July 6, 2014
Caulfield Residence
Seattle, Washington

"I don't know why I'm so upset. Shoulda known this was gonna happen," Chloe murmurs, hiccupping softly. "So fucking stupid."

I lean closer to pull my distraught girlfriend into a hug, trying not to cry myself. "You're not stupid, Chloe."

She grumbles, but she doesn't pull away. "Yeah, well, I feel stupid."

We'd been told that Chloe would have days like this; that the combination of stress and chemotherapy's harsh side-effects would sometimes be too much for her to deal with.

"Beating cancer is like running a marathon," Doctor Morris had told us at the end of that first meeting. "It takes time, energy, resolve, and plenty of all three. And unfortunately, even the strongest people stumble sometimes."

Despite the warnings, I'd been in awe of the resilience Chloe had shown. Aside from some tiredness and the occasional spell of chemo-induced nausea, I'd watched her swagger through the month following her diagnosis like it was a walk in the park. I'd even let myself buy into the ridiculous idea that she might be – not for the first time – an exception to the rule, breezing her way through the whole process.

I should've known that life doesn't work that way. That it was only a matter of time. That there are always consequences. Maybe then I wouldn't have been so shocked when I found Chloe in tears, sitting on the bathroom floor, clutching her hairbrush, and staring at the loose tufts of blue hair trapped in its bristles.

"I was doing so good, too," she sniffs, letting the brush fall from her hand. It lands on the thick bathmat with a dull thump.

"You still are. I'm so proud of you."

"But I don't wanna lose my hair." Chloe gently lifts a lock of her thinning hair and looks at it mournfully. "I'm already dealing with so much, Max. Why can't I keep this?"

"It'll grow back before you know it." I wish I had something more meaningful to say. Something that might actually help Chloe feel better. "You can even try a new color, if you want to."

"I don't want to try a new color, Max!" She jerks out of my arms. "I want to not look like a fucking freak! And I want you to not fucking patronize me!"

The small bathroom makes her outburst seem louder than she'd probably intended, and somehow makes the long silence that follows practically deafening.

"I'm sorry," Chloe finally whispers. "I didn't mean to yell."

"It's alright. I know you didn't." It's a lie. I know she did, but that doesn't matter. There's a time and a place for real-talk, and this isn't it.

Chloe curls back into my embrace, tucking her head under my chin. "Could...could you do something for me?"

"Anything."

"Could you tell me it's all going to be okay?"

"It's all going to be okay, baby," I say, placing a gentle kiss on the top of Chloe's head. I'm still lying, but there's still a time and a place. "I promise it's going to be okay."

Kristen: The coffee shop near my place is doing amateur stand-up tonight.

Kristen: You guys wanna come?

Chloe: prob not

Chloe: got my weekly semi-lethal injection today

Chloe: im usually pretty wrecked after

Kristen: Do you have to call it that? It's weird.

Chloe: fine

Chloe: im probably going to be too tired after ive finished my lung cancer treatment

Chloe: better?

Kristen: Actually...could you go back to calling it the other thing?

Max: So I was out with Kristen this afternoon and something really random happened.

Chloe: did she explode into glitter?

Chloe: cuz thatd be pretty fuckin random

Max: Not THAT random.

Chloe: lame

Max: We were standing in line at Starbucks and started talking about Blackwell for some reason. Then the girl in front of us in line turns around and says she went to Blackwell, too. Small world, huh?

Chloe: that is random

Chloe: who was it?

Max: That's the thing. She didn't have time to talk, and I didn't realize until just now that you and her actually would have been at Blackwell at the same time.

Max: Did you know a girl named Stephanie Gingrich?

July 22, 2014
Shoreline Skatepark
Seattle, Washington

This is the shittiest skatepark known to man. Seriously, it's like someone was forced at gunpoint to pour concrete over some uneven dirt, and still managed to do a half-assed job of it. It's only got a couple of flat rails, some dips in the ground, and a spectacularly lame two-foot-tall mini ramp.

Not that any of that has kept me from coming here at least a few times a week since Max and I came to Seattle. (When the weather wasn't complete ass, at least.) I've gotten to know a few of the other regulars. Well enough to talk to, I thought. But I've been sitting here for hours now, since before the sun went down, and all I've got from anyone is uncomfortable looks and the occasional awkward hello.

At least the people who've never met me have a decent excuse to avoid me. Who wants to go talk to the weird pale chick wearing a hoodie and beanie in the middle of July? The lack of eyebrows probably doesn't help. I look like a fucking space alien.

You probably would have teased me about that, if you were here. Then, after I was done pretending to be mad at you, you'd have done some of that makeup magic of yours and eyebrowed me right the fuck back up. I probably still would have looked weird, but it'd be a funny weird. I'd be okay with that.

I really did come here to do some skateboarding. You always liked watching me try to look cool doing it, and I figured it'd be a good way to clear my head. But I had a chemo infusion this morning and I'm still feeling kinda fucked up. So here I am, sitting in the dark with a skateboard on my lap, staring at a shitty skatepark that emptied out hours ago. It's probably for the best. My balance is a little hit-or-miss these days, and I don't think Max would be too happy with me if I went off my board and cracked my head open.

Oh, man...Max. Seriously, you don't even know. I know you only ever heard me talk shit about her, and about how I'd rip into her if I ever saw her again, but then she appeared out of nowhere and fifteen minutes later we were hanging out back at my place. I mean, it's not like everything was all forgive and forget, but it was like I knew right away that I was going to forgive her. Now we're together and I love her so much that it blows my mind.

Life's weird that way, I guess.

I don't know how you would have reacted to that. I like to imagine you'd have been happy for us. Or that you and Max could have been friends. That would've been nice.

Aw, shit. See that guy walking over from that conspicuously unmarked car? Totally a cop. You can always tell. Even when they aren't in uniform, cops always have that weird way of walking. Like they want to swagger but know they aren't supposed to. Step-fucker used to walk like that. At least, before the desert hippies fixed his brain or whatever.

I could get up and leave, but that'd probably be worse. I see him, he sees me, and if I try to walk away he'll just assume I'm a dealer or something. I'm not really interested in taking a couple of warning shots to the back tonight.

"Evening, miss." Oh, great. It's a young cop, too. These guys are always such tools. Why do they always point their flashlights right in your eyes? Fucking douchebags.

"Sure is."

"The park closes at ten pm, you know."

Oh, yeah. That's another messed up thing about Seattle. Their parks have fucking hours. It's like, 'sorry, this wide-open patch of grass is closed for the night. Please come back tomorrow'. It's ridiculous, and the only people who give a shit are the ones who wouldn't be out here at night anyway.

"I'll take your word for it."

"Right. I'm gonna need you to stand up."

Oh, for fuck's sake. "Why?"

"Stand up, right now, and keep your hands where I can see them."

I'm sure you remember this as the point where I'd say something especially stupid and land myself in trouble, but not tonight. There's another cop walking over from the same car, and he's way older. Like, late 40s with that 'I'm too old for this shit' vibe.

I like those cops. As long as you don't fuck around or mouth them off, they don't give enough fucks to give you any grief.

"The hell are you doing, Cooper?"

"This woman isn't being cooperative."

Yeah, I'm not doing this. Time to drop a nuclear shame-bomb on this knucklehead. Watch close. You're gonna love this.

Step one; stand up slowly and try to look a little unsteady. This one is really easy for me because I feel pretty slow and unsteady these days.

Step two; heave a great and weary sigh, like I regret every single choice that brought me to this moment. Gotta be careful not to oversell it, though.

Step 3; the finishing move. Reach up, pull off my beanie to reveal my weird-looking bald head, look the startled-as-fuck officer in the eye, and say:

"Shit. I'm sorry. I had my chemotherapy today and I'm always kinda bitchy after."

"Oh...I...uh..." Goodbye, flashlight. Hello, shame-face. You can tell he's fighting the urge to apologize. Young cops hate to admit when they've done something wrong, even if it was just them acting like a jerk. Remember the time that rookie cop back in the Bay knocked you over cause he was looking at his phone instead of where he was going? And how he tried to make it out like it was your fault? Asshole.

"I think the word Officer Cooper here is searching for is 'sorry'." Damn. Old cop must practice that eye roll.

"No, it's my bad. I guess I was kinda rude." Shaming intensifies. "I've just been having a rough time lately."

"You didn't do anything wrong." Pretty sure that only apply to me, because old cop has definitely taken over now and I'm getting the impression that ol' Cooper here is gonna get a stern talking to back in the car.

You know, this is the kind of shit I can only pull off when I'm alone. I love Max to death, but she has the worst poker face in human history. And forget about if you were here. I'd be trying to look all repentant and pitiful and you just be laughing your ass off the whole time. No help at all, but at least you'd be enjoying yourself.

"Do you live near here, miss?"

"Yup. About ten minutes that way."

"Need a lift?"

Huh. That's actually kinda cool of him. "No, it's a nice night for a walk. Thanks, though."

"No problem. Just remember not to loiter in the parks after dark, okay?"

"You got it." And off they go, two more helpless victims of Chloe Price's Cancer-Powered Shame Ray.

I miss when shit like this would happen to both of us. We had some good times. Part of me wishes I could tell you that, or that I could wish you happy birthday in person. At the same time, I'm a little scared that by next year I'll be able to.

I don't want that. I don't want to die. I want all the time I can get with Max, and I'm gonna keep fight for it for as long as I've got any fight left in me.

Sorry, Rachel. I miss you like crazy, but I hope we don't see each other again for a long, long time.

Max: Where are you? Mom said you went for a walk while I was out.

Max: Chloe?

Max: I'm not trying to be a mother hen but I'd like to know you're okay.

Max: It's starting to get dark. Where are you?

Max: Chloe, I'm really worried!

Chloe: im here

Max: Where have you been?! I was so worried!

Chloe: skatepark

Max: I've been freaking out and you've been skateboarding?!

Chloe: no

Chloe: just sitting

Chloe: rachels birthday today

Chloe: needed some time to think

Max: Oh.

Chloe: im sorry i worried u

Chloe: coming home now

Max: You don't have to. I'm just glad you're alright.

Chloe: k

Max: Do you maybe want some company?

Max: We could go get ice cream. I've been craving it all day.

Chloe: ya

Chloe: thatd be really great

Max: I'm on my way. Love you.

Chloe: love u too

Chloe: so much

[Unknown Number]: Is this Chloe Price?

Chloe: depends whos asking

[Unknown Number]: It's Steph Gingrich.

=NEW CONTACT CREATED=

Chloe: holy shit

Chloe: whered u get my number from?

Steph: A girl named Kristen Jacobs gave it to me. And by gave, I mean practically forced on.

Chloe: srsly?

Chloe: howd she find you?

Steph: She was at my regular Starbucks. I ran into her and one of her friends there a few weeks ago.

Steph: I actually think she's been waiting there for me.

Chloe: lol ya that sounds about right

Chloe: dont worry about kris

Chloe: shes intense sometimes but shes harmless

Steph: Good to know.

Steph: So...I didn't know you made it out of AB.

Chloe: ya

Chloe: me and max barely got out in time

Steph: Max?

Chloe: the other girl u met

Chloe: shes my gf

Steph: Shit. That's crazy.

Steph: How have you been?

Steph: Chloe?

Chloe: u got time to talk?

Chloe: its a long story

August 23, 2014
Slave To The Needle Tattoo
Seattle, Washington

"You're sure about this?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

"...really sure?"

"Seriously, Chloe? You're the one who's been harassing me to get a tattoo!"

"I didn't harass you," Chloe counters. "I just pointed out, on occasion, that you'd look pretty hot with one."

"Uh-huh. 'On occasion'. Sure." Beside me, the tattoo artist, Jakob, lets out a soft chuckle. Shifting my weight a little to get more comfortable in the tattoo chair, I turn to give him a smile. "Sorry."

He waves my apology away. "No worries. Far as I'm concerned, you're the boss."

"Well, I'm ready now."

"Cool." Putting a picture of my tattoo design on a small clipboard, he attaches it to the arm of the chair where he can easily reference it, nodding appreciatively. "I know I keep saying it, but this is such a sick drawing."

"Thanks. It took a while to get it just right."

"Hey, fair enough. Better slow and perfect than fast and flawed. You do it yourself?"

"I wish." I shake my head, smiling at the drawing. "My mom was got a minor in art in college. She helped me put it together."

The image, which is going to take up the better part of my shoulder when it's done, is of a broken pocket watch, cracked right down the middle. A vividly blue morpho butterfly is perched on the watch's winder, looking almost real enough to take flight at any moment, and a flowing banner wraps around the base bearing the words 'No Time Like The Present'.

"Ha! Awesome. I see a lot of folks coming through here who're more worried about explaining their new ink to their mom." He turns to Chloe, looking down at the tattoo on her arm. "I see you're no stranger to the needle. Here to be the designated emotional support friend?"

"Emotional support girlfriend, actually."

"Dope." He hesitates, almost imperceptibly, then gestures to her beanie. "Hey, I...uh...couldn't help but notice the lack of hair. It's cool if it's not my business, but..."

"Yeah, it's cancer," Chloe answers sharply. "Lung. Stage four."

"Damn." He winces. "That fucking sucks."

"Really? No shit."

"Hey, I feel your pain, sister." He lifts the sleeve of his t-shirt to reveal an obvious chemotherapy port scar. "Kidney, 'bout six years back. Kicked the crap outta me and I'm only running on one these days, but I still beat it." He grins, reaching over me to gently clap Chloe on the shoulder. "Just keep fighting the good fight, okay?"

"Oh." Chloe blinks, then a slow smile spreads over her face. "Yeah. Okay."

"Right on." Grinning, he lifts his tattoo gun and taps the control pedal next to his foot. It buzzes like a very large, very angry hornet in his hand, and I barely keep from flinching. "So, ready to see your girl get her first ink?"

"You better believe it. She recently went suddenly and unexpectedly hardcore on me," Chloe smirks, pointing to the three fresh piercings lined up in the cartilage of my upper ear. "Just got those done this morning."

"Nice," he nods, giving me a smile. "Decided to lean in hard, eh?"

"Sure did. I'd actually like to add something, though. If it isn't too late?"

"Depends what it is."

Pulling a folded slip of paper from my pocket, I hand it to him and tap the inside of my right wrist. "I want to get that right here."

Jakob looks down at the paper, then back up with a smile. "Totally doable."

"What is it?" Chloe's already leaning over me to get a look. "Lemme see!"

"Nope!" I wink at Jakob, who immediately re-folds the paper and holds it out of Chloe's reach. "You'll have to wait and see."

She gives me a pouty look that, to be fair, usually works. "But Maaaaaaax..."

"Patience is a virtue."

"So is knowledge," she counters, instantly.

"Damn, she's kinda got you there."

I give Jakob a mild glare. "Who's side are you on?"

"Sorry. Please continue."

"C'mon. Just a hint?"

"It's just a little something to remind me how much I love you." I'm absolutely delighted when the vague answer makes her blush. "And that's all your getting!"

"Oh, fine. Be that way." Dropping back into her chair, she waves a hand in Jakob's general direction. "You may begin tattooing my girlfriend."

"You got it." Dipping the tip of the tattoo gun into a small ink pot, he takes a moment to get comfortable and moves it up to my shoulder. "Alright, let's do this thing."

Chloe: do u know where my phone is?

Chloe: im worried i left it at chemo

Max: Is it on the desk?

Chloe: nope

Max: What about the charger in the kitchen?

Chloe: nope

Max: ...

Max: You just think you're so darned funny, don't you?

Chloe: yep

Steph: That was legit nuts. I've never seen someone roll that many nat 1's in a row.

Steph: That was some Wheaton Dice Curse level craziness.

Chloe: what dice what?

Steph: It's a thing.

Steph: Next time Max should probably play a halfling. They get to re-roll 1's.

Chloe: i dunno if shed be into it

Chloe: shes still pretty salty about ur gf making fun of her all night

Steph: Yeah, I talked to Izzy about that. She's really sorry. She was just messing around.

Chloe: ill tell max

Steph: What about you? Still down for the occasional one-shot?

Chloe: u kidding?

Chloe: callamastia fears no smack talk!

September 13, 2014
Caulfield Residence
Seattle, Washington

"Lemme just say that if there's one bright side to this chemo bullshit, it's the free weed."

"It's not actually free, you know," I laugh, not looking up from my small pile of course outlines and notes. My university classes only started a week ago, and I already feel like I'm going to drown in class handouts. Beside me, Chloe is reclined in a patio chair, surrounded by a faint and pungent haze. "It's just covered by insurance."

"Same difference." She holds the joint out. "You want a hit?"

"I don't think you're supposed to be sharing your prescription marijuana."

"I have cancer," Chloe counters, matter-of-factly. "I am no longer subject to the laws of man."

"Pretty sure you are, sweetheart. I'll pass."

"Come on," she teases. "I thought you were cool."

"Not that cool."

"Whatever." She places the joint back between her lips. "Just means more for me."

"Just out of curiosity, how baked are you right now? Like, on a scale of one-to-ten."

Chloe considers the question for a moment. "Very."

"That's not a number."

"You're not a number."

"Ooh, sick burn, babe. Got me real good there."

"Damn right I did." She waves in the vague direction of my arm. "How's your ink doing?"

"Healing. Kinda itchy, though."

For the first couple of days, my new tattoos had actually been a little painful. The follow-up session for my shoulder a week later hadn't helped with that. The few times I accidentally brushed either of them against something, it'd felt like rubbing a bad sunburn. In the last three weeks, though, they'd gone down to a slightly distracting but bearable itch.

I've been getting plenty of complements about my shoulder one. Probably because the weather has been fairly t-shirt friendly, so it's the one people notice first. But although I really do love it, it doesn't make me smile quite like the two-inch-wide rainbow-colored Jolly Roger on the inside of my right wrist.

Chloe took one look at it and (after she was done crying) immediately wanted to book an appointment to get a matching one. Instead, Jakob had stayed an hour after the shop officially closed and done it for her on the spot. He hadn't even charged her. She'd asked him to put it inside her left wrist, so they'd come together whenever she and I held hands.

Me and Chloe; Arcadia Bay Pirates for life.

"Yeah, that'll happen. The trick is to not scratch 'em."

I roll my eyes gently. "Right. I'll keep that in mind."

Across the yard, I can see my father watching the two of us with amusement over the barbecue lid. My parents have been surprisingly chill about Chloe smoking pot, though the fact that it's been prescribed by an actual doctor probably helps. Their only condition was that she always smoke outside.

It's going to start getting colder next month, though. I'll have to try and convince them to let her use the garage, at least.

"It's kinda funny, when you think about it," Chloe takes a long pull and slowly lets the smoke curl out through her nose in long, white tendrils. I look away to hide my smile; I know Chloe well enough to know that my very-baked girlfriend is pretending to be a dragon. "Who knew all those years of daily wake and bakes were actually approved by the AMA?"

I don't comment, laughing softly as I top up my bowl of pretzels. I hand the rest of the bag to Chloe, who accepts it with a grin and immediately shoves several in her mouth.

"Y'know what's really fucked up, though?" she continues, swallowing heavily.

"What's that?"

"What's really fucked up," she repeats, taking another hit. "Is how the universe threw a big ol' bitch-fit when you kept me from getting shot, even though I was already dying of cancer."

"You're not dying," I respond instantly, my good mood vanishing as I turn to glare at my girlfriend. "Don't talk like that."

Chloe doesn't seem to have a response to that. She just gazes back at me with an expression I really don't know how to interpret.

Chloe: dont think i can make it in today

Rick (El Jefe): That's the third time this week, Chloe.

Chloe: i know

Rick (El Jefe): You're putting me in a tough spot here. I can't keep putting you on the schedule if you're not going to show up.

Chloe: i got vertigo

Chloe: stuck in bed

Rick (El Jefe): Alright. How about you give me a call when you feel a little better?

Chloe: u gonna fire me?

Rick (El Jefe): Look, this isn't a conversation to have by text.

Chloe: im a big girl, bossman

Chloe: u can be straight with me

Rick (El Jefe): I need employees I can rely on.

Chloe: i get it

Rick (El Jefe): I'm really sorry, Chloe.

Chloe: ya

Chloe: me too