Max Caulfield (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
mypartnerintime) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
entrancelogs2017-02-03 08:18 pm
mypartnerintime) wrote in entrancelogs2017-02-03 08:18 pm
Entry tags:
The love I sell you in the evening by the morning won't exist.
Who: Max Caulfield and Tim Wright
Where: Tim's room (6th floor, room 19)
When: Feb 3
Rating: Heck I dunno PG?
Summary: Chloe's gone.
The Story:
She woke up cold and-
The morning light poured in through the-
Chloe was gone.
The rest of the details don't really matter.
For a few days she didn't bother telling anyone. Who would she tell, anyway? Chloe's friends were hardly hers. And Chloe didn't even have very many friends.
But at some point, being alone in her room and doing nothing... just lost its appeal. She needed to do something, anything, if only to stop the deafening silence of her room and the insistent blankness of her thoughts, that threatened over and over to slip into darker places.
And the ability of her own mind to come up with distressing images and words scared her.
Like how she would think about the uselessness of it all, of Chloe coming and going, and leaving her alone again- that it wasn't even some malicious plot on Wonderland's part, but that life was just fucking random and terrifying.
That nobody was out to get her. There was no deeper destiny or fate to everything that had happened. That Chloe dying was just some meaningless accident, a blip in the grand scheme of things, and that nobody fucking cared about any of it, because why would they?
People come and go from Wonderland. Eventually everyone forgets.
She could rewind and rewind and rewind, and people would die, and it wouldn't matter. Who would remember by the time everyone went home? Or ended up like Alice?
Today is just another timeline, with no real permanence, and no real point.
A new reality is only a rewind away.
No, no, she can't think like that. That's the start of a bad habit, a dangerous routine, and this time there's no living Chloe to snap her back into this reality, and gratefulness for the things she has... Even if it's only by turning over in the middle of the night to wrap her arm around her best friend, and to know that she's alive.
Still, it's comforting to think that life might get worse and worse, and her pain might grow, but in the end none of it matters. And she doesn't have to care.
So to keep herself from going stir crazy in the emptiness of her room, in the emptiness of the room across the hall, where she'd hung an "occupied" sign like some dumb hopeful fucking child, she jerks herself out of bed and several floors up to Tim's room. Because she loathes Tim, and loathing seems like an appropriate emotion, and he seems like a fucking messed-up sort of guy.
She knocks on his door, looking worn and generally unkempt, eyes downcast and unfocused.
Where: Tim's room (6th floor, room 19)
When: Feb 3
Rating: Heck I dunno PG?
Summary: Chloe's gone.
The Story:
She woke up cold and-
The morning light poured in through the-
Chloe was gone.
The rest of the details don't really matter.
For a few days she didn't bother telling anyone. Who would she tell, anyway? Chloe's friends were hardly hers. And Chloe didn't even have very many friends.
But at some point, being alone in her room and doing nothing... just lost its appeal. She needed to do something, anything, if only to stop the deafening silence of her room and the insistent blankness of her thoughts, that threatened over and over to slip into darker places.
And the ability of her own mind to come up with distressing images and words scared her.
Like how she would think about the uselessness of it all, of Chloe coming and going, and leaving her alone again- that it wasn't even some malicious plot on Wonderland's part, but that life was just fucking random and terrifying.
That nobody was out to get her. There was no deeper destiny or fate to everything that had happened. That Chloe dying was just some meaningless accident, a blip in the grand scheme of things, and that nobody fucking cared about any of it, because why would they?
People come and go from Wonderland. Eventually everyone forgets.
She could rewind and rewind and rewind, and people would die, and it wouldn't matter. Who would remember by the time everyone went home? Or ended up like Alice?
Today is just another timeline, with no real permanence, and no real point.
A new reality is only a rewind away.
No, no, she can't think like that. That's the start of a bad habit, a dangerous routine, and this time there's no living Chloe to snap her back into this reality, and gratefulness for the things she has... Even if it's only by turning over in the middle of the night to wrap her arm around her best friend, and to know that she's alive.
Still, it's comforting to think that life might get worse and worse, and her pain might grow, but in the end none of it matters. And she doesn't have to care.
So to keep herself from going stir crazy in the emptiness of her room, in the emptiness of the room across the hall, where she'd hung an "occupied" sign like some dumb hopeful fucking child, she jerks herself out of bed and several floors up to Tim's room. Because she loathes Tim, and loathing seems like an appropriate emotion, and he seems like a fucking messed-up sort of guy.
She knocks on his door, looking worn and generally unkempt, eyes downcast and unfocused.
no subject
You have to imagine where you'll end up, a year later- a cigarette in your hand.
Her stare withers, giving way to a downcast, defeated glare. She puts her own cigarette to her mouth, and takes a drag before driving it into the ground, stamping out the glowing embers at the end.
She actually manages to exhale some smoke without coughing this time.
"Chloe too," she says. And, like Tim, she doesn't explain- doesn't tell him how that ending saves everyone else, saves Arcadia Bay. How it kills Max, deep down.
And for a moment- just one moment- she sees why he was worried about leaving her on the roof.
"I'm... sorry things turned out badly. I know it- it doesn't mean much. I don't even know what happened." She's sorry for his sake, but for Alex's too. She still misses him, sometimes. Still worries about him.
She stands up, dusting herself off. "And I know it'd be... so dumb if I just went around saying that- that things'll b- be okay." By the time she finishes talking, she's crying gently again, rubbing a sleeve against her eyes vigorously.
no subject
That's a lie, and it tastes bitter in his throat. He swallows it back.
"It's not your fault," he begins, low, nervous, but she's scrubbing at her eyes again and - god, what's he say to that? This is usually the point where someone hugs somebody else, but he's not a guy for hugs and he's pretty sure Max wouldn't appreciate them coming from him, even if he was.
"None of this is your fault. Not Chloe. Not Alex." If it's anyone's - well, he knows whose fault this is. He knows he's the one that brought this hell into everyone's lives. But Wonderland has a way of spinning things out of control, and no one can help that.
Right?
no subject
"Y-you don't know what- what you're talking about," she throws at him, her voice shaky and low. And as she speaks her self-control dissolves more and more, until she's fighting to hold down sobs and pace her breathing.
She could break down. She could sit on the ground here, wrap her arms around her legs, huddle together and cry, her whole body wracked in ugly, coarse sobs. Even if she's tired of crying, physically tired, drained. Even if he's standing right there watching her. Because she could just rewind it all away, anyway.
Or you could go. You could leave him here, go down to the nearest empty room and cry your eyes out. You don't have to-
Fuck it. Fuck what the voice in her head thinks, fuck what Tim sees, fuck holding back from the rewinds because of some- some godddamn moral dilemma that won't even matter in the long run. Who the hell cares- who the fuck will remember all this bullshit anyway?
Her defenses crash down as she sits heavily, hiding her face- but there's nothing she can do to hide the shake of her shoulders, the ragged unevenness of her sobbing breaths as she reaches for air, as she stains her sleeves with tears. She grips the fabric of her jeans, painfully, as though for support, as though in anger- her knuckles white with the forcefulness of the gesture. Strained, low moans from behind clenched teeth punctuate her crying, a desperate and furious sound.
Hey, it's... it's okay, a soft voice gently whispers from somewhere.
She doubts she'd even have made it to the stairs, anyway. She can't even bring herself to worry about Tim all that much- her thoughts are too caught up in an image of Chloe lying dead on a bathroom floor, in memories of their short-lived time in Wonderland and all the things neither of them will remember, in the promises they made to never leave each other. In the loneliness that followed. In the words your fault.
no subject
She breaks down utterly, sits where she is, and starts to sob. And he - god, he's starting to pick up on what Jay must've felt every time something like this happened, when Tim began to crack and crumble and shake and he was left standing there filming it all like an idiot, offering no comfort, no words, nothing.
He can do better than Jay, can't he?
He can do - slightly better, maybe. Drop into a crouch, slow and careful, across from her, the butt of his cigarette trailing wisps of gray into the cold.
"I don't know what happened," he says slowly, carefully, "not back home. But Alex - I can tell you that none of that was your fault. None of what he did, whatever it was - none of that was on you."
And how do you know that, huh?
Because it's all squarely on Tim.
1/2
But what really bothers her, crying on the roof, pulling her legs into a tighter hug- what really bothers her is Chloe.
Leaving Chloe for five years without a call or text. Spending a month at Blackwell without reaching out. Then only having one week, and hating, hating that it was so short... and thinking about all the things she could've done to make things better. Just, something, anything- Anyone else, if they'd had the power to rewind time- the things they could've done- And yet, in Wonderland, people do so much with less, with nothing but guts and brains and- And the failure of it stings so bad, burns, aches- With the loss on top of it all, the time they lost, they could've had- Time Max threw away- The morning that Chloe was just gone and Max never said goodbye, and they promised all the time but never did anything- The dates, the relationship they'd never have in the real world, the affection and love-
And she's just so lonely. Just so hurt.
The worst of the crying starts to pass a little after Tim's words of comfort. Eventually her shudders and sobs are reduced to a quiet sniffling, a slow inhale and exhale of breath. Calming down.
She stands shakily, stepping away from him.
"S-sorry, Tim, but... but I think I sh-should rewind that-" she says, lifting a hand. And no matter his reply time starts to bend back, the roaring of wind filling Max's ears, spiraling-
2/2
But this time, she doesn't start to lose control. This time she looks at him apologeticaly, her eyes red and puffy, her sleeves stained.
"I'm- Th-thanks Tim. I know this is... is weird and, and you probably didn't want to come up here, b-but, thanks. I had... a good smoke."
no subject
Her sleeves are stained with blood and her tears and she looks goddamn miserable, but hey -
Hey.
At least they had a good smoke.
"I know I'm not really your favorite guy in the world," he says, dryly, because ironic remarks lighten the mood for sure, right? Not like he's familiar with any other tactic. "But I don't...I don't hold that against you."
Why would he hold common fucking sense against anyone?
no subject
Yeah. It was... good. In a way.
Didn't really resolve anything, but. But there wasn't any suffocating sympathy or anything like that.
She sighs heavily, then bends down to pick up the cigarette but she put out earlier. Yeah, she- she shouldn't litter that, right? She has no idea where to put it so she stuffs it back into the pack, to be thrown away later.
The truth is she's just trying to find something to do other than talk. Other than think about how ridiculous she must have looked in the alternate timeline. Embarrassed- though she knows he won't realize why.
"Okay, uhh... I should. I dunno. I should go." She turns to the door leading off the roof and pauses, her hand on the handle. But then she faces him again. "You heading down, too?"
no subject
Not all that surprising. For the best if she just heads off and does...whatever it is she does. If nothing else, this talk confirmed one thing - she can time travel, and she's not happy that he knows about it.
And he can't change that, much as he kinda wishes he could.
"Yeah," he says, only after a moment's contemplation. After the shit he gave her for wanting to stand alone on a roof, he'd be kind of a hypocrite to do the same for himself, right?
Never mind that "hypocrisy" might as well be second nature, for him.
"Yeah, I'll head down."
no subject
But she certainly doesn't feel worse, either. If Tim had refused to smoke- if he had forced sympathy or pity on her- well, that would have made her miserable and drive home all the more how terrble things are.
In the end she decides that she feels like she just finished a tiring chore. Not quite upset, or rather not any more upset. But not particularly proud or fulfilled, either. Status quo.
It's sad to think that breaking down and multiple rewinds constitue "status quo."
Eventually she speaks. "Hey, Tim..." she starts, then realizes that she can't follow it up with you're actually not that bad, because she's still not sure.
She settles for something that's been nagging at her slightly instead. "I kinda had to... rewind a bit, just- just this past hour or so. I- uhh, I'm sorry. It... it got a little bad, sometimes. On my part."
And you better believe she'll rewind this too, if it goes wrong.
no subject
Great, he almost mutters, low and resentful, but that'd probably just make things worse. Make her feel guilty, or whatever. So instead he jams his hands into his pockets as he follows, shoulders hiking up to his ears in a shrug.
"Can't really stop you, I guess." And the sooner he accepts that, the better. Why bother trying to wrest control back from a life that's never given him any such thing? It's nothing new.
It's the same problem he's always had, from the same perspective.
The comment didn't post sigh
Or maybe he doesn't care.
Or maybe she's just downright wrong about all of it.
She nods in silence, more to herself than to him. Once they're at the sixth floor landing she stands aside to let him through into the hall.
"Uh," she mumbles, not sure how to end this... weird trip. Not sure if he still even wants to talk of if he'll just brush past toward his room.
lmao nice one dw
So he's had zero control on how the conversation went, this whole time. She might as well have been holding his hand through it, maybe trying all the different iterations until she figured out what combination of words worked best on someone like him. Bit too used to the feeling, and it's not like he'd be any wiser if it were true.
Still, though.
Can't help but wonder what else Max might've caused him to forget.
no subject
She lets him pass her, without making any comment, willing to let the conversation end in an awkward silence.