As the fourth episode of Breaking Bad finished, the glow of the sunrise began to seep through the closed blinds. It looked to be shaping up like a quiet Sunday. No reason for Max to leave her room.
All the napping and irregular sleep was finally taking it's toll. Max had tried to go to sleep at a normal time, but couldn't. When she finally gave up and grabbed her laptop to put on more TV she found she couldn't stay awake for even half an episode. She woke to find that she'd missed most of the series finale of House, and it was suggesting she start watching another show. Sure. Four episodes in she wasn't sure she cared much about it, but the next one started playing automatically, and changing it would require too much effort.
Guy probably dies at the end just like the last show.
But it's something to occupy her mind, and she welcomes it.
By the umpteenth episode the ache in Max's stomach can't be ignored any longer, and she's out of cereal. According to the clock on her laptop, the cafeteria should be closed by now, and the bus to town doesn't run today. The thought of starving to death in her dorm room doesn't disturb Max as much as it should, but then she remembers the birthday money, sitting untouched in her account, and wonders if that one pizza place would deliver to the dorm room.
The name escaped her, and she had to look it up. Apparently there's only one pizza place that delivers in all of Arcadia Bay: Fresco's. Guess that's the one. But they only take orders via phone call. Nevermind I guess.
But Max finally mustered up the courage to plug her phone back in, dreading the dozens of worried texts from friends and parents that she was sure were on there. She was relieved to only find four. Then she was depressed.
Two from Kate, echoes of things she'd said on the rooftop. "worried about you". "please remember that people care about you".
From her dad, a long text that was really an email-he even signed his name at the bottom, who does that?-that suggested she come home to recover from the "incident".
A final text from Warren, from weeks ago, before he'd given up asking her to things.
Then she went through older messages, from the week of the funeral: support and solidarity from her small circle of friends and family. She kept scrolling down, searching more and more anxiously until she remembered: In this reality Max's phone didn't even have Chloe's number in it.
She tossed it back onto the dresser too hard, and it slid off and fell to the floor. When she knelt down to retrieve it she found a pattern of cracks in the bottom corner of the screen. Shit she thought, and without thinking she held her hand over it to fix it. After a second she recoiled from what she'd tried to do. NO REWINDING. The cost is... Then she realized it hadn't worked. She tried again, harder, desperate to know that even if she shouldn't, she still could. Time, which before had bent to her hand, kept marching on. Max croaked out a single word: "Chloe..." and then broke down.