Friday evening.

"Are you going to drive me to the hospital next week?"

It's a simple question, one that gets asked probably thousands of times per day day.

"No."

The problem with simple questions though, is that they often beg simple answers.

"Why not?"

But sometimes it's the simple questions followed by the simple answers that induce and conclude the most complex situations. Think about it.

Will you marry me?

Yes.

Simple question. Simple answer. But these hypothetical people will spend the rest of their lives together, eternally intertwined by this five-word exchange. Well, half of them will anyway. What with the divorce rates and all. Excuse the tragic realism. I digress.

"Because."

"Because is not an answer. It's the beginning of an answer." She's right, so all I can do is shrug. "Beca, don't make this any harder than it is."

"No one could make this any harder than it is. Not even Ke$ha. Not even God."

"You don't believe in God."

She's right again. It's getting annoying.

"But I do believe in Ke$ha."

"Ke$ha probably could make this harder than it is. She'd throw glitter in your eyes. Or whiskey. Or both."

"Don't fucking joke about this."

Her blue eyes barely register a reaction to the curse. Maybe I broke her of that peeve, or maybe she just figures it's not worth pointing out with so little time left between us. "Why can't I make a joke? You did."

"The one being left gets to make the jokes."

"Oh? I hadn't heard that."

"It's from Sex and the City."

"You don't watch Sex and the City."

Right again. I'm starting to feel a little bit like I can't breathe.

"Can you stop acting like you know me?"

"It does sound like it would be from Sex and the City though." Her version of an apology. We've worn out our use of the word sorry. I cringe inwardly at the fact that she doesn't bother to assure me that she does know me, but there's not much time to wallow before she's speaking again. "Please come to dinner with me. The girls miss you."

I glance up. She looks gorgeous. But I can't tell her that anymore. It would break down the bridge that I've carefully been building between us in these last summer months. "No."

"You're going to need them when I'm gone."

"Shut up."

I watch her gaze fall to the ground. It's bitter and mean and I know that and I hate myself for talking to her that way. But it's another brick in the bridge, and pretty soon I'm going to need that bridge.

"I'll bring you something home."

"I'm not hungry."

"But later -"

"Fuck, Chlo, just leave!"

And she does. I watch her go and stand still in the kitchen for a moment. This is it what it will be like when she's gone. My throat feels dry so I grab the nearest bottle and press it to my lips, closing my eyes and swallowing until I can't any more.

August, the year prior.

"They make me want to hurl," Fat Amy mumbled under her breath, hitching her blonde head of hair towards the entrance of the auditorium.

Chloe glanced up, bright blue eyes falling fixedly on Beca and Jesse.

"All I know is that to me," the brown haired boy was crooning, holding his hand over his heart and kneeling on the floor in front of his girlfriend. "You look like you're lots of fun! Open up your loving arms…"

Jesse stood. Ideally Beca would have played along and opened up her arms, but she wasn't that girl. Her eye rolls and mocking glares were part of her charm. He dragged his foot along the carpet, mimicking a bull about to charge before finishing the hook of the horrid Dead or Alive 80's song. "Watch out here I comeeeee…"

"You spin me right round, baby, right round…" Chloe hummed, pulling her eyes off the couple and returning her attention to the book in her lap. Auditions didn't start for another ten minutes and her Comparative Literature textbook for some reason felt more appealing than watching Beca and Jesse make metaphorical musical babies. She swung her summer tanned legs back and forth from the edge of her seat, continuing to hum the melody of Jesse's song until Amy interrupted her again.

"They make me want to -" she didn't have a chance to finish before Chloe cut her off.

"Hurl. You said that already. Aubrey will be here soon, and you know how sensitive she is about -"

"Aca-kill myself," the most humorous Bella finished flatly.

"That's not even clever…" Chloe mumbled.

Sliding into a seat next to Chloe, Beca rolled her eyes. "Jeez. Never thought that was gonna end. Can you die from cutesyness?"

"Oh, please," Chloe drawled back. "Drop the Kristen Stewart I-hate-everything act. You know you like it." She bumped shoulders with the younger girl and grimaced when she heard Amy making gagging noises on the other side of her.

Beca's eyes went wide, mouth hanging open in absolute horror as she was compared to the star of tween Vampire flicks. "I am NOT Kristen Stewart! And I do NOT hate everything just…I feel like I'm in an episode of Glee 98% of the time with him…it's starting to make me Aca-xausted."

Blinking for a moment, Beca let what she'd just blurted out sink in. How had that happened?

"Beca?" Amy began, leaning over and poking her head into the conversation. "Are you perhaps familiar with that sweet American movie in which the beautiful yellow dog contracts rabies and is subsequently killed by his master in an effort to rid him of his misery?"

"Old Yeller?" Chloe chirped. She was always the first to offer help…not always the quickest to notice where it was heading however.

"You, I'm afraid," Amy hung her head sadly here, and paused to shake it before finishing her sentence. "Have become that dog. Jesse effectively bit you, transferred his sickness onto you, and now someone must put you out of your misery." She glanced at Chloe and made a gun-cocking motion with her hand. "Who's gonna do it then?"

Chloe swat playfully at Amy, admonishing her in that motherly way that the girls all knew her for. "That's enough."

Amy obliged and settled back in to her seat, but not before pointing her finger gun at Beca behind Chloe's back and pulling the fake trigger. Her lips mouthed the word "bang" and then she turned her attention to the empty stage.

Beca's eyes went wide. "Jesus, she's right though! Amy, swear to me if I start to act like I'm in Grease or Hairspray or another of those insipid Broadway shows…promise me you'll plug me here."

"Hairspray wasn't that bad," Chloe mumbled distractedly, leafing through her book.

Beca ignored her. Raising her thumb, she pressed it to the bridge of her nose. "Right here, y'see? Between the eyes, severing the medula oblongata quickly and painlessly. I'll be dead before I hit the floor and everything will go back to normal."

"Like I said," Chloe soothed, patting Beca's bare knee before letting her fingers rest there for a second, eyes still on her book. It was one of those comforting moves that came naturally to her. She'd always had a soft spot for the younger dark haired cynic, and she didn't want there to be any issues between the Bellas so early in the year. "Ignore her."

Disturbed from her little rant by the feeling of Chloe's hand on her knee, Beca glanced down, then up at the older female, arching an inquisitive eyebrow. Chloe had always been touchy-feely and seemingly devoid of boundaries, but it had never really affected her before.

Maybe she was reading too much into it.

"Girrrrrlfriend," Amy crooned, doing her best ghetto voice in Beca's direction. "If it should get that unfortunate I solemnly swear that I will plug you like a tampon plugs -"

"We get it!" Chloe shrieked, covering her ears and closing her eyes.

"Christ. You're not twelve years old, biotch. Say it with me, men-stru-a-tion…Go on. Say it, then."

Chloe cleared her throat and settled her hands in her lap, regaining her composure. Fat Amy was funny, but there were freshmen around, and making a good impression was the most important thing for a Bella.

"No one will be plugging anyone." She looked back and forth between Beca and the blonde. "Clear?"

"You were probably quite grateful the last time you received yours," Amy mumbled, crossing her arms over her chest.

"My what?" Chloe questioned, brow raising. Amy snickered, reaching out to high-five Beca - who returned the favor, but looked a bit guilty in doing so.

Chloe looked back and forth between them."My WHAT?"

"The last time you saw your Aunt Flo?" Amy clarified. "Are you pickin' up what I'm puttin' down? Surfed the crimson wave? Rode the cotton pony?"

Chloe's lips settled into a nice o shape as the realization dawned on her. She chose to set a good example. "That is inappropriate and I won't hear any more of it. I'll have you know that I spent the entire summer studying hanging out with my grandparents at Lake Erie and -"

"Sucking loads of man-cock?"

"AMY!" Chloe could feel her face turning bright red, and Amy laughed so hard that she fell out of her chair.

Beca couldn't help but snort a little, although she at least had the courtesy to try and hide it behind her hand. Amy might not be to everyone's taste, but there was no questioning the girl was funny. "Okay, okay. That's enough. Let's stop before Chloe's head explodes."

Chloe's glossed lips pressed into a thin grateful smile. It caught her a little by surprise that Beca didn't jump right in on the fun, but she was too grateful to question it too much.

"Aca-hola everyone!" Aubrey chirped, sliding into the row next to Beca. The movement elevated Chloe's surprise, but again, she suppressed it. Aubrey and Beca had a tumultuous past, and if they could all get along this year things would be much smoother.

"What?" Amy questioned, brows furrowing in confusion. "It is pronounced 'holla,' white woman."

"I'm not speaking ghetto, Fat Amy. Spanish. Like from Mexico?" She paused. "And you're white."

Chloe could feel her mouth twisting into a smirk. Aubrey had spent the summer working Habitat for Humanity in Mexico. It seemed like an honest thing to do, but if Chloe knew her friend at all it was just something to put on a college application. She'd probably spent the eight weeks drinking tequila and screwing boys like…a whore on tequila. The redhead opened her mouth to ask about the trip but the auditions MC stepped onto the stage and interrupted her thought process.

"Here we go ladies."