Chapter Text
Hey. Can you meet me on the beach. Soon?
Why
I have to tell you something :(
NO EMOJI.
:(
Fine. Be there asap
Chloe’s legs carry her there of their own free will. Her brain hitches along for the ride. For the past month or so, it’s felt like the world just moves around her, her limbs sticking like she’s drowning in a melting bowl of sticky-sweet ice cream. I’m sorry for your loss. It gets easier every day. Whatever.
She calls to Joyce on the way out the door, “I’m going out”, and Joyce hmm’s over the white noise of the TV, a noise of acknowledgement, maybe.
It’s orange outside. Pink. The sun behind the clouds, hiding away, ready for oncoming of night. Chloe’s Keds crunch gravel beneath them, she walks down the pathway to the sand.
Max is standing there, her ugly headband and knock-knees, and she tucks her phone in her pocket as Chloe approaches. They meet, about a foot between one another, and Max gestures to a bench where they quickly take their perch.
The lighthouse stands in solitude off in the distance. A seagull sounds ahead, making lazy loops over the water.
Max takes a deep breath.
“Don’t hate me…”
Chloe clenches her eyes shut. “Hate you? Why? Oh, I get it, I’m such a Debbie Downer you don’t want to hang out with me anymore, right?”
“Chloe…” Max looks at her hands. When she looks back up, there are tears in her eyes. “I don’t… know how to tell you this.”
“I’ve had more than enough bad news lately. Trust me, dude, I can handle it.”
Max licks her chapped lips. Chloe watches her tongue slot back into her mouth. Then looks away.
“My parents, I mean, we’re… Chloe, we’re moving away.”
“What?” Chloe shoots to her feet, turns on Max, who’s leaning inward, gut-punched. “Seriously? When?”
“This weekend…”
“And you couldn’t tell me a little in advance so that I had some fuckin’ time to prepare myself for my best--” Her voice catches,”--friend up and bailing on me too!?”
“I’m sorry!” Max starts crying, and all of a sudden Chloe feels like the biggest dick, dropping down beside her on the bench. She throws an arm over her smaller friend, pulls her against her chest. “I’m s-sorry, Chloe, I just. It’s been so hard. I didn’t-- you’ve been so--”
“Yeah… I know. Shut up, stupid.”
Her nose presses against Max’s neck, and she’s smells a little like sweat, but under that, the clean smell of that familiar shampoo.
They sit there like that. Pink takes a deeper hue, night blossoms over Arcadia Bay. The whales call in the distance, a sad song echoing over the rolling waves, and it hurts. Just a long, aching, endless hurt.
Max’s fingers curl over her wrist. “Chloe. I promise I’ll call you and text you and write you letters every day, okay?”
“You promise?”
“Yeah! I promise.” Chloe pulls away, wipes her nose with the back of her hand. She wasn’t crying a little bit.
Max’s eyelashes are beaded with tears, a spider’s web glimmering with morning dew.
“I’m never leaving you. Not really. We’ll be best friends forever.”
Chloe smiles, the dry corners of her mouth cracking with the effort. She tastes blood.
Forever means nothing to her.
She goes to school, but it doesn’t matter.
She eats at the diner, but it doesn’t matter.
Max texts her sometimes, a Hey, thinking of you! :), and she stares at it until the timestamp fades further and further into the past, the battery of her phone dies, is dead, and never coming back and--
It doesn’t matter.
She spends a lot of time at home on her computer. Sleeping. Her stomach clenches with hunger. Joyce isn’t around much, she’s working extra shifts to cover the expenses Da-- she’s working extra shifts, and Chloe doesn’t really have any friends or anything anymore, so there’s nothing to do but exist online.
Exist. That’s all she’s doing.
She chats on forums about music, shows, watches videos of cool people in bands, doing drugs, getting drunk, making out, and she wonders if that’s what it’s like to be alive.
It’s three in the morning when Joyce comes home. Chloe can hear her put her keys away, her footsteps as she comes up the stairs. Chloe can’t be bothered to get up to turn the light off before she comes in to check, and Joyce sighs out her feelings in a cold gust.
“Chloe… what are you still doing up?”
Chloe turns her head. “I don’t know. Couldn’t sleep.”
Joyce frowns, slides herself through the doorway, stepping past mounds of dirty clothes to sit on the edge of her daughter’s bed. Chloe spins the chair to face her, her legs tucked up against her chest.
“Want to talk about it?”
She shrugs. “Dunno. What’s there to talk about.”
Joyce clasps her hands on her knee. Her knuckles are white. “Well, you don’t really talk to me about anything these days. How are you... feeling?”
“Oh, God, Mom, are we gonna talk about our feeeelings now?”
“Chloe, you don’t need to be so--”
“So what, Mom? Angry? You said you wanted to talk about our feels or whatever, so this is me, talking.”
“Chloe, come on.”
“‘Come on, Chloe, come on’,” she imitates, her voice nasally, high and shaking. “There’s nothing to talk about that you actually want to hear. You’re never even home anymore, so who gives a fuck.”
“Language, Chloe.” The muscle in Joyce’s jaw pulses. “I can’t afford our bills unless I take more shifts. I can understand that you aren’t happy about the situation, but we are surviving. We are still here. We can’t give up on life just because of what happened.”
“Why not.” Chloe kicks her feet out in front of her, bracket’s Joyce’s legs with her small, socked feet. “What’s the point.”
“William wouldn’t want--”
“I don’t give a fuck what he wants! He’s dead, Mom, in case you haven’t noticed. He fucking left us!” Chloe’s nails cut into the skin of her palms. “He left me here in this bullshit town with you a-and nothing and I just-- I can’t--”
Her eyes feel wet, for some reason.
She sniffs, and her breath hitches, and she’s in her mom’s lap all of a sudden, and it’s like it all just breaks through. She’s getting snot all over Joyce’s work uniform, but it doesn’t matter, and it doesn’t even feel better to cry.
She cries herself to sleep. Joyce puts her to bed like a child, flicks off the light as she leaves. For Chloe, it doesn’t turn back on.
Joyce is around less and less. Bills are stacking up. Text messages left unanswered.
running late 2nite. luv u hun !!! xoxo
Chloe eats dinner alone again. Watches Blade Runner again. Thinks about cutting her hair short. Thinks about cutting her wrists. And punk bands. And not much else.
Chloe comes down for breakfast early one Saturday, and someone is sitting in her chair.
He’s got one asscheek hanging off, like he’s ready to bolt at the first sign of attack, ramrod straight, attentive, watching Joyce in her work uniform bustling around the kitchen. Bacon, eggs, and a generous helping of anxiety.
She suddenly feels weird in her sleep shorts, standing in the hallway, as he makes eye contact and leaps to his feet. The table chatters, his knees slamming the underside.
“Chloe!”
An egg lands sunny-side down on the linoleum. Joyce stands cartoonishly still, caught in the act, the flipper still hovering at the edge of the counter.
“Honey... you’re not usually up so early!”
She contains a quip about Joyce’s late night. But just barely.
Chloe rounds the table, the man standing with his shoulders locked, fighting position, like he’s ready to shank her with his butter knife if he needs to. She picks up a piece of toast, already dripping with butter, shoves it into her mouth.
“Sup bro,” she spits, around a half-chewed wad of bread.
“Chloe, dear, I’d like you to meet David. My new...”
“Friend,” he offers.
“Sup David.”
She chews with her mouth open. Shows him the gory remains inside.
“Chloe.” He jerks his chin down to acknowledge her, turns his bewildered eyes on Joyce, searching for an answer in her reddening face. She flicks from Chloe to David, gestures for him to sit down.
Yellow bleeds from underneath the long-forgotten egg, bacon sizzles, Joyce murmurs an, “Oh shit,” turning to clean up her mess. Her great big fucking mess.
David gingerly lowers himself into Chloe’s chair. He’s still eyeing the cutlery like she’s about to duel him for dominance.
Chloe sits opposite. It’s not like she wanted to sit in that chair anyway.
“Now, I know it’s a bit… weird, Chloe, but you’ll be seeing David around a little more often.” Joyce drops a plate, crisp bacon, two broken eggs, in front of her. “You should, uh... get to know each other!”
David forces a tight, military grade smile.
Chloe picks up a piece of meat, stares him dead in the eyes, and rips it apart with her teeth.
She does not smile back.
It’s not even two months later and he’s become a permanent fixture on their living room couch. There’s an imprint the exact straight up-and-down size of him right in the center.
Chloe spends more time in her room. She starts putting up posters. Bands she wants to see, one day. Maybe.
She looks at the growth chart on her wall. Scribbles everything out furiously. She is done growing.
It’s not like David is even really that bad, kind of weird, sticking close to the walls like Bongo used to do when there was another cat outside. He mostly keeps to himself, and he seems nice enough to Joyce, but Chloe can’t help but think, as her dad’s stuff slowly makes way for his, that she’s being phased out of her own life.
She comes home one day from school, and he’s there, poring over the classifieds, circling ads with a felt-tip pen. Beside him, a notepad, endless scribbling, his knee jostling under the table. Two empty beers next to that, like punctuation; I am an asshole. Period.
“Hey,” she says, breezing by him, pulling the milk out of the fridge.
He looks up, slowly, deliberately. Puts the pen down. “Chloe.”
She drinks straight out of the carton, icy and cool down her throat. She can see his hackles rise.
“Would you get a glass? That’s disgusting. And unsanitary.”
Out of pure mirth, she makes a point to lick the edges.
He’s up in a second, bulldozing past her, ripping open the cupboard to unearth a glass. Chloe freezes, as David snatches the carton from her hand, pours the milk. The sound of the cup hitting the granite makes her jump, and he levels her with a stare over the counter.
“Use a glass.”
“Not thirsty anymore,” she says, her mouth like the Sahara. Wasn’t Joyce supposed to be home already?
“Drink it. You wanted it so badly you couldn’t be bothered to use a glass, after all.”
He pushes it towards her, until the edge of the cup meets the lip of the counter. Her hands tremble at her sides.
“You can’t tell me what to do,” Chloe says, priding herself on her mostly unwavering voice, “You’re not my dad.”
His eyes crease.
“You’re right, little girl. I’m not your dad.” He steps back, crosses his arms behind his back, chest thrust forward. “But I am the man of this house, now. I expect my rules will be respected, and obeyed.”
Chloe opens her mouth to speak. Closes it. Bangs her hand on the counter, “Fuck you!”, and splits, tearing up the stairs, slamming her bedroom door behind her.
Betrayal stabs up her throat, hot and fresh. The man of the house. It isn’t even his house.
It’s quiet for awhile, as she buries her face in her pillow, before a soft knock sounds at the door.
“Chloe? I… won’t come in. I just wanted to apologize.” A regretful, quiet breath inward. “I wasn’t having a great day, and your attitude didn’t help. I know I’m not your father, and I’m not trying to replace him. I hope we can be okay one day. That’s… damnit, that’s all I wanted to say.”
His fist thumps the door one more time, a sigh, and she hears him pad off.
One day.
Definitely not. Definitely never.
“Chloe! Chloe! You get back here right now!”
“Just-- leave me the fuck alone!”
She takes off down the street. Joyce stops following as she turns the corner, and Chloe’s almost a little disappointed. Like she doesn’t care.
“Go back to your shiny new husband, mom. Didn’t even wait for dad’s body to get cold.” She inhales shakily, beating down the pavement, walking aimlessly. “Enjoy your new life, you stupid bitch. Barf.”
Where to go, where to go. It’s getting dark, and it’s not like she really has any friends to hang out with. Chloe stops at the end of the street, thinks about turning back.
Her phone buzzes.
we r having a long talk when u come bk. i am not impressed. - mom
Yeah… fuck that. She deletes the text, and keeps walking. And walking, and walking.
It seems like ages, and the junkyard rolls up under her feet. It’s kind of scary, seeing it at night. The hollowed out car frames almost seem sad, in a way, upholstery ripped like a wide, yawning mouth. There’s a fire crackling in nearby, some kids yelling, and Chloe pokes her head around to see who’s there.
Long blond hair, laughing, a few people she recognizes from school, a few she doesn’t. The air smells a little skunky, they’re passing a joint, bottles strewn about. A party. Or at least a small get-together. Something that regular teenagers do.
Chloe instantly wants that. The first thing she’s felt in ages. She wants to be included.
She forces herself to round the car, approach the group. The blond girl notices her first, unlatches herself from the guy trying his best to covertly slip his fingers under the hem of her shorts.
“Hey!”
“Hey,” says Chloe, suddenly aware of how she must look. She hasn’t showered in days.
The blond girl’s outfit, probably not even anything special, is way more awesome than anything she owns. Her shorts are so short, she smells like alcohol, fruity body spray. Like a summer breeze...
Chloe wants to crawl into her skin and wear her for a day. She’s really pretty.
Her face is so, so hot.
Blond girl meets her halfway, grabs her hands with sticky fingers. “I totally know you. Chloe, right? We had English together last year. Remember me?”
“Sort of. Uh…”
“Rachel,” says the other girl. She smiles, eyes hazy. Chloe smiles back, a little. “Rachel Amber.”
“Rachel,” Chloe repeats, dreamily.
“Oookay. C’mon, then! Let’s get this shit started.”
She’s suddenly tugged towards the gathering, tripping over her toes as she’s dragged along. A warm can is pressed into her palm by one of the guys, he’s a bit older than her, but hey, free beer.
They take seats on an old rusty car hood, a little away from the group. It’s cold under her ass. Chloe cracks the beer, watches Rachel dig around in her bag. It’s too much at once, she’s never even been actually drunk or anything before (sips of Mom’s wine totally doesn’t count), but she doesn’t want Rachel to think she’s a prude or a loser.
She sips her beer self-consciously. The rest of the group isn’t paying attention to her, thankfully. Chloe sets the can down on a car hood.
Rachel materializes beside her with a glass pipe, and a lighter. “Here, girl. Let’s chill you out. You seem kinda tweaky.”
“I know this is totally fucking lame, but I’ve never actually done this before.” Rachel’s eyes almost bug out of her head. “Fuck, I knew it, you’re so judging me. I know, I know--”
“Judge you? Seriously? I’m stealing your V-card! Holy shit! This is an epic moment of friendship establishment, Chlo. Get ready for your lesson, school’s in session, bitch.”
“Yes, headmistress, I am eager to learn,” quips Chloe, and the smile she receives in return for her stupid fucking corny ass joke stops the breath in her lungs for a second.
Rachel turns the pipe in her palm, offers Chloe the mouthpiece. Her eyes cross to look at it. It’s blue, the glass a little dirty, packed full of fresh, green bud. It smells good. “I’ll tell you when to inhale. Go ahead.”
She wraps her lips around the tip, and Rachel grins, holding the choke with her thumb as she slants the lighter down over it. “Okay, go.” Chloe starts to pull, getting nothing, until it’s almost too much when Rachel releases the choke.
Her mouth and nose flood with heavy, dank smoke and Chloe pulls off, coughing, eyes watering from the heat. Rachel snorts, takes her own hit off the still-lit cherry, passing Chloe her beer with a free hand.
It’s like everything slows to a sweet, quiet pull. The noise around her is like a soft bubble, nourishing her, wrapping her in something she hasn’t felt for ages. She can feel their energy pulsate under her, above her, Rachel at her side. It’s like her loneliness doesn’t exist, never existed, in a second, but it’s all-encompassing how alone she really is, in the universe. Fucking deep. It doesn’t feel bad, like it always does. Since...
Rachel grabs her hand. “Dude, you’ve been staring off into the distance for, like, ten minutes. You gonna tell me what’s going on in that big sexy brain of yours?”
“Oh,” Chloe offers, intelligently. She swallows. When did she sit down? “This is… um… actually really cool feeling. It’s like I’m floating. I probably sound fucktarded.”
“A little fucktarded. But I get you. Weed saved my life. I’m honestly totally not lying when I say that. It makes you… think about stuff.”
“Yeah. Stuff…”
“So, like, why are you out here anyway? I didn’t take you for the sleazy pit-party type.”
“I just needed to leave.”
“I get it. Parents?”
“My... mom got remarried.”
“And her new husband is hella terrible, right?”
“Hella fucking terrible.” Chloe takes another sip of her beer, well, tries to. She misses her mouth the first time, spills some down her neck. Hopes Rachel doesn’t notice. “I don’t know what she gets outta him.”
“Maybe she ‘gets’ his massive dong. All night, every night.” Rachel jerks her hips forward.
“Dude, gross!” Chloe laughs, despite herself, shoving Rachel lightly. She rocks away, then back into her side, their shoulders touching. It’s nice.
“Just trying to make you laugh, girl.” Rachel smiles, and it’s like being hit by the sunrise. Blinding.
She offers the pipe. “Want more?”
Chloe shakes her head. “Kinda made my throat burn. Kinda... not sure I’m doing it right.”
“Oh? Lame.” Chloe’s gut crawls, and it’s weird and awkward for a moment, until Rachel perks up. “Wait, I can show you another way.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, just be ready to inhale.”
Rachel takes another hit, holds it, grabs Chloe’s chin before she’s aware of what’s about to happen.
She’s pulled forward, shifted off balance, her hand landing on Rachel’s thigh. The other girl’s lips touch hers, and she opens, and her heart’s racing, smoke pouring into her mouth through Rachel’s parted teeth.
She inhales slowly, drinking the vapor out of her mouth, her fingers tensing against the bare flesh of Rachel’s thigh. It’s so soft.
“Good girl,” says Rachel, drawing away, slowly. “See! You’re a pro already. Love the chronic. Live the chronic.”
Chloe doesn’t move her hand.
“Your phone is going buck, Chlo.”
Rachel pokes the back of her knuckles. Chloe digs out her phone. Missed calls. Endless texts. Sudden overwhelming anxiety. She shouldn’t be here.
call me plz!!! chloe im not mad i luv u & want to make sure ur ok
“Shit… my mom. I should probably go.”
Chloe doesn’t move her hand. She’s not even sure she can stand up. Her forehead hits Rachel’s shoulder before she can stop herself.
“Okay, Miss Mega Stoner. Let me walk you home to mommy.”
It’s like Rachel doesn’t care about the group of people they’re leaving behind, as she half-carries her back towards her house. Chloe isn’t really sure how thrilled her mom is going to be when she shows up ripped out of her tree, but it doesn’t seem to matter. Rachel’s there. For the first time in ages, someone is there.
“So I’m gonna be honest,” she starts, turning up the next street, “I was really surprised when you turned up at our little shindig.”
“I was… surprised too.” Chloe stares at her feet. One in front of the other.
“You know I always thought you were cool. I know some shit’s gone down for you… um. Sorry, you probably don’t want to talk about this. But, I mean, you’re always welcome to come hang. If your step-dad is being shitty. Or just if you, y’know, want to.” Rachel laughs airily.
“That would be cool.”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah.”
A car whips past them. The headlights stretch their shadows over the pavement. They’ll go on forever, endless.
They make it to Chloe’s house, and Joyce is not entirely thrilled, but happy Chloe’s home safe, if not all that sober. She thanks Rachel, drives her home after Chloe’s been put safely to bed.
She dreams of white wings, smoke. Perfume. Rachel.
Chloe wakes up with a killer headache and a text message.
hey bitch! i got yo numba after u passed out. lol lightweight. this is Rachel btw. let’s hang sometime. i like your face xoxo
She smiles, texts back:
okay I GUESS we can hang even though you’re a total thief. jk I had a great time last night. thanks for smoking me out.
Her phone vibrates immediately.
yesss no problem chica. btw u like alexisonfire?? i saw your pins. they’re playing warped tour this year, im thinkin bout goin. wbu?
Rachel Amber is too perfect for words. Chloe almost squeals.
It’s not even two months later and Rachel’s become a permanent fixture in Chloe’s life. There’s an imprint the exact curvy, long-legged size of her right in the center of Chloe’s bed.
They have a lot of sleep-overs, up all night listening to music, watching bad movies, Rachel talks about boys and Chloe mostly smiles and hides her eyes. They get high sometimes, too, and it makes Chloe forget about the monster in Joyce’s bedroom, burning stems and shake into the early morning hours, blowing the smoke through the bedroom window. Ghosting out into the night, in scattered shapes.
David doesn’t really seem to like or dislike Rachel, polite to her when they interact over meals. He more or less avoids Chloe, prowling around the house, shoulders to the walls, screaming in the nights sometimes, waking her up.
Joyce tells her that it’s PTSD from the war, nightmares, or something, and later Rachel giggles, “Maybe your mom is going all ‘Deliverance’ on him. Squeal, piggy, squeal,” then Chloe swats her, Rachel’s slim fingers poking hard between her ribs.
Joyce seems happier. “I haven’t seen you like this since Max left. It’s good.”
Chloe smiles more. Things are okay.