SPOILERS EPISODE 5. This is set right after the ending.

Note: I wrote this with the thought that Victoria has had a crush on Max for a while already (a tsundere crush, but a crush nonetheless).
[EDIT] Decided to make it a multichapter story!


A TOMORROW [MAX]


I rush to my desk, my feet stamping heavily against my burgundy carpet.

Until I turn around, walking to my door hurriedly.

And back.

Back again.

Over and over again.

My feet hurt from practically running, in circles, in my own room. My head hurts from running in circle, in my own mind.

But nothing can possibly compare to the pain in my chest. Stinging, burning, crushing. I clutch at the black fabric covering my torso, desperately wishing I could rip my heart out of my ribcage. Wishing for the ache to cease.

Nathan killed Chloe.

No, you're the one who did.

I send a hand to my forehead, hitting it hard enough for the pain to resonate through my skull. I yelp, remembering the agonizing headache I already had. I glance at my digits, now covered in the tears that have been inevitably pouring out of my eyes for the past two hours.

I hate this. I hate feeling so weak, so powerless. I have tried, so damn hard, to be strong. Ever since I saw David weep in the bathroom upon finding his step-daughter in a puddle of blood, I knew I had to stay strong. I had the opportunity to spend more time with Chloe, but he didn't. And neither did Joyce.

I had to stay strong, at least for them.

You're responsible for their pain.

I choke down another sob, forcing my eyelids shut as if it would block the thoughts from entering my mind. It's useless. I know it. I know it because I've been trying ever since I stepped into my room, not even bothering to change out of the beautiful black dress I wore especially for today.

Today is the day we all got to properly say goodbye to Chloe. Or at least, to the wood concealing her body.

And I can't take off that dress. I can't let this day draw to an end, I am not ready for tomorrow. I don't want a 'tomorrow' with no Chloe, I don't want a 'tomorrow' where her name becomes a taboo, a subject no one dares to bring up, careful of not breaking the mournful.

I don't want to live a 'tomorrow' with that same pain.

You could have prevented it all.

"Fuck it!"

I throw my hand on the wall this time, which it meets with a loud "thud". Fuck it. Fuck that wall. Fuck that hand.

Yeah, fuck that hand. How could I ever think I could change anything by just lifting it? I raised it so many times, actually thinking I was doing some good. I was so convinced I was fixing things that I could not even hear them break.

You thought you could control everybody and everything?

Not again. Not again. Not again.

I am so tired of hearing this, over and over again. It doesn't even matter what I do, or what I think, it will never be right. There is no right choice, as much as I want to convince myself my decision was the rightest one.

What was I supposed to do? Leave the whole town to die? Because I earned powers, for some reason I can't fathom, and because I misused them? This whole tornado was my fault. Everyone could have died because of me.

They died because of you.

This thought hits much harder. Hard enough for me to stumble on my bed, looking for balance. I end up knees on the floor, elbows on the blanket. I can't find the strength within me to pull myself up. I can't.

Kate, Nathan, Victoria, David, Joyce, Warren, Evan… they all died. Along with so many others, so many empty eyes, pale faces. So many death and fear, permanently carved in my mind. I can try and close my eyes, but these memories won't disappear, I can still see corpses, I can still hear cries, tormenting me.

You killed everyone.

The door slams open and shut and I jerk my head up.

"Max, I heard you-"

Before I can even process that Victoria is in my room, she rushes towards me. I have no time to blink that she's crouching by my side, one hand carefully placed on my shoulder. Her eyebrows are furrowed over her eyes, which are devoid of any trace of animosity. She actually looks… concerned. She looks alive.

I suddenly remember that I'm on the floor, I've been bawling my eyes out, and it probably shows on my face. I try to distance myself from her, try to hide the mess I've become, try to put on my strong persona, the one who is there for everyone and is actually somewhat sane. But I can't. I only manage to sob some more. I cross my arms on the mattress, then rest my face on them. I don't want to be seen like this. I want her to leave, to pretend the admirable Max has never broken, act as if she has never seen me in such a pathetic state.

But I also want her to stay. I want her to show me that she is here, here, in my room, with me, and not actually six feet under.

Her hand travels from one of my shoulder to the other, and I can feel her arm against my back and I shiver at her touch. She shifts closer to me, her body presses slightly against my side, and I let myself bathe in her warmth.

She is here. Not in the dark room. Her hands aren't tied – her thumb is drawing circles on my skin. She isn't pleading for life – she is whispering low "sssh" to calm me down. She isn't dead. She's alive. And safe.

My loud cries slowly turn into muffled whimpers, and it seems that Victoria notices as she moves a bit closer.

"Do you want to lie on the bed?"

Her voice sounds soft, incredibly so. I shake my head - I don't want to move, I don't have the strength.

She hums a little before holding me closer. This makes my breath run short, and I think my entire body just shuddered. I can feel the blanket below me move, and as I look up, I see her tugging at it. I lift my arms up enough for her to pull the duvet and wrap it around my shoulders. It feels warm, but it doesn't at the same time. It isn't the warmth I seek, the warmth I need.

I must have been staring at her funny, because she tilts her head, sending me a confused look. Her cheeks and nose are red, and I can also see hints of it where the white of her eyes should be. Glancing down, I only now notice that she is still wearing her suit. It only dawns on me now that she is mourning, too. It strikes a chord in me, for some reason.

I slowly lean forward, before my head presses against her chest, my cheek resting just below her collarbone. I feel so drained, and defeated, but her touch provides me with the comfort I so desperately crave. She reaches for the blanket that has fallen off and bring it over my shoulders again, before wrapping her arms around my petite form. I bring mine to her sides, grasping the fabric of her suit in my hands. I half-expect her to scold me, but she doesn't, and rests her head on mine instead, quietly.

I close my eyes, take in the sensations fully.

It doesn't even matter to me anymore that we're both sitting on the floor, or that the bed is unpleasantly pressing against my side.

She smells so nice, and her caresses are truly gentle, caring and... loving. She makes me want to curl into a small ball, snuggle into her arms and forget about the whole universe. But instead, a little thump reaches my ear, then another, and another and I focus solemnly on the sound. I can hear her heart beating, and my own stutters at the realization. I feel her breath brush against my hair, and that does it. I begin sobbing again, and I hear her inhale sharply as she presses me closer to her body.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she whispers with a broken voice.

I open my eyes and shake my head again.

When, truthfully, I want to. I want to talk, I want to tell her everything. But how could I? I am filled with memories she doesn't remember. She doesn't remember getting paint over her precious cashmere, she doesn't remember softening up to me when I comforted her, she doesn't remember sending her apologies to Kate, she doesn't remember admitting she wanted to hang out with me, she doesn't remember confessing that I was one of the coolest people at school, she doesn't remember being locked in the dark room with me, she doesn't remember I caused her to die by actually trying to save her.

And she is holding me in her arms, as if none of that happened – and it didn't to her, but it did to me.

How can I explain this to her? How can I tell her how unbelievably glad I am that she is breathing? That her heart is beating, when it shouldn't be?

She raises her hand to my cheek to caress it slowly, and she shifts her head to press her lips hesitantly against my forehead. It feels strangely intimate, out of place even. But it is much appreciated, as I dwell in the warmness of her affection, releasing a heavy sigh.

I close my eyes again, and I feel my respiration slow down, gradually matching hers. It becomes the only thing I hear, along with the gentle pounding of her heart.

And in her tender embrace, I drift off to a sleep, for the first time devoid of any nightmare.

No terrorizing dreams. No pain. No jolting awake covered by cold sweat.

In fact, I awake slowly, which in itself comes as a shock. My eyelids still flutter open with difficulty, my eyes stinging as they painfully squint at the wall, covered in polaroids.

My room, I'm in my room.

I release a breath in relief, and grow suddenly aware that something is weighting on my chest. I glance over, and I am greeted by the sight of Victoria, wrapped around me, literally nuzzling my neck. One of her arm is spreading over my torso, and my cheeks instinctively flush at the sensation.

I try to shake the embarrassment away – now is not the time.

But I still tilt my head, to take a better look at her face, and now I can't take my eyes off of it. She is cringing slightly, but she isn't making any movement or sound that would lead me to think she is having a bad dream. I imagine, with the hint of a smile, that the queen bee has a frown carved on her features even during her beauty sleep. I blink slowly, and I wonder if she was actually worrying about me when she fell asleep.

As I ponder the possibility, I realize that I don't remember getting into bed, to begin with. I notice that we are both fully clothed, and that she isn't, in fact, lying under the duvet with me, but above it instead. Did she carry me? Did she tuck me under the blanket before cuddling up to me? Did she really stay here out of genuine concern for me? I ask myself these questions, despite already knowing the answers. I know she did. Or at the very least, I know that she would. I know that she cares, deep down… but I never actually expected her to show it.

A warm feeling settles somewhere in my chest, a sensation that is both foreign and familiar. Both distant and very much present. I can't quite grasp it, but I don't want to.

That feeling, and that embrace… they feel just as wrong as they feel right. As if neither are meant to be, neither should. But they are both here, and they both fill me with hope. They both ease the pain, even if barely. My heart skips a bit as I understand.

That feeling, and that embrace…

They might feel improper, incorrect, out of place, ill-timed – but I will welcome them both.

Because they give me the strength to imagine a 'tomorrow'.