Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“How long has it been?”

She doesn’t need to guess what the it is. She knows and so does the woman across from her in her collarless black top with the pocket on the front and sand colored pants.  But the woman asks anyway because it’s her job and because, maybe, they’re finally ready to talk about it.

But, before she can talk about it, she must deflect. “How long has this billboard been up?”

Bright blue eyes finally pull away from the large signage displayed right outside the office window to meet the forest green ones across from her. On those red lips, waiting, is a knowing smile. “A few weeks now. Seems like they’ve been putting them up across the city, doesn’t it?”

“This is her hometown. It only makes sense.”

“Tell me about her.”

Chloe glances above the woman’s head to the gold-rimmed clock on the wall behind her. It ticks silently but she can hear the sound as it plays in the back of her mind. The nail of her thumb snaps the elastic band of the bracelet around her wrist as she counts underneath her breath.

“Chloe,” Selina pauses, adjusting the notepad in her lap as she leans forward to clasp her hands together, “Tell me about her. Tell me about Beca.”

One Year Ago

“I’m sorry,” Chloe says the minute the door closes behind them, bottom lip nearly chewed clean through.

There’s a smile there, albeit a contained one, as she watches Beca drape herself over her bed. She looks so worn out but still manages a limp smile of her own in her direction. “What are you apologizing for?”

And Chloe simply shrugs, the space beside Beca dipping with her added weight. “For my family and friends freaking out over you. They’ve never met a celebrity before so they forget you’re a person,” she begins, gently pressing her palm against Beca’s back to rub in small circles, smiling at the sigh she breathes into the air. “I’m sorry that you’re so tired because of me. I’m sorry that I keep making things harder for you. And, I’m sorry that—“

“Chloe,” Beca warns, only turning to glance at her through lidded eyes.

“Okay,” comes Chloe’s meek reply.

She continues to rub at Beca’s back, alternating between her fingers and the crescents of her nails. As she does, Beca shivers beneath her until, finally, she lazily reaches up to take her by the wrist, and pulls her down to lay beside her.

Chloe does so without hesitation, lacing their fingers together and watching as Beca tugs them towards her chest, closing her eyes and simply holding. Her heartbeat is steady yet slow with the promise of rest so close. She wants to tell her to stay, to keep her in her bed if for no other reason than to see that she’s safe and at peace.

But she knows Beca, knows that she’s merely biding time. She won’t stay—she can’t stay.

“Will you go back tonight?”

Guilt pangs her at seeing how Beca’s eyes had just closed before her question forces them open again. “I’ll go back to the hotel,” Beca says, shaking her head once, “Check out in the morning.”

“Beca, you look like you’re going to pass out any second. Stay,” Chloe pleads, using her free hand to tuck Beca’s hair behind her ear, “I know it isn’t far to drive back but you’re already exhausted and people are out celebrating…drinking. Just stay until daylight.”

“Chloe,” Beca sighs, shifting beneath Chloe’s nails that had since begun to scratch at her neck, “I have to go back. I can’t stay here.”

“I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“It won’t…”

“You don’t know that. You can’t promise me that.”

And finally, the look of peace of Beca’s face dissolves. She pushes up from the bed, detaching their hands before winding it through her hair. “Chloe, enough, please. You’re right, I can’t promise that. I can only promise I’ll be careful. If you want, you can stay on the phone with me until I get in.”

Red has already begun to set behind her eyes and that gnawing feeling just won’t stop so Chloe grips her wrists and keeps her in place. And though she knows that Beca’s always come through for her before, she can’t take that chance tonight.

“Then at least let me come back to the hotel with you—“

“Chloe…”

“That way I’ll know for sure! I’ll call an Uber or my parents in the morning and—“

“No, Chloe! I said…no!”

In an instant, the room is silent. Downstairs, laughter and other sounds of shared joviality shake the walls, but here? Here, there’s only the silence and mutual looks of shock.

Beca’s eyes are wide and Chloe can’t even seem to look at them anymore. Her own drop to the floor and she grips her arm to stop the shaking. “Fuck, Chloe…I’m…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—“

“I um, no, you’re right,” Chloe murmurs, pushing up from the bed as she takes a tentative step around Beca, “It’s my fault. I’m…um, y-you can just text me when you get back to your hotel.”

“Chloe, hold up a sec,” but Chloe’s already at her door, fingers just barely skimming the dark knob only for Beca’s hand to stop her. She can’t look at her yet, not when her voice struggles not to shake and water burns in the grooves of her eyes. She hates how quick she is to fall back into fear.

Beca isn’t her parents. She wouldn’t hurt her—not on purpose.

But in that brief moment, Beca’s gone, replaced with a stranger dwelling in the shell of her skin. 

Beca says her name again, the space between them diminishing as Chloe turns until her back is against the door. “Look at me,” she utters softly, “Please?”

“Beca, I’m sorry…”

“Stop that. You don’t need to apologize for anything. You’re just looking out for me, I know that. But, I can’t stop worrying about you. You’re finally home, finally safe. If anyone should be apologizing, it’s me. It seems like I’m always getting you mixed up in trouble. It’s not that I don’t want to stay or that I don’t want you to come back with me, I just…I just need to know you’re somewhere safe.”

She allows Beca to wind their fingers together once more, stepping further into her orbit with those celestial blue eyes that seem to harbor the secrets of the universe in their cosmic depths. Her voice is hoarse as she murmurs back, “And I need to know you’re safe. I worry about you too.”

“I know,” Beca admits with a broken smile, “I don’t want you to but I know you do.”

There’s a window, fleeting and with haste. A matter of time before they’re separated once more. Chloe knows she shouldn’t, that this shouldn’t happen. But Beca makes her feel selfish in all the best ways and makes her feel bold and strong. There’s a power in her words and in her presence, unbeknownst to her, that makes Chloe feel alive.

Because Beca saved her life.

“When can I see you again?” Chloe asks, her free hand cupping Beca’s left cheek.

“I…I don’t know.”

Humming, Chloe unwinds their fingers yet again, this time, winding them up into the darker and softer waves at the base of Beca’s neck. A noise, sharp yet uncertain, escapes Beca whose eyes search her own. They’re so much prettier up close, Chloe can’t help but think, content for the moment with watching them lest it be the last chance to do so.

She doesn’t look away, but lets her fingers drift lower, nails gently raking along her skin. Beca’s eyes close for a second as her body shivers and Chloe, fascinated, does it again.

“Chloe,” Beca breathes softly and Chloe guides her head to rest in the crook of her neck, “I…”

“Me too,” she agrees without delay, craning her neck and hoping, praying, that Beca takes the invitation. And, after a moment’s delay, when nervous hands grip her waist and lips part to give way to a series of soft panting breaths at her neck, Chloe realizes she has her answer.

She doesn’t want to scare Beca away, so she stays put and simply tilts her head to allow Beca’s lips to experiment against her neck. A kiss here, a gentle bite there, a warm graze of her tongue. Even tentative, her actions make Chloe’s skin ripple and grow warm.

And as patient as she is, Beca is her exception. How long has she wanted this? Wanted her?

A needy voice calls her name while lips and teeth tease her neck. “Beca, please.”

Chloe gently tugs on Beca’s hair to pull her away but doesn’t drop her grip entirely. Instead, she backs towards her bed and pulls Beca to crawl on top of her as she lies back. Soon, though not with the fervor she craves, Beca lowers herself down and sets her lips back against Chloe’s throat.

She whimpers, craning up and, fortunately, Beca takes the hint. Come the morning, Beca’s marks will be all over her and it makes her wet just thinking about it. To have something tangible even if her bed was empty when she’d wake, to know whose lips and teeth and tongue had branded her behind closed doors.

Beca’s hands had been still until now and Chloe hates that she has to tell her but she also knows that Beca’s just trying to be careful. But Chloe doesn’t want her to be delicate and treat her like some fragile thing. She wants Beca to share in this burning desire that threatens to consume them both in its flames.

“Bec-Beca,” Chloe licks her lips and pants, “Your hands.”

As expected, Beca hesitates immediately. She tries to pull away but Chloe maintains her grip around her neck as she whimpers again. Briefly, the ministrations at her neck stop but Beca’s breath is still there, labored and uneven. And then finally, a hand tugs her shirt from inside her skirt before slipping under, gliding up the toned planes of her stomach until it reaches her chest. 

And then, Beca squeezes.

Chloe’s never arched so high but, even burdened by her clothes, to have Beca touching her, feeling her, is a prize without comparison. And much to her delight, Beca doesn’t stop. With every soft cry and gasp, Beca’s movements become more assured. Her lips descend lower down her throat and her hand squeezes and kneads in deep circles.

Her voice is husky, raw, and devilishly sensual as she whispers in her ear. But her own words are the most charged. Shamelessly, she tells Beca how much she wants her. How she wants Beca to touch her, to feel her, nipping on her jaw and loving the deep curses that follow when she tells Beca that she wants her to make her come.

But she’s chasing an end for which the beginning has yet to even lay foundation. It’s too much and when that first sharp moan and roll of her hips takes place, Beca detaches herself immediately. 

She’s shaking as she stands at the foot of her bed, cursing repeatedly until there’s no breath left to be wasted on any other words. She covers her mouth, and despite Chloe’s pleas, Beca turns tail and leaves her there with a hurried promise to call.

So there Chloe lies.

Still wanting, still feeling alone.

Present Day

“Have you talked to her since then?”

Chloe only shakes her head, thumb snapping the elastic of her bracelet once more. 

“Not even once? Not on birthdays, holidays—just because days?”

Chloe doesn’t answer, merely focusing on the clock as the seconds tick by and snapping her bracelet to signal each one. She didn’t want to meet today. She’d been doing fine or, at least, as fine as she could be given the circumstances. 

She knew that Selina was only doing her job and that addressing the space that had grown between them was a critical step in her healing journey. But she wasn’t ready. 

A year had come and gone since that night in her old family home bedroom. In that year, she’d secured a job she loved, got her own apartment, and had even adopted a dog. By most societal standards, she was doing well and was adjusting back to life nicely.

But she knew better. She knew that she was a long way from being a better version of herself. And the parts that she lied to herself about, and to her friends and family, and her therapist, she knew better than to believe that things were fine. Chloe was still drowning, still tethered to that crumpled woman locked in that basement.

Those demons lurked at every intersection of happiness that she dared to cross, taunting her with their vicious words as she walked by. She missed Beca, deep down, and Selina knew that too and it was becoming even more evident the longer she remained silent.

“For what it’s worth, I think you should reach out to her.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

She pulls her eyes from the clock and finds them  drifting back outside the window. With a vacant expression, she says plainly, “Because she hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you, Chloe.”

And for a moment, Chloe chooses silence, instead pulling her eyes back inside to glance at her wrist. The frequent snapping of beads against her skin has turned it red and sore. Finally, and only when she’s ready, does she finally answer. 

“Yes she does. That was the last thing she called to tell me that night.”

Chapter Text

It’s dark by the time she opens her eyes and it’s only then that she realizes that the music has stopped playing.

Her neck, stiff from the hours of disuse, creaks as she glances down at her lap. Her thumb taps in a rehearsed sequence of numbers against the shattered tempered glass screen protector that she seemed to always have to keep ordering. She swipes away every unread message, every email and calendar reminder, not bothering with reading a single one.

There’s only one message that matters and, after two minutes of seemingly endless scrolling, she finds it.

9:16pm | C — See you soon. 

That was almost an hour ago but Beca knows she won’t mind if she’s late. So she braces her hand against the wall, pushing up from her seated position on the floor of her office. She tugs her headphones from over her ears and plugs them into her computer to charge the now depleted battery.

The empty bottles of scotch are swiped unceremoniously into the bin beneath her desk. A mistake she swiftly comes to regret at the splitting sound of glass clinking together. But it passes and her head aches a little less than before which, by her own ill-judgment, means she’s good enough to drive.

When she returns to the door, she spots a folded slip of paper on the floor. She retrieves it. A note from Theo.

Boss,

I know you say not to but I’m starting to get worried. Housekeeping tells me they’ve been emptying a lot of crap out of your office recently and Jesse tells me he hasn’t seen your car at your place when he comes to check on you. Listen, I know you think it’s a waste but we think you should consider going back to—

But the rest of his words go unread as Beca crumples the note until her knuckles turn white and moves to discard it in the trash with the rest of her problems she doesn’t plan on addressing.

The midnight colored duffel she’d packed a week ago is hoisted onto her shoulder and she slips out of her office to escape out the back door. By now, everyone else is gone but this way, she ensures that she is less likely to be spotted all the same. She climbs into the driver's seat and pulls out her phone to text back.

10:02pm | on my way

She waits a moment, fingers brushing along the beads at her wrist when her phone hums.

10:04pm | C — Good. I’ve missed you…

There’s a breath there, an exhale of relief or something else entirely. Beca makes the thirty minute drive to a home nestled in the winding hills of Hollywood that she’s visited over a dozen times just this month alone. 

She turns off her phone to hide her whereabouts from prying eyes, entering the code to the gate as she moves through the shadows and up the steps. Upon reaching the front door, Beca doesn’t knock. She waits, as is their custom, before she dips her fingers into the mounted mailbox and fishes out the key.

Her shoes slip off her feet, lying discarded by the front door that she’s careful to lock. The keys are placed carefully on the hook by the door before she climbs the few steps to the upper level. Down the hall, she proceeds with careful movements, raising her hand to rap once and then once more on the door.

She only waits a second when she’s met with mesmerizing bright blue eyes and silky drapes of red hair. A dark robe is tied at her waist that moves as she does but there isn’t time to focus on that now. “Ch-“

“I’ve missed you,” comes that sweet acknowledgement as she’s pulled to the bed, arms sliding over her shoulders to curl around her neck. Fingers scratch at her nape, inviting a pleasured shiver that hoods her eyes for a moment. “Sit,” she’s instructed, “Go ahead and get comfortable.”

For a moment, she’s left alone, shifting and picking at her bracelet so that the beads snap against bone until her skin is red. When a presence enters the room once more, her eyes remain rooted to her wrist and the floor beneath her feet where plush fibers weave in between her toes.

A gentle laugh is followed by hands cupping her cheeks as the other woman smiles at her with tenderness, “You’re still so nervous. It’s alright Bec, baby, it’s just me. You’re okay. Do you want me to help?”

Beca nods, doing her best to contain her breathing as fingers move to her shirt, unbuttoning it slowly. “Can…can you,” she rasps, earning a knowing grin as the woman before her occupies her lap and leans in to breathe huskily against Beca’s neck.

“Like this?”

A noise, soft, scratches up Beca’s throat, nodding as her shirt comes undone. Fingers slide it over her shoulders before dropping it to the floor, lips kissing fire over her vibrating skin. Her bra follows suit and then the rest as she’s guided onto her back, hips lifting to help slide everything off in one go.

Exposed, air brushes along her skin and her cheeks flush at the sudden change even though this wasn’t her first time. She sits up, holding up her arms as a large tshirt is pulled over her head.

“Do you want music this time?”

Beca shakes her head, whispering, “Just you. Please.”

“Anything for you.”

They climb into bed together, Beca’s back turning as she edges into awaiting arms. A breath that she hadn’t realized she’d been holding releases as a hand comes up to undo the hair tie and fingers begin to run through dark and unkempt locks. She shivers and presses back  when nails begin to rake along her scalp.

“It’s been a while since you’ve come to see me.”

“I’m sorry…”

A pause. “Don’t be…I told you that I don’t mind. That said, I think you being here is very telling. So then, Beca, I want to ask you something.”

Her silence is as vocal an answer as any. She swallows as soft lips linger at the base of her neck just below her ear and the request comes without preamble.

“Tell me about her. Tell me about Chloe.”

Eleven Months Ago

Her thumb hovers over the play button, hesitating for only a second before she presses it. A second later, Chloe’s voice plays through her phone’s speaker.

“Hey Beca, it’s me. Chloe. Obviously,” Chloe’s voice breaks into a light chuckle as she continues, “I’m guessing by now you’ve made it back home or—to LA, I mean. Sorry, I’m not sure why I’m being so weird.”

There’s a pause followed by a tense breath before her voice returns.

“It’s been a month since then and even though you haven’t texted me back, I’m going to assume you’re alive at the very least. Surely someone would’ve reported it if you hadn’t made it back so I’m just going to chalk this up to you being busy with everything which I totally get Beca, I do but…”

Beca’s eyes shut tight, barely managing to swallow the knot in her throat as Chloe’s voice returns, a shattering sound that feels amplified in the endless dark of her room despite how  frail and soft her voice truly is.

“I’m so sorry, Becs. I’m so sorry that you’re in this mess because of me and—and I—fuck…I’m so sorry if I offended or—fuck me, I don’t even know. It wasn’t right. I was lonely and scared and you…God…you were someone who I knew would keep me steady. But you were scared and lonely too and I made you…Beca…I’m so so sorry. I’m so fucking disgusted with myself. I’m such a mess and…I’m sorry you had to save me again. And sometimes…sometimes I really wished you hadn’t. Sometimes I think you’d be better off if you hadn’t made it in time. If I would’ve…forget it.”

Hot tears stream down her cheeks, lips quivering as teeth bite down in a futile effort to stifle the motion. Her head aches from the incessant onslaught of tears that she’s sadistically subjected herself to, choking on her own sobs as she curls into herself, desperate to give herself the comfort she’s spent her whole life chasing after.

The comfort that never seems convinced that she’s deserving of.

Chloe’s voice on the other end struggles to model some sort of structure and Beca hears her struggling to regulate her breathing before it finally evens out. It’s silent for a moment until they’re both siphoning up snotty noses. Things settle and Beca’s lips part in unison with the next words Chloe utters, having memorized them and placed them upon a pedestal in her heart.

“I love you, Beca. I don’t know in what ways but I know what I’m feeling is real. I know that I miss you and a part of you misses me and maybe even loves me too, even if you can’t say it yet. So…call me, please. Call me and say anything just so I can hear your voice. Don’t forget me, promise?”

The voicemail ends and Beca stares at her phone, eyes hollow and red from a combination of tears and sleepless nights.

She switches over to her favorites, finger hovering over the only name present. And yet, in spite of those altogether heartbreaking words she’d spent the last half hour listening to on repeat, she couldn’t bring herself to call.

So, instead, she torments herself further by going to Chloe’s socials. She goes to her Instagram where only one new post had been uploaded since the disappearance. Her graduation photos.

Beca swipes through them, finding her eyes softening with each passing photo. Pictures with her parents, squeezing her and kissing her cheeks. Pictures with Aubrey and Stacie and Flo—two of Chloe’s other friends who she’d come to meet. There’s more pictures of her friends and family and some with Chloe alone, simply posing or smiling.

And, at the very end, their picture together.

Her own smile is restrained and almost missable entirely. But it’s the way Chloe looks at her that truly makes it. It’s the way this single instant, captured on film, seems to instill so much emotion because, in none of her other photos does Chloe look at anyone the way she looks at Beca.

Her soft gaze and lips parted into an almost dreamlike smile. She looked at her like maybe, just maybe, she truly did love her.

So then, why?

Why couldn’t she accept that? Why couldn’t she just call Chloe back?

She skims over the flowery and sentimental words Chloe had created to voice her gratitude for everyone that had made it possible for her to cross that stage and dives into the comments.

Most of them are kind, directed at Chloe’s success and her resilience after finishing her degree despite all that she’d endured.

But the longer she lurked in those comments, the more Beca was exposed to the darker comments aimed at her.

| gramhamv8: Poor Chloe having to take pictures with her abuser’s kid. That’s fucked.

| illmixphoenix: How do you NOT know your parents are creeps? I’m guessing we’ll be getting a memoir soon that’ll try to make us feel bad for her. Pass.

| mixin.macsin88: Chloe girl, you need to stay away from her. It sucks bc I really liked Beca’s music but now :/ 

| ryvnn_polo: That picture with the two of them is giving major Stockholm vibes. They need to investigate Mitchell too but she’ll probably get away with it because she’s got money.

And more of the same.

Soon enough, there’s no longer a sense of warmth there. Kind words are forgotten as the focus instead shifts to pure rage.

She didn’t fucking know. How the hell could she have possibly known?

But it didn’t matter that Beca had been a child when her mother left to get better. It didn’t matter that she’d forgotten all about Chloe for years after nearly dying trying to save her life. It didn’t matter that she’d fought for Chloe time and time again.

It didn’t matter that she, too, had lost a part of herself that she’d never get back.

And that infuriates her. It burns her so much until she’s little more than fire contained in a dome of flesh. It’s a mistake, she tells herself after her phone goes flying into the wall. She isn’t thinking clearly, she tries to reason as she storms over to snatch up its shattered form.

She shouldn’t do this, she wars with herself as she navigates the chipped pixels of what remained of her screen, ignoring the small bits of glass that prick her fingers as she finds Chloe’s name and dials it, unthinking.

“Bec? You called…I can’t believe you actually—“

“I hate you. You ruined my fucking life and I don’t want anything else to do with you.”

She hangs up immediately and throws her phone again, this time shattering the device and a lamp in the process. She doesn’t bother fumbling with either. She sinks to the floor, trembling as tears begin to spill over once more and her nails dig into her skin as she claws at her head to make the voices stop.

“I didn’t mean it,” she whimpers alone, the beads on her wrist rattling with the violent trembling of her own helpless frame. Softer, she whispers again to the shadows of isolation in the desperate hope that her words would find their way to their intended, “I didn’t mean it.”

Present Day

She finds herself rolled onto her back, the woman beside her fully propped up as she wipes the tears from Beca’s cheeks.

When had she even begun crying?

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Please,” the redhead begs, gently curving her thumb beneath Beca’s eyes. 

And as she does so, it’s easy to see in that moment why she’d come into her service. Why she paid an exorbitant amount of money just to lie in bed for a single night with her. Whether for sex or simply for her to tend to her emotional needs the way she does now.

It was easy to see, in that moment, how easy it had been to fall. 

Chelsea. A working woman who’d jokingly offered Beca a night to get her rocks off. She worked with many high-profile clients and, one look at her flaming hair and sky blue eyes and Beca was smitten.

Though not the intention, she’d become a favorite of Chelsea’s as well. All she had to do was send a single text and she’d drop everything to have Beca over. She was afforded certain luxuries like prioritized time and access to her home unlike some of her more regular clientele.

But now, in the dim orange light of her room, Beca sees all of the ways she and Chloe are different.

Chloe’s hair a softer shade of red and her eyes clearer than the brightest day. Her voice more chipper and her touch just a bit warmer. But it was easy to forget these differences when loneliness clung to her and she needed a light to dispel the shadows.

It was easy to forget when her skin burned with kisses and fingers curled inside of her to make her see stars.

“You make me forget her,” Beca says finally, eyes staring through the ceiling, “You make me forget her but I don’t mean to.”

“Beca, shh sweetheart, you’re alright. I know you don’t mean to, baby.”

“I didn’t mean it when I said I hated her,” she confesses through tears that Chelsea still attempts to subdue and feels her heart ache even more, “I didn’t mean it.”

Chapter Text

 “At what point does a crush become love?”

The words leave her lips, faint and as soft as the wind that slithers through her fingers. She can envision the perplexity in her mother’s gaze before it molds into a smile. Polite yet concerned.

“What brought this on all of a sudden? You’ve hardly said a word since I picked you up.”

She doesn’t comment. Instead she merely folds her arm in to rest on the bridge of the lowered window and allows the wind to kiss her cheeks until they blush over. Her eyes have only just begun to close when her mother speaks again.

“Well,” there’s a pause accompanied by a contemplative sigh, “Let’s see. I suppose it feels different for each person. Your father certainly wasn’t my type when we first met. He was your typical pigheaded jock and all of the girls on campus were obsessed with Howard Beale or, HB, as they were calling him those days. You already know that story though, don’t you dear?”

Again, she opts for silence. Not because she doesn’t remember but the opposite. She opts for silence in the hopes that her mother will tell her again.

She does.

“A simple dinner with friends somehow turned into us at a frat party. Goodness,” her mother chuckles at the thought, “Can you imagine me at one of those things?”

Though her mother can’t see her face, she smiles softly. Indeed it would be hard to imagine her mother at a party that wasn’t being hosted in her own home and beneath her watchful eye.

“One drink. That was it and we were going to leave. One drink turned to two and then three and next thing I know I’m completely drenched. I can’t swim and everyone’s laughing but no one is helping until finally, Howard comes leaping in, fully dressed, and helps me out. He helps me inside and gives me some of his clothes to wear. Me, this incredibly little thing looking like a child playing dress up.”

Chloe pulls her body back into the car, head lolling against the rest as she peers at her mother’s beatific smile. “What happened next?”

Her words stun her mother for a moment before that same smile is directed at her and then eyes return to the road ahead. “Then, I kissed him. I’m not sure why really because I certainly didn’t expect him to kiss me. I was pretty enough but I wasn’t popular by any means. I suppose that being there with him just made me feel bold. He didn’t kiss me back and we laughed it off and he took me home. I thought for sure I’d made a fool of myself only for him to show up first thing in the morning on my doorstep. He pulled me in and kissed me. It wasn’t love but I knew that I was attracted to him.”

“Didn't that scare you?”

“For a moment. He stayed the night and we…well, you know how those moments go.”

“But when,” Chloe asks, “When did it change? You’ve told me the beginning but not what happened in between. Please.”

The look switches from nostalgic to pensive in an instant as her mother struggles to form the words. But Chloe needs this, needs guidance. “I got pregnant. I hadn’t been with anyone in a while before that night so I knew Harold was the father. I told him and he dropped everything. He stepped up and did everything he felt he needed to. Tended to me and came to all of the appointments.”

“So that’s when?”

There’s a lilt of something hopeful but then, her mother shakes her head. “It wasn’t the way he stepped up but the way he broke down that made me fall in love with him.”

They’re at her apartment now, parked in the visitor’s spot beside her own car but neither of them move. “I don’t—I don’t understand.”

Her mother’s eyes shut, a tapered smile rising and falling from her lips. “I lost the baby. A little girl. It crushed me and broke me down until I thought it would swallow me. I blamed myself because how could I not? Howard held me and took care of me but I woke up in the middle of the night to find him on the bathroom floor. He was crying. Devastated. He didn’t want me to see him cry. He thought it was selfish. But I went in and sat on the floor with him and let him cry and scream and whatever he needed. I was the one carrying our child, yes, but we made that child together. It was as much his loss as it was my own. He was so happy to be a father and he’d just lost his little girl too.”

She doesn’t notice her own tears until her mother’s thumb gently brushes them away. Her smile returns as she continues, “That’s when I knew I was in love. In the middle of heartbreak. In the middle of pain and loss, the rawest form of vulnerability, that’s when I knew I was in love with your father. That’s when a crush became love. And that love, eventually, became you.”

Lips press against her forehead and, even when they pull apart, the warmth lingers and clings to her tepid skin.

“You care about Beca, nobody doubts that, but love is a powerful word, sweetheart. She saved your life and maybe there’s a part of you that finds that romantic but you need to be careful. Don’t go chasing it for the wrong reasons. If it’s meant to be then it’ll happen.”

“And if it isn’t?”

Smile waning, her mother cups her cheek and nods towards the front door of the lobby. “Go on now, let’s leave that for another time.”

Soft as her expression is, Chloe feels the unspoken finality. They embrace for a moment before she slips from the front passenger seat and scans into the lobby of her building. Her feet carry her with a mindless sense of direction until she’s at her door where she pauses, key wedged firmly in her left hand while the tips of her fingers on the right linger on the doorknob.

Breathing, an arguably simple task, suddenly seems to evade her skillset. Forehead meets the cool painted wood of the door, eyes wrenching shut until the tension threatens to give her a headache.

Chloe counts like she practiced in therapy, guiding her breaths with the meticulous work of tracing the numbers with her finger against her arm. Fortunately, the anxiety subsides without further delay and she can finally muster the courage to enter her home.

Its silence both comforts and unnerves her as she begins her sweep, fingers pressed at the ready over a random emergency contact. As it turns out, it isn’t needed. Her home is empty and everything is just as it should be. 

Finally, she can breathe.

The TV offers soothing background noise as she sinks into the sofa on her stomach, phone wedged in hand as she opens her Instagram feed. She takes in all the little glimpses into the lives of her friends, family, and celebrities who didn’t know she existed save for a few that had followed her after everything that had happened.

Ashley and Jessica had announced their engagement, Amy had taken her comedic talents overseas on tour as “ Fat Amy Winehouse ”, Cynthia Rose and Flo had somehow been suckered into a questionable axe-throwing adventure with Lily, and Stacie and Aubrey were still pretending they weren’t an item.

And of course she’s happy to see everyone doing well but, as always, her interest is always guided to one profile in particular. Beca’s.

Beca doesn’t post much really and her feed is mostly filled with sponsored content shared by other companies to promote their content. But every now and then, Chloe would catch one new one posted by the musician herself. A series of reels that Beca would share with her followers in what was presumably her home studio. A piano or guitar were her instruments of choice and she would simply sit there and play.

The comments beneath were always flooded with praise for her musical prowess but behind that, what others couldn’t quite seem to see was the darkness in the melody. They never noticed the scarlet in her eyes and the dark circles beneath. No one seemed to notice the way a somber storm always seemed to intertwine within every note.

No one noticed that she wasn’t okay and that the only way she could say that was through her music.

No one seemed to notice that but Chloe.

There hasn’t been a post recently but they’ve been growing more frequently so it would only be a matter of time. Chloe’s fingers skim her wrist to rub gently at the beads there. She doesn’t snap them this time, merely running her index finger beneath the dark elastic to find her skin still raw and red. Swallowing, she pulls up her messages and sends one.

It matters little that their thread has been just her own words save for one response from Beca to wish her happy birthday a few months ago. Aside from that, the last text she’d gotten was Beca’s confirmation that she’d arrived at her house for the barbecue following her graduation. It doesn’t matter that she’s been met with mostly silence for the past year. She texts her anyway.

Chloe - 1:57pm

| You were on my mind. Just wanted to say I miss you and that I hope you’re taking care of yourself.

She knows Beca hasn’t blocked her number and in a way, that’s almost a bigger slap in the face to know that she simply chooses not to talk to her but there’s little she can do. 

It was better for Beca’s career if they kept their distance from one another. There was enough controversy surrounding the two of them already but fortunately, after a public statement of her own and on behalf of her family, Beca’s career and life had continued to thrive even if that meant that she couldn’t be a part of it.

But it ached, to not be able to be around her. To see thousands of strangers constantly getting hours of her attention in some crowded venue when she—her own best friend—couldn’t even get a simple text back. The farcical nature of it all both made her want to laugh and scream in the same breath.

Her body jolts as her phone vibrates in her hands. Of course she should’ve figured it wasn’t Beca replying but it doesn’t make swallowing the disappointment any easier. Instead, it’s Stacie.

Stacie - 2:02pm

We’re going out tonight. We as in you, me and Aubrey. |

With a scowl, Chloe swiftly declines.

Chloe - 2:03pm

| I don’t think so. Not in the mood.

Stacie - 2:04pm

Cool. You see that neat little dot at the end of the first thing I said? That’s a period babe which means that|

was a statement. |

Cutting her eyes, Chloe reclines rolls over onto her back, curling into the back of the sofa.

Chloe - 2:05pm

| Consent applies to making plans too Stace…

Stacie - 2:05pm

Correct. So, would you like to be a doll and open the door now or have Aubrey kick it down? See? That was a|

question. ;) | 

Her brief moment of languor is interrupted by a rapid series of knocks at her door. Pushing up and silently storming over to her door, she peers through the peephole and, sure enough, Stacie and Aubrey are standing there. Fingers pinch the bridge of her nose as she reluctantly opens the door for no other reason than to stop the knocking.

“Seriously?”

“Hold it,” Aubrey bites defensively, “This was not my idea. I want to make that very clear.”

Chloe steps aside as they enter her home, already growing uneasy at the duffel bags and suitcases that they carry inside. “Yes, it was my plan and I will accept full credit for it because you are going to be thanking me once we get there. The line will be long so why don’t you get your cute butt in the shower so we can start getting ready?” Stacie addresses swiftly.

“Umm, can I at least know where we’re going?”

“ No. It’s a surprise.”

Chloe sets her attention on Aubrey who only shakes her head, “I tried to talk her out of it but you know how she gets.”

“And you just went with it? That isn’t like you, Bree.”

Again, Aubrey shakes her head, pushing Chloe towards her bathroom. “Listen, I don’t know if this is a good idea but I think you need this and I wouldn’t have gone along with it if I didn’t think there was the slightest possibility that it might be good for you. For the record, I’m totally prepared to eat those words but we’re here now and Stacie isn’t going to let me back out which means neither can you. So, go on and start getting ready.”

“Bree…”

“Go.”

It’s evident that she doesn’t have a say in the matter and slips into her bathroom to shower. She slips into the dark dress that had been laid out for her, standing in front of her mirror as she watches the way it fans out just near mid-thigh. There, she can see a glimpse of the few scars that line her skin, some following the curve of her thigh from front to back and others moving inward and up.

Most of them have faded but others still linger, raised along her skin that force her eyes shut when she touches them. Her fingers grip the fringes as she tries to tug the skirt down. It doesn’t appear to work and her hands begin to shake as she grows more desperate.

“Chloe, how did you want to do your—”

Her eyes snap up to Aubrey in the doorway who follows her arms down to where her fingers desperately claw to tug down her skirt. “Hey,” Aubrey eases in, “You’re alright.”

Shaking her head, Chloe bites her lip and whimpers, “You can see them, Bree. It’s too short and everyone will see them and they’re so disgusting and they’re ugly and—!”

“Shh,” Aubrey comes behind her, slipping her arms under Chloe’s to carefully tug her hands away and up to her own lips where she kisses each finger. “No Chloe, they’re not. Scars heal; people heal. Don’t let the monsters who left them create more. Look, the straps are adjustable. Lets adjust them and we can pull it down a little more, okay?”

“Okay,” Chloe chokes out, “Okay.”

She tries to breathe, focusing her attention on Aubrey’s meticulous fingers moving against her skin to adjust the straps of her dress. She hadn’t worn anything that short since the incident, having already deleted several old posts after receiving comments on how she “must’ve been asking for it”.

It’s not much but it’s a little longer and the self-consciousness subsides. Stacie joins them when Aubrey doesn’t return right away. They tend to her in the way true best friends do. They help her with her hair and makeup while they offer her sweet affirmations in those soft voices as if anything higher might set her off.

And though she knew there wasn’t any malicious intent behind any of it, it didn’t stop it from getting under her skin.

But the coddling stops and the issue with the dress becomes an afterthought scattered to the wind. She’s thrust into an Uber with her best friends while they’re carted off to a destination known to everyone but herself. Fortunately, the ride is only a half hour and Stacie manages to talk them through it but before Aubrey can get out to shield her eyes from the surprise, Chloe’s already seen it.

THE SOUNDSCAPE TOUR 

BECA MITCHELL

TONIGHT        SOLD OUT!

“Aubrey,” Chloe breathes through clenched teeth, “You knew this is where we were going.”

“She did,” Stacie swiftly answers, stepping between them as she fixes Chloe with a narrow look, “But it was still my idea so if you’re going to be pissed at anyone, be pissed at me.”

“Gladly. Stacie, Beca doesn’t want me here. I don’t want to be here .”

It’s a lie but she says it with enough conviction as she’s forced to join the line and she knows that, for now at least, they seem buy it.

“If that’s the case then,” Aubrey adds, “What does it hurt to be here? At worst, you’ll just be a face in a sea of others and she’ll never know you were here. At best, you’ll have a good time and enjoy some decent music.”

It’s hardly a compelling incentive to stay but she was clearly stuck and there was no way they’d let her take the ride home alone. And of course she knows that a part of her would come to regret missing seeing Beca in person even if it was from the nosebleed seats.

She tugs her jacket tighter, seeking asylum from the evening winds that had begun to pick up. Earbuds slip into her ear when the world around her gets to be too loud. Of course, as if being forced to attend a concert for the very person whose attention she was pretending not to want wasn’t bad enough, Beca's music is the first thing that plays when she shuffles her playlist.

Resigned to the fact that nothing seemed to be going her way today, Chloe closes her eyes and lets Beca’s voice wash over her. She’d seen her a handful of times in concert before but that was before she remembered who she was. 

Though, perhaps now, they were a different kind of strangers.

The song ends but she doesn’t open her eyes. Merely basking in the caress of wind and a pause of silence as the next song begins. But then there’s voices different from the one playing in her ears and it grows louder, more chaotic as if she were suddenly being swarmed.

So she opens her eyes, a displeased expression hollowing her features before, in an instant, it feels like her legs will buckle beneath her.

There, with the lapel of her jacket gripped like a vice in Aubrey’s fist and with a visible look of shock directed straight at her, is none other than Beca.