A/N: Hey guys! Along with Perfect Timing and a Perky Redhead, I decided to also write a three-shot based on "The Lightning Strike" by Snow Patrol while the inspiration for this is still fresh. Each chapter will be based off the three movements of the song – I. What If This Storm Ends? II. The Sunlight Through the Flags, and III. Daybreak
I hope you all enjoy because it's a new style for me because it is fairly more angsty than I'm used to and it's in first person. Anyway, on with the story!
I. What If This Storm Ends?
"What if this storm ends?
And I don't see you
As you are now
Ever again"
It was an average Saturday night, nothing new, nothing that differed much from how most of our Saturday nights went.
I smiled as my wife – my actual, legal, beautiful wife – of three years sat down across from me in the small diner. Beca immediately grabbed my hand that lay on the table and held it, absentmindedly dancing her fingers across my skin. I smiled playfully at the brunette. "You know," I stated matter-of-factly, "you would have freaked out if I held your hand in a restaurant when we first started dating."
Beca chuckled, not even bothering to deny it as her thumb moved across the ladybug tattooed on my wrist. "Well, that was also seven years ago back when I actually had some boundaries around you."
"I guess I rubbed off on you then, huh?" I smirked, the innuendo clear in my tone.
Beca rolled her eyes, but smiled back. "Says the girl who is smirking. Who'd you pick that mannerism up from, huh?"
"All the teenagers I teach at UCLA," I remarked sarcastically. Honestly though, it was partially true: teaching college students meant I was constantly surrounded by innuendo and suggestive looks.
"Sarcasm too? Damn, I really made an impression on you, Chloe," Beca smirked, reminding me far too much of back when my 25 year old wife used to be the 18 year old "alt girl" who enraged Aubrey more than almost any other person I had ever met.
"You most certainly did, Mrs. Mitchell," I replied sincerely. Beca smiled and looked down, a faint red spreading across her cheeks. How did I get so lucky? It was so strange to think that my stepping into her shower might have been the smartest thing I had ever done (and have done countless times since). Although, after the Bella's finale, when Beca ran up to me instead of Jesse, (a fact that led to many strains between Jesse and I for the rest of our time at college while Beca majored in Music and I got my masters in teaching from Barden) and kissed me, well, I figured I may have met someone worth spending my life with. Looking at the brunette across from me, her hair down and her dark blue eyes looking back up at me, I was once again reassured that Beca Mitchell was the most unexpected and most amazing thing to ever happen to me.
The tattooed waitress approached our table. "What can I get you ladies?"
The two of us ordered some dinner, and mindlessly chattered until our food arrived. Beca dropped my hand to scarf into the food that was presented in front of her. I giggled and teased her eating manners.
Beca swallowed her massive bite from her hamburger and smiled back sheepishly. "Sorry Chlo, it's been a long day at the record label, and now I'm DJing tonight at the club."
My smile dropped slightly. "I know, I was just messing with you. I wish you could come home with me tonight instead." I sighed. My wife was an incredible music producer, and she did gigs every Saturday as stress reliefs. This dinner together became tradition quickly after the routine developed so we could see each other, and we had never missed a day since. The location may change, and maybe the time, but Beca and I always made time for each other. Always.
Beca smiled sadly. "I'll be home by three am, and you'll wake up with me there in the morning."
I smiled and leaned over the table to press a quick peck against Beca's lips. "Good answer," I whispered.
"You trained me well," Beca retorted, her voice oozing with sarcasm. I laughed and reconnected our hands as we ate.
Once our meal was over, Beca had to get going to the club. We left money on the table and walked out into the dark brisk Los Angeles air that surrounded us. Hand in hand, we walked to where our cars were parked side by side.
The petite girl grabbed my waist and pressed me against her car, kissing me passionately. I pressed my lips against my wife's, still feeling all the clichéd feelings I felt seven years ago, stronger than ever. We broke apart; our forehead's pressed against each other.
"I love you, Beca Mitchell," I said, staring into her eyes.
She smiled in reply. "I love you too, Chloe Mitchell."
I woke up, expecting Beca to be there with me like she told me she would. Realization struck me and shot through my entire body to my core, and knocked the air out of me. The tears were immediate, pouring down my face as I tried to control my breathing. Apparently, I was still too loud, because the door swung open to reveal the tall blonde.
Aubrey walked over to me and cradled me in her arms, allowing me to cry over the dream – the memory – I had woke from.
The last time I talked to you, Beca, was two weeks ago. Instead of waking up to you in bed with me the next morning, I woke up to a loud pounding on the door. Instead of my wife being there, it was a police officer.
Instead of you being with me, you were dead.
And it was all because someone shot you for your fucking car when you tried to come home to me that night.
I sobbed harder into my best friend, feeling my chest constrict and the omnipresent sadness take over my soul. "Come back, Beca," I whimpered helplessly into Aubrey's chest, not caring how desperate I sounded at the moment. "Please, come back to me," I cried, as lightning cracked outside of my window and rain poured. Let the storm come, I thought to myself. My sun disappeared two weeks ago on a dark street at night, and the rest of her sunshine leaked away. "I l-love you, B-Beca, c-come back…come back…"
It was an average Saturday night, nothing new, nothing that differed much from how most of our Saturday nights went. That was, until the moment you died, Beca Mitchell.
A/N 2: Told you it was angsty…
Also, just for those of you bothered by the use of "you" in the last part of the chapter, I just felt it was the best way to communicate "to Beca" through Chloe's point of view, which I'm honestly not sure is completely grammatically accurate, but I'm taking some creative license there.
Until next time.
