A/N: This is my first story so I hope all of you like it! read and review to let me know if you like it and if I should continue it!

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or ideas from Pitch Perfect

Chapter 1

It's funny how different things are, you know, just from the way they used to be. The five year old that I lost inside myself long ago wouldn't even recognize the person that I've become. I honestly don't know why I stopped caring that I was loosing myself but in all honesty I've determined that in the long run it was all for the better. It's easier this way, to just shut out everybody and everything. Hurts less in the end and causes less pain for everybody involved. I guess I should back up a little here and let you get to know the person I used to be before I tell you about the person I am.

The person I used to be could probably be explained best first by telling just one story. It's the story I was told every night until I was 6 years old and I adored every cheesy line and feeling that came along with it, you see, it was the story of my parents wedding. My mom would lay down next to me and as I drifted off to sleep she would go on about the happiest day of her life where the sun was the brightest its ever been and how she swore the birds chirped louder than ever that morning.

My favorite part of the story however, always involved the cake. It was a three tier vanilla cream cake with the most adorable bride and groom figurines place delicately at the very top, the prettiest cake ever, according to my mother.

My mom would go on to say how she had the biggest grin ever when my dad gave her the knife to cut the first piece of the cake and then put his hands over hers and together they cut out two huge slices. What comes next always made me smile as I closed my eyes for the night. As my mom messily smeared cake all over my Dad's face, as is customary to do during the reception, my Dad wore a ten watt smile and slowly, delicately, and most importantly, cleanly, fed my mom her piece of cake. My mom would smile to herself as she told me how she loved that my father was the kind of guy who respected a girl enough to let her smear cake all over him and then not remotely try to do it back.

My last thoughts for the night would be of how that's what I wanted in life; a man who loves me enough to marry me, make me laugh, and respects me so much he can't smear cake in my face. That thought was always with me as I grew up and in the back of my mind I knew that my prince charming wouldn't be a guy who went to the ends of the earth to rescue me from a castle, no, my prince charming would be a guy who was responsible and smart, and met the criteria from my mom's storytelling.

But growing up as a little girl it was hard to find my own prince charming without a man to look up to everyday. You see when I was four my dad went to the store to go get milk and never came back. After a week of me pestering my mom about where my father had gone my mom finally broke down and gave me an explanation. My dad had been in a fatal car crash and wouldn't be coming home. Four year old me cried for months on end and couldn't imagine what life would be like without my best friend. However, as I grew up I began to be grateful for the small amount of time I had with my Dad and I was determined to let his spirit live on by finding a guy who I was sure he would approve of.

But that's enough of the old me, I think it's time to talk about the new me and the story behind it. This story starts with a mailbox. I was fifteen and absolutely pumped about my upcoming birthday. Turning sixteen meant driving, it meant the best year of my life yet, it meant finally being old enough to have my dream of finding my modified prince charming become an actual possibility. School was great, I wouldn't classify myself as the most popular girl in school but by no means was I a loser on the bottom of the social ladder. I had my solid circle of friends that were always there me just like I was always there for them. Everything was going great, that is, until a few days before my birthday.

It was the first week of August and there was a dry heat covering the majority of my home state of Connecticut. My mom was at work and my friend had just called me to let me know that our school schedules had come in the mail. I ran out my front door faster than an olympic sprinter and whipped open the front of the mailbox with excessive force. Finding out which friends I would have in my classes the next year was always an anxiety filled part of my summer, but nonetheless, I couldn't wait for it to happen.

As I was sifting through the piles of bills and magazines addressed to my mom I kept my eyes open for the annual envelope with our school colors on the front. What caught my eyes instead, however, was a bright pink envelope addressed to one Rebeca Mitchell. It wasn't very often that I got mail but I dismissed the thought knowing that it was probably a birthday greeting from a distant relative. After all, the handwriting did look vaguely familiar. I put down the remainder of the stack of mail and investigated the envelope. I tore open the seal, began to read the front of the card located inside and from here on everything happened in slow motion. I slowly took in the words on the outside, and failed to comprehend much beyond this point,

"To My Dearest Daughter" the first line read,

"Im so proud of all you've accomplished in your very young life, heres to many more wondrous years" read the remainder.

Still thoroughly confused I slowly opened up the card and my eyes landed on enough words to write a small novel on the inside where there was barely room for a customary birthday greeting. I began reading, and with every word became more and more bewildered.

"Rebeca,

While I know there is no excuse to even begin to make up for these past 12 years, I thought I would take your 16th Birthday as an opportunity to start making amends between us and take the first step in apologizing for not being there for you. I love you with all my heart and I can not believe I let one foolish, impulsive decision affect our relationship so seriously. I sincerely hope that you take this letter as my first, but not last, apology so that I can have my daughter back in my life again. To put it quite simply, I miss you Rebeca. Your mother has my contact information if you would like to get in touch. Please, I beg of you, let me try and fix what I have done. Happy Birthday,

Love, Dad"

I sat on the curb of my street for hours with the remains of the pink envelope scattered about around me and a faintly glittered Hallmark creation in between my hands. I simply didn't know what to think, so I sat. I sat there so long in utter confusion that I couldn't even process that it was getting dark. Soon enough my mother's car came around the bend in our street and the brightness of her headlights registered in my brain.

"Rebeca? Sweetie? What are you doing all alone out here? Why are you just sitting here? Sweetie? Answer me, what's wrong?"

My mother's game of twenty questions was one sided, and as I finally got up off the curb I shoved the card in her face and made a beeline for my room. After running up the stairs, slamming the door and collapsing onto my bed I could vaguely hear through the open window the "Oh dear…" my mother quietly let out from her spot in our driveway.

I didn't talk to her for two days. It was two days of endless scenarios running through my mind and endless possibilities of what could be going flashing through my daydreams and nightmares. On the second night, after realizing that I would drive my self crazy if I did not get some answers soon, I calmly walked downstairs, sat on the couch across the living room from my mother and said only two words, "Explain it."

She seemed to know that there was no hiding anything now and gave me the full explanation. As she spoke, the untold truth tore my insides to pieces, but on the outside I was determine not to falter. This woman who I wasn't even sure I knew anymore would not see me break, she would not know that she was making me weak.

My very own mother went on to explain how my Dad didn't die in a fatal crash when he went out to get milk. He was involved in a minor accident and, as soon as he healed, told my mother that due to recent events he realized that life was too short to be unhappy. This resulted in him completely abandoning my mother, their relationship, their lives together, but more importantly, me. He took off without a single goodbye except for a "see ya" to my mom as he left the hospital for the last time.

My mother, in her genius mind, decided that it would be better for a four year old to grow up thinking that her father was dead rather than thinking he didn't love her.

"I was always going to tell you honey," My mom said as she tried come across the living room and put her arms around me,

"I just could never find the right time to spring the news on you." I shrugged her arms off me and stood up with glaring eyes,

"Did you honestly think this was what's best for me?" I argued with words coming out of my mouth like fire, "In what world would it be to okay to tell a child her father is dead when he is perfectly healthy? That is so fucked up I literally can't even begin to process it!"

She tried to stop me, stop the profanities from flowing from my mouth, stop any of it really, but nothing could hold me back now, "Was any of it true? Was any of what you told me about your 'undying love' for each other true or was it all bullshit?! You know what, don't even answer that fucking question, I don't want to hear it."

My voice had risen to a full on scream at this point, "This is so fucked up that I can't tell who I hate more at this point! My father who abandoned me or my mother who told me my father was dead! What the fuck is wrong with both of you?!"

I finished my rant with tears flowing down my face and barely speaking coherent words. I didn't wait for a futile attempt at a response from my mother and instead ran up to my room and once again slammed my door.

It was at this point that everything changed. I lost all contact with everyone I knew, after all, if I could't trust my own family then who could I trust? Certainly not a group of friends with no blood relation at all. If my own father couldn't love me then what boy would ever be able to? The answer was simple; none. I shut out my mother completely, she didn't deserve my attention. I didn't even bother to contact my father. After all he was basically dead to me anyways and if he couldn't love me 12 years ago what should make me believe he could love me now?

I started drowning myself in my music and something that had been a charming little hobby before, ultimately became my oxygen. I could spend hours putting every thought and emotion into a mix without having to speak to a single person about how I truly felt. And when I wasn't working on a mix I was out figuring out where to get my next stash of alcohol from and who I could screw next.

I lost my virginity four months after that fateful card came, to a guy who told me he'd give me cheap pot if I banged him in the back of his chevy. With nothing to loose I told him yes. I don't even remember his name.

After the drugs and alcohol came the tattoos. The first one was simply to piss my mother off, but then they began to really mean something to me and I realized that the tattoos were a way besides my mixes that I could express myself. So yeah, that's how I came to be the sketchy, alternative, emo girl, scowling in a group of smiling faces at my high school graduation wishing nothing more than to be able to leave this fucking dump of a town behind.