"Chlo, I love you so dang much." We laid naked together, our legs tangled, melding us together as one. "That...That...I didn't even think of the darkroom. Just you, between my legs, in my heart, in my mind. You are what I need. You need to understand that just existing is the most powerful connection. There's not one part of you that I love. It's everything. The whole package, even if what's inside is torn and cracked. I want to help put you back together."

I pressed my lips against hers, the taste of each other still living in our mouths. "I think I'm a lot like Wesley. The dude lived to serve because he had everything except for his love. It's like I'm living his life after the last page, after the rolling credits. I...I think I understand that because of me, you were Super Max."

Max ran her hand along my ribs to my waist, between my legs where it was still warm and slick. "When we broke into the pool, I wanted to rewind time when I saw you take off your clothes. I wanted to relive that moment over and over again. I...I want to be honest with my Dread Pirate Roberts. I did. I did rewind time when you dared me to kiss you. Originally I just gave you a peck. But...but I knew I wanted more. That's why...that's why I was ready to have sex with you." She moved higher between my legs, touching just the outside of me.

I twitched, wanting her to make me cum. "I can't be mad about that, babe. I'm glad you did, that you made the right decision because I fuckin' love the consequences." She ran her finger along my lips, causing me to close my eyes for a sharp breath. I really couldn't be mad at her even though I hated when she rewound our experiences together. How many times did she do it? When we first had sex, she knew what do for me to be in ecstasy. Did she rewind until she knew? I wanted to ask. I wanted answers, but her soft strokes made those questions more...more for another time...or, should it be now? I had a hard time being brave when it came to these things. I could slip past bouncers, mosh, drink, smoke, shoot a gun, fight with a knife. These things were my personality. I hid myself behind actions and objects. If I focused on anything that wasn't me, then I didn't have to deal with my thoughts. But now...but now if I wasn't honest, then, then—she slipped her fingers inside, exploring the warmest part of me. It was hard to think. I wanted to say these things, but my hips rocked back and forth feeling her, her palm pressing hard against me. I kissed her neck—It was hard to think and talk. Sensations, those uncontrollable parts of us—

"Max. Did you rewind until you knew what I liked?"

She paused her small movements. "Um...yeah, I...I wanted to make you feel good because you deserve it."

I ran my fingertips along her cheek. "I can't be mad at that I guess." I ran my tongue along her neck and collarbone. She knew I loved four fingers, and she was moving everything in deep hard strokes. Her hand was riding the evening tide that came closer to shore.

Max and I used to run along the ridge between the beach and woods, and we didn't mind the pebbles that occasionally dotted the sand. Both biomes seemed like they would go on forever. The ocean to the horizon, the woods to the eye. Max was always out of reach, and Rachel was out of sight. How could I have even cared about nature? All that I was, the frayed edges of trying not to die by my own hands.

Even when we were young it was clear who had what role in our friendship. Max was always dorky and silly. She would trip over herself because of how much she would daydream. She cared so damn much about organization, finding lookout points, and I knew she would be some kind of artist. I was a different story. I would've grown up to be like dad, and when he died, I lost all sense of self. My mom practically lived at the diner, and David came in a little too late to be a positive influence—not that I would've let him be one. I'll admit, I'm stubborn as fuck, but I think that's because I still don't know myself. Max was so damn confident, yeah, I knew that she didn't come off that way, but her outward appearance was nothing like the deep pools of drive and knowledge inside her. When she gained her powers, well, after my shock of it all, it made sense to me. My power is rooted in aesthetics, the tough exterior, the foul mouth. Max and I are a unit: I was the hard shell to protect her inner strength. We were meant to be one.

Max continued working me between my legs. She whispered about how I felt to her. My body screamed for her touch. I wrapped my arms around her as my body tensed and shook. I held her freckled pale body to mine, letting the sticky sweat on our chests mingle and mix. Her shoulder blades jutted from the awkward twist she was in. I slowly loosened my grip as we lay together. She cleaned her hand with her tongue and pressed deeply into my mouth so we could share my taste. Our bodies were each other, inside and out. We held hands while staring at the ceiling. We didn't know what time it was, and Max laughed about how she could use her power to keep us from getting caught.

Max sighed. "We should get going, Cap."

I had my eyes closed, letting myself sit in my feelings—physical and mental. "I guess. How many showers are we going to take in one day?" I gave a hearty laugh and rolled on top and over her to get out of the bed on her side. Yeah, I could be annoyingly cute. She pushed me off the bed with her foot, and we both showered again, weak in the knees and sore in the right places. We got ready to leave, and as we were eating muffins, we heard the jingle of keys and the clicking of an unlocked door.

"Hey dad! Chloe made muffins!"

"Great! Your mom got called into the office, but we found some—" Ryan's shoes clopped on the floor with a quick swish of his pants. "F-fuck!" He walked in with a wide dopey grin, smoothing his hair back in place with one sock dangling from half his foot. "Don't tell your mom I swore. I don't have a dollar for the jar. But, as I was saying, our friend's daughter works at Left Bank Books and said her manager was looking for someone to pick up some part-time work. It's a start, and it won't take too much away from getting back into the swing of full-time school."

I looked up at him after wiping some crumbs off my lip. "Dude! You fuckin' rock!" Max punched me in the arm. "Shit, sorry, I guess that's two for me. Just put 'em on Ryan's tab."

Max rolled her eyes at me. "Anyway, thanks dad. That's going to help a lot. I'm thinking of doing some freelance to help balance out some of our costs."

"Would you look at you two? It's like you want to be with each other for a while." He ruffled Max's hair, picked up her muffin, took a huge bite out of it, and went to go get a cup of coffee out of the pot. Max glared at her dad as he filled his cup. "It's not polite to stare, Maxine."

I don't think I'll ever really get how Max was so close to her family. I didn't really have a frame of reference. I think I had been close to my mom, but I was definitely closer to my dad. I did constantly wonder if we would've stayed close or butted heads. Would I have disappointed him? Max told me about a reality where he lived, but she only saw brief flashes of me growing up before being paralyzed. He and mom took on a shit ton of debt because they loved me, but love is different than like. I hadn't realized I had been staring at my plate, rolling some crumbs with my thumb and middle finger to make little balls. Max put her hand on my arm. "You okay?"

I gave a halfhearted smile. "I think so. I'm going to go smoke before we head out. I'll meet you at the truck." I went over to Ryan before leaving. "Thanks again, man. We'll definitely check out the bookstore while we're out." I put my boots on, went to my truck, laid down on the bench seat, and lit a Spirit. I punched in a quick thank you text to Vanessa and closed my eyes, waiting for Max.

The seats smelled of wet earth, and there was a slight crunch to the leather from mud. Really, all I could inhale was cigarette smoke and the memory of death.

The door clunked closed and Max threatened to sit on my face if I didn't sit up, so I bit her butt, swung myself up, and started the truck. "Damn, Chlo. Just taking all the liberties now." I let my cigarette hang from the corner of my lip and winked before pulling out of the driveway.

When you have some cash and patience, Goodwill is the shit. Max hadn't taken a lot of clothes to Blackwell with her, so she had a well stocked closet of ill-cut jeans, graphic tees, and her grey hoodie. I believed that she was a creature of habit because, frankly, to have the patience to work on her selfie project, one would have to be. She quietly followed me around as I pulled out flannels and oversized shirts to try on over my own tank-top. Occasionally, I'd toss one or two and became an expert on getting them to land on top of her head. At the outerwear rack, I found an army-style jacket, one that was just oversized enough for Max's frame. "Here, try this on."

She looked at the jacket. "It's a bit, um, big isn't it?"

"Dude." I took the few items I kept off her hands and placed them on top of the rack. "Here." I folded the sleeves to the middle of her forearms, stepped close to her, pulled the inner cinch cord to tighten along her waist, fixed the collar, and gently kissed her on the forehead. "I think that's better."

Max blushed. "Excuse me, miss. Did you just make a pass at me?"

I leaned close to her ear and whispered seductively, "Don't tell corporate."

She pushed me away. "Ew, you're gross." She brushed her fingertips along the side of my hip as she walked by me to a mirror. "Oh dang! This is hella cool," she paused, "a bit too cool for me though." I grabbed the pants and shirts I wanted and slung my arm around her shoulder, looking at us in front of the mirror.

"We're not too bad looking together. Plus, this jacket makes your jeans look—"

"You're always making fun of my jeans."

"I just think you could show off that bod."

She took the clothes from my arm, kissed me on the cheek, and headed towards the register. "That's just for you." It was my turn to blush like crazy.

We pulled up to some metered parking outside of where the lofts were. They were situated on a hill with a bottom floor of storefronts and galleries. Above was where the live/work units were. "Dude, these are way too nice for the deal this guy is offering."

Max stood wide-eyed. "Yeah. They're hella nice." A tall skeleton of a man wearing a slim black suit stood near a front office, smoking what was undeniably a joint. His hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, and perched on his nose were a pair of sunglasses. Max nudged me to walk ahead of her.

"Hey, uh, dude? Are you Dorean?"

He gave a smile as thin as his fingers and looked over the top of some inexplicably small lens sunglasses. "You must be Ms. Price and Ms. Caulfield." Despite his unnerving presence, he was strangely warm and welcoming.

I cleared my throat and gave a wide goofy smile. "It'll be the Caulfield-Prices in not too long." Max kicked the heel of my boot. Somewhere between us walking over and greeting us, he had finished his joint, flicked it into the street, and had another in his mouth and lit. He motioned for us to walk inside.

"I'll be there momentarily, ladies. I must attend to business."

Max leaned in towards me. "That guy was kind of—"

"Dope. Yes, he was."

"I was going to say 'strange.'"

I ruffled her hair and kissed her on the shoulder. "Dude, aren't all of you artists?"

I glanced behind me, and Dorean stood staring into the street, his phone in his back pocket, and the weighty smell of Skywalker OG wafting in through the doors.

We sat on some reclaimed wood benches with seats that were way too small and no cushions. "Spider Max, this shit is uncomfortable."

"Yeah, I hate waiting too."

"I meant the seats." I looked outside and Dorean wasn't there, but the scent of weed was right next to me.

"Yes. Yes they are, but one of our tenants insisted we take them," he said mockingly through pursed lips, "for free."

Max laughed and I smiled. "So his friends still live here?"

Dorean gave what would've been a hearty laugh if he were a louder person. "I like you. I'm sorry about your town. Please, follow me." He led us to an office that looked like it was made by Steve Jobs: all white and a fingerprint magnet. Dorean sat in a chair that looked like an egg; it had a soft purple glow on the inside, causing white ink tattoos on his neck and hands to glow.

"Dude, that's fucking badass!" Max elbowed me.

"No, you're right," he already had another joint hanging from the corner of his lip. "It was made by a friend of mine who specializes in indoor neon roller coasters. This is one of his prototypes for the seat. As you can see, it was a really fucking stupid idea."

"I didn't want to say—" Max elbowed me before I could finish my sentence.

She smiled. "So. This place is really nice. How is there an opening?"

He opened an accordion file and flipped through some packets, placing one on the table. "Well, it's normally a two to five year wait, but the parents of a student at Blackwell Academy offered their daughter's spot for any artists who survived that terrible tragedy."

Beads of sweat fell on the back of Max's neck. "Wh-who's parents?" I put my hand on her thigh and gave it a soft squeeze.

Dorean sighed and placed his hands on the papers. "Kate Marsh."