Chapter Text
The way cigarette smoke hangs in the air, it's almost ethereal. The way it curls like the supermassive gas clouds in outer space, just with less color than the textbook photos. You can watch it come off the barely lit tip for so long, you forget to actually smoke yourself. You forget how many cigarettes you've had. Forget how the heat of the lighter has replaced the heat of the home cooked meal. If you sit there staring at it for long enough, you can become hypnotized, and forget to even think.
But you can't forget to feel. You can't forget that your wife is cheating on you, how that tears your soul to shreds. You can't forget the look on her face when she comes home, how full of lust and satisfaction it is, before she sees your face and stones her expression, like your existence has stolen the joy from her life.
Chloe takes another drag. The cigarette nearly burns her fingers. She considers letting it, as if it could burn away memories as well as flesh.
It's nearly half past midnight, Max was supposed to be home by 9pm. Friday was "date night."
"I, couldn't count every freckle
couldn't count every line
You've rolled your eyes
over at me for."
"In a parking lot light
With a stripped smile
You're making that look
Like it's funny that you're
causing me trouble."
The Greeting Committee's " Elise " begins to play over the stereo system again, signaling that the playlist she'd put together was repeating for a third time. Max had screamed at her, accused her of being wasteful with Max's money when Chloe had the stereo replaced. Chloe could only shout back that she wouldn't have had to if Max hadn’t smashed the last one on one of her tirades. Max didn't drink heavily often, but when she did, she almost always found something to be pissed at Chloe for. Patched holes in the drywall were tally marks for their worst disagreements.
Just the other night, Chloe had been put on leave from the tattoo shop. Her hands wouldn't stop shaking, she was losing weight, the bags under her eyes of sleepless nights on the couch were showing their wear, and her designs had taken a nosedive in quality. Her smoking habit, the one she'd kick for a few months only to come crawling back to time and time again, couldn't steady her hands nor her nerves, despite it growing to nearly half a pack a day.
Was the tobacco killing Chloe, or was this apartment?
The cold, homemade lasagna on the table gave no answers.
The clock ticked to 12:29.
"I'm losing my mind
Swore it wouldn't happen this time
But if love makes you stupid, you're making me the biggest fool
You'll ever find."
A beep came from the hallway, and the front door swung open. Max stepped into the room, handbag and blazer slung over her shoulder, hair a tangled mess, like someone had been grabbing and dragging their fingers through it. Like she wasn't even trying to hide it from Chloe anymore.
"Hey," Chloe called out weakly, "Date night?" She asked, knowing Max already had a bullshit reason for skipping.
"Hey," Max hung her things up on the rack and took out her phone, already texting someone, not even looking at her wife sitting at the table. "Sorry, the event went long." Nothing but the sound of iPhone typing filled the room.
Chloe sighed, she didn't have the energy to fight, she didn't really have the energy to do this charade, but she continued. "Why didn't you call to say you'd be late?"
"My phone died." Max continued to text.
"Um," Chloe cleared her throat, "You're… You're using it right now. And you just used it to open the door."
Max didn't blink. "I got a charge from the cab driver, I couldn't call cause I didn't have enough battery 'till I got home."
Chloe coughed, "Was the driver nice, honey?"
Max looked up and glared at her, she wasn't a fan of pet names anymore. She wasn't a fan of a lot of things Chloe did. Her nostrils flared. "Have you been smoking in here again?"
Chloe groaned, put her head down and just raised up the lit cigarette bud in response.
"Ugh, I can't stand you. You know those aren't good for you and they smell like acid."
"Thanks, mom. I'll remember that."
"Well, you sure act like a child." Max says under her breath, but definitely loud enough that she intended Chloe to hear it.
Chloe knows she can't take the bait, can't raise her voice. She takes another drag and tries to speak calmly. "I made dinner, are you hungry? It's cold but you can heat it back up."
Chloe can almost mouth along when Max says "I already ate." Yeah, I'm sure you did.
Max announces she's going to take a shower and go to bed, and without another word, she's gone. Chloe's worst fears are true; Max either completely forgot about their anniversary, or she doesn't give a shit.
Lucky number 7, right?
The door to the bathroom closes and, as if on cue, Max's phone buzzes on the coffee table across the room. Chloe stubs out her light in the sink and cleans up the food she made, throwing out most of it but keeping the lasagna in the fridge. She keeps it knowing it'll make up lunch for the next few days. She's somehow become a competent chef in the last few years, maybe Joyce gave her some good genes after all.
The phone buzzes again, Chloe plops herself down on the couch, turns on the TV, and looks at the lock screen. For a moment she thinks better of it, she's well beyond the point of caring about snooping, but did she really want to know? The phone buzzed a third time, taking the choice away from her as she snatched it up.
*R: i owe you for the hotel room, thanks for that one*
*R: fucj i can still feel you inside me*
*R: ur a fucking tease, caulfield. leaving me like that. dream of me <3 night ;)*
It didn't surprise Chloe that Max was cheating, nor that she didn't have the decency to hide it on a burner phone. It didn't surprise her that Max probably wasn't at the photography event she said she was tonight. It almost surprised her that Max was close enough to this person that she would use their real last name, but mainly it made Chloe Caulfield feel closer to the edge. This person, this stranger, was probably closer to Max than Chloe had been in years. She knew she'd been pushed away by her wife, but was she being forced out by someone in-between them too?
Chloe put down the phone and rubbed her temples, searching her brain for names that started with R. Only one came to mind, Rachel. But that was a whole other issue. It couldn't be Rachel, not unless they were both hiding something huge from her. Rachel moved out to New York last spring, and Chloe hadn't heard a peep from her in 9 months.
Chloe’s gut churned at the thought of her.
Max may have been her solemate, but Rachel was her angel, the one who kept her alive long enough to even see Max again. Max and Chloe both grew up in Arcadia Bay, a little town on the Oregon Coast, and they were inseparable. They would spend every waking hour outside of school together, playing pirates, making up games, sneaking away from their parents to their secret bases and tree forts, always finding new ways to go on adventures and get in trouble. Then, in a flash, her father died in a car accident, Max’s parents moved her to Seattle with only a tape recording to say goodbye, and Chloe was alone with a mother who grew further and further out of touch with her reality by the day. She fell into a hole of crushing depression that only grew worse when David, an abusive ex-military douchebag with a short fuse and a temperament for hitting Chloe, married her mom less than three years after her father died.
Rachel was the only thing that pulled her out of that hole. They met at Blackwell Academy, the private junior college in Arcadia Bay that they both attended, Rachel there because of her near perfect grades, while Chloe was admitted as a “scholarship choice student,” (AKA, a local kid so the school could meet the quota required for receiving state funding.) After a few wild weeks that involved teenage rebellion, underground rock shows, a Shakespearean tragedy, a wildfire, the arrest of a photography teacher, at least two vandalized statues, and Chloe barely avoiding expulsion, they became thick as thieves. Chloe had someone to fill the hole her father and Max had left.
And then, out of nowhere in their senior year at Blackwell, Max came back. It took a while for their friendship to warm back up, but as soon as it did, it turned into romance. Chloe shivered at the thought of how thick their relationship was back then, how it felt like Max had returned specifically for her, for the intent of seducing and ravaging her.
The rest of the year flew by with Max and Rachel by her side. The trio eloped following graduation, ending up in LA, where Rachel’s modeling and Max’s photography careers took off. A weekend of celebration in Vegas later, and Max and herself had rings on their fingers. Chloe didn’t like to think of that as her wedding really, rather remembering their “vow renewal” ceremony they had the next year where family and friends were actually invited.
By chance, Rachel followed them to San Francisco when Max relocated for her job at the time. They all stayed together even though Rachel was gone most days out of the year, until last December, when Rachel went radio silent and then poofed off to New York with barely a word. Her best friend of over 10 years, gone in a flash.
So it could be Rachel? She’d always like to flirt with Max, but it never struck Chloe as anything more than playful. And if he was still somehow in the city, she wasn’t staying at her old apartment, which had been taken over by a cranky old man who didn’t appreciate it when Chloe came by asking questions. Rachel also had a long string of boyfriends that changed so often no one could keep up, and she had said that she was “unfortunately straight,” saying if she was otherwise “I would have stolen you and taken off before Max would have had a chance.”
Her head in her hands, she gave up. This woman (She'd decided it had to be a woman because, one, Max had basically never shown in anyone who wasn't femme, and two, the whole 'i can still feel you inside me' probably gave it away, with Max having never shown an interest in butt stuff either) either had something on Max, or made Max feel better than Chloe ever could. Or at least better than she could given the state of their relationship.
Paid programming on the television laid the soundtrack for what was probably another night left on the couch. Chloe could only ask questions.
How did she get here? Chloe Price, high school rebel of the year, now basically the domestic housewife forced out of her partner’s love.
Just... Who, Max? Who is she?
~~
Victoria tastes strawberry daiquiri and cheap perfume, but Max doesn't care. Actually she does, but not enough to stop her assault on the blonde's lips. She'll give Victoria a few slaps later and tell her to be more presentable next time, and Vic will just moan and squirm like the slut she is.
She’s wearing this little black number that looks like it could fall at any time, strapless and barely covering her thighs. Max couldn’t believe it when she walked in the door at the gallery. If it wasn’t for the huge coat she was wearing, she would have fit right in on the San Francisco streets. Max wanted to tear it off her. Rip it to shreds, let fabric give way to skin. Max could always just buy her a new one anyway.
She traps the blonde between the wall and her body, nails digging into the wrists held above her head. Max steals her breath as Victoria arches her back, her body begging for more. Max’s fingers are suddenly inside her cunt, and before she can scream out in need, Max’s other hand covers her mouth. Victoria is a squirmer, a screamer, and putty in Max’s hands. The photographer revels in the power she holds over the woman that’s become her pet.
“You haven’t been cumming without my permission, have you?” Her question comes out in airy breaths, the words slipping straight into Victoria’s mind.
The blonde shakes her head, her eyes begging for Max to believe her.
“Good, because your orgasms belong to me. Don’t they, you fucking whore.”
It’s not a question. It was never a question. Victoria didn’t give up her freedoms, they were taken from her. Bargained away for the promise of pleasure in the future. She loved it. After years of needing everything to go her way, she loved losing control. She loved Max’s grip on her life. She loved the hands pulling hair, the fingers pumping in and out, the feet forcing her into the ground, the legs she humped against in heat. She loves Max’s grin, cheshire in nature, her laugh, like an orchestrated plan coming together, her voice; sultry, commanding, absolute.
Max’s fingers curl inside her, and her train of thought is sparked out of existence.
"You're mine, Ria"