Here's the next chapter - drama ensues. I hope you'll read into the symbolism and foreshadowing that I've scattered about

I do not own Life is Strange nor any of its Affiliates, nor do I own any song by Bright Eyes or L&Ms

Max handed her ID and a crisp ten dollar bill over to the stocky brunette behind the cash register; she received five dollars and seventy five cents back, as well as a package of L&M reds. She couldn't say what it was that inspired her to purchase her own cigarettes, but the prospect of smoking again titillated her. She left the convenience store out into the street, taking a seat on the curb.

She pulled the package from her pocket, removed the plastic, and drew a cigarette from the box; with a lighter she borrowed from Chloe (black, red, skull motif), she 'flicked her bic' and lit the tip, inhaling. The ember grew into a sizable cherry, from which she pulled in one long drag. Pale wisps of smoke danced up into the mid-afternoon air as a memory was evoked: skin on skin, teeth on teeth, the synchronization of body on body. And the smell of Chloe's blue hair. And her smile. A bit enamored, Max took another drag and hid a private grin.

The bus wouldn't arrive for another ten or so minutes, so Max stretched her legs out into the street, the first drops of a rainfall wetting the cement in small circlets. She felt one grace her neck, then next her bare arms. Max continued to smoke as the rain slowly began to pick up, savoring the sensation of rain on her skin: drop… drop drop… drop. The cigarette half-exhausted, Max took one last inhale, then dropped it, snuffing the ember beneath her foot. She took cover beneath an awning as drizzle turned to torrent. Before too long, the bus pulled up along the street, and Max dashed from beneath her cover to its door. The trip back was uneventful as she put in her earphones.

If you walk away, I'll walk away. First tell me which road you will take. I don't want to risk our paths crossing one day, so you walk that way, I'll walk this way. It was a Bright Eyes melody, one of Max's favorites. It was a song about the end of things, and the pain of parting. Conor Oberst was her favorite lyricist; he had a way of conveying powerful themes with simple words, she had found. And the future hangs over our heads. And it moves with each current event. Until it falls all around like a cold steady rain, just stay in when it's looking this way.

They passed the Two Whales Diner, other establishments, clottings of trees, hillocks and cliffs, winding down the road toward Blackwell Academy. Max watched as rain sped along the window, coagulating and dividing into larger and smaller droplets. One drop met another, and split, then met another, and split. There was no way of divining each droplet's path, no rhyme nor reason to any one movement. Max thought of Victoria, and Chloe. She sunk into her seat.

An hour later found Max inside her dorm room, pondering over how to complete her photography project. She had changed into her blue chicklet shirt and sweatpants, which folded beneath her as she sat on her patterned bed comforter, looking over pictures she had taken of her classmates and friends. She drew from her pile an older picture, one of Chloe sitting on the bench out by the lighthouse at sunset; it was just before the snow, she remembered. She pulled another from the stack, the one of Victoria looking displeased which she had snapped several days ago.

But which to use?

Max considered the various aspects of Chloe's picture. You could draw several conclusions about the photograph. It might convey aspects of loneliness, or solitude, or even betrayal. It could convey the absence of another person, or the presence of the person already there. It had depth, and complexity. The contrast between light and dark drew the eye. Max lifted the other picture to her face, the one of Victoria's displeasure at being photographed. It was plain, too plain, one-dimensional even. It lacked the visual noise of the other picture. Max didn't like it as much. Deciding on Chloe's photograph, she slid it into her backpack as a knock sounded at her door. Knock knock knock knock. One knock was terse; two was universally acknowledged as the average number of knocks; three wasn't out of the ordinary; four was strange. Already half-sure of her visitor, Max opened the door to reveal:

"Victoria."

"I've come to help you with your project," she explained, more cordially than Max was expecting. "I'm sure you'll want to take pictures of me, and I've already decided my aspect: sexuality." The younger girl took a step back, allowing Victoria to enter her room; she hadn't thought to tidy up, and quickly moved to fix her strewn sheets and cluttered desk. In truth she had predicted what aspect Victoria had chosen for herself. Her flirtations towards Mr. Jefferson were no secret, after all, and if she wanted to convey the wiles of her body for the teacher's viewing pleasure (or disdain), she had no real objections. Max decided to keep the fact that she had already chosen a photograph for her project to herself.

Victoria had certainly come prepared: she wore a low cut crimson blouse that bared the slightest sliver of midriff, and tight, tight designer jeans. Her angular collarbone and thin valley of cleavage on display, she looked the very image of youthful potency. Walking toward the windowsill, Victoria took a seat against it, crossing her long, slender legs. "You've done a good job of covering up that hickey," she said. Max's heart skipped, unsteady. "I'd have preferred if you left it bare. I'm proud of my work." She leased a small sigh of relief, grateful that Victoria wasn't referring to the newest addition to her neck.

"Let's have you looking down, but keep your head in place," Max instructed. Victoria obliged, her eyes downcast, lashes fluttering. "Open your mouth a bit." She centered the picture: in it, Victoria leaned, legs crossed, a demure expression on her lowered face. She had sex appeal, Max had to give her that, and in the pose it was subtly downplayed. SNAP, went Max's camera, spitting out the photograph a second later. "Alright, let's have you turn towards the window and look right, over your shoulder. Raise your hips a bit. Y'know," Max began, "If you're focusing on my innocence, and I'm focusing on your sexuality, Mr. Jefferson is going to get pretty damn suspicious, I'd think."

"Let him be suspicious." Victoria grinned. SNAP. Another picture.

"I thought you kind of had a thing for him."

"He's the hottest teacher I've ever had, easily. And he needs to have a star pupil, so I thought I'd use my feminine charms to influence that decision. Is it immoral to seduce your considerably older mentor? I honestly don't care."

"Has he been receptive to your advances?" Max queried, already knowing the answer.

"It's hard to tell."

Victoria leaned, crossing her legs again. A smirk played across her fairy-like features, pulling at her heart-shaped lips. "Do you have a boner for Mark as well?" The question caught Max off guard, and she struggled with the answer.

"I don't think I'm really into guys."

"Not even Warren? I've seen the way he humps your leg."

"Gross," Max spat, furrowing her brow. She raised the camera, SNAP, taking another picture before Victoria's smile had time to fade. "He's a nice guy, and we share a sense of humor, kind of, but yeah, never gonna happen. He's too persistent, which I'm not sure I like. Every day he's blowing up my phone with texts. What about Nathan?"

"Nathan's a prick," Victoria replied, scowling.

"Amen to that."

"Hold up."

Victoria crossed the room in four long strides, moving towards Max. Her scowl hadn't left her face as she brought it up to Max's neck, running a finger along its left side. Her finger came away browned with beige. She stared at it a moment before meeting Max's worried gaze. "Oh my fucking god, I can't believe it." Backing Max up against the door, she prodded her chest. Hard. "I knew you'd fuck that degenerate," Victoria growled, "Even after I claimed you."

"Claimed me!?" Max bit back, "You can't claim someone Victoria! I don't fucking belong to you. I don't belong to Chloe. I don't belong to anyone." She pushed herself from the door, pressing Victoria back across the room, step by step. "Get this through your head: you don't own me. You might own Taylor, and all your other fake friends, but you don't own me, Victoria Chase." Max could read the shock on her face. "And you can't intimidate me."

Victoria was speechless.

"From now on," Max continued, "things are going to go how I say they're going to go. Got it!?" Victoria nodded, swallowing back her words. Max enjoyed the feeling of her newfound dominance. It made her hot, and wanting. She stepped forward, caught the older girl by her blonde hair, and forced her downwards to meet her mouth. Max bit her bottom lip, catching it firm beneath her teeth. Victoria yelped as blood was drawn, and Max pulled back. "Now get the fuck out of my room."

Victoria did as she was told, slamming the door behind her.

Silence.

Max brought her hand to her lips, drawing back to find red stained across her fingertips. Was she too harsh? Still high on her power play, Max couldn't find it in herself to honestly care. She found her camera on her desk and leveled it with her head, grinning as she took a selfie. The photograph developed as she waved it about. When she looked at the final image, her smile only grew. She looked different; fierce and on fire, bloodied and bold. It was a good look, she decided.

Max found the three pictures she had taken of Victoria. Delighting in the act, she took the first two photographs, pinched their tops beneath her fingers, and tore them into separate pieces. "Claimed me," she muttered, bitter. Max hesitated upon seeing the third. In it, Victoria wore an unabashed smile, captured in a raw, expressive moment. She looked genuinely friendly. A wave of guilt suffused Max, and she frowned. Saving the photograph, she placed it in her binder along with Chloe's. The decision would have to be made later.

Leaving her dorm room, she descended the staircase and left out into the courtyard. Samuel was sitting on a bench, dropping crumbs; they were eagerly snatched up by a skittish squirrel, who took a circumspect route to avoid the maintenance worker's legs. Max remembered what he said about spirit animals. She could see hers being a doe. Walking out into the parking lot, she spotted Warren, sitting on the hood of his car as he stared down at his phone.

"Hey Warren," Max projected from across the lot.

He glanced up, and upon seeing his new company, smiled. "Maxter," he began, "It's always a pleasure." Warren slid from his hood and went for a hug, which Max couldn't help but to accept, albeit reluctantly. She withdrew, and situated herself on the hood beside Warren. He glanced upwards with a wistful look, wordless. "S'good to see you, always a pleasure."

Max dug in her pocket for her pack of cigarettes and from that, pulled one, which she lit. Warren blinked, but didn't say anything, no doubt for fear of coming off 'uncool', or so Max believed. She looked above her, into the bruised sky as afternoon gave to evening.

"I've been making a lot of unhealthy decisions lately."

And so another chapter concludes. Reviews are what keep me going ;)