Numb.
Her back slid against her car door as she sank against it, glass from its broken window crunching beneath her, pricking her through her jeans. But it didn't matter, not really. Her silver car (she never cared to know the model, her dad never cared to tell her) was a piece of shit, but she could live without a window.
However, she could not live without her radio.
She didn't even know people still stole them. She knew parking at the back of the lot, mostly abandoned since it was late, was a dumb idea. She knew she wouldn't get the job, that she'd be back in less than an hour, but in that hour she'd had her window smashed and her radio stolen.
"Of course they left you here, huh Charlie?" she murmured to the car, wrapping her arms around her knees. The car was silent, of course. "We're both huge pieces of shit."
Her dad had given her Charlie for her sixteenth birthday. She'd had a curfew, and he'd told her that he wanted her to be the one doing Saturday morning grocery runs, but that didn't matter. He'd given her a place to play her music without hearing shouts of "Turn that shit off, Beca!" from downstairs; a place where she could really be by herself.
Charlie had been her home for the past month, after her dad had kicked her out.
"I won't have a dyke living in my house, Beca."
He'd slapped her in front of her girlfriend, Stacie, who had said nothing. He'd begged her to tell her this was just a cry for attention, that Stacie had been using her - she had - but when Beca had admitted she was a lesbian, he'd lost it. The screaming would've been comical if it hadn't come with the punches.
Stacie had left before this, of course, with a whispered "good luck" and a smirk. Like her dad catching Stacie with Beca's head between her legs in her room when they were supposed to be studying had been funny.
"Come on, Beca," she'd said, "don't you think it'll be fun?" When she'd started taking her clothes off, Beca hadn't really been given much of a choice.
She didn't know if she should hate Stacie. She hadn't seen her since that night, but the brunette didn't know how her dad was. But she also hadn't tried to reach out to Beca.
Her dad had kicked her out after he was done yelling and hitting her, her phone left upstairs as he practically dragged her to his door and pushed her out, slamming it behind her. All she'd had on her was her wallet and her car keys.
"What are we gonna do?" she whispered to herself. Charlie said nothing.
A car drove by then, tinted windows halfway rolled down.
"..with what I once bought
'cause somebody stole
my car radio
and now I just sit in silence.."
"Really?!" She shouted as the car passed, though the music was playing too loud for its passengers to pay her any mind.
"What? The song's not terrible."
Beca nearly peed herself at the voice sounding behind her, and turned her head to see a redhead standing at the front of the car, looking at her with familiar blue eyes.
"Chloe?"
Chloe paused, confused. "Um, do we know each other?"
No. Of course not. Beca looked and smelled like a hobo, and her eyes were puffy from crying and she wasn't wearing the eyeliner she usually did, because she had to save her money for food and other things that hadn't mattered before. There was also the fact that despite going to the same high school, they were four years apart - Beca was eighteen, and Chloe now twenty two - and they'd only spoken once.
"Hi, welcome to Barden High!"
That hadn't stopped the senior from being Beca's crush for the year, making her heart race the few times she saw the redhead in the hallway.
"You went to my high school a few years ago," Beca mumbled, "I-I just remember your face."
"Oh." Chloe sounded like she was frowning, but Beca quickly looked away before she would be caught staring. "Well, are you okay?"
The question prompted a laugh from the brunette, but she didn't look at Chloe, who apparently took it as an invitation to round the car to stand beside her, mindful of the glass. The girl was also a dumbass; anyone looking at the scene could see that someone crying and sitting in glass with a piece of shit car and wearing clothes twenty sizes too big was not okay. Not even close.
"Yes." Beca said anyway. Chloe was probably just being polite, even if Beca seemed like a freak. "I'm fine."
"Really?"
"Yes."
Her stomach rumbled, and she embarrassedly looked down at it, her glare a silent message of shut up, you. Chloe giggled next to her and Beca stiffened, then snarled, "you can leave now. I said I was fine."
Chloe put her hands up in protest. "I wasn't laughing at you, it's just-"
"I don't care." Beca interrupted, not waiting for whatever excuse the redhead would make up. "Leave me alone, okay?"
"Nope. Either you just broke into somebody's car and are crying because you cut yourself breaking the window-" Beca snorted, "-or someone broke into your car."
"Nice detective skills, Sherlock."
The redhead ignored her and peered into the car, letting out a soft sound as she saw the mess inside. Fast food bags in the passenger seat and on the floor, a single blanket (the radio-stealing asshole had also taken her others) in the backseat. That was all Beca had, really, besides the layers she was wearing right now.
"Don't touch my stuff," was all the brunette said when Chloe's hand shifted.
She felt it come to rest on her shoulder and flinched away. "Don't touch me, either."
"Sorry." Chloe said, and Beca looked up to see her apologetic smile. "Look, um, I can see your situation is bad, and I want to help."
"I don't need help."
"Then why are you crying?"
"Somebody stole my car radio." It sounded pathetic, but she needed the sound. Silence meant reminiscing, meant sadness and pain, meant she had time to think and ponder and cry about her shitty life.
"I have one in mine. Come on."
Beca flinched as Chloe raised her hand again, and the redhead paused, biting her lip, before she continued to slowly reach out. After realizing the redhead only wanted to help her to her feet she blushed slightly, but said nothing.
"Come on," Chloe repeated. "You can stay at my place for the night."
For the night. She wasn't surprised she'd be kicked out the next day. Chloe seemed genuine, and remembering her freshman year Beca couldn't think of anytime she'd seen or heard of the redhead being an asshole.
On the off chance that Chloe might have an iPod or something laying around, Beca could probably steal it and leave.
She wouldn't want any of the redhead's friends (because she was certain she had many) to recognize her. And she would probably never see the girl again, anyway. She hadn't gotten the job so she had no reason to stick around.
Beca ignored the insistent hand in front of her race and rose to her feet with a wince, brushing off her hands on her jeans.
"Okay."