"In a word, I was too cowardly to do what I knew to be right, as I had been too cowardly to avoid doing what I knew to be wrong."
― Charles Dickens, Great Expectations
-ooo-
You have 17 missed calls.
-ooo-
Hi… Hi honey,
So, it's been two weeks. Your father is coming home tomorrow. He still hasn't found any sign of you so we're both hoping that you're just…
We miss you. We love you so much.
Please call us.
Please be okay.
-ooo-
They leave the town in the rearview, but they never really leave it behind.
Some things can't ever be buried in the past, no matter how much you might want them to be.
So it lingers.
It's there every morning when she wakes up and every evening when she goes to sleep and the only thing that saves her from drowning in the guilt that comes with it is Chloe's warm back against her own and the scent of cigarette smoke that seems to cling to every thread of her life.
They live in shitty motel rooms when they absolutely can't take another day without a bed and a bath, but more often they sleep in the truck, tucked in together on the bench seat with the doors locked when they pull over for the night at sketchy rest areas. Sometimes they end up pulling off the highway down a lonely road and park in a field or near a deserted stretch of beach and they bed down in the truck bed with a couple of sleeping bags.
Those are the best times.
It's colder and the truck bed isn't the most comfortable bed, but the extra space and the stars and the sound of nature clicking and ticking and rustling all around them makes it worth it.
She doesn't regret her choice.
Not often anyway.
And even when she does, she only has to look over at Chloe, the sunlight on her face or her expression relaxed in sleep, to feel like she'd make the same choice again and again forever if it meant that she could keep her.
The blue of Chloe's hair is closer to sky than electric and growing paler as the days and weeks pass them by. She keeps the dark of her roots hidden beneath the beanie she wears more and more frequently as winter closes in.
-ooo-
You have 23 missed calls.
-ooo-
Hi honey, it's Mom again.
We got a box of your things in the mail today.
There wasn't much, I guess almost everything was destroyed when the storm swept through, I don't know. Just some photos, some clothes, and your laptop… no camera though and your bag wasn't there either. I know it doesn't necessarily mean anything, but I can't help hoping it does. That it means you managed to get out before the storm hit. That you're… out there, somewhere and I hope you're not out there alone.
I… we love you, honey.
Please be okay.
-ooo-
Sometimes she expects to wake up and find that it's all been a dream, that she'd stepped out from behind that wall and found her best friend lying in a pool of her own blood and just totally lost it. That she'd just… made up everything up that came after that. That she was actually sitting in a sunny spot in a padded room somewhere staring out a barred window at a world only she could see while her parents worried and fretted and tried to snap her out of it.
But every morning she still wakes up to Chloe beside her and an inbox full of messages she hasn't yet been able to bring herself to listen to, read or answer.
"You know, you can't just keep ignoring them," Chloe informs her one morning as they sit in a roadside diner counting out change for the cup of coffee and breakfast special they're splitting. "Your parents are probably worried sick."
Max frowns at the sad pile of scrambled eggs she's been poking at for the last minutes and considers her response. She doesn't want to fight with her, she never does, and this isn't the first time the topic has come up.
Chloe never says she'd have called Joyce by now if she could, but Max always thinks it anyway.
They both know it would probably have been a lie. That if Chloe had left on her own no one in that town would probably have every heard from her again, but it didn't make Max feel even a little less shitty about being a coward about calling her own parents. About just letting them worry, letting them think she was dead or trapped or injured somewhere, just because she didn't know what to say.
They kiss for the second time over stolen beers on a beach somewhere in Oregon.
Chloe tastes like smoke and alcohol and the bbq chips they'd been sharing. It only lasts a moment, barely even a kiss at all really, just the press of lips and the hint of tongue and Chloe's hand cradling her jaw.
Chloe immediately laughs it off, makes a joke and remarks loudly that she's going to go for a swim.
Max smiles and lets her run away, sipping her beer and watching as Chloe sheds her clothes as she jogs towards the ocean.
The night is dark and the moon is just a sliver in the sky as Chloe disappears into the waves with a string of curses about how fucking cold the water is.
Max lays back on the sand and stares up at the stars and wonders if loving Chloe will ever get any easier.
She comes back eventually, as she always does, collapsing next to her in the sand, breathless and shivering, her clothes a sandy, soggy mess beside her.
They sleep on the beach that night, sleeping bags on the sand a mild improvement over sleeping bags in the truck bed.
Chloe's arm is cold and clammy as it wraps around her waist, breath warm and lips cool as she whispers apologies against her hair.
"I'm sorry I'm so fucked up."
-ooo-
You have 27 missed calls.
Your mailbox is now full.
-ooo-
It isn't the first time that Max pretends to be asleep so she doesn't have to lie to her and tell her everything is fine.
They both know it isn't.
That it probably never will be, that they're just prolonging the inevitable.
Because that's the thing about running away, you can't keep going forever.
Eventually you just run out of gas.
And they do. Somewhere between Phoenix and Las Vegas on a long, lonely stretch of desert highway in the middle of the night.
"I guess that's it, huh?" Chloe comments, drumming her fingers against the steering wheel, because they have sixty-seven cents between them. No money for gas, no money for food and now they're stuck in the middle of nowhere.
-ooo-
You have 31 missed calls.
Your mailbox is now full.
-ooo-
"Do you hate me?" Max blurts out, her voice sudden and loud in the dark.
They're sitting in the cab of the truck, leaning against the doors, the wind howls outside, shaking the truck faintly when the gusts grow particularly strong. It's been hours since they stopped and they'd been talking about nothing at all, eating some stale cookies that Chloe found under the seat. Their legs are up on the seat, not quite tangled together, the windows cracked to let the smoke drift out into the chill of the night.
Chloe snorts, the tip of her cigarette flaring orange bright as she takes a drag and leans back against the window, cheek pressed to the glass. The smoke vanishes out the crack as she exhales, whisked away by the desert wind. "You saved my life. I'd be kind of a dick to hate you for it, right?"
"Well, you are kind of a dick, so that doesn't exactly exclude the possibility." A half-smile tugs at the corner of her lips even as her eyes burn with tears.
"Yeah, I guess I kind of am," Chloe concedes, her features lost in the dark as she leans forward to flick ash off into the crusted, rusting ashtray in the console. "I love you for choosing me."
"But?"
Chloe shrugged, taking another drag before answering, "But, yeah, I guess I do kind of hate you sometimes. I mean… I'm not…" The sentence met an untimely death as a the flare of headlights appeared over the horizon, flaring bright off the mirrors.
Chloe's smile flashes white in the darkness, obvious relief standing out on her face as her free hand jumps to the door handle. "We should totally try to flag down that car, right?"
She's cranking open the door and hopping out of the truck onto the pavement beyond before Max could even begin to think of a response.
Another uncomfortable conversation postponed by the reigning Queen of Avoidance.
She left the door hanging open behind and as Max sighed, reaching out to pull it closed before opening her own door and hopping out. She can hear her shouting, see her waving her arms, the orange glow of her cigarette glittering in the dark.
-ooo-
You have 67 unread messages from Mom.
-ooo-
The car slows and stops and Max stands beside the truck, half-hidden behind it as Chloe leans in to talk to the driver through the passage window. She fiddles idly with the panda robot keychain, the truck keys clinking softly where they're hidden away in her pocket.
She can imagine her smile, that same beautiful, sneaky, coaxing smile Chloe always used when she wanted something. The one that made you feel like you were both in on the joke, even if you didn't know what it was.
That driver never had a chance.
Chloe bounced back to the truck, grinning wide and joyous, tugging at her hat, "So he says there's another town about half an hour down the road and he'll give us a lift there and back and buy us a couple of gallons of gas to get us back there. Lucky, right?"
"Yeah," Max manages, forcing a smile. "I don't think he's going to have room for both of us and the gas can in that tiny little sports car."
"Nope, probably not, so you can go and I'll…"
"Why don't you go?" Max replied suddenly, forcing an easy smile as she tucked her hands into the pockets of her hoodie.
"You sure?" Chloe frowned, glancing back at the car. "I mean… it's kind of freaky out here all alone, right? You know… maybe we should just wait. Someone else will come along."
"Maybe, but probably not. That's the first car we've seen in hours. It's okay, you should go, I mean, seriously, I'm Max the great and powerful, remember? I can totally take care of myself. I'm a total badass."
"That you are," Chloe grinned, opening the truck to grab her bag and sling it over her shoulder. "Try not to kick any ass while I'm gone. I'd hate to miss it."
"Sure, yeah, of course," Max replied, reaching out to pull Chloe into a tight hug before she can slip away.
She probably holds her tighter than she should.
"Whoa, hey, you… you know I'm coming back, right?" Chloe joked hesitantly, hands trembling as she set them against Max's back. "I'm just going to get some gas and then I'll be right back."
It's the easiest thing in the world to slip the truck keys into the pocket of Chloe's jacket.
"Yeah, yeah, I know. This is just the first time we've been away from each other in a while. It just… feels really weird, you know? I'll see you soon," Max lied, stepping back and hopping up onto the truck's hood as the rusty bumper creaked and groaned in protest.
Chloe stared up at her for a long moment, before looking away, obviously uncomfortable. "Yeah, whatever, that's the sappiest thing ever. You should probably… probably get in the car and lock the doors, you know, just… just to be safe."
"Yeah, sure, I'll do that.
"Okay. Okay, then. I should go before my ride decides to leave me." Chloe walked backwards to the car, waving a hand before turning to open the door and toss her bag in. She hesitated then, one foot inside the car, one out, and glanced back up at where Max sat on the hood of the truck, "I'll, um, see you later, alligator."
"In a while, crocodile," Max called back, lifting her hand in a half-hearted wave. "You know where to find me,"
"Yeah, I always do," Chloe replied, disappearing into the car and slamming the door shut behind her.
She stayed there, looking out across the moonlit desert long after the red taillights had disappeared over the horizon.
As the sky began to lighten with the oncoming threat of morning, turning the world a deep blue that reminded her of Chloe's hair, she finally hoped down from the truck.
It was time to go.
It didn't take her long to find her notebook, scribble a note inside and tuck the whole thing into the glove box where Chloe would be able to find it. Maybe she'd burn it, maybe she'd keep it. Either way, it was her story... their story, so it felt right to let her decide how it ended.
That done, she grabbed her bag, locked the doors and crossed the highway to begin her long, lonely walk back the way they had come.
The night was quiet and she didn't cry, but sometimes it was a close thing.
She had no doubt that Chloe would be back.
Chloe would always come back, would always be there for her as long as she needed her to be. What other choice did she have, after all?
She'd always known that what she'd done had been a really selfish thing.
She wasn't sure if it had been brave or cowardly, but it had definitely been selfish. She'd kept the person she loved and sacrificed a lot of people to do it and she would have to live with that.
But Chloe… Chloe shouldn't have to live with that burden every day.
Because, in the end, she hadn't made the choice she'd made for Chloe. She hadn't done it for Chloe or Joyce or anyone else. She'd done it for herself.
She'd done it because she didn't want to imagine a world without Chloe in it. She'd saved Chloe's life… but she didn't own her life and she didn't want to. She wanted Chloe to be happy and she had a feeling that Chloe never would be if they just kept going like this and, even if Chloe was happy, like this, with her, she'd never be able to believe it.
And maybe she hated Chloe a little bit too for being that irreplaceable, for being someone she couldn't lose bear to lose.
Chloe had been right about a lot of things.
She needed to stop running away.
And if, maybe, some day, Chloe wanted to find her again… well... at least, she'd know where to look.
She turned her phone on and skimmed past the notifications, bringing up her contacts and dialing her mother.
It rang twice.
"Oh my god, Max! Max, is that you?"
"Hi Mom."
-ooo-
You have 2 missed calls.
1 unread message from Chloe Price.
-ooo-
-fin-