Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A lot of Chloe’s nights end with Rachel.

In her arms. On her bed. Under her body. Leaving parties abruptly in whirlwinds, chaotic and grasping for clothing to hold onto. No care for the ruin left in their wake. No care for those left behind. They don’t matter so much to Chloe, anyway.

But a lot of Chloe’s nights end like this.

With herself, stumbling, tears stinging, falling out of the party with a stolen bottle of vodka and not one person to look out for her. Rachel’s with someone else. She’s found someone else to make fall in love with her for a night, some nobody to give her attention, someone new and stupid and good.

This is something that happens, too. 

Whatever. Rachel can do what she wants. Rachel deserves that freedom from Chloe at the very least. ‘Cause, it’s not like they’re dating or anything, anyway. They’re best friends.

Best friends who sleep together.

Best friends who don’t talk about the fact they sleep together. 

Jesus Christ everything is fucking fucked. 

“So stupid.” Chloe sniffs, tripping and trying to find her balance when the whole world is quaking and crumbling beneath her feet. She’s drunk as shit, and she wants to go home, and she wants Rachel to be coming with her, but she knows she won’t. Rachel took some guy by the hand and snuck into the locker room as Chloe just stood and watched like a fucking idiot—

There are jocks in her way. She shoves them. One guy crashes into a group of girls, and their high-pitched squeals somehow rise above the obnoxious thumping bass blasting through the gymnasium. Before Chloe can get to the door, some stick-thin VC Barbie’s in her face, yapping.

“Out of the fucking way,” Chloe spits. Her stomach lurches there and then, so she freezes suddenly, swaying as the room spins.

It gives enough time for Victoria Chase to grab her by the arm. She’s hissing something about Chloe fucking up the party, being a disgrace, needing to leave. In her daze, Chloe notices there’s a drink spilled down Victoria’s blouse, bringing her great amusement for a few seconds, but then she hears her say something like “you don’t belong here”, and Chloe just goes back to kinda wanting to throw up on her.

She drives her shoulder into Victoria’s chest, pushing her back a step. Victoria’s eyes widen slightly.

“You bitch—”

“Leave me alone. I’m out of here.” Chloe tears her arm away from Victoria’s grasp and charges off, rubbing her wrist where sharp nails pierced into.

Chloe doesn’t realize that the girl’s trailing her like a bloodhound ‘til she’s almost outside and the music is fading into the distance.

“That’s not fucking yours,” Victoria shouts once they leave through the fire exit, grabbing at Chloe again and knocking her against the outer wall.

Chloe’s head is pounding. She’s so tired. She just wants to go home. Wherever the fuck that is.

She’s almost numb when Victoria reaches for the bottle of Grey Goose tucked under her arm, but still manages to turn and grasp onto the bottle tighter, watching as some spills over the side.

“Dude,” Chloe protests, back against the bricks. Her free hand presses against Victoria’s stained blouse, weakly keeping her at arm's length.

“Who the fuck are you?” Victoria asks, and it would almost sound concerned if it weren’t for her face twisting into that nasty, incredulous scowl. Despite her expression, her eyes are shining with something Chloe can’t determine.

Chloe grits her teeth, lifts her chin, meets Victoria’s eyes. Then, she raises the bottle to her lips and chugs.

Victoria emits an affronted noise and pushes forward again, and Chloe suddenly loses grip of the bottle. It smashes at their feet with a crack, glass shattering into smithereens.

It crunches under Chloe’s boots as she stumbles back from Victoria, and she can’t help but laugh. Raw and loud. Her tears have dried, and her throat is drier.

Victoria looks down. Then back up. Her expression wavers as the stench of 80 proof surrounds them. She steps back too, her tights damp and skirt splashed. 

“Aww, c’mon Vicky, s’not like you can’t afford another bottle, how ‘bout some Cîroc next time? Heard it has a real kick,” Chloe slurs, kicking her leg out in Victoria’s general direction. Her boot sends crystalline fragments flying - unintentionally, but Victoria doesn’t seem to realize that; startling backward and frowning deeper.

“I swear to God—”

“What?” Chloe spits back. “You swear what. Can’t even call security on me crashing your lame ass VIP club in case they realize you’re all fuckin’ underage drunks and juvenile cokeheads, and what’d happen to your precious little rep then, huh?”

Victoria’s piercing brown eyes trail up and down Chloe’s form, before she finally opens her mouth. 

“Security. What, you’re on your stepdad’s side all of a sudden? You don’t even go here but you still think you can just walk up in the VC and ruin all of our hard work without facing any of the consequences,” she says, then shakes her head. “God, what am I saying, as if you have any idea what hard work is. All that fucking entitlement just because you’re best friends with that whore.”

Chloe turns at that, a sudden, electric burst of energy jolting through her sluggish body, and the next thing she knows, Victoria’s against the wall, struggling under Chloe’s grip.

“Thought you didn’t know who I am,” Chloe says, and presses harder. “Go on, say it again, I fuckin’ dare you.”

The look of fear that flashes across Victoria’s face lasts all of two seconds, before her eyes narrow, and her trademark sneer returns.

“Jesus, handsy much?”

The fire exit door swings open and hits the wall with a thud.

“Chlo?”

Chloe drops Victoria at the sound of that voice, immediately turning to find Rachel approaching. As soon as she sees her, clad in her faded blue flannel, plum lipstick smeared just slightly, Chloe’s heart starts thumping.

Rachel came back. This is a first. This isn’t something that Rachel does. Chloe’s mind instantly fills with confusion and shame - simmering, boiling over, scalding.

“Baaaabe,” Rachel moans, “what’re you doing out here?” She pulls Chloe down to her height by her jacket and throws her arms around her, and that’s when Chloe numbly realizes Rachel must be just as fucked up as Chloe is. Chloe can feel Rachel looking around, her chin pressing into Chloe’s shoulder. Heat radiates from her. 

“Uh, me? What are you?” Chloe tries to sound cool, calm, collected - but the words blend together, and Chloe’s just thinking about how fucking lucky she is to have this girl in her life, and what a fucking idiot she is for her constant mental kamikazes. She can only hope Rachel doesn’t hear the whine that escapes from her throat when her nails graze the back of Chloe’s neck.

“Hadley said she saw you come out here, why’d you leave?” Rachel separates from Chloe, stumbling a little when she does. She looks tired: smile bright, but eyes dull; blinking through smudged, smokey eyeliner. Chloe swallows.

“Thought you were busy,” she attempts, still holding onto Rachel’s arms, swaying on her feet. “With someone.”

“What, me? No, dude, that guy was not worth it, I’m not sucking unwashed dick,” Rachel says bluntly. Chloe cringes, and Rachel giggles. “Scored us some E though.” Rachel spots the shards of glass by their feet, and giggles harder. “Oh hey, watch out, hazard.”

Then, she turns around.

“What are y’all even doing out here and more importantly why wasn’t I invited? Pretty rude, Tori. I thought you knew I liked a good time?”

Oh, right. Victoria.

Rachel’s question is light and humorous, but her inflection has a quality which slices through the atmosphere, placing Victoria straight back into the spotlight. She’s standing there, holding her arms close to her body, expression unreadable, simply watching the two of them as Rachel smirks directly at her.

“Yeah, whatever, girl,” Victoria says quickly, sourly, and then she makes a move to remove herself from the situation, heading back to the fire exit. Rachel sighs quietly, rolling back on her heels a little as she gravitates back towards Chloe, slipping an arm around her side.

“Don’t worry Vic, we have Amy’s keg party on Friday. Gonna be funner anyways,” she adds.

With one last glance over her shoulder, Victoria stares Chloe straight in the eyes.

“You owe me,” she says, and slips away. Just like that. Chloe never knew headaches could disappear so easily.

“Take me home, C, I’m done for tonight,” Rachel says; before Chloe has a chance to ask more questions, to shit-talk Rachel’s rich kid buddies, to process Rachel’s sigh.

Chloe still wordlessly accepts Rachel’s hand when it slides into hers.

The word mine reverberates in Chloe’s mind, but she’s too far gone to tell if it resonates.

With cold hands, Victoria yanks out her headphones and gives up. On searching for the right song for this shitty, freezing night—on sitting here trying to find something that sounds right, feels right. 

Nathan is late. He's so late, she's been bailed on for sure, so she stands because everything is wrong and shivering is useless and holding her arms close to her body isn't helping, not to generate warmth, not to make her feel anything, and fuck this, seriously. 

"Nate," she whispers.

The world is silent in response.

She pulls the cigarette from between her lips because it's dying anyway and her throat is burning. 

Well, screw him. 

She parts the haze of smoke like walking through a curtain, dissipating, acrid. She moves alone. Because she can do this on her own; she can do this and she won't be scared, she'll be confident, she'll be Victoria Chase. 

She creeps across campus. Hood up, swift, quiet through the dark of night. She's done this before. Time and time again, never caught, not once. She's great at it, with or without Nathan. Unnoticed like a fucking champ. She hates it. 

Both street lamps in the parking lot are busted right now, so it's dingy as hell—fog rolling in from the forest, puddles shimmering in moonlight. Nathan's empty parking space glares at Victoria. She glares back. 

Getting into her car is a silent act; the headlights flashing once, twice when she unlocks it, and she sits in the dark for a moment. Taking the chance that nobody spotted her, she sighs and pulls out her cell phone.

I'm going through with it W/O you. You're a dick  

Sent. 11:02 PM. 

The screen's harsh white light bores through her.  

Nate I really don't care where u r, but u better be fkn safe.  

After some hesitation, she sends that one too, then turns the key in the ignition. 

She cares about him too much, she knows she does. He knows it too. That's why he doesn't tell her where he goes these days, why he doesn't talk to her as often. 

She gets so close. When they're both high and his gaze is going distant and eyes vacant, she says what? She says, tell me, Nate. He used to tell her. Is it your dad? He just laughs at that. He never used to laugh at that. He laughs and it means no. He laughs and it means worse. She shoves him but it's half-assed because everything's light and she doesn't feel quite there. You know I won't tell. Of all people, you know I understand. You know I care.  

Don't, he says. 

The drive to the beach is smooth — she feels like she's floating the whole way there. There's close to no traffic and the town almost seems peaceful like this; still, sleeping. The wind in the powerlines and the waves lapping at the seashore are all that prove the bay still lives and breathes after sunset.

Then she’s there. Standing by the edge of the bay, outside of her car and inhaling the sea-spray air. Her coat flaps in the wind. Hair blows into her eyes.

And it’s calm, at first. It rolls over her, soothing her anxiety, lulling her stress. The nothingness. The lack of pressure. No one to judge. Nothing to force. Just, freedom.

She almost lets herself stay in it.

But there’s loneliness in this calm, in the emptiness of the parking lot. The slow, sickly sense of desertion. The knowledge that nobody cares where she is right now, that nobody knows how she feels.

Her shadow cast by the streetlamp. Alone.

She balls up her fists and gets on with this bullshit.

Bowers doesn't answer his door until Victoria namedrops Nathan, Rott, whatever, but even then he still stands there. Leaning against the doorframe of this trashy tin-can RV, looking at Victoria like she's the piece of shit. 

“The fuck are you doing here?”

It nearly sets her over the edge.

She doesn't belong here. Fuck this pick-up. Fuck this guy. This place is a fucking eyesore and she should give up on this stupid mission now, give up on always cleaning up Nathan's messes, she should she should she should.

But she swallows it all. She tilts her head, folds her arms. Stares right back at him and sneers. “Why do you think?”

Frank is not amused.

“Tell Rott to pick up his own fuckin’ shit.”

He takes a step back, and the door’s about to slam, but—

Victoria’s eyes widen as she finds herself wedging her boot in it, manicured nails pressed against the grubby metal. She blinks, ignoring Frank’s confusion, then quickly pretends like she knows what she’s doing.

“Do you know how many other contacts we have?” 

Frank scowls. “C’mon. Move—”

“Because it’s a lot. We know lots of people who can do the job. We’re generous buyers and you’d be stupid to do what it looks like you’re gonna.”

Frank narrows his eyes, looks like he doesn’t know whether to laugh or chew her out.

“Are you for real?” he asks. “You tryna threaten me, little girl? Think you’re all tough ‘cause you got a big-shot boyfriend?”

“We’re not—” Victoria stops short. Shakes her head. “We. Have a lot of connections at Blackwell. They go where we go. We get a brand new, cheap as shit, dealer — they’re flocking to ‘em too. I’m not threatening you, it’s just the truth.”

Frank rolls his eyes.

“Yeah? Go do it then. And good luck with it,” he says, but doesn’t shove her out of the way. “You really think you’re somebody, don’t you?”

“It’s easier this way, for all of us. If you just… cooperate,” Victoria clarifies, and starts to open her purse.

“You are one stupid little girl,” Frank replies, glancing down at her cash.

“Do we have a deal?” Victoria asks, feigning confidence.

“This ain’t your deal, Bobtail.”

“What?” Victoria squints. “Bobtail, seriously? With the dog names?”

“Nah, nah, nah,” Frank says. “You’re a bobtail cat, not a dog. Wanna know why?” Frank leans forward, whispering now. “Fuckin’ hate cats.”

“You’re such a freak.”

“Give me your damn money or get out of here.”

Fucking finally.

Victoria rolls her eyes, reaching her hand into her purse. She hands over the bills.

Frank shakes his head. “Uh-uh.”

Victoria glares.

“Administration fee.”

She slams another bundle of cash down into his palm. He wrinkles his nose at it, then stuffs it in his back pocket. He turns, grabbing a few baggies wrapped up in an elastic band from somewhere, and tosses it towards Victoria’s chest.

Before he can slam the door back in her face, Victoria speaks up, smoothing her fingers over the plastic bags in her hand.

"What—What did he, uh. What did he ask for?" 

Frank instantly riles up, sarcasm and threats ready to roll off his tongue. 

"What, you think I'm gonna scam you? Oh my God, Victoria." 

Victoria bristles at the sound of her name. But before she can tell him she doesn't mean that, she just wants to know what those unlabelled vials are that appear sometimes, he continues. 

"Look, I know he didn't get smack the last time, but he got his money back — not that he needs it. That shit gets nasty, anyway! Besides, everything he asked for's there, so fuck off.”

And there's the door slam. 

It isn’t until Victoria gets back over to her car that she starts shaking, fumbling with her keys; the fear that should've been there moments ago, weeks ago, months ago – ingrained from her parents' lectures, her basic elementary education – crushing down on her and threatening to break her ribs, her lungs, her heart.

Why does she do this? Why, why, why? 

Her phone lights up before she can do something stupid — like stop breathing, like start crying.

She reads the messages.

Nathan's sorry. Nathan was busy. Nathan will make it up to her. 

She breathes out, then breathes in again quicker. 

U wanted fucking heroin lst week?  

No, he writes. It was for a friend.

Victoria hears the low rumble of a motor engine approaching from the distance. 

Who?   

She looks around, phone shaking in her hand, but there's no car in sight. Her phone buzzes and startles her. 

does it rly matter  

Fuck knows if it does or it doesn't. She just needs to distract her fingers and her mind. 

Well I'm not interested in tht shit, ok? You fucing idiot

fine  

She waits. She needs to say something else, something, anything. Her fingers twitch above the keyboard, but before she can hit anything the phone vibrates again. 

thx btw. think we shld have enough shit 4 amys now. i kno u don’t like frank. take half of the weed

She stares at it. Then, she scoffs, beginning to type a response.

Nate hes fuckign Arcadia bay trailer trash and im fucking sick of always ha

A door shuts and Victoria drops her phone. 

She goes down with it, hissing, and luckily it didn't break because it landed in a mound of sand, but shit. Shit, okay, somebody's here. She didn't notice the lights.  

Whoever it is probably doesn't notice or care about Victoria, but she still keeps still and holds her breath.  

A figure moves, casting a long, bouncing shadow in the light from the RV window. 

"Hellooo..." 

The voice is a giggling, drawn-out tease. Victoria rises to her feet in time to see the door open, illuminating a dangerous smile. 

"Get the fuck in here, Rach," Bowers says, voice nauseatingly sweet, and Victoria nearly rolls her eyes into the back of her skull. 

All of Victoria's fear is replaced with a much grosser feeling, one that's easy and familiar and has her grabbing at her door handle as soon as Rachel Amber goes inside.

But she hears another noise, a soft click, a rustling. She pauses, hand resting on the open door. Her head turns slowly. 

Their eyes lock from across the parking lot, and it’s her again.

Despite the dark, she recognizes the truck from shitty parking maneuvers at Blackwell and that blue mop of hair from rumors of dumbasses who made bad life choices. More than rumors. Chloe was expelled.

Seeing her like this feels different. She isn’t sure if it’s because she’s sober this week, but it’s more familiar, somehow, despite being 30 feet away. She can't help but think of her as the loner chick, the dork with the streaky hair, the skater falling asleep in art class and wreaking havoc in chemistry. She thinks of the times she’s seen David Madsen dragging her off campus with rough hands and a scowl on his face when she sneaks back in.

It should've been Rachel. 

Chloe lights a cigarette, face glowing in the dark. Waiting. 

Victoria can't tell if she's actually been spotted or if Chloe's just looking in her direction, but Victoria's frozen regardless. 

Then Chloe waves. It's a timid wave, but the action in itself is bold and cocky and stupid and presumptuous. The bitch knows it, too, because she's laughing now. 

As if.

Victoria slams her door, starts the engine, and hits the gas.

When Friday comes, Rachel doesn't have to say please. She just asks Chloe, soft and low and sweet, “do you wanna come? ‘Cause, you know, I want you to. I really want you to", and then they're pre-gaming in Rachel's dorm again, listening to Green Day, sharing a bowl, packing another.

The whiskey Chloe brought burns when it slips down her throat, and Rachel tells Chloe it’s terrible.

“Is not,” Chloe lies through a cloud of smoke.

Rachel colors her eyelids with something green and smiles back at the other self in the mirror. She takes another swig anyway. And another. And another.

It’s past nine and they’re lying on Rachel’s bed when she laughs; “Oh, shit. The party’s started without us, huh?”

“Do you even care?” Chloe asks. Rachel smiles back at her and says, “not when you’re right here.” She takes a pull of the whiskey while upside-down, eyes trained and unblinking, and Chloe doesn’t know how she doesn’t cough it up. But at that moment, there are more important things left unanswered. 

Rachel rises from the bed, too quickly, and Chloe’s left alone again.

She fixes her hair, pulls down her T-shirt a little.

“How do my tits look?” Rachel asks. 

Chloe rolls her eyes.

“You know how I feel about your tits.”

Rachel smirks, then she jumps on Chloe’s chest.

Chloe holds her breath. All she wants is for Rachel to take off her shirt and keep crawling up her body until she’s looking down into her eyes, her thighs straddling her face.

“I shaved, wanna feel?” she asks.

Chloe sighs gently. “Rachel…”

Rachel tilts her head. And yes, Chloe does want to feel. She slips her hand through the elastic waistband of Rachel’s panties, and cups smooth, hot skin.

Her eyes meet Rachel’s. Rachel looks back down at her, her smile quivering just slightly. Chloe’s finger brushes against Rachel’s clit, just for a second.

“Soft, right?” Rachel asks, unaffected.

“You’re gonna be complaining all day tomorrow about how bad it itches.”

“Shut up, bitch. I get days out of it.” She starts to get up, moving away, but Chloe holds her hips down, without even meaning to.

But Rachel sends her a look. Her head tilted, eyes narrowed.

She doesn’t need to say anything. Chloe lets go immediately.

Rachel heads back to the mirror, sits in front of it again. "We can be fashionably late," she says, taking her phone from the dresser and stuffing it into her bra.

Chloe would rather just... not go. 

Whether it’s a VC party, a campfire in the forest, or this theater kid’s empty beach house south of town — Chloe doesn’t belong. Not here, not there, not anywhere.

That’s how it’s been for a while now. Definitely since Steph graduated, and especially since Chloe got expelled.

Chloe knows how it makes her look, when she goes. Loitering around with drink in her veins, melting into sofas and clinging to the walls. Like the school kid who doesn’t get picked to dance. The person you cross the street to avoid. The pothead, the delinquent, the nobody.

But the pain is less about how it looks, and more about how it feels. It’s knowing that when Rachel and Chloe are on their own, things are a thousand times better. Things are good. That should be enough.

Chloe leans over the side of the bed and finishes the whiskey for herself.

Why isn't that enough?

Chapter Text

Victoria can’t believe she left Courtney behind for this.

She twists her body to grab her glass of rosé off of the bathroom counter, chugging it, and Aaron, Adam — whatever his name is — stays buried in her neck.

She thought she could push through it, but everything about this is wrong. How is it possible that he’s too rough and too soft at the same time? He kisses wet and nervous like a slobbering dog, but he’s grabbing her arms so tight that he could rip her lace blouse, and she just isn't gonna get what she needs from this tonight. She can’t even close her eyes and imagine it’s someone else; his grunts are so loud and obnoxious and he’s between her legs, pressing against her, trapping her there on top of the counter.

She slams the glass back down on the surface beside her, and it breaks. It wasn’t intentional, not consciously, but it serves a decent purpose. The guy startles, pulling back.

“Look what you did, idiot.”

“Huh?” he asks drunkenly, glancing at the shards in the bathroom sink. He shakes his head, leaning back in. “I’ll get you another later...”

“Ugh, I’m not getting stabbed for this,” Victoria responds, slurring a little as she pushes him away. She hops down from the counter and brushes off her skirt with her free hand. The nausea that was slowly building begins to subside.

“Victoria—”

“Fuck. No.” She unlocks the ensuite door and lets it slam shut again behind her, exiting through the thankfully empty master bedroom.

Amy’s place is a fucking maze. It has spacious rooms but dark, narrow hallways, only lit by scattered spotlights, making it excruciatingly hard to navigate while wasted. The walls are wooden and littered with obscure 70s decor, generating this sense that everything’s closing in on you, or that you could take one wrong turn and stumble across the Red Room. The only saving graces of this house are the community stairs leading down to the beach out back, and the fact that Amy’s parents are never in it. Not every successful person has good taste in interior design, Victoria is painfully aware. Makes her feel grateful her family is art gallery-rich, not film industry-rich like Amy’s.

She quickly takes a left turn, taking off down the hall, knowing that even if it’s the wrong way it’ll loop back around again. The music from the stereo system downstairs raises in volume as she gets closer to the party.

She bumps into some shelves stupidly hung halfway down the stairs, wobbling on her feet a little before regaining composure. Everybody is either in the living room or out in the yard, but Victoria needs longer to recover and prepare before she rejoins, and another drink would definitely help that. 

She quietly passes a few people in the living room before walking toward the kitchen where she stashed her wine, and suddenly, Rachel appears from under the archway, marching out of the room. Victoria freezes.

She didn’t realize Rachel had turned up tonight. Courtney said she was a no-show, and despite the confusing sense of betrayal that burned in Victoria’s chest, at least she knew she wouldn’t have to compete for attention for the night, not from her friends, not from strangers, not from Rachel herself—

But here she is. Maybe things would’ve gone differently if Victoria had realized. Maybe she wouldn’t have gotten too drunk and gone off with the Tillamook senior Hadley had been eyeing all night. Maybe she would’ve tried being honest for fucking once.

Rachel stops in her tracks mere inches away from Victoria, backpack sliding off of her shoulder. She meets Victoria’s gaze, eyes sparkling with anger and emerald glitter. Before Victoria can even open her mouth, calculate and formulate the right thing to say, Rachel sighs and storms off towards the patio doors.

Victoria watches her go for a moment before deciding to shake it off. She can’t deal with that tonight. She’s too drunk. Nope, nope, nope. Tonight is about distractions. 

The kitchen seems empty when she staggers in, but she soon startles, noticing Rachel's sidekick in the dark. She’s leaning against the wall and staring at the ceiling, eyes red.

“Shocker,” Victoria mumbles under her breath, flicking on the light switch and making a beeline for the refrigerator.

She searches the shelves for her wine, but the only one she sees is some blue Moscato which is at least half the price and even less the strength of her Zinfandel.

“Fuck.”

She rummages through the other sodas and juices but she’s shit out of luck. The rest of the easy alcohol’s in the cooler out back.

She slams the fridge door with a groan, leaning back against the freezer.

“You steal another bottle of my booze?” she asks, glancing over her shoulder at Chloe. She’s got something red smeared on her neck – it looks a little like blood.

Chloe doesn’t respond, just wipes her nose with the sleeve of her flannel hoodie. 

“Oh, so you’re fucking mute now,” Victoria says, turning around fully.

Chloe side-eyes her finally. She sniffs, snotty-sounding, then steps away from the wall. “You wish,” she responds.

Victoria almost laughs, but she stops herself, not wanting Chloe to think that she’s gonna let last week slide.

“You fucked up pretty bad this time, huh,” she mutters absently, continuing the search for her wine along the kitchen counters instead.

“Just stay out, man.”

“Ugh, whatever,” Victoria responds, narrowing her eyes at her. She finally gives up, heading towards the sliding doors that lead to the side of the house. “You know I don’t care enough to pry. Could just as much be Rachel having one of her fucking moments. Cue the forgive-me manipulation in a couple days.”

Chloe grabs Victoria’s arm as she passes her.

Victoria shakes her off quickly. “Seriously?” she scoffs. “Gonna attack me again like a rabid dog?”

Chloe tilts her head in mild confusion.

“That’s what you did last time,” Victoria reminds her, rolling her eyes. “Pinned me against a fuckin’ wall, all psycho. You’re lucky I didn’t rat on you to Madsen.”

Chloe’s frosty gaze hardens, blue eyes set like ice. She steps forward, away from the kitchen wall, and the stain on her neck suddenly catches Victoria’s eye again. Only now does she notice that it’s lipstick, trailing across her collarbone in glittery blotches, smudging down beyond the neck of her shirt.

“Yet. Still could,” Victoria adds when Chloe remains silent. Chloe casts a swift glance toward the kitchen door.

“You said I owe you, right?” Chloe says, meeting her eyes again. Victoria pauses, then sighs.

“What?” she asks, too intoxicated for this.

“This place has a basement,” Chloe says, then hastily pushes past Victoria. Some spiced-yet-sweet cologne wafts as she heads for the door, and Victoria frowns, eyes following her.

Chloe places her hand on the doorframe, looking back impatiently, that disheveled cerulean hair falling into her eyes. She huffs a sigh at Victoria’s lack of action.

“Alcohol, right?” she adds, tone curt and unforbearing. “Come get some fucking alcohol.”

Victoria makes a face. “Basement—?”

But Chloe’s already leaving the room, and God, Victoria’s already made bad decisions tonight. What’s another to add to the pile?

She follows her tentatively through the hall, looking around to make sure her friends aren’t seeing this.

“That’s a closet,” Victoria says when Chloe opens a door by the laundry room. Chloe ignores her, moving some jackets and the shoe rack to the side, uncovering another door at the end.

Chloe tries the second door, revealing a set of stairs down into what indeed appears to be a basement.

Victoria sighs frustratedly. How does this bitch know the house better than Victoria? Amy isn’t unlucky enough to even know Chloe.

“Been down here before,” Chloe grunts, as if reading Victoria’s thoughts.

“I— again, don’t care.” She’s just hoping for a wine cellar.

Victoria pads down the stairs after Chloe, who flicks on a lightswitch at the bottom, and—

“Is that a conversation pit?” Victoria asks, squinting her eyes incredulously. Chloe glances to the gaudy sunk-in lounge area as she heads for the armoire at the back wall. A projector setup hangs from the ceiling above it.

“Not gonna be your conversation buddy,” Chloe responds as she swings open its tall doors, revealing what could only be described as a fuck-load of wine bottles resting in their racks.

Victoria heads over to inspect. She pulls out the first bottle she touches, skimming the text while Chloe very quickly settles on a half-empty bottle of rum from the cabinet below, tossing it from hand to hand.

2008 something Alpine something Santa Cruz something Pinot Noir.

Yeah, sure. Victoria grabs a corkscrew from the shelf and gets to work while Chloe wanders away, flumping onto one of the sofas in the conversation pit with her ill-gotten gains.

When the thing’s open, Victoria grabs a glass from the shelf, taking a glance back at Chloe as she fills it up with the wine. Chloe’s emptied her pockets onto the coffee table for whatever reason — lighter, cellphone, keys, roach and filters — and now she’s just staring at the mess, liquor bottle between her thighs.

Despite the buzz of alcohol, Victoria recognizes that despondent expression.

She sighs, grabbing a few lowball tumblers to stuff under her arm before heading over. She steps down into the pit, pushing some cushions away to plop down beside Chloe, resting the glasses in front of her garbage pile. “Shots.”

Victoria takes a gulp of her wine, maintaining eye contact, moving herself slightly further away from Chloe when she realizes how close she landed to her. Chloe looks at Victoria like she wishes she was dead. 

“Cheer the hell up,” Victoria says, quickly wiping away what dribbles down her chin. “Look, you’re having a shitty night, me too. If we’re gonna get all fucked up let’s at least play a drinking game or something.”

“I’m not in the mood.”

“Yeah, I know you’re emo, but you can take a break from slitting your wrists for a few minutes.”

“Go play King’s Cup or some other kids' game with your cronies, didn’t I already pay my dues?”

Victoria snorts, grabbing the rum bottle from between Chloe’s legs. “I wasn’t gonna suggest any kind of card game - you need to be able to read for those.”

“Oh, you wanna play spin the bottle instead?” Chloe asks, a playful yet disdainful taunt, swiveling quickly into Victoria’s space, undoing the distance Victoria put between them.

Victoria freezes, and Chloe eyes her. She glances up and down, somewhat unnerved, as if Victoria didn’t react the way she was supposed to, missing her cue and going off script.

After a moment, Chloe grabs the bottle back frustratedly, but gives in, pouring the two tumblers almost full of rum.

“Yeah, you’d love that,” Victoria tries, but it feels like she’s rejoining the table-read a little too late. She reaches for one of the glasses.

“Hey, I thought you wanted a game,” Chloe chides.

“Yeah, uh, never have I ever hung out with a high school drop-out,” she says, and takes a gulp, wincing at the sting. She chases it with a sip of wine.

Chloe shrugs, taking a sip of her own. “Never have I ever felt the need to belittle everyone around me ‘cause I suck so bad and can’t ignore it.”

“You have to try harder if you wanna cut deep,” Victoria says disapprovingly, shifting on the sofa, knee bumping against Chloe’s in the process. “Besides, I know you like this attention. If you were still in Blackwell you’d know it’s highly sought after.”

“I don’t need to go to Blackwell to know your reputation. Unfortunately,” Chloe says.

Normally, this type of conversation could make Victoria feel anxious. Spending too long wading in outright, outspoken condemnation is dangerous. But in this basement, wasted and with nobody else around to be influenced by it — hearing this kind of honest, brutal reproval from someone outside of the system feels refreshing. Chloe is someone who holds zero authority in the social structure of Blackwell or worse, Victoria’s family, so what consequences are there here for her? Victoria’s sure it’s what a bunch of people wish they had the balls to say to her face. And Chloe just does. She has no fucks left to give. It’s like a playground, or a testing ground, and Victoria has never been afforded the chance to mess around quite like this.

She briefly checks her cell for any texts, and not seeing any, drops it on the table, letting herself get more comfortable. 

“I’m so glad to hear that,” Victoria says with a smug smile, leaning forward, chin in her hands.

“Yeah, those stories spread like chlamydia. I’m curious what your rep’ll look like when people find out you like to play drinking games with punk dykes,” Chloe adds, raising her eyebrows as she maintains her piercing gaze. “On the sofa. Late at night. In the basement.”

Victoria shivers involuntarily.

There is the tiniest sensation of panic that arises at the possibility, but it’s easy to squash. Victoria is in control here, she isn’t going to fall victim to Chloe’s traps. She’s strong enough to pull the plug on what could turn into a tsunami if she were a weaker person.

She smirks.

“Punk? Is that the aesthetic you’re going for?” Victoria asks instead, looking Chloe up and down. “Hmm… Well, you tried.”

Chloe actually chuckles at that. Good. This distraction can continue.

“I’m wounded, fashion guru,” Chloe replies. “Please, at least tell me it looks like I eat pussy.”

Victoria opens her mouth and closes it again. And then, to her own surprise, she laughs.

If she was with her friends and they heard Chloe say that, they might’ve laughed too; uncomfortably, mockingly. Because they’d be grossed out, and they’d immediately voice that disgust, and Chloe probably anticipated that from Victoria too, if the way she holds her gaze expectantly is any indication.

But displaced from the constant pressure to uphold an unspoken code within that group, unshackled and wine-drunk, Victoria can appreciate that this just feels… real. Fearless. Genuine.

So the scorn doesn’t come.

Victoria sits with the feeling for a moment. It’s foreign, but at the same time it feels so natural that it pisses her off.

Chloe leans back against the sofa, arms outstretched, and Victoria senses that the quirk in her lip is a smile. And she immediately knows: Chloe’s treating this like a game, too. Messing with Victoria was clearly Chloe’s intention, and for whatever reason, her attempt hasn’t gone to plan. Is that more exciting for Chloe?

Victoria leans over to the table, grabbing her glass, taking another sip as she watches Chloe. The room is spinning, just slightly, but in a way that Victoria is sure she can handle. It is pretty hot, though.

“Shit, no AC,” Victoria mutters. She glances around to check if there’s a freezer down here. “These shots could use some ice.”

“You’re just drunk,” Chloe says, leaning over and tapping Victoria’s cheek with her hand. Victoria stops herself from flinching at the touch. “Alcohol flush.”

“Yeah, I know, genius. How aren’t you hot?”

“I’m not hot?”

“Shut up,” Victoria responds. Chloe chuckles again, that infuriating sound. “Whatever. Are we gonna play something or not?”

Victoria undoes the first few buttons of her blouse unconsciously, fanning herself with her hand, thinking of ways she can regain control of the conversation.

“I dunno, I’m already getting a lot of entertainment out of watching you let loose,” Chloe says, her eyes flitting downwards, just once, Victoria notices, and it sears into her brain, into her vision, so when she blinks, she sees it repeating back again like a film loop. “Almost losing those inhibitions that make you such an uptight cunt most of the time.”

Victoria glares sideways. “I was trying to do a good deed by keeping you company here and you’re being a bitch about it.”

“Is that why you’re really here?” Chloe asks, hair falling into her eyes. Victoria swallows, cotton-mouthed.

No. Obviously. Chloe’s messed up, and part of Victoria does pity her, but this isn’t the same as when she resigns herself to babysitting duty with Nate. 

She leans over the coffee table, takes another sip of rum, her lightheadedness getting the better of her as she gulps.

Games. She’s just here to play games.

“Never have I ever been fucked over by Rachel Amber,” Victoria says. Best she can do to take charge again. Shove the spotlight back onto Chloe. Hot potato. 

Chloe almost grimaces. “Jesus Christ, all you do is shit-talk Rachel. Are you ever not thinking about her? ” 

“Oh, you’re one to fucking talk,” Victoria hisses back, sputtering now. “I’m just trying to get some fucking, I don’t know, emotion out of you. Really, this is fucking charity, Lord knows you don’t go to a therapist.”

“You drink then,” Chloe says, taking another slug of rum herself.

“Uh—”

“Don’t you know how never have I ever works? You’re supposed to say things that haven’t happened to you. I know for a fact Rachel fucked you over, just as she should have.”

“What are you talking about?” Victoria squints.

“Oh, where to start?” Chloe laughs, and Victoria feels something burning in her chest. “That’s all she does with you guys. What, don’t make that face, come on, you wanted some honesty, right? That’s why you’re down here with me.” Chloe leans over and close to Victoria’s face, her breath warm and chemical. “I see right through you. And you’re here ‘cause I’ll tell you how it really fuckin’ is. I’ll tell you that Rachel uses you, uses the Vortex, just like you guys use her. I mean, what do you think your relationship with her is? You have to know it’s fake, right? You’re fucking unhealthy, you know. You’re all a fuckin’, communal, free-use cesspit of teenage—”

And like an insane person, Victoria grabs Chloe’s flannel and pulls. Chloe loses her balance, falling forwards, and their lips land against each other’s hard.

Chloe pulls back instantaneously, though the nanosecond it takes feels like an eternity to Victoria. She stares into Victoria’s eyes, with an expression Victoria doesn’t recognize.

The world freezes still as she comprehends what just happened.

Shit, it’s coming, like a stomach full of vomit.

Victoria can’t be the one to be rejected. She jolts back, self-preservation mechanism kicking in—

But then she’s on her back again, Chloe’s hand pressing hard against Victoria’s chest, her head hitting the armrest like a death sentence. Chloe’s leg slots between hers, and then their tongues are moving against each other, warm and wet like fireworks in a thunderstorm.

It takes a second to realize the moans Victoria hears are coming from herself, and they only get louder as Chloe’s hand slides into her half-open blouse, pressing against her collarbone, toying with her bra strap. 

Victoria is about to grab Chloe’s hand, pull it down into the cup of her bra, hold it against her, clasp it tight, but Chloe pulls back to take a breath.

No. No, breathing doesn’t fit into this. People don’t take breathing breaks in dreams or nightmares.

Victoria wraps her hand around the back of Chloe’s neck, trying to pull her down again, but Chloe grabs her by the wrist, holding it above her head against the armrest. Victoria tries to hide the jagged, pathetic gasp that escapes her throat.

“What the hell,” Chloe says quietly, the words falling out of her mouth clumsily, curiosity made clear by the heavy crease in her brow.

“What the hell— to— you,” Victoria repeats Chloe’s words, only quieter. “You—” she starts again, then groans exhaustedly, her hips squirming underneath Chloe.

“Hey—”

Victoria’s free arm springs into action, knocking into the one that’s keeping Chloe’s balance, and Chloe crashes down into Victoria.

“Don’t pretend,” Victoria says into Chloe’s neck. She jams her knee between Chloe’s legs, pressing up hard against her inseam, and relishes at the sound of Chloe’s breath catching in her throat.

Chloe turns her head sharply, so her lips brush against Victoria’s neck, the other side, not where that jock was kissing earlier, and suddenly, teeth sink into flesh. Victoria yelps, writhing as Chloe sucks. She isn’t even really aware of the sounds she’s making anymore. She just knows she can’t help them.

“Careful,” Chloe says, taking a second to hover. “Unless you want people to hear?”

“Stop,” Victoria says, fed up of her schtick, just craving more, but Chloe stops everything , hovering a few inches higher than before, so Victoria can see her own lipstick smeared on Chloe’s cheek, a darker shade than Rachel’s red.

“Really?”

“No,” Victoria corrects, wriggling underneath Chloe’s weight, trying to get her arm free to pull Chloe closer again, “No—”

“Just confused,” Chloe whispers. “Right?”

"Stop. Talking."

Victoria finally manages to grab hold of Chloe’s hand, yanking it between her legs, pulling it underneath her skirt — but she doesn’t have to tug it further, because Chloe’s hand is already pulling Victoria’s panties to the side, and Victoria can’t believe what’s happening, she can’t believe how fucking easy Chloe’s fingers slide between her lips, rubbing up and down against her clit like they’ve been doing this every night for the past lifetime, and Victoria’s letting it happen, trying not to beg for it.

It doesn’t take long before Chloe’s fingers slip in, one at first, two only a second after, and Victoria throws her head back, staring at the ceiling, mouth hanging open in disbelief. She can’t say anything coherent.

Chloe hikes Victoria’s skirt up with her free hand, letting it rest above her tummy as her fingers pump harder.

“T-take off my—”

She’s already on it, and Victoria whines as Chloe exits her body to slide her panties down her legs. She tosses them somewhere unknown before her hands are back on each of Victoria’s thighs, and Victoria lets her legs fall open, vulnerability washing over her body like a fever.

Chloe makes eye contact.

“Come on,” Victoria whispers.

Chloe breathes a laugh. Her expression shows that she can’t believe what’s happening either; self-possessed, but dubiety shines through the cracks. Nonetheless, she leans forward, two fingers slipping back inside Victoria, pushed by the weight of her body as she dives down into Victoria — and with Chloe’s lips hovering so close like that, it’s only logical that Victoria captures them with her own.

Then it’s Chloe who moans into Victoria’s mouth. Victoria savors the sound, echoing it back as Chloe fucks her faster. She bites Chloe’s bottom lip while her hand slides up and under her flannel, feeling the warm, smooth skin of her abdomen, sneaking upwards. She isn’t wearing a bra, and oh—

It feels like Chloe smirks into the kiss as Victoria starts toying with metal.

She shouldn’t be surprised. Yet, her mind starts racing, speculating, wanting, guessing. Who else has touched Chloe like this? Rachel, obviously, Victoria isn’t a fucking idiot— but how? Does she lie under Chloe like this? Or does she dominate? Did she get hers pierced, too? Has she had them in her mouth? It’s as if there’s suddenly this enormous book opened in front of Victoria, its pages endless and overwhelming, shuffling, writing and re-writing themselves.

As Chloe’s thumb starts rubbing fast circles against Victoria’s clit, she feels her body climbing higher and higher; she’s losing it, giving herself to Chloe entirely, sucking her tongue, pushing her hips down against her wrist, whimpering into her mouth.

Their lips part for a second as Chloe adjusts her angle, and then she’s hitting her just right, Jesus fucking Christ, Victoria isn’t going to last much longer—

Bzzzt.

Chloe looks to her side, just briefly, fingers still pumping—

Bzzzt.

Victoria’s about to come. She starts to choke, gasping, leaning over a cliff sky-high—

Bzzzt. 

And then, Chloe’s gone.

The buildup starts to fade.

Victoria looks around, confused. Chloe’s leaning over the coffee table, picking up her vibrating cellphone.

“Shit,” Chloe says.

No, Victoria thinks. Don’t fucking do this. 

Bzzzt.

Chloe stares at the screen.

“Price. Don’t you—”

But she’s doing it. She swipes on the phone screen, pulling it up to her ear, wiping the burgundy off of her cheek as she does it.

Victoria is already shoving Chloe away from her, searching for wherever her underwear landed. She can’t bear to hear whatever Chloe says on the phone. She can’t bear to hear herself.

“Yeah?” Chloe says, glancing over as Victoria pulls up her panties.

“Uh. I’m, uh, still here,” Chloe says into the phone, hands moving to the coffee table, preemptively hovering over her keys. “Yeah, um, where are you?”

Victoria reaches out to grab her own cellphone from the table, unintentionally scrambling through Chloe’s belongings, which prompts Chloe to grab Victoria’s wrist.

“Back at the dorms?” Chloe asks. Meanwhile, she sends Victoria a confused expression, some kind of urging ‘what?’, or maybe a ‘wait’.

Victoria yanks her arm out of her grasp, cellphone in tow, and suddenly red wine is spilling over the coffee table, eliciting a groan from Chloe as it seeps into her jeans. 

“Idiot,” Victoria hisses, mostly at herself, although she won’t clarify that. 

“Will you just—” Chloe starts angrily, but cuts herself off, holding the phone closer to her mouth again. There’s a pregnant pause in Chloe’s conversation, as she looks between Victoria and the puddle of red. “Uh, no—nobody.”  

Victoria stands up and stuffs her cellphone into the waistband of her skirt, re-buttoning her blouse. She almost loses her balance, the floor spinning around her like a turntable.

She can just leave. She can just pretend this never happened. In fact, the sooner the better. Course correction. Out of necessity. Out of survival. Never think about it again; just let this memory sink and disappear like a body in a swamp.

Victoria hears Chloe sigh. “Sure,” she says, resignedly. “But I can’t take the truck, I'm too—” 

Victoria turns on her heel, trying her best to block out the world, desperate to make her exit swiftly without so much as a glance behind her.

“Red Corolla, alright, I’ll find them,” Chloe’s mumbling.

And Victoria fails one last time, taking a final look across the room halfway up the stairs.

Chloe’s not looking back. She’s staring at the ceiling, hand in her hair.

“You too,” Chloe murmurs into the phone.

Game Over, nobody. Better luck next time.

“Dude, you’ve got the shakes.”

Chloe squints back at Rachel, one admittedly trembling hand shielding her eyes from the sting of early morning sunlight.

“I know,” Chloe responds. Her voice is scratchy and her mouth tastes disgusting. The cigarette she’s smoking isn’t helping. She stubs it out against one of the wooden beams they’re stood next to. “Need electrolytes,” she mumbles, pushing the words out of her throat.

Rachel adjusts her baseball cap as she leans against the back of the wooden bleachers. She looks pale, but not as hungover as Chloe. That would be a difficult feat. “You need your momma’s bacon,” she says, which is normally a wondrous plan, but the idea of eating anything right now turns Chloe’s stomach.

Rachel reaches into the tote bag she’s carrying and pulls out a probably lukewarm bottle of Sunny D, offering it to Chloe. “Best I can do,” she says.

“Thanks.” Chloe takes it, opens it, and starts gulping. At least it’ll distract her tastebuds if it can’t nurse her headache.

“Thanks for last night,” Rachel says, a strange lilt to her voice as she digs around in her bag again. Chloe struggles to know which part Rachel might be referring to. Chloe didn’t do anything good last night, so what is she owed any thanks for? 

Rachel glances up at her from her bag, shaking her head lightly like she can read Chloe’s mind. “I mean, you showed up.”

Chloe eyes her, wiping her lips clean with her sleeve. “Well, didn’t you want me to?”

Rachel meets her gaze and holds it for a second. She shakes it off, looking back down to her bag again and removing some lip balm. She begins applying it, gazing off into the distance. It’s the Coca-Cola-flavored one that Chloe likes to kiss right back off again.

“Were you gonna pick up a shift today?” Rachel asks, mumbling around the chapstick.

Chloe pauses, slightly blindsided. But life does keep going even when the world feels like it’s ending.

“Maybe,” Chloe responds, knowing that she won’t. Her plan is to crash in her own bed until David gets off shift, then take her board to the skatepark and smoke her brains out. Even if she somehow did feel okay this morning, Joyce gets extra stressed during the Saturday breakfast rush, and no paycheck is worth that kind of collateral damage.

She finishes the dregs of Sunny D and the bottle falls out of her hand to the grass below. She feels so weak, like the breeze breaking against Arcadia’s valley might break her too.

Maybe she does need some fucking bacon.

Rachel bends down and picks up the empty bottle, placing it back in her tote like a good person would, and Chloe’s mind wanders back to Two Whales despite herself. A date could provide a chance to have a real conversation. Like, one reminiscent of the ones they had last summer, when the two of them would spitball California dreams over milkshakes and fries. Maybe things can go back to feeling somewhat normal. If they try.

“I don’t know, we can swing by if you wanna eat something,” Chloe adds.

Rachel shakes her head, looking somewhat regretful. “Too busy. Gotta study and kiss some asses today. Reschedule the meeting I was supposed to have with my photography prof yesterday,” she sighs, glancing at her cell.

Chloe nods in silent acquiescence, and a few moments pass.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Chloe remembers. She’s met with a blank expression from Rachel. “Didn’t you want me to come back last night?”

“Oh. Well, yeah. Obviously,” Rachel says. Her eyes cast downwards, towards her grass-stained white Chucks.

Chloe shuffles her feet. “So…”

They look at each other.

“So, what’s the problem?” Chloe clarifies.

“It’s not a problem,” Rachel says, sounding a little annoyed as she returns her phone to her pocket. “But you don’t have to just… fold like that. Especially right after I was an asshole. You shouldn’t… You shouldn’t have to do that.”

This is the first time Rachel has said something like this. Chloe hates that her instinctual reaction is panic; a deep-rooted anxiety that the rug is going to get pulled out from under her: Rachel finally trying to get out of this trap, in some kind of twisted way where she frames herself as the bad guy. A wave of nausea surges through Chloe, but she tries to keep it at bay.

“But anyway, imma try not to do that again, so, it’s chill. Okay?” Rachel says.

“It… look, it doesn’t matter, Rach,” Chloe says quickly, trying to backtrack. “I was being a bitch too. What I said—”

“Pfft.” Rachel shakes her head. “No sweat. Like, A, it’s not like I haven’t heard it before, and B, I hella deserved to get bitched out.”

Chloe swallows a lump in her throat. “I—”

“Come on, Chlo. You were coming at me with real, valid concerns,” Rachel says, and Chloe’s mind flashes back to herself calling Rachel a liar and a slut, and she kind of wants to die.

She remembers the way that Rachel smiled something that wasn’t a smile; her teeth bared, expression cracking. Since when do I belong to you, Chloe?

“And I…” Rachel looks pained, and Chloe bristles. “I wasn’t cool about it. I was fucking harsh.”

If this is about sex, nothing is stopping you from fucking anybody else here! I’m not stopping you, Chloe. I’m not.

Like a puncture in the heart, blood trickling from the back of her throat. Chloe wanted to scream because Rachel is not that fucking obtuse. Instead she said something just as horrible, she thinks. It’s hazy, now, anyway.

Rachel meets Chloe’s gaze, taking a step into her space. She reaches out to Chloe’s cheek, and Chloe feels paralyzed by the touch.

“I know our shit is… more complicated, than most,” she says quietly. “All the more reason I shouldn’t be brushing you off like I did. I’m sorry.”

Chloe can’t speak. Fury and guilt are weighing down equally on her soul, and yet she’s scared for the moment to end. Not like that — not in the same way as when it’s dawn, light filtering in through the shutters in Rachel’s dorm room, dust unsettled, arms around her waist — no, she doesn’t really wish to be staying in this moment, she’s just terrified for what comes next.

“I’m just like… doing bad,” Rachel says, quietly.

Chloe feels herself aching, cracking, crumbling, like some stone golem coming to life. She starts to ask, ‘what?’, because… what? Rachel Amber, carefree, I don’t give a fuck what anybody thinks, I get perfect grades and a bi-weekly allowance and I never accidentally get too high, doing bad? But Rachel shakes her head again, omniscient.

“I’m just super stressed with school, and majorly PMS-ing, and I took that out on you. You didn’t deserve it. And you don’t have to forgive me,” she adds, almost desperately. “But… I want you to… see me. Okay?”

Chloe knows when she’s being shut up. But… she looks in Rachel’s glistening eyes, and she wants to believe her.

“Okay,” she says.

“Okay,” Rachel says, after a pause, then pulls Chloe into a hug. Chloe breathes out, letting go, and she squeezes back, forever failing to understand how Rachel still smells like sandalwood and peach even after two days without showering.

“God. I’m an ass,” Rachel chuckles. “Inviting you to yet another place you don’t wanna be then starting shit. How do you put up with me?” She pulls back and looks into Chloe’s eyes, cautious, searching. “Maybe I don’t wanna know. But really. Thank you. I need to show it better to you that I like it when you come.”

Chloe exhales, then tries her best to muster up a smile. She bumps against Rachel’s arm. “You do? Prove it.”

Rachel laughs, deep and genuine. “Perv,” she says.

“Alright. You should probably go, right?” Chloe says, after a moment.

"Yeah. You're right."

“I’ll miss you.” It sounds measly and small as it leaves her mouth.

“There’s only a few months til summer break,” Rachel says, reaching over to hold Chloe’s face with two hands before planting a kiss on her cheek. “I can’t fucking wait.”

Chloe smiles back weakly.

“Okay. Time to bounce.” Rachel turns and starts walking away, fixing her cap with her free hand. “Get some good sleep, Chlo,” she says.

“Bye,” Chloe says. She watches Rachel as she goes, her blonde ponytail swinging until she’s no longer in sight.

Things will be okay, Chloe thinks, exhaling deeply. They have to be.

She hopes that nobody sees when she throws up behind the bleachers, orange acid burning her throat.

Chapter Text

Chloe kicks her boots off and lands face-flat on her bed, but despite her exhaustion, when she sinks into the warm comfort of her blankets, she already senses flickers of failure. The threat of insomnia that normally only plagues her at night is sitting with her like an unwelcome guest in the corner of the room. Don’t even bother.

Okay. Fine. Fuck you, by the way.

She groans and gets herself back up, deciding to distract herself with some personal maintenance. Admittedly, it does feel incredible to change into some sweats and a band tee after wearing jeans for twenty-four hours straight. She brushes her teeth and hair then rolls on some deodorant, half-committing to taking an actual shower later, and as she pads downstairs, she savors every loud creak and ache of the floorboards under her weight. Nobody to alert, nothing to betray.

She heats up some frozen toaster waffles, drowns them in maple syrup, and begins devouring. Halfway through the third, she starts to feel ill and decides to call it quits. After half-assing her dishes, she grabs an off-brand cola from the fridge and cracks it open, glugging almost half the can as she surveys the sparse amount of groceries that are even left in there. Before she closes the door again, her eyes hover over David’s beers.

Hair of the dog? She hears his voice in her head. Lowlife. Yeah, yeah. Like he wasn’t always sitting on his ass day-drinking all week before he got this security job. She grabs a bottle out of spite.

Bang, bang, bang.

Chloe startles awake. She sits upright, quickly scoping out her surroundings. Her laptop is open on her bed, still quietly playing a pop-punk playlist on YouTube, and the soda and beer she was dual-wielding are empty and discarded by her side. Must’ve crashed — but she doesn’t feel any more rested. Figures. 

What the fuck day is it? She glances at the light shining through her window. 

She hears the sound again, and has the slow, sleepy realization that it’s only the thud of a fist against her door, and it’s nowhere near as loud as the explosion her unconscious mind confused it for.

“Chloe?” a voice says through the wood.

“Mmmph?” she mumbles in response, too out of it to react with frustration at being awoken. But still, her body knows this routine in her sleep. She quickly kicks the trash off of her bed and tosses one of her comforters on top of it, and sure enough, the door is already clicking open.

The door swings open slowly, revealing David in his security get-up. Chloe stares at him, blinking the sleep out of her eyes.

“Chloe,” he repeats, as if he doesn’t know any regular human greetings. He clears his throat while he regards her.

“Yes?” Chloe responds.

His face twists up like it pains him to talk to her without exceeding the socially acceptable number of decibels or peppering in some disparagement.

“What are you doing?” he tries.

“Mm… What does it look like?” Chloe asks, leaning back against her pillows again.

He glances at his watch. “It’s 4pm.”

Well, shit. 

“Okay, you can tell the time. Okay, so, 4pm. Right. On… Saturday, or—?”

“Where were you last night?” David responds sharply, eyebrows narrowing.

Chloe slowly feels herself stirring, tiredness replaced with something seething. None of your fucking business.

But she knows David is trying to keep things cool at Joyce’s behest, the best he can — which is not very fucking well, mind you, but whatever — so she exhales the fury. Let’s see how long it takes him to escalate things all on his own.

“With Rachel,” she says. 

“What were you doing with Rachel?”

Chloe sits up again, rubbing her eyes. She glances at her phone; no missed messages.

“Huh?” David urges. Chloe looks back up, eyebrows furrowing.

“Why do you even…” she starts, but she catches David’s expression shift just minisculely, that one vein in his forehead bulging. “I was her ride, alright? She had somewhere to be. School thing.”

David leans against the doorframe, relaxing just slightly.

“You didn’t sleep here last night.”

“Okay, stalker,” Chloe mumbles before she can help herself, but luckily David doesn’t react. “I crashed at hers.”

“Well, your car isn’t at Blackwell.”

Now Chloe’s getting actually pissed. The image of him scanning the parking lot at Blackwell, opening her bedroom door in the middle of the night; she feels disgusted and violated. But things always get awful when she’s honest, and she’s just tired. 

“Yeah dude, we left it near her friend’s place and got a different ride back, okay? We had a couple drinks. Jesus.”

“That’s all you had to say from the beginning. I appreciate when you tell the truth, you know,” David says, and it feels like a trap. “I mean, I knew it. You think I wasn’t young once, too?” He wanders into her bedroom, pulls her desk chair out and sits on it, elbows resting on haphazardly-spread legs. “So, where was it?”

“Can you leave me alone? Just once? I’m tired,” Chloe says. “I’m not up to anything. I’m literally just… tired.”

David chuckles, all condescension and no humor. Chloe bristles, knowing whatever is going to come out of his mouth next is going to be bullshit.

“Look, Chloe — let me make this clear for you: I’m letting you off the hook this time. You don’t have to act the victim, so cut the woe is me crap. I know you’ve been helping your mother down at the diner. You’ve been showing a little… work ethic. I commend that. I respect that. But you can’t let it slip, alright?”

Chloe groans.

“You shouldn’t be tired,” — he air-quotes — “at this time of day. Are you sure you just had a couple drinks?” David asks, squinting at her. “You look awful.”

“You aren’t helping.”

“And you reek of booze.”

“Thanks.”

“And cigarettes.”

“Okay.”

He sniffs dramatically, then shakes his head. “Grass, too. For God’s sa— aren’t you embarrassed, always acting like some burnout?”

“I’m not a fucking kid, bro, and I’m sure as hell not yours, get a life already—”

“Watch that goddamn tone,” David snaps, voice booming. Chloe eyes him. He reels it in again, breathing slowly and heavily, his face red like a big ugly tomato. “You can’t get lazy, Chloe. Don’t piss away your progress like you pissed away your education at Blackwell. I’m giving you a chance to improve here, I really am. But if you keep disrespecting my family, I’m not scared of showing you how the real world works. This won’t be your crash pad any longer. You just say the word, missy.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “Alright.”

David gets up, looking down at Chloe with the same dismay as the desk chair scoots backwards and clunks against the desk. Chloe buries her face back into her pillow.

“You better do something to help out around here. Go get your truck before some crackhead ‘friend’ of Rachel’s steals it. Pick up your mother from work. Make us dinner sometime, she would appreciate not having to cook after a shift.”

“Sexist,” Chloe mumbles into the sheets.

David snorts, wandering away again. “Don’t be ungrateful. I did my duty. What do you do?”

He exits the room and thumps downstairs, leaving the door wide open. Chloe would’ve rathered he just slam it shut.

“Fuckin’ bastard,” she mumbles even quieter. 

Her phone buzzes somewhere in her bed, and she slowly swipes her hand around in search of it.

New text message. 

Rachel.

She breathes out slow. Her heart never fails to skip a beat at that, even after all these years.

Rachel  

Eeeexciting news!!!!  

4:11pm

Chloe

sup? 

4:11pm

Rachel

Hey :-) 

4:11pm

Chloe’s lip quirks. It always feels intimate in some stupid way when Rachel manually types out an emoticon; she knows Chloe’s phone can’t read her iPhone emojis, yet she can’t tolerate the idea of Chloe not being able to decipher her tone.

Rachel

Sooooo remember I told you about having to kiss ass lately @ school? Been going to those meetings & all the extra cred n stuff?

4:13pm

Chloe

u mean whats been stealing you away for like forever ? yes i think i remember 

what

did you get grades back already?

4:17pm

Rachel

No no not yet, this is different.

But it paid off regardless ;) I had a really eyeopening conversation with the photography guy today. He basically told me that I’m definitely cut out for modeling, and that he’s had experience in LA and yes it’s super competitive but he sees a quality in me that’s like rare in the industry so

He thinks there’s a big chance it could work and he name dropped some people.. or maybe they were agencies? IDK but he can put a word in!

4:18pm

Chloe

ow

i mean wow 

congrats!

but i couldve told you that u know

4:19pm

Rachel

lol what?

4:20pm

Chloe

isn’t he basically just saying youre hot?

i mean he isnt wrong but … 

wait you do mean your professor dont you, thats this guy?

4:20pm

Rachel

he knows shit, trust me. modelling is much more than just being hot 

4:21pm

Chloe

i guess sure. do u trust him?

4:21pm

Rachel

i know what i’m doing!

he’s just useful

and i know what youre thinking but not every man is a total sleazebag y’know chloe.

4:21pm

Chloe

mmmm doubt

4:22pm

Chloe’s phone starts vibrating with the incoming call. She thinks about David being downstairs, and gets out bed to close her bedroom door quietly before picking up.

“Hey, you, don’t be stupid about this,” comes Rachel’s voice, sweet and relaxed. 

“Hey, how’m I stupid?” Chloe mumbles, grabbing the garbage from the floor and tossing it into the can while she’s on her feet.

“Don’t you realize why I’m telling you this?” Rachel asks. 

Chloe pauses. “I dunno, ‘cause you’re happy about it.”

“I’m happy for us. We could totally make LA work. Like, for real. Not a pipe dream.”

“Us,” Chloe repeats, voice coming out hollow. Now Rachel pauses.

“Uh, yeah, Chloe. Us. Like, what we wanted? What we’ve always wanted? Having a lil’ bout of amnesia over here, or—”

“Shut up, no, I just… I don’t know,” Chloe says, perching on the edge of her bed, glancing at the ash on her bedside shelves.

“You sound sad,” Rachel says, voice lower, yet probing.

“I’m not sad, I’m just thinking. I mean, what do I do?” Chloe mumbles, David’s myriad derisive remarks suddenly whirling around her mind.

“Are you serious?” Rachel asks. “Anything! C’mon, we’ve — we’ve talked about this,” she explains with a jaunty energy. “You said you’d like, repair motorcycles, or barista or bartend or do stick-and-pokes in a college town basement,” she laughs. “Like, anything. It doesn’t matter. What matters is getting out of here. You said it, right?”

“Yeah. I know, I know. Sounds… great and legitimate,” Chloe says, to an immediate scoff from Rachel.

“We’ll work it out! If you wanna get all logistical, we can someday, but it’s not necessary yet.” She sighs. “And, I mean, I know you know, but, I’ve got family there.” Right, Chloe thinks resignedly. “If things get dicey, they got me. But we won’t need that, I promise!”

Chloe buries her face in her palm. She knows that she should feel reassured by it, after all, it’s true. Rachel’s parents and the law firm they work at are all still firmly planted in Long Beach, and even though Rachel has her issues with them, Chloe believes her. She doesn’t understand what it feels like to not worry about money, but she has an understanding that if necessary, Rachel’s parents will reluctantly yet unconditionally step in to provide for her. If Chloe, the leech she is, fucks Rachel’s life up enough to make her need to ask.

“Chloe,” Rachel says, bringing Chloe back to Earth and shackling her there. “Breathe, honey.”

So Chloe does. In, out. And her pulse slows. Sometimes the gap between them feels bigger than the Pacific, but Rachel has the power to make it feel like a stepping stone away.

“We’re gonna be golden. And if you wanna be all legit, you can get your GED and things will be chill and we can be… you know…”

“...What?”

“Independent. Sustainable. Real adults. Etcetera…” Rachel sighs, affectionate, yet sounding a little done with the conversation.

Together, is all Chloe wanted to hear. 

“Why don’t you come over tonight. We can smoke up, watch Adventure Time and binge on those Takis,” Rachel says, coquettish. “I’ll shotgun that pessimism right out of you...”

“I, uh…” Chloe exhales. “Maybe tomorrow? Or next week?” she responds apologetically. “Step-shit’s on my ass, and I don’t know, I’m like, tired enough that it feels easier to just… obey, if you feel me.”

“Oh,” Rachel says, chipperness disappearing quickly. “Uh, must be bad if his tactics are actually working on you.”

“Mm,” Chloe mumbles.

“Are you… okay?” Rachel asks, sounding uneasy. “I mean, he didn’t…” Chloe waits for Rachel to finish her sentence, but she doesn’t.

Silence.

They both start speaking again at the same time.

“What—”

“I just mean like, are you safe?” Rachel asks sharply.

“Right. Sorry. I just woke up, I’m out of it. But yeah, yeah, it’s— it’s fine. If he tries shit again, you know me, I’ll kick him in the balls,” Chloe says, hopefully convincingly.

Rachel breathes a sigh of relief. “Hell yeah you will.”

“Just… tryin’ not to get to that point, you know?” Chloe responds.

“I feel you. I’m sorry, Chlo,” she says quietly. “So, just chores? Or some other kind of penance for your sins,” she adds lightly, joking with an uncharacteristic lack of confidence.

“Gotta pick up my car, show face at dinner, not be an asshole to Mom. You know. Clear some debt, bit by bit.”

“Got you. Just… text me if you need me, I guess?”

“Thanks.”

“Of course.”

“And uh… Rach?”

“Mm?”

“Good— you know… about the modeling thing, what your professor said. Good job.”

“Thank you,” Rachel says, breathing soft on the other end of the line. A thought occurs to Chloe, dull and unassuming: it’s Saturday. An unusual day for Rachel to be negotiating with a professor. But it’s fleeting, so it disappears as soon as Rachel starts to say, “Bye, Chlo. Love ya.”

“Yeah. Uh, love— I love you,” Chloe says, and the line goes dead. Chloe sits with the silence as it gets louder.

Chloe’s always needed to escape, but now that it’s here, now that it’s on her doorstop and close enough to taste, she feels herself frozen and hopeless. Why can’t she just be grateful? Rachel’s thinking about her, considering her. She cares. And… she’s right. This is for both of them. At least, she thinks it is.

It’s the only option they’ve fucking got at this point. Well, the only option that Chloe’s got. Rachel, honestly, has a million better options, so, all the more reason to get it fucking together. Always fuckin’ complaining about never getting what she wants, then pushing it away when it happens, right? Always fuckin’… fucking up something decent.

She sighs.

Okay.

Do something.

She stands up, surprised that her body actually listened.

She manages to take a shower. She scrubs at her body and scours at her hair, only stopping when the water no longer runs blue.

She puts fresh clothes on over her pinkened skin, tosses the old ones in the laundry. She grabs her jacket, keys and phone, and gingerly walks downstairs.

David’s watching Fox News, beer in his hand, some kinda veteran baseball cap covering his greasy hair like a stereotype and a half.

No wonder his brain’s so rotted. She glances at some kind of headline about illegal immigration as she leans against the kitchen wall, putting on her boots. “You do know they supported the war, right?”

“We’ve discussed this,” David says, seemingly too tired to recite the I like to see both sides monologue that Chloe’s not dumb enough to buy. “I’m not a Republican.” 

“Libertarians,” Chloe whispers under her breath, pulling on her other boot. “So you voted for Obama, then,” she responds loudly.

“Get lost, Chloe,” David all but yells.

“Happily.”

“Yo. Tori.” 

Victoria glances at the source of what drew her out of her thoughts. It’s Amy, just opposite her at the picnic bench, extending her slim, freckly arm across the table.

“What’s that? An e-cigarette?” asks Kelsie, a doe-eyed freshman whom Victoria silently resents for being adopted into the Vortex Club as quickly and painlessly as she was. Kids these days have no concept of initiation. When Victoria’s president she’ll make sure they pay their dues.

Kelsie looks between Amy’s hand and Victoria’s face, her eyes half-lidded in a way that would suggest disinterest, yet the twitchy way she tucks her brown hair behind her ear betrays nerves about being invited up to the big girls' table.

“It’s weed,” Amy says. She waves the pen at Victoria, and Victoria obliges, taking a long, slow hit. Victoria meets Kelsie’s eyes as she blows out a white cloud.

“Heard of it?” Victoria asks, flat. Kelsie’s eye twitches, Victoria notices, before things start to get fuzzy.

“I just didn’t know if it was, like… a regular, e-cig… or—”

“Get with the times. You’re not in Kansas anymore,” Amy laughs.

“Guess her wardrobe hasn’t caught up with that yet,” Victoria adds mellowly, setting the pen on the table as she glances at Kelsie’s heavy knitted sweater and brown corduroy skirt.

“Vic the Bitch,” Amy chides, tone almost admiring. The group snicker a little. Victoria feels warm.

“It’s Wisconsin,” Kelsie says, snatching the pen for herself.

Courtney glances at Victoria, and Victoria can tell she’s trying not to laugh.

“We know where you’re from, Kels… It’s just a movie reference. Classic Amy,” Hadley says from beside Victoria, tone a little kinder and more forgiving than the rest. She leans closer to the table, trying to make eye contact with Kelsie, and her dark curly hair brushes against Victoria’s arm with the movement.

“We knew?” Victoria mumbles, eyes going out of focus. Amy snickers again, green eyes twinkling back at Victoria.

“I know fucking Wizard of Oz,” Kelsie exhales a large puff of vapor, coughing only a little. “If you think that reference makes Amy a movie buff then good luck on the film studies mid-term.”

“Ouch,” Hadley says, straightening up her back. Amy smirks. “Okay, then.”

“Speaking of. I’m actually gonna try study. See ya.” Kelsie gets up and starts walking back towards the quads.

“It’s a Sunday,” Hadley calls over her shoulder, frowning.

“Let her go,” Amy says, shaking her head.

“You know, I actually like her,” Hadley responds, sounding mildly pissed-off.

Amy laughs. “What, trying to be like Rachel, recruiting lost puppies as charity projects?”

Something inside Victoria turns a few degrees colder at that. It’s true— Hadley has been spending more time with Rachel lately. She laughs dryly at the thought of Hadley imitating the most Machiavellian parts of her.

“What’s so funny?” Hadley asks, swiveling around to face Victoria, a strawberry scent wafting from her bouncy hair. Victoria backs up and crosses her arms so their elbows are no longer touching.

“Kelsie doesn’t even qualify for charity,” Victoria says. “Her grandparents own some big grocery store chain out in the Rust Belt. She’s as much of a silver-spooned trust-fund baby as the rest of us.”

“I don’t have a trust fund,” Hadley responds.

“So maybe you’re just kinda lesbo for your little ‘Kels’?” Victoria adds, eliciting a snort from Courtney.

“Uh, cunt—” Hadley starts.

“She did appear out of nowhere,” Courtney adds, sneering. “Maybe Hadley found her on some kind of Midwest sugar mommy website?”

“Okay, okay, ew,” Amy interrupts dispassionately, “A) hooking up with Kelsie would be like, pedophilia, and B) I wasn’t even talking about money, Tori, how boring.”

“Can’t even keep the class war for social studies,” Hadley breathes.

“None of you would know class if it slapped you across the face,” Victoria retorts.

“Calm it,” Amy snaps. Victoria raises her eyebrows back at her. “Jesus, what crawled up your ass?”

“What didn’t,” mutters Hadley.

“Like you said Hadley, it’s the weekend,” Amy continues. “And clearly we’ve been spending so much time together all our periods synced up. Come on. Everyone take another hit and let’s just chill the fuck out.”

“I agree,” Courtney says, grabbing the vape. “Bad vibes, man. Not very becoming.”

Victoria narrows her eyes at Courtney. “Becoming?” she mouths back.

“We are the VC,” Courtney says, taking a hit. “Gen Sec, Treasurer, Vice Pres, whatever title you decided to take— we make shit happen. Our climate matters.”

“Yeah, Court. Sure,” Amy says.

Victoria hears the sound of a skateboard slamming and gliding against concrete and is snapped out of her coolness. She looks over, and it’s just Justin Williams fucking around on his own. She relaxes again.

“Ames, Kelsie’s just mad you didn’t invite her on Friday,” Hadley says suddenly, like she’s revealing some kind of reticent and self-sacrificing truth. “It’s a dick move, after all she did to help us out with the last gym party.”

“Oh, come on,” Victoria mutters, getting thoroughly bored at this point. “That doesn’t mean she’s entitled to attend our whole fucking social calendar.”

“Exactly what Victoria said,” Amy agrees, eyes wide and exasperated. Despite her two-day-hangover, Victoria can’t help but sigh in relief as some weight is lifted from her shoulders, grateful for the solidarity.

Victoria knows that Amy favors her taking over as club president when Amy graduates, but reminders like this are always appreciated.

Hadley knows it, too. She’s another strong contender — being a longstanding member of the committee and having another year ahead of her at Blackwell — but she has some warped, unprofitable, boring vision for the VC. If she inherited it, its potential for chic, glitz and exclusivity would likely get pissed down the gutter.

Of course, what Hadley doesn’t know is that Victoria and Nathan have already informed Sean Prescott, their principal benefactor, of Hadley’s would-be intent to return the club to its old-fashioned, new-wave, commie roots.

So. It’s merely a waiting game. And Victoria’s pretty good at games.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Amy says to Hadley. “Kelsie looks like a fucking twelve-year-old, she doesn’t drive, and doesn’t even have a fake ID so like, what use would she be? All she would’ve done is draw even more attention to the various not-legal shit we partook in,” Amy adds, huffing. “It’s fine. She’s fine. We’re fine. Diplomacy. Good vibes. Whatever.”

“Mmmkay,” Courtney says, passing the pen back to Amy.

“Speaking of the party,” Amy sighs. “Clean-up team didn’t do a good enough job. I got my ass handed to me.” She takes an even larger hit.

“Shit, for real?” Hadley asks, her apprehension vaporizing faster than the cloud from Amy’s pen, fully shifting back into Vortex Gossip Gear.

“Oh, God. That’s lame,” Courtney groans.

“Wait, how? It didn’t look too bad! We never get busted,” Hadley adds, sounding suspicious.

“Does that mean your place is off-limits now?” asks Courtney.

“Oh, no,” Amy says, waving her hand to dismiss their concerns. “Parents still don’t know it was a party, so it should be fine.”

Increasingly aware of her own silence, Victoria clears her throat. “So what happened?” she asks, voice scratchy.

Amy meets her eyes, holds for a second, then scoffs. “Some assholes got into the basement and knocked over some wine. Stained the carpet. Red wine, might I add.”

All goes quiet.

“Well that was rude,” Hadley breaks the silence.

“I had no freaking idea people were even down there, I mean, I blocked it off beforehand specifically ‘cause all their expensive shit lives down there. So like, it’s been seeping in all weekend. My mom flipped the fuck out, naturally. But get this: she thought I brought a guy over. I guess the sofa cushions were on the floor or something? Maybe a condom? She didn’t tell me so I don’t know but she was asking me about dudes. Oh my God, somebody was probably hooking up down there in my parents’ lil movie dungeon. So gross,” she laughs. “I was like, oh my God, I did not bring over anyone. I can’t have her being suspicious around my guy friends! The longer she thinks I’m a virgin the better for me.”

Courtney and Hadley both burst into laughter while Victoria swallows bile.

“You, a virgin, yeah, believable,” Courtney says after they settle down. Amy knocks her in the shoulder playfully. 

“So anyway I had to be all like, ‘I was just watching a movie by myself ’, so now she thinks I’m some depressed wino. She wants me to speak to her therapist!”

More laughter. This time, Victoria jumpstarts back to life, and she’s able to offer a convincing chuckle or two.

“All this fucking drama just ‘cause someone can’t hook up in a bedroom like normal people do,” Amy says. “Fuckin’ Blackwell. I tell my friends back in San Fran ‘cause I guess they think we’re all Mormons up here or something, but nooo, they never believe me…”

“Maybe they were doing some kinky shit,” Hadley offers impishly.

“Oh, God. Yeah, ew. Who could it be?” Amy asks.

“Hey, Victoria, didn’t you hang out with Aiden Scott?” Courtney asks, the dumb fuck. Everyone swivels to face Victoria. She swallows again.

“Who?” Victoria asks calmly.

“Wait, Court, you mean the Tillamook guy?” Amy clarifies, to a nod from Courtney. “No, were you wasted or something?” Amy laughs dismissively at Courtney, reaching over to squeeze Hadley’s wrist. “That was Hadley, our little slut. She’s been courting him for months.”

Hadley rolls her eyes. “We just made out. And we definitely did not sneak into your parents’ kinky sex dungeon to do it.”

Amy laughs, protesting vocally at that description, meanwhile Courtney looks a little confused. She starts to open her mouth, and Victoria feels cold and sweaty and like her clothes are covered in vomit — though that was yesterday morning, not today.

“But— Tori, didn’t I see you with him? I thought I did… but that was going upstairs, not to the basement.”

In a few seconds, Victoria considers her options.

Admitting it could be wise. It’s an alibi, and one that would at the very least protect her from anybody finding out what happened later that night. Victoria glances at Hadley, who’s still smiling, but has an eyebrow raised. Victoria was pissed at her that night, she remembers — after some comment she made, forgotten now.

Victoria’s shivering just recalling flashes of the experience; the smell of Calvin Klein cologne, the sweatstains in his Saint Laurent polo shirt, his sharp stubble grinding against her chin. It’s disgusting, and it’s degrading. But she knows the others wouldn’t see it that way. They’d just see it as a back-stab. Simple. A betrayal fuelled by spite and bitch-fights and vengeance. And if they do… does Victoria care? Fuck, she did it for a reason. Maybe, since Amy’s clearly still got Victoria’s back, the fallout would be the final nail in the coffin for Hadley’s attempt to climb up the ranks?

…but, more worryingly, Victoria knows that what she did with that boy was bolstered by the drunken desire to be normal, forcing a square peg into a round hole, and… does she stand by that? Is that what she wants to do? Who she wants to be? Isn’t it better to just re-write her mistakes? Is that the control she has in her hands right now?

“She doesn’t even remember,” Amy laughs at Victoria. “Did you get roofied, Vic?”

Victoria makes a quick, executive decision on strategy.

“No, no. I’m just almost certain that guy wasn’t Aiden. I mean, if you guys’ had been talking for weeks or whatever, I’m sure he wouldn’t have been begging to fuck other girls at the same party you were at,” Victoria says with a laugh.

Something cracks in Hadley’s expression, but she quickly smiles and chuckles again. “Yeah, no. He’s not that desperate.”

Victoria holds her gaze.

“Must’ve been someone else, then,” Amy cuts through the tension in the air. “Aiden’s your classic Pacific Northwest white boy. Dime a dozen, right?”

“So you fucked Aiden? Or, uh, not-Aiden?” Courtney asks, looking at Victoria expectantly.

“I didn’t fuck anybody,” Victoria retorts coldly. “Not that it’s your business.”

The group goes a little quiet.

“Slow week, huh,” Victoria adds.

“So nobody got laid, then,” Amy says. “I mean, except whoever was in my basement.”

The other two laugh gently, before things go quiet again.

“Anyway. Sorry about your, uh, wine and therapy thing, Amy,” Victoria starts. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go check in on Nate,” she says, grabbing her purse and swinging her legs over the bench. 

“‘Kay, girl,” Amy responds, and she’s the only one who does. “See ya,” she adds, watching Victoria carefully as Victoria inserts her earphones and stands up.

Victoria walks away, pretending she’s listening to music, and not for what might be said in her absence.

Unknown Number

If you open your mouth about Friday to anyone, you are dead

12:14am

Chloe

how did you get this number

12:14am

Unknown Number

I mean it. I will destroy you

12:14am

Chloe

relax. im not gonna spill unless you make me

12:14am

Unknown Number

Thursday.
Link: Location 📍

12:20am

Chloe

?

12:21am

Unknown Number

We need to talk.

12:21am

Chloe

we absolutely do not

12:21am

Unknown Number

1pm.

12:22am

Chloe

lmao

sleep tight victoria

12:25am

Chapter Text

Victoria finds Chloe lingering behind the gym building, leaning against the brick wall with her leg propped up. She’s chugging a Monster, looking to the sky with a cigarette hanging from her free hand — face bare and pale save for the dark, tired circles under her eyes. Victoria already made sure to scan her surroundings before turning off of the courtyard and walking around the corner, so, confident that nobody has seen where she’s going or for what reason, she approaches.

“That shit’ll kill you, you know,” she says, not bothering to hide any disgust that’s probably flashing across her face like a neon sign. Chloe startles, not having seen Victoria coming. 

“Huh?” she says, before Victoria nods at Chloe’s can of toxic waste. Then Chloe lets out a low, muted, “Ah.”

Chloe’s eyes roam over Victoria, so Victoria crosses her arms and does the same. Chloe’s black jeans are torn at the knees and thighs unfashionably, suspenders hanging loose below her back, beanie likely covering unwashed hair. She’s wearing a zip-up hoodie that’s slightly too big for her; merch from a band Victoria’s never heard of, probably just more of the same punk shit she hears drifting from Rachel’s dorm room. It’s all so lazily thrown together, but the low-cut tank top underneath hugs her frame in a way Victoria hates herself for appreciating.

Chloe downs the last of the energy drink, then crushes the can noisily. Victoria flinches when she lobs it and it flies through the air, but exhales resentfully when it lands safely in the trash can a few feet behind her.

“So. The cigarettes won’t?” is Chloe’s follow-up, and she takes another drag, staring Victoria down. There’s something heavy in the air, a magnetism that draws Victoria closer despite herself. Chloe looks at Victoria like nobody else does. There’s contempt, raw and honest, never polished up and disingenuous and pretending to be something it’s not — and there’s curiosity in the pauses, the way her gaze holds and lasts, the lack of surrender.

“Those too,” Victoria says, eyes drifting to the brick wall opposite, wondering how much of the graffiti is Chloe’s and how much belongs to the rest of Blackwell’s prospective dropouts. “Everything you do will kill you,” Victoria adds, and she means it, looking back at her again.

Only as she breathes in the secondhand smoke does Victoria notice her own hunger for nicotine — the sensation of emptiness, the gnawing deep in her chest. It’s been a while since she was able to call herself someone who just smokes socially. She will stop, but… not yet. It’s one of the only things that’s been able to keep her calm in recent months. That’s what she tells herself, at least: that without that sense of relief, no matter how temporary, it would be impossible to study and be successful and keep her parents happy from a distance. Not with all of this other shit she has to deal with. Her meticulous climb to the top of the ranks at Blackwell, Nathan and his onset of societal withdrawals and inexplicable episodes, the threat that is Rachel Amber, her duplicitous charm, her effortless power.

Among other things.

Victoria swallows. She gives in, reaching a hand out to Chloe’s cigarette, beckoning. Chloe gives her a look, somewhat incredulous, but after a second she passes it to Victoria, her expression shifting to one of inquisitive observation. Victoria takes a puff, breaking her gaze to glance around again. Campus feels quiet. The air feels cool. After checking that the brick wall isn’t too grimy for her pristine Burberry peacoat, she leans against it next to Chloe, taking another drag while Chloe watches. At least these are menthols, a welcome distraction from being garbage in every other respect.

“Too cheap for your taste?” Chloe asks, catching the look on her face.

“Yes,” Victoria responds simply.

Chloe snorts softly. “You can’t leech and then shit-talk.”

Victoria scoffs. “Leech. I know you were a scholarship kid, but I thought you could afford to give up one cigarette.”

“Wow, okay,” Chloe laughs humorlessly. She exhales, then says quietly, almost inaudible, “I’m not doing this.”

“What?” Victoria asks, glancing side-ways. 

Chloe glances back at her. “The weird insult-foreplay thing. I know you’re mad, so just— yell at me, tell me what it is you want, let’s get it out there, let’s move on,” she explains. She doesn’t even sound angry, just tired. Victoria doesn’t like the ball being so obviously in her court this time. Yes, she’s mad. But her plan depends on her not drawing attention to that.

She averts her eyes, disinterested and pouting, and decides to study her nailbeds. After all, Victoria Chase doesn’t want. She gets.

“There’s another party tonight,” she settles on, offering it to the air carelessly. “And you aren’t invited.”

Chloe rolls her eyes, shoulders pressed against the wall. “Gee, thanks.”

“But I know you run with Bowers. So, if you bring some shit to sell, I’ll let you in. Nobody’ll blink an eye.”

“Right,” Chloe says, kicking at the concrete underfoot. “Shit that’ll kill you?”

Victoria raises the cigarette to her lips again, taking a final drag before passing it back to Chloe. Chloe accepts and turns it in her hand, looking at its newfound lipstick stains, before placing it back between her teeth.

“It’s at ten,” Victoria continues, ignoring her. “Hayden’s place, down by the Ashwood residentials. 28, the one painted green.”

“Ugh, rich kid neighborhood,” she mumbles.

“So you know how to get there. Great.” Victoria straightens up. Chloe pushes herself away from the wall she was leaning against, staring Victoria down. She’s probably only an inch or so taller than Victoria herself, but in this moment something about her feels towering.

“Why? What’s in it for you?” Chloe asks, crossing her arms to mirror Victoria, her standard glower now weak and transient.

“Drugs, obviously. Anyways, you were at our last party, weren’t you? Figured I’d give you a formal invite this time.”

“I was only there for Rachel,” Chloe says.

Victoria’s blood runs a few degrees colder. “Seems like everything you do’s for her, huh? What about today, did you come here for her, too?”

“Fuck off, I was around,” Chloe responds, a little stilted, before she unfolds her arms and takes another drag. “And I guess I thought it’d be kinda fun to see what kind of blackmail you’d try and come up with, or something.”

“Blackmail?” Victoria asks skeptically.

“Y’know, you make me laugh, Victoria,” Chloe responds, wagging her cigarette in Victoria’s direction. “I could practically smell it off those texts — I thought you mighta rehearsed a little speech, ‘cause you see me as a harder target than the usual kids you bully, y’know? And you’d be right. I know you’re not stupid, you know I’m not sixteen and don’t have anything to lose anymore. But what gives? Where’s the drama? You’re being kinda boring, really.”

“Get over yourself,” Victoria snaps back. “I’m not blackmailing you. I’m just offering you an opportunity.”

“Yeah, okay, out of the kindness of your heart, I’m sure. No catches at all. Well, respectfully, I decline. Respectfully, I’d rather shoot myself than be your servile lil’ drug mule in a mansion full of brats.”

Victoria almost recoils at how ballsy Chloe is. God, she is infuriating.

“Thought you didn’t wanna do insult-foreplay,” Victoria says.

“You’re VC. It should not be hard for you to find drugs,” Chloe deadpans, and the subtext is clear: you’re hiding something, I don’t trust you. Victoria sighs. Chloe’s making this so much more difficult than it needs to be.

“This is me finding drugs.”

“Why not Frank? I saw you there before, week or two back. If this is some power play kink, get the broke bitch to do your bidding, I gotta say Vic, you’re more scummy than I thought.”

Victoria shakes her head, impatient. “No. Fuck. It’s nothing like that, come on, you think you occupy that much space in my mind?”

Chloe’s expression twitches. She looks Victoria up and down again, taking another step closer, dropping her cigarette and crushing it under her foot. Victoria holds her breath as Chloe glances between Victoria’s eyes, studying, lips parted just slightly.

“Maybe I do,” Chloe responds.

Victoria swallows.

“You want. Something. Else,” she repeats, voice lowering almost to a whisper. “Say it.”

Victoria considers asking, say what?, despite her better judgment. Something in Chloe’s expression bores right through, all-revealing, striking her with fever and fantasy. Say you want me to fuck you again. A chill runs down her spine imagining Chloe’s raspy, low voice, but she keeps her expression still, empty, unaffected. Tries not to think about it. This is not the right time or place to imagine things like… that. Like Chloe taking her on the sofa. Like being reduced to someone who moans, quivers, begs; she can’t think about the insane idea of Chloe in her dorm room, under her bedsheets, against the doorframe, on the floor— why is she—

“I don’t,” Victoria spits. She places a hand on her hip, shaking her head, gathering herself. “Okay, look. Yes, we normally go to Frank, but Frank fucking sucks and he gives me the creeps, and I’m done with having to look at his face. Okay?”

Chloe pauses for a second, then snorts, leaning back a little from Victoria’s face. “I mean, you’re not wrong. He can suck, but—”

“No, I am completely fed up with speaking to him,” Victoria admits, honestly. She doesn’t want Nathan to keep speaking to him either, but she doesn’t say that. “And the feeling is mutual. He hates my guts and always upcharges me. But his product is good. And I knew you guys were like, cool, or something, I don’t know. Honestly, couple years ago, we kinda thought you guys were fucking, but—”

“Ugh—”

“—then you went all…” She gestures at Chloe. “Anyway. Stop questioning me. I know I’m adding a middleman for myself here, but I’m honestly doing you a favor, Price, so a thanks would be fucking nice. Kids there’ll pay a lot without thinking twice, especially the out-of-towners. And they won’t notice some missing booze, either, so feel free to do so with actual permission this time.”

Chloe considers it. She still looks confused and untrusting, but her interest in money and alcohol is seeming to override that, just as Victoria suspected.

“You pay me first,” Chloe says, after a few beats. Victoria blinks. “For the drugs.”

“No way,” she responds. “Do you think I’m an idiot?” 

“No deal then,” Chloe says, and starts walking away.

Victoria huffs frustratedly. “Wait,” she says. “Wait, wait.”

Chloe slows down, sighing as she looks back at Victoria. “I’m not not interested. But I don’t have the cash to be buying upfront right now. And Frank hasn’t let me officially deal for him since… well, it doesn’t matter. Just, no cash, no deal. I don’t even fucking know if these kids will buy from me or not.”

Another idea comes to Victoria like an apparition, anxious and haunting. A solution on the surface, but potentially something more lucrative.

“Okay, I’ll pay for now,” she says. Chloe raises an eyebrow.

Victoria glances at her watch; 1:10pm. Thursday. Most people she knows should still be in class right now. Most except one. Chloe might know already, but the payoff if she didn’t would be immeasurable.

“Charge them what you want. Let’s call it a loan. As long as you give me back what you owe me, it’s none of my business.”

“Zero interest?” Chloe asks, voice flat. 

Victoria starts walking past Chloe. “Come on,” she says.

After a few seconds, Victoria hears footsteps following her.

“Am I getting kidnapped?” Chloe asks.

Victoria ignores Chloe and leads her around the back of the building to the parking lot, and to Chloe’s credit, she obliges in silence. Victoria unlocks her car and gestures at Chloe to get into the passenger side, and Victoria tries to suppress how fucking weird and satisfying it feels when she complies.

Victoria breathes out steadily as she pulls out of the lot, and she savors the few minutes of silence before Chloe starts being a nuisance; pulling down the sun visor, flipping open the little mirror to inspect herself in its reflection. Chloe rubs at her eyes, fingers pulling red marks down her cheeks, then sighs before slamming the shade shut again.

“Careful,” Victoria warns, glancing over periodically.

Chloe doesn’t say anything as she leans back in the seat, eyes wandering around the car’s interior. It only takes another few seconds before she’s exploring with her hands again, yanking open the glovebox and rifling around. Victoria glances over, annoyed and not remembering what she has in there.

“You got ADHD or something? Quit it,” Victoria says. Chloe grabs something from in there; a tub of gum, Victoria realizes, when she hears the rattle and sees Chloe shove a handful of something in her mouth. Victoria reaches over and closes the door. “You’re asking to get kicked out of a moving vehicle,” she adds, the smell of peppermint strong in the air.

“Where’s your bunker?” Chloe asks. 

“What?”

“Lair? What’s the preferred term?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Victoria responds. She brakes a little too suddenly at the stop sign she didn’t see coming, and Chloe comes flying forward into the dash.

“Christ,” she says.

“You got a death wish? Put on your seatbelt,” Victoria responds.

“Like you care,” Chloe retorts, turning in her seat as she folds her arms, staring out of the window. Her gaze stays there as Victoria pulls onto one of the back roads towards the beach. “Beach? Sorry, I didn’t bring my bikini,” Chloe starts, but then she straightens up in her seat, studying their surroundings. “Wait, are you like, escorting me to Frank’s?” 

“Yes,” Victoria responds. “Did you think I was taking you to my bank or something? Like I was just gonna grab my checkbook and let you go with some walking around money?”

“I just thought you were desperate to get me alone again,” Chloe responds. Victoria exhales, looking straight ahead, not willing to meet Chloe’s eyes.

They pull into the beach parking lot, where they’d met eyes weeks ago.

“Insufferable,” Victoria says as she cuts the engine.

“You invited me.”

Victoria bends down to the purse resting beside Chloe’s boots and starts rifling in it for her cigarettes, rolling down her window with her free hand at the same time.

“Frank’s not here,” Chloe points out, astute as ever, not bothering to lean back as Victoria hovers over her thighs.

“Yet,” Victoria says, first pulling out her pack of Marlboros, and then her wallet while she’s at it, dropping it in her lap. She takes a cigarette then lets the open pack sit in her hand, looking expectantly at Chloe. Chloe watches her for a second, like Victoria might bite, before she reaches out to take one as well. Victoria wrinkles her nose when Chloe spits her gum into her hand and throws it into the lot through Victoria’s open window.

“Thanks,” Chloe says, pulling a Zippo out and lighting herself up. Victoria puts her cigarette in her mouth and waits. After a moment, Chloe leans over, clicking the lighter once, twice, its glow illuminating her pale face in spasms, reflecting some warmth in those steely blue eyes. This close to her, Victoria realizes Chloe smells unexpectedly pleasant; clean laundry and something spiced, peppermint still on her breath. Victoria finds herself still hovering even as the light catches and Chloe’s leaning back into her own space.

Victoria mirrors her after a few seconds, unsure what else to do. She takes a drag and blows smoke out the window, then looks to the ocean, its waves crashing softly against the shore.

“So are you, like, bisexual or something?” comes Chloe’s voice.

Victoria winces and keeps watching the horizon.

“We do not have to converse,” she responds.

“And I do not have to be here,” Chloe replies, just as coolly. 

Victoria takes another drag. 

“You stained the fuck out of my jeans,” Chloe mutters. “Should throw in some dry cleaning with whatever the fuck kinda ‘deal’ this is.”

“I said not to talk about it.”

“What?” Chloe asks. “Last Friday?”

“Yes,” Victoria responds, throat tight. Chloe glances over at her, then exhales a short laugh of disbelief.

“We can’t even talk about it?”

“What is there to say?” Victoria responds, with a casual shrug of her shoulders. “You got me in the basement then you slobbered over me like a drunken mess and then you left,” she concludes, flicking ash out of the window.

“Oh, classic. Frame the dyke as a creep. Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Chloe says bitterly. Victoria feels a chill run down her spine. “Does lying to yourself make it easier to lie to everyone else?”

Victoria remains silent, cigarette crackling as she breathes in smoke.

“That shit only makes it harder,” Chloe adds, quieter. “Longer you drag it out.”

“You don’t know me,” Victoria says. “Your opinion means nothing to me.” The words feel heavy in her mouth, artificial, metallic. At some point this might come crashing down. But for now, Victoria has to keep it up. She can act, and do, and get, without examining the reasons, without torturing herself over the consequences.

“Sure,” Chloe responds. All of a sudden, warm fingers are against Victoria’s throat, and Victoria startles, back of her head hitting the headrest. Chloe wipes the skin of Victoria’s neck in a quick, rough motion before Victoria shakes her off, glaring as Chloe examines the makeup that smeared off on her hand. “Nice cover-up. Afraid your friends can tell when a hickey’s a gay one?”

“Bold of you to assume that was from you,” Victoria says quickly, rubbing at her neck. Chloe just chuckles at that.

“You can relax, Vicky. Your secret’s safe with me,” Chloe says, inhaling smoke, staring out at the beach. “I’m not like you. Not gonna… spread rumors and shit, relish in ruining people’s lives.”

“Don’t make this something it’s not.”

Chloe shrugs. “You say I don’t know you, sure, fine. You sure fucking threw me for a loop last week. But come on, we had classes together. Rachel still does. I know what you do to people.”

Victoria swallows, throat feeling dry. “Your victim complex is showing.”

“You spent like a month trying to get drama club turned against Steph with that fuckin’ dressing room bullshit,” Chloe retorts. “Good thing she wouldn’t have given a shit even if she did hear about it.”

“Steph?”

“Jesus,” Chloe begins, her tone shifting from contempt to dismay, and the back of Victoria’s neck itches, her forehead feels clammy, flushed — “Case in point. You don’t even remember.”

Victoria pushes the button so her window rolls down as far as it can go, taking in lungfuls of ocean air, until salt and sea spray bleeds into her sinuses and drowns out all thoughts.

Though her eyes are fixed on the Pacific, she sees Chloe take off her beanie from the corner of her eye, raking a hand through blue hair, sinking further down into the passenger seat.  

“Fuck, I wish I could tell her about this now,” Chloe breathes, and Victoria finally looks back at her, watching as her eyebrows unknit, expression softening. “She’d laugh her ass off.”

Victoria wipes her brow with her sleeve, clearing her throat. “Like I said,” she says, extinguishing her cigarette and tossing the butt into the sand outside, “You talk. You’re dead.”

A motor rumbles in the distance, and Victoria begins to hear gravel shifting somewhere down the road, sound getting louder as a vehicle approaches. She straightens up and looks in the rearview mirror, and Frank Bowers’ RV comes into view. She glances at her phone, 1:31pm. Victoria is a good judge of these things. It boosts her confidence, jolting her with some much-needed energy. She opens her wallet and starts counting some cash.

“That’s him,” she says to Chloe, who turns around in the chair and watches as Frank parks at the far side of the lot. “Okay, I’m gonna text you the list, please just make it quick and do not mention me, alright?”

“Oh, I like when you say please,” Chloe teases, arching an eyebrow.

“This should be enough money, if it’s not, I don’t know, take something off the list or work it out,” Victoria adds, ignoring her.

“I have purchased drugs before, Victoria,” Chloe says, taking the wad of cash Victoria places in her hand. She opens the door then steps out, stretching her arms up to the sky as she yawns towards the ocean, cash wavering in the wind.

“Quick, okay?” Victoria says, louder. Chloe closes the door behind her, turns on her heel, and starts to head off before giving pause. She circles around again then knocks on the window. Victoria rolls it down half-way, rolling her eyes at the same time. “What?”

“So remind me again,” Chloe says, leaning her elbows on the window’s edge. “I just say ‘Victoria passes on her well wishes, unfortunately she cannot be here in person to pick up her many dime bags—’” 

“Shut the fuck up, no mentioning my fucking name.”

“Ohh,” Chloe says, nodding before smiling slowly, pressing her lips together. “Got it.” She taps the side of her nose and saunters off, stuffing the cash in her hoodie’s pocket. Victoria rolls up the window almost to the top, keeping her eye on the rearview mirror, watching that flash of blue hair get smaller and smaller as Chloe walks towards the RV.

Victoria looks at her phone again. 1:33pm. She scrolls her notifications.

Text from Amy.

Hey girl. What u wearing 2nite? I’m thinking the green top and white pants. Or jeans?? Lol idk help

Text from Hayden.

aayyoo. beer acquired BTW. u and nate still comin right?

Facebook update from Courtney. Victoria and five mutual friends tagged in a photo. Caption starts with ‘YOLO biatches’. 

She’ll deal with these later. For now, she keeps an eye on the mirror.

Chloe hasn’t even reached the RV door when it comes swinging open, hitting the exterior with a resounding clang. Chloe stops, and suddenly there’s a whizz of blonde hair barrelling out of the vehicle.

No fucking way.

Victoria’s gaze is soldered to the mirror as Rachel Amber bounds across asphalt. Then Rachel sees Chloe. She stops dead, going rigid, one arm frozen in front of her cartoonishly.

No fucking way, this actually worked.

If Chloe says anything to her, Victoria can’t hear from this far away. She rolls the window down slightly further. 

Then, Rachel comes back to life, like someone hit play on a TV remote, and she strides right past Chloe, steps more forceful than before. Chloe turns, a little delayed. Victoria adjusts the mirror to get a better view.

Finally, she talks.

“Uh, Rach? Are you okay? What are you doing here, what’s going on?” Chloe’s asking loudly, following Rachel a few steps behind.

“Ran out of weed,” Victoria hears Rachel say.

“We had like, a quarter last Friday.”

“And?”

“Okay… Uh, weren’t you studying today?”

“What is this, trying to be my mom or something?” Rachel pauses right after she says it, slowing down, looking Chloe in the face, seemingly wincing. “It helps me focus,” she backtracks.

“Why are you crying?” Chloe asks, reaching out and grabbing Rachel’s hand, forcing her to stop.

“Oh my God, Chloe, I’m just stressed,” Rachel whines, voice high and carrying through the parking lot. “And I guess I keep having to pretend I’m not because nobody fucking gets it. Am I not allowed this either? Why do I have fucking nowhere to—” Rachel cuts herself off with a quiet scream into her hands.

Victoria tilts her head with a morbid fascination, transfixed.

“Rachel, I get it. I get it. But where are you going, can’t we just talk about it—” Chloe tries.

“Oh that’s rich, with the amount of times you’ve fuckin’ up and left me or had a meltdown over nothing, don’t be a hypocrite!”

Chloe drops her hand. “You’re being a bitch, Rachel, I’m trying to fucking help.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m the bitch, it always comes back to that, doesn’t it? I need to cool off.” Rachel begins walking again.

“I didn’t mean— look, I’ll take you to the junkyard and we can smash some shit!”

“Chloe, I love you, but I have to live in the real world today.”

Chloe stops as Rachel keeps walking. Rachel looks over her shoulder, wiping her eyes.

And she leaves.

Chloe looks like a dog dumped on the side of a road.

Victoria re-adjusts her mirror back to normal, rolling up all the windows, crossing one leg over the other.

The door opens a minute later. Chloe sits down silently, staring straight ahead of her as she grabs the pack of Marlboros off the dash and pulls out a new cigarette. She takes three drags, Victoria’s eyes boring into the side of her face; sharp cheekbone, scowling brow. Then she suddenly yanks the door handle again, exiting the car turbulently. 

“What are you doing?” Victoria asks.

“Drugs,” Chloe responds, and slams the door shut behind her.

Chapter Text

The music is loud, the air thick with sweat and electricity, and Chloe’s past the point of no return. There are a lot more people than she expected, but she doesn’t recognize most of them, and they don’t recognize her. It could be that the lights are dimmed and she’s two drinks deep, but she wouldn’t be friends with anybody here anyway, would she? She’s usually glued to Rachel’s side at these things, liquefying into futons, chain smoking on balconies.

Shit. Take a shot. She made the rule: she thinks about her, she drinks. Distraction #1. Sink the thought down with Fireball, right into the pit of her stomach where it belongs, severed, swallowed, smothered.

Victoria’s nowhere in sight. Doesn’t mean she isn’t here—this house is bigger than the last, and Chloe isn’t bothering to look for her. Chloe didn’t announce her arrival, just pushed her way through sticky bodies, headed straight to the kitchen and grabbed a solo cup of spiked punch. Chugged it. Filled another. Moved to the next room. People don’t know her but they seem to know she has drugs. She wonders if Victoria told them or if everybody just sees her for what she is.

Victoria had named each pill in their haul with the precision of a pharmacist, and Chloe memorized them by size, shape, and color. You better not do anything stupid, Victoria had said when she dropped Chloe off near her neighborhood with the plastic baggies in her pockets.

Too late for that.

She pre-rolled joints in the afternoon; they’re janky as shit but they’re selling fast, ten bucks a pop, fucking morons. Most kids only want weed, but there’s some college students here going for Xanax and Oxy, girls dancing in the living room asking for molly, and some Blackwell football bros who look like if they snort any more coke they’ll tear each other’s throats out, but who’s Chloe to deny them one more bump?

Chloe stops in a smaller side room to sit down and smoke, a lounge area that’s slightly less buzzing with people, taking stock of what’s left in her pockets and how much she’s made. She loses track the first few times; she can’t seem to make her brain count above two ninety—she’s already crossfaded and she hasn’t even done anything fun yet—and then somebody sits next to her after a minute and the sofa sinks downwards. Chloe looks up to the ceiling, stuffing the cash further down into her back pocket.

“Sup,” Chloe says.

“Sup,” a girl’s voice echoes back, drawing Chloe’s attention. “How’s it going?” She reclines further back, her shoulderless top the same shade of green as the sofa, material glittering under the low lights.

“Weed?” Chloe questions, voice only barely rising above the noise. The girl blinks back, blue eyes rimmed with dark eyeliner. She looks vaguely familiar, a little younger than Chloe, but confident.

“Weed?” the girl repeats, her laugh cutting through the static—then she says something else, but the music blaring from the living room is too loud. Chloe shakes her head and gestures to her ear. The girl leans in closer, her words louder, “That’s not an answer.”

The girl’s eyes wander Chloe’s form, voice lingering in the air; thick, distorted, like Chloe’s wading through tar.

“What?” Chloe asks.

“Woah.” The girl’s hand suddenly grips Chloe’s arm, twisting it gently. Chloe blinks, confused, eyes dropping to the dried blood staining her elbow. “You good?”

“Oh,” Chloe says, processing what she sees. She wipes off rust-colored flakes, then she chuckles, remembering. “Fell off the roof.”

“Oh. The roof?” her voice then rises, amused but concerned, “Sorry, excuse me, why were you on the roof—”

“No, my roof.” Chloe’s words slur a little. “Snuck out tonight. Slid down the gutter. Scraped my arm up on the… uh… y’know—”

“Bricks?” the girl offers.

“No, the uh—the wood—”

“Oh, shit.” The girl shifts her gaze to Chloe’s arm, turning it over, inspecting the scrape. “You probably have like, splinters—”

“Nah, it’s good.” Chloe waves her off along with the fog clouding her mind. “So, you were looking for weed?” she gets back on subject, determined to not fuck up what’s supposed to be a party.

“No, but sure, gimme some,” the girl says, gesturing to the joint Chloe’s been neglecting. That’s… not what Chloe meant, but she relights it and passes it over anyway since the girl is so bold, and watches as she takes a drag, eyes unbreaking from Chloe’s. “You were sneaking out?” the girl presses, glancing around the room, finger still tracing the scrape on Chloe’s arm. “For this?”

Chloe recalls the rumble of David’s car pulling into the driveway, the slam of his door, the jangle of his keys. She looks down to her hoodie pocket, her hand instinctively tightening around the stash. She had to dip fast—she would’ve been dead meat if she got caught. And after last week’s lecture? Cooked. Charred to a fucking ember.

The girl seems to mistake Chloe’s silence for hesitation; an unwillingness to divulge. She smirks.

“You don’t remember me, do you?” Her eyes narrow as Chloe’s widen, the corner of her pink-glossed lips curving into a smile while she studies her.

Shit. Does she?

“Uh…” Chloe racks her brain, eyes sweeping over her chestnut hair, athletic build.

Blackwell. Not totally brainwashed by the Vortex, but well-liked, maybe? Cheerleader? Friends with Rachel? Or was it the skater crowd—shit.

“Oh. Yeah, you’re uh, Jul—” The girl’s eyebrows raise. “Uh… D—Dana?”

“You got there,” she says, then gives Chloe’s shoulder a playful shove. “Guess those days down at the park are just a distant memory, huh? Y’know, it was your weed that got me high for the first time.”

“S-Sorry, dude.” 

“All good. At least that means you don’t remember me throwing up after I tried to skate the bowl.” Dana smirks, though her eyes drift downward, a little distant. “How’ve you been, Chloe? Since… y’know.”

“Getting kicked out?” Chloe fills in for her, and Dana nods. “Shit sucks, but it always sucked, y’know?”

“I do not know, that’s why I asked,” Dana says, and takes another puff. “You should come hang with us again some time. We haven’t seen y’all downtown in a bit. You still skate?”

Y’all. Chloe leans over to the table, takes a sip of punch.

“Sometimes.” Chloe answers with a sniff. “Those empty pools down by Applewood.”

“Yeesh. Sketchy. You gotta be careful,” Dana says, tilting her head.

“What about you?”

“Eh. I never really skated much,” Dana responds. “Justin hooked me up with Rachel’s longboard the times I did try, that was a little easier, but it’s not my thing, you know?” Chloe drinks again. “Funner just to chill and watch, anyways. Snap some photos, catch up on classwork… get a little break from… all this.” Dana gestures to the living room and winks.

Chloe breathes in and out. “So, Justin and Trev still fighting over you?” she deflects.

Dana’s cheeks go pink. “What? No. Come on, we’re all just friends,” she laughs, coughing a little. She passes the joint back to Chloe. “Anyways, sorry, burning question—I gotta know,” she collects herself, shifting into a cross-legged position. “What are you doing here? I didn’t think this was your scene.” Dana looks around the room, peering out through the doorway into the main party zone. “I mean, did you come here with—”

“H-Hey, weren’t you just saying you’re not tied down to just one scene either?” Chloe interrupts. “Being pretty sacrilegious right now, too,” she adds, inhaling smoke. “Better watch out, they’ll revoke your member card.” 

“Ha-ha.” Dana smiles. “It looks good on the resumé, what can I say?”

“Sure,” Chloe snorts. “Maybe for those dorks going to work at daddy’s firm,” she begins, boldened by booze, nodding at some of the boys across the room wearing vests and khakis. “Time management: I picked up liquor without getting carded in a very timely manner. Leadership: I yelled at freshmen all day to respect the chain of fuckin’ command. Organizational skills: I organized these white lines on this table pretty neat,” she rattles off, counting with her fingers.

This is the moment Chloe finds herself dreading more and more lately. The second right after she opens her big fucking mouth. Recently, this is the point when Chloe gets shut down. But Dana doesn’t flinch.

“You’re sassy,” she says, smirk on her face, rolling her eyes like she’s heard worse. “Yeowch—girl, who hurt you?”

With Rachel, the rules are different. Now if Chloe gets too harsh, especially when she’s the one starting it, Rachel’s eyes turn stoney, and the room goes quiet. Rachel loves Chloe’s shit-talk, sure—on her terms. When she’s in the mood for it. When the words don’t ricochet, and she’s not catching any strays.

Things didn’t used to be like this.

Fuck. Drink.

“Like, yeah, we have a few bad apples,” Dana adds, watching as Chloe sips her punch. “But the VC’s done some good things, you know. They lobbied for those picnic benches on campus. And organized that beach clean-up last year. And petitioned to make the Tobanga a protected feature of Blackwell, or something.”

Chloe raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t Nathan try to knock that down?” she mumbles.

“Oh, yeah—but the petition was like, our reparations,” Dana says, and Chloe shakes her head. “Anyways,” Dana continues, her voice picking up speed, “it’s just a few assholes ruining it for the rest of us, you know? Sucks that they give us all a bad rep—” A shadow is suddenly cast across them, and Dana cuts herself off.

Distraction #2. Victoria’s in front of them, swaying on her feet, wearing what looks like a corset with her short skirt and fishnet tights.

“Hey, sluts,” she says. Chloe glances at Dana, but Dana remains relaxed.

“Vic!” Dana chirps. “We’re just talking Vortex drama. Care to join?”

“You.” Victoria says, pointing a wobbly finger at Chloe. “You’re late.”

Chloe leans back on the sofa. “…No I ain’t. Been here a while.”

Victoria looks between Dana and Chloe, gaze unusually innocuous, while Dana on the other hand looks more perturbed now.

“Come,” Victoria says, reaching her hand out, “With me. You’re needed.”

Chloe eyes flit back to Dana, who looks like she just witnessed Victoria give Chloe a personal invitation to become club president. “Y’hear that? I’m needed,” Chloe echoes with a smirk, diffusing an ounce of tension, and Victoria’s gaze remains fixed on her.

“High demand tonight, Chloe,” Dana adds, expression mellowing a little, tapping her on the leg. “Seeya around?”

Chloe doesn't have time to respond before Victoria takes her hand and yanks her up. Chloe staggers, the world catching up with her. She’s not sure where they’re headed, but it doesn’t matter. Chloe’s used to following.

Victoria lets go of Chloe’s hand as they reach the staircase, like an afterthought. 

“Didn’t take long,” Victoria says, her voice sharpened with something more bitter than her usual taunts.

“What?” Chloe yells over the music.

“I just didn’t realize it was quite such a challenge for you to keep it in your pants. Guess Rachel did a good job of keeping you on a leash before.”

Chloe’s brain buffers.

“Wait, Dana?” she guffaws. “Oh my God. She’s straight, unlike you.”

“Please, if I got there any later you would’ve been scissoring on that couch.”

Chloe falters mid-step, a flicker of uncertainty creeping in as images of Dana linger in her mind—inquisitive questions, unwavering gaze, a palm warm against Chloe’s skin—but it’s quickly taken over by Chloe’s realization that even if Dana wasn’t flirting, Victoria is jealous.

Chloe picks up her pace, skipping a step on the stairs to close the gap, smirking as she shakes off Victoria’s remarks. “Aw, Vic…”

Victoria looks over her shoulder. “Don’t feel too special, that girl would fuck a store mannequin if she caught it looking at her,” Victoria adds, flashing a saccharine smile.

Chloe quickly places her hand on the small of Victoria’s back, leaning closer, voice equally sickly sweet as she responds, “This is a new look on you! Sad little chihuahua, all yappy and territorial—”

Victoria shies away from her touch as Chloe laughs. “Stop,” she says, glancing behind them. “How’s business?” she asks, voice drier, dismissive.

“Oh, booming,” Chloe responds casually. “You guys are inspiring.”

“This way,” she says as they reach the top of the stairs, though her voice fades into the cascade of synth and snare reverberating around them. She leads Chloe to the end room, and Chloe raises her eyebrows as Victoria enters the bedroom.

 Victoria kicks open the second door with her army boot, revealing an en-suite bathroom, and a brown-haired girl within.

“The fuck,” the girl says, backing away from the mirror she was using to apply makeup, lipgloss clattering into the sink basin. “Oh.”

“Hey, Kels,” Victoria says, and wanders up to her. Victoria looks at herself in the mirror, adjusting her tousled hair, a little shorter than the shoulder length cut she had in sophomore year. The girl’s looking between Victoria and Chloe, concern clear on her face. Chloe leans against the door, then does an awkward little salute to try and clear the air. The girl hesitates, then quickly grabs her purse off the counter, slipping its chain across her neck in a hurried, frustrated motion.

“Sorry, I’ll be out of your—”

“Whoa, hey, I wanted to talk to you,” Victoria interrupts her, putting a hand on her shoulder as she attempts to leave. “Chloe,” Victoria says, throwing a glance over her shoulder, “This is Kelsie. Kelsie, this is Chloe.”

Kelsie’s dark brows knit together, eyes dancing between Victoria and Chloe as she worries her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Chloe,” Victoria turns to face her fully. “Kelsie needs drugs. Kelsie, Chloe has drugs.”

“What?” Kelsie asks slowly, shaking her head.

“Come on, you wanna be VC, right?”

“Huh? I—I joined last semester, Amy said I’m in—”

“Amy said,” Victoria repeats, jeering at her, tone turning noxious, “Amy is out of here in a few months, you know that, right?”

Kelsie’s jaw tightens, shoulders squaring, hands remaining calmly at her sides.

“You’re making me feel like I should call CPS,” Chloe warns, readjusting to stand up straight.

“We’re friends, chill out,” Victoria dismisses, then she walks over to Chloe, stumbling a little. She shoves her hands in Chloe’s pocket.

Chloe spins away from her. “What are you doing—”

“Just give me my blow,” she says, dark eyes boring into Chloe’s. “Please.”

Chloe’s mouth opens and closes. Victoria smiles, just slightly. Whatever. Chloe relents, wordless, thoughtless, fishing out a baggie, holding it out in her hand. Victoria takes it and sprinkles some white powder over the bathroom counter, then she removes a silver credit card from the back of her phone case, Kelsie unable to tear her eyes away.

“Just thought you’d wanna be included. Y’know how many freshmen would kill for that?” Victoria bends over, cutting a thin, neat line. She takes a step back and stares Kelsie in the eyes, tapping her nails against the countertop rapidly. “Besides, it just makes sense to prove you can keep up with us, if you want to stick around. Otherwise, you might not be a good fit. And reputation is everything. It travels, you know? Well, you might not know. Yet.”

“I—Okay, I just… I don’t know what you—”

“It was me who convinced Amy to let you come tonight.”

Kelsie falls silent, big eyes dark and clouded over.

“What, you thought she had your back?” Victoria asks, then she chuckles. “Yeah, she can seem pretty nice to the new recruits, at first. But lesson one: trust no one. Chloe, you know all about that, right?”

“Alright, I think she’s had enough of your psychosis for tonight,” Chloe attempts to shut her down, taking a step further into the bathroom.

“Did she even thank you for all that work you put into organising the gym party?” Victoria continues, choosing to make her bed and lie in it.

Kelsie swallows.

“I thought you could use someone looking out for you.” Victoria says. “Someone to appreciate you, reward you. Blackwell is cutthroat. Not everybody makes it.” She leans against the sink. “But I mean, it’s your choice, what opportunities you take. I just know what I would’ve wanted.”

Kelsie’s expression hardens with either frustration or resolve. She walks closer to the counter, squinting down at the white line below her. She sinks down, face hovering inches away.

Chloe strides into the bathroom and blows powder all over the toilet seat.

Victoria gasps and covers her mouth with her hand, first in surprise, before Chloe hears stifled laughter.

Kelsie glares at Chloe. “Fuck you. Do me another line,” she orders.

“No.”

“Do it,” Kelsie repeats, staring her down, at least half a foot shorter than her.

Chloe reaches into her pocket, and Kelsie looks down, eyes growing slightly wide. Her shoulders sink when Chloe places a joint in her hand.

“Go,” Chloe says, gesturing outside the bathroom.

“…Whatever,” Kelsie says, shaking her head, closing her fist around the joint before stuffing it into her purse.

“Word of advice?” Chloe looks the girl in the eyes. “Get out while you can.”

Kelsie glances between Victoria and Chloe as if confused by their joint presence. “I can handle myself, thanks,” Kelsie responds coldly, eyes narrowed.

She leaves, and Victoria chuckles. “You’re such a fuckin’ Good Samaritan, it’s weird,” she says.

“You total bitch. What was that? What’s wrong with you, like, actually?” Chloe retorts.

“Please, you think I didn’t have to go through the same shit?”

“God, you’re like one of those fuckin’ people who think it’s okay to beat on their kids ‘cause it happened to you. I’d say try some positive reinforcement but—”

“So philosophical—”

“—I don’t wanna encourage you treating people like dogs—”

“Oh, no? That’s funny, ‘cause I said ‘come’ and you came.”

Chloe looks back at her, something boiling inside her, frothing into her mouth, sour, corrosive.

“What if I said ‘leave’. Would you?” Victoria asks, and steps into Chloe’s space, closing the half-shut door behind her. “I give choices,” Victoria whispers, tilting her head. “Does she?”

“Fuck off, Chase.” Chloe rolls her eyes and looks around for something to drink. Victoria’s not making sense and Chloe’s not going to let it mean anything. Not finding anything, she starts rooting through her pockets again, for anything that might help her to forget.

Victoria’s eyes search her, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lip. Chloe realizes she smells the alcohol on Victoria’s breath this close, fruity and artificial—and even though Chloe’s tipsy, it’s obvious that Victoria’s acting different tonight, different from the last time she saw her wasted.

“Whatever,” Chloe mutters, peering down at the drugs in her hand.

Spoiled for choice.

Frank had this dumb look on his face when Chloe turned up and ordered it all; twitchy, shifty. Stood stock-still in the doorway, didn’t even let her in like usual—looking over her shoulder like the cops were gonna jump out of the bushes. He didn’t expect her to have the money, she figures, but he didn’t protest. Didn’t even ask why so much. Probably blazed already.

“I like to have a good time,” Victoria says, watching as Chloe settles for the pressed lilac pills. She gently pushes Chloe’s shoulder against the door, snatching them from Chloe’s hand with little effort, inspecting them for herself. “So do you.” She removes two of them, then jams the baggie back into Chloe’s jeans pocket, stuffing them down low as she watches Chloe’s face, the heat of Victoria’s palm radiating against Chloe’s inner thigh.

Chloe, to her own surprise, laughs.

“What’s so funny?” Victoria asks.

“You,” Chloe guesses.

Victoria pushes her harder against the door then, and Chloe laughs louder. “Fuck you,” Victoria says, but there’s no bite to it.

“Got me right where you want me, now?” Chloe adds, voice low but dispassionate. Victoria rolls her eyes, but Chloe has a feeling she’s not wrong.

Victoria looks down, then tugs at Chloe’s tank top. “You didn’t even change your clothes. You had hours.”

“You sure like to pay attention to my body.”

Victoria lifts her palm to chin-level. Her lips part, tongue lifting one of the pills, and Chloe watches as it flips and the pill slips underneath.

“What else have you taken tonight?” Chloe mumbles.

Victoria tilts her head. “Now who’s the chihuahua?”

“You wish. I don’t give a shit if you end up in the ER, I’m not gonna be the one taking you.”

“Maybe not. But you’d be the one catching the felony if I die.”

“What?” Chloe narrows her eyes.

“Just had a couple vodkas.”

“...So, that whole…” Chloe gestures to the coke-sprinkled vanity, but she’s not even sure what else to say.

“Oh, no. All for my friend. You know I’m generous.”

They study each other, Chloe unsure if she should ever believe anything Victoria says.

“Yeah, right,” she says, finding herself chuckling again. Until Victoria takes the second pill and tosses it in her mouth as well. 

“Vic—spit it out—”

Victoria whirls away from Chloe, but Chloe grabs her, pulling her so her back is flush against Chloe’s chest, fingers clawing at Victoria’s mouth. 

“Hey—”

Then Victoria’s slipping out of Chloe’s grasp, turning so her back is against the door, cackling.

Chloe sticks her fingers in Victoria’s mouth, pulling down her bottom lip as Victoria shakes her head and yanks Chloe’s arms away defiantly, tugging them down to her sides, pulling Chloe’s torso closer to her body in tow.

“Chihuahua,” she hisses, sticking out her tongue, revealing the second purple pill resting on top, beginning to dissolve as she holds eye contact. Not fucking subtle.

“Deathwish,” Chloe snarls in return, then she captures Victoria’s lips with her own gracelessly. She steals the pill and tucks it away—chemical taste a mere undercurrent to the spark that flickers like a half-remembered dream; like faulty wiring and combustible gas.

She pulls back, cutting it short, Victoria’s body falling away from her reluctantly. Victoria’s eyes flutter open as Chloe takes Victoria by the shoulders, swiveling her towards the sink, eyes widening as her lower back comes to rest against the vanity. Then Chloe heads back to the door, opens it, and leaves.

“W-Wait—” Victoria stutters, Chloe revelling in it. “Where do you think you’re going?” 

“Not here,” Chloe responds, wandering back into the bedroom, zeroing in on the window. She yanks it up and sticks her head out. She looks down at the few cars parked below, unrecognizable in the dark, a few kids scattered around the front porch smoking—up to the night sky, stars peeking out from behind silvery clouds, constellations she’s had named for her before, in a life that she’s not living tonight.

“You can’t leave,” Victoria protests in the background, heading towards her, “You’re on the clock, you know!”

“So much for choices.” Chloe cranes her head back. 

“You signed up for this.” Victoria sounds petulant. Chloe lets the window thud closed.

“This?”

“The—The job. The hookup.”

“Oh, the hookup,” Chloe repeats. Victoria’s cheeks are flushing red. 

“To be the plug, Chloe, God, fuck off! If you wanna leave so bad, just give me back the money and the bags.” Chloe folds her arms, watching. “Oh but you won’t. I know you won’t, what the fuck else do you have going on? Where else do you have to go. Go on—”

She’s rattled, and the knowledge that Chloe was the one who threw her off is the kicker. 

“Victoria,” Chloe says, grabbing her shoulder to stop her, even though she’s enjoying the show; her display is nowhere near as cutting as Chloe remembers Victoria trying to be over the years—this time, the trying is distractingly clear. She gives her shoulder a squeeze, trying to channel as much condescension into it as possible. “You force-fed me ecstasy. I’m just looking for a nicer place to roll.”

Victoria’s mouth snaps shut.

Chloe opens the bedroom door, glancing back at Victoria. “You can stay in the bathroom, if you want.”

“Could’ve fucking said,” Victoria adds, sounding slightly more composed as she follows.

“That’s no fun,” Chloe says, heading down the landing.

“There’s a, uh, gazebo thing in Hayden’s back yard, just around the corner.”

“Rad.”

They head downstairs and pass through the hallway, snaking their way through bodies; Chloe grabs an almost-full and forgotten beer from the sideboard on the way, Victoria staying a few paces behind like it’ll do anything to separate them in the memories of those who spot them. Chloe feels weightless, beyond caring; she bumps into people, yells ‘which way?’ at Victoria, doesn’t give a shit at the glances thrown their way, just laughs when Victoria freezes to study the ceiling.

Halfway towards the kitchen, Victoria starts to hang back. Chloe glances behind, but Victoria’s fallen into conversation with a redhead on the other side of the room. A group of guys approach and stop Chloe to ask for weed. It takes maybe ten, fifteen minutes for Chloe to deliver, charitably assuming the bills she’s handed add up right in the haziness of the room. Then she’s alone, so she sets off again towards where she thinks the door is. She only makes it a few yards when Victoria knocks into her again, hissing something in her ear that she can’t make out.

“Huh?”

“Your fuckin’—” Victoria swats at Chloe’s mouth, wiping her chin. “Lipstick. Idiot.” 

“You think I wear—”

“Mine,” Victoria blurts, taking a step back again. Her eyes suddenly narrow, blinking, gaze affixed somewhere over Chloe’s shoulder. “Go—outside, back of the yard, to the left, by the bushes.” She gives her a shove, then strides past Chloe, towards a skinny girl with a dark bob who’s either looking their way or simply staring into space.

Chloe mentally shrugs and heads out via the back door, zipping up her sweater to her neck, pulling her three bullets to hang out like a warning. While a few people were congregated in the front yard earlier, the back is large yet empty, maybe because of all the construction materials littered around. Seems like they’re building a new, more extravagant deck than the one out front. Chloe tries not to spill her beer when she steps over haphazard two-by-fours and crosses the holes dug in the ground for support posts, making her way to the back of the yard.

Around the corner, a couple of solar-powered lanterns illuminate the gazebo’s entrance, but it's otherwise dark, small, unassuming. Chloe trips a little on the way in, then kicks away the ornamental rock that was the culprit. A sofa sits in the center of the structure, which Chloe clears of debris, brushing off leaves and spiderwebs before deciding to pull it out to the edge so she can look at the sky. What else would she do? It’s trained into her at this point. She sits down, briefly considering checking her phone, but she turned it off for a reason. She sips lukewarm beer instead, settling into the cushions and leaning her head back.

The Big Dipper pities her like an old friend.

“Still here,” she says, raising her can towards the sky before taking a gulp. Her eyes chart the starscape, and the clouds part further as if embracing her before she drowns. She points in accusation, but her hand falls slightly in defeat, and she lets her finger trace the S around the constellation on the way down. 

So? Tell me. What do you see?

She remembers a long, muggy night void of sleep. Lying in her truck bed, when Rachel traced maps across Chloe’s skin under these same burning balls of gas, her touch scorching like a solar flare.

You’re still going to leave here?

Of course. With you.

When Chloe’s fear was poisoned with hope, when the world was all soft and all warm and every revelation was a supernova, why were they running so fast, so young, anyways?

Will you?

Three years gone and Draco blazes on, static. Neverchanging. Stuck like that for eternity.

Is that lightning that cracks just in her mind, or is it rumbling in the distance? Her skin feels tingly, limbs loose, thoughts succumbing to a black hole which consumes itself endlessly. The music drifting from the house, now distant, slowly becomes more textured. She feels the bass thumping quietly in her bones, percussion vibrating in her teeth. Her lips part and the near-summer air is like caramel going down her throat, viscous and sweet. Her fingers twitch, trailing the wicker arm of the sofa as it crackles, searching for anything to touch.

Distraction #3. She sits her beer somewhere down on the ground, deciding to retire her one rule for tonight now that the E is starting to hit. 

“You actually stayed,” Victoria remarks an indeterminate amount of time later, descending into the cushions, her frame a dark mass only barely visible in the lantern glow. “Already gone?” Victoria asks when Chloe doesn’t reply.

“Only ever here.” 

Victoria sighs, making herself comfortable. “Deep.”

“Didn’t invite your buddies to join us?” Chloe asks as the stars start to dance.

“What do you think?” Victoria answers.

“I think they’re missing out,” Chloe responds, arms stretching upwards.

“Sure.” Victoria shifts; Chloe feels their arms brush against each other. There’s the North Star, was she part of the great bear or the little? There’s the one to the east, not a bear, nothing significant at all; something Greek and godlike, but nameless and meaningless in Chloe’s eyes. Blue-white, melting, asking to be caught in her hands.

“Hey.”

Chloe turns to face Victoria. Her eyes are so dark, but sparkling like the so-called deities above, cheeks speckled with pink, lips shining.

“Sure I’m not losing you here?” she asks.

“Like you had me.”

Victoria is motionless for a few moments, and then she smirks, cheeks raising. They look like little cherries. She’s right next to Chloe, so it doesn’t take much effort for Chloe to lift her hand and touch Victoria’s face. Victoria groans in protest, but doesn’t make an effort to move away. Then she’s staring at Chloe’s face, too, furrowing her eyebrows.

“God. God,” Chloe says, then leans back again, taking everything in. “You’re so mean.” 

Victoria lets out an indignant huff. “What did I say now?”

Chloe ignores her, blinking at the stars. Each one sparkles a different shade. Some don’t sparkle at all.

“Mars,” Chloe points out. “Red planet.”

Victoria leans closer. “It is? Wow, so astute. Maybe they kicked the wrong kid out of Blackwell.” 

Chloe points at her, sluggish, poking that cherry cheek once again. “Mean.”

Victoria’s eyes seem soft despite the irritation, and causing that irritation still feels satisfying despite the guilt. The feeling that Chloe’s cheating someone, something, somehow; that she might be a hypocrite, that she might be losing her mind—it sparks around her brain, begging to be shot like a meteor into the sky above.

Chloe closes her eyes.

Nobody is going to tell her how to feel. No God, no girl, no morals, no instinct. Chloe doesn’t understand a thing: why they’re like this, what they want, why they want it—Victoria treats Chloe like shit, and Chloe treats her like shit right back, and here they are smiling—does she have to understand it? Does any of it mean anything? Does it matter if nothing matters?

“Touch my face again.” One of Chloe’s eyes opens, and she finds Victoria staring at her, decisive and doomed.

Chloe’s always been a black hole, where things go to die. Victoria doesn’t seem to care. She’s just watching Chloe, like she’s gravity itself.

Chloe shifts closer and reaches out. Her skin is soft, and Victoria keeps staring, shivering now. Chloe’s hand grazes across her jawline, along her neck, down her upper arm; flesh raised in goosebumps from being sleeveless in spring. Somewhere under that exterior, is she real?

Victoria swiftly leans in and kisses her again, but it’s not like before. 

It’s gentle but resolute, lips catching Chloe’s over and over like she’s memorizing every angle—their tongues move like tectonic plates: slow, heavy, inevitable, sending tremors through Chloe’s bones, threatening to crack open the surface of the earth.

Chloe lets Victoria push her back against the cushions, a knee swinging over Chloe’s leg, then Victoria’s half on top of her, still shivering as she pulls Chloe’s lip between her teeth and hums a low sound. Chloe tugs Victoria against her, hands slipping around her back, fingers smoothing the satin of her corset, playing with the waistband of her miniskirt, hyperaware of every crease, every curve, every stitch. She slips a hand under her skirt and Victoria full-on shudders, kisses turning deeper, wetter as Chloe cups her ass and pulls Victoria’s hips towards her roughly.

“Fuck,” Victoria whimpers against Chloe’s lip.

“‘Kay?” Chloe breathes back without thinking.

“Feels good,” Victoria whispers quickly, a quiet confession, and Chloe honors it with another pull, rocking her knee against her. Victoria’s wet, Chloe can feel it against her jeans. The sensation strikes a bolt of lightning between her legs. She grabs Victoria’s ass harder, savoring her warm breath against Chloe’s neck.

Victoria paws at Chloe’s sweater, snaking a hand underneath, grabbing Chloe’s tits through her tank top as she drags her tongue against her neck. Chloe groans as Victoria grinds against her, and then Victoria’s sucking her neck, Chloe hissing profanities up into the sky. She’s panting so loud she barely hears any voices at first, but the yell snaps her out of it.

“What the fuck!”

Victoria pulls back, confusion clouding her blown-out pupils. They look around for the source of the noise, Victoria sliding off of Chloe’s lap in the process.

“What did I tell you!” sounds the girl’s voice again, followed by some more murmurs.

“What are you guys doing out he—Oh my God!” a different girl starts.

Victoria’s body bristles like a cat. She wipes the lipstick smudges from Chloe’s face before her own, quickly pulling her skirt back down as she jolts up from the sofa. She stands there, stock-still, looking for any sign of life. 

Chloe can’t see anybody, she just hears them talking over each other, arguing discordantly. But they're not here, the voices are coming from around the corner, closer to the house.

Victoria’s demeanor relaxes when she clocks that nobody’s spotted them—they haven’t been caught. She uncertainly glances back at Chloe the longer the conversation goes on. Chloe gestures for Victoria to sit down again; if she just pulls Victoria back into her lap, they can keep blocking out the world.

“Is she dead?” the same girl from before then asks loudly, and at that, Victoria’s head whips around. Chloe can’t help but stumble to her feet not long after, kicking over the abandoned can of beer in the process, sending it tumbling down the gazebo steps. If they were hidden before, they sure as fuck aren’t now.

Victoria heads towards the ruckus first, Chloe following a few paces behind. The first thing Chloe notices is the dark-haired girl lying on the grass, mumbling and writhing around.

“No, Courtney, she’s not dead,” the same tall redhead from earlier hisses, glaring back at the other girl cowering in the doorway. “She just passed out. Not before throwing up on me, though!” she adds, gesturing to her no-longer-white pants before looking up to the sky to whine in disgust.

Victoria and Chloe walk closer, and Chloe registers numbly that the girl on the ground is Keslie, the kid from earlier. An older girl with tan skin is crouched down in the dirt, her own curls spilling into Kelsie’s face as she feels for a pulse.

“Hadley, what do you think? She’s not dead?” Courtney probes, seemingly unsatisfied with the redhead’s explanation.

“No, she’ll be fine. Probably just had a little too much,” the girl tending to Kelsie responds. Must be Hadley—a name that sounds familiar to Chloe, though she stands no chance of placing it right now. Hadley tucks her hair behind her ear, fingers trembling. “We just need to get her home and hydrated.”

“Oh, and now she's a nurse. You were supposed to be baby-sitting her,” the redhead spits at her. Hadley ignores her, leaning in close to check Kelsie’s breathing.

“Last time I’ll trust you when you make a promise, that’s for sure,” the redhead goes on, until her gaze suddenly catches Victoria. “And you. Where were you?”

Victoria stops in her tracks, shifting her weight uneasily, blinking slowly. “Why?” she asks. “She’s not mine.”

The girl then spots Chloe behind her, eyebrows furrowing deeper. Chloe stays hovering on the edge of the group, her brain running a few seconds behind everything that’s unfolding. It feels like she’s watching TV. She can’t intervene, can she? This is all predetermined, right?

“Chill out, Amy, I can hear you bitching from inside,” comes a new voice from the doorway.

Chloe glances over to see the trip-ruining face of Blackwell’s bitchboy in chief. Courtney moves to make room for Nathan on the top step, leaning lazily against his shoulder.

“We’ve all been there,” he smirks at Kelsie, one hand braced against the doorframe. 

“Not me,” Amy responds, arms crossed. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Jesus, Amy, are you seriously surprised? This always happens,” he counters. “Some dumbass freshman greens out. Name one Vortex Club party without puke. I’ll wait.”

“The International Women’s Day fundraiser,” Hadley throws over her shoulder at him.

“Yeah, your feminazi wine-and-cheese night doesn’t count,” Nathan scoffs. “We were down like half our numbers. Right, Vic?”

Victoria just nods faintly, eyes glazed, like the words are skirting past her.

“We’re supposed to look out for each other,” Hadley snaps.

“True,” Courtney says, while Nathan rolls his eyes. “So, Ames, come get changed, Hayden’s sister’s got clothes upstairs.” 

“Sure, like four sizes too big,” Amy grumbles, but she turns towards the house, arms still folded as she heads inside. “At least you try to help.” 

Hadley sighs. Nathan hops down the stairs after Amy and Courtney leave, peering down at Kelsie.

“Nate,” Kelsie mumbles, trying to lift herself before crashing back down against Hadley. “Sorry.”

Nathan sniffs, ignoring her. He veers towards Victoria instead. “You made it.”

Victoria swallows and walks to meet him, leaving Chloe awkwardly marooned on the other side of the group.

“God, your eyes, you’re zooted,” Nathan snorts, tilting his head to study Victoria’s face. He then pulls her into a tight hug, Victoria crumpling against him. “And you say I go too hard at house parties,” he mutters.

“Hey Kels,” Hadley says, and Chloe’s eyes dart back to them. “How ya feeling?” she asks, stroking Kelsie’s arm gently. That’s when Chloe decides to approach, squatting down beside them, elbows on her knees.

Kelsie’s resting her head in Hadley’s lap, eyes staring somewhere beyond the two of them.

“I gave her weed earlier,” Chloe says.

“Oh, hi.” Hadley looks Chloe up and down, eyes tired. “Yeah, you gave everybody weed, I think.”

“She wanted something stronger, but I said no.”

“Oh.” Hadley looks back down at Kelsie, brushing damp strands from her face. “God. I really let her down tonight.”

“Sleepy,” Kelsie mumbles, eyes fluttering shut again.

“Let’s get you home,” Hadley says, then she turns to Chloe again. “Can you help me get her to my car?”

“Least I can do,” Chloe says, glad that this Vortex girl she’s doing a favor for seems to be kinder than the rest. They haul Kelsie up, Hadley looping an arm around her. She can’t weigh more than ninety pounds. “I got her,” Chloe adds, adjusting her grip to lift the girl bridal-style while the ground feels liquid under her feet. “You lead the way.” 

“I’ll take her back,” Nathan offers, peeling off of Victoria. Hadley doesn’t answer right away. Chloe pauses, glancing between the two. 

“Didn’t you drink tonight?” Hadley then asks.

“Nah, dude. All clear to taxi. As long as she’s done puking.”

Kelsie moans, shifting in Chloe’s arms.

“Fine,” Hadley replies with a shrug. “Where are you parked?”

They head around to the front of the house, Victoria trailing behind.

“Nate, you’ll bring us back too, right?” Victoria asks, the first time she’s spoken in a while. Chloe looks over at her, eyes drawn to the holes ripped in her fishnets.

“I’ll swing back after,” he says.

“No, I… need to go now.”

“Oh you’re rolling rolling,” he laughs. “Go drink water. Ten minutes.”

“There’s room for four,” Victoria argues, voice cracking slightly.

“Four?” Nathan clicks the fob to unlock his car, taillights blinking in the dark. “Hadley, you’re staying right?” 

“Yeah, if you got her,” Hadley replies, folding her arms as her eyes pass over Kelsie’s sleeping form.

“You, me, Kelsie, Chloe, that makes four,” Victoria continues, to a guffaw from Nathan. Chloe turns to her in surprise as well. Has Victoria ever even acknowledged Chloe in front of her friends, nevermind said her name?

“Why would I give a ride to that dyke?” he scoffs. “Or wait, is she answering Rachel’s bootycall?”

Chloe’s arms tense. Her grip on Kelsie falters.

“You owe me, Nate,” Victoria cuts in, sudden and slurred. “So shut the fuck up, will you?”

Nathan’s eyebrows shoot up. “Woah, why are you getting all feisty about this, V?” He swivels around as he reaches his car. “Sounds like somebody needs to get laid,” he sneers, taking a step too close.

Victoria shoves him, hard. His back hits the trunk of his car.

“What the fuck?” Nathan rasps, his eyes wide with rage. He suddenly marches towards her. “What’s gotten into you? You think I need this right now? I’ll fucking—”

“Hey—HEY!” Hadley yelps, throwing an arm between them to push him off to the side. “That’s enough! Alright, that’s it, I’m driving,” Hadley announces, spinning to Chloe. “Why is nobody sane tonight. Blue-hair, I’m in the green Ford over there.” Hadley jerks a thumb in its direction and starts walking away. 

Chloe is still looking at Victoria, feeling an unprecedented level of concern for her and those glassy eyes, but she’s backing off.

Nathan yells, “I was being nice. Uptight bitch.”

“You’re spiraling, Nate,” Hadley says over her shoulder. “Go get a beer, scream into a pillow. You don’t even have a girls dorm key anyway,” she adds, chaperoning Victoria and Chloe over to her car.

“Crash in a ditch,” Nathan shouts, turning on his heel. “Cunts.”

“Oh, okay! Officially certifiable!” Hadley bemoans, dragging her palm down her face. Victoria gets in the passenger seat, leaving Chloe in the back seat with this stranger lying against her shoulder. 

“How do you stand him, Victoria?” Hadley mutters, starting the engine.

“I—He’s not always like this. Why do I keep having this conversation,” Victoria mutters quietly, then starts to tune the radio.

Hadley sighs gently. They set off, and Chloe rests her head against the window, the motion lulling her.

Hadley catches her eye in the rear view mirror. “So you’re Chloe?”

“Mmhm,” she responds, cautious.

“You don’t go to Blackwell anymore, do you?”

“That’s right,” Chloe murmurs. Against her wishes, the sky outside is just starting to fade towards morning.

“Want me to drop you somewhere first?” Hadley asks.

“No, I live close,” Chloe lies. She can’t go home tonight. If nothing else is certain, that’s the one thing that is.

Victoria turns up the music, and then the rest of the ride blurs into static and streetlights.

Kelsie’s room is on the ground floor, making it easier for Chloe to help maneuver her into bed. Hadley stays attending to her, raiding her dresser for painkillers, taking out a fresh bottle of water from her minifridge. She whispers her thanks to Chloe and triple-checks she doesn’t need a ride before giving her the go-ahead to leave, and she’s on her own again. She wanders back through the hallway to the entrance, and goes outside for one final smoke. 

Victoria’s waiting there.

Chloe realizes she was hoping she would be.

They smoke in silence together, watching how wisps float into the velvety sky, folding and unfolding into mesmerizing shapes and then vanish into nothing.

“So, those were my friends,” Victoria says after an eternity.

Chloe chokes out a laugh. “Sucks to be you.”

Victoria shrugs. “You wouldn’t get it.”

Chloe shakes her head. “What a waste of good drugs,” she adds.

“...Wasn’t totally a waste,” Victoria adds, taking a final drag.

Chloe meets her eyes, skin on the back of her neck tingling.

“Still rolling?” Victoria then asks.

“I think so, yeah.”

Victoria stubs her cigarette on the ground.

“Wanna find out?” she asks, as she pushes the door open and casts all of Chloe’s thoughts aside.