October 31st, 2013 – First Choice Timeline

Dana Ward:  In the gym. By the punch.

10/31/13 – 6:25 pm

 

Dana Ward:  with your bitch.

10/31/13 – 6:25 pm

 (O_o) :Max

10/31/13 – 6:28 pm

 

??? :Max

10/31/13 – 6:28 pm

 

Dana Ward: Warren. I’m with Warren

10/31/13 – 6:29 pm

 

Dana Ward: Where r u?

10/31/13 – 6:35 pm

 

Dana Ward: Max?

10/31/13 – 6:39 pm

 

Dana Ward: Don’t make me come get u

10/31/13 – 6:45 pm

 

Dana Ward: outside your door

10/31/13 – 6:57 pm

 

Dana Ward: answer me

10/31/13 – 6:57pm

 

Dana Ward: okay, you’re not here. Do u ever lock your door?

10/31/13 – 6:59 pm

 

Maybe :Max

10/31/13 – 7:04 pm

 

Dana Ward: I will find you

10/31/13 – 7:04 pm

 

Dana Ward: MAX?

10/31/13 – 7:12 pm

 

Who’s Max? No Max here :Max

10/31/13 – 7:16 pm

Dana Ward: MAX!  (⋋⋌)

10/31/13 – 7:17 pm

 

Eep.  Be there in 10? :Max

10/31/13 -7:19 pm

 

Dana Ward: 5

10/31/13 – 7:19 pm

 

Max leaned back against the brick wall in the alley between the gymnasium and the main building, relishing in the quiet and relative seclusion that the nook provided. She closed her messages, trying to suppress the looming social anxiety that threatened to overwhelm her. Dana meant well, but Max wasn’t ready for a party. As she swiped her messages closed, a glance at her phone told her that it was 7:20. Dana had expected her by 6:30 at the latest, but Max hadn’t been able to work up the strength to join the rest of the student body inside. She couldn’t go in and dance. She couldn’t even seem to muster the strength to fake a smile. How could she be expected to pretend as if her life hadn’t ended nearly three weeks earlier in that bathroom? She just couldn’t.

No shaka brah for you.

She hadn’t gone full sexy cat either. Dana may have insisted, but Max could only give in so much. She’d dressed instead in a mish-mash of clothes from Rachel’s wardrobe and Chloe’s. She wore Rachel’s distressed jeans with Chloe’s rock chick sleep shirt under Rachel’s red flannel. Her shoes were Max’s own, and she wore her own bracelets, too, but she’d added Chloe’s spiked bracelet as well, the sharp studs and the black leather clashing with the bright pastels of her own. Odd as a pairing as they made, Max liked the effect. It was a little bit Chloe, a little bit of the innocent Max that she wished that she still knew how to be.

She topped the outfit off with the bullet necklace, although she had tucked the bullets under her shirt. That memento was less costume and more personal; something between her and Chloe alone; something not meant for the world at large. Max had briefly considered wearing Chloe’s beanie as well, but she was already at risk of being called out for wearing a Chloe costume, and though the few adornments from her own wardrobe and Rachel’s lessened the overall effect, she didn’t want to risk pushing it too far. Dressing as the girl killed on campus only three weeks prior would probably be considered in poor taste. Of course, wearing the clothes of the girl whose body Arcadia Bay PD  had dug up from the junkyard not a few days later, probably wasn’t the wisest decision either. Max reminded herself that she had her own shoes on and her own bracelets ( plus one ), at least. That had to count for something.

Yeah, probably not, she thought. Oh well . Too late to change now.

Although… 

Max seized momentarily on a different tactic. She could just go back up to her room and skip the party altogether. Max really liked that idea; but she knew it wouldn’t work and she let the brewing plan drift away as swiftly as it had begun to coalesce. She didn’t think Dana would let her get away with hiding out in the dormitories, not as insistent as her texts had been. She wouldn’t even be surprised if Dana had already sent another search and rescue team to drag her from the dorms. Her room wouldn’t be a safe haven until after the party had ended; and probably not even then if Max never bothered to show.

She wasn’t sure why Dana put so much effort in. They hadn’t ever really bonded. After the shooting, Dana had been there for her along with Kate, at least according to the previous  Max’s diary (I really need to come up with a consistent name for that other Max…), but she hadn’t noticed the pregnancy test that week, and she hadn’t had the energy to bring it up with Dana since returning herself. In that other time, that observation, that one-on-one had been the moment that the two really began to spark the beginning of a possible friendship. What spark did they share now?

And Dog, she had to be frustrating anyone that even tried to help her. Apparently she’d only taken two days off from classes after the shooting, then resumed life as normal other than taking off for Chloe’s funeral. Then, once she actually came back, once this Max returned to the time stream (?) — right before the funeral (no, no… not going there. Nopity, nope. La, la, la) — well, she shattered all over again. Dana and Kate had thought it was due to the stress of the funeral, but when she hadn’t returned to classes at all the next week, the severity of her reaction had to have been puzzling. Who completely shuts down over the loss of a friend they haven’t seen in five years?

She’d tried to return to school her second week back (last week). She’d broken down the moment she stepped foot into the Language of Photography classroom. Even without Jeffer-shit present she hadn’t had the wherewithal to face that room and all the memories that it dredged up. By the 23rd, Principal Wells had pulled her into his office, worried that she was falling too far behind, having now accumulated nearly two weeks of absences. Since then, Max had managed to go to classes about every other day, two days in a row if she was feeling particularly strong.

Yet throughout all of this struggle, she had spent nearly zero time outside of her dorm room or in visitation with Joyce. Kate managed to ease her way in every few days, and Dana almost never took no for an answer, but Max didn’t understand how they put up with her at all. She couldn’t have been good company, and outside of Kate, she hadn’t really made much effort with anyone else in this timeline. The only way she’d originally managed to befriend almost anyone outside of Kate and Warren had been through the use of her rewind, and to do that now would be an affront to Chloe’s… Chloe’s sacrifice.

Still, for some reason, Dana wasn’t giving up. Kate nor Warren either. She didn’t deserve any of them, and they definitely deserved better than her broken self. Kate had such conviction and compassion; Warren was a science prodigy and (chalking up some borderline stalker-ish behavior to his complete obliviousness) actually kind of sweet; and Dana, well, she was a spark of vibrant energy, all cheer and positivity, an absolute beauty inside and out. Max didn’t have anything to bring to the table. Without Chloe she was just a socially awkward loser hiding behind a lens, and now she didn’t even have the advantage of that latter oddity, not since the trauma still lingering from Jefferson and his Dark Room had stolen away the purity of photography from her. Every time she thought of capturing those beautiful moments in time, she couldn’t help but to hear his words:

“I’m obsessed with the idea of capturing that moment, that shift, from black, to white, to grey, and beyond.”

Max shook her head lightly, attempting to clear Mr. Jefferson’s mad ravings from her mind; to cast off his insane, psychopathic drivel before she became consumed in those memories.

She knew going to the party would be too much for her, especially with her mind already becoming mired in such dark thoughts, yet she needed to be better for Dana and for Kate. For Chloe. No, she wouldn’t be able to just hide out in the dorms. She had to try.

Not seeing much other choice but to resign herself to the Halloween bash, Max hunched over and reached into her messenger bag (and hey that’s not Chloe’s nor Rachel’s either!) and pulled out that  stupid pair of cat ears and the fingerless cat paw gloves. Slipping them on, she decided she’d done her due diligence and gone as full sexy cat costume as she was willing to go.

C+ for effort.

Max settled back against the brick wall once more. Dana was clearly disappointed waiting for Max somewhere in the chaos of the gym, and Max knew that she should go find her, but Dana would have to wait a little bit longer. Max needed to collect herself before going inside.

She pulled out a cigarette from a pack in her bag. It wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted something that would make her forget. These had the opposite effect, so thick with the scent of Chloe. It had taken her a couple of tries before she had found the right brand, but she had it now and every time she lit one, she could smell Chloe there with her.

Not the best strategy for forgetting, doofus. 

She supposed not, but it was what it was.

She had seen Frank at the funeral. She wasn’t ready to think about that right now (la, la, la… still not going there); that day was still too raw. Yet, after the service, she could remember hearing Pompidou off across the cemetery some one hundred yards or so from the funeral itself, and Max had seen Frank there watching from behind a tree, trying to be so discreet.

A Blackwell ninja he was not.

She could have asked him to get her something harder; something real; something that would actually make her forget; definitely something more than a pack of cigarettes. The thought had crossed her mind more than once, but Frank was dangerous. She hadn’t bonded with him any more than she had with Dana (much less actually); there had been no clandestine Max and Chloe investigation into Rachel, not in this timeline. No, she had erased that bond the moment she went back and let Chloe…

No. Dog, no. We aren’t thinking about that either. La, la, la, la, la, la.

Anyway, Frank didn’t know her now, and he’d just lost both Rachel and Chloe. No telling what mindset he was in. With Jefferson and Prescott arrested, he likely had connected the dots already; knew his role in his great loves’ death. Yeah, that mindset of his was likely far from healthy at the moment. Considering her previous encounters with a slightly less traumatized Frank Bowers had often ended with Chloe dead, or him dead, or even his dog shot ( poor Pompidou ), there was no telling what would happen now. Hell, Max still couldn’t believe she’d even pulled the trigger on him in the junkyard. Yes, the gun had been out of bullets, but she hadn’t known that. She really was a murderer at heart, wasn’t she?

No, going to Frank for… for party favors… that was not a wise idea. She’d be as likely to get shot or stabbed as she would be to get high. Of course, then she’d be dead. The thought had crossed her mind. The past nearly three weeks had been too painful already. Max wasn’t sure how much longer she could continue on like this; but then again, Chloe wouldn’t want her dead. She had wanted to save Arcadia Bay — sacrificed herself to do so; she had probably envisioned Max as part of the Arcadia Bay that she had been saving when she offered to die in that bathroom.

Stupid, selfish Chloe, wanting everyone to be happy and alive. 

Of course, I’m not happy. Am I even alive?

Max took a light drag off the cigarette, and immediately fell into a coughing fit. Not as bad as the first few times she had tried, but she hadn’t gotten the hang of smoking yet. Still, wearing the clothes she had pulled from Chloe’s closet, all thick with the scent of her, and enhanced by the dense, woody smell of the cigarette smoke upon which Max was choking, Max could pretend that Chloe was there with her. As she closed her eyes, she could almost feel her there beside her.

Her right arm tingled, as if sensing Chloe’s warmth, and Max could feel her skin prickle that way it does when you’re in the presence of someone you love, when you can feel them watching you and the air is laced with the anticipation of first contact.

Love? First contact? Where’s your mind tonight, Max? You only had her back in your life for five days.

Five horrible, wonderful, confusing days.

She kept her eyes closed trying to ward off thoughts of what might have been, and breathed in once more off of her cigarette, Chloe’s warmth sliding ever closer, and the goose pimples of anticipation increasing. As she exhaled, this time keeping her coughing to a minimum, she felt her cigarette pulled from between her fingers, and Max shot her eyes open in surprise.

“What the –”

“Who’re you supposed to be? Kari Amber?”

Beside her, Victoria Chase lifted the cigarette to her own lips glaring over at Max and then rolling her eyes. She wore a light, silky, cerulean dress embroidered with gold patterning. The sleeveless dress clasped together at the shoulders by golden rings, and had a plunging neckline that formed a sharp V ending just below Victoria’s chest as it tapered into a lightly V-shaped, six-inch, corset-like waist band. The whole dress had an airy, almost hippie-like feel, yet also had an opulence and elegance that shouted wealth. A plastic dragon rested perched on Victoria’s shoulder, partially hidden beneath the long platinum blonde wig that concealed her usual pixie-cut.

“What?”

“Nothing. Dumb thing to say, anyway.” Victoria took a deep drag then exhaled slowly and smoothly without a single cough. Max reached over for the cigarette, but Victoria had a good three inches on Max, and that was before taking into account her heels. She held the cigarette above her head and just out of Max’s reach.

“Give that back, Khaleesi.”

“No.” Victoria lowered it and took another drag, then raised it back up over her head, continuing the game of keep away. She did, however, seem somewhat pleased that Max had recognized her costume, her lips betraying the slightest hint of a begrudging smile. “These things’ll kill you, you know.”

“Good.”

At that, Victoria at least had the decency to cock a questioning eyebrow at Max, who apparently had given up on retrieving her cigarette and begun rummaging through her messenger bag. Whatever Victoria was thinking, she didn’t let it stop her from being her usual terrible self.

“Halloween selfie time?”

Max ignored her, seizing on the pack stuffed next to her camera, and slipping out a fresh cigarette. She raised it to her lips and cupped her hand, preparing to light it, when she felt a sharp pain in her finger and dropped the cancer stick.

“Ow. You flicked me!”

“No, I didn’t,” Victoria said, her index finger and thumb still tensed together as if ready to do it again.

Max shook her head, and grabbed another cigarette.

“Ow.” She dropped yet another one. “You did it, again?”

“I think I made myself clear.”

“What the hell do you care if I smoke? It’s not like we’re friends.” Max immediately regretted her words. That might have been a bit harsh.

“I don’t and we aren’t.”

Okay, nevermind. Not harsh enough.

Max reached once more for her pack, but this time Victoria didn’t even wait for Max to get a cigarette out. She snatched the whole pack away, squeezed and crushed it as best as she could, and then threw  the crumpled container of bent and broken cigarettes off into the bushes.

“What the hell! Those cost me nine dollars.”

“Boohoo.”

They sat in silence for a moment, Max slouching into a pout, while Victoria ignored her. She couldn’t figure the girl out. Victoria was a bit — a terrible person. She was the bully of Blackwell, and though Max knew a better person hid in there somewhere, she didn’t get the chance to bring her out in this timeline, so why in the world was Victoria trying to stop her from smoking? She even admitted that she didn’t care if Max smoked (not buying that one) and that they weren’t friends (okay that one seems more believable), so why was she sitting there smoking Max’s cigarette and playing keepaway with her freakishly long arms? Like Chloe’s freakishly long — nope, nope, nope. Total nope.

As Max tried to clear her head of that unwanted comparison, Victoria averted her eyes and spoke.

“You don’t smoke.”

And before this week, Victoria would have been right. But now… Whatever. What was the point of this anyway? Apparently Victoria had decided to be Max’s evil fairy godmother, and Max didn’t seem to get a say in it one way or the other. But why?

As if in answer, Victoria took another drag, then turned back to Max, her eyes cold and determined; a ‘we’re about to have a serious conversation’ face if Max had ever seen one.

“I don’t like what you’re doing to Kate.”

Um… okay. That was unexpected. But what the hell was Victoria talking about? Max had lost her best friend. She needed space. She wasn’t doing anything to Kate.

“I don’t like your face.” So there, Victoria.

Victoria’s eyes widened, then she shook her head, and… dammit! Was Victoria Chase laughing at her?

“Seriously?  You’re no good at being a bitch, Caulfield.”

Max smiled for the first time in days. Was Victoria actually trying to be nice to her – you know, in her own weird evil, eldritch horror way? Max figured she might as well play along and see where this went. She didn’t have anything better to do, did she? It’s not like she really wanted to head inside to that dance.

“There’s room for improvement,” she said.

“A metric shit ton of room.”

“I like to see… to see the good in people.”

“Now you sound like Kate.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

A flash of anger stole over Victoria’s eyes at that. “No, no, that’s not a bad thing.” It looked as if she had something more to say, something fierce, but whatever it was, Victoria showed an uncharacteristic amount of restraint and kept it to herself. Taking another drag from Max’s cigarette (and Max was very cognizant that it was her cigarette that Victoria was smoking), Victoria collected herself before continuing. “It’s not a bad thing, but for someone that says she wants to see the good, you’re treating Kate like crap.” She placed an added focus on the words ‘see the good’ that seemed to imply that Max was doing anything but good.

“I’m not treating her like anything. I’ve… I’ve got…”

What do I have , Max thought, then seized on the first thing that came to mind.

“I have my own problems right now.”

Why was she even telling Victoria any of this? Couldn’t the queen beatch just leave her alone already?

“Exactly,” Victoria said. “You’ve got your own problems. You’re probably her best friend here, and you spend most of your time ignoring her. You saw someone shot –”

“— NO, no! Not someone! Chloe! Chloe Price!”

Victoria raised her hands defensively. “Whoa there, Ripley!”

Did she just make an Aliens reference? Alien? Oh please say it wasn’t Alien: Resurrection.

“Don’t you dare trivialize her!”

“Don’t rip my head off. Not what I’m doing here.”

“Okay,” Max started. “So, what are you doing?”

Victoria didn’t answer her right away; didn’t even look at her. The two girls both stood there, leaning against the sidewall of the gymnasium, one smoking the other’s cigarette, each seemingly ignoring the other, as the silence between them widened, only broken by the rhythmic thrum and bass of the music pouring from the gym. Finally, Max pulled at the strap of her messenger bag, making sure it was steady on her shoulder and prepared to leave, unable to take the silence any longer. Let Victoria keep her secrets.

“Just hear me out,” Victoria interjected.

Max paused and waited, agitated when rather than continuing Victoria remained silent. With one more drag from her cigarette (still mine!), Victoria ended her silence.

“Your… friend was shot in front of you. Kate, Kate was… she was drugged and tormented and… and…” She paused, the words caught in her throat. Max could tell Victoria was struggling with something, but she’d had her limit of Victoria already; she wouldn’t be throwing out any life preservers.

“She was drugged and tormented and… and bullied. I don’t know if you know it, but I went to see her after Nathan… after he was arrested. I had to… look, I apologized okay. Don’t give me that look.”

I wasn’t giving her a look. Sensitive much? Rather than voice her thoughts, Max simply returned the same defensive raised hands gesture that Victoria had flashed towards her moments earlier. Seemingly satisfied, Victoria continued.

“I went and I apologized. You know what she did? Kate fucking forgave me. Fuck! Who does that?”

“Kate.”

“Yeah, Kate Saint-of-Blackwell Beverly Mother-Teresa-Doesn’t-Have-Anything-On-Me Marsh.”

“I think she just goes by Kate.”

At first, Victoria just remained there, leaning against the wall, her face cold and unreadable; then a quiver twitched at her lip, which, surprisingly, was followed by an irrepressible burst of laughter; and Max was laughing, too. If one didn’t know better, and stumbled across the two girls in that moment, they would have easily mistaken them for old friends out taking a breather from the dance.

Slowly, the laughter began to subside, and Victoria cocked a wary glance back at Max.

“Don’t try to make me like you.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Good.”

Gradually, the awkward silence returned between the two, slowly displacing the fading laughter. Max knew she should say something, but Victoria was the one that started the two of them down this path. It was her show now.

“As I was saying,” Victoria resumed. “I apologized. She forgave me. Big whoop, right? No. I saw her room. Her blinds were drawn shut, her place was a mess; hell even her mirror was covered. She couldn’t even look at herself. I’ve seen that shit before. Doesn’t matter where.”

It sure as shit does , Max thought. She knew what it meant because she had seen the signs during that lost week, and she had witnessed firsthand where it led; but how did Victoria know?

“It does matter,” Max said.

“Not right now it doesn’t. Point is, I know where things were heading for her, and I drove her there. I did that.”

Oh Dog. Is Victoria looking to cry on my shoulder? I’m so not ready for this.

“I’m glad you apologized, that you care,” Max interrupted. She knew she should try to comfort Victoria, but she didn’t have the emotional stamina right then to be anyone’s rock, so she took a different approach. “I’m really glad that you care. Honest. I just don’t see what this has to do with crushing my cigarettes and putting me out nine dollars.”

“Fuck!”

Instantly, Victoria pulled a wad of cash out of her wallet (where the hell did she hide a wallet in that dress) and slapped a twenty in Max’s hand.

“Shut up about the money already. I’m saying you and her, you both went through some traumatic shit, okay. And me, I’m a piece of work. I’m not who Kate needs. You on the other hand, you’re supposed to be her best friend. You’re the only one who probably has the slightest clue what she’s going through, because… you know…”

I know what? She didn’t bother prompting Victoria. She’d get there on her own.

“You know… you’re going through some dark shit, too, okay?”

“…okay…” Max stared at the twenty in her hands. She wasn’t looking for charity, but Victoria did put her out a pack of cigarettes. She pocketed the bill, wondering how late the convenience store down by the Two Whales stayed open, then realized that Victoria was staring at her. Max hadn’t heard a word Victoria had been saying for the past thirty seconds or so. Just nod along and agree, Max. Maybe she won’t notice.

“Yes?” Max nodded.

“Hell, Caulfield, get your head out of your waif hipster ass.”

Okay… I think she noticed. Max paused for a moment, then attempted to deflate the situation.

“What does that even mean? I have a thin ass? My ass defies the cultural mainstream?”

She was going for a Chloe deflection, but she was pretty sure she failed miserably. You aren’t funny Max. You’re just pathetic.

“It means it isn’t all about you, Max. Your friend needs you and you’re shutting her out, you oblivious selfie whore.”

Yeah, pretty sure I missed the mark on that deflection.

Silence crept back in and Max wondered if anyone had ever actually died from awkwardness before. She also felt pretty confident that she shouldn’t let that selfie whore comment go unanswered, though really she didn’t have much energy to put up a fight.

“I thought we were trying to play nice.”

“No one changes over night. And I stand by my words.”

Yeah. Max guessed she couldn’t really expect Victoria to back down. That would be too much of a miracle and her life hadn’t been handing too many of those out lately. She also knew that Victoria had a point about Kate, much as Max hated to admit it. Max hadn’t been a good friend since she returned. She’d barely left her room, patting herself on the back the few times that she had attended classes, which was about a third of the time at best; and when she wasn’t in class, she was hiding in her dorm ignoring everyone. Still, she didn’t need to admit that to Victoria. That was like baring your neck to a wild animal.

“Okay. Can I have my cigarette back now?”

Victoria jammed the heel of her palm into her eye. “Did you listen to a word I just said?!”

“Yes. You think my ass is waifish and a hipster.”

At that, Victoria cut her eyes at Max, and Max took a step back. She’d faced off against frightening and seemingly insurmountable dangers in that week that was lost. She’d faced down the local dealer, a manic, psychotic Prescott, an abusive step-douche, a bonafide serial killer/kidnapper/photographer, and an otherworldly tornado hellbent on wiping Arcadia Bay off the map. Max had learned a thing or two about facing her fears; but when Victoria glared at her, she still managed to shrink into herself, leaving all the confidence that she had gained behind and succumbing to the shy, anxious, and scared little girl that had first enrolled at Blackwell.

Max decided to cut her losses and acquiesce.

“You also think I’ve been ignoring Kate and need to do better.”

Victoria nods, seemingly approving of Max’s shift in demeanor. “Better.”

Max hated caving to Victoria like that though. Not after everything that she had been through. So, she just couldn’t keep her mouth shut.

“Now I can have my cigarette?”

Victoria snapped instantly.

“Okay, cut the shit. What’s with this… getup,” Victoria waved, gesturing at all of Max. “And this,” she continued, now signaling at the cigarette in her hands, “… this punk ass wannabe bullshit? I mean, you’re free to self implode all you want, I couldn’t care less, but seriously?”

“I like the smell,” Max said. “It reminds me… of someone.”

Max was tired of justifying herself, but she really wanted this whole conversation over. She wanted to smoke her cigarette, and wallow.

Victoria stopped mid drag, her eyes locking on Max at her admission. A flicker of something danced in her eyes; sympathy perhaps? Max couldn’t be certain; it vanished in an instant.

Victoria pulled the stub her cigarette away and exhaled a steady stream of smoke into Max’s face.

“There. Smell away.”

“You’re not Chloe,” Max blurted, though she wasn’t sure why she said it. It was just that Victoria was so close, and smoking Chloe’s cigarettes, and the smell of Chloe was all over Max, rolling over her, embedded in every seam and stitch of the clothes that she wore. Max bit her lower lip and stumbled back. She didn’t want to think about Chloe; she couldn’t think about Chloe. She was practically dressed as Chloe. Fuck, she was a total contradiction right now. She could feel the tears building as she looked back up to Victoria.

There was a look of concern on Victoria’s face, but as Max’s eyes met hers, that look vanished, replaced with her usual steely exterior. She flicked what was left of Max’s cigarette back at her.

“Get your shit together, Caulfield.”

With that Victoria turned from Max and stormed off around the corner.

Max slid down the wall, snatching the cigarette from the sidewalk where it had landed and taking a deep drag. She coughed, hunched over her knees, and let the tears come.