Chapter Seven

"I'm glad you are back in the real world, Max Jefferson," Chloe calmly tells me as she takes a seat on the other side of my cot, which creaks as she sits. Chloe waves off the orderlies, who promptly leave the room and close the door behind them.

I want to be ecstatic that Chloe is with me now, but I don't sense any warmth from her at all. This Chloe definitely doesn't love me, and she feels more like a stranger than my best friend. After the Dark Room, all I wanted was to be with her again. Seeing her like this is so heartbreaking.

At least I'm out of the damn Dark Room. Though this reality seems like it could be just as screwed up. I don't know if I can take much more of this shit. Although I haven't slept in days, my body feels just fine. I wonder if it's taken a mental toll, though. I guess it's apropos that I find myself here.

"My name is Max Caulfield," I angrily say. Jefferson? Don't tell me this is some fucked up timeline in which Jefferson somehow coerces me to marry him. The thought of marriage with that monster causes me to retch, though only a dry cough escapes my throat.

"Your maiden name, yes," Chloe nonchalantly corrects me. "It seems that you have repressed quite a bit. This is unfortunate and will make your recovery more difficult. What is the last thing that you remember?"

My maiden name? Oh god, I am married to that motherfucker here. I feel so violated, so unclean. How can I show my face to my Chloe again? No, this is not you. It's someone else.

I'm unsure of what to say in response to Chloe's question. What can I possibly say that will be helpful to me? I have no idea what has happened in this timeline. I decide to go to Monday, before the time travel bullshit. "I remember being in Jefferson's photography class at Blackwell."

Chloe writes down some notes and replies without looking up from her work. "I'm afraid that memory is from one of your hallucinations. There is no Blackwell or Arcadia Bay."

"Are they destroyed by the storm?" I quickly ask.

"No, they never existed," Chloe answers. "They are part of your hallucinations. We have discussed your hallucinations before in your other lucid periods. You claim to have time-travel powers and that your husband and Nathan Prescott are kidnapping women, including you, and posing them in compromising photographs in their survival bunker called the Dark Room. You further claim that I am with you most of the time as your best friend and that you let me die to save the town from an apocalyptic storm."

"But I do have these bullshit powers. I just can't show you now because I'm tied up at the moment." I wiggle in my straightjacket, though I'm firmly in its grip.

Chloe looks up at me with concern. "I'm afraid that is for your own protection. When you hallucinate, you sometimes hurt yourself. Believe me, you don't have any powers. This is real life, not some anime or a video game. I could provide you a sedative so that we can remove that jacket, but I'm afraid that would be counterproductive."

Chloe returns to her notes and continues to write. "Your lucid periods are unpredictable, both their longevity and when they occur. Therefore, we need to keep the jacket on you in case an attack is imminent. It's important that we get you to realize what's real in the time we have together. That may be a way to stop your next episode."

I continue to sit upright on the cot in my very uncomfortable jacket. Why did I end up here and not my dorm room? I passed out from Jefferson's sick punishment, so maybe I didn't hear the alarm. It's also possible that I somehow moved to another reality. This definitely isn't the Dark Room timeline as Chloe is here.

Dr. Price carefully examines my face to see if I am still here. "Let's talk about reality in the context of your hallucinations. Linking the two may make accepting the way things are easier."

This version of Chloe is so far removed from the blue-haired girl that I know. It is painful how cold and detached from me. She's so professional, and I can't see any of her rebelliousness, her inner punk rock girl. This Chloe seems so much older. At least I could see echoes of my Chloe in the William timeline, but Dr. Price seems like a different person entirely.

"Let's start with your last memory," Chloe begins as she looks up at me from her notes. "You said that the last thing you remember is being at Blackwell Academy in your husband's photography class. It is true that Mark is a photographer and now a teacher, but you were never in one of his classes. He didn't start teaching until a few years ago, which is far too recent for you to have been in one of his courses."

"What do you mean?" I ask, bewildered. "I'm 18 and a senior in high school."

Chloe shakes her head. "In your hallucinations, you make yourself younger as you are nostalgic for an earlier time before all of the troubles that triggered your first episode. In fact, you are 28, a year younger than me."

Chloe digs into her lab coat and pulls out a small compact with a mirror. She opens it and turns it to me, revealing an older, more mature version of myself. My brown hair is a bit longer and my face appears much thinner than I remember it. I'm also very pale, probably due to the lack of sunlight. How is this possible?

"How long have I been here?" I ask with trepidation.

"About five years," Chloe answers with pity. "Your condition has not improved in that time, and your lucid periods have grown more inconsistent. Worse, you cannot seem to remember anything from your previous lucid period, which means we have to take time to explain the world to you like we are doing now."

"Your husband is about 12 years older than you," Dr. Price continues. "You two met at the Zeitgeist in San Francisco after you won a photography contest while you were attending UCLA. He was impressed by your work and offered you an internship with his studio, which you eagerly accepted. Your relationship grew from there, and you eventually discovered that you had feelings for each other. You got married about eight years ago, and Mark has been steadfast ever since, especially after your illness progressed and you needed to be institutionalized."

"Do we have any children?" I'm afraid to ask this question, but part of me needs to know.

My question is met with a somber smile. "Yes, a daughter, Rachel Amber Jefferson, born seven years ago. I'm sorry that you don't remember her. It must be awful to hear that you have a child but no memories of her."

"This can't be real. Jefferson has done so much to hurt me. There's no way I would allow myself to fall for that demented creep, much less marry him and have a child." I shake my head and close my eyes. Maybe if I go to sleep I'll end up in a more familiar setting?

"You must be referring to the torture in the Dark Room that is part of your fantasy." Chloe moves closer to me and gives me a pat on the shoulder, though I don't feel much warmth behind it. "Max, that's you trying to punish yourself for what happened. You are forcing yourself to be strapped to a chair as a subject for compromising photos. Your subconscious wants you to feel like those photos reveal your true self, someone powerless and victimized. It's not real. Your subconscious wants to blame your husband, but deep down you know the truth. You desperately want Mark to be a cookie-cutter villain so that you have someone to hate, but he's a good man who loves you deeply. You used to feel the same way about him. It's interesting that you blame Mark when his name is so close to yours, Max Jefferson, that part of you must realize that you were at fault."

Chloe returns to her place at the end of my cot. "Let's return to the illusory world of Arcadia Bay. You claim that we are investigating the disappearance of Rachel Amber, who happens to share a name with your daughter. This is your mind trying to figure out what it has repressed."

I shift nervously on the bed, which elicits squeals from the mattress springs. "What I've repressed?"

"Yes. The triggering event for your illness. The cause of your daughter's death. Mark was away for a show in New York, and you were alone with Rachel, who was about two years old. You were high off of prescription opioid painkillers that you got from your drug dealer, Frank Bowers. Rachel was diabetic and you gave her an overdose of insulin because your condition." Chloe carefully observes me for any sign of recognition.

"I don't remember any of that," I wearily say. "This can't be real. I wouldn't take drugs. That's something that my Chloe from Arcadia Bay would do."

"Yes, that is something she would do. Don't you see what your Chloe truly is?" Dr. Price leans over, staring intently at me as she anxiously awaits my answer.

"What are you talking about? Chloe and I love each other. She is my everything, and I would do anything for her." I fruitlessly squirm on the cot, trying to loosen my jacket. I am tired of this bullshit timeline where I am married to a monster. I just need to return to my Chloe, and everything will be alright.

Dr. Price shakes her head, clearly disappointed. "I see that you don't understand yet. I'll call for some orderlies to join us so that I can remove your jacket. I think you may have an epiphany once we do." The psychiatrist opens the door and chats with an orderly. A few minutes pass and the two male orderlies from before enter the room.

The men pick me up from my bed and force me to stand. The tile floor feels very cold under my bare feet. The orderlies then proceed to remove my jacket, leaving me in a hospital gown. As I stretch my arms out, reveling in my newfound freedom, I notice it. My right arm is covered with a familiar tattoo of red ribbons, red roses with green stems, a skull, and blue butterflies. I scratch my arm to see if it's real. The scratching does nothing but irritate my skin. Why do I have Chloe's sleeve tattoo?

Dr. Price walks over to me and looks deeply into my eyes, holding me by the shoulders. "Don't you see, Max? The Chloe from your hallucinations is just a manifestation of one side of yourself that you are struggling with. The side that is rebellious, that is self destructive, that is irresponsible. In your fantasy, you are ultimately forced to choose between embracing this version of yourself and letting the world burn or forsaking it for the sake of everyone else. Part of you knows that it is too late for your daughter, so that's why she cannot be saved even if you sacrifice your inner Chloe."

"No, that's not possible," I say, lips quivering. "Chloe and I are dating. There's no way she's just a part of me. She's a different person."

Dr. Price raises an eyebrow at my remark. "Dating? This is new. It seems that you are now developing more false memories in your illusory world instead of simply replaying the same week over and over. Your illness is progressing, and we may not have much time before you are completely lost to your hallucinations."

I know this Chloe desperately wants me to believe her, but how can I just wave a wand and pretend my whole life was a lie? This simply cannot be real. I must be stuck in another timeline somehow. Did going through that photo for Jefferson royally fuck up space time?

Dr. Price continues her relentless effort to get me to believe her. "Let's get back to your Chloe. In your world, Chloe is rebellious because she lost her dad when she was 13 and felt the world abandoned her. It's notable that at this time you, the shy, anxious, and cautious girl, left her. In reality, your father died in a car accident when you were 13, and you started lashing out at the world. Your mother, just like your Joyce who you consider to be a second mother, remarried David Madsen. This caused you to further lash out as you detested your stepfather and felt that even your mother left you."

"Have you stopped to consider why the Max in your fantasy has no style?" Chloe asks rhetorically. "Why she is so shy and meek and is a blank slate? That's what's left of you after you take out this Chloe persona. That's why you feel whole when you are with her. That's why your Chloe says things like 'we will last forever.' It's not because you are lovers. It's because she knows that she is a part of you and will always be a part of you."

I shake my head as tears appear under my eyes. "No, this can't be real. Arcadia Bay is not a hallucination. I would know. I would."

Dr. Price embraces me and calmly pats me on the back. The orderlies take a step closer, probably afraid that I will randomly lash out at Chloe. "No, you wouldn't know. I'm sorry, Max. This must be so stressful, and I wish I had the luxury of easing your transition to reality. The truth is that I don't know how much time I have with you, and I'm afraid that if I don't get through to you, you may lose yourself forever."

What if she is right? What if all this time I have been hallucinating Arcadia Bay? What if I am losing it? I mean, if I would have told anyone what's happened to me last week, they would think I'm insane.

Dr. Price seems to read my thoughts. "I know it's difficult, but doesn't this reality make more sense? There are no rewind powers, which you have given yourself so that you wouldn't be forced to live with regret again. There is no snowfall that occurs when the temperature is eighty degrees. There are no random eclipses, no double moons, no group of beached whales. There is no Arcadia Bay. There is no Chloe."

I break down, overcome with the possibility that maybe this Chloe is right. If so, I have been needlessly torturing myself these past five years because I recklessly killed my daughter. Maybe not needlessly. I deserve to be punished for killing Rachel. Is Chloe really just another side of me? That thought is both sweet, as she will always be a part of me, and horribly depressing, as the person I love more than anything never existed.

"Maybe you are right," I concede. "I mean, what's happened in Arcadia Bay does sound insane. It's just hard to believe that my Chloe is not real." I continue sobbing, and the pain I feel only escalates when I see Chloe's (my?!) tattoo.

The thought just occurs to me that I am free of my straightjacket so I can rewind. I gingerly raise my right hand, and the orderlies scramble towards me. I don't have much time before they separate me from Dr. Price and tackle me to the floor and probably put me back into that damned jacket. I concentrate, trying to will time to move backwards. Nothing happens. The orderlies reach me and roughly separate me from the doctor.

"That won't be necessary, Hank and Dean," Dr. Price tells the orderlies. "She is starting to realize the truth. She just needed some more proof is all. She is not hostile. Are you, Mrs. Jefferson?"

Hearing her call me that shocks me, and I remain quiet for a few long seconds before I agree that I am no threat to anyone. Hank and Dean then step back towards the other side of the room, but I can tell that they still eye me suspiciously. What have I done in the past that has warranted all of this?

"I think you could use a friendly face right now," Dr. Price says. "I took the liberty of calling your husband when I was given word of your condition. He should be here by now, and he anxiously wants to see you. It's not often that he is able to visit the real you, and he misses you terribly. I know you only have negative associations with him, but please give this a shot, if only for your sake. Seeing him may help convince you of this reality."

Always take the shot, a malevolent voice tells me as I consider what to do. I don't have much of a choice in the matter as I am sure Dr. Price will insist that I go see him, and part of me is curious if this version of Jefferson really is a changed man. I will insist that Dr. Price remain in the room though. I can't handle being alone with any version of that asshole. "I will do it if you stay with me, Dr. Price."

"I understand your hesitancy towards seeing him," Chloe nods sympathetically. "I will remain with you, Max. I'm so glad that you have agreed to this. I think it could be very beneficial."

Chloe gestures to Hank and Dean and motions for me to follow her. We exit the room and I enter a long tiled hallway with several metal doorways littered along both sides. The lights above us periodically flicker, providing an eerie atmosphere as we proceed down the hallway. I follow Dr. Price as the two orderlies stay a few steps behind me.

"We are going to a private visiting room. Normally, guests and patients interact in a large common area, but we understand that you and Mark may need some privacy." We near the end of the hall and Chloe takes her keycard and holds it against the reader next to the double doors that separate this wing from another part of the facility. The reader flashes green, and Chloe opens the door, allowing me and my escort to walk through before rejoining us.

We eventually reach a door marked "Conference Room 2." Before we enter, Dr. Price turns to me. "Are you ready, Max? He should already be inside. You can have a moment if you need it."

I take a deep breath, trying to calm my frazzled nerves. There is a large window to the room, but the blinds are closed, obscuring what waits for me inside. "I think I could use a serious time out in the bathroom before doing this."

Chloe nods. "Of course. Follow me. Hank and Dean, thank you for escorting us, but I can take it from here." The burly blonde orderly begins to protest but stops when ribbed by the other man. Chloe leads me to a nearby bathroom and enters with me.

The bathroom seems identical to the one at Blackwell, just minus the graffiti. I shudder when I enter as I am flooded with memories of Chloe getting shot while I was powerless to do anything to stop it. Dr. Price sees my reaction but remains close to the door as I move over to the sink.

I stare at my reflection in the mirror. Am I really 28? I look much older, so it's possible. It's still jarring to see that tattoo on my arm, and I can't shake the feeling that it's fake, some temporary tattoo put there to convince me this shit is real. I would be terrified to get one, much less a massive sleeve like this.

I turn on the sink, and I smile at the simple sound of water rushing from the tap. It feels good to ground myself in something normal with all of this insanity around me. I cup my hands and take a handful of water to splash on my face.

There's an otter in my water. I beam at the memory, but that smile quickly fades as I realize that may never have happened. That Chloe might just be in my mind. As thoughts of her fill my head, I notice a reflection of my girlfriend, complete with her beautiful blue hair and tattoo, in the stall behind me. I begin to turn around when I hear her whisper, "Don't. She may notice."

I stay still, uncertainty keeping me frozen. I hear my Chloe again. "You must not believe any of this, Max. It's not real. I don't approve of this. They went too far." Chloe gestures for me to go. "You must go now. I've said too much."

I look over at Dr. Price, who is checking her phone and appears oblivious to the other Chloe. I decide to risk turning around as I need to see her again. I am met by an empty stall. Was that just in my head? I don't think so. It seemed way too real. But how do I know?

I turn off the faucet, more uncertain of my mind than ever. How can I trust anything I experience if I truly do have an illness? This may not even be the real world.

Dr. Price hears me turn off the faucet, and she looks up from her phone. "It's time." I nod, and we go back to the door to the conference room. Chloe gives a smile and a reassuring pat on the shoulder. I take a deep breath as she opens the door, revealing Mark Jefferson anxiously sitting at the head of a conference table.

Jefferson looks up as he notices the door open, and he frantically searches for me as Chloe is obscuring me from view. Dr. Price moves to the other end of the table and takes a seat. "Good afternoon, Mark. I am going to remain here per Max's request. I'm sure you know the drill by now."

Jefferson's eyes light up once he notices me, and it appears that he just completely ignores Chloe. "Oh, honey. I have missed you so much." Jefferson starts to get up and move towards me, but he suddenly stops and sits back down as he notices the panic on my face.

Jefferson keeps his gaze fixed on me and speaks in his soothing, calm voice. "Sorry. I know this is hard on you. You probably think that I'm a monster, and you don't remember all of the wonderful times we shared. I don't want to frighten you. It's just hard for me not to show my lovely wife affection, especially as I haven't seen her, the real her, in quite some time. It never gets easier even after all of these years."

I eye Jefferson suspiciously as I take a seat at the middle of the table in between him and Chloe. It's so hard to not lash out at this asshole after everything that he has done. The only thing that keeps me from clawing his eyes out with my fingernails is the fact that the Jefferson I know may just be my own sick fabrication.

I lean back in the leather conference chair, trying to get comfortable. "This is not easy for me, either. You are right. I only have memories of you doing horrible things to me and others. Dr. Price made some good points, so I am trying to hear you out. How many times have we had this conversation?"

Mark smiles at my question. "You are still the same Max Jefferson. That's always your first question. We've had this awkward conversation four times now. Dr. Price is always present, so she can corroborate that number." Chloe nods.

"Well, what now?" I ask. "Part of me wants to believe that you are the amazing man Dr. Price says you are."

"And the other part wants to punch me in the face," Mark chuckles. "Yes, I know." Jefferson then moves under the table and picks something up. It's a photo album. Mark places the album on the table and slides it toward me so that he doesn't have to get close to me to give me the album. It feels like he learned to do that from an earlier conversation in which I freaked out on him. I tremble as I take the album. What will I find inside? Will this feel more real than my time with Chloe?

I run my hand over the cover absent mindedly. I guess part of me is still trying to figure out if this really exists. The cover is decorated similarly to my journal and reads "Our Story." In the center of the cover is a picture of Mark in a tuxedo, bow tie loosened, and me in a punk white wedding dress and short blue hair, just like Chloe. We are sharing our wedding cake, and I am thrusting Mark's piece into his face as he does the same to me. Our cake-smeared faces carry such radiant smiles. We look extremely happy. Is this how I looked when I was with Chloe at the motel?

My hands shake as I start to open the album. I stop and look at Jefferson, who is staring at me with concern and love. What kind of sick fucking joke is this? Mark Jeffershit is incapable of love. Though I have this nagging voice in the back of my head that is telling me to believe in all of this. This reality is far from perfect, but it feels so normal. No bullshit powers. No fucked up weather. But no Chloe, at least not the one I love.

I crack open the cover and reveal the first page. There's a program from the Everyday Heroes contest opened to a page with my winning picture, a selfie in my college dorm room that looks very similar to that other winning entry except I now rock blue hair and an outfit similar to Chloe's. Underneath is a selfie with Jefferson. I had decorated the page, writing "how we met."

I turn the page and it's titled "how we fell in love." The first photo is a shot that Jefferson took of me at some fancy studio in Los Angeles. In the picture, I am in torn jeans and a white tank top and behind a camera, looking through the large windows in the studio, possibly lining up my own shot. Underneath the photo I wrote "first day." The second photo is a group shot of Jefferson's staff, and I notice Victoria, Kate, and Nathan along with Jefferson and me. A third picture is a shot that I took of a surprised Jefferson wearing a smile and working in a dark room. Below the photo I noted "fucked up his pictures, but he didn't mind as I think he was happy to see me."

The opposite page contains three more photos. The first is of me with a wide grin while looking through the viewfinder of my instant camera. I am outside in some vineyard, in between the green vines and the growing grapes. The caption reads "Mark scared off the butterfly I was about to shoot, but I don't mind as I'm happy to see him." The second is a selfie with Mark, and both of us are beaming, showing genuine happiness. We both have cameras hung over our necks, and it looks we are on some dock with the sea glistening behind us as the sun rises in the background. I wrote under this one "first date as Mark takes me to shoot at the golden hour."

My inspection of the photo album is interrupted as Jefferson sighs to himself. "It's so sad that you don't remember that one. You actually were the one to ask me out on a photo hunt date. It took you several tries for me to say yes as I wasn't sure if you truly liked me or if it was just you trying something new by dating someone older. It was awkward for me at first because of the age difference, but you showed me nothing but love and affection. So, I eventually said yes to the date, but on the condition that you let me pick where and when to go. You readily agreed as you were eager to go out with me. You may have changed your mind when I woke you up early to go to this dock along the coast so that we could capture the sunrise against the sea. You weren't happy at first, groggy as you were, but you warmed up to the idea when you saw the sunrise. You said it was gorgeous, and I responded that it wasn't half as beautiful as you."

"I'm sorry that I don't remember any of that," I sheepishly say. "All I remember is another version of you that is incapable of anything good."

I flip through the pages in the album until I get to the wedding, which is titled "how we began our lives together." There are pictures of our family and friends, including Victoria, Kate, and Nathan, at the reception, which is outside near a beach. I notice that my parents aren't anywhere to be found.

I look up at Jefferson and open my mouth to ask about the absence of my parents, but he cuts me off, anticipating my question. "Vanessa and David aren't there because they didn't approve of our marriage. They thought you were with me simply to rebel against them. They didn't feel it was appropriate that you marry someone so much older than you. It was rough not to have them share our special day, but I could tell that while you regretted their absence, you wouldn't let them spoil our wedding. They still don't talk to me, and they have written you off."

I turn the page again and see a full-page photo of Mark and I kissing at an altar with Samuel standing behind us carrying a book and some notes. Below, the caption says "when it became official!" It takes everything I have not to gag at the sight of me kissing Jefferson. I recall the events of the past day and the horror etched on Victoria's face right before Jefferson put a bullet through her head. I remember being helpless in the Dark Room as Jefferson yelled instructions at me as he posed me for his twisted photos. The sight of me being so intimate with that man just makes me sick to my stomach.

I keep flipping through the album out of morbid curiosity. I don't know if I can really handle a reality in which I am married to this monster, but part of me wants to see what my life was like. I eventually come to a sonogram picture of a small fetus. I wrote underneath this one "it's a girl! thinking of Rachel, though Mark wants Amber." I then see a photo of me in a nightgown with frumpled blue hair and a big pregnant belly while I am flipping the bird to the camera. The caption reads "oh no, you didn't! Mark wants a blackmail pic." Close to that photo is a shot of Mark at a convenience store with a clock prominently displaying "3:15 a.m." in the background. Mark is holding up a pint of a chocolate coconut ice cream and giving the camera a thumbs up. The note under that picture says "late night craving run-Mark will do anything for Rachel and me."

I keep flipping through the carefully constructed album until I find a picture of me lying on a hospital bed holding a baby that is notated "meeting Rachel." I keep turning the pages, and I eventually reach a photo of a young toddler with a huge smile as she poses for a photograph. The child has long brown hair divided into pigtails and is wearing a shirt that has a broken camera on it with the words "I'm too cute." I wrote for this one "looks like Rachel may be a model when she grows up."

I close the album, unable to look any further. "We did look happy, and Rachel was so adorable. I can't believe I would let anything happen to her."

Jefferson visibly fights back tears and looks away. "I should have been there for you two. I should have known what you were going through. Motherhood wasn't easy for you, and you had become withdrawn. I killed her as much as you did."

I am at a loss of what to do. I have a great urge to go and comfort him as he clearly isn't past the death of our daughter, but I can't get past the image of Jefferson shooting Chloe in the junkyard. "I'm sorry, Mark. If I truly did that, I deserve everything that has happened to me, but you…" The next few words are difficult to form, but I somehow manage. "You should be happy."

Jefferson openly weeps, his face buried in his arms out of shame. I didn't think he was capable of this. Jefferson eventually collects himself and looks up at me, eyes red. "I can't be happy without you, my love. I failed you, and this is my penance. I only get to see you once in a blue moon, and when I do, you think I'm some sick fuck. I wish I could rewind time to when we were a family and change things so that we could all be happy. But I can't. The most I can do is make sure that you are taken care of in this private institution so that maybe one day you will get better and we can restart our lives."

"Wait, how much does this all cost?" I ask.

"Well, I've had to take a home equity loan on our place and take another job as a photography teacher at a local college to help make ends meet. Insurance helps, but it's not enough to get you the treatment you need. If we had you at a state facility, they would only stabilize you and then send you home. You deserve the best care."

My thoughts turn to alternate Chloe in her wheelchair. If this reality is real, I have basically become her except with a severe mental illness. I must be so financially burdensome on Mark, but he has stuck with me through all of these years when a lesser person would have filed for divorce.

This Jefferson seems truly different, and I hate seeing someone in so much pain. Against my better judgment, I move my chair closer to Jefferson, and place my hands over his. My gesture shocks the photographer, and he remains motionless, unsure of whether he should return the gesture in case he breaks whatever spell I'm under. I can hear Chloe take some notes.

Jefferson eventually decides to take advantage of my newfound affection and leans over to kiss me on the cheek. I move my hand to intercept the kiss and shudder deeply as I feel his lips press against my skin. A large part of me is absolutely repulsed by this, but a small portion is screaming that this feels so right. This reality feels so normal, and Jefferson isn't a monster. If anything, I would be. Doesn't this make more sense than being a time-traveling teenager? Then again, I can't just deny my entire life. I can't just give up on my girlfriend.

"You haven't done this before," Mark says in astonishment. "I can't tell you how long I've dreamt of this. How much I craved being close to you, holding you to protect you from the nightmares."

I look back into his eyes. "I can see that you are a different person than the Mark Jefferson I know. You seem kind and compassionate. I don't have any feelings for you as I can't forget the other Jefferson who tortured me, but I can tell that you mean well."

"It's a start," Jefferson responds. "We can fall back in love. We have all the time in the world."

"Maybe, though I'm not convinced that this is real. I have more memories of an entire life in Arcadia Bay than I do of this supposed reality." I shift nervously in the chair, creating some more space between me and Jefferson's chair. Mark's expression darkens as his hopes for my imminent recovery dwindle.

Chloe looks up from her notes. "You honestly believe that a world of superpowers and magical storms is more real than this? Just stop and truly think about this, Max. You have to believe us if you have any hope of getting better. Mark needs you."

"This is all too much," I say wearily. "I need time to think this through."

Dr. Price moves close to me and holds my hands. "I don't know how much time you have before your next attack. I think we made some progress, but your condition now rests entirely in your hands. You need to shatter the fantasy that you will find yourself in. You need to personally kill your Chloe and keep her dead to get rid of the hallucinations and start living back in the real world. Only something as dramatic as that will show that you accept reality and are ready to face your guilt."

"No, I can't do that! I love her!" My confession of love for another, even if he sees her as just another part of myself, visibly shakes Mark.

Chloe locks her eyes with mine. "You have to. It's the only way to show that you are ready to move on from the fantasy."

Suddenly, I hear the sound of an EKG beeping and a voice saying "she might be getting up." I turn to Jefferson, who notices that I'm distracted and sheds some more tears as he knows I will leave soon. The world fades to black.

A/N:

In the game, we are faced with the dilemma of whether Max is a reliable narrator as the second scene of the game shows her waking up from a vision. This leads to the idea that the events in the game could just be in Max's head. I decided to explore that idea in this chapter.

As a nod to other fan fictions, Max has a tattoo in this chapter and Chloe's punk style has rubbed off on her.

The next chapter should be less heavy than the previous two and mark a return to the tone of the first five chapters.