Smoking always felt lonely. People judged smokers, ostracized them, either lectured or abandoned them like lost causes, unsympathetic, rarely stopping to ask why, rather than you know smoking will kill you?

Since she couldn't turn back time, maybe sometimes, Chloe wanted to die.

Laying upon her childhood bed, Chloe let her anxiety whirl away in a silver dragon tail, coiling and drifting away into nothingness. Her body and mind numbed, but soon, an electric tingle poked and pricked her from the inside out. Her gaze ebbed from emptiness to distress, fixed upon the Christmas lights overhead. Her throat was hot, hurting. She wanted to breathe fresh air. The glowing, molten cigarette in her fingers dared her to put it down, and like a robot, she lifted it to her lips and took another drag, blowing out when the flavor touched her throat again.

"God, I guess if...I get COPD, it's not like I've got anything else going on with my life, fuck," she hoarsely choked, sardonically flipping off the ceiling. Flipping off God. Chloe blamed Him for her place in life. God's unsympathetic humor, responsible for taking a happy child from her father for no reason, continued to puzzle her. What had that taught her? What was she supposed to do with her new life? The only thing Chloe knew how to do was to live in the moment, and if the only way she could do that was to get along on a nice high, then by God, she was going to do that. Thinking about that, she suddenly realized...

"I forgot what it was like to be happy a long time ago..."

Murmuring those words to the memory of her old self, Chloe's brows drew close, her lips turning unbidden. She cast a forlorn gaze upon a familiar photo, Rachel on one side, herself on the other; a crease separated them. Longing gripped her stomach, but, slowly eased into uncertainty. Chloe lifted a different photo, this time, of she and Max. It was one of the selfies Max had taken on that horrible day. Her friend had snapped the photo in Chloe's bedroom mirror, a stylish selfie capturing them both. Memories of that day came crawling back, ghosts of a happy day ruined, violated by a horrible cruelty no one expected.

Chloe's heart wrenched, twisted. She couldn't breathe, couldn't endure. One look at the empty beer bottles littering her floor intensified the torment within her. She was self-destructing. Heartbreak and melancholy erupted.

Chloe drunkenly crushed the smoldering cigarette in her fist and flung it out of her bedroom window. The burning in her hand fueled her aching heart. Lights of all colors blurred about her, and when the girl rose, she discovered that she could not stand, and staggered toward her window as if possessed. Her fingers gripped the windowsill until her knuckles were white; her head leaned out into the chilly breeze of November. With her desperate fury snuffed out by the quiet wind, Chloe sobbed uncontrollably.

"Rachel!" Chloe cursed, squeezing her eyes so tightly that tears ran down her cheeks. "You fake, backstabbing bitch! You met someone who changed your life, right?" Chloe laughed, choking as she tried to catch her breath. "I wasn't good enough for you? I didn't matter? I wasn't there for you when NO ONE else was?"

Chloe's throat, lungs, and stomach ached from the nicotine. The two photos, clutched to her breast, were beginning to crumple. Not wanting to ruin them, Chloe quickly set them down, eyes naturally falling toward the childhood selfie, the one Max had taken. Chloe's face softened at the sight of the grinning, freckled face. Chloe wanted so badly, more than anything, to return to those days, her most precious, beloved times.

"Max..." Chloe breathed, slumping back against the windowsill. Nostalgia flooded her chest, her throat, her eyes. Chloe wanted to cry again, but she swallowed, reigning in the drunken stampede in which her mind raced. Rubbing her numb forehead, she pulled out her phone, clumsily clicking to Max's text message screen. The picture of her friend choked her. Frowning, her thumb slipped and jerked around the keyboard.

[11:23PM] Chloe: Max, Im sorry /3

Chloe pressed send before she realized she should've corrected the spelling. Shit! She stomped her foot and waved a hand in the air as she sat up on her desk, head leaning out toward the Autumn breeze. She could only wait.

A few minutes later, her phone vibrated. Chloe hurriedly checked.

[11:29PM] Max: Hey Chloe, what's wrong?

[11:31PM] Chloe: I've givven you shit evefr since you got back. I don't kno why you still talk to me

SHIT!

[11:31PM] Chloe: Forget that last message. Got anny plnas tomorrow? I wanna talk about sometihng

Chloe sent the next text, bristling when she noticed her intoxicated writing shoot into cyberspace once again.

[11:32PM] Max: Chloe? Are you okay? I'll get an Uber and come right over.

"Whoa, hold on, Max Caulfield decides to overreact over a couple drunk TEXTS?" Chloe tried not to panic. Her whole body tingled like a lightning shock, sobering her up slightly. She jerked off of the desk and dashed lightly to the bathroom. She needed to clean up, fast. There was absolutely no way she was going to let Max see her in this condition.

A quick shampoo and shower ensued. Chloe dried off and brushed her teeth, feeling a little better, more prepared. Closing her eyes, she sighed and returned to her room to get dressed. When she checked her phone again, Max had already told her she was half-way to the house.

"Max can rewind, I can turn a simple text into a late night sleepover slash interven-"

"Chloe?"

"OH MY GOD!"

Chloe's towel-wrapped body jerked violently and knocked over beer bottles. Max Caulfield sat on Chloe's bed, all freckles, tangled hair and worried brown eyes. Chloe hadn't had any time to prepare emotionally. She needed to say something to break the tension.

"Max? Fuck, at least, like, text me that you climbed through my window next time! Shit, I almost had a fuckin' heart attack."

Max's shoulders tensed at Chloe's rebuttal. Her brows creased deeper over her eyes. Chloe recognized the withdrawn body language as a signal that Max was retreating from the confrontation.

"He... Hey Chloe," Max fumbled. "I got your texts. You seemed like you were in a bad mood so... I just wanted to see if you were okay."

Chloe, still clutching her towel to herself, stood silently and open-mouthed, eyes locked on her friend's. She snapped out of her speechlessness, blinking her eyes repeatedly.

"Yyy...yeah, those texts, riiight. Awkward." Chloe's gaze turned away, realizing that it wasn't the most appreciative thing to say. "I'm glad you're here. I needed some company." She stepped toward her dresser, turning back to Max.

"Here, you'll wanna turn around, 'less you were hoping for a strip show." Chloe began dressing without waiting for Max's green light. Behind her back, Max shielded her eyes. Moments later, Chloe was sporting an old Hawt Dawg Man T-shirt and fleece, Jolly Roger pajama pants. Max, grinning slowly, found that this outfit eased the tension somewhat, providing her an opening.

"Gosh Chloe, I haven't seen those clothes in forever." Her eyes shot slightly upward, brows furrowing. "Whoa, your hair!"

Chloe was taken aback.

"Uh, what? What about it?" She leaned over and took a look in the mirror, gasping. Her blue hair was now strawberry blonde. The old Chloe Price gawked back at her. "Must've washed the dye out in the shower." Her expression soured. "Crap..."

Max bounced off of the bed and joined Chloe by the mirror, her small hands hovering beside Chloe's arm. Max had to stand on her toes to peek over her friend's shoulders.

"I like it. You should totally keep it like this for a while."

Max and Chloe both stared at the reflection. They looked the way Chloe imagined they might have if they'd gone to high school together. Chloe, self-consciously wavering, bumped into Max's hands with her arm.

"Yeah," Chloe half-smiled. "I will."

Max's camera was out before anyone could move. Flash. Whir. Flap flap.

"Gotcha. I'm totally keeping this one..." Max thought, smiling impishly to herself. Chloe noticed.

"Hey, you'd better let me have the royalties when you start posting my pics on 4chan for five bucks a shot," Chloe joked. She backed away from the mirror and returned to her bed, tip-toeing around the bottles. Max followed, knocking one over with a worried expression. She sat on the foot of the bed, turning slowly.

"You're really-"

"-out of control, I know. I hate it..."

Chloe hung her head in shame. What a great example she was setting for Max. "I really... really... don't know what to do with myself. I'm an explosive wreck. I..." She cut herself off, laying back on the pillows.

I wanted to die tonight.

Though she was sober when Max arrived, Chloe's inebriation returned with a vengeance. Spontaneously, swiftly, a one-ton weight dropped on her chest. The alcoholic anxiety attack, the shakes, the need to lash out, to destroy things to calm down, crushed her the moment she let her guard down. Chloe's face contorted, but she rolled over, hiding and burying her misery. Muffled sobs escaped. Chloe's shoulders convulsed.

Max felt a concoction of pity and moved in, urged on by the need to comfort the other. The cries of her friend hurt her heart. The girl laying near her looked more familiar than ever with the new hair, uncannily so. Max stretched herself out and laid across Chloe's back, resting her ear between the twitching shoulders. She said nothing, silently slipped her arms under Chloe, offering her presence and attention.

"Chloe..." Max said softly, feeling like crying herself. She locked on a tight, determined face, despite the silent tears rolling onto the girl's back. They laid there together for what felt like an hour. Chloe eventually fell asleep, most likely having passed out. Max carefully slipped off of her and moved about the room, quietly cleaning up the bottles. While she was at it, she tidied up a bit, folding clothes that smelled clean, piling the ones into the basket that needed washing.

"I'd better not leave Chloe like this. I should probably stay the night. If I write Joyce a note explaining myself, it shouldn't be a problem."

Max left a short letter for Joyce in the kitchen. She would undoubtedly find it after returning from work. David was a coin flip between disapproving and nonchalant, but Max already had him figured out; would be a slight risk.

"Dear Joyce,

Chloe was having a really bad night and called me to come over. I cleaned up her room for her and started the laundry. In the future, I'll make sure to call ahead. Chloe really needed someone. Please don''t be mad.

Love,

Max"

Chloe's laundry was in the dryer when Max decided it was bed time. After returning to the bedroom and switching the lights off, she joined Chloe on the old bed. Her friend's sleeping face was finally peaceful.

Switching off the flash of her camera, another opportune picture was added to her collection of memories.