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Two Hours and Thirty Minutes

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It's only been two hours.

It's only been two hours since Max fucking Caulfield had stepped up to her, sapphire eyes blazing with a ferocious intensity, eyebrows set and a stance far from the nervous shuffle Victoria had grown accustomed to seeing.

It's only been two hours since Max had spoken to her, words beginning harsh -- "Go fuck your selfie, Victoria," -- and waning into something the blonde could cautiously classify as concern. When her normally lowered voice was struck with determination, when she'd spoke words about Nathan like she knew something Victoria did not.

It's only been two hours since Max Caulfield came with her words of warning... and it's only been thirty minutes since Victoria herself had squeezed out of the circle of her friends, away from Logan's grabby hands and atrocious remarks. A whole thirty minutes since she'd leaned against the wall next to the bartender and pulled out her phone, fingers clicking their way right to Max's contact.

There should be nothing but giddiness in her heart -- she'd won, she'd won -- but as soon as Jefferson had announced her award, he'd been gone. As soon as his presence left, her mind had wandered back to the hipster brat, to that look in her doe eyes, that set frown on those pale lips.

Victoria Chase takes a drink, swallows down roughly, and stares at the message on her screen, crisp and to the point.

'Are you okay, Caulfield?'

It's only been two hours since she's seen Max. It's only been thirty minutes since she's texted her.

Victoria inhales shakily, and jumps when Taylor appears next to her, buzzed and giggling. Heated fingers grab at the hand which clutches desperately at her phone, and Taylor stops talking the instant that Victoria glances at her.

"Vic? You okay, girl? Your hands are shaking. Had too much to drink?"

It's been thirty minutes and she hasn't gotten a response.