Chapter Text
The cold January air seeps through the cracked driver's side window. The driver has a cigarette in one hand, the other steadying the steering wheel. She pulls it to her lips and cherishes the burn of smoke in her lungs. It keeps her warm and alert, which she needs to be for the first day of the spring semester.
Spring felt even further away than Seattle, though. Arcadia Bay was a temperate tiny town, the shops and diners dark and asleep in the early dawn light. Besides her Mercedes, there aren't any cars on the road.
With a shaky exhale, Victoria sends a silent prayer to whoever-the-fuck that this semester will be better than the last.
Turning at the sign stating "BLACKWELL ACADEMY", she starts up the hill that winds through the forest to the school.
A searing sensation on her leggings has Victoria hissing through her teeth. Great, she forgot to tap the ash of her cig, which elegantly burned a hole just beneath the line of her skirt
With an angry grumble, Victoria flicks it out the window. Littering is nothing, it's not like this town deserves to be treated with respect.
After an eternity and a half, she finally pulls into the student parking lot.
Grabbing her purse, she tugs on the door handle and kicks it with her black platform. There's no one else in the lot, so she lights up another cigarette for the walk to the dorms.
The frost glitters on the campus lawn, and the fountain is slushy but not quite frozen. All the trees are bare, the branches reaching for the sky like clawed hands. All of it is too picturesque, her hand aches for her camera.
But if Blackwell has taught her anything, it's that beauty is an illusion meant to distract from darkness.
By the time she reaches the dorm, her cigarette is a butt and her hands are shaking.
There is a "WELCOME BACK, STUDENTS" banner hanging above the double doors, which she scoffs at as she enters the building.
It's odd to be here so early, when it's so empty. In just an hour or so, everyone will arrive and the dorm will be chaos. At least until class starts. But now it's almost eerily silent as Victoria treks up the stairs to the girls dormitory, the click-clack of her wedges echoing through the stairwell.
The hallway looks the same, except they cycled the posters. Instead all of the holiday/finals themed decorations, the bulletin board advertise new clubs and activities. Of course, smack dab in the middle, is the number for the depression hotline. It's been there ever since October, the only constant. Victoria is about to tear it down when she notices the soft music. It's from behind a cracked door at the end of the hall, but the melancholic acoustics are still audible.
She takes a sharp inhale of breath, and walks toward the music.
As she guessed, the only door partially open is room 219. Max Caulfield's room, which had been unoccupied since the girl went back to Seattle mid-semester.
Leaning to catch a look inside, Victoria sees that the room is no longer unoccupied.
Max Caulfield stands on her bed with a box under her arm. She's removing something from the wall and putting it in said box. It takes a moment for Victoria to realize that Max is taking down her photo wall.
Because yes, Victoria had broken into (it's not breaking if it's open) the brunette's room before and seen the wall of Polaroids.
Before she can analyze any further, Max looks over her shoulder. It's almost creepy, like she knew she was being watched. She makes eye contact with Victoria from where she is peeping. Victoria nearly absconds before Max speaks.
"Oh, hey," Her voice is flat, cautious. "Sorry about the music. I didn't think anyone else would be here this early."
She sets the box down and hops off her bed. Max opens the door fully to where the two girls can look each other in the eye.
"You came back," is all Victoria can muster.
Max looks even smaller and fragile than before, which hadn't seemed possible. She's lost the last bits of baby fat that clung to her face in the fall, finally looking like an 18 year old. There are bags under her eyes that almost look like bruises, and Victoria wonders if the reason Max is up so early is because the girl never slept.
"Yeah, um. Blackwell still offered me my scholarship, so," Max mumbles, her shoulders lifting in a lazy shrug. There's a beat of silence, and Victoria recognizes the song now. Santa Monica Dream.
"Well, I, um. I'm glad you're back." Victoria fumbles with the words, because they're out of character for the Queen Bee facade she's built for over 10 years. But they're true, which is almost more startling.
Max blinks her big blue eyes in what must be confusion, so Victoria opens her mouth to take it back. Before she can though, Max smiles. It doesn't reach her eyes, but Victoria can tell she's trying. It's so sad that it stops her from saying anything.
"Thanks," Max almost whispers the word. "It's going to be strange and different, but I can't hide from what happened anymore."
Honestly, Victoria didn't expect to ever see Max again. After the funeral, her parents came to Blackwell to bring the girl home. Back then, Victoria was too ashamed to even say goodbye. But she came to regret it as she noticed the hole where Max used to be.
"Well, let me know if you need anything." Victoria offered. She pointed over her shoulder with her thumb. "I'm just across the way."
Max nodded, and she seemed to get that Victoria was trying to escape this conversation. At least she didn't look hurt.
"Thanks, Victoria." Max says and then turns away. She's looking back at her photo wall, halfway packed up. "I'll see you in class." And with that, Max walks back into her room and shuts the door behind her.
Victoria just stands there for a moment, staring through the door. She hated this feeling tying her stomach into knots. She hasn't been able to make it go away since October.
If only she could just write Max a card. She was better at writing her feelings down than verbalizing them. But the issue extended too far beyond anything she could pick up at the store.
Victoria turned around and went into her own room. She shut and locked the door behind her. She flopped onto her couch, the leather creaking beneath her. She pulled her phone out of her purse, along with her headphones. Shoving them into her ears, she turned the volume all the way up to drown out her mind.
If Max was back for good, Victoria had to make sure she felt welcome. At least to alleviate her own conscience.
Victoria pulled up her email on her phone and began to type.