This is the closest I've been to Max since the paramedics showed up and kicked me out of my own bedroom.
She looks so much better than the last time I saw her, not that the bar for that was very high. Whoever dressed her in the pale blue hospital gown cleaned her up as well. If I hadn't seen it myself, I'd never believe that her face had been practically covered in blood when the ambulance had taken her away.
I linger in the doorway, taking in the sight of her, and the longer I do the more I get the impression that there's something weird about her. I can't quite put my finger on it. It's not anything bad or wrong; just somehow different. It's not until I move closer that I start getting the impression that she looks...older?
It's a weird-as-fuck thought to have, but it's true; standing at her bedside and looking down at her, I'm almost certain that she looks older than she did before. But that can't be right, can it? It's only been a couple of hours.
I reach down to gently brush her hair aside, wanting to get a better look at her face, and that's when I notice that it seems longer. Like, a lot longer. It shouldn't even reach her shoulders, but I can't even see the ends. It looks like most of it has been tucked beneath her neck. Confused, I reach down and gently draw a lock of it out with a hooked finger. Reality sorta tilts sideways as more hair just keeps on revealing itself. By the time I reach the end, I'm looking at a lock of Max's hair that's at least three times longer than it has any right to be.
Okay, hold up. That's not possible. It'd take years for her hair to get that long. They've got to be extensions or something. Leaning in, I carefully run my fingers through her hair as I search for the glue or tape or whatever the fuck some weirdo (who, mark my words, I'm gonna find and kick the ever-living fuck out of) used to give Max hair extensions while she was unconscious. And while I don't find anything, something else does catch my eye.
Moving her hair out of the way gives me a better view of her right ear; specifically, the trio of tiny holes along its upper edge. I never would have noticed them if I weren't looking so closely, but there they are.
For a half-second, I'm ready to go full rampage through the hospital until I find the fucker responsible. Giving her hair extensions is messed up but piercing her ear while she's out cold is fucking assault...except that isn't what happened. It can't be, because there's no swelling or redness. Wherever the hell these came from, they didn't happen recently.
"What the entire fucking hell...?" I murmur, backing away from the bed. Max has helix piercings. Three helix piercings, which is three more than me and I can't believe that I'm taking that a little personally but come on! I'm the rebel and she's the hipster wuss! What kind of twilight zone bullshit is this?
Gently tucking her weird and impossible hair under her shoulder where I don't have to be freaked out by it, I move to the end of the bed to check the clipboard hanging there. As almost totally sure as I am that this is Max, I still feel the need to confirm this isn't some complete stranger who just happens to look a whole hell of a lot like my best friend.
Unfortunately, what's written under 'Patient Name' just leaves me with more questions. "Who the fuck is Mackenzie Clayton?"
Then, just when I think this whole thing can't get any more insane, I look up from the chart and see the impossible. I don't care what that XXL-scrub-wearing bitch said. Max does not have a tattoo. Even though it's possible that I could've missed the piercings, there's no way in hell I wouldn't have noticed a tattoo...except I must have. Because (unless I'm straight-up hallucinating) there's definitely something peeking out from under the long sleeve of Max's baggy hospital gown that looks very much like a fucking tattoo.
Putting the chart back, I'm moving to take a much-needed closer look when a knock at the door scares the living shit out of me. I spin around, my arms flying up in some kind of defensive flail, to find a timid-looking girl standing in the doorway. She's dressed in what looks a little like pajamas with her blonde hair up in a bun, looking almost as startled as I feel.
"Hi," she says, tentatively raising her hand and giving me a little wave. "I'm sorry if I scared you."
"You didn't," I snap, sounding a lot harsher than I meant to, and the way she flinches kinda makes me feel like an asshole. "Sorry. Tough morning."
"That's alright. I understand." She steps forward, her hands raised ever so slightly. It reminds me of the way someone might approach a snarling animal, and I try not to feel a little offended. "I'm Kate. I go to Blackwell with Max, and I wanted to see if she was alright."
"Oh." I take a second to look the girl over. She seems nice, if a little tired. I've seen the same shadows under her eyes in the mirror enough times to assume she probably hasn't been sleeping well lately. Her name rings a bell, though, but it isn't until the light reflects off a gold cross hanging around her neck that it hits me. "Hang on. You're not...y'know...Kate, are you?"
"I might be?" She responds, smiling a little hesitantly. "I'm a Kate, at least."
"I meant are you that girl who tried to jum-" My jaw snaps shut with an audible click.
"Oh." Until that moment, I'd never really seen someone try to hide in their own shadow. "Yes, that was me."
"Shit!" I wince, glancing at a still-sleeping Max and lowering my voice. "I'm so sorry."
"It's fine," Kate says in a voice that might as well be crying 'IT'S NOT FINE!'.
"No, that was a totally fucked up thing to say," I shake my head. "I'm such an asshole."
"Really, it's alright. I understand," Kate insists. "Everyone makes mistakes, right? No harm done."
"You sure?"
"I'm sure," she nods. "I mean, who am I to judge someone for messing up? I couldn't even jump off a building properly." Her eyes go wide as saucers, she lets out a faint choking sound, and her gaze drops to the floor. "Oh. Oh no. I...I was trying to...I promise that sounded funny in my head."
"I sure hope so," I murmur, eyeing her for a second. "Hey, what do you say we just pretend the last minute never happened?"
She nods vigorously. "Yes, please."
"Okay. Cool." Standing, I stick out my hand. "Chloe Price."
She accepts it with a shy smile. "Kate Marsh. It's nice to meet you, Chloe."
"Right back at'cha. So, you're here to see Mad Max?"
"Mhm," Kate nods again. "I ran into Mr. Madsen while I was going for a walk and he told me she was here. He's our school's head of security."
"Yeah. And my step-dou...er...stepfather."
"Really?" Like before, Kate's tone says a lot more than the words do. "Oh."
"So he's an asshole professionally, too? Figures."
"He's not that bad," Kate counters, not very believably. "It's just been a difficult week, is all."
"Yeah," I mutter, looking back to Max. "And it's only fucking Wednesday."
"So, how do you know Max?"
"Me and Maximus go way back. Been friends since we were, like, six."
"Oh. She...er..."
I know what she wants to say, and not so long ago it probably would have sent me off on one of my famous 'Max abandoned me' rants. But sitting here, thinking about this morning, and looking at Max laying there, it suddenly seems a lot less important. "She's never mentioned me?"
Kate nods.
"We lost touch after she moved to Seattle. Only just started hanging out again."
"That must be nice, reconnecting after so long."
"Yeah." It's been amazing actually; a bright flash of hope after a really dark six months...but I don't think me and Kate are quite at that level of sharing. Speaking of sharing, though... "Hey, do you know how long Max has had a tattoo?"
Kate blinks. "Max has a tattoo?"
I point to the barely visible inked edge. Curious, Kate steps forward and tentatively lifts the hospital gown sleeve to reveal the full design. "Oh, wow. That's amazing."
"Y-yeah..." Holy fucking shit. Max really does have a tattoo. Max has a fucking amazing tattoo, beautifully designed and expertly done and a lot bigger than I expected. It takes up her entire upper arm, from elbow to shoulder.
The broken pocket-watch at the center is incredibly detailed - right down to the brushed metal of its body and the tiniest cracks in what was left of its glass face – and so is the astonishingly realistic blue butterfly perched on the top of it. Leaning closer to study it, I see what looks like the Arcadia Bay lighthouse on her inner arm, and the silhouette of a doe beneath. There's also a series of weird, jagged shapes that form a ring around the bottom; it takes me a second to realize they're the pieces of a smashed polaroid camera.
"No time like the present," Kate reads aloud, tilting her head to the side thoughtfully. "I bet that's a photography reference. Capturing a moment, right?"
"Sure," I respond, absently. "I guess."
She might be right about that, but the writing on the banner isn't what has my heart thundering in my chest. What I'm struggling to get a grip on is the fact that both the pocket watch and butterfly are entirely framed by a wreath of roses and thorny vines, all woven together with a long blue and purple ribbon. The same blue and purple shades as my hair.
Stunned, I absently reach up to brush my fingertips over my right arm. Max and I both have blue butterflies. We both have roses, and thorny vines, and a long, curling ribbon and what the actual fuck? Our tattoos are too alike to be a coincidence. It's like hers was inspired by mine, but the first time she saw my tattoo was less than two days ago.
This shit does not compute!
There's a tattoo that belongs to Max, inked right on Max's arm, right in front of me, fully healed and inspired by mine...and I'm still having trouble believing it exists, because there's absolutely no possible way that she hasn't had that thing the entire time we've been hanging out. So why didn't I see it before?
How could I not have seen it? She was wearing short sleeves this morning, and it sure wasn't there then. I guess she could have covered it up with makeup or something, but when would she have been able to? We woke up at the same time, didn't we?
She couldn't have already had makeup on from yesterday. It would have come off in the pool last night. And even if it didn't, she was wearing long sleeves all day. Why would she even bother covering it at all?
Has she been rewinding to cover it? What for? Did she think I'd judge her or someth-
"-hloe?"
I snap my eyes up to find Kate looking at me curiously. "Say what?"
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah. Guess I'm just a little up in my head right now."
"I get it," Kate assures me, pointing to Max's wrist. "Did you see this one?"
Curious, I move around the bed (while taking note of Max's obviously split knuckle, because that's definitely going to come up later) to get a better look...oh.
Oh, damn.
All thoughts about Max's other tattoo fly out of my head, because the small thing inked on the inside of my best friend's wrist is a hell of a lot more important right now. The skull-and-crossed-swords design says enough all on its own, but there's no mistaking what the rainbow coloring represents.
It's a pride tattoo.
Max is gay.
Max Caulfield (who is gay) has a pride tattoo on her wrist that represents something unique and meaningful to just the two of us. Arcadia Bay Pirates for life.
Wait...Arcadia Gay Pirates for life!
"What's so funny?"
I look up at Kate. "Huh?
"You were giggling."
"Sorry. It's kind of an old inside joke me and Max have."
"That must be nice." Something about the way she says it makes me feel a little sad for her. I'm actually kinda relieved when she looks back down. "Isn't it strange that even though she's asleep, she still looks tired?"
"She's had a rough morning." But at least she's not covered in blood anymore. All weirdness aside, I can be plenty thankful about that.
"What happened to her?"
"She had a seizure."
"What?" Kate gasps. "Why?"
"Dunno. Apparently the docs don't know why either." I snort. "Hopefully I didn't actually blow her mind or something."
"What?"
"Just something dumb I was freaking myself out with earlier." I laugh a bit at her puzzled look. "Okay, this is gonna sound really stupid, but because Max collapsed right after kissing me, for a minute I'd almost convinced myself that kissing me was why she collapsed."
Kate blinks owlishly. "Max kissed you?"
"A couple of times, actually," I wiggle my eyebrows suggestively.
Furrowing her brow, Kate looks down at Max with a strange expression. If I didn't know better, I'd say she...oh no. No, I must be missing something here. There's no way I just did what I think I just did.
"Max is gay?" she murmurs.
Oh, fuck.
"You...you didn't already know that?"
Kate shakes her head slowly.
Oh, fuck.
I can't believe it. Max is lying unconscious in the hospital after having some kind of fucking aneurysm in my bedroom, and I just casually outed her to one of her friends. What am I going to do next? Light her on fire?
"Oh, shit. Holy fucking shit. I...I didn't mean to...I thought...I mean, she was so chill about...and she's got that tattoo...and I...I just assumed..." I can feel my brain melting down and drop my head into my hands. "Max is gonna kill me."
"Hey, it's alright," Kate says softly, and I look up to see her giving me a worried look. "I won't tell her you said anything."
"...you won't?"
"Not a word." She mimes zipping her lips shut. "Promise."
"Okay." I feel my heart rate slowly drop back into the double-digits. "So you're not...er..."
"Upset that she's gay?"
I nod, a little cautiously. Kate doesn't really seem like the type, but I've been wrong before.
"Of course not." She says it so matter-of-factly, like she's the tiniest bit offended that I'd suggest otherwise. "I'm a little surprised, but Max saved my life. She was there for me when nobody else was. Why would I think any less of her just because she's different from me?"
Well, shit. This is not what I figured Blackwell's religious girl would be like. I was ready for a full-blown fire and brimstone rant; not more support and acceptance than I'd expect from almost anyone else in this town. I can see why Max likes her. "Damn, Kate Marsh. Somebody sure raised you right."
"Yeah." Her smile fades just a tiny bit. "I guess so."
On second thought, her attitude might be despite her upbringing rather than because of it. That actually makes it even more impressive. "I'm just saying, you're a lot better than some people I've met."
"Thanks." She glances away. Geez, how little praise does this girl get? Considering the reason she's here, it's probably safe to guess it's not enough. "I think I'm going to head back to my room now. When Max wakes up, would you tell her thank you for me? And let her know she's in my prayers?"
"Sure. No problem."
Anyone who looks at Kate can tell that she's going through a rough time right now, and I know a little about what that's like. How it feels to be so low that you start to think you'll never really come back. To think that maybe it'd be easier to just throw in the towel. But if you're lucky, someone will come along at just the right moment and pull you back from the edge.
That was what Rachel did for me. For Kate, it was Max.
It makes me feel even worse about being such a bitch to Max yesterday. Maybe if I'd taken a second to actually think about why she insisted on answering her phone instead of acting like an attention-starved little brat, I would have realized how serious it was. I've been trying not to think about what might've happened if I'd forced Max to reject that call, and even though everything turned out okay, I still wish I had a way to make up for it.
And right then, I have what I really hope is a great idea.
"Hey, Kate?"
She turns back at the door. "Yes?"
"Y'know how you said inside jokes are nice?"
She nods, a curious look in her eye.
"I'm glad you suck at jumping off buildings."
Kate blinks, then surprises us both with a loud snort. Slapping her hands over her mouth, she eyes Max nervously as her shoulders shake with silent laughter. After a second, she cautiously lowers them to reveal a bright smile. "Chloe, that's awful."
"Awfully good, I hope?"
She nods again, still giggling a little. "Thank you. I think I really needed that."
"Anytime, Special K." I hesitate. "Can I ask you a weird question?"
Her head cocks adorably to the side, just a little. "I guess?"
"How long has Max been rocking her haircut?" Kate gives me a funny look, so I vaguely add, "It was different when we were kids."
"Oh." She shrugs. "I've only known her for about a month, but her hair's been that short the whole time."
So, I'm not seeing things. I could believe that Max had managed to hide her tattoos from Kate till now. It wouldn't have been too hard to do. But her hair really was shorter before. "That's what I figured. Thanks."
"No problem." She gives me a parting smile, and then it's just me and Max again. She hasn't moved a muscle, and I'm not sure whether I should be relieved or worried that Kate and I didn't wake her up.
I've got about a million questions for her, and the longer I think the more keep coming to mind. Part of me wants to shake her awake and demand answers, but I manage to resist. She'll wake up when she wakes up. For now, there's nothing for me to do but wait.
Chloe: im in maxs room
Joyce: Is she alright?
Chloe: dont know
Chloe: better i think
Chloe: shes still asleep
Joyce: what did the nurse say?
Chloe: just a bunch of bullshit
Joyce: What does that mean?
Chloe: nothing important
Chloe: forget it
Chloe: gonna stay in here til max wakes up
Joyce: Alright. I'm going to go back to the house and wait for her parents. Do you need me to bring you anything before I do?
Chloe: no
Chloe: im fine here
I feel as though I've been floating in this dark, featureless void for a really long time. Unfortunately for me, I can't seem to remember how I got here.
I can remember saying goodbye to Victoria in Arcadia Bay, but try as I might, I can't recall anything else between then and now. Other than my bizarre science-classroom-themed hallucination, I mean. That's probably not good. What if trying to travel so far into the past screwed up my brain? What if it just ended up killing me? What if that whole bit with bizzarro-me was just a super-lame version of my life flashing before my eyes?
I really hope not, because that would make this the afterlife. And if that's what it is, it's pretty underwhelming.
I'm just starting to wonder how I'm going to keep myself entertained for eternity in a featureless void when a point of light pierces the darkness. Another follows shortly after, then another. Soon there are enough that the glare grows painful. I try to look away, but no matter what I do the light is somehow always right in my eyes. I feel it envelop me entirely, then slowly give way to a room with plain off-white walls.
The curtains on the nearby window are open, and the light that woke me up comes from the afternoon sun streaming in.
Where the hell am I? Is this a hospital? Why am I in a hospital?
"...ax? Shit, Max, can you hear me?" A blurry shape drifts into my field of vision, and I squint to try and bring it into focus. As my sight begins to clear, I can almost make out the shape of someone hovering above me...and a bright splash of beautifully familiar blue. Frustrated and confused, I try to speak, but my tongue feels heavy, and my throat feels bone dry. I suddenly realize that I've never been so thirsty in my life.
"Crap. Hang on." The person vanishes from sight, and I use the moment alone to try and organize my scattered thoughts. How badly did things go? More importantly, how many rewinds have I done? Was just one enough to land me in the hospital?
The last thing I can clearly remember is standing in the ruins of Arcadia Bay with Victoria. I remember using the EpiPen, starting the rewind, and then nothing but a stream of disjointed sounds and images. Then something wonderful comes back to me. The sight of Chloe's face, wide-eyed and just as beautiful as I remember. The feel of her lips on mine for the first time in so long. Was she real? Just some hallucination?
Before I can really think on that, a blurry man wearing green hospital scrubs suddenly appears at my bedside.
"Welcome back, Miss Clayton."
Miss Clayton? Who the hell is...oops. I thought I'd taken that particular keepsake out of my wallet.
"Do me a favor and try to follow this with your eyes," he continues, raising his hand. A small point of light appears in the middle of my sightline. Watching my eyes intently, he moves the small light from one side to the other, then up and down. I want to complain about the sudden brightness, but the light goes away before I can say anything. Somewhere off to my side, I hear the sound of a pen scratching on paper. My vision is much clearer now, enough to make out that he's somewhere in his early thirties, though his shaggy hair and crooked smile make him seem younger.
I try to say something again, but I can't create much more than a faint rasping sound.
"Alright, alright. Just a second." His (the doctor, I guess?) voice is tinged with humor. He floats back into sight a second later with a small plastic cup of chipped ice. I take the straw between my lips, and I think the cool water might be the best thing I've ever tasted. "Easy now. Little sips."
"Whe..." My voice cracks again. He holds the straw to my lips, and after a few swallows I feel ready to try again. "Where am I?"
"In the hospital," he responds, as if that weren't completely obvious. "You were brought in this morning."
"Why?"
"You can go over that when you see the doctor. I just have a few things to check first."
I nod again, not willing to trust my voice any more than I have to. The nurse (definitely a nurse, now that I've gotten a better look at him) runs through the tests smoothly, poking my toes to check my nerve responses, having me touch my nose with my eyes shut, and asking me a few questions about current events.
My dry throat turns out to be a good thing; it gives me a few seconds to think about the answers. They'd be easy questions for anyone else, but with no idea how far back I've gone I have to hedge a bit with my answers. Thankfully, he doesn't seem to notice.
"Well, you seem to be in good shape, considering."
"Considering?"
"Considering whoever called the ambulance said you were having a seizure," he says. "The doctor might want to send you to Portland for an MRI, but we'll have to see."
I don't really hear the last part and I probably wouldn't have cared if I did, because when he half turns to gesture at the door I get a real good look at his staff ID. More importantly, at the logo at the top.
Arcadia Bay Medical Center.
I made it. Holy shit, I actually made it. But if that's true...
Forcing my excitement down and hoping he didn't notice my reaction, I try to sound casual. "Was there someone in here? Before you?"
"You mean your blue-haired bodyguard?" He chuckles. "I asked her to go out into the hall during your check-up."
"Chloe..." Oh my god. It was real. She's alive. I really did see her and I really did kiss her and she's right outside.
"I suppose you'd rather have her back in here?"
I nod as hard as I can and regret it almost instantly.
"Headache?" He picks up a small paper cup from the table beside the bed and hands it to me; inside are two white pills. "These should help."
"Thanks."
"No problem." He makes one last note on the clipboard, then hangs it at the end of the bed. "The doctor will come by a little later to talk to you, but it looks like whatever happened to you hasn't left lasting damage. Now I suppose you'd like me to..."
I nod again, more gently. "Yes, please."
"I'll go get her." He grins and walks out. "Don't go anywhere."