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May 24; Present Time
One month, four days, 16 hours, and 46 minutes.
It has been that long since Beca last heard from Chloe. Not that she is counting, she is not. She slowly puffs out the breath she didn't even know she was holding and looks down at her partly crimson knuckles. She flexes it to test if the pain had subsided; as it turns out, it didn't, and it probably never will.
She peers to her left, taking in the black wall with cracks, and looks around to see empty bottles of vodka and gin, empty take-home boxes, used clothes, and unwashed dishes.
She should clean.
Probably.
She sighs and leans her head against the wall she has been sitting against with a slight thud.
The memory of what happened that very day is still fresh to her. She can still hear Chloe's distinct shouts and cries, and what she hates the most is she is the one who caused it. Her eyelids feel heavy. She tries fighting against the exhaustion seeping through her system, but it's no use. She hadn't slept, blinked, or moved from where she was, and it had been more than a month. She slowly closes her eyes and replays what had happened that very day.
April 19
"Hey, Beca! Come dance with me!" Chloe shouts, and from the flush of her cheeks and neck and the slight sheen of sweat on her forehead, Beca figures she's drunk.
"You're drunk." The brunette says, blinking at the woman who adorably juts her lower lip out, knowing how it affected her best friend.
Damn those puppy eyes and adorable pout.
"Am not, I am perfectly sober. Dance with me, Bec! You've been in this booth since we entered the club. Loosen up!" The redhead giggles drunkenly, ungraciously plopping down on the startled DJ's lap.
"Get off of me, you drunk idiot." She grumbles in fake annoyance, trying (and failing) to hide her flustered state. Chloe is too close, way too close. She cannot think properly, let alone utter anything coherent. The smell of the woman's vanilla shampoo and the strawberry chapstick she never forgets to wear is drowning every ounce of the petite woman's self-control and effectively washing over her senses.
"No, I'm not standing until you agree to dance with me." Chloe insists, her warm breath washing over her best friend's face.
"Fine, fine. One dance, and then we're off. You're too drunk."
Chloe grins triumphantly, standing up from her position on Beca's lap, and turns to look at her. "Eager to take me home, aren't you?" She teases, laughing loudly as Beca's ears go red. The DJ flips her off as Chloe pulls her onto the dance floor. As if fate is playing with them, the Motown beat is replaced with a slow one.
Chloe wraps her arms around the brunette's neck, fingers lightly brushing the hairs at her nape, and Beca visibly shudders and tenses. The redhead chuckles lightly and hovers her mouth on her best friend's ear. "Loosen up, Becs. It's just me."
Beca internally rolls her eyes.
Yeah, just you. The woman I've been helplessly in love with for nine years.
She holds Beca's arms, wraps them around her waist, and places her hands back in their original position.
Beca is drunk. No, she didn't drink anything aside from that shot of gin and tonic that Chloe forcefully gave her, but she feels drunk. They are too close, Chloe is too touchy, and Beca thinks she might combust from the unbearable proximity, not being one with physical affection.
But when Chloe kisses her jaw and pulls back to nuzzle their noses, all her negative thoughts dissipate. Tension leaves the brunette's body, and it amazes her how well Chloe knows her — how well Chloe grounds her.
Everything is perfect. Beca pretends that they are together, even just for that night. She pretends it doesn't hurt knowing that Chloe will probably forget everything in the morning.
She pretends.
Like she has for the past nine years.
(She thinks she should get an award for acting.)
She pretends they have a chance, knowing full well that they don't.
Because —
"Babe!" A man shouts, and they both jump at the sudden intrusion, and when Beca looks in the direction of the sound, her stomach unpleasantly churns.
It's him.
It's Tom.
The reason why she can't be with Chloe. She internally punches herself for not remembering. How could she forget?
The brunette clears her throat uncomfortably and blinks several times, reluctantly watching Chloe direct a wide smile toward Tom. She watches as she confidently strides in his direction and kisses him as if her life depended on it.
Tom kisses back just as hard, wrapping his arms around her waist to hold her in place just as she wraps her arms around his neck.
To say that Beca was fuming with anger and jealousy is an understatement. She is fucking enraged, even though she knows she has no right to be.
She sucks in a breath sharply to stop herself from doing something that she might regret and blinks as the pair pulls away but is still in a lover's embrace. She watches Chloe look at Tom like he hung the moon and the stars in the sky and mourns over the fact that the pair looks so perfect together.
The lovers exchange a few words, and Beca suspects that Tom probably joked about something since Chloe laughs wholeheartedly, her head tilted back as Tom watches her adoringly.
Somehow, despite her anger, she understands his loving gaze.
Because Chloe is beautiful.
She has eyes; she knows how attractive Chloe is. In their almost nine years of friendship, the redhead had a line of suitors longer than the Nile river, and Beca, somewhere along the way, realized that she wanted to be a part of that line too.
But Chloe declined each of them, choosing Tom over everyone else.
It's not that Beca hates Tom (she does), but she thinks Chloe deserves — more?
Chloe deserves a person she will return home to from her long and draining days at the vet. A person who she can think of, but the clouds dimming her days will be replaced with eternal sunshine. She deserves a person who'd go to the ends of the earth for her. She deserves a person who'd make her a cup of tea every morning because it soothes her throat. She deserves a person who'd run to her favorite coffee shop two kilometers away from the apartment, enduring a two-hour-long wait to get her favorite blueberry bagel and a cup of freshly brewed coffee. She deserves a person who will make mixes and mash-ups of her favorite songs every other day so she can listen to them on the way to work, during work, and coming home from said work.
Chloe deserves more.
Chloe deserves Beca.
And sometimes, the brunette can't help but think about what could've happened if she dared to tell Chloe what she felt when the opportunities were blatantly there.
When Chloe was there.
Without Tom.
Without her boyfriend.
Beca can list all the things Chloe deserves, but the world will be too small to contain it because Chloe deserves the whole fucking galaxy.
The brunette's train of thought gets disturbed when she hears, more than sees, the sickeningly perfect pair walk towards her, big and goofy smiles on their faces, lips slightly swollen from the long kisses traded.
"Hey, Beca. It's been a while. How are you?" Tom asks as he wraps his arms around Chloe's waist from behind, the ginger instinctively leaning back to his embrace, both hands resting atop his.
"I'm fine," Beca answers, albeit harshly. Chloe furrows her brows, and a small pout graces her face.
"Are you alright, Bec?" She asks, head tilting to the side slightly.
If there's one thing that Beca's certain of, it's that this beautiful woman will be the death of her.
She nods wordlessly in response, softening a little at the redhead's concerned look and nickname.
Chloe is about to ask again because clearly, something's wrong, but her boyfriend pulls her away, saying something about free drinks for couples.
She looks back at Beca apologetically as she's being pulled, but the DJ forces a smile and nods once.
Beca was fucked.
April 19 - a few hours later.
The night couldn't go any slower. The petite brunette is on her seventh shot of seven spirits on the rocks and she feels lightheaded.
"One more." She slurs drunkenly, heavily leaning her body against the counter.
"No more for you, kiddo." The bartender retorts with a concerned look on his face.
"Come on, just one more. You're supposed to serve your customers. Go make me one." She insists, heavily blinking because everything is blurry, and every beat drop blaring through the club's speaker is in line with the thumping of her heart.
"No. We have the right to deny requests, especially if it's concerned with the well-being of our customers." The bartender replies.
"Fuck your service!" She angrily shouts, slamming her fists against the cold marble countertop, garnering the nearby customers' attention.
She inhales shakily to calm her nerves and looks at the dance floor.
She wishes she didn't.
Chloe is dancing with her boyfriend, eyes sparkling like the ocean at midday.
Boyfriend.
The thought makes her jaws clench, and the seven shots of the seven spirits get the best of her.
Without really thinking (because fuck is she drunk), she strides in the pair's direction and yanks the woman she loves off of her lover.
Chloe looks at her with wide, confused eyes, but she doesn't care. Beca's eyes are stone cold, and her mind is blank as she lands blows on Tom's nose and jaw. She grabs him by his collar and pushes him to the ground.
She can hear Chloe begging her to stop and feels her forceful tug on the brunette's arm, but she chooses to ignore it.
Because she's a Mitchell, she's good at ignoring things and situations that are plainly there.
She straddles Tom and blows heavy punches on his face, her jaw clenching and the blood in her veins boiling.
"Fuck you! If you didn't come along, everything would've been okay; everything would've been better!" She yells angrily, each punctuation expressed with a hard punch.
Her knuckles are throbbing. Tom looks extremely fucked, as if that could stop her from proceeding. Chloe is still tugging her shirt and sobbing loudly, but she doesn't care.
Because she is so damn good at it.
Guess she'll have to thank — or curse? — her father later.
Soon, the bouncers lift her off Tom's body, and she tries to break free from their grasp.
"Let go of me, you fucking thwarts!" She screams angrily, squirming from their hold.
But her world halts when her eyes meet light blue ones.
Suddenly, she feels sober.
Anger and fear swim through the light blue orbs, and Chloe's gaze pierces her soul. She hates herself for causing that: because the look that the redhead is sporting? It's rare, rarer than astatine.
Chloe walks to the bouncers holding Beca and whispers something the brunette doesn't discern, but they nod and let go of Beca. They rush to aid Tom and usher the customers inside the club to scurry off the scene.
"We have to talk." The redhead starts without looking at her, an unusually stoic expression gracing her features. Beca isn't given a chance to respond as she follows the woman who power-walks through the crowd. They ascend the stairs, and the redhead opens the door leading to the rooftop.
The DJ exhales as she basks in the cold breeze, giving her a sense of calmness. She closes the metal door behind her. Chloe's leaning on the rail with her forearms, watching the busy streets of Los Angeles from the skyline.
Despite their state, Chloe has never looked more beautiful.
With the city lights illuminating her red, fiery mane and with her eyes sparkling as she peers over the busy streets, Beca falls a little deeper.
How can she not?
It's Chloe.
It's always been Chloe.
So she stares at the redhead, and they stand there in silence, minds whirring and hearts thudding.
Not one for awkward silence, because they're Beca and Chloe for God's sake, they never do awkward; the brunette breaks it.
"I'm sorry."
Silence.
"I was drunk and I didn't mean to do it. My mind was hazy, and I didn't think about —"
She is cut off when stormy, ocean-blue eyes meet hers.
"You're sorry? Beca, this is the third time you beat up a man in a club! You've been blacklisted from those clubs, and I'm surprised you aren't behind bars right now!" She let out, her collected facade slowly breaking.
The brunette sighs in defeat and lowers her gaze. Chloe is right. It is her third time, for the same reason:
Jealousy.
Fucking human emotions.
"Why'd you do it?" She asks quietly, and Beca looks up to see tears brimming in her eyes.
She doesn't answer.
She can't.
What is she supposed to say?
"Tell me why, or this will be the last time we'll talk." Chloe adds in an angry whisper, swallowing to choke down the sobs struggling to break free.
Silence.
"Tell me, Beca! Because I can't unders—"
She loses it because she can't understand herself too.
"Because I'm in love with you, Chloe! I love you so fucking much it hurts to live every waking moment of my life knowing you're happy with someone who isn't me! I'm right here, so why did you keep looking elsewhere?"
Beca pauses to look up, biting her lip to stop the tears from falling.
Huh, the sky looks beautiful tonight.
"I've been here for nine fucking years, Chlo. Why didn't you look at me?" She whispers brokenly, letting the tears fall.
"I've always been looking at you, Bec." Chloe replies weakly, and Beca feels her heart rip open because Chloe - her sweet, beautiful Chloe - sounds so, so wounded, so she wills herself to meet her gaze.
She looks beautiful.
Chloe exhales shakily before speaking again.
"I'm engaged."
The DJ freezes with bated breath as she blinks slowly to ensure she heard it correctly.
Oh.
Oh.
She never thought two words could change her world forever.
"Tom proposed over a year ago. I'm getting married in May." She whispers sadly, slowly walking towards Beca.
"And you said yes." It isn't a question; it's a statement that the brunette can't will herself to believe.
Chloe's engaged.
And Beca's not the one who slipped the ring on her finger.
Beca was always late during Barden, and until now, really. She was always late during rehearsals, always late to her classes, always late during meetings, and always late to work.
"I'm too late, aren't I?" She asks rhetorically because this is the one time she wanted to be on time. Why the fuck was she always late for everything?
Chloe responds with a watery smile, closing the distance between them as she tightly wraps her arms around the brunette's midsection, taking in the familiar honeysuckle scent.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Beca mumbles sadly as she wraps her arms around the older woman's shoulders, savoring their embrace and inhaling the familiar vanilla scent, finding solace in it.
"I'm sorry. I couldn't bring myself to tell you." Chloe explains, her warm breath hitting Beca's neck.
They cry and hold each other tightly for what seemed to be hours before the redhead pulls back to release a watery and bitter laugh.
"We're idiots. We should've acted upon our feelings years ago." She comments sadly, eyes cast on her heels.
"We are, and we should've." The DJ affirms, looking at her intently.
After a few beats of silence, Beca prepares herself for the inevitable.
"I'm sorry." Chloe replies and exhales as she slowly walks to the door and looks back to meet the brunette's gaze once more.
Beca nods.
The redhead hesitates, but the petite woman gives her a strained smile and mouths, "Go on."
Chloe flashes the woman she dearly loves the best smile she could muster, but there's no use in pretending.
"I love you." The redhead mouths and cries softly as she walks out of the door, closing it with a 'click.'
Beca stares at the door and mouths her response sadly, tears freely falling down her cheeks.
"I love you too."
That's reality. She has to go back to Tom, and Beca has to train herself to live without her.
She understands, really.
She understands that Chloe needs to do this; she didn't know what Beca felt - feels - after all.
But god is this so excruciating. Her heart aches, and her entirety is exhausted.
If only they had talked years ago, it could've been her getting down on one knee to ask for the hand of the woman she loves.
It could've been her who'd prepare for the wedding with her bride.
It could've been her who'd wake up every day to bare shoulders with freckles and red hair, with the privilege and blessing to call Chloe her 'wife.'
She could've been the mother to little Chloes and little Becas running around their house, away from the urban.
It could've been her.
Except, it isn't.
And it will never be.
She does the breathing techniques Aubrey taught her at Barden, but surprisingly, for the first time, it doesn't work.
She thinks of those days when Chloe attempted to cheer her up, and didn't fail to do so.
Beca's banging her forehead on her desk at 3 AM, the headphones the redhead gave her for her birthday hanging loosely around her neck. She has been sitting for almost two days, but her mind isn't cooperating. Her boss sent back her latest demo, saying that it ‘lacks something vital’, and Beca swears that she could fucking kill. She barely slept and touched the cup of freshly brewed black coffee that Chloe made her. Without the brunette noticing, Chloe rouses from her slumber. She saunters off the bed to wrap her arms around the brunette’s shoulders, planting a soft kiss on the side of her neck and on top of her head, telling her to go to sleep. Beca reluctantly agrees.
Those were her favorite nights - Chloe doing her best to wake up in the middle of the night to lull her back to sleep because she hadn't had any.
Who is she kidding?
Of course, those are her favorites.
Chloe is her favorite, after all.
After calming herself, she begrudgingly walks back inside the club, using the fire exit as her escape. She walks along the rough pavement, knuckles still throbbing and bleeding, but she doesn't care. She is so fucking exhausted, and the world is so fucking unfair.
Not long after, she reaches her apartment and opens the door. She enters her bedroom and silently goes under the covers, her cat hot on her heels. She felt Midi curl beside her, and she falls asleep, but it's a broken one at best.
Her sheets still smell like Chloe, even though she hadn't come over in a week.
April 21
Two days after the incident, she did nothing but lean on her apartment lounge’s wall, silently cry, and head back to bed to stare at the ceiling.
She was incomplete before Chloe found her.
She’s incomplete without Chloe.
She wonders when she’ll be whole again.
Aubrey and the Bellas attempt to visit her, but she shuts them out because she can't deal with anyone that's not Chloe.
And she’s good at shutting people out.
Like what she told her dad, it’s easier.
May 19
After three hours of crying and staring at nothing, her phone chimes. She begrudgingly reaches over to her bedside table to read the message and sees it's from Stacie. She was mistaken when she thought she couldn't be more broken, more incomplete.
Two words, once again, break her even more.
"She's married."
May 24
She opens her eyes and looks around her apartment. Chloe's still everywhere. Her laughter echoes around the walls; her scent still lingers on Beca's oversized hoodies that she kept stealing. Beca cannot remove her scent from their — her — bed, and some of her things are still in the DJ's place.
One month, four days, 17 hours, and 14 minutes.
She should probably stop counting.
After all, Chloe won't be coming home to her anymore.