Max Caulfield is thirteen when she finds out she has to leave Arcadia Bay for Seattle. Has to leave Chloe, she adds. But, she'll write. She'll write letters for Chloe and chat over SMS. It'll be the same, except it's not going to be the same. Letters and texts are nothing like the actual thing.
"Fucking leave. I never want to see you again." Chloe says through gritted teeth, her arms are covering her face.
"Chloe—"
"Leave."
So she does.
_._._._
Max Caulfield is fourteen when she hears the news.
"You're dying," The doctor said. Max almost doesn't hear it it's so quiet.
The traumatic news. News no one ever wants to hear. News that'll keep Max away from Chloe forever, permanently. There'd be no use in trying to contact her now that Max is dying.
She spends weeks upon weeks crying herself to sleep, avoiding calling Chloe.
Avoiding everything.
And anything.
_._._._
Max Caulfield is seventeen when she hears she's been accepted into Blackwell, and she's ecstatic.
But she then remembers. She's dying. It doesn't matter. Why'd she even apply?
Oh, but it's been on her bucket list since day one, since she'd found out about that school. If it's even for two years it'd be so worth it, she thinks.
She'll make new friends! To leave them in the end.
She'll gain more knowledge about photography! Only to never end up needing it.
She'll reunite with Chloe! And then remember: you're dying. Nothing matters.
Nothing.
_._._._
Max Caulfield is eighteen when she meets with Chloe again, coming up with pirate puns and jokes galore. Like old times. There won't be any knew times soon.
You're dying.
You're dying.
You're dying.
Nothing matt—
They laugh and giggle like nothing is bothering them, like nothing is bothering Max. And Chloe thinks to herself, this isn't the Max she'd remembered. She was different. Now she's on edge all the time and the blue eyes she carries know too much for being this young.
"I'm glad I have this time with you, Chloe. I'll cherish it forever." Chloe furrows her brows and continues chatting.
_._._._
Max Caulfield is still eighteen when she tells Chloe about her disease.
Dying.
"I'm not supposed to make it into my twenties. I have very limited time left."
Dying.
"Max?" Chloe says, and she knew somehow, something was up. It was just the worst possible way something could be.
You're dying.
"That's why I avoided you. I didn't want to burden you with my own troubles and problems those five years. But I regret it, I should have taken any time I had with you, Chloe, and now it's almost up."
They're both crying now.
You're dying of this disease and you're likely not to make it—
_._._._
Max Caulfield is nineteen when she wins the everyday heroes contest, and everyone is happy for her.
Except for herself. She knows it doesn't matter. But she celebrates anyway, and her whole family is there along with Chloe and a few other friends. Cutting the cake, everyone focuses on Max's frail figure fall to the floor.
She collapses one, two, three times, and she's told to be taken to the hospital.
"I'm fine," she insists.
She's not.
_._._._
Max Caulfield, beloved daughter and friend, is only twenty years old when she dies.
She left too soon, but there was nothing anyone could do.
At her funeral, family members cried silently, because they knew this day would come. But that doesn't take away any of the pain, they've just had time to prepare for it. Chloe, on the other hand, doesn't take it as well.
She shouts into the dying sunlight of the sky that once gave them the same beautiful sunset to look at when they were thirteen.
At least she was a friend when it mattered.
Dead.