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Sometimes Max thinks about Arcadia Bay.
She doesn’t like to. She really, really doesn’t like to, but sometimes the thoughts creep into her mind. Of what she left behind. What she can never get back.
She stares out at the endless expanse of forest. She and Chloe decided a long time ago that they’d keep away from cities as much as possible, but sometimes the trees get to be a little too much. If she’s not paying attention, sometimes it feels like she’s looking out the window of her Blackwell dorm room.
And it hurts.
Sometimes she wonders if she made the right decision. She was so sure in that moment, when she chose not to go back, but all it took was one look at all that destruction, the soaked corpses in the streets, to make her wonder if she was wrong this entire time.
If she could go back now, would she? She still didn’t know. On some level, she thought maybe she would, but at the same time, the thought of being away from Chloe is terrifying.
“Maxxers?” A feeling of dread falls on Max’s shoulders at the sound of that nickname.
If she remembers right, Chloe’s exact words were “fuck no, I’m not calling you any of that disgusting shit.” But tiny Chloe was a girl of habit, and her adamant refusal to give Max a nickname wrapped around into her calling Max “Maxxers” being a dead giveaway that she was feeling small.
Chloe won’t even call it regression, and if Max makes any reference to “being small,” she gets the stink eye like you wouldn’t believe. No, Chloe prefers to call it “that fucking shitty thing where my brain just fries and nothing the fuck else so fucking drop it.”
Max tries her best to smile. “Hey.”
“What’s going on?” Big or little, Chloe can always see right through her façade.
“Don’t worry about it.”
It’s a push and pull between them. A “Chloe, you’ve got to let yourself relax because it’s the only way you’ll be able to recover” paired with a “fuck you, Max, you don’t know fucking shit.”
Turns out little Chloe likes to swear just as much as big Chloe.
“Too late now.” Chloe sits beside her, but there’s a moment of hesitation.
While big Chloe has a brave face, little Chloe doesn’t have all the cracks sealed yet. She has these fleeting moments. Of fear. Of uncertainty. Max will never forget the one night she woke up to Chloe sobbing her heart out. They’re such rare occurrences that Max still isn’t used to them.
A hesitant hand falls on her shoulder. “Arcadia Bay was shit. I’m glad it’s gone.”
How does she always know what Max is thinking?
“I know you’re sad, Maxxers. I…I am too?” It comes out half-like a question. Chloe lifts her other arm, wrapping Max in an awkwardly loose hug.
Max reaches up, holding Chloe’s wrist in a weak attempt at comforting her tiny best friend. “Chloe…” She knows better to say anything more than that. Any more sympathy and Chloe will storm off in a huff, but not before calling her a cuck.
“I hate that place. But I miss it too. I miss Mom.” Her voice breaks on that last word.
Max wants so badly to hug her, but knows that’s overstepping her bounds. The only time she’s allowed to give Chloe a hug is when Chloe’s in the midst of Crisis Mode. Right now, they’re in Melancholy Mode, maybe even Depressive Mode, but neither of those are grounds for a hug.
Chloe straightens up, looking like she’s just fine, like she didn’t just cry. “But that shit’s in the past. So let’s go get a crappy burger from that place down the road. Okay?”
Before Max can protest, Chloe’s climbing into her truck, looking to all the world like a grown-up, but Max knows better. She climbs into the passenger seat, silently forming a plan.
Small Chloe likes sweets, so Max will buy a milkshake and offer to split it. No way Chloe can resist that. And maybe, if she’s really lucky, small Chloe will emerge when they get back to their hotel room.
She’ll leave a couple chocolate bars on the table, just in case.