Chapter Summary: Rachel and Chloe hit up Frank, a witch and Chloe's pot dealer, before heading to a party at Evan's house. The following morning, Joyce puts her foot down on Chloe and Rachel's partying.
Author's Note: Chloe is raped during this chapter. I've italicized the whole section so it's easy to skip if you want to skip it.
Chloe continued to summon Rachel throughout the summer, and a predictable pattern quickly formed. Rachel would appear in summer clothes and crawl out of Chloe's window; Chloe would head downstairs as if she were expecting Rachel to show up, making sure to stall Joyce or David if they were to unexpectedly go to leave at that point. After a few minutes (so the timing wouldn't seem perfect and Rachel would look sweaty), Rachel would knock and come in to drink something cool. Then they'd either take the car, get dropped off, or get picked up. Usually, that meant spending time with Trevor's crew, or at least Trevor himself.
(Trevor had taken the news that Rachel was a succubus really well. Chloe still hadn't been very comfortable feeding one of her friends to Rachel, so she hit him up a few days later at his house. His first reply to the news was so stereotypical - "Well, that explains a lot" - that Chloe had to laugh, even if it was a pretty serious talk).
Having Trevor in the know really helped Chloe keep the summonings coming. It quickly started to eat into her wallet, but she was making plenty of money and her expenses weren't that high. More importantly, though, Trevor knew where the parties were. Unlike his other friends, Trevor had an aptitude for making friends significantly up the social ladder at Blackwell (please see: rich friends). Chloe originally thought, just from her experience hanging out with him, that this must be because he always had a lot of weed on him and shared it freely. But no: multiple of these rich kids would show up with weed, and they could rapidly transform any of their houses into gigantic hot boxes. People just hung out with Trevor because he was a cool dude.
And you know what? When Chloe realized he hadn't bragged to any of his friends about banging Rachel, before or after knowing she was a succubus, she had to conclude he was a pretty cool dude. Cooler than she would be, at least.
Chloe and Rachel both quickly realized the power of these parties. Not only did Rachel draw energy from actually having sex with people, but she could draw some energy from people thinking about having sex, people making out, people sneaking away into bedrooms and bathrooms to have sex. You know who does that sort of stuff a lot? Teenagers! Especially if you give them alcohol! And who seems to have a lot of alcohol? Rich teenagers!
It was the second week back from summer and wouldn't you know it?: there was a party on Friday. Unfortunately, Chloe had been expecting her weed guy to be chilling out in the Blackwell parking lot like he used to last year, but after two weeks she had concluded he'd been ousted. Showing up to a party with something to share was customary, but she'd already depleted what remained of her last purchase.
Chloe took the bus home so Rachel could "pick her up" a little later. There was still about two hours before the party was expected to get going, so Chloe figured it was about time to introduce Rachel to her weed guy.
Thus, about half an hour later, Chloe and Rachel showed up, an empty slurpee still in Rachel's hand and a skateboard in the other, knocking on the door of an RV parked on the beach. A beach chair sat just outside, and about ten feet away from it was a pile of litter and garbage bags.
Loud barking immediately broke out inside the RV. It took a good twenty seconds, but soon enough the door opened, and a tall man in a suspiciously warm jacket for the end of summer stood in the doorway. Recognizing Chloe only seemed to set a scowl on his face which, when combined with his impressive collection of neck tattoos, left him rather intimidating.
He didn't provide a greeting. Instead, he cocked his head towards Rachel. "Who's your friend?" He had the roughest voice of anyone Chloe knew, even worse than David. Seeing a new person, though, left him near vocal fry, as if it would make him extra scary.
Chloe gestured with an open hand. "Rachel, Frank. Frank, Rachel."
Chloe was glad that Rachel had the instinct to wave instead of trying to do one of her oh-so-charming introductions.
Frank managed to sigh like a dog preparing to growl, eyes blank and unimpressed. "Guess you should come in, then." And he pushed the door open a bit more before turning inside.
With a surprised glance over to Rachel, Chloe head inside. She'd never been inside before, and this was a fact she quickly came to appreciate as she was doused in the stink of alcohol and cigarettes. Chloe hated the smell of cigarettes, and was endlessly glad that Trevor and his friends seemed to stick to weed.
A large dog made its way out of the bedroom, barking again now that Chloe and Rachel were inside. He made a beeline for Rachel, who stuck her hand out at his approach. He quieted down as he sniffed her, and a second later, his tail began to wag so hard it swung the back of his body back and forth. Rachel dropped her hand onto his head to pet him.
There was no obvious place to sit down except for the computer chair, so Chloe stood awkwardly just inside the door while Frank headed back into what looked like his bedroom.
"So, Chloe," he said, raising his voice just enough to be heard at the opposite end. "If you brought your succubus with you, I guess that means you're here for for weed? How much?"
Rachel froze, eyes wide with her hand settled on the dog's head. She looked to Chloe for an explanation, but she could really do with one herself.
"Uhh, quarter ounce."
Frank emerged from his bedroom a few seconds later, then stopped in the hallway at what looked like a sink to open up a cabinet.
"How, uh," Chloe patted at her pants nervously, "How'd you know Rachel was a succubus?"
Frank didn't respond, instead coming back into the central room and sitting down at his computer desk. He dropped a manila envelope down on it, as well as two plastic bags and a large pill bottle. He pulled the plastic bags open before finally looking at the pair. "I'm not a fucking dumbass is how. This is going to be sixty, by the way."
Chloe decided not to press his knowledge, instead reaching into her pocket for her wallet to start counting out the cash.
Rachel, on the other hand, was not so satisfied to believe that he wasn't a dumbass. "How do you know about demons?"
"I watched a lot of Xena," Frank replied immediately, emptying a large portion of the pill bottle into the first baggie before sealing it.
"Is that some sort of documentary?" Rachel asked so innocently that it came off as sweet.
Chloe snickered, and Frank looked up with the same blank-but-clearly-unimpressed look he always shot to make you feel dumb. "Nevermind," he replied, returning to his work.
Chloe dropped the bills on Frank's desk. "Frank's a witch. He's the one I've been buying most of the stuff to summon you from. Some of it's . . . hard to come by."
"Unless," Frank said, stretching the word out. As he sealed the second baggie, he continued, "you've got access to the Black Market."
Rachel's eyes shot over to Chloe, then Frank, back to Chloe, and finally on Frank. Apparently her glances were not enough to get them to explain, so she asked, "Doesn't that just mean buying illegal stuff on the internet, basically? Why is that impressive?"
Chloe shook her head, "Nah, nah, I've heard about this. It's a demiplane right? Like an extraplanar bazaar you have to use magic to access?" Although Chloe only vaguely understood why everything having to do with this stuff had to have '-plane' stuck to it, she was pretty good at repeating exact phrases she'd read.
Frank snorted, shaking his head. "I mean, I guess, but that's a lot fancier sounding than it really is. It's basically just a convention for weird, new-age hippie sort of people. You would be amazed what people will pay for sage."
Rachel fed one of her hands into her back pocket. "And just nobody . . . knows you're a witch?"
Frank shrugged as he put the two clear plastic bags into the manila folder, shook them down to the bottom, and sealed it. "What can I say? Blackwell kids are stupid. But hey, they have money." Frank picked up the bills Chloe left on his desk and counted them real quick. When he was satisfied with them, he picked up the manila folder and handed it to Chloe, who took it as she peeled off her backpack.
Chloe rose after dropping the folder in her bag, lingering awkwardly. Walking away from a deal was always a little weird.
Luckily, Frank aimed to make it easy. After a few seconds, he looked up at her with that same blank look and said, "You can go now."
"Right . . . see ya."
"Bye Frank! Nice to meet you." Rachel waved as Chloe opened up the door. The dog just sat there as they stepped out, apparently not tempted to leave.
That left a bemused smile on his face. "Sure. Nice to meet you, demon girl."
Trevor picked them up soon afterwards, as it turned out this party was on the other side of town. There was a corner of Arcadia Bay, stretched along the southeast like a stubby tail, where idyllic suburban houses sat behind call-opened gates. They were, as you might imagine, a massive fucking nuisance when it came to having a party, but at least most people had the sense to carpool.
As they arrived somewhat early, Trevor's van ended up sitting right outside while he called up his buddy. Despite being in Blackwell since freshmen year, Chloe was pretty sure she didn't know this 'Evan' kid. Apparently he was a junior, and he frequented many of the same parties, but neither Rachel nor Chloe had hung out with him or slept with him.
"Yo, Evan. Just need you to call the gate."
"All right, see ya in a sec."
Trevor hung up and began to tap his fingers on the steering wheel. Maybe fifteen seconds later, the gate opened, and Trevor pulled inside the complex, making an immediate right.
A minute later, a tall boy with short brown hair appeared at the door. Maybe boy wasn't quite the correct term - he looked like he was probably in his twenties, and a pleasant amount of stubble covered his jaw. Was this Evan? He definitely didn't look like a junior, and Chloe definitely hadn't seen him before.
"Hey Trev," he greeted.
"Jordan! You're still here?" Trevor stepped just inside the door and wrapped an arm around 'Jordan', giving him the bro-iest hug Chloe had ever seen.
"Yeah, man, I don't go back for a few weeks." Their hug broke, and Trevor stepped inside, taking his shoes off just on the edges of the frame.
Chloe and Rachel followed after him, and Jordan greeted, "Hey, I'm Jordan, Evan's brother."
Chloe expected Rachel to do her bright greeting, but this time she didn't so much as wave, just followed Trevor to a little end table where she took off her shoes. Well then, if Rachel wasn't going to dazzle the older guy, maybe Chloe could pull it off.
She reached up, pulled off her beanie, and gestured at Rachel. "That's Rachel, I'm Chloe. Nice to meet you." She couldn't get the nice open posture that Rachel could, but she could still offer out her hand.
Jordan smirked, but returned the handshake. "Well, nice to meet you too, Chloe. Can I get you something?"
"Beer would be good."
It took another hour or so for the party to end up in full swing. Rachel and Chloe tried to keep each other in sight most of the time, but tonight Rachel was getting drunk and smoking with a bunch of boys from the swim team, and Chloe couldn't stand dealing with that many people at once. Instead, she hung out with Jordan and Justin most of the time, making fun of the other partygoers and complaining about the quality of weed.
"Who're those bitches, anyway? They look so familiar," Chloe said, gesturing at a cluster of girls in the living room, more sober than everyone else.
"Who, Victoria?" Trevor asked, squinting. "Victoria, Taylor, Courtney, Juliet . . . do you seriously not know them?"
"Shit," Jordan said, "Even I know about those three. They're the kids who literally campaigned to run the Vortex Club last year, right? I remember seeing Courtney's face for like, twenty people's profile pictures for a few weeks. Don't think I've heard of a 'Juliet' though."
"Juliet I think I know. Maybe. I don't really . . . hang out with Vortex Club types, though. Never was very interested in sticking my face that far up someone's figurative ass."
Jordan snorted. "You don't really seem like the bootlicking type. That'll work out better for you once you're out of high school. Kids like that? They'll go to fancy jobs and become soulless automatons like their parents. What else is the Vortex Club even good for?"
"Dude, weren't you in the Vortex Club?" Trevor asked with a chuckle.
"Yeah? And I'm in a law program, losing my soul as we speak. Soon there'll be nothing left and you'll have to take me in the back yard to be shot."
"Well, I guess I don't have anything to worry about," Chloe said, leaning back in her chair and taking a swig of beer. "I'm probably not even gonna graduate at this rate. Nobody wants my soul and I don't think I can sell it for anything good."
Jordan was still looking off towards the Vortex Club girls. He gestured towards them with the top of his beer bottle, "Hmm, well, I'd probably sell my soul for a piece of that. What's left of it, anyway."
Chloe stiffened, trying to mask her discomfort.
Trevor looked grossed out as well, with a, "Eugh. Dude, Victoria? Really? She used to be a dude."
Shit. Here we go. Chloe swallowed, steeling herself to say something.
Jordan beat her to it, backhand slapping Trevor on the shoulder. "Shut the fuck up dude, no one wants to hear your bullshit."
Trevor was taken aback, brow furrowed, upset. He said, "No, dude, I'm being serious, she-"
"No one gives a shit about the transphobic shit that comes out of your mouth, Trevor." Chloe's voice was sharp and venomous. She couldn't keep the reassuring 'bro' talk going if the conversation was going to go this direction.
Now Trevor just look pissed. "What's your fucking problem?" he demanded. Without waiting for an answer, he stood up from the kitchen table and went to join the swim team and Rachel.
"Trevor's a tool," Jordan observed cooly, settling back down and taking a sip of his beer.
Chloe hadn't forgotten Jordan's comment either, but in scale against the confrontation with Trevor, it felt insignificant. Even if Victoria was in poor lighting a whole room away, Chloe could tell that she was hot. Bleached, spiky hair, a sharp face, high-end clothing and jewelry, tights that showed off her shapely legs. Not exactly Chloe's type, but not far off, either. She figured, in three years, she'd probably still find someone like Victoria hot. And he was just saying it, it's not like he was legitimately hitting on Victoria or anything. He'd just spent his night chilling with other guys.
Well . . . that's probably not what it looked like to him, Chloe mused.
"Thanks for . . . being cool," Chloe said.
His head tilted curiously. "Is Victoria actually . . .?" he let his question drift off.
Chloe shrugged. "Hell if I know. It's also not anyone's fucking business. Outing people is just such a dick move."
Jordan was quiet for a while, his stare long and thoughtful. Chloe could only take it for so long before asking, "What?"
He asked, "Are - are you gay, then?"
"I'm -" Chloe cut off, grimacing.
It's more complicated than that, she wanted to say. I like girls, she considered. But none of it felt quite right. She didn't particularly feel like coming out after dealing with Trevor, either. Especially when she'd come with Rachel.
She sighed. "I'm something like that. Whatever."
He nodded sagely and dropped the topic. "Want something stronger than beer?" he asked.
Chloe rolled her eyes, glad to get away from the serious topics. "Yes please."
"I'll be right back," Jordan said before getting up and leaving her alone.
Chloe glanced around at the rest of the party goers. Victoria was gone from her group, and Trevor had apparently ditched the swimmers to hang out with the Vortex Club. He offered a drink to a small Asian girl with short black hair who shook her head. He offered it to Juliet next and she accepted; he took Victoria's seat and started to drink with them. How could he just blend with everyone so easily? Those girls were so far out of his league (and so far out of his social class) - the best he could offer them was drugs, and it still wasn't going to get him laid.
Chloe didn't belong at these parties and she knew it. These kids were already soulless automatons, putting on their Genuine Person faces for teachers and parents and then getting shitfaced on the weekends. They'd reap the rewards of their social status and the name recognition of Blackwell Academy while being just as directionless and fake as the kids at a public school. Chloe wasn't like them. She had never been like them. And the kids who were like her? The ones showing up on their bikes and skateboards, handing out drugs and flirting with the kids whose parents paid for them to attend Blackwell? They'd be tossed aside by the school, their peers, colleges, even their jobs once their use was through. Chloe just wasn't going to lie to herself and pretend anything else was waiting for her. Especially if she stuck around in this hick ass town after graduation.
She finished her beer before Jordan returned.
"Shots, my good dude," Jordan said, setting four shot glasses down on the table.
"Thank god," Chloe said, pulling the first one to her side of the table. "I'm too fucking sober for this place."
After the first shot, Chloe said, "God it tastes like death. What is this? Is this a thing humans drink?"
Jordan shrugged. "I didn't ask. Another?"
Chloe groaned in disgust, then picked up another glass. "Bottoms up, bitch."
Within half a minute, Chloe felt familiarly light-headed. "Oh, boo. Shit. I think I'm gonna throw up."
Jordan checked his phone, humming a, "Hmm?" Then, as the words registered, he said, "Oh, yeah. Fuck. Try the second floor bathroom. I think someone's fucking in the first floor. Or puking . . . or both."
"God." Chloe said, standing. She swayed more than she expected to, and nearly threw up right there.
"Need help?" he asked.
She shook her head - another bad idea. "No. I got it. I'm fine. Stairs?"
"By the front door."
"Gotcha."
Somehow, by the time Chloe was done not-puking her guts out and going to the bathroom, she felt even worse. Light-headed, off-balance, dizzy. She should go lie down on a bed or something. She stumbled out of the bathroom and spotted a door just down the hall. As she approached it, though, she overheard low moaning on the other side of the door. She banged her head against the door in frustration that someone was fucking in a perfectly good bedroom for her to pass out in, then continued on down the hall.
The next door she found led to a dark room. She fumbled along the wall until she found a switch, but the light overhead was uncomfortably bright. She could tell that it was a laundry room - apparently rich people have whole rooms set aside for laundry? - but the tile floor looked cool enough that she'd be okay. She flipped the light back off and dropped to her knees, slowly dropping to the floor in the hopes that the room would stop spinning. The cold was nice but the spinning didn't stop - even without anything to really see, she could feel the floor shifting under her. Her arms weren't doing anything but they felt so weak. Was she really this drunk?
She didn't get very far into that question before dozing off.
When she woke up again a little while later, the light was on. She probably wouldn't have noticed except that she was face-up now, staring directly into the light. Her legs felt weak and strangely distant, as if they weren't fully part of her body, but she could tell something was wrong with them. She slipped out of consciousness again for a little while. Even when she felt more going on with her legs, she couldn't quite pull herself back awake. Even when the discomfort became pain.
The thing that finally tapped into her awareness was the feeling of another person, heavy and warm. She opened her eyes and looked, but even though there was nothing wrong with her eyes, the scene she saw didn't quite make sense.
She took a guess, and said, "Jordan?"
"Sshh," came a soft voice, and then there was a hand on her throat. It was at that point that she realized that her body didn't just feel weak, but she couldn't lift her head or her arms, like they couldn't even tell she was telling them to move.
She was more acutely aware of the pain now, and even though the pressure on her throat wasn't blocking her breathing, she felt like she was going to pass out again.
"Ra . . . chel."
The hand on her neck squeezed tighter, and now the pressure was on her windpipe too. She wanted to cough, to force her body to breathe right again, but again, the command didn't seem to make it to her body. Soon thereafter, she fell unconscious again.
When she woke up again some minutes later, the hand was gone from her throat, but the pain was worse and the discomfort in her throat remained.
"Rachel?"
"Huh?"
"Get your hands off of me you-"
Chloe managed to have enough control over her limbs to curl up on her side once Jordan was gone. There were a bunch of loud noises that Chloe couldn't quite make sense of and she couldn't see what was making them anymore. Someone sounded hurt. She was hurt but she was pretty sure she wasn't making the sounds.
A minute later, there was someone back in the laundry room with her, and she felt a tapping on her shoulder.
"Chloe? Chloe are you okay? Do you think you could stand?"
"Rachel?"
"Yeah, yeah, it's me, baby. I'm going to pick you up, okay?"
Before Chloe could muster a response, she was lifted straight off the ground like she weighed nothing, then slowly tilted back until her feet touched the ground. Rachel took her hands and guided them to the top of the washing machine. Chloe felt like she was going to drop again without Rachel's support, but as soon as Rachel helped her get her clothes back on, Rachel slung her arm over her shoulder and started half-carrying her.
Outside of the laundry room, in the hall, there were several people standing around, staring. Jordan was there too, on the floor, his face bruising red and his nose bloody red. He wasn't moving, and there was a hole in the wall above where he had slumped to the floor.
"Get out of my way," Rachel demanded menacingly, and the people in the hallway scattered to the sides so they could walk through.
It was just after 11:00pm and Joyce was supposed to be there. Chloe and Rachel sat on the pavement, not talking, not touching, their skateboards still in Trevor's van. For once, Chloe wasn't fidgeting, even though her skin was covered in goose bumps and Rachel was insistently rubbing her legs. Rachel wore a new cardigan, one of the ones that seemed so popular among the preppy kids at Blackwell. It was far too big for her, but Chloe had no idea which of the art students she'd taken it from. Evan definitely seemed like the artsy type, but he also seemed like the gay type.
Rachel took a particularly loud breath, and Chloe knew she was about to say something.
She interrupted before Rachel got the chance, "Not now, 'kay?"
She was amazed what the past half-hour had done for her sobriety. It had been almost 10:00 when she'd taken shots with Jordan.
At least Rachel managed to get her here, and at least she was managing to sit upright. There was no way they would be able to convince Mom that Chloe wasn't cross-faded, but maybe she wouldn't know just how bad she was. Maybe Chloe wouldn't be in deep shit for the remainder of her mortal life. Maybe this day would end without getting any worse.
There was a few seconds of silence before Rachel seemed to work up the nerve to speak again. "Chloe, I think we need to tell someone about this."
Chloe shook her head, her knuckles pressed into her forehead. The pain kept her aware, kept her distracted of the pain elsewhere. Everything ached. She didn't even know why.
"Can't," she replied.
"But what if he-" Rachel leaned forward on the curb, her face pinched in thought.
"Rachel." Rachel cut off as Chloe interrupted her. "Stop."
And she did. They just sat in silence until Joyce finally arrived, pulling up next to them on the curb. Rachel wrapped Chloe's arm around her shoulder and pulled her up, opening up the back door and setting Chloe inside. Chloe took off her backpack, then fumbled with her seat belt for a few seconds before Rachel took it from her, leaning over her body to fasten it for her.
Joyce said nothing, even when Chloe greeted her, until Rachel opened up the passenger door and sat. "What happened?" She asked, and before she had a response: "I thought you two were staying over."
Rachel shook her head. "No, no. We were but . . ." Rachel looked over her shoulder back at Chloe, who was mostly focused on appreciating the heater inside the car. "Chloe's had a rough night."
"Yeah . . ." Joyce looked back at her daughter for a moment while they were stopped at a stop sign. As she turned into the road, she said, "I see."
Chloe wasn't sure how far into the ride that Rachel spoke again. "Um, Joyce," she said. "Is it all right if I stay with Chloe tonight?"
The reply took a while. "I guess . . . if your parents are all right with it."
"They are - I called them."
"Alright."
Chloe's consciousness was pretty hazy by the time they arrived home, and it wasn't until Rachel was undoing her seat belt that she even realized they were back. Rachel all but lifted Chloe out of the car, setting her down just outside before pulling her away. Joyce got the door for them, and Rachel started to drag Chloe up the stairs. How was Rachel even this coordinated? It's not like she hadn't been drinking and partying alongside everyone else.
It was so relieving to be dropped on her own bed. She wanted to take a shower, drink water, do something to feel refreshed. But it was so much easier to fall asleep.
"I'll be right back - I'm just going to brush my teeth."
Chloe room was silent and dark as soon as Rachel closed the door. Chloe barely felt it when Rachel rolled her onto her side. Any other time, and the warmth of her body behind her, her arms wrapped around Chloe's stomach, would have been comforting, sensuous maybe. But tonight, they just made sleeping bearable.
It was almost noon by the time Chloe awoke and discovered an empty bed.
She first became aware of the slick feeling over her body - sleeping in her clothes under the covers while the sun had been up, the windows open left a layer of sweat and oil over her skin. At the very least her beanie had been pulled off, though her hair clung to her forehead and the back of her neck, as if the blue tips had all become glued to her skin.
It wouldn't be correct to say that she remembered last night. No, last night lingered as an impression in her mind and body, as physical as the glowing pain behind her eyes. She couldn't quite pull the memories from behind the veil of drunkenness, but the sensations were . . . there.
Chloe had no idea where Rachel was, but when she left her room to cross into her bathroom, she couldn't hear her, just the TV downstairs. That could be Rachel, as both David and Mom worked weekend mornings sometimes. Either way, a shower took first priority.
Chloe had not been prepared for the sight of her own skin. All she felt was a dull ache everywhere, and the harsh pulsing behind her eyes, but her skin looked . . . sallow and translucent. Did it always look like this? Was she always this paper thin person, colorless except for the chipped nail polish and myriad of cuts and scrapes? Could you always see the purple-blue under her skin?
She held her body closely through the shower, and was out much faster than normal.
She paused while drying, finally taking a look at her body in the mirror. Everything had seemed harsh, too-visible in the shower. But here in the mirror, the only detail she really noticed was the purple-red band that stretched across her throat, wide along the left and tapering almost to a point on the right. She reached up, placing her fingers along the edge of it. The sensation was warm, soft, and sensitive. She tried swallowing, and realized she could feel it in her throat, too.
She didn't think she owned anything high-cut enough to cover it, and she definitely didn't have enough concealer for this.
At least it was Saturday.
Chloe quickly figured out that she could actually button her button-up shirts, and that would have to do for the day.
When she made her way downstairs, she quickly peeked down the hallway and found her mother sitting in front of the television. She crept into the kitchen, quietly opened up a cabinet, and pulled out a glass. However, she couldn't avoid making a sound when it came to opening the fridge. By the time she actually managed to have orange juice pouring into her glass, her mother was standing on the other side of the counter that bordered the end of the kitchen.
"Chloe," she said, "you're awake."
Chloe grunted in response, returning the orange juice to the fridge before leaning against the corner of the fridge.
"How are you feeling?"
Chloe sipped her orange juice, but winced at the taste. She should have tried starting with something blander, more pH neutral.
At the very least, she figured there was no point in lying to her mother. "Hung over," she admitted, "so pretty shit." Her voice was rougher, lower - her throat was raw. She tried not to think about that.
Then, she added, "What are you doing home?"
Her mother's mouth was a flat line, one corner down-turned like the insides of her brow, drawing a pinched slash over her face.
"I called out. Thought I'd spend the day with you and Rachel." She paused, letting her eyes jump away from Chloe for a second before returning to her, "Where is Rachel?"
So, Mom hasn't seen her either. Was she banished?
"She, uh. She took off pretty early."
Joyce nodded, saying nothing for a long moment. Chloe hesitated, wanting to get out of her mother's sight but also aware that she needed to put oatmeal or something in her stomach.
Finally, Joyce let herself talk again, asking, "Can we . . . talk, Chloe?"
There were way too many things wrong with that question. 1) Talking with Mom never ended very well, 2) but she never asked, exactly, it was more of a 'we're doing this now' thing; 3) Chloe most certainly didn't want to talk, 4) but she could see her mother was on edge, and Chloe did not feel rough enough to push her mother away. She just felt raw. And she didn't think she could ignore it.
"Yeah, Mom," Chloe replied, setting her glass on the counter next to the fridge before pulling herself up onto it. "What's up?"
The frown on Joyce's face didn't deplete, but she entered the kitchen, dropping her hands on the counter behind her now, as if she was propping herself up. She way she swallowed before beginning made Chloe nervous, too.
Finally, Joyce sighed and came out with it, "I found that circle you drew on your floor, Chloe, while I was cleaning up."
Chloe became rigid, but said nothing.
Joyce continued, "Now I, I thought it was just a joke, but there was more. Black candles, bags of whatever - instructions on summoning demons, even! I just . . . I can't believe it."
Chloe couldn't believe it, either. She was shocked, silent, except for the lonely, "I," she managed to produce before Joyce interrupted:
"Now, hold on. As if that weren't enough, David brought in your backpack this morning. I thought you were carrying about, I don't know, water? snacks? when you went out. But it's just pot and a first aid kit. Is that really where your summer job has been going? Doing drugs with your friends?"
Chloe wanted to get angry. She wanted to be really, really pissed about how much her privacy had been invaded. She wanted to be furious that her mother wasn't checking in on how she was doing. She wanted to yell and throw a fit, for how she didn't get how pot leveled her out, or how that fucking circle had brought her her best friend in so long-
But, instead, the pain and tightness in her throat just got worse, and she started to cry.
"Mom, I-" she tried to explain.
"Chloe," her mother replied, her voice suddenly firmer. "I wish I could say I don't know where this is all coming from, but I have the terrible feeling I do. I don't think you got into all this witchcraft and partying by your own self."
Chloe didn't realize where her mother was leading until she said it, "This is all because of Rachel, isn't it?"
"What?" Chloe asked, too shocked and off-balance to have any noise. "No, Rachel's just my friend-"
"Your friend," Joyce said in unison, "I know. But I don't think she's a very good influence on you, and I don't like the places you're going with her - or the state you're coming back from them in! I don't know much about her parents, but I think they give a young girl like her far too much freedom. As David and I have with you."
Chloe knew what was coming, and it knocked the air out of her. She barely even registered when her mother was actually saying the words, because they were already resonating inside her.
Joyce said, "We don't want Rachel coming over here anymore, or you spending time with her, at least not for a while. In the mean time, I got rid of all that . . . scary black magic nonsense, and I expect you to clean that creepy thing from your bedroom floor."
Why wasn't Chloe running? Screaming? Slamming her door? Why wasn't she fighting back? Why was she rooted here in place, crying while she let someone shatter what she had built up over these past months?
Finally, Chloe was able to speak, "You have no idea what Rachel has done for me. How. Dare you?"
Joyce shook her head. "I'm sorry, Chloe. I know Rachel is important to you, but I don't think she's good for you."
Finally, finally Chloe was able to yell, but it was so garbled that it didn't sound like a proper yell, but a gurgle: "WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU KNOW?!" But then, she was sobbing, and it was too hard to vocalize anything.
Chloe didn't understand why, but Joyce nodded. "I understand," she lied.
She stood up from her place at the counter, and said, "I've made an appointment for you to see your old therapist. I know you're having a rough time, Chloe. I just want what's best for you."
And her mother walked away while she cried in the kitchen.