In The Between

✧･Chapter 17 She Kept It

I don't remember falling asleep.

I just know that when I open my eyes, everything feels stiff - my neck, my shoulders, the dull ache behind my eyes from too little sleep and too much everything else. The hospital lights are still too bright, the air too cold, and for a second I forget where I am.

"Claire."

My name pulls me back. I blink a few times before turning my head, finding Hallie standing a few feet away.

"What?" My voice comes out rough, quieter than I expect.

She softens a little at that, stepping closer. "Hey. I just talked to one of the nurses. They said Grandma will probably be out most of the day."

I push myself up straighter in the chair, wincing slightly as my back protests. "Okay... is she-"

"She's stable," Hallie cuts in gently. "They said everything looks good right now."

I nod, letting out a slow breath I didn't realize I was holding.

"Also," Hallie adds, "they kind of suggested we go home for a bit. Get actual sleep, shower, and eat something that isn't from a vending machine. They said they'll call if when she wakes up."

I huff out a quiet, tired laugh, scrubbing a hand over my face. "Yeah, that's probably a good idea."

There's a pause, and when I look back up, Hallie's eyes have shifted, focused somewhere beside me.

"...whose wallet is that?"

I follow her gaze, frowning slightly as I lean over and grab it from the chair and it only takes a second.

Mae's.

Something in my chest pulls tight, the exhaustion momentarily forgotten as I turn it over in my hands. Of course she left it.

She'd barely slept. I'm not even sure she sat down for more than a few minutes at a time, pacing, checking in, hovering without making it obvious she was doing it. Every time I looked up, she was there. Quiet and steady, like she hadn't spent the last six years trying to keep me at arm's length.

I swallow, my thumb brushing absently over the edge of the wallet. I had to practically force her to leave. Told her she needed sleep, that there wasn't anything else she could do here. That I'd be fine.

She didn't believe me... not really, but she went anyway after an hour of begging her to go home.

I'll come back in a few hours, she'd said. And I'll call. If you need anything, just call me, okay?

"Claire?" Hallie's voice cuts back in, curious now. "You know whose it is?"

I nod once, already pushing myself to stand, the stiffness in my body protesting all over again. "Yeah. It's Mae's."

Hallie raises an eyebrow, clearly clocking more than I'm saying, but I don't give her the chance to ask anything else. I grab my bag, the wallet still in my hand.

"I'm gonna bring it back to her before I head home."

It comes out easy, like it's just about a wallet. But even as I say it, I know that's not the only reason I'm going.

Not even close.

I stand, slipping Mae's wallet into my hand a little tighter as we start toward the exit. "You need a ride home?"

She shakes her head immediately. "No, I'm good. I drove myself, remember?"

"Right," I mutter, too tired to even argue.

We walk out together, the quiet of the early morning settling around us as the automatic doors slide open. The air outside is cooler, fresher, a sharp contrast to the sterile heaviness of the hospital. For a second, I just stand there, breathing it in.

"I'll call you in a bit," Hallie says, turning toward me. "Check in, make sure you actually went home and didn't just... go somewhere else."

There's a hint of a look there - knowing, but not pushing. I huff softly. "Yeah, okay."

She steps closer, and when she wraps her arms around me, I don't hesitate. I hug her back just as tight, pressing my face briefly into her shoulder.

"We're okay," she murmurs. "She's okay."

"I know," I say quietly, even if part of me is still catching up to that.

We pull back after a second, and she gives me one last look before heading off toward her car. "Text me when you get wherever you're going."

"I will."

I wait until she's out of sight before I turn and head to my own car, the exhaustion settling back into my bones the second I open the door. Sliding into the driver's seat, I let my head fall back for just a moment, staring up at the ceiling.

Then I remember the wallet and I pull my phone out instead, texting Helena.

The typing bubble pops up right away, disappears and then-

A second later, another message comes through, an address.

And then, almost right after that-

Another address follows and I stare at the screen for a second longer than I need to. My thumb hovers for a moment before I type again.

The reply is instant.

I don't answer that. Instead, I lock my phone, toss it into the passenger seat, and start the car. The engine hums to life, filling the quiet easily. For a second, I just sit there, hands resting on the wheel, Mae's wallet still sitting in the center console like it weighs more than it should.

Then I shift into drive, and head toward her studio.

The drive feels shorter than it should, or maybe I'm just not paying attention.

One second I'm pulling out of the hospital parking lot, and the next I'm slowing down in front of a building I don't recognize. It's quiet out here, too early for anything to really be open, the street mostly empty and I park.

For a moment, I don't move. My hands stay on the wheel, fingers tapping once, twice, before going still again. I don't know why I feel like this - like I'm about to do something bigger than just return a wallet.

It's just a wallet.

Right?

I grab it from the console before I can talk myself out of it and step out of the car, the cool morning air hitting me all over again. The building looks even quieter up close, the door shut, no obvious sign that anyone's even inside.

I hesitate on the step, then I knock. The sound echoes more than I expect, sharp against the silence. I take a small step back, shifting my weight, suddenly very aware of how early it is. Maybe Helena was wrong. Maybe Mae went home.

A minute passes and nothing. I glance over my shoulder, already half-turning, my grip tightening slightly around the wallet.

Then the door clicks and I freeze in my step. It opens just enough for me to hear it before I see her, and then-

"Claire?"

I turn back quickly. Mae's standing there, hair a little messy, like she hasn't really slept, one hand still on the door as she looks at me like she's not entirely sure I'm real.

For a second, I forget how to speak. Then I remember why I'm here.

"I- uh," I step forward, holding the wallet out a little too fast, a little too awkwardly. "You left this. At the hospital."

Smooth. Real fucking smooth.

Mae blinks, her gaze dropping to the wallet before lifting back up to me, something unreadable flickering across her face. "Oh."

There's a pause and then she takes it slowly, her fingers brushing mine for the briefest second, and it's enough to make something tight pull low in my chest again. I clear my throat, already shifting back a step.

"Yeah. Hallie noticed it this morning, so I just... figured I'd bring it before-" I gesture vaguely behind me, like that explains anything at all. "Before you needed it."

Another pause and I mentally slap myself.

Mae's still looking at me, really looking now. And suddenly I'm aware of everything, like how tired I must look, the same clothes from yesterday, the weight of the last twenty-four hours sitting heavy in my bones.

"You didn't have to do that," she says quietly, but there's no edge to it, just something softer.

"Yeah, well," I shrug lightly, already starting to step back again, "it's not a big deal. I was heading out anyway, so-"

"Claire."

I stop, turning back just enough to see her shift the door open a little wider, stepping aside to make space for me. Her hand stays loosely wrapped around the edge, like she's not entirely sure if I'm actually going to take the invitation.

"Come inside," she says, her voice softer now, gentler in a way I'm not used to hearing from her. "You look exhausted."

A quiet breath slips out of me before I can stop it, hesitation settling in automatically, like this is the part where I'm supposed to shake my head, make some excuse, keep things at a distance.

But neither of us looks away.

The moment stretches just long enough to feel like a decision, and before I can overthink it, my body makes it for me. I step forward, crossing the threshold into her studio.

Mae closes the door behind me, the soft click of the lock echoing faintly in the quiet space. She moves past me without saying anything, setting her wallet down on a small table nearby, while I stay where I am for a second longer, taking everything in.

The loft isn't big, but it's open, lived-in in a way that feels entirely hers. A small kitchen sits off to one side, a bed tucked into the corner, and a single door I assume leads to the bathroom. But it's the rest of it, the canvases, that pull my attention.

They're everywhere.

Some finished, some barely started, others caught somewhere in between, like she walked away mid-thought and never came back to them. And all of them- every single one- are... incredible.

"Wow..." The word slips out quietly, not even close to enough. I shake my head slightly, still looking around. "This is... I don't even know what to say."

Mae lets out a soft chuckle behind me, already moving toward the kitchen. I hear the click of a button and glance over just in time to see her start up the coffee machine before she turns back to face me.

"I don't really let people come in here," she says, almost casually, though there's something quieter underneath it. "June's been here a few times. That's about it." She gestures lightly toward the machine. "Do you want one?"

I nod, stepping further into the space, my eyes still catching on different pieces as I pass them. "Yeah... thanks."

A beat passes, and then the question slips out before I can stop it. "Why did you invite me in, then?"

I glance at her, immediately aware of how that sounds, but it's too late to take it back. Mae just looks at me for a second. And then, instead of answering, she gives a small shrug, like she either doesn't have the words or doesn't want to say them out loud.

The machine beeps, breaking whatever that moment was, and she turns away quickly, muttering something under her breath about it needing more water. I watch as she grabs a glass, fills it, and moves back to the machine, but when she goes to pour it in, her aim is off.

Water spills everywhere.

"Shit-" she groans, jumping back slightly as it splashes across the counter and down the front of her shirt, soaking through almost instantly. "I swear this stupid thing is going to be the death of me."

She sets the glass down with a little more force than necessary before turning away, already moving toward a rack of clothes near the bed.

I can't help it and I smile a little. "Do you and that machine have some kind of personal vendetta going on?"

Mae lets out a breath of a laugh, shaking her head as she reaches for a clean shirt. "I should've gotten rid of it years ago," she says, glancing back at me briefly.

Mae turns away from me like it's nothing, like this is normal, like I'm not standing a few feet behind her trying very hard not to be aware of her in a way I haven't let myself be in years.

Her fingers hook into the hem of her shirt and she pulls it up in one smooth motion, dragging the damp fabric over her skin.

I do look away... at first. My eyes drop, catching on a canvas propped against the wall, on the streaks of paint dried into the floor, on anything that isn't her. My brain is already trying to redirect me, telling me this isn't something I need to see, that it doesn't matter, that I shouldn't.

But something pulls my attention back anyway. It's not intentional. It's just a glance, a reflex.

And it's enough.

There's more tattoos than I remember. It registers slowly at first, my gaze drifting over unfamiliar lines and shapes, pieces of her I don't recognize, pieces that weren't there the last time I saw her like this.

It hits me in a quiet, unsettling way - that time didn't stop for her just because it did for me.

My eyes keep moving without permission, trying to take it all in, trying to make sense of what's changed, and then my eyes stop suddenly.

Right along her ribcage.

It's small and simple. It shouldn't stand out the way it does, shouldn't feel any different than the others scattered across her skin.

But it does.

'You've always had me.'

My stomach drops, sudden and heavy, like something inside me just gave out without warning.

At first, it doesn't fully land. It's just words.

A phrase. Something that feels familiar in a distant, almost frustrating way, like I'm supposed to know it but can't quite place it yet.

My brain stalls on it for a second too long, trying to catch up, trying to understand why it feels like it just knocked the air out of me.

And then it clicks. Not cleanly, or gently.

It hits in pieces, sharp and disorienting, dragging something up that I haven't let myself sit with in years.

A voice, my voice, too close, and way too fucking real.

The memory of it presses in before I can stop it - the way it felt to say it, the way it wasn't just something thrown out in the moment, wasn't careless or empty.

I had meant it.

I remember how certain I was when I said it, how it felt like the only truth that existed in that space between us, even if everything else was complicated and messy and wrong.

My chest tightens, breath catching halfway in as the realization settles in fully.

She kept it.

After everything... after walking away, after pushing me out like I was something she needed to get rid of, after years of acting like none of it mattered, pretending like she had never remembered...

She kept that.

Mae pulls a clean shirt over her head, the fabric sliding down and covering the words like they were never there, like they didn't just carve something open in my chest.

But it's too late. I can still see them, clear as anything, like they've been burned into the back of my mind.

She turns back around, adjusting the hem absentmindedly, completely unaware of the way the room has shifted, of the way something in me is unraveling faster than I can get a handle on.

I'm still staring at her and I can't stop.

There's too much crashing into each other at once. Confusion, anger, something deeper that sits heavier than both - and it builds too fast, too sharp to hold in.

My voice comes out before I can think better of it, low and tight, edged with something I don't even try to hide.

"What the fuck?"