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Chloe stares at the name on her arm. She’s been scrubbing at it for five minutes, but it’s still there. Her grip on the sponge tightens and she starts up again.
“You’re wrong, she can’t be my soulmate, she left me, she fucking left, she is not my fucking soulmate.”
She keeps scrubbing until the skin is raw red, but the cursive letters are still as bold and black as ever. Maxine Caulfield, fucking Max, fucking universe, fucking soulmates, Chloe hates them all right now (okay, maybe not Max, she can’t really hate Max even though it would make things easier). She wishes she could shred them all into confetti and throw a fuck-you party.
Her back smacks against the wall as she sinks to the bathroom floor, sobbing, “She can’t be, she can’t be, she left, she left me.”
Eventually the sobs taper off into whimpers and hiccups and then into nothing. She rests her head against the tile wall and shuts her eyes.
Chloe is tired and her arm still says Max’s name and everything is shit. Not that the last one is anything new but still. Happy fucking birthday.
--
They’re at the junkyard smoking joints when Rachel asks Chloe about her soulmate mark.
Chloe doesn’t answer for several long minutes. She’s told Rachel about Max before, of course she has, but she doesn’t want to admit the truth. She doesn’t want to admit how much it’s bothering her, as if missing Max wasn’t enough on its own, as if the universe needed to take another shit on Chloe Price because her life wasn’t shitty enough already. But she also hates keeping secrets from Rachel.
“You don’t need to tell me.” Rachel looks away and takes another hit. Chloe watches the smoke drift up, her arguments against telling floating up with it.
Okay, she really hates keeping secrets from Rachel.
“It’s hella dumb,” she warns Rachel before shoving up the sleeve of her jacket, so she can see Max’s stupid name in all its glory. Every time Chloe sees the name, she feels like Max and the universe are mocking her and this time is no exception.
“Oh.” Rachel is silent for a few moments. She reaches out and takes Chloe’s hand. “It’s okay. This soulmate stuff doesn’t really matter.”
Logically Chloe knows that. Regardless of what the movies say about finding your Soulmate, the One Person You Belong With, all capitals because it’s that fucking important apparently, plenty of people marry people who aren’t their soulmates and live happy lives. Plenty of people never even meet their soulmates and not everyone has a reciprocated soulmate.
It doesn’t stop her from wishing Rachel was her soulmate; that when Rachel asked her who her soulmate was and Chloe lifted her sleeve, it was Rachel Amber’s name written there. Then they would kiss and finally leave Arcadia Bay for California, Rachel and Chloe forever. It’s a foolish daydream, made worse by the fact that Rachel has another’s name on her arm. Casey Winger, the lucky bastard.
Chloe doesn’t recognize their name and neither does Rachel. She shrugs and says she’ll meet them one day and if she doesn’t, that’s fine too. She’s not putting her life on pause to wait for them. Chloe knows she should do the same, move on and forget about best friends who leave you and soulmate marks that only exist to taunt you, but she can’t. She’s never been good at letting go.
“Chloe?” Rachel nudges her. “You okay in there?”
“Fine.” She snaps back, pulling away and regretting it almost instantly. “Really fucking fine. I’m used to the universe laughing at me.”
“You could always get it covered up.” Rachel points out. “That might help.”
Chloe stares at Rachel – Chloe’s been thinking about getting a tattoo for ages now and this would be two birds with one stone – and then grins. “You are a fucking genius, Rachel.”
Rachel smiles back, dazzling Chloe with her brilliance (why couldn’t they be soulmates? why? or better question, why couldn’t Chloe ask her out because fuck soulmates?), and then gives her a more serious look. “Just think about it first. You have to be certain.”
“I am.”
--
Despite the certainty which Chloe answered Rachel with, she waits several months. She tells Rachel that she’s trying to pick out the perfect design, but that’s only half the truth. She’s waiting for the day Max turns seventeen. She’s waiting to see if Max will call and a part of her hates herself for that, but she can’t stop the slim hope that they’ll reconnect at last.
So when Max’s seventeenth birthday comes, Chloe spends the day near the phone. She smokes and she listens to music and she pretends that she isn’t waiting for a phone call.
It never comes. By the time midnight rolls around, Chloe is drunk off cheap whiskey. She throws her phone at the wall with a stifled sob. The screen cracks, but it’s nothing compared to the cracks in her heart.
Her first instinct is to lash out at Max, blame her for leaving and never calling and being her apparently unreciprocated soulmate. But Max isn’t here and Chloe’s stomach is churning unpleasantly with the revelation that this newest hurt isn’t Max’s fault. It’s Chloe’s.
A wave of self-hatred rolls through her. Why did she have to be so stupid? Why did she let her hopes get up? Why did she fool herself into thinking Max would call when she hasn’t called even once in five years? It was all her own fucking fault that she was feeling like this.
“Fucking idiot.” She snarls and kicks at her bed. She wants to break everything down until the world resembles her turbulent mind. She wants the universe to know how cruel it is for putting Max’s name on her arm. Most of all, she wants to escape herself and the mark on her arm.
--
When they were kids and soulmate marks seemed impossibly far away, they used to dream up pretend soulmates. They would flesh out their lives with little details and write their names on their arms in Sharpie, Chloe’s rough scrawling cursive on Max’s arm and Max’s careful swooping cursive on Chloe’s.
They would sit and laugh and illustrate the lives of each other’s soulmates. Sometimes he would be a prince who needed saving, sometimes he would be like Indiana Jones and take them on fantastic adventures. Sometimes they would choose random classmates and laugh or jeer at the results. Sometimes they would be a terrifying clown or a blue-bearded pirate and the session would devolve into laughter and tickle fights because how could you suggest a clown of all things.
Once, after watching too many movies mixing soulmate marks with horror scenarios and obsessive killers, Chloe lay next to Max and told her she hoped they were soulmates. Not because she was in love with her, but because she loved her and she really didn’t want a serial killer’s name on her arm and she knew Max would never hurt her. Max, already asleep, had answered with a snuffling sound.
She’d forgotten about it the next day, her mind on to more important pursuits like prank wars and pancakes, but now she thinks about that moment and laughs at the bitter irony.
Another time Chloe had written her own name on Max and then, giggling, run off with Max at her heels. Max could never catch up to Chloe’s longer strides, but in the end, it was Chloe who was left behind. She doesn’t laugh about that.
--
“Are you sure you want this covered up, Blue?” The tattoo artist asks.
It’s almost funny how fucking concerned he sounds about it, how his gentle voice contrasts with his shaved head and tattooed body. His soulmate mark, Kyle Wessels, is displayed proudly on his arm in the center of an intricate flame design.
“Positive.” Chloe gives one final glance at the name on her arm. Something in her shakes, uncertain, but she reminds herself that Max still hasn’t called her (and probably has another name written on her arm, probably didn’t spare a thought for her old best friend) and she keeps her voice caustic. “She never did much for me.”
The tattoo artist frowns. “Maybe you two just need to talk it out.”
“If I needed a counselor, I’d be in a psychiatry office right now.” Chloe snaps before he can start offering any relationship advice. She so doesn’t need that right now.
He sighs. “It’s irreversible.”
“That’s the point.” She settles into the chair and looks expectantly up at him. If she needs to, she’ll go to a less judgmental tattoo artist who doesn’t buy into all this soulmate garbage. This guy might be the best in this part of Oregon, but he’s not worth a therapy session. Fortunately he sighs.
“Alright, I’m starting. Let me know if you need a break.” The tattoo artist brings his machine up and begins, needle pricking her skin.
Her body trembles, this is wrong, but she shoves down the feeling and forces herself to sit still. This isn’t wrong, it’s the only way to make things right.
--
It takes multiple sessions and many hours to complete the complicated tattoo, but when it’s done, Chloe can’t see the soulmate mark and she has a badass tattoo. Two birds, one stone, it’s really that simple (it’s never that simple but she only learns that later).
Once she’s done examining the tattoo, she pays the artist and he helps her wrap it up with a reminder to not remove the bandaging for 2 hours and use ointment for the first couple days. She promises she will and thanks him. He nods. When he looks like he might say something more, something about Max or love maybe, Chloe leaves the shop.
When she gets home, her mom is quick to notice the tattoo on her arm. “Oh Chloe, why would you cover up your soulmate mark?” Her mother’s mark, William Price, is still there though faded now.
Frankly Chloe doesn’t know how her mother can live with that constant reminder on her body, as if memory wasn’t enough of a reminder. Even more so, she can’t imagine how her mother can marry David with that reminder on her arm.
(David’s mark doesn’t say Joyce on it. Chloe doesn’t know the woman on his arm, but she wishes David had found her instead. Although maybe he had and she’d run off after seeing David for the douche he was. Smart woman.)
“I wanted to.” Chloe shrugs like it wasn’t a huge deal.
“Who is it?” It’s the first time Joyce has asked Chloe about it, having previously remained respectful of Chloe’s choice to hide the mark behind denim and leather. Chloe remains silent and Joyce sighs. “We can talk about it, if you want.”
“It wasn’t anyone important.”
“Chloe.”
“I was already planning to get a tattoo on that arm.” Chloe shrugs. “No way some soulmate mark was changing my mind.”
--
Chloe shows off the finished tattoo for Rachel the next week when she’s back from a trip to Portland.
Once Rachel is done admiring the artistry, she asks, “Does it help?”
It doesn’t erase Max, but it has been easier to not think about her. Or almost as easy as before the name appeared on her arm.
Max will always be a part of her and Chloe would never trade away the memories of their childhood, but she’s part of the past and Chloe is trying to live for the future these days (it’s a work in progress).
Rachel is her future. California is her future. Max has nothing to do with either of them. She just has to keep telling herself that.
“Yeah.”
--
Rachel disappears one day with no word. For a few days, no one says anything because this isn’t the first time Rachel skipped class or left Arcadia Bay for a few days. Chloe, however, is jittery because Rachel tells her when she leaves town and she always replies to her texts. Her phone has been quiet for too long.
It’s around day four of her disappearance when the public finally acknowledges that Rachel is officially missing. The police organize a search, but there’s no clue where she went.
Arcadia Bay hangs on a precipice, uncertain, caught between mourning and moving on with their lives. No one is sure how to respond but the understanding is that if something awful happened to Rachel, beautiful and smart and beloved Rachel, then couldn’t something terrible happen to any of them. Everyone waits for the axe to drop, for a body to be found, for a note revealing her whereabouts.
It doesn’t come.
It doesn’t come and to deal with it, the public turns to rumors. They turn away from the dark and place Rachel under golden sunsets and city lights. She fits there easily. Some say she found her soulmate and skipped town with them; others say she ran off to Hollywood on her own.
Eventually, with no new leads, the police drop active searching.
Chloe doesn’t drop it. She keeps at it, putting up missing posters so no one will forget about Rachel, investigating all their old haunts, questioning Frank and Justin and everyone else Rachel ever talked to. It’s no good. She gets nowhere.
When she lies alone in bed at night, she thinks about Rachel and then when it gets too painful, she rests a hand on her arm and thinks about Max. She wonders what Max is doing right now, if she still loves photography, if she’s found her soulmate, if she’s happy.
She probably is.
Not like Rachel who is trapped somewhere, waiting for Chloe to find and rescue her (she refuses to consider the alternatives, that Rachel’s traipsing down the streets of Los Angeles having forgotten all about Chloe or worse, that she’s dead in the bay with fish picking away at her flesh).
Not like Chloe who is miserable and alone now, wondering if there’s anyone who cares about her left in the world (Joyce, Joyce cares, but they’re so distant now, Chloe doesn’t know how to confide in her anymore).
--
The first time Chloe sees Max after five years of nothing, she slams the brakes of her car. Her entire body jolts in response, both to the abrupt stop and the shock of seeing Max in Arcadia Bay. For a moment, she drinks Max in and then yells at her to get in the car. There’s never a moment when she thinks I could leave her, I don’t need to help her after she left me. It’s just help her.
As they drive, Chloe sneaks glances at Max. Max’s arms, covered by her jacket right now so Chloe can’t discover her soulmate. Not that that’s why she was looking at her arms – it’s just… they’re nice arms, whatever. Max again because she still can’t believe that Max is sitting here in her truck. It’s hella unreal and part of Chloe keeps expecting Max to vanish.
Chloe wants to yell at her for leaving and never calling and being on her arm under all the ink. But she can’t. The last one, at least, isn’t Max’s fault. It’s the universe’s or whatever cosmic force carves the names of people into skin when they turn seventeen. And Chloe really did miss Max.
So she asks about Nathan instead.
--
“Your arm.” Max points out once they’re up in her room, staring at the tattoo. Chloe can feel Max’s eyes on the spot where her name is and it takes everything in her not to panic. Max doesn’t know and there’s no way she can just sense it there just because it’s her name. Right? Soulmate shit doesn’t work that way.
“Yeah? What about it?” Chloe crosses her arms, pressing the part where Max’s name was (still is) written against her body. She tilts her chin up, challenging Max to just go ahead and question her.
“You got a tattoo. It’s cool.”
Chloe nods stiffly. They’re both quiet for a moment. Chloe can see that Max wants to ask something, can see the question balanced on the tip of her tongue. She prepares herself as if she’s under interrogation, ready to turn this discussion on Max in a heartbeat.
Max’s shoulders drop. She gestures around the mess of Chloe’s room. “I like your room too. It’s different but it fits you.”
She feels warm at Max’s approval and relieved that Max didn’t ask the question. She’s not ready to discuss soulmate marks, betrayal, or any of that serious shit. “Thanks for the upvote. Everyone else thinks it’s a pigsty.” She rolls her eyes, nearly missing the affectionate smile Max throws her way. “Now turn on some music. I need to medicate.”
As Max fumbles around for CDs, Chloe gets herself a joint and breathes in the smoke. She lets it out slowly. Okay, so maybe not the best way to handle having Max, her best friend, her fucking soulmate, show up after five years, but Chloe is the poster child of not handling things well.
--
Max tells her about her powers and once Chloe finally believes in them, she wants to laugh. Her soulmate is a fucking superhero. They never predicted that one when they were kids.
--
“We’ve got one more stop.” Chloe dangles the keys in Max’s face, grinning wide. “The pool.”
“Chloe no.”
“Chloe yes.”
“What if we get caught?”
“We’ll be super stealth ninjas about it. Let’s go.”
And that’s how Chloe ends up in the pool with Max staring down at her from the pool edge.
“What are you waiting for?”
“I’m fine up here.”
“Get your ass in here, hippie.” She splashes water up at Max who jumps back although too late to avoid getting wet. Chloe truly believes Max will step up to the plate, but the girl backs away further and shakes her head again.
“I don’t want to go swimming right now.”
“Don’t be a wuss.” Chloe tries splashing again but the water doesn’t quite reach Max. “No one’s gonna catch us and we’ve got your super time powers if they do come.”
“It’s fine.” Max smiles at her.
“Fine. More pool for myself. And it’s heated. So there.” Chloe dives down, kicking her legs at the last moment to send another big splash Max’s way. Under the water, she can pretend the stinging in her eyes is because of the chlorine.
She doesn’t get it; things had been going so well between them. They’d been cracking jokes like old times and breaking into places like true partners in crime. And now Max wasn’t willing to go for a light swim to celebrate their success.
It had to be about her soulmate mark. She didn’t want Chloe to know who it was. Which meant Chloe knew the person and Max was hella embarrassed about it.
Fuck, what if it was Warren? Or Nathan?
Chloe’s face contorts. She opens her mouth, letting out bubbles, a silent scream. Then she surfaces and takes a deep breath. Swimming usually feels like a cleansing, like washing away the ashes and ruins of her life for a few moments, but right now, she feels constricted in the water. It’s only fitting the alarms go off at that moment.
--
“Breaking and entering always leaves me hella hungry.” Chloe remarks once they’re back in her bedroom. “Get some snacks while I shower off.”
“Sure.”
She takes a shower to get the smell of chlorine off and spends the entire time speculating about Max’s soulmate mark while wishing she could stop obsessing over it. When she gets out, Max is back in her room with chips and some of her mom’s cookies. The sight is enough to improve Chloe’s mood slightly.
“Score.” Chloe hums appreciatively. “And now the final touch.” She stalks over to her bed and rummages beneath it, pulling out a bottle of wine with a flourish.
“Chloe, we shouldn’t be drinking.”
“Chill, Maxi-pad. We did when we were kids.” Chloe flops down on her bed next to Max and pops off the cap.
“Once. And it was awful.”
“This one is better.” Chloe promises and after taking a swig, she holds the bottle out for Max. She makes her eyes wide and waggles her eyebrows. Max stares for a moment before sighing and taking the bottle. It feels good, like validation that Max will still go along with her schemes even if she wouldn’t go swimming with her.
“Fine.” Max takes a sip and instantly her face scrunches up and she sticks out her tongue. It’s the same expression she made the first time they tried wine and it’s really fucking adorable. Too adorable and it makes Chloe want to kiss her nose and oh no she is not having these thoughts. “Ugh, how can you drink this stuff?”
Chloe shrugs and after stealing the bottle back, takes another big gulp. “You’re just a wuss.”
“Am not.” Max’s nose scrunches again, this time in indignation. The desire to kiss her grows but Chloe bats it down.
“Prove it.”
Much to Chloe’s shock, Max snatches the bottle back and swallows several large mouthfuls. At the end of it, she shakes her head, taking in gasps of air like it could clear out her taste buds. Chloe laughs, leaning back in her bed.
“Nice try, lightweight.”
“Whatever.” Max tosses the bag of chips at Chloe who manages to catch it. “Weren’t you whining about how hungry you were earlier?”
Chloe smirks. “You do listen.”
“Of course I listen.”
It’s already late as fuck and they really should sleep – Max reminds her she still has school tomorrow and Chloe rolls her eyes – but they end up staying up. They finish off the chips and cookies and half the wine bottle before Max falls asleep first like she always does.
Her arms are sprawled out on the bed because she is the worst bed hog and always has been. It’s a relief to see that hasn’t changed when so many other things have. Like Max wearing a long-sleeved shirt to bed and keeping secrets from Chloe.
Chloe watches her, running a finger over the spot where her own soulmate mark is, and wonders what name is written on Max’s arm. Nathan Prescott? Warren Graham? Someone else who goes to Blackwell Academy?
Rachel Amber? Wouldn’t that be something?
If she moves like a ninja, could she find out?
Then she realizes – it doesn’t matter. This day has been one of her happiest in a long time, the pool incident aside, and it’s all because of Max. Max. Her best friend, who left and came back and makes her so happy. Who fucking cares if they’re not soulmates? They can still be best friends; they can still be something else if Max maybe feels the same way. Fuck the movies, did it really matter?
Rachel would tell her it didn’t – but that doesn’t quite stop the ache in Chloe’s chest.
--
Chloe dreams about touching Max’s bare skin, pressing her body to Max’s body, fitting her lips to Max’s lips. It’s a perfect match and there’s so much electricity in the moment, as if the entire world crackles with their energy. As if it’s just waiting for a single moment to spark and explode.
When she wakes up, she dares Max to kiss her. It’s a whim and a challenge. Most of all, it’s her desire bubbling out because she has no self-restraint but isn’t brave enough to tell the truth. In any case, she doesn’t expect Max to go for it – she keeps thinking about soulmate marks and five years of silence – and so when Max’s lips are pressed to hers, she stumbles back in shock.
There’s a moment when she thinks about admitting the truth or maybe leaning in for another kiss and then she breezes through it. She won’t risk their renewed friendship like that. Or else she’s just too chicken-shit to make a move.
--
Rachel and Frank. No fucking way.
And yet all the evidence points at the truth of their relationship. Maybe Chloe doesn’t know as much about Rachel as she thought she did. The revelation hits her stomach like a punch and makes her throat tighten.
For the first time, Chloe wonders what Frank’s soulmate mark says. If it’s Rachel Amber in beautiful calligraphy or if it’s someone else, a lost love or someone Frank had never met. Maybe they didn’t even live in Arcadia Bay.
She wonders if Rachel knew who it was.
Her stomach turns because she probably did, she probably saw him unclothed, and that’s enough to shut down Chloe’s train of thought.
Frank isn’t Rachel’s soulmate though. Hers is someone unknown, a Casey Winger. As far as Chloe knows, there are no Caseys or Wingers in Arcadia Bay.
“Chloe.” Max rests a hand on Chloe’s arm and it’s so fucking close to her soulmate mark, too close, and her body is burning with betrayal. She jerks away.
“Let’s keep looking.”
--
It’s not the end of the world and Chloe knows there are cities right now where the sun is shining bright while people shop and gossip and laugh like everything is super fucking normal, but it sure looks like the apocalypse in Arcadia Bay. Rain lashes their faces and the wind howls with promises of death and there’s a massive tornado on its way.
Max’s powers are what caused the storm, but Chloe is the reason for it. She was never the type to crucify herself for others, she was never the hero of the story who pulled the self-sacrifice move in the end. But right now she straightens her back, swallows down her fear, and tells Max what she needs to do.
She thinks about telling Max the truth, about how she woke up on her seventeenth birthday with Max’s name on her arm, but it’s too much and she can’t get the words out. So she tells her about how this week has been the happiest in a long time.
It’s okay that her name is not on Max’s arm, but that Max’s name is written on hers, hidden by tattoo ink but still there. Still a part of her, inscribed into her soul, into her bones and blood and skin, down to her very DNA, Max is there. It’s okay.
Their friendship is good. It’s given her the best times of her life, one of the best weeks she’s had in months. Something else, romance, the two of them together, it would be good. It would be great and you don’t need to be soulmates for that. Rachel believed that with all her heart and Chloe can accept it. Hope for it except where Max is so incredible, a star burning bright, deserving of the entire universe, and Chloe is the dirt on the ground, mud and debris and ruin slapped together into a broken person. And it’s too late now, Chloe gets that, she knows she has to die soon.
So Chloe tells her that these moments are theirs and they are good but now Max needs to let her go. Max is shaking her head at the end and Chloe regrets causing her pain like this. She wishes things could be different, but wishes mean nothing to the universe. They never have. At the end, she holds out the butterfly photograph.
Max takes it with trembling fingers and shoves it into her pocket. Then she pushes her sleeve up and says, “You’re my soulmate, Chloe.”
The words don’t register immediately, partly because Chloe is still paralyzed by the name on Max’s arm. It isn’t Warren or Nathan or anyone else that Chloe considered. It’s her. Max was hiding it because she was her soulmate all along. It feels like one of her dreams come true except where she’s soaked and cold and destined to die.
“You didn’t call before.” Chloe says once she has control of her tongue.
“I thought it should be a face-to-face conversation. But then I got here and I didn’t know what to say, like how do you even bring this up, and I thought maybe Rachel was yours – “ Max is rambling through her explanation and Chloe isn’t paying much attention because Max Caulfield has her name on her arm.
“You’re my soulmate too.”
Max shuts up instantly. She takes a step closer and reaches out. Her fingers pause a centimeter from Chloe’s skin. “Can I - ?”
“Yeah.” Chloe answers, voice a little rough.
Max touches the inked skin with reverent fingers. Chloe watches her face, noting the hurt that flickers across before it’s replaced by an expression of awe. That brief flash of pain though is enough to remind Chloe of the tattoo artist and feel a pang of guilt for not thinking over his words.
But then how was she supposed to know Max was going to come back into her life? How was she supposed to know she would fall in love with Max?
“It’s a little bit – here, let me.” Chloe takes Max’s fingers and traces them along where the letters should be, around the curves of the M, the loops of the es, the lines of the ls. Before she covered it with the tattoo, Chloe had spent enough time staring at the name, torturing herself with its existence, to remember its exact location and shape. Now warmth curls through her at Max’s soft touch.
As she finishes off the d, a final flourish, she shifts her gaze back to Max. Their eyes lock. Max’s are half-lidded, heavy, and Chloe’s heart thumps wildly in her chest at the sight. She leans in and presses her lips against Max’s. The angle is a little awkward and their noses bump as Max shifts, but the electric excitement between them makes it incredible.
Chloe releases Max’s hand to wind her arms around Max’s waist. She tugs her closer, Max moving easily to her. Then their lips are pressed together again, sliding across each other. Even with the cold rain falling on them, everything feels warm and safe, like coming home after a terrible day to be wrapped in soft blankets in front of a roaring fire. She wants to stay here forever, nestled in their love, but the world around them is still raging forward and Arcadia Bay is still on the brink of destruction.
“I’m not letting you die.” Max states once they part with all the fierce confidence she has gained this past week. Chloe is glad to have seen that transformation, glad for every moment they got to spend together. Now she needs to let it go.
“You have to.” She gestures to the huge tornado coming for Arcadia Bay. Chloe doesn’t want to die though. She wants to live, she wants more time with Max to laugh and make out and fuck up because she knows things will never be smooth sailing but then they can have hot make-up sessions.
But Chloe’s not important enough. She looks down at Arcadia Bay, feels a stir of hatred for the town, and recognizes that there’s no way she’s worth all those people. She looks back to Max and watches her with solemn eyes. At least she got a kiss, two kisses even. At least she got a week of good times with Max. At least she learned her love was returned, that they were soulmates, that she is wanted and loved in return. At least she has that.
“I’m not worth it.”
“But you are, Chloe. You deserve to be alive and happy. You deserve everything. And I’m going to make sure you get it.” Before Chloe can reply, Max takes the photograph and tears it in half.
--
Much later, once the storm has passed and they’ve made their way to the nearest open motel, Chloe and Max lie in bed facing each other. Chloe stares at the name on Max’s arm and feels warmth suffuse her body. She smiles and places a hand there, index finger set carefully to trace the curve of the C.
It’s still a little hard to believe, but it feels so right, so good, to be lying here together. Then she remembers the town and guilt stabs her stomach. She shouldn’t be feeling so good when people have died because of her. But it’s hard not to when Max is with her and her name is on Max’s arm.
Max shifts, her eyes opening, and Chloe startles. “I didn’t realize you were still awake.”
“Can’t sleep.”
“Me neither.” Chloe admits.
“We’ll look for people tomorrow.”
“Yeah.” Chloe’s reply is quiet as she thinks about her mother and David and everyone else she knew in Arcadia Bay. Some of them might have made it, but not all of them.
They drift into a companionable silence. There’s a lot to talk about, Max’s choice, what they’ll do next, how Chloe is ever going to be worthy of this. It feels like there’s still a storm inside Chloe’s head, waves crashing down on her, but she doesn’t want to investigate it right now. She’s much more content trying not to think about it right now and running her fingers along Max’s arm. Maybe along other parts of Max too...
“You covered up my name.” Max breaks the quiet and Chloe’s fantasy.
She stiffens. Instinct tells her to go on the defensive, to prepare sharp barbs, but Max doesn’t sound angry. She sounds thoughtful, cautious if anything. Chloe waits a beat, tries to relax. The words still come out a little more pointed than she intended. “You left.”
Then, an olive branch of sorts: “I waited until your birthday. I thought…” She pauses and shifts in the bed. This is not her specialty at all. “I thought you might call if my name was on your arm.”
“And then I didn’t.”
“And then you didn’t.” Chloe agrees. “I get it now. But I thought it meant you didn’t have my name so I figured there was no reason not to get a tattoo.”
Max trails her fingers along Chloe’s arm, following the red ribbon of her tattoo all the way down to her hand, eliciting sparks along the way. Their fingers twine together. “I like it.”
“Chose it myself.” Chloe smiles. The smile falters a bit. “Are you okay that it’s covered?”
“Of course.” Max’s answer is almost immediate. “I get why. Anyway, we don’t need marks. We know the truth and that’s enough.”
Even with Max’s reassuring statement, Chloe can’t help the feeling that it’s not quite enough. Or that it is but she could do something more. She files the thought for later, when she’s not so tired. Right now, she just wants to sleep with her limbs tangled in Max’s.
--
Two months pass. They move to Seattle with Max’s parents. Max starts up school again. Chloe drifts around and ends up working in a record shop. She doesn’t think she’ll be there forever, but it’s a decent place to work for the time being. And the employee discount is sweet as hell.
She never planned to go back to Arcadia Bay, but she wants to visit Joyce and she doesn’t want to inconvenience her or Max’s parents by insisting the reunion be held in Seattle. Anyway she has one other point of business in Oregon.
The tattoo artist looks up when she enters the store. His eyes flick over her, noting the tattoo on her arm, and she sees recognition spark in his eyes. “Hey Blue. You back for another tat? Maybe a matching sleeve.”
“Actually I was thinking something a little different.”
“What can I do for you?”
Chloe shuffles her feet. She can tell her cheeks are red and it drives her a little nuts because how could her body betray her like that. All her punk cred, ruined by rosy cheeks and fluffy emotions. Still, this is for Max and that thought gives her the push to continue, even if this whole idea is mushy as hell.
“I want to get a name.”
The artist smiles in understanding. It’s amazing how he doesn’t look condescending about it. No I told you so comes forth and Chloe allows herself to relax. He gestures at the chair.
“Take a seat.”
--
Chloe greets Max with a long, enthusiastic kiss when she gets home from her classes. She pulls back and, very subtly if you asked Chloe, turns her arm to show just the edge of her newest tattoo.
“What’s that?” Max spots it right away; she’s always had sharp eyes.
“Oh! This?” Chloe tilts her arm just a bit so Max can see the spirals of ink better but not the whole tattoo. It takes all her strength to not fold and show Max the whole thing right away. “It’s just my newest tattoo.”
“Show me the whole thing.” It’s not a whine exactly, but it’s getting there. Chloe’s grin broadens, full shit-eating mode engaged, but when the moment comes to actually flip her arm around, she feels a rush of nerves. What if this was the wrong move?
Max gasps when she sees it. “Oh.”
“Pretty cool, huh?” Chloe thinks her voice sounds almost unaffected. She swallows. Max still hasn’t said anything. Chloe shifts from foot to foot. “Hey, Earth to Max. It’s just a tattoo. It’s really not – “
“You got my name.” Max reaches out a hand and trails it along Chloe’s skin. It’s not quite the same like when she touches the actual soulmate mark, but the touch still makes Chloe shudder.
The tattoo is spirals upon spirals of black ink around Maxine Caulfield on the inside of her arm. Chloe stopped the artist short of adding any hearts, but there are butterflies and roses set within the intricate, twisting lines.
“Yeah. Since I inked over the real one…” She shrugs, “figured the world needed a way to tell I’m your bitch. So here we are.”
Max’s eyes lock with Chloe’s. There’s so much warm intensity in that gaze, like staring into the sun until you burst into flame and that’s exactly what Chloe feels like, burning bright and hot. “I love it.”
She reaches out and Chloe steps forward to meet her halfway. Max opens her mouth and Chloe sucks her bottom lip between hers. Max moans. They pull each other closer, hands at hips and tangled within blue hair. Max’s breath, warm and sweet, puffs out. It seems to reach deep into Chloe’s body, into her lungs and her heart and her core, heating everything along its way, connecting her to Max.
But then they’ve been connected since the day they became friends. Before that maybe, if you wanted to talk about destiny and red threads. They’ve always been twisted around each other or in the process of twisting together, of coming apart and drawing back together.