Room 93 (a Life is Strange Fanfiction)
Chapter 8: Ghost — Everything about Chloe is blue, and Max used to be covered in her colors. But, now, she can’t understand why she’s devoid of any color at all.
Chloe runs a hand through her blue hair. The dye has permanently tinged her fingertips blue.
Max picks up Chloe’s hand and squeezes it affectionately. The girl doesn’t meet her eyes. Max’s gaze falls to the hand she’s holding.
It had never occurred to Max that the dye on her hands matches the blue of her jeans. It is fitting that she’s seen her pop pills of the same shade.
Everything about Chloe is blue.
Max’s eyes glance around, the tension of the situation making everything seem sharper: Chloe’s nails, the wind from the open window, the bed sheets.
She doesn’t speak because she can’t without feeling her mind slip out from under her. She wants to support Chloe, but she’s trying not to focus on why her thoughts are so grey. She wants to ask Chloe, but she doesn’t know what it means, and she’s afraid.
Max breathes in sharply, and Chloe sighs.
“I think she saw me as just a friend,” Chloe mumbled. Her hand runs through her hair again. “I think she was using me.”
“I gave her everything. I thought she was the red to my blue, not to get all fucking mushy or anything.”
Max nods quietly, listening more than understanding.
“It’s like, the moment we started hanging out, we were…lilac, and she fucking hated being purple.”
Now that Chloe mentions it, Max can relate. When they had reunited, she could feel herself being affected by Chloe’s presence. She could think in a different way, speak a little angrier, plant her feet more firmly. Maybe Rachel hated feeling like that. Maybe she didn’t want to be changed by someone so much.
(Why are you giving her the benefit of the doubt, Maxine? She tried to steal Chloe away and you’re defending her?)
“That’s…” Max begins, but she can’t think of the words to finish. She feels bad, but she also doesn’t actually feel anything.
“I mean, apparently she was fucking everyone she could. Everyone knew she slept with Jeffershit, ugh. Then, Frank. Who knows who else.”
Max can’t believe Rachel would willingly lay a finger on Jefferson, but considering Stella is under the same impression and that cryptic letter she left back at the junkyard, maybe there is some validity to the rumor.
“Two people does not mean everyone, Chloe.”
(There you go again. Rachel Amber was obviously a manipulative bitch. Hm. Sounds familiar, actually. Are you sure this just doesn’t hit too close to home?)
Chloe’s eyes narrow, and she balks, ripping her hand from Max’s grasp.
“She was also fucking me, and I had no fucking clue about any of these other douchebags! Why are you taking her side, Max?”
“I’m not taking anyone’s side, Chloe. I’m just saying—“
“Yeah, well, who fucking asked you?”
Max recoils, Chloe’s words punching her in the gut. The sensation permeates her entire body. She wonders if this is what black and blue feels like.
She gets up from the bed and stalks out. Max doesn’t move, only watches her leave. She thought she would feel regret or something, but after a few moments, nothing changes. Her eyes drift to the hotel carpet.
Max and Chloe are different. Chloe is blue. Sad. Displaced. Everything she feels is so intense that it cannot be contained. She must shout from the rooftops, write it on the walls in black ink, destroy her own body because, otherwise, how will she get rid of her pain?
But, Max is a dreary shade of grey. She has no affect. She knows she should feel sad, or guilty, or something, but instead, she feels nothing. When Chloe holds her hand, it’s not the same. It used to be that her heart would leap, and she would feel warm, and the tips of her fingers would start to become tinged with Chloe’s shade. But, there’s nothing now.
(Maybe you don’t love her as much as you thought—)
Max shakes her head. She does love Chloe, she just…can’t feel it right now. To be fair, she can’t really feel anything. It’s not Chloe’s fault, it’s hers.
She knows there’s something wrong, but she can’t really find the energy to care.
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