Disclaimer: I do not own Life is Strange or any of its characters. This story is for entertainment only.
Chapter Six
She doesn't stop running until she's somehow made her way back to the street where her truck is parked. Shaky breaths burn in her lungs as Chloe unlocks the pickup before climbing up into the seat, where she finds herself trying to still her racing heart. The image of Max only mere minutes ago is emblazoned into her retinas. The other girl has fangs. Chloe can't erase the picture of her friend there, looking up at her with a bit of blood on her lips still, sharp canines poking out from her mouth.
Chloe's gaze wanders down to her right wrist. The stinging sensation there is dull and barely even a whisper, but she can't help but notice how the wound doesn't look as though it were inflicted no more than five minutes ago. Instead, it looks like it's already beginning to scab over. She shakes her head. "What the actual fuck?" she mutters to herself, feebly trying to wrap her head around everything.
There's a suspicion floating around in her thoughts, but she refuses to grasp it because it's beyond her boundaries of realism. She doesn't give herself the luxury of entertaining the idea.
Chloe drives herself home, shaken, trying to focus on the road in front of her alone. At one point she nearly rear-ends the driver in front of her, and it's all she can do to keep herself from having a wreck. When she finally makes it and pulls up in her driveway, she makes a beeline for the door and then slips inside, making way to her bedroom. At the top of the stairs her phone chirps and even though she knows who it is, she takes a peek anyway.
Max: Chloe...
She promptly shuts the device off before shoving it back in her pocket and stepping into her room. Once she's inside, she slams the door shut and throws herself on her bed, grunting. It feels like she's a glass statue that's one crack away from shattering. Her head is such a frothing hurricane of scrambled thoughts and unfinished conclusions that she can't makes sense of what's what. The overwhelming sense of helplessness to sort through everything threatens to drown her.
Chloe wishes she could just lay all the pieces of the mystery out before her to solve like a jigsaw puzzle. Unfortunately for her, brains don't exactly work that way, but she would be damned if she doesn't intend to try.
"Okay," she whispers, running both her hands through her hair. Part of her wonders if everything that just happened was some kind of sick dream; she can't help but question if it's a demented and twisted reality of her own creation. It's cliché, but she reaches down and pinches herself on the arm just to make sure. When the action results in a sharp but quick little jolt of pain, she groans again. "What the fuck?" she reiterates to herself before sitting up.
She needs to organize her own thoughts before her head explodes. There's an admittedly big part of her that's begging to just blaze and forget about it all for a little bit, but she's not sure even the most potent weed could fix—or even lessen—the maelstrom that is her head at this moment. Then the other piece of her head actually wants to sort everything out.
After all, you did want to know the truth, the voice in her brain says sarcastically. She'll explain if you just let her.
Chloe shakes her head again. No, she needs time to herself and the mere idea of having to face Max makes her head feel like it might pop. It's bad enough as it is; she can feel the early works of a headache beginning to make themselves known and she gets up to go to the bathroom.
She opens up the medicine cabinet and rummages around until she finds a bottle of generic OTC painkillers. Chloe pops two of them down her throat before returning to her bedroom, slumping into the chair at her desk with a sigh. Some piece of her is hung up and tangled in a net of self-pity; she can't stop wondering why? She wants to know why crazy shit always seems to come crawling from the depths of Hell just to torment her and fuck her life up.
Then again, she doesn't even know what this is, so technically it can't ruin anything at the moment. Despite that, it's certainly managed to do a number on what she thought was reality, coming along and snatching her by the ankles and lifting her upside down. Resting her head against her left hand, she takes a deep breath and can't resist the urge to take another peek at her wrist. However, doing so only adds another bucket of gasoline to the fire, because now the wound is scabbed over. She brings the injury closer to her face to inspect it, and it's funny how she almost has a more difficult time comprehending this than all the shit that happened earlier.
Running a thumb over it, she blinks when part of the scab begins to peel off, revealing a fresh but fully healed scar beneath. "That's n-not possible," she stammers quietly, tearing her eyes away from her wrist. Honestly though, not even an hour ago her best friend had been sucking the blood out of that very same wound... and then miraculously recovered from what looked like a near-fatal injury right before her eyes. So really, this shouldn't shock Chloe a bit.
But it does. It punches her in the gut like a sack of bricks, slamming her in the stomach and making her feel on the verge of hurling. Then her phone buzzes and she jumps, startled out of her skin like a cat. Once again, despite knowing who it's from, she looks at the screen.
Max: Chloe, please.
This time she not only ignores the message, but powers the phone off completely before tossing it onto a pile of dirty clothes. She doesn't want to talk to Max right now. She can't.
For a long time she just sits there at her desk, turning all the different pieces of evidence over in her mind's eye. In all truth, she'd known from the moment she got back in her truck what Max is, but only now that she's had a little time to sit and process does she start to actually consider the fact. It's surreal and impossible, but she's seen it with her own eyes. And even if the events of the day weren't enough to convince her, the proof is right there on Chloe's wrist.
The word flickers across her thoughts, but she isn't quite ready to think it out loud yet.
In retrospect, it's kind of obvious, really. All the signs are there, if only she'd known to look for them. A dry sort of laugh bubbles out of her throat then. She'd pinned all of Max's strange little mannerisms down to just weird little quirks unique to the girl, but that's not the case, is it? The way she refuses to enter without being invited first, her seeming lack of need for sleep, her favorite weather being any kind that doesn't involve the sun... and now that Chloe thinks about it, she doesn't recall any mirrors in Max's dorm room either.
Then there's the glaringly obvious sign plastered right in front of her face. She drank my blood, she thinks, unable to shake the insanity of it all.
But she still doesn't know what was in that case that night, and her brain takes another sudden twist in a different, even less appealing direction. It's clear that the other girl needs blood for sustenance, but that leaves Chloe with the question of where Max gets her supply. Her thoughts unhelpfully supply images of her best friend killing and drinking the blood of innocent people, and she stuffs her face in her hands.
It's too much for Chloe to handle.
She finds herself unable to resist the call of her little tin of pot then, and the rest of the evening is spent staring up at the ceiling until she eventually falls asleep. And unsurprisingly enough, her mind doesn't once manage to escape the thunderous hurricane and thrashing storm that it's become.
She literally does not touch her phone until two days have elapsed, and when she finally works up the courage to turn the device on, it immediately begins blowing up in her hands. Once it's done freaking out, Chloe sits down on the edge of her bed to assess the damage. Really, it's not as bad as it could have been. There are six new text messages from Max, three missed phone calls, and a single voice mail. Chloe opens up the messages and looks over them.
The oldest two are from that first day, followed by three that were sent yesterday, and the most recent one shows a time stamp from today.
Max: I'll explain.
Max: Although you're smarter than you give yourself credit for. You've probably figured it out already, huh?
Max: I hope you don't hate me.
Max: Chloe.
Max: We need to talk...
Max: Please don't hate me.
Chloe sighs, setting the phone down and rubbing her face in her hands. Sure, she knows what Max is, but she still doesn't feel like it's real and she's having a hard time coming to terms with it. She can utter the words in her head a countless number of times while telling herself that it's a fact, but it's futile in changing the ridiculous surreal nature of it all. Nonetheless, she grabs her phone again and with hesitant fingers, she types out a short reply.
Chloe: i dont hate u
A response comes back no less than a minute later, but Chloe doesn't look at it yet. Instead, she gets up and pulls on a clean set of clothes, her thoughts humming. In all honestly, it wouldn't be unfair of her to hate Max. She has a valid list of reasons and excuses to resent the other girl. But... the mere idea sends a resounding pang of sadness through her. How could she ever possibly hate Max Caulfield, the girl who's never failed to have faith in her and looks at her like she's the best fucking person in the world?
The smallest of minuscule smiles flickers across her lips.
Despite everything that's happened, Chloe can't even fathom a reality in which she hates the other girl. She might be angry and upset, but permanent and true hatred for Max is something she doubts she's capable of. Huffing out a sigh, she grabs her keys before going downstairs and making way for the door. Once she's outside, she makes a beeline for her truck, climbing in and sitting behind the wheel. That's when she pulls out her phone. The new message from Max is sitting there, waiting for her.
Max: Let's talk. Please.
Chloe sits there for a long while, just staring at the words on the screen. Eventually she types up a reply and hits the send button.
Chloe: two whales. 15 mins. dont u dare be fucking late
The reply is almost instantaneous.
Max: Never.
Author's Note: Sorry this is late... I haven't been writing lately, but I feel that I should at least update considering that I have a bunch of chapters written ahead. Apologies that it's a short one though. If it's any consolation, I have at least one other Pricefield AU in the works right now...