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Chloe grinned at Max from beneath her umbrella.
The rain was heavy, relentless, yet somehow inviting. There was something hypnotising about the way that it slid down the windscreen, pooled on the bonnet of the car, ran down the bridge of Chloe’s nose.
She was soaking wet. Absolutely drenched from head to toe, and she wasn’t even sad about it. Her shirt was plastered to her skin, raindrops clung to her eyelashes and slipped down the side of her neck, but she was laughing. Max watched from the safety of the truck, savouring Chloe’s delight because it had been so long since Max had seen her smile.
Chloe put the umbrella down, and looked up at the sky in surrender. She was already wet through, it had been more of a prop than anything else.
She was bathed in a red, flickering light from the neon sign above, waiting for her best friend to join her in the downpour. Max almost didn’t want to— she knew the second they got inside the gas station, that the moment would be over. Chloe would go back to being sad, Max would go back to feeling guilty.
When her hand hesitated over the handle, Chloe grew impatient, opening the door herself and tugging Max out by the wrist. Max stumbled, but the firm grip Chloe had on her arm was enough to keep her upright.
“Whoa there. Been on the booze, Maxie?” She teased, her hand gentle but ready to catch her again if she needed to. Max just smiled up at her, shaking her head slightly. “Can you get me a coffee? Please?” she added, when Max frowned.
“I think we should stop somewhere for tonight. It’s just— it’s dark, and it’s raining, and you’re tired—“
“I am not tired—“
“You are. I can tell, you’re doing that thing where you curl your hair around your finger.” Max said, looking up at Chloe with as firm a stare as she could muster. Chloe, who’s free hand was twisting a lock of wet blue hair absently, quickly pulled her hand back down to her side.
“And? What if I just wanted to, I don’t know, touch my hair?” She muttered, knowing that her argument was weak. Max sighed.
“Chloe, you only do that when you’re tired. And I know, I know how badly you want to get away from— from…” she let her sentence trail off, unable to bring herself to say it. “Anyway, listen. The point is that you’re tired and I don’t want either of us to have survived all of that shit to die less than a week later in a car crash.” Max finished. Chloe didn’t answer her verbally, but she nodded, looking away from Max. She handed her the umbrella as she began to fill up the truck, and didn’t turn back around until Max’s footsteps could no longer be heard.
“Fuck.” She muttered quietly to herself.
It was the first time either of them had brought up what had happened in Arcadia Bay. It had been a week, and neither of them had even tried to talk about it. Chloe had seen nothing wrong with ignoring it completely- that was how she coped: she repressed, and internalised, and forgot. Max, however, was never content to just let the past be in the past. She liked to poke and prod and pick until she left a scar where a scab should be. Her curiosity had gotten them into this mess in the first place, and Chloe resented her for it.
She knew it was unfair. It was as much her bad karma as it was Max screwing around with the fabric of space and time itself. Still, she felt like she was the reason everyone in Arcadia Bay was dead. She was the reason that her mom was dead. That Kate, and Frank, and his stupid fucking dog were dead.
davidwarrenalyssatrevorstellabrookevictoriarachelrACHELRACHEL-.
Dead. Gone. Because of her.
Max had promised her that she would never use her rewind again. But what if Chloe’s bad luck followed them? How many times would Max have to watch her get shot again, only to rewind again, fix it again, watch it happen again, and again and again. What if it was just a vicious cycle of live, die, repeat for her whole life?
I’m never leaving you.
The words echoed in her head- she remembered saying them with such conviction, a real belief that no, Chloe Price would never let go of Max Caulfield again— but now, after everything, it was what she wanted to do most. She just wanted to leave.
Not because she didn’t love Max. No— Chloe loved her more than anyone, anything— Max Caulfield was the only thing she had left. But could she put Max though that over and over again?
She had witnessed firsthand what saving her had done to Max. The screaming in her sleep, the clawing at the faint memory of tape on her skin, the scratching her wrists until they were red and bloody— She remembered the first night after it had happened. That was when the reality of everything really hit her.
They were asleep in a motel. Well, Max was asleep. Chloe was staring into the darkness, her fingertips clutching the edge of the mattress so hard that they turned white. She was exhausted. Chloe wasn’t thinking of anything in particular— A blackness had formed, and enveloped both her body and her mind until the only things she was conscious of were Max’s shallow breaths beside her and the spring digging into her hip.
That was when it had started. It was quiet at first, small whimpers, hands curling tightly into fists, but it only got worse from there. Max had started to writhe and scream, tangled in the bedsheets and kicking furiously at the ghosts of what Chloe could only assume was Mr Jefferson.
Lights began to flicker on outside. She turned to Max, smoothing her hair from her face and pushing her fringe from her eyes, but Max thrashed and resisted her touch, her shouting growing louder and more panicked by the second. Chloe grabbed her wrists, pinning them either side of her head and did all she could.
“Max, Max, it’s me, Chloe. Please, please wake up. Please.” She said, her voice weak and hopeless as Max pulled against her grip.
“Max, Please. Please, God.” She began to sob as she spoke, all the while murmuring whatever came to mind.
“Wake up. Wake up! Please, I can’t take this, come back— Max can you hear me? Please, please, I just need you to come back!” She finished. Chloe didn’t realise she had been shouting until there was silence.
“Chloe?” Max had said, opening her eyes. They were wide with fear. Chloe didn’t respond. “You’re alive.” Max said, relief obvious in every part of her body. She pulled Chloe into a hug, clinging on so tightly that neither of them could breathe. “You’re alive, you’re alive, oh Chloe I thought— are you okay?” Max asked, feeling her whole body shake with Chloe’s sobs. Her eyes widened with the realisation that Chloe Price was crying, and this in turn meant something was very wrong.
“Hey, hey. What’s wrong?” She shushed, sitting up and pulling Chloe into her arms. Neither of them questioned how quickly the roles had switched. Max just held Chloe close as she clutched her shirt and cried into her shoulder like a child.
“You're okay.” She choked out, trying to hold back her own tears as she spoke. The words tasted bitter in her mouth. “Everything’s alright.”
It wasn’t.