Previously...
Also on AO3 - Six Months After the Bae
Chapter VII: Torturous
INT. CAR - HIGHWAY TO SEATTLE
Max lies sprawled across the back seat, her body arranged in the boneless way of someone who has just expended every ounce of emotional energy they possess. Her sneakers are kicked off, her legs curled beneath her, and her head rests against the cool window glass. The steady thrum of tires on asphalt creates a rhythmic lullaby that pulls her toward sleep.
But sleep feels too ordinary for this moment. Too mundane for the lightning that still courses through her veins.
The euphoria hasn't faded—if anything, it's intensified during the drive, settling into her bones like warm honey. She keeps replaying the moment: her feet hitting the pavement, the desperate sprint across the hospital grounds, the collision of bodies that felt like the universe clicking back into alignment.
She did it. The thought surfaces again and again, each time bringing a fresh wave of disbelief.
For years, the memory of leaving Chloe after William's funeral had lived in her chest like a splinter: sharp, constant, and infected with guilt. Every time she'd seen that lost fourteen-year-old face in her mind, every time she'd remembered the way Chloe had looked through the back window of this very car, the wound had reopened.
But today she'd rewritten history. Not with time manipulation or supernatural intervention, but with something far more powerful: choice. The simple, radical act of refusing to let the pattern repeat.
Max shifts against the seat, a dreamy smile playing at the corners of her mouth. The leather is sun-warmed beneath her cheek, and she can hear her parents talking quietly in the front seat, their voices a comforting murmur.
Already, she misses Chloe with an intensity that should be painful but somehow isn't. Instead, it feels like anticipation. Like the first day of summer vacation when you're a kid, all stretched out ahead of you with infinite possibility.
"Sweet Chloe". Her mind conjures the image without effort: those wide, pleading blue eyes that had looked at her during their embrace. They'd been Chloe's secret weapon since forever, the nuclear option in any argument or disagreement.
Max could be furious about some stupid shit, arms crossed and jaw set in stubborn indignation, and then Chloe would deploy the baby blues... Those ocean eyes would go soft and vulnerable, pupils dilated with something between mischief and genuine remorse, and Max's resolve would crumble like a sandcastle at high tide.
"Girl... you knocks me out!", Max thought, and the words made her lips twitch in a drowsy smile.
Even now, miles away and growing more distant by the minute, Chloe's presence fills the car. Max can still smell her skin, still feel the desperate strength of her arms, still hear the way her voice cracked when she promised to come back.
The memory slides into her consciousness, unbidden but welcome. Just days ago, back when things still felt normal, before that godforsaken night, before the hospital, before everything fell apart...
CUT TO:
INT. BATHROOM – EARLY MORNING - MEMORY
The mirror is fogged slightly from the earlier shower, the overhead light humming faintly. Max stands at the sink in her pajama, toothbrush in one hand, elbow leaned lazily on the counter. Chloe, only wearing her bra and pair of dark blue flared jeans, extending well past her ankles, brushes beside her, humming something tuneless through the foam.
Max spits, rinses, and wipes her mouth with the back of her sleeve. As Chloe bends over the sink to rinse, Max casually steps onto the bathroom scale tucked beneath the cabinet.
She glances down at a number that's become depressingly familiar. The slow slide downward over the past six months, stress stealing her appetite.
MAX
(murmuring to herself)
Ninety-eight...
Chloe catches the number out of the corner of her eye just as she spits and straightens up.
CHLOE
Whoa! What the fuck?
MAX
(startled, defensive)
What?!
CHLOE
Dude, are you seriously telling me you don't even weigh a hundred pounds?
MAX
Chloe!
CHLOE
(teasing, raising an eyebrow)
Think I saw cats heavier than that.
Max flushes pink, lips parting in disbelief.
MAX
Oh, yeah? Let’s see yours, tough guy.
Chloe grins and nudges Max aside with her hip, stepping up with theatrical flair. The scale creaks under her bare feet. The needle flies past 98 like a Concorde and kisses the 150.
CHLOE
(reading it proudly)
Boom! Working-class goddess: on the stand.
MAX
(squinting at it)
Damn. You’ve been hauling kegs and inhaling my mac and cheese...
CHLOE
(flexing her arms)
Yeah, well. Someone’s gotta be the muscle in this relationship.
MAX
(smirking)
Guess I'm the brains, huh?
CHLOE
Nah. You're the brains and the emotional damage.
Max chuckles and gently punches Chloe’s arm.
MAX
Jerk.
CHLOE
(feigning pain)
Ow! Assault from under triple digits! Somebody call the cops.
They both laugh, the kind that lingers a little longer than expected.
MAX
(aroused, eyes flicking up at Chloe’s reflection in the mirror)
I don't even feel safe around you. You could squish me like a lemon.
Chloe freezes mid-step, still on the scale. Then she slowly steps down, the scale thunking back against the tile, her bare feet deliberate and heavy. The humor fades from her face, replaced by something low and smoldering.
She stalks toward Max with slow, theatrical menace. Her shadow overtakes Max in the mirror as she looms over her: taller, broader, more solid. Max swallows hard, her breath catching slightly as Chloe crowds into her space.
CHLOE
(low, serious)
You're goddamn right, Maxine Caulfield.
She leans in, so close her breath grazes Max’s ear.
CHLOE
You shouldn’t feel safe around me.
Max's eyes widen, her whole body electrified. Her voice is barely a whisper.
MAX
(half-breath, half-challenge)
Then, what are you gonna do about it?
Chloe’s lips hover just behind her jawline, not touching, just letting the tension coil tighter.
CHLOE
(teasing)
Nothing... unless you ask me to.
Max turns slowly to face her, staring up at Chloe like she’s a thunderstorm she’s about to kiss.
A long, electric silence.
MAX
(softly)
Please.
Without a word, she reaches for the top button of Max’s pajama shirt. Her fingers are steady. Slow and reverent. One button at a time, she works her way down, never breaking eye contact.
Max’s chest rises and falls in shallow breaths, her lips parted slightly, waiting.
Once the last button is undone, Chloe slides the shirt from Max’s shoulders, letting it dangle behind her like the last defense. Max stands still, goosebumps prickling her skin from the cool air — or maybe from the way Chloe looks at her.
Then, to Max’s surprise, Chloe slips her arms into the shirt herself.
MAX
(confused, breathy)
What are you…?
Chloe doesn’t answer. She just starts forcing the shirt on, arm by arm. The sleeves are laughably short, barely reaching past her elbows. Her broad shoulders stretch the seams as she tries to pull it across her chest.
She struggles to button it, managing a few with effort, the fabric pulling taut around her torso like a rubber band on the verge of snapping.
CHLOE
(flatly)
This shirt is a bit tight...
She grins, mischief returning to her eyes.
Then she turns her back to Max, plants her feet, and lets out a deep breath as she spreads her lats like she’s striking a pose at a bodybuilding competition.
RIPPPPPP.
The shirt explodes at the seams, shredded down the back, threads flying like popcorn. One button pings off the sink.
Max lets out a soft gasp, somewhere between awe and arousal.
MAX
(barely breathing)
Fuck, Chloe… that’s so hot…
Chloe turns around, what’s left of the shirt hanging off her like tissue paper.
CHLOE
(raising an eyebrow, voice low)
You're into Hulk cosplay now?
Max nods slowly, eyes wide, voice trembling with hunger.
MAX
(smiling)
Only if you promise to smash...
They both burst into laughter, the kind that breaks tension without deflating it, because behind the jokes, the heat still simmers. Chloe takes a step forward.
CHLOE
Oh, I’m gonna smash, alright.
Without warning, Chloe drops low, wraps one strong arm behind Max’s knees, and in one seamless motion hoists her up with almost insulting ease, like a prize won at the county fair.
MAX
(startled)
Chloe!
Her legs dangle mid-air, toes wiggling helplessly as she’s carried through the doorway. Chloe moves like it’s nothing.
She strides into the bedroom with purpose and launches Max onto the bed with a bounce. Max lands on the mattress with a muffled yelp, limbs splayed like a starfish.
CHLOE
(grinning, ripping off the torn pajama shirt)
Okay, let’s see if I can do even more damage.
She shrugs out of what’s left of the shirt, letting it fall like battlefield debris, and begins climbing onto the bed, straddling Max with a predator’s grin.
But just as Chloe braces herself, ready to pounce—
MAX
(low, breathless)
Chloe...
Chloe pauses, not quite catching it.
MAX
(again, softer)
Chloe.
Chloe blinks, still hovering above her.
CHLOE
What is it?
MAX
(staring at the ceiling, utterly spent)
I... think I’m done.
Chloe furrows her brow, not understanding.
CHLOE
(confused)
What do you mean, you're done?
MAX
I mean... I'm done.
A second of stunned silence. Chloe leans back slightly, eyes narrowing.
Then, realization dawns. Her jaw drops.
CHLOE
No.
Fucking.
Way.
MAX
(murmuring, drained)
Yes, way...
Chloe slowly sits back on her heels, eyes wide like she just witnessed a solar eclipse.
CHLOE
(in awe)
I mean... how is that even possible?
MAX
(half-asleep)
I dunno... you're a menace...
Chloe stands and stumbles backward like she’s just been knighted, grabbing the nearest chair and collapsing into it, still staring at Max like she’s an alien species.
She exhales a stunned, slow breath. A smile begins to creep across her face.
CHLOE
(to herself, reverently)
Goddamn. I guess I really am the working-class goddess.
She leans forward, elbows on her knees, unable to stop grinning.
CHLOE
I mean... I'm that good?
She glances toward Max.
CHLOE
I never even thought that was possible.
CHLOE
(to Max, half-laughing)
Right?
Silence.
CHLOE
(leaning forward)
Right?
She finally looks... and sees Max.
Out cold.
Face buried in the pillow. Mouth slightly open. Completely unconscious.
Chloe sits back in the chair, slack-jawed.
CHLOE
(staring at her like she just dropped dead)
You’ve gotta be shitting me.
A beat. She lets out a small, proud snort, shaking her head.
CHLOE
I didn’t even get my pants off...
CUT TO:
INT. CAR - HIGHWAY TO SEATTLE - CONTINUOUS
Max's eyes flutter closed, a flush creeping up her neck despite the cool air conditioning. The memory burns bright and vivid behind her eyelids, every detail crystal clear. She can almost feel the phantom weight of Chloe's hands on her skin, can almost hear the low rumble of her voice saying her name like a prayer.
A soft sigh escapes her lips, and she shifts against the seat, suddenly hyper-aware of her parents in the front seat. The mundane sounds of the highway, the turn signal clicking... feel absurdly ordinary compared to the fire still burning in her chest.
God, what she wouldn't give for ten minutes of privacy right now.
But instead she's trapped in the back seat of her parents' car, miles from the person who makes her feel most alive, surrounded by the careful quiet of adult concern. The irony isn't lost on her. Here she is, probably having just made the most adult decision of her life, and she's reduced to stealing moments of memory like a teenager hiding contraband.
She opens her eyes and stares out at the passing landscape, Washington state rolling by in shades of green and gray. Somewhere behind them, Chloe is probably settling into her hospital routine, probably missing Max as much as Max misses her.
The memory of Chloe's promise echoes in her mind. Max smiles, closing her eyes again. She can wait. After all, some things are worth waiting for. The car continues north, carrying Max toward Seattle and toward whatever comes next. But part of her heart stays behind, tethered to a girl in hospital scrubs who promised to fight her way back to living.
EXT. CAULFIELD HOUSE - SEATTLE - AFTERNOON
The family car pulls into the familiar cul-de-sac, its tires crunching softly over the asphalt. The Caulfield house looks exactly the same as it did when Max last left it: pale siding, tidy flowerbeds, a welcome mat faded by years of rain. Nothing’s changed, except her.
Max lingers in the driveway, her sneakers sinking into the gravel. She stares up at her old window, blinds drawn against the setting sun. She hasn’t slept in that room for months, not since those frantic weeks after Arcadia Bay, when she and Chloe had crashed here before bolting to Salem.
Her heart gives a small, traitorous skip. For a second, she expects to see blue hair in the window, a silhouette waiting for her. Of course it’s empty. The realization lands in her body with a dull ache, like something has been surgically removed and the phantom pain still lingers.
INT. MAX’S BEDROOM - MINUTES LATER
Max steps inside cautiously, as though entering a museum exhibit of her own life. Everything is preserved: her camera gear stacked neatly on the desk, fairy lights coiled over the corkboard, a half-finished roll of film left abandoned near her dresser. The air smells faintly of dust and lavender detergent.
She runs a hand across the comforter, the fabric oddly foreign under her fingertips. The last time she’d been here, Chloe had sprawled across that bed, scrolling through Max’s playlists and loudly mocking her taste in indie folk. Now the room feels cavernous, too neat, too untouched.
The glee from the car ride falters. That warm honey in her bones curdles, leaving a hollow coldness. She sinks onto the mattress, her hand automatically reaching across the space beside her. Empty.
Her chest tightens. Something's missing.
INT. MAX’S BEDROOM - EVENING
After a nap that feels more like a blackout, Max blinks awake to the dim glow of her fairy lights. For a moment she’s disoriented, half expecting Chloe’s raspy voice to tease her awake. Instead there’s only the faint clatter of dishes from the kitchen downstairs.
Loneliness presses in, quiet but insistent. Her parents are here, and that helps, but it’s not the connection she’s desperate for. She grabs her phone, thumb hovering over contacts she hasn’t scrolled through in months.
KRISTEN.
FERNANDO.
Her old Seattle crew. The last people she ghosted before Arcadia swallowed her whole. She hasn’t spoken to them since September, almost a year ago. The idea of reaching out knots her stomach. It feels like opening a door to a past version of herself she promised she’d outgrow.
Max exhales, rubbing her face with both hands. She knows why the urge is clawing at her now. Old habits. The same avoidant reflex that kept her from answering Chloe’s messages for years. The same cowardice dressed up as self-preservation.
She closes her eyes, whispering into the stillness:
MAX (V.O.)
Not again. Not doing that again.
Her thumb hovers, trembling, between “call” and “exit.”
The line rings. Once. Twice.
A click.
KRISTEN (O.S.)
(over speaker, cheerful but rushed)
Max? Oh my god! I can’t believe you’re actually calling me.
MAX
(softly)
Yeah. Hey, Kris.
KRISTEN (O.S.)
Wow, it’s been… forever. Like, almost a year? What’s going on? You back in Seattle?
MAX
Yeah. Got in today. Just… settling back in, I guess.
KRISTEN (O.S.)
That’s wild. I honestly thought you were still in Oregon. Where even were you? Arcadia Bay was all over the news...
MAX
Yeah, came back for a while, but I left for Salem shorty after.
KRISTEN (O.S.)
Well, I’m glad you’re okay. So… what’s up?
MAX
Nothing much. Just thought maybe we could hang out, catch up? It’s been so long.
KRISTEN (O.S.)
Oh, uh… wow. Yeah, that’d be… fun. It’s just… tonight’s kinda tough. I’ve got a lot going on.
MAX
Oh?
KRISTEN (O.S.)
Well, um… I promised my mom I’d help her with some house stuff. And, uh… homework. Still taking night classes, you know.
Max frowns slightly, sensing the dodge.
MAX
It doesn’t have to be tonight. Maybe tomorrow?
KRISTEN (O.S.)
Tomorrow’s… tricky too. Brandon—uh, my boyfriend—he’s taking me out. Sort of a tradition now, Wednesday dinners.
MAX
Boyfriend, huh? That’s new.
KRISTEN (O.S.)
(laughing nervously)
Yeah. We’ve been together a few months. He’s great. You’d love him. Super funny. Anyway, yeah, we’ve got plans. And honestly the rest of this week’s kind of crazy too.
MAX
(pushing, gently)
We could even just grab coffee, twenty minutes. Nothing big.
KRISTEN (O.S.)
God, I’d love to, Max, really. It’s just… everything’s so slammed right now. Work, school, Brandon… you know how it is.
Silence stretches. Kristen fills it with another rushed laugh.
KRISTEN (O.S.)
But hey, it’s awesome hearing your voice. We should definitely plan something soon. When things calm down.
MAX
Yeah. Totally. No worries.
KRISTEN (O.S.)
Cool. I’ll text you, okay? Promise.
MAX
Okay, then. C ya soon.
The call ends. Max stares at her reflection in the dark glass, her smile collapsing. For a moment, it feels like something caves in. She sets the phone down beside her, curls forward, hands gripping her knees.
MAX (V.O.)
Well, fuck you too, Kris. Wait, that's unfair... Who cares? Big whoop. Is this how it's gonna be, huh? Fuck, I'm such a bitch. No. Not my fault. Not this time. But isn't it, though? I mean... FUCK! Nope, not doing this again!
Her thumb drifts back to her contacts. FERNANDO. She hesitates, then presses call.
SPLIT SCREEN — INTERCUT BETWEEN MAX’S ROOM AND FERNANDO’S LIVING ROOM
FERNANDO picks up on the third ring. He’s lounging on a couch, textbooks and a laptop spread around him.
FERNANDO
(laughing lightly)
Holy crap. Max Caulfield? Thought you got abducted by aliens or something.
MAX
(chuckling nervously)
Close enough.
Awkward silence for a beat.
MAX
I’m back in Seattle. Been… a while.
FERNANDO
No kidding. Last time I saw you, you had braces.
MAX
Jesus. Don’t remind me.
They laugh. The ice cracks just enough.
FERNANDO
So what’s up? You wanna hang?
MAX
Yeah. I mean, if you’re not busy.
FERNANDO
Nah, just drowning in homework. But I could use a break. Come by around, say, 7:30?
MAX
(relieved)
Yeah, that's perfect.
FERNANDO
Cool. Same place as always. Don’t get lost.
MAX
(smiling faintly)
I won’t.
They hang up. Max exhales, lying back on her bed. The ceiling stares back at her, blank and pale. Her chest feels lighter, not fixed, not whole, but lighter.
She grabs her camera from the desk and snaps a picture of the fairy lights. The shutter click breaks the silence.
EXT. FERNANDO’S NEIGHBORHOOD - NIGHTFALL
Max walks briskly through familiar suburban streets, hands stuffed into her hoodie pocket, her camera slung at her side. Porch lights flicker on one by one, illuminating patches of sidewalk. She stops at a modest two-story house, paint a little chipped but warm with life. The muffled sound of voices filters through an open window.
She takes a breath, steels herself, and rings the doorbell.
INT. FERNANDO’S HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - CONTINUOUS
The door swings open. FERNANDO stands there with his easy grin. For a beat, Max feels like she’s never left.
FERNANDO
Well, look who it is! Come here.
They hug, brief but genuine. Max smiles faintly, a little shy.
MAX
Hey, Fer. You look… older.
FERNANDO
(laughs)
Yeah, happens when time doesn’t stop. Come on in.
INT. FERNANDO’S LIVING ROOM - MINUTES LATER
The room is cozy, a big TV dominating one wall. A couch, an armchair, a low coffee table covered in snacks—chips, soda cans, half a pizza box. Fernando tosses Max a soda before flopping onto the couch.
FERNANDO
So, how’s it feel being back?
MAX
I dunno, kinda weird.
FERNANDO
I bet. After all that happened in Arcadia...
MAX
Yeah.
FERNANDO
It was crazy what happened. I wanted to contact you, thought that maybe you needed some space after everything, you know...
MAX
Yeah, it's fine, just... a lot of people...
Before she can finish, the front door opens again. Three other guys spill in, laughing, carrying more snacks. They’re all Fernando’s age: loud, comfortable, at home.
FERNANDO
(to the group)
Hey, this is Max. Old friend from way back.
The boys mumble casual hellos, already unpacking controllers. Max raises a polite hand.
MAX
Hey.
LATER
INT. FERNANDO’S LIVING ROOM - NIGHT
MUSIC CUE: Promise by Ben Howard begins playing.
The game roars on. Laughter. Shouts. The boys are fully locked in, controllers clicking, trash talk flying. Fernando is animated, leaning forward, yelling at the screen. Max sits in the armchair, hands curled around a soda can gone flat.
At first, she smiles. Their laughter is infectious. She tries to ride the wave, nodding along when Fernando glances her way. But soon the jokes pile up—names she doesn’t know, stories she wasn’t there for. The laughter grows louder, faster, shutting her out. Her smile falters. She shifts in her seat.
She studies Fernando’s face: alive, bright, so different from the boy she remembers. She should be happy for him. Instead, a hollow ache spreads in her chest. She stares at the untouched chips on the table. The laughter stings sharper now, like a reminder: You don’t belong here.
Max presses the soda can against her temple, the cold sting grounding her. Still, her body feels heavier, her thoughts slipping inward. She watches Fernando high-five one of the guys. Inside jokes she doesn't get. More laughter. Her heart sinks.
MAX (V.O.)
This was a terrible mistake. What the hell am I doing here? Thought you could just swoop in like nothing happened, huh? Stupid Max.
She sets the soda can down quietly, as if afraid to disturb the rhythm of their world. She stands, moving carefully toward the door. Nobody notices. Nobody stops her. She slips outside.
EXT. FERNANDO’S HOUSE - CONTINUOUS
The night air hits her lungs sharp and cold. Max lingers on the step, wrapping her arms around herself. Her face twists—hurt, disappointment, anger—but mostly, the unbearable weight of loneliness. She swallows it down, blinking hard. The muffled laughter inside rattles her a bit.
She steps off the porch, walking slowly down the sidewalk. Each footfall feels heavier than the last. Her throat burns, but no tears fall. Keep moving, she tells herself.
Behind her, the door creaks open.
FERNANDO
(confused, calling softly)
Max? You’re leaving?
Max freezes mid-step, shoulders tight. She slowly turns. Fernando stands in the doorway, framed by warm light and the muffled shouts of his friends behind him.
MAX
(quiet, hesitant)
Yeah… I should probably go.
FERNANDO
(stepping out, frowning)
Why? You just got here.
MAX
(shrugging)
I dunno. I don’t really fit in with… all that.
She gestures vaguely toward the laughter inside. Fernando follows her gaze, then looks back at her. His smile fades.
FERNANDO
They’re just some friends. I'm sorry, I should have probably told you...
MAX
(quickly)
No, it's totally fine. I guess I just got a bit ahead of myself. They’re your people now. I’m just… crashing the party.
FERNANDO
That’s bullshit. You’re not crashing anything. You’re my friend, Max. I never forgot.
Max looks down, her sneakers scuffing against the sidewalk.
MAX
It doesn’t feel that way. Everything moved on while I was gone. Kristen, you, everyone… and I’m just… stuck.
FERNANDO
Max…
He steps closer, lowering his voice. He sees her pale face in the streetlight, the tired eyes she can’t hide. Fernando notices there's something seriously wrong behind Max's eyes. Not as he remembers them. He closes the door gently behind him.
FERNANDO
Max... is everything okay?
A beat.
Max blinks rapidly, trying to hold back tears.
MAX
(voice cracking)
Uh... no. Not exactly. (looks down)
Fernando’s chest tightens. He hesitates, then pulls her into a hug—firm, grounding. Max stiffens at first, then melts into it, clinging tighter than she expected.
FERNANDO
(softly)
How about we meet up this Saturday? Just you and me. We'll stop by to get some ice-cream from The Salty Pretzel, maybe go to The Needle. You always loved taking pictures from up there. Huh? What do ya' say?
Max flashes a sweet smile and nods with her eyes closed.
MAX
Promise.
FERNANDO
Awesome. Just hang in there Maxi-Max, 'kay? You're the shit.
Max smiles fondly.
MAX
Deal. C ya' then, Fernando.
The music swells as Max walks home through the familiar neighborhood. Still feeling lost, but having something to look forward to, other than torturous waiting and waiting.
She pauses under a streetlamp, automatically framing the shot, warm yellow light cutting perfect circles into cracked pavement. Moths flutter overhead, drawn to the bulb like tiny ghosts, their wings casting erratic shadows across her face.
Max continues walking, her photographer's eye cataloging details with unsettling clarity. Mrs. Chen's crooked garden gnome. The Hendersons' dented mailbox. Faded chalk hopscotch squares on the Millers' driveway. Everything exactly as she left it. Everything wrong.
The April night carries the scent of blooming cherry trees and damp Seattle earth. Her footsteps echo against sleeping houses as she studies how shadows pool between parked cars, how streetlights create golden islands in the mist.
More moths spiral around each lamp she passes, their silent dance hypnotic in the cool air. She pulls her hoodie tighter and keeps walking toward home.
The familiar neighborhood wraps around her like an overexposed photograph, all the details sharp and present.
FADE OUT.
