A Word From The Author
Hi kids. Sit down, would you? We need to talk.
Kids, sometimes a Mommy author and a Daddy story still love each other very much, but they grow apart, and need to...
Okay, all kidding aside, I'm afraid this is the last chapter of Riotgrrls in Love. And it's probably not like anything you are expecting. It's a funny thing, a year and a half ago. I was absolutely grooving on all things Life is Strange, feeling incredibly inspired by it. Just overwhelmed with ideas. And so RiL was born, along with the amusing notion that I would have an incredibly shallow framework from start to end, and fill in the blanks organically, as the winds of inspiration bore me aloft.
Yeah. Not so much.
By September, I was already running on fumes. As most of you know, I ended up branching out and away into two huge projects, Black Swan and Grande Dame. Pretty much all of my creative oxygen got sucked up. Especially with Black Swan, which saw me posting something almost weekly on average for the better part of a year. Man, that was rough. And the moment it concluded, my life kind of went to hell: my job filled up with 65+ hour workweeks, I started going through some heavy duty personal shit, my gender dysphoria went through the roof, and I was feeling particularly glum and nihilistic about the world. I've only just started to climb out of that hole very recently.
But I realized, a long long time ago, that I just wasn't going to be able to continue Riotgrrls in Love, not in any meaningful way. At best, I had two ideas left: one really, superbly awesome plot idea sketched out by rowanred81, dealing with Max having to fully come out to her parents. I was going to announce Max as a lesbian demisexual, and there was going to be a nice bit of drama. Honestly, I might still write that chapter someday, and publish it as a one shot. The second idea was smutty smutty goodness for Chloe's 21st birthday.
Beyond that? I had nothing. Zilch. A few shallow plot seeds, but neither the desire nor the inspiration to carry on with it. And so, a month ago, I started sketching out a plot to bring this series to an end. This is about as close as I have ever come to outright abandoning a project, but I didn't want to leave it hanging. This way, I at least give it closure. This chapter will be a bit more dramatic and 'weird', but it does a nice job - I think, at least - of bringing the series back to its roots, invoking the story that started it all: The Never-Ending Sacrifice.
It did feel good, I'll admit, to write again, after three-four months. It was sad to see this series come to an abortive end, but it felt better to see it get wrapped up in a way it deserves. My apologies for having to walk away from it. Honestly, I don't know when I'm really going to start writing again, but it was good to be reminded I can still do it. But...sorry to keep you waiting over a year, for this.
Take care, friends.
I can't believe it's almost over. That we've come to the end. At long last.
Aw shit. Listen to me, I'm being so melodramatic! On the other hand, they say every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end. That was from a song, I think?
But the point is: yes! The wait is finally over. We made it, all the way to October 2015. The Big Day is here. The one where I wake up Max Caulfield, and go to bed Max Caulfield-Price. It's been over a year now, since San Francisco, and Chloe proposing. And what a year it was! Heading back into Arcadia Bay for a bit, getting our biker's licenses; going back to Seattle to visit my folks and having to deal with my Mom's weird initial hangups - all the trouble and shit she had accepting my sexuality and choice of life partners, but hey, she came around. Then there was the small publishing house who contracted me to take a bunch of photos for a collected works book, and how I convinced them to let me make it a joint project, peppered with Chloe's illustrations. Our initial trip into the South, and our hasty retreat away from it - yeah...such a bad idea. And Chloe's sexy, sexy 21st birthday, oh my God, that took us a week to recover from.
And of course, gay marriage finally getting legalized over the past Summer. I swear, it was all I could do to keep Chloe from dragging me to the nearest city clerk's office and getting us hitched on the spot. I put my foot down, and insisted she had to wait, until we at least settled down in South Hadley.
And that's ultimately where we ended up. With great sadness and reluctance, we sold the Princess Sparklefists Express to this hip lesbian couple three towns over who obviously appreciated her beauty and majesty; it was gonna cost us too much to keep her in storage, and honestly, we needed the money, at least until the royalties from the book started coming in. God, I'm gonna miss her, because she was an amazing part of our lives. But it was time to move on. You know, to the next amazing part!
Hee hee...can I just say how cool it is, starting college a year late, but with all this awesome life experience under my belt? I swear, the first couple of weeks here at Mt. Holyoke, I kept telling Chloe "I can't believe how young everyone is compared to me. All this shit we've done already. I feel so...so grown up!"
Chloe and I found a tiny apartment near campus to live in; my folks hardly complained, because it meant college was going to be cheaper for them to foot the bill. The school gave me some upfront shit about it. They hated letting a first year student live off campus, but when I brought up the argument that I wanted to be living somewhere with my wife, and that obviously a dorm room wasn't going to cut it, they relented.
On the contingency that I was actually married, of course, which brings us to this moment, right here. In our tiny apartment, overlooking a quaint little theater, the frozen yogurt shop and Korean restaurant. It might not be much bigger than a closet, but the location is totally to die for.
And Chloe is coming home from work to pick me up, any minute now.
Oh yeah! About that; it turns out Easthampton, which is right over in the next county, over the mountain, has this crazy-awesome tattoo shop. For such a nowhere place I'd never heard of, apparently all sorts of artist-celebs pass through, from places like Europe, and Japan, and LA. Chloe managed to build up just enough 'scene cred', with her work, and with the people willing to vouch for her, that the studio, someplace called Off The Map, was willing to take her on a trial basis as a house inker.
She's never been happier.
New England...I don't know how to describe it. Weird. Different. A bubble, almost separate from the rest of the country. Old, so old, compared to the West Coast. Super-white, not that Arcadia Bay was a melange of racial harmony, but Western Massachusetts is so white it hurts to stare at it sometimes. Still, with all the art and academics and culture, and being so close to both Boston and New York City - did I mention how close everything is, because the states are so tiny? Still getting used to that - this is going to be a pretty cool place to call home for the next four years. I'm not sure I see us settling down here in the long run but - eh. Never say never.
So where was I? Oh right! Getting married! Any moment now, Chloe is gonna walk in, pick me up, and we're going to drive to Northampton, and have this Unitarian - uh - priestess? Not sure how that works, but she's going to do the deed. A really quick and simple legal transaction. Kate will be there to witness, because she lives barely twenty minutes away from us now, and Chloe is bringing a friend from work, and that will be that. We'll be officially married.
The way we were always meant to be.
Oh don't get me wrong, this is just the legal ceremony, Of course we're going to have a big, awesome, kick-ass, mind-blowing celebration of love and harmony back home, probably during Winter break. Chloe is already teasing me about having a Frozen-themed wedding, and I tease her back by saying obviously we should do Big Hero 6 instead: she can dress up like Gogo and I'll be Honey Lemon.
But we couldn't wait any longer to make it official. You know, for The Man.
So I'm pacing now, wondering why I'm feeling so nervous - no, not nervous - excited really. Checking the time and wondering why it's going so slow, and why Chloe isn't here yet, to throw me onto the back of our Harley and make a proper woman out of me.
Pacing back and forth, to and fro; I stare at the door, wondering if I concentrate hard enough, maybe it'll bring Che right through it.
"Here. You look like you could use a drink. Anything to calm you down, keep you from wearing a groove in the carpet."
I stop short, because there's a voice coming from behind me. Not Chloe's, and not anyone I know, even though it sounds so familiar and WHAT THE FUCK?!
I'm alone! I'm supposed to be alone here, in this apartment. Who the hell is here? How did they get in?!
I turn on one heel, spinning around to see who's with me, and exactly how fucked I am. Part of me is so glad that there's a clear line between between me and the door. It'll just take a few seconds to run. An instant, and I can be out, calling for help. Maybe Chloe will show up, and she can save me from...
Wait.
Me?
Because that's exactly who it looks like. Swear to dog, it's me! Well, a version of me, obviously. She's clearly older, like maybe in her late twenties. Hair dyed black, with fire-red tips. She's dressed in a heavy oilcloth duster, covering up what looks like some grey, nondescript one-piece uniform: something like a utility belt, practical looking boots. Vaguely paramilitary, but not a lot of eye-catching details, except for the little gold pin on her chest: something that looks like an infinity sign. Oh, and the big scar, right across her left eye.
What the fuck is this? Some evil version of myself from another timeline?!
The older Max laughs, smiling warmly. She shakes her head, and says "No. I'm perfectly nice. But it's the scar, right? Chicks dig the scar. Especially one chick in particular."
Oh shit...
"I just said that last part out loud, didn't I?" I bemoan.
Other Max nods once. And I still can't believe what I'm seeing. Another me, just here. Out of the fucking blue. A million questions scream through my brain. They all crowd each other out, and I can feel my head short circuiting; it keeps me from asking anything.
"You're handling this a lot better than usual. But the the chronospatial scanner tells me you're one of the Max's with a much more interesting life than usual." Other Max says with a smirk. She holds out the glass towards me again. "Do you want this? It's perfectly good apple juice, and if you don't drink it, hell, I'm gonna."
I grab the glass from her hand and down about half of it on the spot, only considering how dumb the idea might be, two seconds too late. I mean, what if she just roofied me or something! Gah! Stupid, Max. Stupid!
"It's not drugged." she says, as if reading my mind. And just to prove it, she grabs the glass from my hand and takes a long sip.
"Wowser. This is super fucked up." I say. About as succinct an appraisal of the situation as I think I'm capable of at the moment.
"Yeah. Kinda." she agrees. "More for you, though. For me, this is just Tuesday."
"Most obvious question, first?" I ask. "What the fuck, Max? Assuming that's your name, too?"
"Maxima." she quickly retorts. "Maxima Price. I prefer the whole package. Max-i-ma." She bounces her hand in the air with each syllable. "Sounds way more dramatic and cool that way, like I was born to field work. So you're a Max, huh? Let me a guess: a Max-Never-Maxine?"
I can only nod.
"Wicked." she says, a pleased smile on her lips.
"Am I in trouble?" is about the only thing I can think to ask. "I mean, are you here because some crazy person from another timeline is coming after me? Like...like...shit...what was that movie? About the guy killing versions of himself because it makes him stronger..."
"The One?"
"Yes! Thank you!" I exclaim. "With Jet Li."
"It was a pretty disappointing movie, despite the awesomeness of its premise." Other Max declares.
"It was! But it fits. Wait...does it fit?"
I'd like to pause here for a moment and note to all of you just how well I'm handling this situation. Really, you should all be in awe of my chill.
Wait. Does it seem weird to you that I'm handling this so well? Don't you think I should be freaking out more?
Well, don't you?
Other Max laughs brightly, before she finishes off the rest of the juice and puts the glass down. Holding out her hands, she says, "Relax. No. You're fine. Sorry, it's just...this is a thing I do. I work for a multiversal policing organization called the Transinfinium. Long story short, the bulk of my job is to help secretly maintain the integrity of the Omniverse, yadda yadda yadda, can't tell you much more or I'll have to shoot you, the end. That kind of thing."
My jaw drops, and I point out the blindingly obvious, "This seems really counter to whatever kind of...uh...code, you might have? Prime directive?"
"Oh shit, seriously. This is the stuff that totally drives my bosses nuts when they think I do it, but honestly? As much as they like to yell 'Maxima! You can't expose yourself to inhabitants of timelines that haven't discovered parachronic technology!' but...for cereal? Who are you going to tell? Who'll believe you?"
I nod, because she's got a point. I don't even believe it myself, and I'm watching it as it unfolds!
"Anyhow, sorry. Like I said, this is a thing I do. As I go through my patrol, I always keep an eye out for versions of myself, ones who are, shall we say, more interesting than normal. And sometimes I'm really lucky, and get a chance to visit them on their wedding day. Or anniversary, that counts too. I like to take pictures, bring them back home for the collection. Liz gives me shit every time I do this, but you know - she secretly adores the fuck out of it, too. It's romantic plus-plus." She gives me a wink.
"Sorry...Liz?'
"My wife. Elizabeth? Soon to be your wife, right? No? Sometimes the names aren't always the same in different dimensions. You might know her as Alice, or Casey, or...um...Kayla?
I just shake my head, confused.
Oh wait...
"Chloe." I say. "My Chloe. Elizabeth is her middle name."
"Hah! Chloe? That's a new one! New-ish. I mean, we named our daughter Chloe, so Liz'll be amused by that. Right, so anyhow, like I said." she reaches out, gripping my shoulders. "I just wanted to wish you good luck. If your woman is anything like mine, and chances are high that she is, you two are going to be so - just so goddamn happy together."
I push aside everything the Other Max is saying, ignore the fact that she's treating this like some sort of inter-dimensional social call, and latch onto something she made mention of earlier.
"Wait. Wait a second. Please...just..." I swallow hard. "You make it sound like you know. About me, about the powers I have. Had."
She nods once. "Oh yeah. I've got this doohickey in my coat that's able to read the local dimensional fabric, and scan its past timeline, back through the past few years. There are obviously certain signatures that I look for. People, things, events. I can practically scan a whole planet's near-term history from a single point in a day and a half from any location; gotta love quantum entanglement! Then I run it all against my own baseline and investigate the more intriguing variances. But I've been around the block enough to know what "Interesting Maxes" look like. So, let me guess. You're a time-empowered version. Um...are you one of the Maxes who got her powers at age thirteen, right after Liz - er - Chloe's Mom died?"
I shake my head, and add, "No. And it was her Dad that died."
"What? Awww, I really hate those timelines. They're extra sad. Okay, so later on? High school probably? Some event where your wife-to-be is about to die, or be hurt, or do something incredibly stupid? Jesus Christ, five universes back, there was a version of me who gained the power to alter the local timeline after her Liz got it in her head to try her hand at making butane hash oil..."
"She...she got shot." I interrupt. "And I had to...I took it back. But there was a storm. And it was going to..."
Everything in my head is suddenly a jumble. The memories of the last year muddle together with my remembrances of that One Particular Week In October. The one I had to wipe away, when it was obvious that Arcadia Bay was going to be destroyed if I didn't. It combines with the thousand and one brief little branches I wandered to and fro through. Moments I had to replay, roll back, until it gets so bad that I can't even remember what's real, and what's only a memory for me alone.
I start to sink to the ground, but Other Max quickly closes the distance between us, helping me into the chair.
"Whoa. Hey there, babe. Take a load off. Let me guess: you got the rewind powers. Did it come with the photo jumping? Ohhh! I love the photo jumping! It gives Headquarters the heebie-jeebies when I write about it in my reports."
Again, I can only nod.
"Oh, I know that look. You had to go all the way back to start? Found yourself running down a 'dissociative quantum-level paradox corridor', or whatever the hell Warren likes calling those things. Rogue sub-timelines that tend to self-annihilate or otherwise take drastic action to rebalance themselves if they're left unchecked. Man, those things get vicious. Believe me, I know better than most."
"You sound like you've seen this before. A whole lot, before."
Other Max shrugs. "Eh. Yeah. I know things. It's what I do. You know, like - oh wait, I don't think your timeline has gotten to that season of the show yet."
It erupts all at once. All of the doubt, questioning and unease that's lain mostly dormant in my head. The weird little feelings that something was wrong, that sometimes...
"So what...what's wrong with me? Why isn't this timeline the way I - I think I remember it? I mean, I went back, I took it back, but events didn't play out the same! I forgot stuff, and then things would come back to me, in nightmares! And...and sometimes, I'd act weird, and have no idea what, like my subconcious was trying to act out on something the rest of me didn't understand! This one time, we were in junkyard, and I started digging, but didn't know why. It...
I remember now.
She was dead. I was looking for her. For Rachel Amber. She was dead, but then she wasn't...
Oh my God. Why wasn't she in the junkyard? She was supposed to be in the goddamn junkyard!
"It's like I came back, but the universe wasn't the same, the way it should have been. Everything changed, except for me! So you tell me, am I in the right place? Am I in the right time? Am I supposed to even be here at all?!"
Holy shit. Look at me. I'm on the edge of tears, and my voice is high and sharp. I'm seriously freaking out here. I've been so happy for so long, and now, all of the sudden, I'm going nuts, and I can't shake the feeling something is seriously wrong!
Other Max looks down at me with what I can only call sisterly affection, pats my arm and says, "Huh. Yeah. Your signature was - ah - a bit more tangled and knotty than a lot of others I've seen."
"What does that mean? What? Tell me!" I demand.
She leans in close, takes a deep breath through her nose, and explains, "Well Max, I find when you get to a point like this in your life, where nothing makes sense? That's when it's best to wake up."
The words cut through me, and produce a strange frisson in my skull. Like a TV speaker starting to go on the fritz.
"Wha-?"
"Max." she says, more firmly now. "That's the real reason I'm here. Why I came to see you today. Because it's time for you to wake up. To go back to where you actually belong. I'm sorry, but you can't stay here any longer." She grips me by both shoulders, and gives a single shake.
"Wake up, Max!"
The sound of a gunshot fills my ears, rolling like distant, half-remembered thunder.
Wake up? Wh-why? Wake up from what? I'm not sleeping. I'm not! I'm perfectly awake! Chloe is going to walk through that door any moment now, and take me away from...
away...
Oh God.
I'm bleeding.
I look down, and there's blood coming from my left side. So much of it! It looks like it should hurt, but it doesn't. It doesn't feel like much of anything.
Except cold.
Suddenly, I'm so cold and...am I lying down on the ground? It's the ground that's so fucking cold, right? Hard. I can feel it pressing against my back, in segments.
Tiles?
And then everything is dark. I can't see.
Help?
I can't see!
Chloe's voice is telling me to hang on. Begging me not to die.
"Don't be ridiculous. I'm not going to die. What took you so long. Are you ready? Do you have the marriage certificate? You are not going to believe the weird fucking day I just had."
That's what I would have said, if I could get my mouth to cooperate, but it just won't. Comes out in a muttered jumble.
Fuck, I'm tired. Ridiculously exhausted. This cold floor I'm lying on seems really comfortable now.
I wonder where that Other Max went.
Doesn't matter. I'll just close my eyes. A few minutes of rest won't kill me.
Right?
The first thing that Max could sense was that she was warm and comfortable, but at the same time achy and stiff, like she hadn't moved in a long while. She shifted, trying to wiggle her toes, and then her legs, and found to her dismay that her limbs weren't nearly as responsive as they should have been.
What the hell? What's wrong with me?
Her eyes refused to flutter open the first time she tried; they felt sticky, almost glued together. Tentatively, she reached up, rubbed the built-up gunk away and gave it another go. As she surveyed the hospital room she found herself in, she was struck with an immediate sense of deja vu.
Just...like when I came to visit Kate, after she tried to...
Max gave a light gasp, and attempted to bolt upward. She was only mildly successful.
Where the hell am I?
There was a curious sense of solidity that thrummed in the back of her brain. It was as if colors were muted, and she was peering at her surroundings through sunglasses; a duller, drabber world, quite different from the bright, neon cheer of the existence she'd known but moments - and a lifetime - ago.
She felt mundane. Anchored.
Jesus! I could have sworn it all happened, though! Chloe being shot...and the two of us buying an RV together. Being proposed to, and traveling the country. I can't believe I just dreamed it! It couldn't have been...
But the memories of it all were already fading, crumbling softly to dust in whatever part of the brain tidies up such experiences after they've served their purpose. Max though to grab a pen and paper, so she could at least start writing down as much as possible.
That was when she saw Chloe. Blue haired and looking very much as she remembered her, on that fateful day when they met again in the girl's bathroom at Blackwell. She was sitting in a chair, pulled up right next to the bed. Slumped sideways against the wall, she was snoring quietly, an almost invisible line of drool trickling down her cheek.
Max reached out to affectionately stroke Chloe's face, smiling against the lump in her throat as she swallowed hard. She tried to keep from bursting into tears as Chloe sleepily nuzzled against her fingers. As if by instinct.
Fuck. Fuuuuuck! I totally got shot. I mean, that's what happened before, right? There was the tornado, and the picture of the butterfly. Chloe told me to do it, to jump back and let her die, so Arcadia Bay would be saved. Why did I remember all of that differently in the dream? It was the same, but...not.
It was all coming back to her now; the storm bearing down on them. The terrible decision to be made: Chloe or The Bay? One life, or a thousand? Max had allowed her best friend, the woman she'd fallen in love with - or, perhaps more to the point, realized she'd been in love with all along - to talk her into jumping back, one last time. To let cruel fate unwind as intended, and sacrifice Chloe to the grist mill of Reality.
For a few fleeting seconds, Max was ready to go through with it, as she curled up in the tiny stall of the girls bathroom. Desperately willing herself to keep from bursting into tears. Trying not to imagine what it would be like, those last few moments of Chloe's life; so filled with anger and alienation, swinging blind at a world that hurt her, time and time again, only to have it come to a terrible, senseless end. Left to bleed out, dying on the bathroom floor. Alone, and frightened, and...
It was more than Max could endure. Her courage left her - or maybe she finally found it. Regardless, she rose up, ran out of the stall, and drew Nathan's attention at the last, fatal instant. It was an increasingly fuzzy blur what happened after that point. But Max was pretty damn certain she'd spoken to Chloe, before passing out. And maybe more, beyond that.
With her other hand, Max reached down, feeling through her hospital gown. She found the angry lump of scar tissue, far to the left of her abdomen. She didn't know much about gunshot wounds, but she couldn't help but be keenly aware of how incredibly fortunate she'd been to survive hers.
Max's attention was drawn back to the bluenette, who was finally emerging from her nap. Chloe yawned mightily, blinked her eyes, and gave a little grin.
"Hey", she breathed out.
"H-hey." Max replied, voice cracking.
There was a perfect, serene pause that passed between them, a moment where everything stopped; a slice of time frozen forever, just for the two of them.
Then the rest of Chloe's brain woke up, and the magic was dispelled.
"Shit! Max! Oh my God! You're...you're awake! How...when?" the blunette sputtered, before Max found herself being crushed in a heartfelt embrace. It hurt, but it was nothing compared to the ache in her heart. Her first instincts were to bury her face against Chloe's neck and hair, and breath her comforting scent in deeply. To kiss her as if her life depended on it.
But that Chloe, the one who fully reconnected with her, fell in love, and was forever hers, wasn't here. Not anymore.
It was all Max could do to keep from bursting into tears; instead, she focused on the conversation at hand.
"Gah...kinda...kinda crushing me here, Chloe. Not that I would normally mind, but..."
Chloe blushed and let go. She leaned back into her chair, and tried to hide her awkward embarrassment by brushing aside a few stray bangs of blue hair. "Sorry. Just - you know. You fucking startled me. After two months, even I was starting to wonder if you were ever going to wake up.
Two months?
Max glanced over at the clock; it was nearing five-thirty at night, and the pitch black sky outside her window confirmed the lateness of the season.
"Do you remember how you got here?" Chloe asked. "Remember anything at all? I mean, you obviously know who I am, and what your name is. Right?"
I remember us almost getting married. I remember how you look, first thing in the morning. How you like your breakfast cooked. The way you taste and smell. I remember...you and me, and us...
It was all Max could do to keep those words from escaping her lips. Instead, she gathered her thoughts, and quickly came up with something more appropriate.
"I remember getting shot by some rich douche, if that's what you mean." Max made a show of peering underneath her gown, visually appraising her scar. "First thing I do when I get out of here? Buy a metric ton of belly shirts. I'm not even gonna wait until winter's over; just show this bad girl off right away, because chicks dig scars."
Chloe half-laughed, half-sobbed in response. "Hah! Hah...funny. God, look at you. Shot in the fucking gut, and that's the first thing you say." She shook her head, "When did you become such a badass? Seems like five years really changed you." She stopped short, and Max felts a blush creep up her cheeks as their eyes met.
Max could see the unspoken question in Chloe's gaze:
"Did you just say chicks dig scars?"
"So - uh. So look. Obviously, we've got a lot we need to catch up on, and maybe..."
That was as far as Chloe got; a passing nurse took note of Max's newly conscious state. In almost immediate order, more nurses rushed in, quickly followed by the physician on-duty. Chloe was politely shoo'ed off, with promises that yes, of course they'd let her come back to visit soon, but they needed to check on their patient.
As she watched the flash of Chloe's blue hair grow ever smaller, and then disappear entirely as she rounded down the hallway, Max suddenly felt like the loneliest woman in existence.
"That's really excellent, but why don't you sit down now, Max? You look like you need the rest."
Max was knowingly being obstinate, as she took a couple more stiff and lurching steps while leaning on the cane the hospital provided her. All the same, she was thrilled by the fact that she'd quickly managed to move away from using the parallel bars to walk, after Rhonda - the nurse attending to her - wheeled her to the physical therapy room.
"My sitting down shouldn't be viewed as agreement." Max muttered. "And don't take it the wrong way, because I've really appreciated your...hospital-ity" she added with a good-natured smirk. "I'm just looking forward to getting out of here."
Rhonda - the nurse - took the chair across from her, "Under normal circumstances, you'd still be here for weeks to come but, honestly? I've never seen a case like yours before. No one has."
Favoring the nurse with a disbelieving gaze, Max said, "What? Oh come on, what's the big deal? I got shot, I lived. I went into a coma, I woke up. Other than the weight loss and the muscles going soft, and a few other issues to work out, should just be a few more days. Right?"
The nurse took a slow, deep breath, and reached out to lay a hand on her arm. "Sweetie? You still don't understand. Despite what you see in movies, a coma is a major deal. It's usually the product of some form of brain damage: hypoxia, cerebral edema, encephalitis. That sort of thing. Now obviously, you suffered a significant amount of blood loss, and you're very lucky Mr. Madsen got to you as quickly as he did, and knew exactly what to do while the ambulance was coming."
Max gave a thin, wan smile, "Yeah. That's me. Semi-charmed life."
"You honestly have no idea. Not only did you survive a shot that's deadly ninety-nine times out of a hundred, but you were in a coma long enough to suggest possible brain damage. A lot of coma victims require occupational therapy in order to regain basic skills, so believe me when I say that yes, it is a big deal that you're barely twenty four hours past waking up, and you can brush your own teeth, feed yourself, and use the bathroom on your own."
"Glad to see all my mad skills are still totally intact." It came out harsher than Max intended, but she was in no mood to feel thankful. She'd spent half the night trying to write down all of her memories from the time she was dreaming, desperate to hang on to every little scrap she could. Already, she could feel those experiences bleaching away to nothingness in the harsh glare of real life, until all that remained were vague emotional that, she couldn't sleep well, having grown accustomed to Chloe's beloved presence next to her.
So how could it only be a dream? I mean really, part of me is still screaming it was real. All of it. I still feel so changed, like I'm the same twenty-year old Max I was when it ended. When I woke up.
Rhonda merely shook her head. "Seriously, just believe me when I say what a medical miracle you are. Doctor Franks is already talking about writing up an article on you, and seeing if he can get it published in JAMA."
"Neat. Does it get me out of the hospital quicker?"
"Assuming everything checks out, you continue to show signs of physical improvement, and there aren't any other undue health symptoms, no dangerous bone or muscle mass loss, no blood clots, I imagine you could be out of here as early as the end of the week. Being a cynical smartass is definitely an indicator that your mind is perfectly fine." The smile on Rhonda's lips showed she was joking - but maybe only partially. "Either way though, you're still looking at months of physical therapy: you have muscle to regain, and your body needs to get used to being exerted. So don't worry: you've got plenty of suffering ahead of you. You're a teenager, so that'll make you happy, right?"
Before Max could respond, she spotted Chloe from the corner of her eye. Her mood immediately lifted in response. Clearly, the nurse could spot the night and day difference in demeanor, chuckling as she said, "Looks like you've got a visitor. I'll just leave you two be. Please do not try to walk back to your room though, alright? Just page me or one of the other nurses, and we'll wheel you back."
"Or I could do it!" Chloe exclaimed. "I've got hella driving experience with all kinda medical vehicles. Wheelchairs, gurneys, those wheely stands they hook IV bags to."
Rhonda only rolled her eyes and left the two of them alone.
Max closed her eyes as Chloe gave her a hug, trying her best to keep from dismaying at how casual it was; a friendly thing, bereft of any romantic intent. As if life was taunting her with this constant display of the platonic-minded version of her heart's beloved.
Flopping hard into the chair next to her, Chloe remarked, "Wooow. Look at you. Up and out of bed already. What do you do for an encore? Down a bottle of Everclear and tightrope walk over a pit of snakes?" She paused, and then with a sheepish look, murmured, "Sorry. That was probably a shitty thing to say to someone who actually got shot. Still, like I said before: Bad. Ass."
Max laughed brightly, leaned in a bit, and murmured in a bad Russian accent, "Maxima, she is strong like bull." before thumping a fist against her chest, prompting her to wince. "Ow. I immediately regret doing that."
"Hey, you don't have to impress me. I'm impressed. Hella impressed. Really...really..." she drawled off. And suddenly, there was a wide chasm opening up between the two of them. Max could see it in Chloe's eyes: from her perspective, they'd only just met again, after five years of radio silence. A reunion punctuated by blood, madness, and near-tragedy. It made things difficult, in regards to talking it out, apologizing for having fallen out of touch.
But I guess it takes a lot of the hurt and anger away? Still, I'm not sure I'm ready to try and have that discussion with her yet. From my perspective, I saw her every day for years.
Thus, it was with no small amount of relief when Chloe broke the silence by asking, "So did anyone tell you? You know, about Nathan, and what happened to him? All the fucked up shit he confessed to?"
Doing her best to keep from spilling out the truth, that yes, she knew exactly what the hell was going on, Max shrugged and muttered a convenient half-truth, "No. I talked to my parents this morning. They were so - I mean, they went nuts. Good nuts. So happy and crying and relieved. I asked them what happened, and they kept saying there would be time enough for them to explain later. It's like, wow, Mom, I'm not made of glass. I just survived a gut shot at point blank range, yo. But it was obvious she was worried the news would make me freak, and have some sort of - dunno. Coma relapse?"
"Hah! Yeah well, they just don't know you like I do!" Chloe chirped.
But the light ran away from her face as soon as she said it.
Yeah. I know. You're thinking to yourself "Do I even really know Max anymore"?
Quickly changing gears, Chloe said, "So here's the long and short of it: Nathan Prescott and Mark Jefferson had this sick, twisted, Darth Vader and Emperor Palpatine thing going on. Like Jefferson was hella insane in the membrane, kidnapping girls from school, drugging them, taking these BDSM pictures. All to satisfy some royally fucked up artistic urge. Can't understand it. Um..." Max could see the pain in Chloe's face, aware as she was that her once-lover had suffered, at least peripherally, at Nathan's hands.
"Doesn't surprise me. The shit about Jefferson, that is." Max said, heaving out a hard sigh as she did.
Chloe blinked in disbelief. "What. Wait wait wait. Seriously? Bullshit. Half the girls in that school were burning through their panties over the guy. What do you mean 'Doesn't surprise me?'?"
Max suddenly didn't feel like playing pretend, at least not all the way. She was too damn tired of it.
"I mean, it doesn't surprise me. Yeah, maybe I admired the guy's work, and I was really jazzed when I started the school year that he'd be my photography teacher, but after a few weeks, it was obvious there was something, you know, kinda off about the guy. The way he'd stare at me a little longer than he should have. And the way Victoria would throw herself at him, again and again, and he'd act like he didn't like it, but you knooow he did. I don't know how to explain it, but after the first month, I decided that Mark Jefferson was kind of a sleaze. Why do you think I was so reluctant to enter that stupid little competition of his? Everyday Heroes. Riiiight. Probably just a way to score with his female students, I figured. I mean, no, I had no idea he was kidnapping them and doing crazy shit, but now that I do know, I'm not shocked. If anything, I'm more surprised I'm still here, in Arcadia Bay. That Mom and Dad didn't insist on moving me to a hospital in Seattle.
Chloe rubbed the back of her head and smiled. "It wasn't safe to move you at first. After a couple of weeks, I called your parents, and we chatted. Convinced them that maybe, just for a while at least, they could keep you here. Promised I'd come and talk to you every day. That maybe it would help. Because we're best friends." She paused, before biting down on her bottom lip. "I mean, we were. Once upon a time. I don't...I don't know what we are right now." Turning half-away, she concluded, "I just know if you hadn't distracted Nathan like that, I'd be in the fucking morgue." After squeezing her eyes tight for a moment, she turned back to face Max and declared, "But don't go thinking this is just some shitty guilt thing!"
Max tried her best not to laugh. As painful as it was to interact with Chloe in this fashion, bereft of that full, romantic bond between them, a piece of her was swept up in the nostalgia, observing Chloe as she was now: the walls she put up, the bitterness, the uncertainty. The elephant in the room still hanging over them: why? Why hadn't they spoken for five whole years?
Reaching out, she took Chloe's hand in her own, squeezing it as tightly as she dare. A thrill of delight ran up her arm, making her heart beat faster. It took all of her will to keep from making more of it, from sliding over, taking her in her arms, showering her with kisses. All the things that would let the blunette know that she thought they were best friends, and so much more. She finally spoke when the blush rose up to Chloe's cheeks, reluctantly letting go.
"I don't think that at all, Chloe. You have no idea how happy I am to be with you right now. That you were the first person I saw when I finally woke up. And I'm not stupid, I can't pretend that there isn't this weight hanging over us. We didn't exactly part in the best of circumstances, and then we fell out of touch. I don't know how to even try to explain it all without sounding lame as fuck, so...so just let me say that I'm sorry? Even though 'sorry' alone isn't gonna cut it. I could try to tell you 'Hey, we're teenagers, we do stupid things, best friends drift apart all the time.' but I hope you would smack me if I ever tried to pull that line on you. You were going through an ongoing shitstorm, and I never...I never bothered...to reach out to you again."
The tears began rolling down her cheeks. A small voice in the back of her mind tried to reassure her that this was the way it had to be; that if she wanted to have any chance of getting her love, her wife-to-be, back into her life, she needed to go through the motions, one more time. She needed to take everything she'd learned from all of her strange and miraculous circumstances, and use it to make the best situation she possibly could.
Reaching up to wipe her face and brush back a few strands of hair, Max finished, "So no, you don't have anything to feel guilty about. I know this is a super serious conversation we really need to have. Clear the air and all that shit, but...just please understand, I'm not ready to have it yet. For now, believe me when I say that I'm so sorry. And that I didn't reach out to you when I got back into Arcadia Bay because...I was too scared."
Chloe tilted her head, narrowed her eyes and said, "Scared? Jesus fuck, of me?" She snorted, shaking her head, and murmured, "Of what I'd sa- okay never mind, maybe I can understand that. Truth is, I did have several choice spells ready in my arsenal of Bitchcraft ready to go, for the day we might actually stumble across each other." She shrugged. "Doesn't fucking matter anymore. Things changed, in an instant."
Gently shifting the conversation back to it's previous track, Max asked, "So Nathan shot me after I spooked him. I'm assuming he freaked out, and that's when he started confessing to things. So then what?"
A searching expression fell over Chloe's face. "And you're not the least bit curious what he and I were doing together? In the girl's bathroom, why he pulled a gun on me?"
What happened next simply spilled out past Max's lips without her initially considering the ramifications or consequences. She was tired: physically, mentally, even spiritually. By the time she thought to care, it was too late.
"I already know the story, Che. You were shaking Nathan down for money to pay off Frank, who you borrowed cash from to go looking for your friend Rachel after she went missing. You thought you had enough to blackmail him, but you didn't know Nathan was on the edge of a nervous breakdown."
The increasingly horrified look on Chloe's face was enough to shock Max back fully to her senses, to make her realize what she'd just said.
"H-how do you know that? How the hell can you?" Chloe asked, in a high, tight voice.
Max struggled to think of an appropriate answer in short order. Lamely, she tried, "You...you must have talked about it. While I was in my coma. Right? Because like you said, you came and talked to me a lot, so you probably said something about it. Must have gotten through, subconsciously." It was another few beats before she realized the blindingly obvious. "Plus, duh, you know, I was in the girl's stall. I overheard a bunch of your conversation with Nathan."
"Yeah, I did talk to you. About a lot of things." Chloe slowly shook her head as she answered. "But mostly reminiscing over stuff we did in the past. I never mentioned Rachel to you. I...it's still too hard to talk about...you couldn't have known!"
Max found herself clearly boxed into a corner. And she knew Chloe well enough to realize that there was no way of convincingly bullshitting her way out of this one when she was at her peak, let alone now, when she was almost permanently exhausted and recovering from major trauma.
Propping her chin against her fist for support, she quietly said, "Yeah, I can." What was it, that line that Other Max used on her? With a playful, wintry smile, she continued, "I just know things. It's what I do. I sit on my cute, exhausted ass. And I know things."
Chloe trembled, a rising surge of anger clearly building inside her. "That isn't funny, Max! Five years, and you think you can just screw around with me like this?! You know, I should just...fuck you!" she spat out, rising up from her chair. "Fuck you!" she added again, and turned to leave.
Max had never felt such despair before, nor been cut so hard to the quick. She knew full well it was her fault, whatever the reason. Just because she'd been put through the ringer wasn't any excuse. Maybe the Chloe of her alternate timelines and coma dreams would have been amused by her flippant behavior, but it didn't mean the very real, and very hurting Chloe before her would be.
Calling out after the blunette as she fled to the door, Max cried, "Wait! I'm sorry...Rachel! Did they ever find her? I mean..."
She didn't want to say any more.
Fortunately, it was enough to get Chloe to stop in her tracks, pausing just by the threshold of the door. She didn't turn back to her, but said, in a soft voice, taut with anger and frustration, "What, you don't fucking know the answer to that already?" She reached out, smacking her fist against the wall, and then added. "But no. No, no one knows what happened, other than Nathan and Jefferson grabbed her, did their sick shit to her, and then she never came back, so fucking put two and two together." She started to sniffle; it was clear Chloe was crying, but refused to turn her head to let Max see her.
"Why? I mean, why didn't Jefferson tell -"
"Because Jeffershit was a coward! A little punk ass bitch!" Chloe exploded, finally turning around to yell at her. "Must've felt he was too fucking pretty to go to jail, because as soon as the cops came to arrest him, he pulled out a gun, and started waving it around. Suicide by cop, you know? And Nathan! He isn't saying a damn thing anymore. After Kate Marsh came forward and confronted him at the police station, he went, like, totally catatonic! They can't get him to say a fucking word anymore. Word is he just sits there, in his padded cell, not talking, not..."
Chloe slumped over, burying her face in her hands as she began to sob in earnest. "She, she was my life, my angel!" Max wilted in her chair, as Chloe finally looked over at her, half-accusingly, "I was all alone! You were gone, and Dad was dead, and Joyce got married to that fucking piece of shit. Rachel...she was all I had! And now she's gone, and the monsters who killed her? Just dumped her body like it was garbage!. And the cops can't find her, and the only people who know where she is are either dead or so fucked up in the head they won't say anything! So don't you sit there and smile and joke about how 'Ehhh, I know things!' Don't you dare!"
Max's heart tore in two as she witnessed Chloe's decompensation. She viciously berated herself mentally, for having been so thoughtless, for taking the woman who was supposed to be the love of her life, and being so heartless, so careless, with her feelings.
You have to get your fucking head back in the game, Max. Whatever you and Chloe have...had...it doesn't exist here. Not anymore. You wiped out the first relationship, and the second one was...it was all a fucking dream. None of it was real!
The realization struck her numb. None of it was real.
Not for anyone, save herself.
And now she was on the verge of losing it all, before she even had a chance to try and make the relationship happen. Again. For a third time.
Part of her knew she should shut the fuck up. Apologize, beg for forgiveness. Try and blame as much as she could on her brain being screwy still, from the coma. But she just couldn't bring herself to do it. Chloe, her Chloe, was in such pain right now, and it was in her power to end it. To bring her some measure of closure.
Even at the risk that it would freak her out, and make her stay away forever.
God, do I even really know where Rachel is buried? It's all still a blur. We found her once, but I remember, in the coma, I tried to dig her body up, and couldn't find it. But...was that really just a dream? It's all fucking jumbled up in my head, I can't keep it straight!
It was a gamble, but one she was willing to roll the dice on. For Chloe's sake.
Grabbing her walking cane, and using it to lift herself up from her chair, Max made her way slowly over to Chloe. She reached out with a tentative, shaky hand, and said, "I'm sorry. You're right. I forgot, how much she meant to you. At a time when you needed a friend the most, and I wasn't there anymore." Chloe nodded once, refusing to look her in the eyes as she worked to get a hold of herself.
Max leaned in, whispering against Chloe's ear, "I need you to trust me, even if it's only for one last time. Even if you end up hating me, and never wanting to see me again. But I think I know where they buried her. American Rust. Near the hangout you and she used to chill in...uhhh." She hemmed and hawed a bit, trying to dredge up a location from the miasma of confusing and conflicting memories now swirling around her brain. Eventually, she managed to settle on something that she was pretty sure of.
By the end, Chloe was staring at her, with a strange mixture of disgust, hope, and incredulous confusion. Struggling to keep herself on her feet, Max bowed her head and said, "Go. Just...please. Go. I really hope you find her, Chloe. I want to go with you. I want to help, but they won't let me out of the hospital yet. And you've fucking waited long enough for this moment. So don't...don't wait for me."
Chloe opened her mouth, as if to speak. All that came out was a strangled cry. She turned away from her and drifted out the door, as if in a daze. Max waited until she was out of sight before allowing gravity to have its way with her, exhausted as she was, beyond words.
Okay. You win, Rhonda. You gave me this whole speech about how my body's gotten used to not processing as much oxygen as before, and I shouldn't push it. But I did.
She could feel herself slipping away, unconsciousness imperiously demanding that she surrender.
Sure. I'll just lie here and take a nap. Nurse's bound to find me. And then...
She was out like a light, uncaring as to whether she might ever wake up again.
Max sat alone at her booth in the Two Whales Diner. Two weeks had come and gone since she'd last seen Chloe. Naturally, the nurse had a shit fit when she found Max passed out, chiding her for pushing herself. Max made the appropriately apologetic noises, and given that her parent's insurance company wasn't interested in paying for any more days in the hospital than they had to, she still managed to get discharged by the end of the week as initially promised.
At the very least, her health was improving. She was still tired all the time, but paradoxically, they told her to avoid bed rest as much as possible while still not overexerting herself. Her body would need time to heal; a chance to rebuild.
She only wished she could be certain the same would happen for her heart.
In that sense, Max was grateful for the storm of activity that soon surrounded her; it kept her from constantly brooding over Chloe. Kate came to visit, and the two of them caught up, becoming closer over the course of a few days. She tried to constantly tell Max how brave she was, how everyone called her a hero.
"Not a hero. Just lucky. I was fucking lucky, Kate. I acted on instinct, and I should have died. But I didn't. No, you were the brave one, dealing with everyone calling you...all the terrible things they did. But you didn't let it tear you down. You stood tall and fast, and when the truth came, it set you free."
It little bit of a lie, of course. Max knew she couldn't let her guard down anymore. No more mysterious 'knowing of things' that she shouldn't. The mask of the woman she'd once been, weeks and a lifetimes ago, so young, naive, carefree was slipped back on.
Of course she still remembered how close Kate came to ending it all; how courage nearly abandoned her, and she succumbed to despair. Max was more than happy to let Kate confess to her dark moments of weakness in due time, which she ultimately did in a heart-to-heart conversation a week later.
Her parents tried to drag her straight back to Seattle, but Max demurred. As a legal adult, she was well within her rights to refuse, and instead convinced them to let her stay until the end of the semester and 'wrap up loose ends'. Still, she had to promise to come home before Christmas.
The school let her back into her old dorm room to spend the last few days. It came as no surprise to her that she was excused from her courses. Without a doubt, the school was excessively accommodating in their willingness to let her take the next semester off as well, and come back for a fresh start next Fall. Blackwell was more than happy to tiptoe delicately around her, given that she'd been assaulted by and nearly died at the hands of a psychotic student on the edge.
Thus, she was completely unsurprised when, two days ago, she was summoned to Ray Wells' office to meet with him and the attorney representing the Prescott family. The wanted to get her to agree to a settlement, in exchange for dropping any pending civil action she might be considering. Max knew the situation damn well, though. She'd seen the reports in the Principal's files and she knew sure as shit how to use just enough of her knowledge to turn the screws hard.
"You mean to tell me that there was no warning? None whatsoever? No reports of 'Nathan is exhibiting serious and disruptive behaviors in class'? We all heard the rumors. We all knew something was up with him, and he was being protected by the school, so don't piss on my leg and tell me it's ra - "
"Ms. Caulfield!" Wells interrupted. "We are all just as shocked and surprised as you at the random and very unexpected turn in Nathan's behavior."
"Bull. Shit!" she interjected. "Maybe I don't know for sure, and I might not be a fancy lawyer like Mr. Essex over there, but I'm really willing to bet that if I file a civil suit, I can get the school's records subpoenaed. And then there wouldn't be any doubt as to whether you negligently put my life and the life of the other students at this school in jeopardy!"
"Max," the older gentleman acting as Sean Prescott's attorney began, in a chiding and condescending fashion. "We understand that you're upset, but there's no reason to-"
"I'm not done talking!" she shouted. Lowering her voice down to a slightly calmer tone, she continued, "Now. I didn't say I wasn't willing to be bought off. That's not the question, because the answer is obviously: yes. The question now is: How much is my silence going to cost you? And the answer sure as shit isn't the tiny amount you're shoving into my hands and expecting me to agree to."
For a quarter of a million dollars, Max Caulfield was now legally obligated to take whatever secrets she had to her grave.
It wasn't about the money though; it never was. It was about being angry, and lashing out. Trying to make someone, anyone, as miserable as she was feeling these days. The nights in her dorm room were long, dreadful, and so terribly lonely. A crippling sense of alienation and 'otherness' clung to her like a second skin. The emotional numbness that she initially possessed in the hospital melted away at long last, and she privately seethed against the universe, against an existence so cruel and vicious that it would put her, and people she cared about, through so much pain and suffering. She'd seen so many things, incredible and terrifying and fantastic. She'd been shaped by events that either no longer happened, or were apparently mere fantasy the whole time.
At least my imagination is awesome.
She was gripped by a sense of listlessness. She didn't know what the future held in store, and she didn't care anymore. It wasn't that she was suicidal, more she couldn't find anything else that was worth living for. Certainly nothing like the love she once had.
She didn't care about the money. She would have eagerly given away every penny of it for the promise of having Chloe back in her life. That was the one and only thing she so desperately wanted.
Max hadn't heard from her since that day in the hospital. Granted, with so many things happening in her life now, she didn't have much time to reach out to her at first. Later on, Chloe wasn't responding to her calls. She gathered up the energy yesterday to try and confront her at her house, only to find no one was home.
Her trip to the Two Whales was a last ditch attempt to try and make contact; if not directly to Chloe, then at least possibly through Joyce. There was David Madsen, of course, but for some reason, Max couldn't make herself face him for the moment.
But it was apparently Joyce's day off. And so Max found herself sitting all by her lonesome in a booth by the back corner, wondering what the hell she was going to do with the rest of her life. Let alone what she wanted to order off the menu.
She felt more than saw the shadow pass over the table; looking up, she opened her mouth and started to order some chili fries, expecting to see the waitress, but instead came face to face with Chloe. She stopped talking as a wide, beaming smile broke across her mouth.
"Hey."
"Hey! I've...I. I mean, hey." Max said, trying to dial back her obvious enthusiasm.
Chloe nodded, giving a thin, polite smile of her own. She canted her head towards the other side of the booth. "Can I sit?"
"Jesus, like you ever have to ask." Max replied.
With care and precision, Chloe lifted herself up off the ground, hands planted on the table and the back of the bench, and then shifted herself into a sitting position. She clasped her hands together, and looked out of the window at first, the traces of a thin, pained grin tugging at the sides of her mouth.
Ten seconds of silence passed, before Max spoke.
"Are you okay? I tried getting in touch with you, first when I got out of the hospital, and then..." She nervously ran a hand through her newly dyed and styled locks, twisting a finger around one of the shoulder length bangs.
Chloe blinked, as if looking at her again for the first time, "Wow. Shit, did you actually dye your hair?"
Max nodded quickly. It'd been a spur of the moment thing. She'd been passing by the hair stylists yesterday morning, and made up her mind on the spot. Black locks, with red tips, and two months of growth trimmed and styled. It was a small attempt at feeling like she had some vague control over at least one singular thing in her life. Shy Max, she of the mousy-brown colored hair, didn't live in this body anymore, so why not live the way she actually felt now?
"What? This? Yeah. I guess your bad influence is rubbing off on me already."
Chloe started to laugh, but stopped, like she was trying to keep herself from instinctively falling into an easy, warm conversation. She looked down at the table, then snuck a few glances in her direction.
"It - ah - it looks good on you. Hella cool. Like...well, I guess technically speaking, you are a badass now." The two of them fell silent anew, before Chloe spoke again.
"I did it, you know? You told me where to go looking, and I did. Not right away though. 'Cause I was so angry, and totally convinced you were full of shit. I spent a couple days locked up in my room, hating you and - and missing you. And missing her. But eventually, what the fuck did I have to lose, right? So I grabbed a shovel, and I went to the junkyard. Dug around for a half hour, feeling like a total loser, until..."
Swallowing hard, Chloe reached up to brush at her eyes. Max reached across the table, relieved to find that the blunette allowed her other hand to be taken.
The blood ran from her cheeks as she continued explaining, "I found it. Her..the body. Just like you said. I went to the cops afterwards. And, you know, stupid fucking police, some of them started giving me shit, like somehow I had something to do with it. Jesus, God damn..." she shook her head viciously. "The police and I, we don't get along so great."
"I know." Max whispered.
"Of course you do. Of course you..." Chloe swallowed hard, frowned, and pushed ahead. "Mostly, it was them giving me shit, you know. Nothing serious, but shit all the same. Because men suck. But they finally found a couple of fucking braincells to bang together, and tried to ask Nathan about it. As soon as they mentioned Rachel's body was found in the junkyard? He. Went. Nuts. Just broke down, and started crying. I mean, I don't know for sure, I wasn't there, but that's what they told me. Apparently, that was enough to seal the deal. But they made me promise not to tell anyone until Rachel's family could come and identify the body officially. Gonna be a press conference about it this afternoon. Hell. Frank even dropped the rest of my debt to him...he was happy enough to finally know the truth."
Chloe sighed, "So...yeah. Look, I stayed away from you, it was a shitty thing, but I knew I'd have to tell you the moment I saw you. Easier to stay away until now."
Max nodded slowly. She took a few steady breaths through her nose. Squeezing Chloe's hand once, she said, "I'm glad. You needed closure, as much as the truth hurts. I'm really happy you have it now. That's all I want. For you to be happy."
Chloe flinched, almost pulling her hand away. She squirmed in her booth for a moment, looking this way and that, before blurting out. "How? How did you know, Max? Please! I need an answer, a real one! Part of the reason I stayed out of contact with you? It was because there was a day or two I wondered - I'm sorry - but I really thought maybe somehow...you killed her. I don't know how, I don't know why. I got in touch with your parents, asked some questions about where you were in April." She bowed her head. "It's obvious you're clean. You never came to Arcadia Bay until August. Never knew Rachel."
She stared holes down in the table, body lightly trembling, until she smacked a palm against the table and looked up again, "And it's not just this, Max! It's not...there was...I mean. You remember, don't you? The day Nathan shot you. And there you are, dying, lying on the floor. I hadn't fucking laid eyes on you in five years, didn't recognize you right away. Do you remember what you said?"
"Chloe. I'm...so sorry. Should have been there. I should have...been there. Last five years. All of it. Tried to save you so many times. Because I love you. I'll always...love...you."
Max closed her eyes. She smiled serenely, and confidently breathed out, "Yes. I remember now. Every word of it. I even remember what I did next."
Chloe reached up, rubbing nervously at her neck and forehead. "Jesus...I just got chills down my neck. Did you mean it, Max?"
"Yes. Every word of it. Now, more than ever."
Chloe squeezed the tears out of her eyes, before glancing up at the ceiling, unable to face her.
"God damn...Max! I don't get this! I really don't get any of this shit. It's hella freaking me out. I don't know what's going on, but I know something major happened. With all of it. I mean, look at you. The way you look, the way you act! It's like you don't even belong here! And...I-" She held out a hand in order to keep Max from reacting. "I don't mean that in a bad way. I mean, it's like you're so mysterious, and you've seen things and know shit. A lot more than most of us. Something clearly happened to you. Changed you. I don't know what. The only thing I do know is that my best friend since I was five went away, and I never saw her again. Not until the day I was supposed to suddenly fucking die! This worthless punk chick who hated the world, and didn't care that the world hated her back!"
Chloe was on the verge of sobbing, "I don't see you again, until the day you come back and take that bullet for me. And there was this look in your eyes - like. Like...you were so fucking happy to die for me!"
"We...we were friends. For a really long time, Chloe." Max sighed. She ached to break down and confess everything to her, but fear held her back. That, and the need to help Chloe come to a point she needed to reach on her own.
"Bullshit! It was more than that! You meant it! You must have had like...two seconds to decide what to do, and you didn't even blink. You took that bullet, my bullet and...and I don't know...I mean...if our places were reversed..."
The dam burst, and Chloe began to weep openly, overwhelmed by shame.
"Why?! Why me? How could you possibly love...be...in love with some worthless bitch like me? Someone who wouldn't have even..." Chloe grabbed a fistful of napkins, futilely trying to staunch her tears. In a quieter voice, she mournfully asked. "I need to know. Everything. Please. It's tearing me apart."
So what the hell am I supposed to say?
The truth, I guess.
All of it. As much as I think Chloe can stand to hear.
But I'm still frightened to say it, even though, obviously, I'm dying to make her understand. There's a part of me, that's incredibly freaked out about what's happened to me. I mean, this is going to sound fucking stupid, but what if this is going to keep happening to me?
What if I'm trapped in some weird loop, some kind of...shit, what was the term? Ouroborus? What if I'm condemned to live my life on repeat, falling in love with Chloe, over and over and over again, only to get kicked back to start.
What if life is doing this to me, tormenting me, until I finally relent? Cry uncle, and give my precious Chloe up for good? And what if the whole point of the exercise is that I'm supposed to walk away and live life on my own? Abandon Chloe to her fate, whatever it might be.
Maybe I should just not say anything. Tell Chloe to have a nice life, give her a kiss on the cheek, and walk away for good. Hope that she understands someday that this is all for the best.
But...
I can't.
I would gladly live this way for her, if that's my fate. Go through this piece of time between us, again and again. Ad infinitum. I reach a moment of clarity and realize that I would gladly take another thousand bullets for her. Hold my heart out to her and ask her to take it, another million more. If this is indeed a match of wills between the Universe and I...well? Reality picked the wrong Max Caulfield to test.
So I open my mouth, and I start to tell her the story. Everything. From the day my powers emerged, to the tornado nearly destroying Arcadia Bay. And everything in between.
I tell her, either for the last time, or for the first of a hundred million billion.
It doesn't matter. Because I'm absolutely certain now, that no matter what, I will always love Chloe Price. And she will always find her way back to me. That's our fate. And no one, not any gun-wielding preppy kid, or sociopathic hipster, or corrupt police or even the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune will keep us apart. Not for long.
We are who we always will be.
Riotgrrls in love.
THE END