an arm towards Max, nuzzling a hand over her hair until she groaned in frustration and swat her away. They fell back against the bed together, tumbling in a mess of limbs and laughter until eventually sleep took them.
One Year Later — 2020 — Gatlinburg, Tennessee
The years moved slow, much slower than those of her past. Maybe it was because 2018 had passed by so swiftly, but every year since had dragged like wheels through sand.
Free from the confines of Cash’s contract, Max had started to enjoy her newfound freedom again. They’d hopped around states during what Chloe called their “reunion tour” — visiting all the cities they’d loved in the past and seeing if they were still just as good. Many of them were, but just as many were not. It was strange how quickly people and places changed when you weren’t looking directly at them.
Max wondered if people thought the same about her when they saw the woman she’d grown into. She wondered if she’d be able to recognize herself if she looked back at her old pictures.
They visited Remy in LA, who was still kicking it at his shop with many of the same guys who’d worked there all those years ago. There were a lot of fresh faces too, boys straight out of high school with eager eyes and quiet innocence. Seeing them made Max curious if her and Chloe had looked that young when they lived there. She hoped not.
Chloe had promised Remy that they’d send him pictures of the Outer Banks whenever they visited it next. He hadn’t even been disappointed that they’d taken their time making good on his request to visit his daughters, he was just excited to see them again. He’d kept up with their lives by following Max’s blog, to which Chloe had laughed — joking around that she didn’t realize he knew what a computer was.
After that, they’d driven through Colorado to see Will and Jaden, though MJ had been nowhere to be found, having somehow dropped off the face of the planet once he’d moved out of the house. Max was only slightly disappointed about that, knowing that she really had no room to complain, considering that she hadn’t texted or called any of them once. Chloe had, though. Chloe was a good friend; something that Max may or may not have envied.
They saw Kate, who’d moved across the entire country to live in Maine, now the proud author of three children’s books. She looked different, too — healthier, older, happier. But her smile had remained the same as always. Like the remembrance of home.
Eventually, after a long period of dragging their feet, they’d met up with Max’s parents in Oregon, where they’d finally shown off their shared rings and her mom had breathed a sigh of relief knowing that she didn’t have to keep it a secret from her dad any longer. But much to Max’s surprise, he’d apparently already known it was coming. Chloe had refused to elaborate on that part, simply flushing red and tugging her hat low on her head as she brushed onto the next conversation.
Now having finally made their way to the mountains of the east coast, they’d taken a vacation of sorts in a tourist trap of a town, halfway between the middle of nowhere and a chaotic assortment of cities. Their final stop would be the Outer Banks, though their condo reservation was still a week away. It gave them plenty of time to appreciate all the beauty that Tennessee and North Carolina had to offer along the way.
The pool was warm, illuminated by dull yellow lights beneath the water that made it look like the entire room was glowing. Conveniently, they were the only ones there — but that was most likely because the pool technically closed an hour ago, before Chloe had busted the lock open as a surprise for Max. Off-limits signs were no match for Chloe’s uncaring attitude, who always cited ‘Those are just suggestions’ each time Max pointed out all the warnings to avoid particular places. Some things never changed.
Swimming in nothing more than their underwear was achingly nostalgic, though just as scary as it had been when she was younger. The only difference was that this time, Chloe was free to wrap her arms around Max and press their skin together as more than just awkward friends. That, and the fact that the world wasn’t about to end. Probably. Max still kept that fear in the back of her head, ready to pull it out on quick notice.
But those brief moments of escape, when Chloe would laugh a certain way or kiss her softly or smile at Max when she thought she wasn’t looking — those were what made life worth living. Max felt like they were in a bubble, separate from the rest of society as they drifted in the pool and left their responsibilities behind as easily as driving across a bridge.
“Hey, wanna know something?” Chloe asked, hopping up onto the pool’s ledge and kicking her feet in the water.
“I like to think that I know a lot, actually.” Max pretended like she wasn’t staring at the length of Chloe’s bare legs, but they both knew the truth.
“Sure you do. Remember back at Blackwell?” Max furrowed her brows, then Chloe continued after a wave. “Shut up, I mean do you remember swimming in the pool at Blackwell. Like, with me.”
“Yeah, I remember.”
How could she not? The thrill of being young, being reckless, being stupidly in-love and not even knowing it, it had been more intoxicating than any substance out there, even as brief as those days had been.
“Uh, well, that night…man, I wanted to kiss you so bad. Like, really, really fucking badly.”
Max swam over the ledge next to her, treading water as she admired the way water dripped from Chloe’s hair and slid down her shoulders. Her stomach did a flip — she never wanted there to be a day where looking at Chloe didn’t spark something inside her. Without that feeling, without that reminder that they were both alive, Max didn’t know how she could possibly carry on.
“So why didn’t you?” she asked.
Chloe laughed once, a knowing smile spreading on her lips. “I couldn’t just kiss you whenever I thought about it,” she explained. “I’d never have stopped.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad to me…” Max rested her cheek against the back of her hand, holding onto the edge of the pool for support.
Chloe just rolled her eyes, splashing at her with slight kick. “We didn’t have that kind of time, Max. Because I wanted to kiss you from the very first moment I saw you again.”
“When you almost ran me over in the parking lot?”
“Yeah, exactly! You were like a little baby deer. Very cute.”
“Well, you could kiss me now,” Max offered, playing coy as she set a hand on Chloe’s ankle beneath the water. “In fact, I dare you to.”
“Real funny, Caulfield.” Chloe put on a fake accusatory tone. “Ha ha, let’s make fun of Chloe for not wanting to scare off her best friend during the worst week of their lives—ah!”
Max pulled, and Chloe fell into the pool with a splash. When she surfaced, her hair had stuck to her forehead in soaked strands, falling into her eyes as she shot Max a very rude gesture.
“What the hell was that for?”
“To do this.”
Max slid a hand around Chloe’s waist, pulling their chests flush together so she could kiss her. A small, pleased noise slipped from Chloe’s mouth as she parted her lips, tongue meeting Max’s with just as much enthusiasm.
She kissed her like there was nothing else in the world she’d rather be doing. She kissed her like their lives were perfect and nothing bad had ever happened. She kissed her like how she should’ve back in Blackwell, when they were young and dumb and danced around their feelings.
And that moment, away from the outside world, away from the struggles that were yet to come, was beautiful. It was fleeting, but it was theirs.
2020 — Oakland, California
Returning from their visit to Remy’s daughters, they’d traveled across the entire country to California, driving along the coastline and stopping only when something looked interesting enough to bother exploring. They’d been there a few days, or, maybe it had been a week, she couldn’t be sure. Max knew the year was almost over, knew that she’d doubled her online following since the end of Cash’s art grant — but she couldn’t ever be sure of what the exact day was. It was funny how easily you lost track of time the farther from a dedicated schedule you grew.
Just earlier that afternoon, Will had reached out to Chloe — for the first time in close to six months. The call happened when Chloe had been in the shower and Max was lounging at her desk, burning her eyes staring at her laptop screen. It was on pure instinct that she answered the phone, fully expecting it to be David or a scam caller. But when Will’s overly cheery voiced poured from the other line, Max choked on her tongue.
“H-hey, Will.”
“Holy shit, Maxy?!” She pulled Chloe’s phone away from her ear for a second as Will screamed. “Damn, girl, you’re like a ghost! We thought you died or something. Except not really, because Chloe would’ve ended up on the news if that happened. Anyway! Holy fuck. How are you?! How’s life? I saw your CrossTalk post last week, so fucking jealous of that view, dude. Goddamn. And you’re engaged? I never thought I’d see the day.”
Max opened and closed her mouth several times, running a hand over her forehead as she listened to Will’s frantic speaking.
“Um, yeah, we’re good. Life’s great,” Max said. “Sorry I haven’t kept in touch—”
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Will assured. Max could practically see her wave it away, the sleeve of her sweater falling off her shoulder as it always did. “I live vicariously through your social media anyways. Oh, yeah, the reason why I called! Is Chloe there?”
I wish. “She’s busy right now. But I can tell her later.”
“Perf. Well, there’s a tattoo con in December that I scored an extra ticket to — I was gonna ask if Chloe wanted to come as my plus one?” It was phrased as a question, but Will leapt straight into more chatter before Max even had the chance to respond. “Oh, and you’re invited too, Maxy! Just…not as an artist. As a guest. Obviously.”
“Definitely just as a guest. I’m not really a fan of needles,” Max admitted. “But, yeah, I’ll-I’ll let Chloe know. Where is it at?”
She clicked her pen on the desk, holding her phone between her shoulder and ear as she poised the tip over a piece of paper to write it down.
“It’s in Andersonville,” Will answered. “Chicago.”
Max paused, a lump of dread rising in her throat like bile. Chicago? Cash’s words haunted her, jolting her back to the last time they’d met.
“I…I don’t know, Will. We don’t…like Chicago.”
Will had a surprising moment of silence on the other line. “Huh? You don’t like Chicago? What does that even mean?”
“I mean—I mean, I’ll tell Chloe, of course. But. If we. If we don’t make it…”
“Maxy, if you don’t want to go, that’s fine.” Will’s voice had lowered with a pitying amount of empathy that made Max feel like a scared child.
“No! I do, really. I’ll—look, just let me talk to Chloe first. Gotta run, bye.”
She pressed the end call button before Will had the opportunity to pry any more, and Max set the phone face down on the desk.
Her palms were sweaty and she didn’t stop shaking until that night, when Chloe met up with a few of her old LA friends at a local underground band venue. Max knew she would be in for a long night of too much alcohol and not enough silence, and while physically she had wanted to sleep early that night, emotionally she wasn’t prepared to leave Chloe behind, so she’d tagged along despite the internal turmoil caused by Will’s invitation.
At least the night had been fun, and the music was good — some punk band local to Oakland that played their instruments so loudly that she worried the entire building would collapse on top of them all. But it didn’t. Her ears would probably still be ringing in the morning, though.
Everything had been great.
Until it wasn’t.
Until Max saw him from across the room, his chin lowered to his chest, thin lips pressed in a tight smirk as his eyes darkened. And she knew he saw her notice him.
Max felt the room spin and all the people around her grew still, frozen for just a moment in time as her heart leapt into her throat and she stumbled away, breaking the spell and racing to the bathroom.
The door swung in with an aggressive force and it wasn’t until Max was panting over the sink that she realized it was her who had shoved it open. Luckily, nobody paid her any attention — the few women there were too involved in their own lives, their own problems, to pay her any mind. They probably thought she had just gotten too drunk, or was high, or had taken some bad drugs.
She clenched her fingers around the base of the sink until her knuckles turned white, until she mustered enough courage to raise her chin and look at herself in the mirror. It was fine. Everything would be okay, she was safe. She replayed the mantra in her head, willing herself to believe it. Cash knew about her, but she knew about him, too — and knowing was half the battle in itself. He wouldn’t do anything, he couldn’t, it was—
There, behind her, he stood, glaring at her reflection with that same dull smile. She whipped around, ready to raise a hand and rewind back to when he never existed — but she couldn’t. Cash was untouchable to her, he’d confirmed it himself, though not in those exact words. He could travel through reality, and her through time. But the two of them couldn’t mix, couldn’t ever win in a battle against each other.
She raised her hand anyway, curling it in a fist to settle things a different way, but it wasn’t Cash who stood behind her, it was Chloe. Just Chloe.
“He—he’s here,” Max panted, her resolve falling to pieces at the sight of her lover. “He’s right over there, Chloe, I can’t—”
Chloe grabbed her shoulders, forcing their eyes together, pulling Max into her trance with nothing more than a thumb swiping against the tears that had fallen on her cheek.
“He’s not here, Max. No one else is here.”
Max couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t handle it — couldn’t handle anything. “No, he’s…fuck, I just…”
“We’re alone, I promise,” Chloe insisted. “You’re safe.”
All the back and forth, getting closer to Cash, getting in his head, it was twisting her around from the inside out. He wasn’t just Damien Cash, he was Mark Jefferson, he was her worst nightmare, he was the smoking barrel of a shotgun, he was every bad thought in the back of her head, every shadow in the corner, every shutter and flash of a camera that dragged like nails against a chalkboard inside her heart.
“Max, look at me,” Chloe continued, hands sliding to cup her cheeks, but Max still couldn’t catch her breath, couldn’t stop her chest from heaving empty gasps. “I’ve got you. I promise, I’ve got you. Do you understand? Nothing is going to happen.”
Her head was pounding, chest beating so hard she worried it would collapse in on itself. She couldn’t suck down enough air to fill her lungs, the edges of her vision now peppered with black spots.
“I…can’t lose you…”
I don’t— you don’t— this isn’t right, this isn’t real—
“Come on, stay with me.” Chloe brushed her fingers over the betraying tears that trailed down Max’s face. “Max. Do you trust me?”
I can’t trust anyone, I can’t breathe, I can’t think, I can’t be alive anymore—
“Y-yes,” she stammered, the word choking out like something thick and poisonous.
“Okay. Good.” Chloe took Max’s hand and pressed it to her chest, threading their fingers through each other until all Max could feel was the gentle thumping of Chloe’s heart beneath her palm. “Feel that? Still beating. Still alive.”
Max nodded.
A kiss pressed against her forehead, Chloe’s hand still warm where it held hers steady.
“You’re doing great, Max,” she said. She took a deep breath, nodding and encouraging Max to do the same, waiting for her labored breaths to return to normal — or as close to normal as she could get. “Right, that’s it. You’ve got this.”
In the wake of Chloe’s gentle smile, Max eventually found the muscles of her shoulders relaxing, and soon the darkness creeping along her vision faded back to normalcy. Only then did she realize what had happened.
He’d found her again. And he’d been soaking wet, rain dripping down his hair like there’d been a terrible storm outside. But the weather in Oakland was calm, not a cloud in sight across the darkened sky. Maybe he’d gone to a pool, she offered to herself. But even that didn’t make sense. Why would he have worn a suit there? Why even visit her at all?
She thought of only the worse case scenarios — she thought of the storm at Arcadia Bay, of Cash drowning at sea, at Chloe sinking into the ocean with him. Cash could travel through reality; he could’ve seen anything, been anywhere, and Max was helpless.
Regardless of what had happened, she knew one thing for sure. He had been trying to tell her something. It was a countdown of sorts. The beginning of the end.
Chloe soon separated from Max’s side, huffing out a sigh as she shoved her hands into her pockets. “Good now?”
“I’m…better.” She wanted to tell Chloe about it, to seek reassurance, to cry into her shoulder and never leave her side for as long as she lived. But something had shifted that night, something she knew would ruin her. Something that would ruin them both.
“Whatever happens, you have to just…let it be,” Chloe said. “You can’t change everything, Max. Sometimes life just happens around us and we have to roll with the punches.”
Max bit against her tongue, gripping a fist against the strap of her camera bag. “I can’t…I can’t let him just…”
“You can,” Chloe added quickly. “We can handle anything he throws at us. Because you have me, and I have you. So just…be here with me. Just breathe.”
It was easier said than done. Max could feel herself slipping away, could feel Cash’s grip on her heart tighten and restrict until she was mere seconds away from the point of no return.
“He’s in my head, Chloe, and he’s not going away. He’s everywhere. I feel—I feel fucking crazy,” she cried. “Like it’s just him and I in this fucked up universe, like nothing else matters except keeping him away from us.” Away from you.
Chloe looked away, a heartbroken expression reflected in her eyes, and Max kicked herself for what she’d said. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be Max and Chloe, together against the world, partners until the end of time. Not Max against Damien Cash, not Chloe against them both.
“I-I know, Max,” Chloe said softly. “Let’s just give it some time. We’ll figure it out.”
But for Max, cursed with the ability to touch time itself, how much of it could there really be? A calmness settled over her. Out of infinite options, there was only one true way forward. Chicago.
Notes:
next chapter is going to be soooooooooo fun
Chapter 20: The Prophecy
Summary:
2020 - ????
Reality splits and shatters.
Notes:
heyyyyy, sorry about this. STAY WITH ME, PLEASE STAY WITH ME, PLEASE, IT’S NOT WHAT IT SEEMS, I PROMISE, I—
Song Title: The Prophecy; Taylor Swift
CW: Mentioned gun violence, hospitals, depicted blood/injuries, car accidents, child loss, death/murder, suicide mention, and implied major character death.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
2020 — November 12
The day had started normally, as every day was want to do. The air was cold after a fresh snow had graced them the night before — a light dusting which stuck to the asphalt and gave a satisfying crunch beneath her shoes.
Max had walked to the corner store at the early breaking of dawn, finding that sleep had evaded her once again. It had been months since her nightmares had returned, taking over her life like Cash himself lived in her thoughts at all time.
She was tired. Not just physically, and not just from the constant lack of deep sleep. She was tired of jumping at every bump in the night, of seeing faces that didn’t exist in every shadow of every corner. She was tired of waiting for him, tired of not being able to talk about it with anyone. Tired of Chloe not listening, of not understanding. Tired of it all.
It was quiet as she walked back to the hotel room in St. Louis on her own, her jacket zipped up tightly to help block the frigid air from reaching her neck. She stared at her phone, at the chaotic notes and plans she kept contained there, vision blurring from the cold and her own exhaustion.
Max had memorized his schedule. At that point, she knew Cash like the back of her own hand. She knew what time he had breakfast, which dates he had doctor appointments, when his mother’s birthday was. It felt good to have that power over him, even if she had no idea if he even knew that she knew. Whereas Cash had once been the cat to Max’s mouse, she’d somehow stolen that title from him along the way.
To anyone else, it would’ve been crossing a line she never wanted to cross. But Max was tired, after all. And she was ready for it all to be over. So if Cash wasn’t going to confront her himself, then she’d take matters into her own hands — blood stained and wound up as they were.
Once, she’d been afraid of playing right into his tricks — of giving him what he wanted by showing up to his door, the threads of time crackling at her fingertips. But she had a plane ticket to Chicago in her suitcase, and an anger in her chest that threatened to kill her if she didn’t put it somewhere else.
Chloe was awake by the time she got back, the sun seeping through the sheer curtains and heating the chair by the window she sat on. There were bags beneath her eyes, an answering lack of sleep plastered over her own face. She knew that Chloe never slept well when Max tossed and turned all night. It was just another crack of guilt that had wedged itself in their foundation.
“Hey…you ready?” Chloe stood from the chair, giving a faint smile to Max. “Don’t wanna be late, you know how airports are.”
“Yeah, let’s…”
Max choked on the dryness of her tongue, her throat constricting like someone had their hands around it. When she reached up, nothing was there, just cold skin and the thundering of her pulse. The air shifted, moving from cold to hot and back again, enough that she staggered away, black spots popping around her vision. Then it was gone, and a ringing headache had replaced it.
Clutching at her head, Max winced. Her free hand traveled to her camera bag as if her body wasn’t her own, like someone else had taken over her limbs and played her like a marionette. Then she was holding the smooth edges of her Polaroid camera, and everything stilled.
She was fine. She could handle it. She had her camera, had her fiancée, had everything she could ever want.
“Let’s take a picture,” she said. “To commemorate the moment.”
Chloe laughed like it had been a strange thing to say. “The moment? What, of hopping on a plane to go tattoo a bunch of sweaty strangers? Sure, Max. Lovely moment you got there.”
But Chloe tossed an arm over her shoulder anyway, leaning down to press their cheeks together as Max raised the camera. With a flash, the camera snapped, printing the photo as a blur of color swirled around the room.
Max ignored it, tucking the camera back where it belonged and waiting for the picture to develop. Then she felt warmth drip down her chin, and she watched as a dot of red soaked into the brown hotel carpet.
“What the fuck…did you do something?”
Chloe looked pale, like she’d seen a ghost, like she was a ghost — and Max inhaled sharply, knowing what had happened before she even checked.
Fuck. She was bleeding. She pressed at her nose to staunch the flow of blood, holding her breath and tuning out the heavy taste of iron.
“What—? No, Chloe, I don’t know what happened,” Max insisted. “Just…just the cold air, maybe?”
Chloe’s brows furrowed and she crossed her arms over her chest, retreating back. “Am I really supposed to believe that?”
There was Max’s anger again, boiling in her veins and dripping to the floor along with her blood. She straightened, shoving the photograph in her pocket with an accidental smear of red at the edge.
“That depends,” she challenged. “Do you often second-guess what I tell you? Of course you should believe me, because it’s the fucking truth. I didn’t do anything.”
“Yeah?” Chloe’s voice rose. “And where were you this morning?”
“I was…I was on a walk.”
“Stalking Cash, you mean,” she snapped. “You’re obsessed with him, Max.”
She floundered for a response, for an argument, for reassurance that it wasn’t true. But it was. The truth had stared her in the face like a smoking gun, as much as she hated to admit it as such. She hadn’t wanted Chloe to notice, not wanting to worry her over what she had planned, but Max wasn’t subtle. They couldn’t hide anything from each other.
At her silence, Chloe deflated, suddenly looking more haggard than she had in weeks. “You can just tell me, dude. You should tell me. Come here.”
She took Max by the hand, leading her to the bathroom and pointing at the counter for her to sit. When Max obeyed, Chloe grabbed a washcloth and wet it under the faucet.
“I know you think about him all the time,” Chloe added, softer this time. Her face was hard as she concentrated on cleaning the blood off Max’s nose and chin. But Max could see the sadness clouding her features, the tightness of her jaw. “You see him everywhere we go. We’ve traveled the entire fucking country, but he’s always there. I only…I only want to be me again. Not just your…”
“My what?” Max gripped her fingers into the edge of the counter, a deep, hollow ache against her heart.
Chloe tossed up her hands in frustration, throwing the wet rag to the side as a strangled growl got caught in her throat. “Fuck, I don’t know! Your…your useless sidekick? The person who always pulls you back from the edge? Max’s best friend, Max’s girlfriend, Max’s fiancée, Max’s fucking trophy wife. Why can’t I…why can’t I be important, too? For myself?”
“You are important,” Max objected. She pushed off the counter and looked Chloe right in the face, eyes scanning hers for any sign of how to proceed. “I don’t see it that way at all.”
“Oh, I’m so fucking glad you don’t see it that way, because it’s always about you, isn’t it?” Chloe swiped a hand down her face, rubbing at the bridge of her nose. “I swear, Max, we keep running around the same goddamn circles we’ve been chasing since we were eighteen. I’m sick of it.”
“If you have a problem, then you should’ve said something.”
“Well, I’m saying something now.” Chloe shoved her hands in her pockets, shoulders hunched.
“Clearly. So…what? Do you want me to…” Max trailed off, not knowing what to say that wouldn’t piss Chloe off even more.
A thick moment elapsed before Chloe sighed, shaking her head. “I don’t want you to change, Max,” she said quietly. “I just want you to move on. To live in the present with me, not in the past, not in the future. Just here and now, you and me. Can’t we do that?”
I don’t know, can we?
Max didn’t say anything. She gave a silent shrug, blinking twice to clear the miserable thoughts that swarmed her head like a nest of hornets.
“Sorry, let’s just…forget about this,” Chloe mumbled. “And I do trust you, by the way. I know you’d never use your powers like that again. I don’t know what I was thinking. Stressed, scared, all of the above.”
“It’s okay,” Max said. “Been a long day.”
“Long lifetime, more like.” Chloe cracked a hesitant smile.
“That, too.” Max returned the gesture, tentatively pulling one of Chloe’s hands from her pocket so she could hold it. “So. Are you excited to stab a bunch of people as an official tattoo apprentice?”
“Don’t you know it.” Chloe winked casually, full of confidence and care — a perfect memory of the woman that Max fell in love with.
But the looming threads of time danced over their heads, pressing in with dark colors and whispered warnings that were so deafening that Max could barely drown them out.
“Just…be careful, okay?” she urged, not entirely sure why she said it in the first place, only that it had felt right.
“What, have a bad feeling or something? Y’know, if the whole photography business tanks one day, you could totally start working as a psychic,” Chloe offered as a joke. “I’d pay to have you read my palms, or…whatever it is they do.”
“No, I—” Max paused. Something about the conversation felt weird, an intense wave of deja vu crashing over her like a car had just slammed into them both. “I just…I love you. I’ll always love you.”
Chloe gave her a curious look, eyes darting between Max’s own like she was searching her face for something hidden in her words. Then she broke the moment with a light laugh, bumping a fist into Max’s shoulder.
“Okay, you dork. I love you too. Now, let’s catch that flight and show it who’s boss.”
2020 — December 2
Max walked alone, the air so chilled and frigid around her that she wasn’t able to remember what it felt like to be warm. She’d left in the early morning after kissing Chloe goodbye, then had set off down the busy Chicago streets with only herself as company. As anxious as it made her to separate, she knew Chloe couldn’t be there at her side. It helped knowing that Will would be with her, bright eyed and cheery as she’d hastily pulled Chloe along to the convention.
At least one of them would be happy that day. But Max had focused her attention elsewhere — she had to find Cash. She was tired of looking over her shoulder, tired of waiting for him to show up again, tired of waiting for him to invade her dreams and invade her photographs and invade her blood. Today would be the day. It had to be — no matter what.
How funny it was, that the end of the world would come on a day so unassuming, so nondescript. Maybe if she’d known, she would’ve stopped herself from turning that corner, from loitering there the 2 minutes it took for Cash to exit out the metal alley-way door and lock eyes with her. But she hadn’t known; she hadn’t even checked, even though she could’ve. She should’ve. Seeing sparks of the future had been the greatest warning of all, but she hadn’t fucking cared to see any of it.
“Oh!” Cash seemed almost shocked as he shut the door behind him, hunching into his jacket as the wind whistled past them both. “You’re here earlier than I expected. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“You need to stop,” Max said. There was no use dodging around each other, not now. “Leave us alone. I don’t want to see you anymore, I don’t want to hear about you, I don’t want you in my fucking dreams.”
“Those are some bold accusations, Max.” Cash rocked onto the tips of his toes, bouncing with an electric vigor. “Are you perhaps following me? That’s not very becoming of an aspiring artist such as yourself.”
“Me? Following you? Try the other way around.” Max stepped forward, channeling all the frustration that had festered within her for years. “California? Portland? The goddamn empty streets of Nebraska? How about those pictures in your desk? Any of that ring a bell?”
“Chicago is quite beautiful, isn’t it?” Cash asked, staring up at the glimpses of the pale blue sky through the tops of the buildings, his expression calm. Ignoring her. “Too bad I’ve always hated it. Hated what this city did to me, what it took from me.” His gaze met hers, and a haze of energy shifted around his hands.
Max hadn’t ever seen him use his powers before, but she knew enough about her own abilities to recognize the signs. Maybe she’d said too much, maybe she’d come on too strong, maybe he was going to erase it all — erase Max herself — all to avoid someone discovering his secret.
“I—I know about your powers, Cash, but I don’t give a shit about them,” she assured. “I just want you to stop putting me at the other end of everything. I’m not going to team up with you or whatever bullshit idea you have in your head.”
Cash stifled a laugh, his cheeks inflating before he breathed it out. “Powers? Ha!” He shook his head, meeting her advance gait and stepping close enough that he could’ve touched her. “Max, no, I don’t just have powers. I have the power. The original. The ability to transcend time and space, to defy all laws of the universe. I can appear in any point in history, I can go anywhere on earth I want, whenever I want to, all with a snap of my fingers. I’m patient zero, here in the flesh.” He raised his arms like it was a grand achievement, those calm eyes now wild. “Isn’t it fucking amazing?! I’m just like you, Max!”
“You’re not, you’ll never—”
“Ah, no, no. You’re right.” He dragged both hands through his hair, messing with the perfectly coiffed strands until he looked as if he was unraveling. “I’m not like you. You’re like me. We’re the same! Cut from the same cloth, the same blood running through our veins. You can run, can’t you, Max?” He grinned, white teeth sharp. “But not fast enough…not fast enough to escape who you really are. Who we are. I’ve tried. God, I’ve fucking tried — you think I wanted this? You think I wanted to be a freak?”
He’d gotten too close, his gritted teeth now bared just inches from her, and Max stumbled away. “Get the fuck away from me. I’m not like you.”
Cash lowered his chin. Then the laughter started, bubbling from his throat, low at first, before quickly rising to a manic cackle. “You already are, Max — you already fucking are! Just look around you!” He gestured around widely, his perfect, impeccable tie finally falling loose around his neck. “Your life is a fucking wreck just as much as mine is. You have nobody left!”
Even though the world was ripe with promise and journeys not yet taken, Max had always kept to herself. She could count on one hand the number of people who would care if she went missing. Her parents? Maybe. Kate, Victoria, Will, Jaden? Another maybe. It wasn’t like Max had tried; she had no one to blame but herself. It was easier to cut herself off, to retreat inside her shell and focus on what she could control — herself. Somewhere along the way, eventually, everyone faded from her life as easily as deleting their contacts from her phone. Everyone except one.
“You don’t know who I am at all, Cash. All you know if what you want to see. But that’s not reality, it’s your fucked up fantasy,” Max seethed. “I’m not alone. I have—”
“Chloe, right?” Cash’s manic demeanor quieted like the flip of a switch.
Max took another step back, nearly caged against the wall. But a cold chill ran down her neck, and she couldn’t find it within herself to care that she’d given him more ground.
“Don’t…”
“Chloe Price, isn’t it?” he asked again. “Answer me, Max. She’s your little girlfriend?”
“She’s my fucking fiancée.”
“Even better.” Cash assessed her smugly, scanning from head to toe like he could read her very thoughts. “She doesn’t want you using your powers, does she? She wants you to hide them. Doesn’t that seem controlling to you? You like being bossed around and keeping part of yourself as a secret?”
“Don’t you dare talk about her like that.”
“Or what? You’re gonna hurt me? You’re gonna go back in time and kill me in the cradle?” He poked his bottom lip out in a patronizing pout, miming fake tears with his fists. “You’re gonna suffocate me in my sleep so I never, ever lay hands on your precious Chloe?” His anger flared sharply, sharper than hers. “Prove me right, Max. Do it.” Cash took a final advancing step and Max’s back hit the brick wall behind her.
All it would take was a quick raise of her hand and it would all be over — she could go back to before he entered the alley, she could keep walking, she could leave, and he’d be none the wiser. She’d be free. She could go home and act like none of it had ever happened, could return to Chloe’s arms and keep loving her the same way she had for years. But that’s what Cash wanted — to prove him right. To prove that she was just like him.
“Come on. Do it! So simple, so easy. Just…fucking do it,” he said again, his voice a mere whisper.
Max clenched a fist, honing her breath until the pulsing pressure behind her eyes faded into a dull throb. She shut her eyes, focusing on the strands of time swirling around her, as they always did — as they always would. And she looked into the exact place she never wanted to glimpse into again.
One possible future would lead to Cash pulling the gun from his pocket. Another would lead to the police turning the corner and arresting them both. A different one…seemed better. Her heart tugged at the idea of it, but it was all she had. All she could do was hope that she could twist fate back into place after making her choice.
“Fine, Cash,” she announced. Straightening her back, she firmly planted her feet against the ground, bracing herself. “You’re right. We’re the same. So, why me? Why track me for all these years?”
“Ah, I knew you’d come around.” Cash clasped his hands together at his back, giving her just enough room to breathe easier. “What do I want? Everything, Max. I want my world back. I want what was taken from me.”
The man was deranged; he needed help, way more help than Max was capable of giving. His perfect, untouchable persona as this larger-than-life, filthy rich, privileged man had all come crumbling down in the face of his own insanity. All Max could think to do was keep him talking, keep him distracted long enough for the pieces to fall into place.
“I’ve searched for someone like you for years and years and fucking years. Dozens of them. No, hundreds! Mind reading, shape-shifting, telekinesis, invisibility, dimension hopping…anything you can imagine, they’re all out there.” He paced around her, back and forth, the motions repetitive and constant. “Well, maybe not in this version of reality, but…”
He trailed off again, and Max nearly lost track of the conversation entirely. There were others out there — more people with powers, more people cursed in the same way she had been. And somehow, Cash had wanted her.
The loud sirens of an ambulance went blaring past them on the street, bathing the alley in a harsh red light that made Cash look twisted and uncanny. Like the monster Max thought herself to be. The farther away the ambulance grew, the more nauseated Max felt — like a thread of time had attached itself to its wheels and started dragging her along with it.
“What…what the fuck am I supposed to do about that?”
He swirled around to face her, jaw pulsing. “Can’t you feel it? Can’t you feel the power inside you?” When he touched a finger to her chest, she smacked it away. “This part of you…it needs to be free, Max. Just like you need to be free. You shouldn’t have to hide part of yourself away, you know. So, do it. Go back in time. Show me, and then I’ll—”
“I’ll never go back in time,” Max cut in with a bite. “Not ever again.”
It took him a slow second for him to register the words before his smile returned, curved and dark. “Oh, my dear. Your innocence is quite grand. Of course, I already knew you would never use your powers of your own choice. You really thought I would come to this conversation unprepared?” He tisked and shook his head, then looked at her with a shocking amount of pity. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry it had to happen this way.”
Max swallowed the lump of dread that rose in her throat. “What? What did…?”
Cash frowned as his head tilted to the side with a hum. “Oh. You don’t know? Hmm. I thought you would’ve felt it by now.”
“Felt what?”
She could feel the world spinning, that much she was sure of. The way reality lurched and shifted around her, nearly bringing her to her knees from the weight of it.
At his silence, Max grit her jaw. She tightened her fist, raising it like she intended to leap forward and punch him square in that rigid jawline, but she held back. Cash hadn’t even budged an inch.
“What the fuck did you do?!”
He pursed his lips, unceremoniously glancing at the bright light of his phone before pocketing it and adjusting his ruffled tie. “Me? Nothing important,” he said with a chuckle. “But it does seem like that girl of yours is in trouble. Again. Perhaps you should go attend to her, oh noble Super-Max?”
Max felt it then, just like he said she would — a breaking in her chest. Something deep within her shattered as a cold, quiet destruction filled its place. Something that she hadn’t felt since the very beginning.
“If you hurt her, I swear I’ll—”
“Save your threats.” Cash cut her off with a raised palm. “You’re of no use to me in this state — not until you do what needs to be done.”
She stayed rooted to the spot, a thousand ideas swirling her head and pressing in like a suffocating blanket. Then Cash waved his hand in a shoo-ing moment, provoking another flash of rage within her.
“Chop, chop, fiancée,” he goaded. “The clock is ticking. Or is it?”
It took only a second before Max’s feet started listening to her. In that moment, as long as it was, all she could do was stumble back and let her fist fall flat to her side.
Then she ran.
The echoing sound of Cash’s laughter haunted her all the way to the empty hotel room.
2020 — December 3
She must have visited every hospital in the entire city before she’d found the right one. And after way more investigation work than was probably legal, Max had finally learned what had happened and which room Chloe was in.
At least, she knew parts of the story. Really, it had just been scraps of conversations she’d overheard from noisy employees around the hospital, then bits of a news article she’d found online, posted only 47 minutes ago by the time she’d read it. A drive-by shooting, it said. Four injured, one dead, suspects still at large, unknown motive.
One dead.
The words had stuck out to her with a bold, red ring around her vision and a frigid panic lurching into her stomach. She must have looked petrified as she sat in the hospital lobby staring at her phone, since one of the janitors had approached her hesitantly and asked if she needed help. Curled in on her knees, tears streaming her face, Max didn’t know if it was even possible to help her. A nightmare had been made real.
One person was dead, but it wasn’t Chloe. It was someone else. Some other poor soul out there, gone forever, shattering their friends and family with their absence. But it wasn’t her.
So Max held on.
“Let me see her,” she begged, “I swear, I—”
“Ma’am, please.” The nurse scolded her with a firm, displeased look. “You have to calm down, or I’ll need to call security.”
Max slammed her hands on the counter, fingers clenching into the cold, sterile surface. She took a deep breath, more for the nurse and receptionist’s benefit than for her own.
“Fine. I’m calm,” Max said angrily. “Now let me see her — Chloe Price, room 306.”
The reception exhaled through her nose with more force than was necessary, fingers tight around her mug of coffee as she took a sip, just to make Max wait, just to piss her off even more.
“Look,” Max started again. “I don’t want to be here either. Is there anything you can do for me?”
She set the mug to the side and tapped at her keyboard, scrolling as slowly as possible until Max started drumming her fingers faster and faster in the same goddamn rhythm Cash always used, hoping to annoy the woman enough to get what she wanted.
“Let me see…” She hummed. “What is your relation to the patient? Sister, cousin? Or are you in a civil union, common law marriage, domestic partnership?”
“She’s my— I’m her—” Max fumbled with her words. Trying to explain the magnitude of who Chloe was to her was an impossible feat. “We’re…we’re engaged. Family. She’s my family.”
The woman resumed the frustrating tapping on the computer, her nails making an annoying clatter as she chewed her gum with no regard for anyone else. Typical.
Hurry up, you—
“Sorry, ma’am,” she said loudly. “The surgery ward only allows lawful family at this time of night. Do you have anyone else you can call? Her parents, or…?”
“She doesn’t have any other fucking family, I’m her family,” Max shouted. Oh, god. David. She could call David. But he was hours and hundreds of miles away, probably asleep, definitely just as powerless as she was. And maybe Chloe didn’t have that sort of time. She drew a deep breath. “Can you at least tell me what’s going on? Is she—is she okay?”
The nurse made a disappointed purse of her lips, shaking her head with fake empathy. “It’s against policy to speak with anyone who isn’t—”
“Family, I fucking know.” Max shoved off the counter, dragging both hands down her face.
It was useless, she’d never make it to Chloe’s room at the rate things were going. The invisible clock inside her chest ticked on and on, like the countdown timer to a makeshift bomb. And when the timer ran out, she didn’t know what she’d do, or what the consequences would be. All she knew is that when she saw Cash again, she’d throttle that motherfucker, just like she should have when she first saw those photographs in his desk.
The night was long. Never ending. Chloe didn’t answer her phone. Max had hers glued to her hand as the hours passed by and the sky brightened into a fresh day. But she wasn’t tired. Even hours later, her blood still sang with adrenaline, with fear, with rage that itched inside her broken chest.
And when, finally, visitation hours started, Max was the first one to beat down the receptionist’s desk.
“Chloe Price. Room 306. Now.”
The day nurse, a woman who looked remarkably more awake than the last, gave her a fearful, pitying look as she typed on the computer and printed out a guest tag for Max. She stuck it to her shirt, already peeling off down the hallway before the nurse even had time to call for the next in line.
She kept her quick pace all the way to the recovery hall, finding the door with the weathered 306 tag plastered on the front of it, where she slowed to a complete stop. Time seemed to swirl around her, bright red, deep purple, pale blue. Colors atop colors, the hallway reeking of death.
She had a choice, there. Something meaningful, something that would change everything. But Max shoved it aside, ripping open the door without even considering that the doctor may have still been there.
Instead, she found herself alone with Chloe, who laid unmoving on the propped up hospital bed as she stared blankly at the TV across the room. Wires and tubes connected to her, several monitors beeping quietly in the background. She was alive, but…
“Chloe, oh my god—” Max rushed to her side, snatching hold of her hand until Chloe’s eyes widened at the impact.
“Max, god, they finally called you. Hey.”
“Don’t you fucking hey me, you’re…!”
Max looked at Chloe’s body, covered in a blue hospital gown and bandages. Her legs were covered by a blanket, oddly motionless, whereas her fingers twitched anxiously against Max’s hold.
“What happened?” Max breathed, not knowing where to even start. It had only been that morning — well, the morning prior — that she’d last seen Chloe.
“Oh, the usual, you know me.” Chloe winced as she gave Max a thin smile. “Wrong place, wrong time. Bullet magnet.”
“Don’t joke around,” Max chided, clipped and stern. “Tell me everything.”
“Max…” Chloe looked at her. “Don’t. I know why you’re asking.”
Her expression was broken, hurt from more than just physical pain. There was still blood crusted to the side of her temple. Max should wipe it away. She should. But she couldn’t move.
She tightened her hold on Chloe’s hand, tight enough to break it, to crawl inside her skin and never let her go.
“I need you to tell me anyway.”
Chloe clenched her jaw and averted her gaze, staring out the window where the sunlight had just started to peek through the cracks of the blinds. “Okay. I fucked up, okay?”
Max held her breath through the entire explanation. It wasn’t fair. Chloe and Will had been minding their own business, not hurting anyone, not doing anything deserving of the punishment they’d received.
Their tattoo booth had been at the corner of the venue, where all the amateur artists had been stacked together in a group. By the road. Easy access. Max tried to focus on Chloe’s words, tried to dissect the conversation and find gaps where she could step in.
Someone had started a fight — a random guy who corned a younger girl to yell at her. Nobody knew what had sparked it, but Chloe watched him pull out a knife, and in her eyes, that had been the final straw.
Chloe had pushed him away, keeping the two of them separate, unflinching even in the face of his sharp weapon. What she hadn’t realized at the time was that the man had friends, and those friends had guns.
A drive-by shooting. That’s what they’d classified it as, same as the article she’d read. Cut and dry, an unsolvable mystery, a dead-end.
The hardest part was knowing that Max couldn’t take away her pain. She had to watch as Chloe relayed the news, her chest heaving in sobs that even the drugs they’d pumped into her couldn’t stop.
“It was Will. They shot her, Max. They killed…fuck. It was my fault. If I hadn’t…”
“Stop, you…you can’t blame yourself.” Max didn’t care for her own despair, couldn’t care less about much of a fucking wreck she must’ve looked. “It wasn’t your fault, Chloe. You did the right thing.”
“I knew that guy…that dick. The one with the knife.” She looked up at Max, finally, and exhaled. “I knew who he was.”
“Did you tell that to the police?”
“Of course I did. Doesn’t mean they can do anything about it. Useless fuckers,” she muttered under her breath. Chloe tugged a weak fistful of sheets between her fingers. “But it wasn’t him who shot that gun. The cops came by last night, said they don’t know who did it, couldn’t find them quick enough.”
But Max knew. And she would never forget. Even if it hadn’t been by his direct hands, Cash had somehow created the entire situation, the mastermind to the whole fucked up phenomenon. She’d almost lost Chloe. She’d actually lost a friend — something she was sure she’d linger on once it sank in, once she had the space to breathe and think and shatter. But Chloe needed her now.
“What…what is your recovery process?”
Chloe dropped her chin to look down at her lap, staring holes in her palms. It was a gesture Max knew better than anyone in the world — to look at yourself with scorn, wondering why the fuck you did what you did, wondering why you’d been cursed.
When Chloe tried to form a fist, her fingers only shook and wobbled, then fell useless at her sides. Tears bleed at the corners of her eyes, and Max hastily leaned in to brush them away, but Chloe turned to the side.
“Don’t touch me. I’m fine.” Chloe sniffed, composing herself where Max couldn’t see. “It’s, uh. It’s complicated. They got the bullet out last night. Wouldn’t let me keep it, heh—”
“Chloe.”
Max’s tongue felt thick. Chloe still hadn’t moved. Maybe it was the drugs keeping her sedentary, maybe she was tired, maybe she was…
“They said…they said I got lucky. Just an inch in another direction and it would’ve hit some major organ and killed my ass right there, but…”
“But what? What did they say? When can you leave?”
Chloe pawed at her eyes with weak hands, then looked back at Max with a sad smile. “I can’t exactly walk right now, Max. Maybe not ever. And the risk of complications is high, like, really fucking high.”
“No, it…it just happened yesterday, there’s no way they know for sure that’s the case,” Max offered, unsure if she was giving the reasoning for Chloe’s sake or her own. “We can wait it out, give you the time to heal and get back on your feet, see how things—”
“Max.” Chloe stared at her with deadly seriousness, a pale, blank expression that she’d never seen before. And Max’s heart sank. “Have you ever…gotten that feeling where you know exactly what’s going to happen and exactly how it’s going to play out?”
Of course she did. She’d spent her entire adult life trying to ignore that feeling. “Why are you even asking me that? You know I do.”
“Well, this is that feeling for me.” Chloe shook her head, but the action made her look disoriented and she flinched from herself. “Something about this…is different. I guess all that bad karma I was owed finally caught up, huh?”
Max stood, her chair nearly falling over from how quickly she’d shoved it aside. She couldn’t take it any more. All this waiting, all this listening, all this lack of action and lack of results.
“Don’t say that. You’re a good person, Chloe. You’ve always been a good person, and whoever thinks otherwise can go fuck themselves.”
But Chloe looked tired. So tired. “It’s okay, Max. There’s no changing this, we’ll learn how to…adapt, I guess. It’s what we do best.”
Max sensed a shift in the air, like somehow the breeze from outside had entered the clinical room, and she heard the ghost of a man’s laughter haunting her ears.
There was a way to change it. It was her destiny.
“I won’t let you die like this,” Max whispered, the words falling from her lips before she was even aware they would be there. “I’ll go back, I’ll fix it, I’ll—”
“No. No, Max, no. You can’t fucking go back.”
Chloe panicked, and Max almost hesitated. But she didn’t. Confidence filled her veins and she clenched an empty hand.
“I can’t let this happen.”
“Listen to me,” Chloe pleaded harshly. “The storm…you made your choice there, and I supported you. I accepted it. I was grateful, even. But this? This choice is mine.” She let out a ragged breath, wincing as her bandages seeped red. “Don’t go back. Please. For me.”
“I’m sorry. I love you.”
A knock sounded on the door as a rush of doctors filled the area, none of them sparing Max any attention. But Chloe never took her eyes off her, not even as Max was kindly asked to leave, not even as the door shut behind her. That was when Max let herself cry. Out of sight, out of mind, staggering down the hallway as her eyes blurred with tears and her jaw ached with her sobs.
She made it to the hospital’s exit before she shoved her hands inside her jacket. And there, the wind curling around her hair, her fingers brushed against something thin in her pocket.
A photograph. November. Her and Chloe, smiling, cheeks pressed together, stupid expressions matching each other. They were happy. Whole.
And Max knew what she had to do. It was never even a choice. She’d prove him right.
2020 — November 12
A camera flashed, and Max came rushing back to reality. She stumbled away, nose dripping with hot red blood. She touched a hand to it, feeling the slick liquid seep into the grooves of her fingertips. That time, she’d been expecting it. Maybe that moment had been fated from the very start.
“What the fuck…did you do something?” Chloe accused, just the same as she had before.
She had been right to ask the question; she had always been right. Max started to cry. If she’d even stopped at all in the time it took to travel back through time.
The tears came quick and heavy, streaming down her face. She clutched onto a surprised Chloe, hands digging into her shoulders.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry,” Max repeated it over and over, until the words blurred together and all air left her lungs.
Ears ringing, Chloe led her to the bathroom, pointing at the sink for her to sit down. She wiped Max’s blood, dried her tears, saying nothing until she was clean, until the sobs died down to slight sniffling and swollen eyes.
“You did something,” Chloe commented, voice quiet. “You saw something. Didn’t you?”
Max nodded, wordless. She knew she only had a certain amount of time left, but she couldn’t find the right words to say. She just wanted to see her again, to be held, to try changing their fate.
How could she keep doing this? Was she destined to be Chloe’s shield until the end of time? Until she had to watch her die for a final time? Was her purpose in life to chase after Chloe until the end of all days, just to make sure she didn’t feel pain?
“Yeah. I did.” Max’s voice was raw, just like her bleeding heart, as if it was her who had been shot, not Chloe, not Will. “You can’t…you can’t go to Chicago. Please.”
It had to help — it had to fix everything. She’d find Cash later, she’d deal with him, put him in the ground if that’s what it took.
Chloe looked to her, her own tears matching Max’s. She stroked a thumb over Max’s knee, still standing between her legs. “Okay. I trust you.”
The words should’ve assured her, should’ve put her anxious mind at ease. But it didn’t. Max could read the true meaning hidden behind them. She’d failed Chloe, she’d overstepped the one boundary they’d ever had between them.
Max felt a tug in her stomach, her palms itching like she was being pulled into a different future. Out of time, she dragged Chloe into a desperate kiss one last time, hands cupping her jaw and breathing in her taste, the salty tang of tears mixing on her tongue.
It would be worth it. It had to be.
“I love you, Chloe. I’ll always love you.”
“I know. I’m with you, Max.”
????
Searing pain shot through her spine, ricocheting off her bones until even her fingertips pulsed with a fiery intensity.
When Max tried to open her eyes, she saw nothing but whiteness and a bleeding dot in the horizon. Swimming through her own sweat and fighting against the weight of a thousand pounds, Max trudged towards it.
Everything hurt, like her skin was being flayed off and her bones were separating at the seams. But she’d seen Chloe, she’d warned Chloe, she’d done it. Everything would be okay. This future would be better. She just had to find Chloe first. Where was she?
She must have walked for miles, the ground a perfectly smooth marble flooring beneath her. The dot grew larger, taking shape until she saw that it wasn’t Chloe, it was Damien Cash. His suit was crisp and clean, dimples popping on his cheeks.
“Hello, Max. Welcome back.” He met her halfway, boots clacking on the flat floor. “Was this not the reality you were expecting?”
I should kill you. The thought didn’t even surprise her anymore.
“Where’s Chloe?”
Cash looked around in confusion, though there was nothing in the landscape to even see. “Hmm, guess she’s not here.” He shrugged. “I must have plucked you from your future by mistake. Do you understand now? Who I am, what I’m capable of?”
“You’re…” Max gasped through a rush of pain. “You’re a little bitch, that’s what I understand. You shot her?”
“I did?” Cash held a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Maxine, you should know better than that, we were in the middle of a conversation when it happened, after all. My alibi is rock solid. I didn’t kill Chloe Price.”
No, no. She wasn’t dead — she wouldn’t be, couldn’t be. Max would go back as far as she needed to make sure that was the truth. She’d kick and scream and kill her way to the top of god’s kingdom if that’s what it took.
“You said it yourself, Cash. You can be anywhere and do anything you want. You can manipulate people and fuck them over and you fucking shot her?!”
“Max, please. I think someone has a listening problem,” Cash replied lowly. “I never said I can do anything I want. I said I can be anywhere I want. There’s a difference, you see. And that small difference is the entire reason why I’ve left you here alive. Because I need you.”
“I don’t fucking care,” Max spat. She didn’t know where she was, where Cash had dragged them to. But she knew one thing for certain. “You hurt her, Cash. And I’m gonna kill you if you don’t take me back. Now.”
“But you can’t go back, Max.” Cash held a fake sadness in his frown, mocking her. “That reality doesn’t exist, my dear. You destroyed it the moment you went through that photograph. You did precisely what I asked you to do.”
“You fucking liar, you can’t—!”
Max lunged at him, sweeping her hands through the infinite expanse of time, but Cash’s body disappeared the millisecond before she reached him.
Left staring at her empty hands, Max staggered to a knee.
And she disappeared through a floor of lavender light.
????
When she came to, Cash had already resumed their conversation, as if he hadn’t just torn them into a different reality for the second time in ten minutes.
“I can do this all day, Max. Well, all life.” He scoffed in amusement, shaking his head like he made a clever joke that only he would understand. His hands had been shoved back into his pockets. “Do you even know what day it is? How much time has passed?”
They were at the top of a building now. Hundreds of skyscrapers reached to the clouds around them, though none as tall as the one they stood on. The wind howled loudly and the city was as dark as the bottom of the ocean, no lights visible for miles across the horizon.
But Max had been there before — and knew it shouldn’t have been dark. The city was meant to be a beacon of light, visible even from space. The city that never sleeps.
Something was wrong. Blood poured from her nose, staining her clothes nearly black.
The building swayed and Max fell back to her knees, clutching at the concrete beneath her like her life depended on it.
“It’s the end of times, Max. The city will be destroyed in…” Cash checked his watch with a flick of his wrist. “Ten minutes. That’s how long you have.” He resumed his casual stroll as the building continued to rumble beneath them. “Ah, New York City, isn’t she beautiful? Such a shame that humanity ruined everything good it ever created. Though, I suppose none of us could’ve predicted such a freak event like the one we’re about to witness.”
“No…what…year is this?” Max needed to know — needed to know how far away she was, how far from Chloe he had taken her. Was she ten years in the future? A thousand? Could she even get back on her own?
“Curious, are you? I’ve visited this time period before, you know. And, don’t tell my wife, but I’ve even brought a date here, a time or two — no pun intended. Ladies love a tragic ending, don’t they?” His wicked grin stretched towards her. “How about you, Maxine? Do you love a tragic ending? Our hero, down and defeated, her lover gone and buried. Tsk, tsk. If only you had listened to me.”
“You…you’d let me die here? I thought you needed me?”
A trickle of blood fell from Cash’s nose. So he wasn’t immune to the consequences of his actions. That was good.
He knelt beside her, tugging her chin up with a finger.
“Would you let yourself die here, Max? What would happen if you tried manipulating time, here and now? Who do you think would win?”
Max bit her tongue until she tasted iron. I’d win.
Then he stood, hands tucked back into those pristine pockets. Like he was ashamed of the power trickling from his palms, like he was trying to hide it.
He walked to the chain link fence at the top of the building, leaning against it like he was invincible. And then the stars started falling.
It happened with only few at first, then a million all at once, until the entire sky was consumed by the light of the universe caving in on itself.
“Oh, it’s time,” Cash exclaimed, almost joyous in nature. “Care to enjoy the show?”
Max spit her blood against the ground, where some of it landed on Cash’s boot. He jerked his foot away, his face twisting in rage. And he kicked her, violent and sudden, and she went sprawling backwards in a daze.
“Disgusting, filthy little—!” Cash took a step over her, peering down with a glint in his eyes she’d not seen before. He raised a hand, jerking his fingers until a swirl of purple light crackled over his shoulder. “You want to experience pain, Max? Fine. I can take you there.”
He lurched forward, clutching onto her shoulder with an iron grip and yanking her straight into the unnatural light. Max didn’t even have the time to yell.
????
It was a nightmare. That was it. A simple explanation for the events unfolding in front of her, a justifiable reason for why she was there, back in the dark room, back in hell.
She was just dreaming. She was safe in bed with Chloe at her side, both of them unharmed and unknowing. Just a bad dream. Just a cruel form of torture, one that would all be over soon.
Max knelt, rooted to the spot, just a few feet away from where she watched herself be tied to that goddamn chair. Breathing was painful, her head throbbing from the force of being dragged through time against her will. If not for the blood coating the inside of her mouth, grounding her, she surely would’ve thought it was all just a dream.
She couldn’t move. Both versions of her — the one in her own body, who watched it all unfold, and the unconscious form of herself, drugged and disoriented as her teacher stuck that needle back into her veins. She wanted to run, to lash out, to raise her palm and show those monsters what it truly meant to have power.
But Max just sat there, waiting, watching, hating. She heard the clicks of his camera, heard his boots on the floor, heard each and every slight chuckle of satisfaction beneath his breath.
“You see, I do know everything about you,” Cash stated. He was behind her now — the real her, not the one from before. Max didn’t know which of them had it worse. “I know what makes you tick and what makes you break. Odd, isn’t it? To see yourself like this, knowing that the girl in that chair doesn’t even realize you’re here. Neither of them do. You can scream as much as you want and it won’t change a thing.”
Jefferson positioned her body like a doll, like a meek, helpless child. Max wouldn’t let herself look away. She owed herself that much.
“Why are you doing this?”
Cash knelt beside her, resting his elbows on his knees. “Haven’t you been paying attention? I need you to go back. I need you to change my past.” He nudged against her, like he hadn’t just hit her, like he hadn’t pulled her into a living nightmare. “All you have to do is say yes, and I’ll let you go. I’ll never bother you again. Whatever you want in the world, it’ll be yours. Money, power, love, I can give you anything you desire.” Then he chuckled, always to himself, never to her. “That is, if I even remember you after everything is done. Funny how changing the past distorts your memory, isn’t it? Can you feel it yet?”
The Max in the chair slumped over again, unconscious as Jefferson licked his lips and poked at her skin, his face overcome with a disturbed sense of pleasure. The power trip of a lonely man who thought too much of himself.
She felt sick. There was a churning in her stomach that threatened to burn her from the inside out with a horrified realization of what exactly she’d fallen into.
“What will it take for you to break, Max?”
She wasn’t sure if it had been Jefferson or Cash who’d said it, or if had been both of them at once. But she felt the answer, then. Max felt what it would take to break her.
“S-stop it,” Max cried out. “Just…make it stop…”
????
A horn blared at the same moment a yellow cab shot down the street, missing Max’s body by a narrow margin as the bright flashing light of a camera flashed at the forefront of her vision. And for a moment, she thought she’d finally returned back to her reality, back to home. But this version of Chicago wasn’t the one she knew, it was older, maybe even older than Max herself.
She staggered away, holding onto her stomach for support as she tried to get her bearings back. Her legs felt like they’d been glued on wrong, like somewhere along the line of reality hoping, she’d been put back together incorrectly.
Rain poured from the open sky, drenching her in seconds. It was all too familiar of a feeling, in all too familiar of a city.
“T-the storm, Cash, you can’t…do this anymore…”
Cash leaned against the side of a tall building, a hand clenched directly beneath his nose to halt the rush of blood. Red liquid dribbled down his chin, pouring in streams that rivaled the strength of the rain. Max had never seen a nosebleed as bad as that one — even on the days she’d nearly killed herself by abusing her own powers. He was maiming himself, only inches away from taking it way too far.
“I’m stronger than you, Max. The—” He stopped, coughing, and his hand came back smeared with more red. His teeth snapped together tightly as he spat a glob out onto the cement. “I’m t-the strongest of us all. And, goddammit, you’re going to listen to me!”
He grabbed Max’s jaw, forcing her to kept her mouth shut. There was something different about his eyes, and it wasn’t just the blood trickling from his pores. It was pain. Raw, unfiltered, barely restrained agony.
“That’s better,” he rasped, aggressively turning her head to the side before he let go with a harsh shove. “This is where it all started, you see. Where I became what I am. It always starts with an event. I call it a spark. A cruel twist of fate in the universe that drives one to perform an act of god, to take up the mantle of power for themselves. Chloe’s death was your spark. Would you like to see mine? No? Well, isn’t that unfortunate. Here it comes.”
It happened quickly — too fast for any normal human to predict, to stop.
Exiting her apartment building, a little girl danced across to the sidewalk, face gazing up at the open sky as she saw the world with as much beauty as a child could. Familiar dimples were at either side of her mouth as she beamed a bright smile.
Her innocent, unknowing dance led her to the rain-slicked road, where her pink Barbie shoes slipped into a puddle. And she fell. A truck honked. A man screamed, unfiltered fear echoing through the rain.
The girl never stood a chance. She collapsed like an empty bag, her tiny body crumpling in on itself as the truck screeched to a blinding halt just a few moments too late.
Max clapped a hand over her mouth, helpless to watch in horror as blood mingled with rain in the rivets of the road.
The man, now soaked with rain, sprinted forward. His skid to a halt on the asphalt, shredding his knees in his haste to cradle the young girl. And Max had never heard a more broken noise than the one that was torn from his throat.
“I’ve been here a thousand times. A million fucking times.” Cash hissed through the blood, drowning in it, wiping at his chin fruitlessly. “Nothing changes. I can only…watch. Over and over as my only daughter dies in my arms. My little Avery. My angel.”
That terrible tragedy — that was the key. That was the missing piece Max had never been able to find on her own. Avery Cash. It was all because of Avery, and the answer had been right in front of her the entire goddamn time.
Cash continued, oblivious to Max’s realization. “A drunk driver, they said. A tragic accident. No, no, I don’t believe it. The world hates people like us, Max. But…But…”
He fell to a knee as he watched, like the wound was still raw. Max wasn’t sure if it was from overusing his powers, or if the emotional strain had finally caught up to him. His chest heaved just as hard as the man who held the young girl. Cash himself, from a lifetime ago, with dark hair and smooth skin.
“But you’re different…you’re the key to everything,” Cash said, spitting his words out like they weighed a hundred pounds. “In all the people I’ve found, you’re the only one who matters. All the power in the world, Max, but I can’t do what you can.”
In all his anger, Cash looked up at her from where he knelt. And she could tell that he had worked himself half to death. Maybe he didn’t even care anymore.
“You can save her,” he said. “You can go back and change this.”
Max lowered her hand from her hand, trying to not look at it, not wanting to see the way it shook and wobbled. “I don’t…I can’t…I wasn’t there, Cash. I can’t go back that far.”
“But you were here, Max! Look around us! Look!”
Cash stumbled to hit feet, shoving a crumpled photograph into Max’s hand. The rain had drenched his already soaked shoulders and made his clothes look like they were dragging his body down through the concrete below.
The picture was of her, right then and there. A weird distortion made the image look faded as the crisp outline of Max’s petrified face stared back at her. This was…bending time too far, bending it to the point of snapping. Even if it worked, even if it was possible, she couldn’t intrude in history to such a drastic degree.
“You can fucking save her!” Cash lurched forward again, but this time he was easy for her to dodge. His arms swung wildly, but there was no power behind them. “Max, you’re the only — the only one who can save her! It’s not fair, it’s not fucking fair! You can shift time, you can manipulate the future! You were blessed by the goddamn universe to change the future an infinite number of times, that’s why I found you! That’s why I helped you! You would be nothing without me!”
Max let the photograph fall. “…What?”
He devolved into laughter, reduced to an animal who’d been caged and corned. “You didn’t know? You didn’t know who bought your art, who approved your portfolio submissions back when you were a fucking nobody? Ha, Max, please!” Cash clutched a bloody hand against his stomach as the siren of an ambulance grew closer. “An eighteen year old girl, selling out at art shows? Gaining thousands of followers seemingly overnight? You should know better than that, you’ve been in the industry long enough by now. It was me, Max. I did that. I saved you. You would’ve been nothing without me, without my influence. You owe me everything you are. Because I made you, Max. You’re my creation. My prodigy.”
Everything had a catch. When she was younger, Max had put too much faith in luck and karma, believing that if you were a good person, you would attract good things. And perhaps it had been true all along. If it was, Max had given up believing that she was anything close to being good. Without her passion, who was she? Just a stupid kid, trying to fit in a world that didn’t want her.
But Chloe was out there. Chloe was waiting for her. Chloe would wait forever, but Max didn’t want it to take that long.
“You fucking maniac. I don’t give a shit what you’ve done for me. You shot my girlfriend.”
Cash huffed and snapped his fingers. “Fiancée, Max,” he corrected. “Come on, stay with me. Losing your memory already?”
“Fuck you,” Max spat. “I’m not playing this game anymore. Take me back to her.”
“Besides…” He brushed her aside, caught in his own head and refusing to listen. “You saved that bitch again, didn’t you? You went back. You saved her life. How many times does that make it? Twice? Three times? Four or five? So, you can save my girl, just this once.”
The EMS arrived, but everyone who’d amassed in the street already knew there wouldn’t be any good news to share. They loaded Avery on a stretcher, they zipped the black bag around her frail form, and it took three men to hold Cash back from rushing after her.
“She was nine years old, Max. A child, a baby. My fucking baby.” His voice had quieted, like all the fight he had left in him had vanished. More than just rain streamed down his face, where blood soaked his suit and stained his white shirt. “Please, Max…I have nothing else. Just her.”
Max swallowed down the pity as it crashed over her. She stood solidly over Cash, where he clung to her legs, bloodied and soaked as the storm raged around them. He looked like he’d fought in a war and lost, or like it had been him who’d been struck by the truck.
She knocked his hands away and stepped back, shaking her head. It was too much. Too large and all-consuming of a problem for her to be able to fix on her own.
“No, Cash…I can’t do it,” she said simply. “I won’t. Neither of us could possibly predict how much messing with something that far back would change things. It’s too…it’s too dangerous. It could ruin the entire world. It could ruin everything.”
Horror flickered over his face as a gurgling noise sprang from his throat, then the rage took him over. His eyes lowered, teeth bared and red, and Cash swayed to his feet like a zombie.
“You think I care about this world? Without her? I don’t give a shit what happens, so long as I can hold her again. You’ll listen to me, bitch — You…you fucking will—” A splatter of blood flew from his lips, landing near his staggering feet. Energy crackled over his shoulder, swirls of purple popping to life in the shape of a portal. “Max, you’re gonna go back, right fucking now, you owe me!”
Cash twisted his hands, manipulating the dark strands until the portal grew large enough to fit in — for both of them to fit through. Through the veil, Max saw an ocean and a cliffside and the middle of a devastating storm.
No, no, no, not Arcadia Bay — not again!
Then it dawned on her. She recognized that scene — and not just because she was familiar with the area. Someone had died there. She remembered it like it was yesterday, even though it had been years since it happened, years since she’d considered it for longer than a passing moment.
A cliffside suicide, right before the one year anniversary of the Arcadia Bay storm. It had been her — it had to be. They never identified the body, because Max had still been alive at the time. Some sick, twisted joke, it was. How everything came back to Arcadia Bay in the end.
Cash snatched her wrist, breaking her out of the panic, his grip like iron even despite his failing strength, and he jerked her forward. Max stiffened her stance, resisting his tug as she scrambled to pull her hand away. Adrenaline pumped through her veins, the base instinct of survive, survive, survive the only thought she was capable of forming as the world decomposed around them, rain pelting her skin like bullets.
“If I can’t have you, no one can,” he hissed, tightening his grip around her arm.
“Let go of me!”
Max kicked him in the leg, no reaction. She slammed her head forward into his nose, feeling a sickening crunch, and Cash stumbled just long enough for her to get her wits about her. Then she summoned as much strength in her arms as she was capable of and pushed against his chest in a desperate attempt of gaining ground.
She realized it only a moment before he did. Cash teetered on the edge of the portal, clutching onto her sleeve as his feet met nothing but air behind him. His eyes widened like a deer in the headlights, and perhaps Max was watching as he saw his life flash before him. His mouth moved, sounding out the word No, though nothing could be heard through the wind.
Would he think of his daughter, whose body was being toted away in the ambulance just behind them? Would he think of his grief, of his pain, of every ounce of misery that followed him throughout his life?
Would he think of his friends, his family, his enemies, the people he’d spent countless hours around? Or would he think about everything wrong in the world, all the injustice and tyranny?
Maybe he’d think of sunsets, of warm tea, of cold winter nights, of spending your life next to the person you love. Maybe he’d think of nothing. But none of it mattered, because when it came time to answer the call, everyone was alone in the end.
Cash fell, down, down, down; racing down the cliffside like a flailing toy, helpless against the wind sweeping across his body, until his once strong form snapped against the sharp rocks in as much time as it took for Max to blink, and the portal sizzled out of existence with him.
Max hit the solid ground not a second after, searing pain lancing her right palm as it connected with the wet asphalt. Her lungs were empty, air seemingly impossible to find. She choked on rain, on blood, on the grief and shock of everything she’d just witnessed. She was alone, alone, alone.
When she raised her hand, her skin was torn and bloody, and Max knew she was lost. She was stuck there.
The rain continued pelting her prone form, drizzling and peppering her with wet droplets that washed away the streaks of red. No one would be able to see her, to feel her, to save her. She didn’t even know what it year it was — where Chloe was, where her parents were, where her life would be at that point in time. Would she stay there forever? Would she be forced to move on, to pick-up living from wherever the hell Cash had left her?
Her hand raised higher, prepared to do what she did best. To fuck up. To meddle with the universe in the same way it meddled with her.
But when Max splayed her fingers, palm raised to the open, pouring sky, nothing happened. Time didn’t reverse, didn’t waver. She flicked her wrist, feeling around behind the veil to search for the strands of time that had always been there — but the abyss was empty, save for a gentle, glowing yellow light.
So she reached for it.
Grasping hold of the faint glow, Max tugged it to her chest, a rush of air leaving her lungs from the energy it took to maintain her concentration. A blistering heat flooded her veins and she nearly dropped the strand of light, but she held strong — for that was all she was able to do.
She spiraled for hours, for days, until a bright flash consumed her, and she figured that maybe she died, too. Death wouldn’t be kind to her, she knew. Not after everything she’d done, everyone she’d killed. She owed the reaper more than she could pay, but the bill always came in the end. Her time was up. There was nothing more she could’ve done.
Max closed her eyes and waited for it to all be over. And she thought only of Chloe.
????
St. Louis.
“Everything isn’t fucking fine, Max. Stop pretending like what you did was okay. I don’t…I can’t look at you the same. Just leave me the fuck alone.”
I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. I’m dying.
Chicago.
“Everything is fine, Max. Breathe. They say I’ll be out of here soon, yeah? We’ll be fine. We’ll finally plan the wedding. We’ll get a dog, a house, have a couple kids. Anything you want.”
We can’t. You’re dying. I can feel it.
Not again, not again, not again.
Get me out.
St. Louis.
“I don’t even know if you’re my Max anymore. Look at you, you barely remember who you are or what we’ve done together. You’re…someone else. A different Max. From a different time.”
No, I’m yours— I’m fucking yours. I’ve always been yours, please, Chloe—
Chicago.
“I’ll…be fine. Promise. The doctor said that—that there’s a chance I’ll…recover. I’ll be fine. Just go home, get some sleep. I need…I need to sleep some, too. Hurts to be awake for this long.”
This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening again.
St. Louis.
“The real you will be back soon, won’t you? And you won’t even remember this conversation. God, it’s like you’re…a fucking robot. I don’t think I can do this anymore.”
Please, don’t say that— don’t fucking say—
Chicago.
“I’m sorry, I don’t think I’ll…be able to leave for awhile. I’m so fucking sorry, I’m trying to—god, sorry. I love you, Max.”
It’s all my fault. All my fault. All my fault.
St. Louis.
“I think I need to…take a break. From this.”
Don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t fucking leave me—
Chicago.
“…”
I’ll do anything to save you.
St. Louis.
“I’m sorry. I love you, I’ll always love you. But you need to find yourself, and I can’t keep letting you decide what happens in my own goddamn life. It’s not fair to either of us. Maybe someday…things will be different. But, right now?”
I’ll do anything you need— anything— just please, please don’t—
Chicago.
“…”
I’ll fix this. I’ll bring you back. We’re going to be together forever.
St. Louis.
“It’s over, Max.”
—leave.
Notes:
I’ve had this chapter planned since the very beginning, but somewhere along the way I started second guessing myself and questioning my desire to write a genuine PF breakup, so I’m sorry if it comes across as weird/out of place. I just really don’t think they would ever breakup. But. This is fan fiction, and I’m the captain here.
It was weird writing an original villain in a story about existing characters, and I’m not sure how I feel about it overall, but whatever. I won’t be writing any more about him, good riddance, now let’s all move on with our lives.
This was, obviously, the end of part 3. But there will be more, I'm not a monster. Or am I? Let me know!
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