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chloe-caulfield94 · 9 months ago

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Bay Max has a talk with Other Max

This is going to be a part of a larger fanfic, so if it piques your interest, stay tuned. It's also quite darker than what I usually write, so be warned.

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Max went back to the scene of her crime. The filthy bathroom corner she had showered with her tears five days prior. The filthy bathroom corner that she had cowered in, waiting for Chloe’s heart to be pierced by a bullet. She touched the fire alarm she was supposed to use to save a life, but she had chosen not to. She turned to walk away and she noticed the moustache and glasses scribbled on the mirror. She walked over and touched the graffiti, repeating her movements from Monday.

“You were right. Something was mocking you. It wasn’t the universe, though. I highly doubt the universe is even aware a bug like you is currently crawling on its skin. It was me. I’ve been mocking you” – Max heard her own voice coming from the mirror. She noticed that her reflection not only wasn’t mirroring her movements, but it was even dressed differently – in her usual grey hoodie and pink t-shirt instead of the black dress she was wearing.

Max furrowed her brows. “You again? You told me to sacrifice Chloe. You told me she wasn’t worth my love and friendship. And that spectacle at the diner? All the townspeople accusing me of murder? Bravo. I especially liked Joyce telling me that I’m taking her away from her family if I don’t sacrifice Chloe. But her family is Chloe! Such a nice touch. How twisted do you have to be to even come up with something like that?”

“Why are you making fun of my tricks? You fell for them. They worked. You did what I told you to do”.

“Yes, you bullied me into killing my own best friend. I did what you told me was the right thing to do. Even though by doing so I killed my soul as well. What more do you want from me?”

Her reflection chuckled. “Bold of you to assume you had a soul to begin with. And our talks have never been about me telling you to do the right thing. Have you considered the possibility that I simply enjoy seeing you squirm?”

“Who … what are you?”

“I’m a part of you that contains all of your self-loathing, self-doubt, guilt and resentment. Or … perhaps I’m a demon sent to torment you. You always listen to Samuel’s talks about spirits roaming around Arcadia Bay. You constantly fall for various ‘woo’ you find on the Internet. You’re functionally an antivaxxer. I’m sure you’re more than capable of believing in demons”.

“So what now? You told me I should sacrifice Chloe and now that I did you’re going to say I shouldn’t have?”

“More or less. I’m always telling you things that make you feel bad. But before you say I’m evil, that’s just what I am. You could say it’s my job. I am a part of you that makes you feel sad. It’s not my fault you let me grow so strong. Stronger than all your other parts put together. You know, the nightmare you had when Chloe was hauling your unconscious body to safety was the first time we met face to face. But it was not the first time you heard my voice. No, for years I whispered in your ear. I told you not to return Chloe’s phone calls. I told you to respond to her texts with the most non-committal nothings under the sun. I told you not to write her letters. I told you not to reach out to her even when you already were in Arcadia Bay. And we both know for a fact you wouldn’t have contacted her, ever, had she not saved your ass in the parking lot, don’t we? And we both know that had you contacted her right after you arrived in town, six weeks before she was murdered, her fate would’ve turned out differently and she wouldn’t have found herself on the receiving end of Nathan’s gun. No Storm, no dead best friend, had you just had the guts to reach out to her, you coward. Your cowardice killed people. You could only choose who it killed. But it was fatal nonetheless”.

“So you are responsible for all of this?”

“No, no, no! Don’t pin your wrong choices on me, Max! I only ever highlighted the options you had. But we always make choices as one. All parts of us together. It’s not my fault you constantly follow my advice. Think of me as of an attorney, defending a client who’s obviously guilty. I have to do this. It’s my job. So when the neglectful jurors return a not guilty verdict and the accused is released into the world to commit more evil, whose fault it is?”

“You can’t be a part of me. I‘m not a good person. But you … you’re a monster”.

“If I’m a monster, that makes you a monster as well, at least in part. And I’d say that you’re a monster in full. All your parts are monsters. It’s just that I’m honest about what I am. All your other parts, including the one I’m talking to right now, are in denial. Care to explain one thing to me? Why did you kiss Chloe when she dared you to on Wednesday morning, but then you immediately rewound time and didn’t kiss her for a second time? So you had all the fun of kissing her and she had none of the fun of being kissed by you? You used her body for your own pleasure but you made sure she got none of that pleasure back? At best that makes you a selfish lover. At worst that makes you … an artist. Like Jefferson and Nathan. You like posing others for your own pleasure, you steal moments from other people and you make sure they don’t remember those moments at all”.

“Shut up! I am nothing like them!”

“Oh really? How is what you did to Chloe different than what Nathan did to her? You used her for your own pleasure for five days and then you tossed her away like trash, making sure she would remember none of it. At least he was done with her in a single night. You took your sweet time with her. Oh, and another thing you have in common. You both murdered her”.

“I had to! You said so yourself!”

“You didn’t have to do anything. You chose to do that. You know he’s going to be released soon, right? I give it three years. And then Sean Prescott’s golfing buddies at the Oregon Supreme Court, you know, the ones whose election campaigns he financed, are going to overturn Nathan’s conviction. What a beautiful story they are going to tell! And the media is going to repeat it a thousandfold. A story of a promising, talented, handsome, well-mannered young man from a good family who had the misfortune of crossing paths with two whores. One junkie whore named Rachel, who overdosed despite Nathan’s best efforts to make her quit her drug habit. He probably even performed CPR on her once she OD’d. Alas, to no avail. But it does explain his DNA, if any is found on Rachel. And then there was a second whore. She got innocent little Nathan drunk and she dragged him to bed. A filthy gold digger, who just wanted to lay her grubby hands on his family’s well-earned wealth. And when she tried to violently extort money from him, he simply had to stand his ground. Ooh, ooh! I have idea for another juicy detail to this story! She wanted to extort money from Nathan because she was pregnant! Nathan, being a responsible young man, of course insisted on using protection, but she pricked the condom with a needle, like gold-digging whores do to accomplished men they want to entrap. I mean killing your pregnant mistress is perfectly legal. Haven’t you seen ‘Fatal Attraction’”?

Max vomited into the sink, violently. She had eaten very little that day, so it was mostly bile. It went out of her mouth and nose. She wiped her face with her sleeve. Leaning against the sink, she said hesitantly: “But … those are all lies. None of that is true”.

“Max, of course we both know the truth. Nathan murdered Rachel in the course of a ‘photo session’ he gave her. And he was … extra hands-on with her, wasn’t he? At least Jefferson didn’t insert himself into the pictures. But Nathan … half the pictures of Rachel we found in the Dark Room were of him groping her, kissing her, lying on top of her … I mean no wonder Jefferson killed him. He was furious Nathan treated his adolescent girlfriend that way. And we know why Chloe wanted hush money from Nathan. Because he drugged her and gave her a ‘photo session’ too. And she knew she would get zero justice by going to the Prescott-owned police department. You remember that cop who openly told you, in a crowded diner, that he and his buddies were taking money to look out for little Nathan? We know what she did was the only way for her to get any semblance of justice. That’s the truth. But the biggest problem with the truth is getting people to believe in it. Especially if they were bribed not to. You know, they are not going to use exactly the same story I just told you. No, they are probably going to use something even worse, something even more insulting to your dead best friend’s memory. You can run, but you cannot hide, Max. You can run to a place where the local news from Oregon don’t reach, like a hippie commune in the middle of Arizona. But sooner or later, those news are going to reach you. Hell, maybe you’ll learn of Nathan’s rehabilitation and of the awful crimes of Rachel and Chloe ten years after it makes the headlines here in Oregon. But you will hear about that. I can’t wait to see your face then. I can’t wait to hear how you try and fail to convince yourself it had to happen for the greater good”.

“But … there is evidence. Nathan’s real student record. The photograph of Chloe he kept in his drawer”.

“Too bad you only regained memories of those days you chose to erase today. Had you remembered anything on Monday, you could’ve told someone. But now? Those documents and photographs are long gone. The principal has been on the take from the Prescotts for years. He swept under the rug Nathan’s many violent outbursts and his drug peddling. What, you think he won’t sweep this under the rug? If only out of concern for his own skin? If Prescotts go down, Wells goes down with them. Come on, he let a violent, drug-addled boy attend Blackwell for years, instead of expelling him, like he should’ve. But we know only poor people get expelled, don’t we? Poor girls get expelled for a little graffiti in the parking lot. Rich boys don’t get expelled when they are caught selling drugs and beating other students up. Wells will never let anyone see Nathan’s real student record, the one he kept secret for so long. He will only show the fake one, the one painting a rosy picture of Prescott junior. And the photograph from Nathan’s drawer? Long gone. Taken by Wells himself or some other schmuck on the Prescott payroll. But don’t be too hard on yourself, Max. Who would you have told about this evidence? The insanely corrupt cops, who only arrested Nathan because they found him at the crime scene, smeared in his victim’s blood? They would’ve supressed or even outright destroyed all that evidence, too. You know, to keep those envelopes coming”.

Max kept breathing heavily, as if she was about to throw up again.

Her mirror image kept driving the knife ever deeper into Max’s heart: “Why are you so disgusted with all of that? Those are all consequences of the choice you made. You didn’t want to live with the Storm as the unintended consequence of your rescue of Chloe. And now you don’t want to live with Nathan’s impunity and the desecration of your best friend’s memory as the consequences of your choice not to save her. At some point you have to own the consequences of your actions, whatever they are. And why are you so disturbed at the thought of Nathan’s release? You have so much in common. Two artistic souls? And you already share such a deep bond. To have murdered someone together? To have the same blood on your hands? I don’t know if a deeper connection can be established between two persons. If you start writing him letters now, you can marry him the moment he is released. But I suggest you start writing now. Because there’s going to be a lot of competition. Hybristophilia is quite common among young impressionable women such as yourself. Especially if the murderer is cute and rich”.

Anger overpowered Max’s disgust. She banged her hand on the mirror and shouted: “Fuck you!”

“’Fuck me?’ You’re talking to yourself, Max. What does ‘fuck you’ even mean in this context? Are you announcing that tonight, once you’re all snuggled under your covers, you’re going to touch yourself? Are you going to think about your precious punk Chloe as you do so? Face it, what you felt for her wasn’t love. If you loved her, why did you never say it? She said it twice. She always said it just before you killed her. Because no matter the timeline, you always end up murdering her. And always with her dying breath she confesses her love for you. And you never reciprocate. Why? If you loved her, why didn’t you tell her that? ‘I’m sorry, I don’t want to do this’ is not exactly a love confession. No, it’s what a butcher says to a sad-eyed calf they are about to slaughter. What you felt for her was lust. You realized you were already in your senior year and you wanted to go through a ‘bad girl phase’. And you did. A perfect ‘bad girl phase’. No messy breakup, no clinging. Everything just erased, like your browser history. If you didn’t want to lie you loved her, you at least could’ve told her she deserved your love and friendship and deserved to be alive. When she said she didn’t, you didn’t deny that. And by sacrificing her, you kinda proved her right on that point”.

Max once again banged on the mirror and screamed: “Stop it! I loved her! I still do! You are defiling the best, purest thing I’ve ever felt! That I will ever feel!”

Her reflection’s stern facial expression gave way to a malicious smile. Just like she said, she enjoyed seeing Max squirm. “And we both know why you lust for tall girls with tattoos and bright hair dye. Jefferson’s albums. The ones you loved so much. The ones which drew you to him. The ones which made you wish to be one of his students. The ones he shot in his Seattle days. The ones filled with girls from the local music scene. You loved how he captured them. The difference between you and him is that he grew bored of faux-punk sluts like that and moved on to decent girls from good families. But you continued to lust after low-hanging fruit. At least until you could try it. And when you saw your long-lost friend dressed just like those girls from Jefferson’s albums you’d thought about when touching yourself, you just had to possess her. So tell me, Max. This night, with your hand between your legs, are you going to think about her? Are you going to think about the oh so wet kiss you gave her just before you murdered her?”

“Shut up! Shut up, you monster!”

“I think you’re going to do just fine here at Blackwell. Now that the position of the school princess is confirmed to be vacant, you have a decent shot at taking it. You and Rachel are so alike. You both wanted to fool around with a cool punk rocker. But once you discovered that underneath that thin façade was a real girl, one with her own feelings and other messy things like that, who instead of constantly providing you with cheap thrills actually needed something from you, needed your love and care, you couldn’t throw her away fast enough. I wonder, what’s a more cowardly way of breaking up with someone? Leaving them a scribbled note or murdering them?”

“Shut up. Please, shut up” – Max pleaded quietly with her tormentor.

“Max, why are you even standing here, listening to me? You could’ve walked out that door the moment I spoke up. But you didn’t. Why? Because you know you deserve to hear all of that. You are simply accepting your just punishment. Because even though you want to delude yourself into thinking that you’re an everyday hero who saved their hometown, you know you are the monster. And something even worse. How do you call someone who makes a promise to love and protect another person, but then breaks that promise every single time? How about ‘oath breaker’? That does have a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

Max turned to walk away. She said in a resigned tone: “Enough. Maybe I do deserve to hear all of that, but I can’t take it anymore”.

“If you’re tired of my words, how about listening to someone else?”

Max heard her voice. Not her reflection’s. Her own voice coming from the mirror. And then she heard Joyce’s.

“I wish I was a better friend. I know Chloe doesn’t get many visitors”.

“Oh, Max. You’re Chloe’s best friend for a reason. You’re here exactly when she needs you”.

Max turned towards the mirror again and saw Joyce sitting in her bed. Then the image shifted and she saw William sitting at the table in the Prices’ living room. And once again she heard her own voice.

“William, I just want you to know, that whatever happens, I’ll always be here for Chloe. Always”.

“I know you will, Max” – replied William.

Max’s reflection editorialized: “Had they only known that by ‘being there for Chloe’ you actually meant murdering her”.

The image in the mirror kept shifting, showing her various moments from the week that never was. Max was being lashed with her own words. Bitter, burning tears ran down her cheeks.

“I’m with you to the end, Chloe. You know that”.

“Chloe, you’re priceless”.

“I never want to hurt you! Ever!”

“I always wanted my life to be special, an adventure. But not without you!”

“You are my number one priority now! You are all that matters to me!”

“It doesn’t matter what happens to me. I have to save Chloe!”

“Nobody is going to hurt Chloe ever again!”

The image shifted and Max was once again staring into the eyes of her reflection. Only it was a reflection of her thirteen year old self, in a similar black dress meant for funerals. The reflection said, in a high-pitched, childish voice:

“You don’t have to worry about anything changing. You’re dealing with so much other stuff. You don’t deserve any of this. Chloe, listen. Even if I never … Even if we’re moving for good ... We’re always together, okay? Even when we’re apart. We’re still Max and Chloe. I will always, always love you”.

Her words were punctuated by a deafening gunshot, so loud it made the mirror shake and Max’s ears hurt.

Thirteen year old Max kept speaking: “Because I will never abandon you, Chloe. I'll always have your back”.

Another deafening gunshot.

Her thirteen year old reflection had more to say: “You’re sick in the head, you know that? I said those things because I was a stupid brat and I didn’t actually mean any of that. I didn’t even know what it meant to love someone. But you … It wasn’t enough for you to make false promises to a nineteen year old Chloe. No, you had to go back in time and lie to a fourteen year old Chloe’s face as well”.

Max turned around, walked over to the fire alarm and retrieved the hammer she was supposed to use on Monday.

Walking back to the mirror, she saw her eighteen year old reflection holding a black notebook covered in colourful stickers.

“You really should give it a read. I don’t know why Joyce and David gave their daughter’s belongings to you of all people. That guy Eliot deserved it way more. You know, the one from kindergarten? At least he loved her. In a possessive, jealous way. But he loved her. Unlike you and Rachel. And he was in her life for way longer than you. The next time you’re going through your victim’s belongings, don’t stop at the pictures you took of her. They only show how you saw her. Read her diary instead. Learn how she saw you”.

Other Max opened the notebook and started reading aloud. Max was already next to the mirror, hammer in her raised hand. But when she heard what had been written, she couldn’t move: “The worst part is that even though we haven’t spoken in months, even though she habitually ignored my texts so much that I just stopped trying, even though I know, deep down, that she doesn't care about me anymore and that she probably has all new friends up in fucking Seattle ... I still miss her. If she came back tomorrow and said ‘hey Chloe, want to dress up like pirates and be stupid together?’, I would take her back in a heartbeat”.

Other Max showed Max the contents of the page. “See? And then she drew a heart and added ‘in a heartbeat’ once more. That’s what she thought of you, bleeding out on the floor. How she would take you back in a heartbeat if you just reached out. But you never did. She never saw you after William’s funeral. She never had the chance to take you back in a heartbeat. Because you never came back. And because you stopped her heart from beating. Forever”.

With an unarticulated scream, Max struck at the mirror. An avalanche of glass shards fell into the sink, mixing with bile. Max breathed heavily. Some of the things the other her said were obvious lies. That she didn’t love Chloe. That she was anything like Jefferson and Nathan. But other things … That she had broken her promise. That she had failed her friend. Max desperately wished those things were lies as well.

Her reflection, its voice distorted, as it was now coming from dozens of glass shards at the same time, dealt her a final blow: “Live with the consequences of your actions, Max. Or don’t. I’m fine either way”.

“Oh, I’m not going to live with them. But not in the way you want me to”.

“What, are you trying to tell me you’re going to find your courage and confidence? That part of you is all shrivelled up, almost dead. You’re never going to find her alone”.

“I’m not alone. I have my best friend to help me”.

Max walked over to the corner she had cowered in on Monday. She looked everywhere, but the photograph she had dropped five days earlier was nowhere to be found. She turned to the trash cans, picking them up and emptying them onto the floor. She knelt and started going through the piles of slimy garbage with her bare hands, begging whoever and whatever was listening for the butterfly picture to turn up. It didn’t.

#max caulfield #other max #life is strange #lis #chloe price #pricefield #nathan prescott #mark jefferson #life is strange fanfiction #fanfiction #rachel amber

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