She was at it again. It was baffling. This was the fifth night in a row the redhead had ventured down Beca's street and plunked down onto a swinging green seat with the vigor and excitement only a child hyped up on too many cookies could encompass. And it really wasn't that Beca was necessarily keeping an eye out for her every night, she had just...noticed.
Beca tried to understand, she really did, but she just could not wrap her mind around it for the life of her favorite headphones. How could an eighteen year old female, who'd just graduated number six from her high school and earned a full Choral scholarship to Barden University, be so embarrassingly childish?
It's quite unfair, the versatility that is Chloe Beale. At any given moment, Chloe could pass as a teen idol, strutting down the street on an evening walk with her shimmery red hair looking as though it had been styled by a professional (really though, was she hiding a beautician in her bathroom cupboards?) and a rosy hue about her cheeks due to the incessant humidity - which in fact raised more questions about her hair, because no one's hair was supposed to look good in 85% humidity. She often wore shorts that were maybe a little too short, with frays at the hem and tears at the pockets, and colorful flowing shirts that occasionally clung to her stomach.
Beca always thought she looked ready to jump onto the recording set of some cliché techno summer single music video, where she'd be running down a beach singing with low thumps of bass and high synth beats, all leading her to some shirtless boy coming out of the surf with a dramatic hair flip. Ugh. The only way Beca would be okay with that would be if she were the one who produced said cliché techno summer single and was making tons of money from it - because let's be honest, most of Beca's mixes were better than the stuff littering the radio right now.
Despite Chloe's glittering exterior and often alluring first impressions, most of her glamour and magic is stripped away the moment her inner six year old breaks free from somewhere deep within her. She'd go from taking confident, calculated steps to swinging her head back and forth with her fists pumping in the air, cherry lips screaming out the lyrics to the newest Tove Lo radio single. All of her energy exploded from every inch of her body as she would dance her way, like there was no one else in the world to see her, to the rusty swing set in the poor excuse for a park that took residence across the street from Beca's house.
"You should go say hi. You two used to be such good friends."
Beca, cringing vigorously, swings her arms up in an ineffective execution of self-defense. "Geez! Dad, Jesus Christ, can you not do that?! Please?" Her shoulders roll backwards, attempting to forget the show she just put on and ignore her father's snickering. She was tiny, but she had no doubt she could pack a punch - it would be a considerably awkward punch, but it would still hurt!
Mr. Mitchell stuffs his hands into the pockets of his khaki slacks nonchalantly, looking at her incredulously. "Bec, I don't know what the norm is for you kids these days, but I'm pretty positive it doesn't involve watching others play in the park from afar every night."
Okay, that was a low blow - Beca had only been watching her for like, two minutes, maybe. Again, it wasn't like she was trying to be creepy or anything, she had just drifted off to la-la-land...while she silently judged Queen Chloe from her living room window. Yeah. Not creepy.
Beca's eyes roll to the moon and back. "Okay, one: since when have I ever cared what the norm was? And two: I was just thinking about how immature she is." Her pointer and middle finger jut out respectively as she speaks, and she makes sure to fully pronounce every syllable in 'immature' almost as a way to showcase her own maturity. "It's sad, actually. She should really develop some adult hobbies."
He sighs and shoot his daughter his best 'I'm Your Father, Listen to Me' look with a drop of his shoulders, "You never have cared about fitting in, I guess. But," his head dips and his eyebrows raise condescendingly, which does nothing but make Beca feel like she is a twelve year old being chastised for throwing erasers at a school mate, "Sometimes reconnecting to your childhood can be good for you. You grew up too fast, Bec, and it wouldn't hurt for you to get out and have some innocent fun one of these days. You could learn a little something from Miss Beale."
Choking back her pride and an unnecessary comment that would likely lead her father to smashing her laptop into pieces on the driveway, she diverts to chewing on the inside of her cheek and crosses her arms. She despised it when her father tried to teach her some life lesson within the span of two quick sentences, which somehow always held little connotations that Beca no longer had the energy to evaluate.
"Yeah. Well I'm eighteen, fully grown up and with no desire of having this 'innocent fun' you speak of." Which was only partially false; Beca was indeed considered a grown adult in the eyes of the state. But suddenly, she is also absolutely sure she could swing at least a foot higher than Chloe, height and body mass concentration and all. At least
Right now, however, she just knows she'd much rather be thinking about how ridiculous Chloe acts when she's by herself than be talking to her father about things she should be changing about herself.
Before gnawing a hole through her cheek, Beca shrugs off her father's attempt at a comforting shoulder pat with a huff and shuffles to her room, where she plugs her headphones into her laptop and works to find the perfect beat to match her newest mix.
Three days later, when Beca's jeep pulls into the driveway around seven in the evening, Beca being a tightly wound ball of anger, sleepiness, and lack of patience, she was exposed to a separate cluster of emotions upon seeing that Chloe was once again channeling her active six year old self across the street.
The night before, Beca's dad had informed her that she would be attending Barden University - no questions asked - to earn a degree before "running away and destroying her life" in L.A. Since then, she'd faced a steady flow of rude and crotchety customers during her shift at the local record store, asking idiotic questions such as why they didn't sell movies and where they could find the 1989 vinyl - Beca would never admit that she adored Taylor Swift, but still, why was that all anyone wanted?
All that aside, it was impossible to tell if Chloe's antics were adding to her frustration or lifting a weight off of her shoulders. Chloe's feet, clad in black Converse - the ones Beca remembered having bought for her years ago when she thought Chloe needed less color in her wardrobe - were digging into the ground and pushing her in a circle as she twisted the chains of the seat like a licorice rope. The chains tightened and Chloe could no longer rotate herself, so she stuck her feet out and let the potential energy that had built up release, slowly accelerating her in a circle until she was spinning rapidly.
It was a blur of fiery hair and silver chain links and white flashes of an open smile, and Beca knew if she were a little closer she could probably hear Chloe laughing over the squeak of the nuts and bolts barely holding the set together.
Some part of Beca wanted to run over and plop down on the seat next to the redhead and ask her how she was and tell her how sorry she was for leaving her and how much she wanted her back in her life. But doing so would erase the harsh reputation Beca had constructed - which was not acceptable.
She needed that reputation. Or rather, the idea of it, considering she had already graduated and high school politics were no longer an issue that Beca had to avoid like the plague through fierce death glares and disregard of everyone except her only friend Amy (who she was really only friends with because of her sense of humor).
And maybe sometimes she did take an earbud out to listen to Chloe talk in Advanced Government and Economics, but so what. Chloe's voice is calming, akin to slipping into a warm bath after a long day, or reading by a fire during a snowstorm.
Beca needed to be mentally and emotionally able to move on, away from her hometown, and venture on to somewhere better with a devil-may-care attitude, forgetting everything that had ever held her back. Most of all, she needed to be able to escape without being panged by guilt for the rest of her life for leaving everything behind - she already had enough guilt built up in her system due to one especially reckless abandonment on her part. But other than that little detail, so far she was good. She felt confident and mostly careless, and a swing set was not going to ruin all of that - she hoped.
So instead of running over to join play time with Chloe, she slammed her car door shut and dialed Amy, knowing she would have something ridiculously dangerous and/or stupid for them to do, and after the past few days, Beca would be up for anything that required zero thinking and tons of laughter. Screw innocent fun.
…
It was one-thirty in the morning. Literally, one-fucking-thirty, pitch black on the outskirts of the yellow light illuminating from the street poles - basically prime time for creepers and breeding ground for bad intentions - and Crazy Chloe was still on those damned swings. Beca - bless her soul - had no idea what Amy had given her, but her mind would not stay still, let alone stay on one track - had been standing on her driveway squinting and mushing her lips together nervously for what felt like a lifetime (but was probably only thirty seconds) contemplating going over to tell Chloe just how insane she was.
It seemed like a fantastic idea in her boggled head, but her legs didn't want to budge. Almost like her brain was trying to save her from some galactic embarrassment to be had from speaking to Chloe Beale whilst under some influence.
But...she just really wanted to talk to her, and Beca never was good with impulse control.
"Hey!" Beca shouts at an odd and harsh whispery tone. "Heeey!" She repeats, drawing out the vowel until Chloe looks up at her from her lap, the swing barely rocking.
Upon seeing that Chloe has acknowledged her, Beca raises her right hand up high and flails it about in an exaggerated motion that really shouldn't even be considered a wave. Chloe hesitantly waves, her fingers splayed open. It was obvious that she was baffled, especially since Beca hadn't spoken a word to her in a year and a half. Beca was too busy rattling her hand off of her wrist to pay mind to Chloe's stiff demeanor.
"Beca?" She says, just loud enough for the brunette to hear, but courteous of the sleeping neighbors surrounding them. That was Chloe for you: always finding a way to please everyone.
Beca feels a stupid grin crack open on her face, feeling like she's just met a celebrity - which is weird, because it's just Chloe. She's spoken to Chloe before. She's had Chloe for class, known her for years.
But then again...it's just Chloe. Chloe had been there with a tray of double fudge brownies when Beca turned sixteen. Chloe had cradled her head in her lap when her dad asked for the step-monster's hand in marriage. And Beca had been there for Chloe, on that damned swing set, kneeling in front of the redhead, letting her pull petals from daisies every time her ex-boyfriends had been pretentious assholes. Let her spill her worries when her brother had joined the Marines and been deployed to Afghanistan. Let her cry her eyes out when a letter came back in his stead.
"Shh, I'm right here Chlo." Beca gazed up at Chloe from her position in front of the redhead and nearly burst into tears herself. Seeing Chloe cry was easily Beca's least favorite thing in the world. She was willing to dye her hair magenta, watch Sixteen Candles every day for the rest of her life and go tone deaf if it meant never seeing Chloe cry again.
Reaching up, Beca lightly brushes some auburn strands from Chloe's face. She was wracked with sobs and had not been able to form a proper sentence since she'd called Beca to meet her here - and even then Beca had trouble piecing together the story. Apparently, Chloe had woken up that morning to see her father sitting alone in the kitchen with a letter in his hand. Her mother had stayed in bed all day, and for days after that. Chloe had turned to Beca.
"I just…why? Why does this-" Chloe hiccuped and Beca shushed her again, grabbing her wrists and pulling her gently onto the ground with her and letting the redhead clutch onto her; Chloe tugged tighter on Beca's charcoal Panic! At The Disco shirt to pull herself closer, her leaky eyes soaking Beca's shoulder and neck. Beca didn't know what to say - what were you supposed to say during an event such as this? How could anyone fill such a hole?
Beca hummed Chloe's favorite songs and stroked her hair, feeling completely useless. Chloe finally gave in to the tear induced exhaustion and let her body slump to the grass, resting her head in Beca's lap and holding onto her thighs for dear life. Chloe hadn't vocally asked her to stay, hadn't put that pressure on her, but fingers digging into Beca's thighs were enough to convey all that and more.
But Beca didn't listen. She stopped speaking to her. Stopped answering her texts, stopped meeting her at the swing set. It hurt too much, being close to Chloe Beale, for a number of reasons. One being she was barely holding herself together - she knew one day it would all come tumbling down, and she didn't want to take the rest of Chloe out when it happened. She saw how Chloe had hurt - and saw how she had endured - and for some reason that she would never comprehend, thought that Chloe would be better off without her mood swings and her indecision over everything under the sun. She refused to acknowledge that she was Chloe's anchor, and that she was hers.
The second being the way her heart swelled when Chloe would playfully bump her shoulder, and how her smile was more contagious than mono. Not that Beca would really mind if Chloe were the one to give her mono. However, she was Chloe Beale, and she dated quarterbacks and foreign exchange students with exotic accents. Not her moody best friend who held dreams bigger than she could truly idealize within her tiny body.
But dammit, Beca had made the decision to distance herself, and did so immediately. And it wasn't like she could run back to Chloe after dissing her so many times, like "Hey, sorry for leaving when you needed me the most, buuut I'm here now! Buds? Buds."
To shelter herself from the nagging self-loathing and her cravings to be near Chloe and all of her wonder, she had convinced herself that setting Chloe free to drift away was the smart thing to do when she decided she wanted to leave to L.A. She'd rather Chloe get over the absence of her sooner than later - and she would rather do the same, although her decision had come to bite her in the ass every time she saw Chloe push herself to and fro on the plastic seat.
"Hi," Beca shout-whispers, standing straight as a plank. "What are you doing?" She can hear the giddiness in her voice, but doesn't really recognize the way it makes her sound exactly like what she's been making fun of Chloe for being: a child.
"Beca?" Chloe voice is dripping with concern, but it's not enough to dampen Beca's excitement upon hearing Chloe speak her name. "Are you...are you okay?"
Beca feels her head bob violently, jarring her mind for a second. She feels great, until: "Are you drunk or something?" And suddenly she feels more sober than she ever has in her life, because she's making an absolute fool of herself in front of Chloe Beale. Queen Chloe. Crazy Chloe. Whatever.
Forgetting all the things Beca might have told herself before in order to forget the ginger, in that moment she was only certain of one thing in the entire universe: Chloe Beale was perfection. Supreme perfection bottled up into one petite, redheaded, angel-voiced human being. Maybe this wasn't the first time Beca had realized it, but it was definitely the first time it had fallen on her conscious so heavily, the first time is actually held footing in the forefront of her thoughts.
The air around Beca felt fresh and warm, and her vision was no longer shuttering and shrouded. A displaced chill racked up her spine and she could feel a fire burning on her cheeks and neck. As much as she wanted to run up and grab Chloe's face and tell her about how fucking flawless she was and how she deserved the universe and how Beca desperately wanted to be the one to give it to her one star at a time…she knew it would be the worst thing she could do at this point.
"Beca, wait there. I'm coming, okay? Just stay there." Chloe spoke like she was instructing a kindergartener and was shifting off the swing to make her way towards Beca. In that moment, Beca's feet could finally be pried from the cement and her flight instincts were screaming at her to bail and hide under her midnight purple bed sheets.
She actually does turned to run, but not even two steps in, her foot collides with an uneven sidewalk slab and she flies outward, her arms stretching to desperately break her fall.
And they do, somewhat. Oh so painfully.
"Beca! Oh my - are you okay?" Within two seconds, Chloe's rapid footsteps approach Beca and she is kneeling down to help the clumsy brunette. Her hand rests gingerly on Beca's back before Beca heaves herself over onto her side, leading Chloe's hand to rest along the dip above her hips.
And Beca really just needs her to remove her hand, because the weight of it is overpowering the ache in her knees and she kind of needs to know what hurts in order to give Chloe an answer.
"Oh my God, do I need to call an ambulance? Or get a first-aid kit? Are you bleeding?"
Beca hears the urgency in Chloe's voice and if she wasn't dying from humiliation, she would probably be laughing, because it's not like she had been struck by a car, or stabbed by a madman. She simply tripped; but Chloe enjoyed over dramatizing everything. She claimed it made life more exciting, like a novel or a movie.
"Beca," Chloe whispers from her swing one foot away, kicking her feet forwards and backwards, "do you ever feel like your life is like a book?"
Beca, whose face was slack with content just seconds ago, raises one eyebrow and scrunches her nose. "No, Chlo. I never feel like my life is like a book. I'm not sure I even know what you mean by that."
An adorable snort followed by a giggle spills from the redhead, and if Beca didn't know better, she would guess the girl felt silly at saying such a thing...but Beca did know better. She knew Chloe had a mental ten page essay in her head with quotes and in-text citations about how life could be like a work of literature.
"You know, like those indie novels. The ones where there's a main character, typically with a depressing backstory, who decides they're done following the rules and being chained down. So, they pack a bag with not enough clothes and too many keepsakes, and then they set off hitchhiking down their small town's only highway, and face all these obstacles, then in the end they find somewhere they feel at home and can finally find peace with themselves."
Once she's done, she expectantly gazes over to Beca, who's spent the entire time listening while staring at her shoes with her lips parted.
"Moment like these," Chloe continues, "I feel like it's something to be read about in a book, or seen in a movie. I get this nostalgic feeling when we do this, like I miss it even though it's still happening. I never want it to end." After a long, contemplative moment, Chloe adds softly, "I think you would be an interesting main character."
And as flattering as that might sound, Beca, being incapable of having a serious conversation 90% of the time, gapes at Chloe. "Whoa Beale, my upbringing was not that depressing. Just because I was forced to attend ballet against my will until I was eight and had a questionable fashion sense until I met you does not mean it was depressing."
Chloe swings over to nudge Beca's knee with her calf, "I'm serious! I'm not saying all of that applies to you, I'm just saying that between the two of us, you would definitely write a better story. That's all." She ends her sentence with a cheeky smile.
Beca thinks that if she were to write a story, Chloe would most definitely be the main character.
"No, no, and no," Beca groans in response, sounding pained, "I'm fine. I kind of landed on my boobs, but I'll live." She finally rolls comfortably onto her back, which makes her body ache slightly less, but now Chloe's hand is on her stomach. Beca's abdominals tense at the empty sensation it leaves when it slips off to hover over Chloe's mouth as she tries to cover up her quiet laughter.
"Stop. Please. Please stop," Beca mutters pathetically with a pouty bottom lip. Her forearm shifts up to cover her eyes dramatically. "God, I cannot believe all this just happened. Can we like, just forget about this? Please?" She peeks one eye out from under her arm to see what Chloe is doing, and is baffled to see Chloe wearing a sad yet amused smile, her eyes watching Beca carefully. "And I feel very tiny and weak right now in light of what just occurred, so I would appreciate if you would stop looking at me like I'm some wounded puppy."
"Oh, Beca," Chloe taunts, pressing her lips together tightly as to hold a grin back, but Beca can see the conniving glint in her wide eyes, "but you are tiny."
If it were anyone else, Beca would have stood up and limped away without another glance to whoever had mocked her height, and would never speak to them again...but it was Chloe. So she was alright when they both burst into laughter, Beca slightly more hesitant to do so than Chloe, and she was alright when Chloe's head fell upon her stomach when she hunched over from laughing so hard.
She was alright when Chloe stood up and helped Beca maneuver to her feet. She was not all that good, though, when Chloe pulled her in for a tight embrace and murmured that she missed her into her hair. She didn't want to say it back, didn't want to admit it. But she does, very quietly, half of her hoping the redhead missed it.
She knows Chloe heard it though, when the redhead pulls her away by her waist, squeezing Beca's sides tighter, staring at her with eyes that hold so many emotions and messages. It's as exhilarating as it is terrifying, because the longer Beca holds her gaze, the more secrets flood into her from Chloe. Everything she'd missed out on for a year and a half, all forcing its way in and crashing down like a tidal wave. All of it just intensifies Beca's adoration and pull to the ginger, makes her want to cradle her face and taste the peppermint gloss coating her lips.
Beca isn't sure what expressions paints her face, but it must have shared something similar to Chloe's. Something in the redhead's jaw shifts, and blue eyes remain focused while somehow appearing glazed over. Understanding and agreement mixed with uncertainty and fear.
Chloe leans in tentatively, like she isn't sure if she should do what she wants to do or not, but she is aware she has gone too far to go back now. She is committed.
Her lips drag from the side of Beca's mouth up to her cheekbone and she presses a full kiss to it. Many of Beca's senses grow to be overwhelmingly occupied; the feeling of Chloe's mouth and hands on not enough of her body, the smell of her tropical lotion encasing them, the sound of their heartbeats, the red of her hair barely distinguishable in the dark despite being centimeters away.
Chloe's fingertips trail off of Beca's hips slowly as she pulls her face away. It takes all of Beca's self-restraint to not pull her back into her and beg her to never stop. Her regrets of being unable to do just that make her temples throb as Chloe backs away, step by step, and waves a good-bye with a secretive, knowing half smirk, before spinning around to walk home.
It's frightening, because that smile…it revealed too much. It was proof that Chloe heard Beca's words, spoken and unspoken. Proof that Chloe knows.
Beca is sure she knows when she wakes up the next morning to find a plate of double fudge brownies on her doorstep.
Might possibly do a sequel with a higher rating. Haven't decided yet. Let me know what you think! Thanks for reading :) tumblr: cloverbomb