As you stand
Under the bar lights
And the band plays some song
About forgetting yourself for a while
And the piano's this melancholy soundcheck
To her smile
And that white dress she's wearing
You haven't seen her
For a while
The club was grungy, and filled with seedy folks and reckless youth of the City of Angels. The free alcohol, which was really mostly piss warm beer, made the fact that her pay barely covered her shitty apartment that much more bearable. It was the last place Beca Mitchell expected to see her. She clutched the pint glass tight enough to cause her knuckles to go white as her eyes tracked the red head bobbing along the sea of people, only to disappear in the bodies. The brunette's jaw clenched, a muscle jumped, and she frowned and her brows knit. No fucking way, she thought to herself quietly, swallowing bile from anxiety. Chloe Beale wouldn't be in a place like this. Chloe Beale wouldn't be in Los Angeles… not after… no. Beca bobbed her head but the guys knew she was lost, and Jesse shouldered her playfully to snap her attention back, if only to inform her that they were all going up to dance to the live band tonight and did she want to come. The bar sounded better.
But you know
That she's watching
She's laughing, she's turning
She's holding her tonic like a crux
The room suddenly spinning
She walks up and asks how you are
So you can smell her perfume
You can see her lying naked in your arms
"How are you?" There was nothing beneath the worn-to-almost-smooth rubber soles of her sneakers. There wasn't gravity either except in the pit of her stomach which is probably just the alcohol, Beca thinks, as she blinks to focus on the redhead in front of her. "Beca! How are you?" Chloe asked again, louder, attributing the lack of response to the bass that resonated in the drywall. Her blue eyes made the muscle in Beca's jaw jump again, and the brunette's hand ached it was holding her glass so tight.
She didn't have a quip, no biting remarks about how the fuck do you think I am, Chloe Beale? Who do you think you are asking me that when we were happy together but I moved out here and it was too far for you and here you are asking me how I am at my goddamn bar. "I'm good. You look good." She faked a smile. She ground her molars. Nodded as that shock of red hair disappeared into the ground again, but resurfaced too frequently with those lapis lazuli eyes watching her as she continued to drink and the lights became softer and her soul welcomed the depressant like an old friend that she wanted to see.
And she leaves
With someone you don't know
But she makes sure you saw her
She looks right at you and bolts
As she walks out the door
Your blood boiling
Your stomach in ropes
And when your friends say, "What is it?"
You look like you've seen a ghost
Jesse came back eventually with a few of their LA friends, but concern creased his face where hers had fallen. She was staring at the door and her empty pint from before had been replaced with several empty shot glasses. Those eyes had taken one last look, seemingly deeming the broken DJ drunk enough for the blow to hurt a little less and she left on the arm of some blond, and Beca was angry enough to feel sick but too hurt to care so she ordered a round for her and the boys and then one turned into four and they left in each other's arms and stumbling out the door. And thank god they couldn't afford cars.
And you walk
Under the streetlights
And you're too drunk to notice
That everyone is staring at you
And you so care what you look like
The world is falling
Around you
