Throughout high school, hiding the scars had been easy. Oregon never got warm enough for Beca to tolerate short sleeves, so her collection of oversized hoodies did the trick. She would wrap herself in them and keep to herself in the halls, which never worked to her advantage. Someone always had something to say. Her headphones were stupid. Her music was horrible. She looked like she never showered. She was too quiet. The list of her flaws was endless, according to her classmates. Their words hurt, but she would never let them know what they did to her mind. Her walls grew and grew until even her mother couldn't get past them anymore. When she had come home from school, three weeks before graduation, and seen the strange car in the driveway, warning bells went off. Something was going to shake her to the core. She could almost taste it.
The sight of her father and Sheila - the step-monster - sitting on the couch made her feel sick. "What's going on?" she asked, dropping her backpack by the piano and sitting on its bench. Instinctively, she pulled the sleeves of her hoodie over her hands, twisting the fabric in her fingers. Nothing good came from visits like this. Maybe her mother had found her box and they were going to send her off. Again.
"You're graduating in a few weeks," Warren said, looking at his daughter, "and that means it is time to start seriously considering college."
She let out a bark of laughter before realizing he was serious. "What?" she asked, disbelief crossing her face. "I don't want to go to college. I make music. I am good at making music. I don't need college for that! I'm going to Los Angeles after graduation." She stood up, grabbing her bag and heading towards her room, being stopped by her mothers hand on her arm. "Are you seriously going to take his side? He walks out on us, and strolls back in pretending like he has a right to care?" she snapped, turning to look at Warren. "You don't care! You never cared about us... about me!"
"Beca..." Warren started, standing up.
"No!" she yelled, twisting her arm from her mother's grip before storming into her room, slamming the door. She could hear them talking, keeping her ear pressed to the wood as she wiped tears from her eyes.
"You could have warned her we were coming," Warren snapped. "For fucks sake, Joan, she needs to worry about her education, not this stupid music thing she has as a hobby!"
"A hobby she is good enough at to make a career out of," Joan countered.
"She can take music related classes at Barden. It would give her something to fall back on if her whole dream of this mixing thing doesn't work out like she thinks it will," he said, his voice rising. "She's a child! She needs this!"
Beca shook her head, moving to her desk and throwing her headphones on, turning the volume up until it almost hurt. She could do it. She could make it in Los Angeles. She devoted every spare second to music. She could compose it and she could arrange it. She had talent, and her father was stupid for being unable to see that. She clicked and dragged and watched the screen, losing herself in the beat of her latest mix. Looking at the time on the screen, she realized that hours had passed. She pulled the headphones off, letting her ears readjust to the quiet of her room. The quiet of the house. "Mom?" she called out, opening her bedroom door.
"Kitchen," Joan replied.
Beca headed into the kitchen, sitting at the table. "When did they leave?" she asked, smiling as Joan set a glass of orange juice in front of her.
"About twenty minutes after you went to your room." Beca watched as her mother focused on making them dinner. "I don't want to upset you, but your father has a point. I would like to see you go to college."
She rolled her eyes. "I heard you tell him that I am good. Thank you," she said, picking at her nail polish. "I don't really know if you truly think that, but it was something I needed to hear."
Joan set up two plates of spaghetti, turning towards the table. She set one in front of Beca and one in front of her before she looked at her daughter. "I did mean it, Beca. You spend so much of your time wrapped up in music. I know you use it as an outlet, and I am so thankful you have that," she said, grabbing Beca's right hand and sliding the sleeve of the hoodie up, running her thumb over the faint scars. "I care about you, and I don't want to see you push me away like you've done everything else. Just because I think you should go to college does not mean I am going to force you to go, understand?"
Beca nodded, poking at her food. "Am I allowed to be scared to graduate?" she asked, her voice quiet.
"I was terrified," Joan said, smiling. "You are going to be fine, Beca. You are brave and strong." She was quiet for a moment. "They're saying things to you in the halls again, aren't they?"
She pulled her hand away from her mothers. "Does it matter?" she snapped. "Sorry. It's just... what does it matter if the school refuses to do anything about it? I tried talking to the counselor and since it is just words, they can't do anything about it. I just need to survive the next few weeks and then I can be gone." She took a few bites of food, more to appease her mother than actual hunger. "How can I make Warren believe me with being so sure this is what I want to do with my life?"
"You prove him wrong," she said, watching her daughter carefully. "No matter what you do, honey, I am going to be behind you the entire time, understand?"
"I'm gonna go to my room," she mumbled, pushing her plate away. Catching the look Joan gave her, she smiled. "I'm fine, okay? I promised I would tell you if I got that low again, remember?" She headed towards the hall, stopping to turn around and look at her mother. "I'm not low right now. I just... need some time to think. I have homework, anyways. Then I was going to work on some more mixes." She paused. "Do you want me to go to Atlanta?"
Joan was quiet for a moment. "I want you to be happy."
"That didn't answer my question." She returned to the table, sitting down again. "It's been six months and five days since I last made a mark on my body," she said, looking at her hands. "I've been able to do that because I have you. Atlanta is on the other side of the country and, let's be real, Warren doesn't care about me half as much as he likes to try and make us believe. He doesn't know about my scars. He doesn't know that I wake up in the middle of the night screaming. He doesn't know that my head is messed up." She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. "I am terrified of what could happen if you put me three thousand miles from you."
"Your fears are justified, Beca, but you have to be an adult and take a look at this from the outside," she said, moving her chair closer to her daughter and wrapping her arms around the girl. "You cannot stay by my side for the rest of your life. College is a good experience, not just for your education, but making new friends. Connecting with people. You stay locked up in your room all the time, and that worries me."
"I keep it unlocked, and even open on most days," Beca said, her voice muffled as she pressed her face into her mothers shirt.
"That isn't what I mean," Joan replied, rubbing small circles on Beca's back. "I know you don't like to let people in. What happened between your father and I hurt you, and nothing I say or do is ever going to take that hurt back. Just because of one bad event... you don't have to keep to yourself. You asked if I wanted you to go to Atlanta. I don't want you to go, but as your mother, I think it would be exactly what you need in your life right now. Los Angeles isn't going anywhere, and it would make me feel so much better knowing you had something to fall back on."
Beca pulled away, opening her mouth.
"Stop. I believe in you, okay? I believe that you can make it in this world doing what you love. I just want you to have a backup plan. You never have to use this plan, but I want you to have one."
"I'll think about it, alright?" She pulled away from her mother, standing up and heading into her room. She sat down at the desk, pulling her headphones on. She didn't turn on her music right away, instead opting to check Facebook, rolling her eyes at the notification of the big party for the seniors that was going on the night after graduation. A beep popped up in the corner and she looked at the message from her cousin.
Are you going to the grad party?
For a moment, she considered saying no, but her mothers words echoed in her mind. Make friends. Maybe.
I hear Adam is going to be there. He was asking about you in class today.
Scrunching her face up, Beca considered accusing Jay of lying. Why would he be asking about me?
He thinks you are mysterious.
Good. I like being mysterious.
Beca, come on. One little party isn't going to kill you.
She frowned, knowing Jay was telling the truth. Warren and Sheila were here when I got home.
Holy shit. What happened?
He wants me to go to that college he teaches at in Atlanta.
Are you going to go?
Her fingers hovered over the keys. I don't know. My mom thinks I should...
Los Angeles, though?
It's what I want, but my mom made a good point about having a backup plan, even if I never have to use it.
Beca, just ignore that. You have all summer to think about it. So, you know, just come to the party in a few weeks, yeah? Please?
Bribe me.
You are the coolest cousin ever and the only person I like talking to and you are awesome and amazing and you would totally rule that fucking party!
Beca smiled, leaning back in her chair for a moment. Fine. Before he could respond, she closed the window, staring at her desktop. She had just agreed to go to the biggest party of the school year. If she could survive that, she might give college a second thought.
As graduation crept closer and the classwork got harder and more intense, Beca found herself looking forward to the party. She had been too stressed to work on mixing and every single time she passed Jay in the halls, he would bring up the party. Which was how she ended up in her room, standing in front of him, with a sour look on her face as he did his best imitation of a fashion designer. "Dude, this is ridiculous. Why can't I just wear whatever the hell I want?" she asked, rolling her shoulders. "This stupid party is in two stupid hours and it is hotter than hell out and on a beach and jackets are stupid and I just want to wear a fucking hoodie!"
Jay stepped towards her, taking the jacket off and holding up her arm. "Beca, it is going to be dark. No one is going to see them," he said, his voice quiet. "Everyone is going to be drunk and dancing and, honestly, if you wear that tank top, no one is going to look at your wrists."
"Gross."
"I didn't say I was going to look."
"Good." She looked down, not making a move to pull her arm from his grip. "No one will see them?" she asked, her voice almost a whisper.
He ran his fingers over the skin, his eyes locked with Beca's. "Beca, I promise you. Tonight is going to be a night to remember. Nothing is going to go wrong. We are going to go and get drunk. We are high school graduates! We made it out! Now we need to celebrate this!"
She nodded, looking at herself in the mirror. "Celebrate. Right." She shoved her phone and wallet into her back pocket before following Jay into the living room. "We are gonna go now," she called out, watching as Joan appeared from the kitchen. "I'll be home by eleven." She wrapped her arms around her mother, holding tightly for a moment.
"Have fun, Beca. Just be safe. Don't drink too much," she said, kissing the top of Beca's head. Beca pulled away, following Jay to the car, staying silent until they were at the beach. The sun had already started to set and there was a large bonfire already going.
"You want some beer?" he asked, almost pushing Beca towards the party.
"I'm not drinking tonight," she replied, shrugging. "So, you go drink to your little hearts content and I will stay sober enough to drive us home." She gave him a small wave as she wandered towards the fire.
"You're that weird girl who always has headphones on, aren't you?" a voice said. Beca turned, meeting the eyes of a girl she had seen in a few of her classes. "Beca, right?"
"Yeah," she said, keeping her arms pressed to her sides.
"I didn't know you had a tattoo." She moved to the other side of Beca, running her fingers over the flowers on her shoulder. "I'm Elina. We had American Government together," she said, smiling.
"Right." She looked at the fire again.
"I didn't think you would show up. There were a lot of people saying that you were just going to sit at home."
"Well, I guess they were wrong," she said, inwardly rolling her eyes. "I'm just gonna... go over here." She headed towards the water, leaving the music and noise behind her. She felt ridiculous, and wanted nothing more to go home, but she had told her mother that she would try and make an effort. Hearing laughter approaching, Beca turned her head, seeing a group of people walking towards her. She couldn't explain the feeling in the pit of her stomach, though, beyond the fact of she didn't like it.
"Gaby, shine your phone on her arm. I told you she always wore those hoodies because she cuts," one of the girls said, roughly grabbing Beca's wrist. Beca tried to pull away, taking a step back when she realized the girl was stronger than she was. "What kind of freak does that to themselves?"
"Holy shit," a male said, stepping behind Beca and holding her still. "Look how many there are!"
"Let me go," she mumbled, feeling her stomach sink as she found herself unable to move.
"You must think you are something special," the girl - Gaby - said. "You show up with your fucking tits out thinking you are something people would actually want? You are a runt." Gaby reached forward, pulling Beca's phone from her pocket and tossing it into the water. "No one would call you. I bet you've never even kissed someone before. Adam. You were the one who called her mysterious. You do it."
"Gladly," Adam said, turning Beca in his arms and pressing his mouth to hers, his hand roughly holding her in place by her hair. "I think I want to go have a little fun with her," he growled, his free hand sliding under her shirt, pulling her against his body. "You feel that, bitch?" He began pulling her towards the rocks, the waves getting louder the closer they moved towards the water.
"Why are you doing this?" she asked, tears in her eyes. She tried to pull away, crying out when she felt a fist hit her stomach. Beca looked up, trying to figure out which of the four people had hit her.
"If you try and run, we won't reel Adam in," the other male said.
"He can get a bit wild," the first girl said.
Beca turned her eyes back to Adam, biting down on her bottom lip until she tasted blood as he tugged at her jeans. "What is it with you fucking emo freaks and such tight pants?" he asked, pulling at the buttons until they broke. He looked at his friends. "Leave. I want to do this alone." They dispersed, and his attention easily fell back to Beca. "For someone so little, you have a nice body." His hands ran down her chest, roughly grabbing at her breasts, before pulling the tank top off.
"Please," she begged, the tears finally falling. Adam shook his head, a smile on his face as he pulled her jeans down, taking the underwear with him. "I'll scream."
His hand immediately went to her throat, holding tightly. "You try it and I will crush your fucking windpipe," he snapped. Keeping the grip on her throat, he used his free hand to undo his own jeans, pushing Beca into the rocks.
Beca closed her eyes, trying to prepare herself for what was inevitable. As he spread her knees apart and pushed roughly into her, she cried out. His grip on her throat tightened. Pain. It hurt, and he was rough, and she knew she was bleeding. She could feel it on her inner thighs, and her head started spinning. Adam removed his hand from her throat, and she let the sobs escape as he pulled her jeans and underwear up.
"Gaby!" he called out, waiting for the girl to appear. "She didn't even say thank you."
"Freak doesn't have manners? He did you a favor," she said, wiping the tears away from Beca's face before slamming her knee into her stomach. "Have a good night." They disappeared, leaving Beca in the shadows. She took a few shaky breaths, her arms wrapped around herself, before starting to stumble back towards the party. She could feel people looking at her, and all she needed was to find Jay. Beca saw him near the keg, joking with friends, and she saw his face fall when he realized that she was hurt.
"Beca!"
He sounded far away, and taller, when she realized that she had fallen to her knees. Opening her mouth to tell him what happened, she felt her mind go blank as she passed out.
Five pills. That was all she had left, and it was all it was going to take. Beca laughed, quietly, at the thought. Pills meant to help her were going to take everything away. There was more humor in the situation than there should be. School had given her anxiety issues, and a doctor had given her Xanax. Now, she was sitting on the cold tile of the bathroom floor with five of those pills sitting in her hand, taunting her. She had tried her best, really. She kept her head down and went to class. She did her homework. She passed the tests. She strove for graduation and the hope of freedom and what had that gotten her? Raped.
Beca had let herself get her hopes up, really, and it was her own fault. On what planet would the most wanted male in school actually want with her? He wanted to use her, and he didn't take no for an answer. She deserved it. Every single warning bell had gone off when she decided to go to the party, and she had ignored them in favor of pleasing the people around her. It had been her downfall before, and it was her downfall again.
She placed one of the pills on her tongue, swallowing quickly. The rape. What if she got pregnant? What if she got a disease? If she closed her eyes, she could still feel the pain of him pushing into her, his hand around her throat. Pill two. Jay. He was blaming himself, because he had made her to go the party. But it wasn't his fault. It was all on Beca. She had done something to deserve it. It was punishment. Pill three. Her mother. Her mother would be heartbroken, but it had to be done.
Pill four. Pill five. All there was left to do was wait. Wait to die. She glanced down at her arm, counting the scars, losing her train of thought somewhere around forty as her vision started to go blurry. She could hear the front door opening, her mother calling out to her, home from work with dinner. What was she doing? She had felt like she wanted to die, but her mothers voice triggered something within her and she stood up, uneasy. It wasn't supposed to be this way. She was not supposed to die on her bathroom floor before she even reached age eighteen. Beca stumbled into the living room, tripping over her own feet as she almost fell into her mothers arms. "I did something stupid, mama," she cried, the empty bottle falling from her fingers as she forgot how to stand.
Her mothers mouth was moving, but she couldn't hear what she was saying. For the second time - and what she suddenly hoped wasn't the last time - her world went black.