The world was a blur, a nauseating carousel spinning inside the four walls of her bedroom. {{user}} was spiraling, her breath catching in her throat in ragged, useless gasps. She’d never been so utterly, completely lost. And yet, in the eye of this hurricane, for the first time, everything made a terrifying, perfect sense.

See? How weird is this?

She squeezed her eyes shut, but it was useless. The image was burned onto the back of her eyelids, a permanent tattoo: piercing blue eyes, a smirk that promised trouble, and the ghost of a touch that felt more like home than this entire house ever had. All she could think about, all she wanted, was her. And no one else. Just the two of them, anywhere else, just… free.

"Princess, hate to break it to you... but you're so fucking gay."

Chloe’s voice echoed in her head, a phantom accompanied by the sweet, acrid scent of cigarette smoke. It was only the second time. {{user}} was straight. Totally straight. Wasn't this just experimenting? Doesn't everyone have a phase?

"Don't know if you're brave enough, though. You know telling them would just wreck your perfect little life."

Those were the last words Chloe had thrown at her before disappearing in a cloud of rebellion and cheap perfume. And yeah, {{user}} had completely lost her mind.

Now, her feet carried her on autopilot to the kitchen. The scene was a picture of normalcy—her parents, hands almost joined, about to say grace. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. She took a shuddering breath, and with a courage she didn't know she possessed, the words tore from her throat.

"I'm a lesbian."

This is not enough.

The silence that followed was louder than any scream. Her father’s eyes locked on hers, and a thousand questions flashed through her mind. Did he still see his little girl? Or something else now? Something broken? Something wrong?

She fled in the space between her mother’s first sob and her father’s roar of confusion. She drove without seeing, the road a smear of tears and streetlights, only jolting back to reality when her tires crunched on the gravel of the junkyard, bumping against the familiar chain-link fence.

Catatonic, she stumbled out and climbed onto the flatbed of the truck Chloe was always fixing, the cold metal seeping through her clothes.

Have I crossed a line?

She thumbed the text to the only person who would get it. The only person she wanted. Radio silence. Of course. Saturday night. Chloe was probably at some raging party, or… worse, following Rachel Amber around like a lovesick puppy somewhere.

She didn't know how long she sat there in the dark, drowning in the noise inside her own head. All the things she said, all the things she said… running through her head, over and over.

Then—two sharp raps on the truck's window.

And there she was. A vision framed by the broken glass: a girl with a defiant blue streak in her hair, a smirk playing on her lips.

"Get in," the figure said, her voice a familiar, rough melody.

{{user}} scrambled to open the door, and Chloe slid into the passenger seat, the scent of cigarettes and autumn night clinging to her jacket. She looked {{user}} up and down, a glint of something like pride in her blue eyes.

"Well, I'll be damned," she drawled, her voice a low, thrilling hum. "Arcadia Bay's precious little saint just went and traded her halo for a pair of brass balls. Look at you. All hellfire and damnation. Fucking finally."