The following is a work of fanfiction based on Life is Strange, created by Dontnod Entertainment and published by Square Enix: no claim of ownership is made and none is expected to be honoured. I own nothing, not the characters, not the setting, not even the laptop I wrote this piece on.

Trigger Warnings: Child Abuse, Depression, and Attempted Suicide.

Arcadia Bay, Oregon. December 24th, 2010. 9:43pm

A thin sheet of snow covers Cedar Avenue like a blanket, and Christmas has replaced normality with a quiet sense of wonder and peace. Lights have been strung up between houses and the electricity bills and petty squabbles between neighbours forgot for the time being, all in the name of the spirit of the season. Every so often, you can hear the faint sounds of carollers or the sound of some old blues rock Christmas cover from a radio, somewhere, or the wandering sound of a television.

In each and every home, families have taken the opportunity to come together, no matter their religion or opinion of one another. But for the sound of quiet celebration, it's quiet on Cedar Avenue tonight. A wind blows through the street, shaking the trees and the Christmas lights lining the sidewalks. Not a creature stirs, not even a mouse.

'Chloe, you stay right where you are and listen to me when I'm talking to you, young lady.'

To Max Caulfield,

Chloe Price, furious and dishevelled, tears the front door of her home open and marches outside wearing naught but a T-shirt, jeans, and a pair of converse sneakers. As she makes her way down the driveway, a gust of cold night air crashes against her auburn hair.

Fucking fuck, she thinks. Who thought Christmas Eve would be this cold?

David Madsen follows close behind, stopping in the doorway. 'Chloe, listen to me,' he shouts. 'I am your father now and I am ordering you. Get yourself back here, now!'

Chloe stops. She turns to David, still standing in the house's doorway, and sees that her mother has joined him in the doorway. Chloe scowls at them both. Borean wind be damned.

'Did you hear that?' she shouts to her mother, then looks to David. 'Listen, Rambo. You may be a lot of things, you may have somehow gotten mom to swallow the Cool Aid, but there is no way in Hell, in any of the nine circles of Hell, that you are my father.'

'Chloe,' Joyce says, 'be reasonable. Why are you spoiling such a wonderful evening?'

Hope you're having a great Christmas time in Seattle. Guess what? My mom met someone. He's a right mean bastard. Former army. Thinks he's Rambo or Jack Bauer. I'd say he's more like Sergeant Bilko if he weren't so utterly prickish as to re-define the term. Seriously, if you look up 'prick' in the dictionary, you'll see a photograph of my step… He just asked my Mom to marry him. I'm not happy.

'Be reasonable? Did you hear what GI Jerkoff just said?'

Before Joyce can reply, David steps into the driveway. 'Chloe, I am ordering you to do as I say and get back into this house, now!'

Chloe smiles, flips David the bird and continues down the driveway.

Fuck him, she thinks. There are plenty of other things to do than hanging out with Joyce.

Enraged, David steps out from out of the doorway and runs up behind her. He grabs her arm tightly.

Chloe turns and struggles. 'Get off me you fucking eunuch!'

David slaps Chloe across the face. The world falls silent. He stumbles backwards into the snow and Chloe holds her hand to her face. Joyce can only stare in disbelief.

'Chloe,' David says, frightened and confused from the floor, his hands buried in the snow. 'I-I'm.'

Chloe looks to her mother, shaking in the doorway. Her breathing is hard.

What? She thinks.

She looks back towards David. Then to Joyce. Then David.

'You… You… Fuck you both!'

Without thinking, Chloe runs. She runs hard and far until the lights from her street are like a distant and long dead star and until it hurts to breath. Her sides ache and her heart throbs. For the longest time, her pace slows and slows until she can barely move anymore. It hurts just to walk. To think.

So I've decided to go for a little walk to take my mind off things. Do you remember the woods where we used to play? They look awesome at the moment, like Narnia if Narnia was done in HDTV and had an unlimited budget.

Chloe comes to a stop amid a clearing, deep within the Prescott's forest, not too far from the lighthouse and her and Max's tree. She doesn't recognise the area.

There are no paths – if there are they are buried under snow. There's nothing on the ground but the carpet of snow. It reflects moonlight like a mirror. She takes three small, painful steps forward and her foot bangs against something. Hard and metallic.

She bends down and brushes some of the snow away and sees that it's a train track. A sense of dread comes over Chloe. She steps back.

Why? She wonders. What's scary about a train track? At least people who lie on them tend to get a good night's sleep.

I gotta admit: I'm a little bit lost. The snow has fucked everything up. You were always better at navigation than I was. Perhaps if it hadn't snowed, I'd have a better idea of where the fuck I am. Oh well, worse things have happened at sea.

Out of some childlike impetus, Chloe exhales hard. She smiles when she sees her breath, clear as a ring of smoke. She shivers.

I'm cold, Max, and I wish you were here.

I wonder if I can follow this train track to San Francisco. Who am I kidding? I'd probably wind up in Portland or Delaware.

Chloe sighs, kicks the track and makes her way to the tree stump on the far side, on the edge of a large clearing, surrounded by chopped down trees. She remembers from school that no one had logged in the area for almost a hundred years.

If only I could remember anything else about the area, or how to make a shelter. You'd know, wouldn't you, Max? You'd probably written the whole thing out, catalogued in that damned journal of yours along with pictures and a map of the whole area. Analogue Wikipedia.

Her gaze wanders across the wide field of snow in front of her, up to the trees, tall and wild, up to the stars and the moon above. She holds her arms close to her chest and considers where to go.

Hey, Max, do you know if my grandparents are still alive? I need somewhere to crash, and I don't want to bother you. I can't imagine your mom would appreciate me couch surfing…

The last time she remembers seeing either set of grandparents, they were sitting each side of her mother and it was the day of her father's funeral. Afterwards, while Chloe was upstairs with Max, all four of them had slipped away without speaking a word to her. No visits since then. No Calls. No letters. Nothing.

Fucking typical.

The moon slowly disappears behind a vast cloud coming in from the East. Slowly, it gets darker and darker until Chloe is left sitting in a caliginous void.

Looking for a cigarette and a lighter, Chloe reaches into her jeans pockets. She finds neither, only her plastic bottle of pills.

Christ. Of all the fucking things to pocket, I had to pocket these fucking things. Luck of the assholes.

She plays with the bottle, sliding it between her fingers and wonders whether if it's possible to overdose on Fluoxetine. She plays with it the same way that she had seen Gregory House do it on TV, only she keeps dropping it. Finally, she throws it to the ground.

The cold bites at her legs like ants, quietly and constantly. In the back of her mind, she can feel the effects of the drug now on the floor. A tingle creeps down her neck. Then a sickness. Her stomach tightens and a headache sets in.

She thinks back to her happier and younger days, playing pirates in summer forests and carving names in trees.

You know what? Fuck you, Max. All my fucking life, people have been telling me I do things wrong, that I'm too emotional, a slut, a depressing geek or childish, but I'm just me and I look around and I see everybody around me is infinitely more an asshole than I am. So you know what I say? Fuck them. Fuck you. Fuck it all. Thanks for not calling. Thanks for not visiting. Thanks for leaving me here. Some best friend for life you turned out to be.

Life. The word leaves a bitter taste in Chloe's mind, as does image that plays out like an old movie: the endless stream of sleepless nights and days spent at her desk, waiting for a conversation that she knows will never come. Even that dystopia seems gone. Now there is nothing left but the dark night, the bottle of Fluoxetine buried in the snow and winter's cold.

There's nothing left… Arcadia Bay is like the pit from a massive explosion, filled with sand and broken glass and the charred remains of life. lol… I knew I could be eloquent... It's getting dark now, Max. Dark. Too dark to see. Knock, knock, knock…

She looks around the empty clearing and smiles as the moon reappears from behind the clouds. It's beautiful in its own way, like if Christmas Town was a small town in Oregon.

It's a good place, Chloe thinks, as good as a place as any.

She reaches down onto the old floor and clasps the bottle of pills. She opens the bottle.

Will it hurt? Does it matter? Who cares?

Bye Max… Traitor. I'm sorry we weren't better friends. Bye Sergeant Fuckface… You should be here, not me. Bye Joyce. I'm coming soon, Daddy.

All my love to long ago,

Chloe Price

xxx

'Hey!'

What the fuck?

Chloe turns to see and spots a young woman about her age standing on the edge of the clearing, just past the train tracks. In her hand she holds a large torch. The young woman wears a thick, blue parka. One of those that make the wearer look like a giant blueberry.

'What?' Chloe says, closes the bottle of pills and slips them into her pocket. 'Who are you? What do you want?'

'I'm looking for my dog. Have you seen him? Have you seen a Rottweiler anywhere?'

Chloe shifts to face the girl. 'Your dog ran off on Christmas Eve?'

'Yeah,' she replies.

Chloe chuckles. 'Tis the season of shit.'

'What?'

'I haven't seen a thing, sorry.'

'Okay,' the young woman replies, turns and walks away. Chloe turns and looks down at her feet. The bottle of pills presses against her leg.

'Hey, are you okay?'

Dear Max,

You'll never guess what. I think I've met someone cool in Bigfootville!

What?

'What?' Chloe replied.

'Are you okay? I mean, you are sitting out here. Alone. On Christmas Eve. Not wearing a coat or anything.'

'I'm awesome,' Chloe says.

'Okay. It's just that…'

'What?'

'You were holding a bottle of pills a second ago..'

'It's Latanoprost for eye pressure. Now, Nikki Heat, fuck off.'

The girl smiled and says: 'Rachel Amber.'

'What?'

'My name isn't Nikki Heat. It's Amber. Rachel Amber. What's yours?'

'Jesus Ibn Isaiah Mustafa Ben Gene Simmons. Nice to meet you.'

Rachel chuckled. 'So you're the Christian messiah, the son of the man my man can smell like, and the grandson of the bass player for Kiss? Damned.'

Her name is Rachel Amber. She's beautiful and funny. She. Gets. Me. She reminds me of you, actually…

Chloe can't help but let a small smile slip out. 'Are you going to leave me alone?'

'Not until you tell me your name.'

'Price, Chloe Price. First of her name. Daughter of William and Joyce of the House Price. Our sigil is the blue butterfly. Our words are "Hella." Now, leave me alone.'

Rachel stares. 'Where did that come from?'

'Dunno,' Chloe replies, 'was in a book in my therapist's office.'

'Sounds stupid.'

'It was.'

Rachel tiptoes closer, pointing the torch at the floor. 'Do you want to help me look for my dog, Chloe?'

'What?'

'Four eyes are better than two.'

'Oh… No,' Chloe says. 'I don't think I'd be much help, but thank you.'

'Come on. What else are you going to do?'

'Lots of things,' Chloe replies. 'I'm hella busy.'

'It doesn't look like you're hella busy.'

'From a distance, you don't look like an annoying bitch. Life's strange like that.'

'Listen,' Rachel says as she sits down next to Chloe, 'I don't know you from Eve, and you don't owe me Jack shit, but… well, you look like shit, Chloe. Cold shit. And it's Christmas Eve, and people shouldn't be… whatever you were doing, on Christmas Eve.' She puts her hand on Chloe's ice-cold shoulder. 'Let me help you.'

Chloe sighs. 'Fuck it.'

She's kind and daring; she saved me, dude. Totally fucking saved me. I didn't want her to, but you know what Kang said: "Only an idiot fights in a burning house," or something like that.

They stand up from the tree stump and make their way across the clearing, walking in silence. Rachel leads the way, with Chloe trailing behind her until, after a little while, she drops her pace to better match Chloe.

They head back into town, walking down the hill and then caressing the shoreline. Every so often, Rachel would turn to her new friend and try to say something, anything. But she always remains silent. As they walk past Two Whales Diner and the frozen lake, Rachel asks Chloe if she wants to wear her parka.

'No,' Chloe replies dismissively. 'I'm fine.'

'Are you sure?'

'Yes.'

'It's just that, well, I'm getting really warm. I'm wearing a cardigan underneath this thing, you know? I'm hot stuff. And I was thinking of taking the parka off, so it would be easier to walk. And I thought: "Rachel, girl, you've made your new friend Chloe here. She's wearing something about as insulating as a good idea in point four-degree weather. You can see that she's getting frostnip and you're getting hot in your parka that was made for the Russian army. Wouldn't it be a better idea for her to wear it?'

'I'm fine.'

'You look like death frozen.'

'Fine.'

I'm glad that she did.

'I look like Kenny out of South Park.'

Rachel smiles. 'You look nice. How do you feel?'

'Warmer,' Chloe replies, comfortable and snug in Rachel's parka.

'Good. It's not too far to my parent's house now.'

'I thought we were looking for your dog?'

'We are. I just want to see if he's gone home first.'

Chloe smiles at the idea of Rachel's home. It's a small betrayal of herself that she immediately regrets. She quickly drops it, but Rachel notices, and returns the smile. A small, caring and loving smile. Chloe looks down to her feet, her cheeks red.

They stand in silence for a long moment.

'Alright,' Chloe says, finally.

Rachel chuckles. 'Let's go, Chloe. We're killing moonlight.'

They continue on until Rachel's house comes into view. Rachel's house is bigger than Chloe's. Newer. It's not the kind of house that has fishermen for neighbours. Rachel says that her father writes historical novels set in Revolutionary times and her mother writes software.

Chloe stops.

'What?' Rachel says.

'Are you sure your family are going to be fine with you bringing someone home? I mean… You don't know me from Eve.'

'Don't worry about it,' Rachel replies. 'Hell have no fury like Rachel that hasn't gotten her way. They'll do me a solid.'

'You sure?'

'As sure as sugar. Don't worry.'

It starts snowing again and they continue forward, ignoring the incoming blizzard.

For one, her parents are weird.

Rachel pushes her front door open and slides inside. A stiff breeze of warm air pushes against Chloe as she follows Rachel inside, like a wave from an inviting ocean.

The Amber household is warm. Not hot, but warm. Inviting. The hallway walls have been painted red, and the carpet is black. On the right side of the hallway there's a mirror, framed with tinsel. A wreath sits on top of it. On the left are framed photographs that remind Chloe of the ones that Joyce has hung in their hallway.

From the kitchen, Chloe can hear Johny Mathis' Wonderful, Wonderful. A man and woman sing along atonally.

'Hey,' the woman says, leaving the man to carry the tune by himself. 'Have you found Sam?'

'No luck as of yet.'

'Well, don't worry. He'll turn up eventually. He's out probably getting laid and will come back before morning looking all proud of himself. Damned dog.'

'Yeah…' Rachel looks at Chloe, admiring the collection of photographs on the wall. 'Hey Mom?'

'Yes dear?'

'I've picked up a stray. Can I keep her?'

There's a rustle from the living room as both of Rachel's parents make their way to the hallway, wondering what kind of animal their daughter has brought back this time. They expect to see some sort of dog drying itself on their welcome mat, and are instead surprised when they see the tall young woman shaking in their hallway as she pulls off their daughter's parka. They stare at her blue lips and the white, red, and yellow patches on her arms.

'Jesus,' Rachel's father says. 'Are okay? Come into the living room. Dear, get the girl a blanket and something warm. Coffee. Soup.'

'I'm fine. Seriously.'

'You've got frostbite. Dear?'

'Yes,' Rachel's mother says. 'Yes, of course,' and disappears into the kitchen.

'We've got a fire blazing.'

Before Chloe can protest, she's already been whisked into the living room - her boots leave footprints in the carpeting as she walks.

There's no television in the Amber Household's living room. Instead, the furniture faces a large fireplace. The furniture is red leather, and there's a knitted Afghan covering the red leather sofa. On the right side of the room, over one of the chairs, there's a noticeable indentation in the wall, just under a leather chair, and next to a sound system. In the far corner, almost out of the way, sits the house's Christmas tree, almost an afterthought to the room, standing guard over two dozen or so presents.

Instinctively, Chloe sits on the chair to her left of fireplace, the one closest to the fireplace. Mr. Amber pulls the Afghan from its resting place and put it over Chloe.

'Here,' He said. 'My wife will just be a minute. I'd offer to make it myself, but, to be honest, my coffee is banned under the international criminal courts. Article 7, part 1, section K, if you want to be specific.'

Rachel chuckles.

'Speaking of which, do you prefer coffee or tea?'

'I don't know,' Chloe replies.

'Hot chocolate then. Rachel, I think your mom wants to speak to you. Would you mind telling her what this young woman wants?'

'Yes, Dad,' Rachel replied and went into the kitchen.

Chloe clutches the Afghan close to her and stares up at the small painting sitting on the fireplace, next to photographs of the family and elderly relatives. In the painting, she can see two men in Civil War Union Army uniforms shaking hands.

I'm sure Madsen would love the painting. He's got a hard on for military crap.

'What do you think?' Rachel's father says as he sits down on the chair to the right of the fireplace. Surprised, Chloe looks away from the painting and towards Rachel's father, sitting in the chair, smiling. An older man, he looks like Edward James Olmos, albeit a younger, thinner, almost British Olmos. He and his daughter share the same hair colour: Dark amber.

'It looks nice. Did you paint it?'

He chuckles. 'Me? Nah, I couldn't paint this well if I lived to be a hundred thousand years old. My wife painted it.'

'Oh…'

'Yeah. I was something of a geek when we first met. I used to collect antique pistols, de-activated of course, but after we got married she made me get rid of them. One day, about six hours after we got back from the honeymoon, after she saw what I did to the wall once while trying to work out if one of them was really deactivated,' he said and pointed to the hole in the wall.

'Oh.'

Her dad's cool, but something of a history geek. When I first met him, I thought, "Oh God, I'm in the middle of another history lesson!"

'So the painting is sort of like a compromise,' Chloe says, like "Dear you can't have your pistols, but I'm going to make your pistols look godawful in comparison.'

'Yeah. And you know what?'

'What?'

'She was exactly right. Never looked back.'

Chloe smiled, remembering her own father. 'That's a great story. Who's the dudes in the painting?'

Rachel's father smiled. 'The man on the right is General Ulysses S. Grant, who later went on to become the president. The man on the right is General Sherman. They were "BFF's," as you kids say these days.'

'Oh?'

'Yeah. I remember a great quote by Sherman that said, "I stood by him when he was drunk and he stood by me when I was crazy, and now we stand together always." People should have friends like that.'

Chloe smiles. 'Yeah.'

Chloe can hear Rachel telling her mother everything in the kitchen. The conversation quickly speeds up when Rachel's mother asks where Chloe had come from. Rachel's mother seems concerned. She thinks that Chloe was there to rob them, a tramp or a panhandler. Rachel explains: she had found Chloe in the middle of a clearing in a bad state and said that they should look after her for the night. Chloe flinches.

'Listen. I'm grateful for everything, but I've already taken up too much of your time. It's Christmas and…'

Before she can continue, Rachel's father has already begun speaking. 'So… How well do you know my daughter?'

Chloe's cheeks turn red – redder than they were – and not just because she had been interrupted. 'Not very well. To be absolutely honest, I met her about twenty minutes ago when she Shanghai'd me in the forest.'

'Shanghai'd? What are you, a pirate?' he said jokingly.

'Yeah,' Chloe says, remembering Max. 'Something like that. Forever and always.'

He chuckles. 'So is that what you were doing in the forest at this time of the night on Christmas Eve? Burying stolen booty?'

'I…'

Before Chloe can continue, Rachel's mother interrupts. 'Dear, would you come in here please?'

Although I have a suspicion that her mother doesn't like me very much, but that's fine: I'm not fond of her either. She's the queen of the dismissive bitch faces and Anarchists are morally opposed to monarchy.

Rachel appears from the kitchen holding a steaming cup of hot chocolate. She smiles at Chloe and hands her the cup. Chloe smiles, thanks Rachel, drinks deeply from it and thinks it's the best damned thing she's ever drank. So far.

'What do you think?' Rachel says.

'It's lovely.' Shit. Bad word. 'Very nice.'

'You're welcome, Chloe.'

Rachel's father groans and stands up from his chair. 'Excuse me, ma'am. Mrs. Amber's calls.'

'Chloe,' Chloe says. 'My name is Chloe.'

'My apologies,' he says, 'Chloe,' and disappears.

Rachel smiles and sits down in her father's chair. 'Did he talk about being a civil war fanboy?'

'Yeah,' Chloe replies. 'He doesn't dress up or anything, does he?'

'No,' Rachel says, her cheeks red. 'He says it's too much like cosplaying for him to be comfortable.'

'What's he got against cosplaying?'

'I don't know. I'm just surprised he knows what cosplaying is.'

'Maybe he has Tumblr?'

'Wouldn't surprise me. He dropped Bebo before I did.'

They laugh in unison for what feels like the longest time, allowing the sounds of Rachel's parents' discussion to fade away into white noise. In the corner, the stereo plays away to itself.

'Thank you for the hot chocolate,' Chloe says after a while, 'but I can't stay long.'

'Are you going home?'

'No, but…'

'So you've got nowhere else to go?'

'No. I mean, yes. I mean…'

'If you've got nowhere else to go, then what's the problem with staying here for a little while?'

Chloe sighed. 'None, I guess.'

In the other room, they can hear as Rachel's parents discuss the matter. Neither seem comfortable with their daughter's choice to bring Chloe home, but both agree it would be wrong to kick her out.

'So,' Rachel says, trying to break the tension, 'what's your favourite kind of music?'

'I don't know… Daft Punk? Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger is a good song, I guess. You?'

'Dunno. I really like the album Down the Way by Angus and Julia Stone. Big Jet Plane and Santa Monica Dream are good songs.'

'As long as you're not a Justin Bieber fan, I guess.'

'Oh God, no,' Rachel said. 'Listening to Justin Bieber is punishment for shoplifting in some countries. Only teenypoppers listen to that crap.'

Chloe chuckled. 'Agreed.'

She hates Justin Bieber.

'Maybe, if you want, you could visit and we could listen to music? Maybe I could make you some CDs?'

Like before, Chloe smiles. Now though, she doesn't hide it away. 'I'd like that,' she says. 'You got any punk music?'

'Everything from My War to Calculated. You ever listen to Heavens to Betsy?'

'Who?'

Rachel chuckles. 'Oh, Chloe. I have much to teach you.'

They continue talking while Rachel's mother and father continue their discussion. They talk about music and fashion and Chloe's jerk-ass ex-boyfriends. After a little while, Rachel's parents return to the living room in silence. As one, they sit on the couch, clearly concerned. They lean close to one another and hold hands.

'Chloe,' Rachel's mother says, 'I've spoken to my daughter, and my husband. Based on what has been said, I'm a little confused. What were you doing in the middle of the woods at that time of the night?'

Chloe looks down at her hands, wrapped around the cup of hot chocolate. 'I was running away from home. My stepdad… I had an argument.'

'Is he,' Rachel's father said, his fists clenched. 'Did he?'

'No,' Chloe says. 'We just had an argument.'

'Are you sure? Do you want us to call the police?'

'No,' Chloe says. She leans forward and puts the mug of hot chocolate on the floor.

She stands up, exposing her arms, now returned to their normal colour. 'In fact, I think I've already taken up too much of your time already. Thank you for letting me into your home, but I really have to get going.'

'Are you sure?' Rachel's mother says.

'Yeah, I really should get going.'

'Okay,' Rachel's mother says. Rachel's father turns to his wife and she adds: 'At least let us take you home.'

'It's fine.'

'It's snowing a blizzard outside, dear.'

'I'm fine,' Chloe says. She looks across the room and sees Rachel.

'I'll walk you back, then.'

'No. It's snowing a blizzard.'

Rachel smiles. 'Either you let us drop you off, or I'm coming back with you.'

'You hardly even know me.'

'Doesn't matter. Let me help you.'

Chloe sighs. 'Alright.'

As one, Rachel and her parents stand up. Rachel's mother explains that she'll stay at home. Rachel volunteers to accompany her father and Chloe. Chloe says nothing.

Chloe, Rachel and Rachel's father head into the garage where his car sits, thick chains wrapped around its tires. Chloe gets into the back seat, as does Rachel.

'Where do you live, Chloe?' Rachel's father says.

'44 Cedar Avenue.'

'Ah,' he replied. 'I know the area. It's only a stone's throw away from The Blue Whale Diner.'

'My mom works there.'

'Oh. You're Joyce Price's daughter?'

'Yeah.'

'They make good bacon there.'

Chloe smiles. 'Yeah.'

'That's a way away from where I met you,' Rachel says. 'How long were you… out?'

'Must've been a while.'

'Yeah.'

Rachel's father turns the ignition key and the car's engine flash into existence with a loud machine roar.

The car leaves the garage and makes its way through the thick, snow covered streets, leaving thick tracks as it goes. As the car makes its way through the empty streets, Rachel's father remains silent. Instead, he seems content to listen to the audio bookplaying through the speakers behind Rachel and Chloe. It's only a quick drive, less than five minutes long – even in the snow.

'You know,' Rachel says as they pull up at Chloe's house. 'You could always visit tomorrow, if you wanted, isn't that right, Dad?'

'Yeah, as long as Chloe's mother doesn't mind.'

'I… I don't think she'll care. I'd like to visit again.'

'I'd like to see you again, too,' Rachel says. 'Do you want my number?'

'Totally.'

They quickly exchange numbers. Then, Chloe unbuckles her seatbelt and gets out the car. 'Thank you for the lift, Mr Amber.'

'Don't mention it, Chloe,' he says. 'Give Rachel a call and come visit tomorrow. We'll come pick you up if it's still this bad.'

'Thanks,' Chloe says to Rachel's father. 'See you tomorrow,' she says to Rachel.

'See you tomorrow,' Rachel says. 'Oh, Chloe?'

'Yeah?'

'Merry Christmas.'

Chloe smiles. 'Thank you. You too.'

Chloe waves as Rachel and her father's car disappear into the storm.

A minute later, she turns and marches back towards her home. Inside, she finds her mother asleep on one side of the couch. On the Madsen, the Grinch who almost stole Christmas, sits on the other side, as far away as possible with a beer resting on his lap. For a moment, Chloe considers running away again, but decides not to. There's something now. Hope.

She smiles, flips David the bird. gives her mother a kiss on the forehead, turns the television off and heads upstairs to her bedroom. As she crosses the threshold, the date changed and that Christmas Eve becomes just another memory, drop in an ocean, but a good one.

Chloe makes her way to her bed, sits down and looks at the angry notes written onto the wall. She looks at the height chart, defaced in rage, and smiles. She lies back and looks at the message sprawled above her bed: Just Gotta Let Go.

Chloe smiles, happy for the first time in years.

Max, I think my life is about to change.

Chloe

XXX

PSA

There are no notes this time because both the trigger warnings demand serious attention, and by including them in the text I have created the possibility that someone will find this page whilst looking for help or advice on them. Before I begin, I'm aware that I probably didn't succeed in representing Chloe's mindset at this point in her life very well, but I did try.

If you feel my representation of someone dealing with depression and suicidal thoughts or abuse is disrespectful, I assure you it wasn't meant to be, and you have my deepest and most sincere apologies. Despite my deficiencies as a writer, I have the utmost respect for these subjects. My heart goes out to those whom they effect.

Thank you very much for reading.