A/N: This story is based on the book Flip by Martyn Bedford.

Disclaimer: I do not own Flip or Pitch Perfect.


TOM

CHAPTER ONE

DAY ONE - 07:53 A.M.

Like most mornings, Beca was brought into consciousness by the sound of banging on the door. Furrowing her eyebrows, she groaned and turned onto her side, nuzzling her head into her pillow groggily. Her mother usually let her sleep on a few more minutes after waking her up, so she let her entire body relax, sinking into the mattress. She must have been laying on her arm all night, as it felt oddly numb beneath her, as if it was detached from her body entirely. Moving her arm slowly out from beneath her, she raised her leg up and trapped some of the duvet in-between her legs, wincing at how difficult it was for her to do so, the muscles in her stomach relaxing after the great effort she just used. Beca slowly shifted onto her stomach and breathed in deeply, before frowning at the unfamiliar scent surrounding her.

Her eyes sprung open.

Something was off.

She immediately moved onto her back, her eyes wide with bafflement and horror. Her pupils darted around the sunlit room, her temples beginning to ache in fear. She lay in that one spot, unable to move as she let her surroundings soak in, taking in the posters of various football players and bands Beca thought were crap, taking in the large, wooden desk in the corner that nowhere near resembled her own desk, and also taking in the room before her that was most definitely not her room. She twisted her neck so she could stare directly in front of her, and saw a closet, wide open, full with male clothing, each t-shirt and hoodie more jock-like than the last, resulting in an inevitable eye roll from Beca. Turning her head again, she looked down at the floor beside the bed, to see clothes that very obviously belonged to a boy (or man, given how big they were), crumpled in a messy pile by the bedside locker. This caused Beca to frown, wondering briefly where her own clothes were.

It was clear that she was in a college dorm, as it seemed that all of this boy's possessions cluttered this half of the room, ranging from an acoustic guitar lying face down on the carpet, to heavy, open texts books resting on the desk. The other side of the room was a lot neater, with another bed in the corner, already made.

Beca would have been very confused, if it wasn't for the feel of the warm, soft sheets on her bare back and legs, indicating that she was very much naked. She scrunched her face up in frustration and cursed herself. She knew she got drunk the night before, but she didn't know she was that wasted. She had never had a one night stand before, and had never planned on it, and there she lay, in some strange guy's bed, who lived in a college dorm, it seemed, without a clue of where she was.

A loud, booming voice made its way through the door, startling Beca. "Tom, get the fuck up, man. Football practice starts in ten." Beca panicked, wondering if this guy was Tom's roommate. She was terrified to turn over to see that this guy was still in the bed, but she figured it was probably going to be impossible to get out of this room without knowing. Cringing with effort, she slowly rolled over to the left, one eye barely open, to see the other side of the bed completely empty. She sighed in relief, not without noting how odd her body felt at that moment. It felt heavy, yet impossibly fluid, almost as if she was still drunk.

More pounding on the door made her jump slightly, her heart rate increasing by the second. "Dude, it's eight in the morning. Get dressed and let's go!" This was what puzzled Beca the most out of that mornings events so far; it couldn't have been eight in the morning. It was December, there was no possibility of it being bright at eight. She turned to look at the window to the right of the bed to make sure she wasn't still in a daze and this Tom hasn't left the light on, and sure enough, sunlight beamed in through the glass, lighting up the entire room.

Beca sighed, growing more puzzled by the second. She was ready to heave herself out of bed, when something on the bedside locker caught her eye, stopping her dead in her tracks. Her heart halted it's beating altogether when she saw a digital clock, with the date printed on it, bold and large, impossible to miss.

April 16th.

That wasn't possible. Beca scrunched her eyes shut, and opened them again, trying to make sense of all of this. This Tom guy could have the wrong date on his clock, but that doesn't explain why it would be bright outside at eight in the morning, in December. She went through the events of the night before in her mind; she was dragged out to a club by her friends to celebrate Jessica's birthday, she had had a little too much to drink (evidently), and got a cab home with the girls, early because they had school the next day.

She had no recollection whatsoever of any encounters with a college student named Tom.

Beca raised her arms to her head, grasping it in anxiety. It took her a few seconds of heavy breathing, but once she noticed the weight of her hands on her scalp and the force she used to grab it, her eyes bulged out of her head. She had no idea she possessed such strength, but when she let her fingers expand, feeling them slip through short, tousled locks on top of her scalp, she reacted immediately. She stretched her arms out in front of her, and what she saw made her blood run completely cold, her entire body freezing.

Those were most certainly not her arms.

In a panic, Beca grabbed the duvet and flung it off her body, looking down in horror at what she was staring at.

And, well, if her arms weren't any indication that something was very wrong, then the penis she had, attached to a body that definitely didn't belong to her, certainly was.

She gasped, suddenly unable to breathe. A rush of adrenaline hit her, making her swing her legs over the side of the bed in a flash. She tried to stand up, but immediately crashed down to the carpet, moaning in pain, briefly forgetting her situation. Once her body caught up with her brain, she placed her large palms on the carpet, and with uncontrollably shaking arms, she hoisted herself up onto her knees, still in a flurry of anxiety. She slowly managed to rise to her feet, and, grabbing the desk chair for support, started taking short breaths, each one shallower than the last.

This was a dream. This couldn't not be a dream.

"Tom!" a voice from outside the door yelled, accompanied by more pounding. "You have one minute before I'm getting Dustin."

Beca lunged towards the door, hoping that the person on the other side of it might be able to supply her with some answers on what the fuck was going on. She took the handle and threw it open, it flying backwards so fast that it smashed against the wall, breaking through the paper of one of the posters that hung there. She clutched onto the doorframe for assistance, finding it impossible to stand up straight on her own.

The guy looked at her with annoyance in his eyes, before they flickered downwards. He immediately recoiled backwards a disgusted look on his face, bringing his arm up to shield his eyes. "Jesus, man. Put on some boxers."

"What is going on?" Beca managed, the sound of her voice surprising her. It was deep and masculine, causing a tickle to shoot up and down the inside of her throat.

The boy frowned at her, finally coming to his senses. "What the fuck do you mean, man? How much did you have to drink last night, Tom?"

"Tom?" Beca's arms were still shaking by her sides, and she moved them behind her back in an attempt to hide them. "I am not Tom."

The guy just stood there, his mouth hanging open a little bit. "Okay, man, I know you went out last night with some of the guys but I thought you would have known not to get too drunk the night before we had practise."

"I…" Beca stumbled over her words, her vision becoming blurry and spotty, as if she was about to pass out. "I need to go."

He simply looked at her, dumbfounded. Obviously, 'Tom' wasn't well known for having fits like this at eight in the morning. "Okay…? Put some underwear on first, at least." He smirked a bit at her, but Beca wasn't finding much humour in the situation.

She nodded vacantly, staggering over to her bed, and shoving her legs through the pair of boxers that were lying on the floor. Calvin Klein. If Beca wasn't in such a state, she would have rolled her eyes again because of course Tom was the type of guy to wear Calvin Klein.

She stood on shaky, long legs and shuffled over to the door, leaning against the doorframe once again. "Where are the bathrooms?" she demanded, completely overwhelmed.

"You've been living here in these dorms for months and you're honestly asking me that?" he laughed, disbelief lacing his tone, before looking at Beca's face and realising that there was no joke behind her words. "God, you must still be smashed. It's down the hall to your left, bro." He motioned down the corridor to Beca's right, his eyebrows pulled together, perplexed. "Don't drop dead on your way there, we need you for Saturday's game."

Beca was out the door immediately, scaling the wall as she went. Her feet banged heavily against the floor, the sensation completely alien to her. She got about halfway down the hall, when she heard the guy's voice from behind her. "Don't bother showing up for practise. Coach will strangle you if he sees you in this state."

Beca ignored him once again and pushed her way along the doors through the corridor, her palms running against the wall for support. Her eyes self consciously landed on the face of every person she passed along the way, their odd looks and surprised expressions making her feel even worse than she thought possible.

When she finally made it into the male dorm bathrooms, a sense of relief washed over her when she noticed that it was empty. She stumbled over to the sinks, grabbing hold of the cold marble, staring down at her large hands in disbelief. She was terrified to look up at the mirror, thinking that she would be unable to handle what awaited her. She didn't want to believe that this was happening. This couldn't be happening. It had to be a dream. This couldn't be real life.

Grinding her teeth, Beca took in a deep breath and slowly looked up, each second that passed sending stabbing sensations to her stomach. When she took in what she saw, everything just stopped.

The reflection staring back at her was a boy, or a man, rather, who was probably around eighteen or nineteen, but looked to be in his early twenties. His short brown hair lay in a messy, sleepy heap on his head, his astonished, suddenly alert eyes a deep, emerald green. His cheekbones were high and defined, and he raised a hand to drag his curious fingers along a sharp jawline. The light stubble on his cheeks and chin indicated that he hadn't shaved since the previous morning, and the lines on his forehead grew deeper and more fearful the more he was looked at. The 'ruggedly handsome' description suited him very well, his toned arm and ab muscles flexing as he reached his right hand up to cover an open mouth. The word jock sprung to mind when you looked at him, his shoulders square and his posture perfect.

Only, inside this masculine body was a female, Beca Mitchell, specifically, screaming and begging to be let out.

Beca toppled backwards in shock, frightened tears springing into her eyes. Her back hit a small door rather hard, and she placed a hand on her chest, trying but failing to breathe normally. Before she knew it, her oesophagus was voluntarily contracting, the back of her throat pulsing as she turned and crashed through one of the stall doors and hunkered down, holding onto the sides of the toilet for dear life as she dry heaved. She spluttered pathetically, sobs rippling through her body as she retched. The pain in her chest and head was unbearable, and after a few minutes of trying but failing to vomit, she let her new body fall to the floor in a heap, before pulling her legs up into herself and letting the side of her head drop against freezing tiles. She felt tears trickle down the side of her face and land on the floor below her eyes, and she clenched them, before closing them altogether.

This wasn't real. Was she in this guy's body? Was that even possible? Who was she?

More sobs irrupted from her chest as they finally made their way to her larynx, her mouth opening with a loud scream. It was deep and terrifying, causing Beca to clamp a hand over her mouth, her desperate cries muffled by her huge palm. She breathed deeply and slowly, her sobs quickly dying down, her mind and body suddenly too tired to continue.

Beca didn't know how long she was lying there, but the sound of sneakers approaching her brought her back to her senses. She almost wanted to get up, but given how heavy her entire body felt at that moment, she couldn't do it if she tried. She weakly raised her head to look at her company, a different guy to the one at the door, whose eyebrows shot up his forehead at the sight on her. "Rough night?" he asked with a smirk, his thick British accent not going unnoticed by Beca.

When she only replied by letting her head fall back down against the tiles, the boy tried again, clear concern in his voice this time. "Tom, mate, are you alright?"

Not possessing the energy to shake her head, Beca let her fingers twitch, giving him all the information he needed. "Okay, mate, let's get you up and back to our room."

Beca let this guy (or Tom's roommate, so it seemed), to place his hands on her back and, not without digging his nails into her shoulder blades, pulled her up to a sitting position, earning a hiss from Beca. She let her eyes fall on the man's outfit, and luckily he was wearing a name tag, presumably for work, which read 'Luke'.

Luke then moved behind her so he could push his arms through Beca's own. He twisted his wrists upwards so he could hold onto her shoulders, and then dragged Beca slowly up to her feet. She managed a weak, gracious smile at him, before collapsing into the wall, using it to balance herself. "Let's get you back to bed," Luke said soothingly, wrapping an arm around Beca's upper back, her automatically throwing her own arm around Luke's shoulders for support, quickly noticing that she was taller than him. She leaned into him as they made their way slowly back to their dorm, and once they arrived, Luke lead Beca to Tom's bed, before assisting her in getting back into it.

"Are you sure you're alright, Tom?" Luke asked hesitantly, taking a seat at the end of the bed.

Beca let her eyes fall on the wall behind Luke's head. "Can you tell me where I am?" she whispered, afraid to blink with the tears collecting in her eyes, threatening to start falling again.

Luke started at her for a moment, his face stoic, before he broke into a large, face splitting grin. "Y'know, you're the weirdest fucking hungover person I've ever met." He smiled at her for a second, before deciding to humour her 'hungover persona'. "Baker Hall."

When Beca shifted her eyes to his face so she could look at him blankly, he responded with a roll of the eyes, obviously not in the mood for Tom's antics. "Barden University."

Beca gave him a slight nod of the head, along with a relieved exhale. She was getting somewhere. "In…" she trailed off, afraid this guy was about to tell her she was in fucking England or something.

"Atlanta."

Her entire body froze for what felt like the hundredth time that morning, and her arms jolted beside her, threatening to start shaking again. "Who am I?" she stuttered, trying to ignore the growing fear in Luke's eyes.

"Tom, are you absolutely sure that-"

"WHO AM I?" she screamed, throwing her arms up in the air and pushing her fists back down onto the mattress, too angry and scared to be alarmed at the volume of her voice and the power of her arms.

If Luke was shocked at her outburst, his face barely showed it. He shuffled a little downwards on the mattress, away from Beca, almost making her feel slightly guilty for upsetting him. "Do you need me to call the campus medic?" he asked, seeming to have gotten tired of how the person in front of him was acting.

Beca shook her head fiercely. "I just want to know one thing," she uttered, leaning forward on the spot towards the British man. "Who. Am. I?"

Luke just stared at her, studying Beca's face of any sign of humour, or practical joke. Evidently he found none, because after thirty seconds of simply looking at her, he finally spoke. "Medic it is." And with that, he stood up, and strode out of the room, banging the door behind him.

Beca let out a loud exhale, finally permitting the tears to pour down her cheeks, reaching up to her head and dragging her hands down a rough face.

Who am I?

Who

Am

I


So? Thoughts?

Chloe will be introduced in the third chapter, you guys. It's a slow moving story, but hopefully it will be worth it.

Until next time!