March 17, 2013 – Current Timeline (Photo Jump)

Chloe could hear her voice, Rachel’s voice. White washed over the world, her vision blinded by light, yet there was her voice calling to her, as if echoing through a great void.

“Just pose for the camera, bitch.” Her laughter echoed in that void and Chloe knew she would do whatever this girl asked, fuck the consequences.

“Fuck that. Keep quiet before step-ass hears.” That was her voice, her own voice now, there in the white-washed echo. She remembered this. They had just come back from a Firewalk concert in Portland. They had snuck out on Friday night after Rachel got back from Blackwell for a belated birthday weekend. What better way to kick off Chloe’s nineteenth year than with a remaster of their first concert together — her and Rachel wreaking havoc in Portland. Well it might have been better if it had been at the Mill, just for old-time’s sake, but that ship had sailed, and Chloe sure as hell wasn’t telling Rachel that. No need to roll over and show her soft, mushy underbelly. That shit was dangerous. Although…

Head out of the gutter, Chloe.

“I need something to show for Jefferson’s class tomorrow.”

“Hell no. I’m not posing for your pervy teacher.”

“Come on. Play nice.”

“Here. Best I can do.”

A click sounded as the flash went off and the world slowly faded into focus. Chloe was in her room, Rachel leaning against her, both angled down posing for the camera in Rachel’s outstretched arm. Chloe had her middle finger extended. She never had liked Jeffer-shit. He’d been way too hipster, and yeah, fuck, she realized that between his poser, hipster bullshit, and his photography, he might as well have been a substitute punching bag for Max, but fuck him. Plus she knew better now. He was nothing like Max; he was a psychopath, and —

— Wait a second. I’m in my room and Rachel freaking Amber is right…

Chloe pivoted spotting Rachel leaning over her viewfinder, checking out the still of the two of them. “I don’t know, Chloe. I think it captures you. Cuts right down to your true self. Hard exterior, but a gooey, soft core.”

Fuck that. I’m hella hardcore. That’s what she was supposed to say; what she had said, originally. But… but Rachel Amber was right beside her. Rachel Amber for whom she had been searching for six months; Rachel Amber, her angel; Rachel Amber who they found in the junkyard, buried, decomposing — No. Rachel Amber, her angel. Hold with that.

“No witty comeback? You okay?” Rachel shot her a glance, running her hand back through that long, sandy blonde hair, giving Chloe an unimpeded view of her perfect face and that signature blue feather earring hanging down from her left ear.

Hell yes, I’m okay. You’re alive. You’re fucking alive. And I’m going to… I need to…

Rachel tilted Chloe’s face towards hers until their eyes locked. She was staring right into her, melting away her defenses like she always did, and she was there, and —

Chloe ran her hands into Rachel’s hair, seizing at the back of her head, grabbing tight to that soft perfect hair, gathering it around her fingers and holding on for dear life. She leaned in, pressing hard into Rachel until their lips met with a teasing brush, a tease of the kiss to come. She licked lightly at her lips, wet them, and pushed back in until this time the two locked together, meeting with a hard, insatiable desire. Chloe nibbled on Rachel’s lower lip, then flicked her tongue across it, parting those lips, and pressing in for a long, deep, and — fuck that’s passionate — much needed kiss. She had forgotten the faint cherry lip gloss taste of Rachel’s kisses, and Chloe held there, enraptured, lost in six months of fear and worry and longing. She held there and the two held together, united in a need too long denied, until at last…

…finally Chloe pulled away.

“Not complaining, but where’d that come from?”

Oh shit. She’d just kissed Rachel Amber. Rachel that had been cheating on her with Frank ‘Skeevy’ Bowers of all people. Rachel who had been lying to her for months. This Rachel right here. She was already seeing Bowers, flirting with Jefferson, making plans to escape to LA with anyone that would listen; anyone that would buy her bullshit. Chloe was angry at her. She was furious at her.

My God, that girl was beautiful. Fuck, Price; you’re mad, not some cheesy schoolgirl with a crush. Show some God-damned, mother-fucking backbone.

Rachel’s expression shifted swiftly from that post-kiss ambrosia, to longing, to confusion. Damn it. She’s reading you. You can’t fucking hide your emotions. She always knows.

“Okay, so, now you’re pissed. One second you’re complaining about taking a photo, then you’re kissing me like there’s no tomorrow, and now what, you’re mad at me? What the hell, Price?”

This was so not how this was supposed to go. Rachel should already be on her way out the window by now. She needed to get back to the Amber residence and her asshole dad so she could work her weird devil magic to skate out of any consequences for their impromptu weekend getaway and how she had ignored his texts all weekend; that and get back to Blackhell before tomorrow morning’s classes. She was supposed to be gone and Chloe would have had her room clear for Operation ‘Save Your Backstabbing Ex from Her Pervy, Psychopathic Photography Teacher and His Sith Apprentice.’ The name still needed some workshopping, but it fit in a pinch. Instead, Chloe’s damn emotions were flashing in neon letters on her sleeve again, and Rachel Amber didn’t appear to be going anywhere.

Chloe moved over to her desk, digging and sifting through the layers of parking tickets, papers, and fossilized crap that she’d let settle there. When you don’t have an answer, deflect or ignore. Always sound advice.

“Chloe, answer me.” Oh damn. She shifted gears, out of angry and confused and into that soft sultry voice. Chloe hated that gear. That one that said, it’s okay, I’m here for you, just do me this one thing and I’ll make everything alright. Well fuck that. She can’t make this alright. She fucking broke this bed and burned the mattress. She can sleep in the god-damned ashes.

“See, there it is again,” Rachel said. “You’re seriously pissed off. What? Is this about those frat dudes at the venue? I was toying with them, babe. You know that.”

No, it wasn’t about those frat dudes, but damn, wasn’t that just the problem? She was always toying. God damnit, Chloe Elizabeth Price. Focus on the mission. 

As Chloe snapped herself from her wandering thoughts, she noticed Rachel’s hand reaching up towards her chin. Oh no, that wasn’t happening. She was going to run that silky soft index finger along her jawline while gently angling Chloe’s face towards her own until Chloe went all weak-kneed and gave her whatever she wanted. It was like some god damn, R-Rated, Rachel Amber specialty, Jedi mindfuck.

Chloe dodged out of Rachel’s reach, rushing across the room to her closet and began tossing it like she was robbing the place. Fuck it. The place already looked like it had been ransacked. Not like anyone will be able to tell the difference. Jesus. I let Max see my room like this. Oh crap, Max was flirting with me. Max had been flirting with her and she just kissed Rachel freaking Amber… seven months in the past… two minutes after Max flirted with her… God damn mind-splitting time shenanigans. Oh God. I’ve only been hanging with Max for five days and she’s already got me thinking shit like shenanigans. Fucking hippie is ruining me.

Focus!

“Chloe!” Rachel had her hands on her hips and her perfect face tilted in an ‘I mean business’ slant. Damn. Amber was switching back to anger. Like full-on, heated anger. Angry Amber was chaos; angry amber was unpredictable.

“You’re going to alert, Sgt. Pepper.” Chloe threw more shit out of her closet. Crap where was her diary? When was the last time she’d even written in that thing? It had been great for crafting angry letters to Max, but ever since Rachel showed up, well she just hadn’t had as much need to vent her anger at her imaginary pen pal.

“Fuck, step-ladder.”

“Oh, God. Don’t call him that.”

“If you don’t tell me what’s going on, I’ll alert the whole neighborhood.”

“Just, I need to find my diary.” Chloe peeked over her shoulder. Yep, window was open. Wouldn’t be hard for angry Amber to hulk out and let the whole neighborhood in on their business. Oh hell… Chloe’s eyes widened as she caught the full-on, LSD, acid trip of an aurora outside her window. Although, aurora was the wrong word. This was more like a gigantic cigarette burn in a film strip, only it took over the whole damn sky, painting everything beyond her room in this bright white and flickering orange that just made no damn sense. What the fuck does time-travel have to do with photography anyway? Fucking time-travel, and journals, and cigarette-reel skies like I’m living in some sort of video memory. Damn if Chloe Price was going to accept some Butterfly Effect Ashton Kutcher flick as the bible of time travel. Hell to the no.

“Chloe, I swear — wait, did you say diary?”

Damn it to hell. Angry Rachel vanished and switched gears straight into stubborn inquisitive. She’d just received a lead on a new toy, and no way Rach was letting that go.

“Rach.” Chloe needed to nip this and fast.

“You did, you said, diary.” Damn. That’s a swing and a miss.

“No, I didn’t,” Chloe tossed one last shelf, throwing out a box of old Max junk that she’d been too pissed to keep out and too hurt to let go — old drawings and hand-made comics, pirate gear, and even relics from their time capsule, complete with tape recorder and Max’s taped farewell. She’d spent too many hours listening to that goodbye. Still no diary, though.

“Ugh. Where is it?” Chloe tugged at her hair. How much time did she have here? Max said time was limited, right? Was that a few minutes? Five minutes? Ten? How much time had she been here already?

“You did. You said diary. Chloe Price has a diary.” Oh God, Amber’s grin had gone nuclear. If that girl found her diary, Chloe was never getting her out of this room, and she needed to get a message to her past self, her future self, her past-future self. Aargh. Whatever.

“Don’t you need to get back to Daddy Dearest?”

“Oh, he can so wait. You have a secret diary and I just realized exactly how you can make up for flipping out on me.”

“Aren’t all diaries secret? Wait — how I can make up to you?” Rachel Amber had been cheating on her for who knows how long. Sure, they hadn’t defined their relationship. Rachel Amber didn’t like labels, and Chloe didn’t really have enough friends to risk the one’s she had on forcing the issue (especially those friends that were most definitely, 100%, undefined but definitively more than friends), but still, Rachel knew how Chloe felt. Rachel should have told her what was going on. Yet here she is, here Rachel is, thinking I owe her an apology.

“You are NOT reading my diary.” Chloe moved over to the junk-pile flowing from the shelves near her Hi-Fi. That diary had to be here somewhere.

“So you admit you  have a secret diary.” Man, why couldn’t Rachel pipe down? Chloe just wanted to save her life, but Rachel, no Rachel had her eyes on a new shiny prize and had decided to play Rachel Amber mind games, which just wasn’t fair; Chloe’s brain was already fried from time travel nonsense, she didn’t need mind games added into the mix.

“They’re all secret, Rach. That’s why they’re diaries.” Chloe snuck another peek out her window. Shit. Was that fucking weird ass cigarette-reel aurora closer?

“What do you keep looking for out there?”

“An airplane engine.”

“What?”

“When are you going to watch Donnie Darko already?” Deflect and destroy. You got this.

“No, no. You are not deflecting.” Fuck. Another swing and a miss. And shit, when did this become a baseball analogy? Damn step-douche has been watching his sportsball too much. He’s ruining your idioms.

“I want to know about this diary,” Rachel continued, disrupting her mind tangent, and plopping down on the edge of Chloe’s bed patting the mattress beside her as if to invite Chloe over. Oh, and there’s that seductive smirk. Stop trying to play me, Rach. Kind of on a mission here.

“There’s nothing to tell.” Nope. Not by the hi-fi. Fuck! Under the bed?

Chloe stormed over to the bed, Rachel’s eyes lighting up momentarily, until Chloe shifted, leaning down and peering under the mattress.

“Tease.”

“Busy here.”

“So what’s this diary look like? Please tell me it has unicorns and rainbows. Ooh! And glitter! Can it please be written in glitter ink?”

“It is NOT written in glitter ink. It’s dark and cool and punk and none of your business.” Chloe stole another glance. Shit, again. Now she couldn’t even see her window; the cigarette burn aurora time cloud whosamajigit actually breaching into her house and cutting right through her desk. Was she out of ti —

— wait a second. The whole video effect was gone and now it was just her room and clear skies beyond. Max never mentioned that. Did I break it? Fuck, I broke it, didn’t I? Oh, nope. There it is again. The strange aurora returned, one instant gone and the next back again, now once more beyond her window; although it did look like it was closing in now, and fast. Shit, fuck, damn, motherfucking cock-ass, stupid non-sensical, physics-defying time-travel bullshit (ha — I didn’t call them shenanigans that time, you hippie).

“Jeez, Chloe. You could at least play along a little. What’s up your ass all of a sudden?” Damn it. Still on this diary. Can’t she just drop it.

“Just shut up about the damn diary for a second, will you!”

“Well damn. Tell me how you really feel.”  Really. That’s what she wanted. Chloe could totally do that.

“Fuck it, why don’t I?” Chloe snapped to her feet, standing tall and pushing into Rachel’s space. She blew it. That damn photo, video timefield crap was closing in. Chloe was out of time, so fuck Max’s way. She’d have to do this in pure Chloe freestyle.

“Chloe?” Rachel looked, not afraid, but shocked. Chloe had never really let loose on her before had she? This girl had Chloe wrapped around her finger and she had known, always known, that the one thing Chloe wouldn’t risk losing was her. Well, she’d lost her anyway, so fuck holding back. She had a mission. She had to keep this dumb, beautiful, horrible, manipulative, wonderful angel alive and, right now, that meant getting right in her face. She had to keep her away from Jefferson and Nathan and make sure she stayed safe until her Max was back.

“For once, just shut up and listen to me, okay.”

“Fine,” Rachel said. “But you keep yelling and step-douche will be up here in no time flat.”

“Fuck step-douche. Fuck him and his penis-envying, limp dick muscle cars. I couldn’t give a rat’s ass right now, what he says. I don’t give a shit about him, or your fucking two-faced asshole of a father, or the god damn neighbors or any of them. Just fucking listen.”

She didn’t even say anything back. Rachel Amber had just been knocked speechless. Score one for Chloe Price.

“I don’t have much time. In a minute I ain’t going to remember shit. Not since you snapped that photo.”

“What?”

“No interruptions.”

“Chloe! Who do you have up there!” Oh Good. Cue Step-dick.

Chloe shot over and locked her door, then kicked a shelf in front of it for good measure, not once stopping her rant as she did.

“I ain’t gonna remember shit, okay.” Oh crap, the Southern’s coming out. Stupid Joyce. Push on Price. “I’ll be all like, whoa, what happened to my room and weren’t you taking my photo or some such shit, and what’s up step-dick’s ass?” Dick’s ass. Chloe snorted. What was she, twelve?

Outside her room, David started pounding on her door. “Chloe, I don’t care who you have in there, you let me in!” Well, totally ignoring that. Moving on.

“But that doesn’t fucking matter okay. What matters is you listen to me. I need you to do what I say. I need you to stay the fuck away from —” From whom , she thought. From Jefferson, her teacher. From Nathan, her old Vortex buddy. God damn it, this wasn’t going to be easy. And dammit, it sure would fucking help if my step-ass would stop pounding at my door. He’s making it impossible to think straight. “Stay away from Frank,” she continued.

Oh wait. Crap. Foot. Mouth. Wrong name. Though fuck Frank. She can stay away from him, too.

“Chloe, I will take this door right off its hinges.” Oooh. He was using that stern, I used to be in military voice, now. Like that would somehow magically work for the first time ever.

“Great,” Chloe yelled back. “You do that. Just stop pounding on my door for one damned minute.”

“That’s it, Chloe. I’m getting my tools.”

“You’re a tool.” Okay, that one was weak. You’re losing focus, Chloe.

“Backup,” Rachel broke in. “Stay away from Frank? Your dealer?”

“No. Damn it. I meant Jefferson.”

“My photography teacher?”

Hey, Chloe thought. No more knocking. The tool’s actually gone down for his tools. Oh yeah, right. Rach. Keep away from Frank, no Jefferson, no — fuck!

“God bless it. No. Fuck. Words listen to my god damn brain. Prescott. You need to stay the fuck away from Prescott.”

“Hell, Chloe. Are there any guys I am allowed to see?”

“Oh, don’t act all high and mighty, like you aren’t banging that pig Frank behind my back.”

Rachel’s jaw shut tight. Yeah, I thought that would shut you up.

“I mean, fuck, I always say everybody pretends to care until they don’t, but you, you were supposed to be better than that.”

“I am.”

“No. Fuck that. Fuck everybody. You straight up lied to my face. You! How can I trust anybody now? Just one more coat of shit on my life.”

Rachel stood, heading towards the open window. “You know what, why don’t we talk after you cool down?”

“No. You need to just fucking listen. You betrayed me. I’m just asking that you stay away from Prescott.”

“You mean Bowers.”

“Him, too. And Jefferson.”

“See, I get Bowers, though shit Chloe, how long have you been stalking me?” She paused briefly, halfway out the window, straddling Chloe’s desk as she eased out onto the roof, looking for a moment like she actually wanted an answer, then shook her head. “No,” she continued, “we’ll come back to that. I want to know why Prescott and Jefferson. Hell, Mark’s my teacher. I can’t very well stay away from him.”

Outside Chloe’s door a new clatter broke through their argument as a heavy thud landed just beyond the door. Great. Step-fuck had his tools. As if to punctuate her point, David cut in.

“If I have to take this door down there are going to be serious consequences, soldier.”

“Consider this a mutiny,” Chloe yelled back, then returned her attention to Rachel, who was now fully out the window, and preparing to jump down from the awning. “And, as for Jeffer-shit,” she yelled, returning her ire on Rachel, “you can maybe not meet up with him after hours for private sessions.”

Rachel paused, kneeling with one hand on the ledge, ready to completely make her exit. She peeked over her shoulder, tears and mascara streaming down her face. “Am I just sleeping around the whole school in that delusional head of yours?”

“I don’t know. Are you? I’m not the one banging a skeezy drug dealer and cheating on her girlfriend.”

“You’re not my girlfriend!” Punctuating her point, Rachel leapt down vanishing within the closing time aurora.

“Well fuck you very much!” Chloe smacked her own head, hitting peak frustration levels.

And with that, the door fell back off its hinges, David looking quite smug with his tools and his porn stache.

“And fuck you, too, for good measure,” Chloe yelled, whipping around towards her step-ass, middle fingers flying. “Why don’t you go eat a bag of dicks?”

Before David could respond the white, cigarette-burn, aurora bullshit, timefield nonsense snapped closed and all blurred once more to white.

Well, fuck. That could have gone slightly better.