Lost in Arcadia Chloe Price x Reader (Life is strange)

(Part 13) Part 2

As the band scattered to the wind, each member sought their own path. The tour had ended, the stages were silent, and the once-roaring crowds were now just a memory. Steve and I returned to Arcadia Bay with our heads held high, proud of what we had accomplished but carrying the weight of our experiences. The cold November air of 2014 bit into my skin, each gust feeling like a reminder of all the mistakes and regrets I had accumulated over the past year.

Steve drove, the hum of the engine the only sound as we wound our way back to Arcadia Bay. The silence between us was heavy, filled with unspoken thoughts and lingering emotions. Occasionally, Steve would glance over at me, his expression a mix of exhaustion and contemplation. We both knew the journey had changed us, but neither of us knew exactly what that meant for our future.

"Feels weird, doesn't it?" Steve finally broke the silence, his voice low and reflective. "Being done with the tour, I mean."

"Yeah," I replied, staring out the window at the passing scenery. "Feels like we left a part of ourselves out there."

Steve nodded, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. "Everyone's got their own stuff to deal with now. Mick's heading back to New York to work on his solo project. He said he needs to find his own sound, something different from what we did."

"Makes sense," I said, thinking about Mick's restless energy and constant drive to innovate. "What about Jason?"

"Jason's going back to LA," Steve said. "He's got a gig lined up as a session drummer. Apparently, some big producer took an interest in him."

"Good for him," I said, though a pang of jealousy twisted in my gut. Jason had always had a knack for making connections and seizing opportunities.

"River's moving to Seattle," Steve continued. "He wants to dive into the grunge scene there, thinks it might help him find his way back to his roots."

I nodded, remembering how River had often talked about the city's musical history and its influence on him. "And Ainsley?"

"Ainsley's staying in San Francisco," Steve said. "She's planning to go back to school, maybe study music theory or composition. She said she needs a break from the touring life, wants to focus on something more stable."

I sighed, feeling the weight of their decisions settle on my shoulders. Each of them had found a path that resonated with their personal journeys, while I felt adrift, unsure of what came next.

"And Sid?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.

Steve's expression darkened. "Sid's checking into rehab. He knows he needs help, and he's finally ready to get it. I just hope he sticks with it this time."

Sid's situation had been the most troubling for all of us. During the tour, his behavior had become increasingly erratic. He would see things that weren't there, his eyes wide with terror as he described hallucinations of shadowy figures and distorted faces. There were nights when he would wake up screaming, convinced that the walls were closing in on him.

The turning point came after one particularly grueling performance. Sid had been off all night, missing cues and playing out of sync. When we confronted him afterward, he broke down, confessing that he had been seeing vision trails and experiencing vivid, horrifying hallucinations. "It's like everything's melting," he had whispered, his voice trembling. "I see things... things that aren't real, but they feel so real. I can't tell what's real anymore."

We had taken him to a doctor the next day, and after a series of tests and evaluations, Sid was diagnosed with hallucinogen persisting perception disorder (HPPD), a condition that can result from heavy LSD use. The diagnosis was a blow to all of us, but especially to Sid, who had always been the wild, adventurous spirit of the band.