Chapter Text
October 7, 2013
Goddamned car cemetery. Chloe lifted the cigarette up to her mouth and took a long drag as she watched the junkyard from the doorway of the hideout: a not-so-proud queen of nothing. Apparently, this trash dump was all she had. Not too much, but just enough to escape the house she felt trapped in ever since her mother married that fucking douchebag who turned every single day of hers into a military boot camp. Gosh, I’m so sick and tired of his preaching, can he ever stop? His searches and constant bitching about some fucking weed. His… slaps. Chloe bit her lips in helpless anger, remembering the last time her step-dick hit her. Yes, sir – my ass. She tried to blow a smoke ring; she failed. But it was okay, nobody saw her attempt.
They built the hideout in the middle of the junkyard together with Rachel to have a place to hang out when both of them had too much. Ironically, they couldn’t live more different lives, even if they tried to. But both extreme backgrounds resulted in the same outcome. They wanted to blow steam off and get the hell out of Arcadia Bay.
One day Rachel disappeared and Chloe never heard about her. She stopped texting back, she didn’t answer Chloe’s calls. As if she were dead. Like… someone else who Chloe didn’t want to even think about. No, it was hella painful. She toked on the joint with brows knitted and her body tensed up – like the more aggressive she sucked on the blunt the more pain she could get rid of. But there was no connection, it was just a stupid cigarette.
“Fucking hope you’re living the best of your life, Rach.” Chloe’s hoarse voice broke the dead silence. “At least one of us made it out of this shithole.”
She stepped out of the hideout to have a better view of the territory but the sun blinded her – she narrowed her eyes to not stare into the direct light. I wonder what’s the time? Eh, like it fucking matters. It’s not that I have much shit to do. Time can fucking stop existing.
Her phone suddenly started ringing; Chloe twitched and her heart skipped a beat. Not too many people called Chloe on her phone.
Maybe it’s Rach. Or… Max. Hah, you wish. You’re thinking about her, again, dammit! Hella fucking nope, it must be Mom, or… step-ass… or Trevor, or Justin… She checked her phone.
Frank, of course. Of all fucking people Frank Bowers called her at that very moment. She quickly stumped her cigarette and tossed the butt away.
“Oh joy,” Chloe grunted before she answered.
“PRICE! My money, where’s my money?” Frank’s raspy voice penetrated her tympanic membrane; she lifted the phone away and pushed one of her fingers into her ear canal like she wanted to scratch an itch.
“GEEZ MAN, I’m not deaf! But gonna be if...”
“I don’t like your tone. Stop stalling! I want my money – NOW. You have it, right?”
“I’m… I’m working on it!” Chloe’s brows furrowed and started scratching the back of her neck. Well, shit, shit shit shit!
“Yeah-yeah… Of course. You’re always working on it. Too bad you never…”
“Man, I said I’m working on it! What is wrong with you?”
“Work harder!”
“You’ll get your fucking money. Are we… cool, Frank?” Chloe gulped. She was sure Frank would never hurt her, but a hint of fear mixed into her voice. She played this game a little too long and she expected Frank to eventually explode and lost all his patience.
“Yes, we’re cool.” Frank imitated Chloe’s cadence. “This Friday. That’s the last...”
Chloe hung up.
“Fuck.”
Chloe entered the hideout, she was like an overflowing sink. If she had the money for another, she would just throw her mobile away to smash it against the wall without thinking. But she still had some brain capacity left to realize that money was part of her biggest issues right now. She placed her phone on the small roundtable and collapsed in the car seat placed on the ground.
“I’m fucked.” She exhaled a sigh and kicked one in the trash can to somehow let out her bottled up negative energies. Beer bottles started rolling with a harsh noise on the concrete. Chloe played with them for a while, clinking them together with her outstretched leg and mumbling to herself absentmindedly, her head resting against her palm. Where the fuck will I get three grands in a few days?
Among the junk she spotted a crumpled paper that caught her attention. She pulled the paper towards herself with her leg and slowly opened it: it looked like Rachel’s handwriting, a letter that had never been delivered. Fuck, how come I never noticed this before?
Her brows went up and started reading.
C.
You can tell how much I want you to read this letter since I’ve been dragging my ass to give it to you. Maybe I just want you to find it when I’m not around so we never have to talk about it. And I don’t want you to hate me. Where to start?
I met somebody recently who’s different from the lame Vortex Club snobs. I know you’ll have a meltdown when I tell you and think he’s gross, but I swear he’s wise and unconventional. Kind of scary, not in a “bad boy” way. He’s just experienced some serious shit. Yes, I’m kinda obssessed (sic). I won’t blame you for freaking.
Maybe I know you’re right and this just has to be my secret.
I hate bit sharing this with you except I know you’d give me that stink eye and grill me for every stupid detail. If I even told you that last night we hooked up near campus
(...)
The rest of the letter was unreadable.
Chloe’s eyes widened, and she felt a sudden pain in her chest. Whaaat? NO! I've just probably misread something. She read it again. And again, and again.
Rachel… Rachel met someone. She hella hooked up with someone! With a… he? What the fuck.
She suddenly crumpled it back and tossed it against the wall with a grunt.
What the actual fuck, Rachel?! Thought we… Aaargh. She hooked up with someone. She hooked up with someone. Yeah, you’re right, Rach. Sure as hell I’m having a breakdown after reading your fucking letter.
Chloe’s eyes started burning, she gulped back the tears she felt in the back of her throat.
I meant nothing to her. She left me. Like fucking everyone ever left me. Chloe buried her face in her hands and started tapping nervously with her legs. What the hell was I expecting? We weren’t even an official thing. We… had no idea what the fuck we were.
She rubbed her eyes and looked around. The graffitis on the wall, Rachel’s stupid makeup kit, those posters… Every single item was staring at her, being awful reminders of how lonely and betrayed she was. Gosh, I’m such a crybaby.
Fuck.
She looked at the DIY punching bag hanging in one of the corners, she made that thing not too long ago. She quickly stood up and started punching it with brute force: brows knitted, teeth clenched, she just hit the dirty bag without counting the jabs and hooks. She should totally wrap bandages around her palms to dampen the hits and protect her hand, but… whatever. Does it fucking matter? Pain. Pain was good. Pain was familiar. Pain was all Chloe had.
She had no idea if the salty droplets were tears or just sweat she felt dropping on her chapped lips. It didn’t matter either.
Eventually, she felt a bit better. She went back to the car seat and reached for a bottle next to her. She shook it to check if there was still any lukewarm cheap beer in it. There wasn’t. She had nothing, not even a single sip of warm, awful booze. She gulped loudly and stared at the beer bottle.
Her eyes went wide as a flashback hit her. She was in that damned watering hole, drinking, and Nathan Prescott kept flashing bills. She joined him and listened to his rich-kid bullshit. There was no plan, just pumping some money out of him. She even put a few protection stuff into her wallet, thinking of the worst-case scenario. Her stomach wrenched from this thought and she wanted to spit to the ground, but her mouth was too dry. No, she would rather be dead than hooking up with Nathan Prescott or… any other hillbillies in this fucking town to get some money. But she was so desperate that night. Until she found herself in a fetal position in Nathan’s room, that psycho perv crawling towards her with a camera.
Fucking bastard. You’re gonna pay.
She quickly grabbed her phone and texted Nathan. She just wrote and wrote, her pupils and nostrils dilated while she was staring at her phone, her fingertips frantically tapping the capacitive screen. He can’t just fucking get away with this. He slipped some fucking roofie into my beer and… The fuck knows what happened, that probably not, but he can’t just get away with it. I’ll make you pay for this, asshole.
Nathan texted back. They’re going to meet soon In Blackwell. Good. A half-smile appeared on Chloe’s face. Just get his money and pay Frank back. Or get the hell out of here, the thought was so tempting. Straight to LA, find Rachel and…
No.
Fuck Rachel.
Fuck everybody.
She couldn’t stay in the hideout anymore. Not with all these personal belongings of Rachel and that letter hiding in the trash can. She jumped up and stomped in the direction of her truck, she hopped in.
In the next second, a soft voice snapped her out of her bottomless anger:
“Sweetie, you shouldn’t drive in this state. Please, take care.”
Hearing her dad’s voice formed an awful lump in the back of her throat. The lump was definitely too big and hard to swallow. She just wanted to cough it up and spit it out like a damned fur-ball.
“Oh, you think I’m accepting safety advice from you? Hella wrong, Dad. I’m so done with this, anyway.”
Chloe didn’t want to look at William. She stared out of the window of the car and pretended to be busy with watching the junk everywhere.
“Why?” He asked in a calm manner.
“Because you’re so fucking dead, that’s why.”
“Language, sweetie.”
Chloe turned her head towards William on the seat next to her, raising an eyebrow. She snorted and shook her head.
“Dad, she fucking cheated on me.”
“Who?”
“Rachel,” Chloe punched the steering wheel as she gestured hard. “She cheated on me and… now she fucking ditched with that asshole.”
“With who exactly, Honey?”
“Fuck if I know!” Chloe yelled and hit the steering wheel again. “With some man. Can you fucking imagine that?”
William furrowed brows and cocked his head to one side, gently touching his daughter’s shoulder with a reassuring move. Chloe twitched and pulled away.
“Oo-kay. You don’t need to answer.” She sniffed. “I loved her, Dad. I loved her so much. This... fucking hurts.”
“I didn’t know you two were dating.”
“Because, fuck, it’s complicated! Maybe we weren’t.” Chloe let out a sigh and looked out of the car again. "But she was my angel."
“Max is back in town,” William said after some hesitation, still trying to stroke Chloe’s shoulder.
“Is this supposed to make me feel better, eh?” Chloe turned towards him and snorted. “Yeah, I heard it. I fucking heard it. She didn't even bother to give me a fucking call. Or a text!”
“Maybe she lost your number. You’re always thinking about the worst.”
“It's not like good things ever happen to me! ” Chloe raised her voice and shook her head. “Yeah, maybe she lost her phone. But that dumbass couldn’t lose her brain with the info where I live. Because I live in the same fucking house. Heh, the house is the same. Only difference is that that hellhole is not my home anymore. Not since you died, Dad.”
William made an apologetic face.
“Your mother needs you, sweetie,” William said with the same soft, trembling voice.
“Bullshit. She chose that fucking douchebag, not me. You're not exactly helping, Dad.”
“Please, be careful with that Prescott kid. He is dangerous.” William stroked Chloe’s shoulder one last time before he disappeared.
Chloe adjusted her beanie, wiped her eyes, and started the engine.
“Fucking bitch,” Nathan grunted in his dorm room and tossed his phone away. He collapsed on his bed and buried his face in his hands for a few seconds. He felt a tightening knot in his chest, things weren’t really going in the direction he wanted. He lowered his hands, looked at his broken lamp, and snorted again. No one can just fucking blackmail a Prescott and be getting away with it. No one. Especially not a deadbeat dyke. Ridiculous. He opened one of his drawers and fished out a handgun, thinking about the worst that could happen. “Nobody would miss her punk ass, would they?” He mumbled to the empty room, concealing the weapon in his jacket.