Author's note: One image that always gets to me is this Valentine's visit from Max to Chloe... Sad! ( post/139290066901/hey-chloe-happy-valentines-daymore-i) Check out Qtori's tumblr for some awesome drawings/paintings (in watercolor!)

is Short

Monday¸ October 14

Her phone buzzed early in the morning. She'd been watching the window behind the curtain grow brighter, from the faint glow of dawn to gentle early light. Instinctively Max reached over and pulled her phone close to her face, squinting at the text message.

From Joyce:
Hi Max, do you still want to come over today and look over Chloe's room? I know she would want you to keep some of this.

From Max:
Yes! What time did we agree on again?

From Joyce:
Any time is fine.

From Max:
I'll be there...

Surely her parents wouldn't say no to this. Max wrenched off her bed sheets and shivered against the cold, but willed herself to walk over to the adjoining door. After a brief hesitation, she knocked and opened it, peeking into her parents' room.

Still in bed, her mom propped herself up on her elbows, squinting at Max in the mild light. She ran a hand through her messy hair. "Max...? Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, mom, sorry I woke you. Just... here, check this out." Max practically skipped over and sat on the edge of the bed, eliciting a quick grunt from her groggy dad. She opened up her thread with Joyce and showed it to her mom. "Can I go? Please?"

Her mom stared at the screen for a good few seconds. Even if she said no, Max would go. No one could stop her.

"Of course, honey. In the afternoon."

"Why not now?" Max asked, relieved to have at least received permission, but surprised at the delay.

Her mom ran her hands through her hair again and gave Max a confused look. "You have another appointment this morning, right?"

...With the psychiatrist? Max wasn't sure. She couldn't remember anything about an appointment. It must have shown on her expression because her mom continued to stare and finally spoke.

"We talked about it last night."

With a jolt Max realized she didn't remember anything about the previous night. Not a damn thing. But it was probably okay- her parents would be freaking out if she'd done anything wrong, and she could deal with some memory loss. She doubted anything big happened the previous night. "Right," Max nodded, desperately trying to keep the surprise off her face. Anything to get to Chloe's house. If she had to sit through another shrink session and lie through the morning, that was okay. She could manage that.

"You're so forgetful recently," Max's mom complained softly as she settled back on her pillow, leaving Max to tiptoe back into her room and shut the door quietly behind her. Now she had to kill time- so much time. The little sad clock read 7:07 and her parents would probably take a whole hour to wake up again.

Very slowly Max made her way to the closet. Inside was her messenger bag, which she'd been bringing around by force of habit, but hadn't opened since... well, she couldn't exactly say the exact day, but she hadn't opened it the entire time she'd been in this particular timeline. With nervous hands she flipped up the cover and reached inside, pulling out the first thing she felt.

Her camera. The Spectra, sleek and gray. The object held her attention for what seemed like minutes as she slowly worked through the chain of events that would have given her this camera, instead of her yellow Polaroid 600. She must have taken it from Chloe's room, or Joyce had given it to her, because in this timeline... she definitely didn't get it from Chloe.

The next few items didn't surprise her: her worn and battered journal, which she couldn't bring herself to read; a small set of watercolours; her kiddy pencil case. In one of the inside pockets of the bag, she found pictures. She sat on the carpeted floor, her back against the closet, as she looked through them one by one. A few pictures of Chloe and Max as kids, one of a younger Chloe (blonde) chasing after pigeons as they frantically flapped their wings, another of Chloe high up on a rusty swing, and the picture from Max's tenth birthday (the two of them in swimsuits, Max wearing the dorkiest party hat ever). A few of their childhood drawings were crammed in the pocket as well- but Max opened the bag again and double checked, triple checked.

There were so many missing pictures.

Frustration built in her chest. She upended the whole bag, pulled every item out, turned her journal upside down and shook it, checked every page briefly. But there was no sign of some of the other pictures, especially the ones of blue-haired Chloe, the Chloe that Max really, really-

"Max?" She heard her mom open the adjoining door. Max ducked her head into the closet as though rummaging through clothes. She quickly grabbed a random shirt and wiped the tears from her cheeks. "Breakfast in twenty minutes?"

"Sure. I'm just picking out clothes." Her voice was level. Thank god for that. Her mom closed the door again.

Max breathed into the shirt she was holding. Trying to relax. Obviously Joyce kept the rest of the pictures. The other Max- the one that ran on autopilot whenever Max used pictures to time travel- she didn't know to get the pictures of Chloe with blue hair.

She could probably ask for one or two pictures at least. Something. Anything to remember Chloe during her last few days…

The second session with the psychiatrist was better. Max had come in with a proposition: talk about her childhood with Chloe. Reminisce on all the lovely things that happened as kids, talk about what an important part of growing up Chloe was. That way the memories were real. The feelings were real.

By the time the session was done she wasn't angry. But she could hardly keep herself still has she took a bus to Chloe's house, and had to stop herself from running down the street to the door. The neighbourhood was quiet. The wind blew through trees and rustled their leaves gently, some red and orange ones falling to the ground. She tried to force herself to appreciate the moment, her favourite season, with the warm colours and gentle coolness. Objectively she knew Arcadia Bay was a beautiful place- but she couldn't bring herself to look around her with anything other than irritation and mild disgust.

She buzzed the doorbell perhaps a little too insistently.

"Max, honey," Joyce said as she opened the door, and Max immediately collapsed into a hug.

Her voice was thick. "I'm so, so sorry, Joyce."

"Now now," Joyce gently replied, patting Max's back. "I miss her too," she said, her voice breaking.

"I miss him so much," Chloe sobbed, head buried in Joyce's black dress, tears staining the fabric.

They'd just gotten home from William's funeral. Max's parents had let her go home with Joyce and Chloe, all the better to comfort her best friend. But instead Max just stood dumbly to one side as mother and daughter hugged, each caught up in their own crying, but clinging to each other in grief.

The three of them stood just inside the Price house doorway. The whole place was still and quiet, as though the house itself was sad that it would never get its paint job finished. William was gone, and just like that everything there seemed so much less.

Max looked up from her feet and caught Chloe looking at her. The blonde girl's head was pressed against her mother, but turned to one side, staring Max. Her mouth pulled down into a frown, lower lip quivering. Her narrowed eyes, red and tearful, seemed to ask a very hard question.

Why not?

"Come on then," Joyce said quietly, wiping her eyes as she nudged Max into the house and up the stairs. Max felt like she was in a daze- her feet moved from one step to another on autopilot, her eyes refused to focus. But she knew that just up there was Chloe's room, just beyond that door.

She opened it slowly.

It was all the same.

Dull afternoon sunlight pouring through the window, framed with Christmas tree lights. Walls covered in posters and graffiti. A box of Missing Persons posters on the desk. Clutter, everywhere. An unmade bed that Chloe once slept in. An ashtray full of cigarette butts that Chloe once held to her mouth. The clothes Chloe used to put on each morning.

Chloe.

But Chloe wasn't there.

Max stood in the doorway, at a loss for words as she took in the messy allure of it all.

Joyce's hands came to a rest on her shoulders. "I know. Chloe went a little crazy with it, after you left for Seattle. I haven't touched a thing. 'Cept for some of those photos and drawings you wanted."

Max nodded dumbly. The older woman gently guided her into the room, toward the bed. Max sat on it. It almost felt wrong to disturb the sheets- but at the same time it felt like Chloe would've wanted her to be sitting right there, in the middle of the room.

Joyce was looking around, too, and suddenly seemed to be avoiding Max's gaze. She wiped at her eyes discreetly but Max saw it. "Well… I'll leave you to it. You take whatever you think you should, Max, just… leave everything else where it is."

She paused with her hand on the doorknob, facing the door. Slow seconds passed, and Max only stared at the older woman's back.

She dreaded whatever words might tumble from Joyce's mouth in her moment of vulnerability. Why did you never call her, she would say. Why didn't you take care of my daughter? You were supposed to be her best friend, and you left her for five years.

Not a word. Not one. And when you came back, you never even looked for her.

What right did you have to discard her so easily? To do nothing as she died in that bathroom?

Or to think anything special about this room you've never even seen before?

Eventually Joyce sighed heavily and shuffled through the door with her head bowed.

Max destroyed Joyce's life.

The girl lay down on the bed, pulled the covers around her, and waited hopelessly for sleep to come.

From Chloe:
Max

It was a text from Chloe. Max was in Seattle coffee shop, just a few weeks after leaving Arcadia bay, working on a group project with some new classmates. She ignored the buzzing phone.

From Chloe:
My moms crying again.
What should i do

From Chloe:
i dunno what to do

From Chloe:
i told her she still has me and wed help each other out like a mother-daughter tag-team. so its not so sad.
I think she liked that.

From Chloe:
...

From Chloe:
You never reply.