Chapter 2

Beca wakes up with a jolt when the alarm on her bedside rings very harshly and loudly. She'd only recently fallen asleep, having stayed up all night, unable to sleep, lying on her bed, staring up at the ceiling, curtains drawn, bedroom dark, listening to Simple Mind's "Don't You Forget About Me", hers and Jesse's song, over and over and over again. Before that, she'd spent the better part of the day just hunched in front of her laptop, on her bed, covered by a blanket, wads of tissues surrounding her, as she watched "Jaws", the "Indiana Jones" movies and the "Star Wars" ones. She had debated watching all six of the Star Wars movies, but had found herself enjoying it, particularly "Empire Strikes Back" and "Revenge of the Sith" - both movies' darkness and bleakness perfectly mirroring what she is feeling now. It takes her awhile before she gets to "The Breakfast Club", but when she does, she stays glued to her laptop screen, finding herself smiling when Ally Sheedy makes snow with her dandruff, when Molly Ringwald puts lipstick on her lips from her boobs, finds herself laughing softly at the characters' general antics, but then as the first strains of "Don't You Forget About Me" start to play as Judd Nelson's character accepts the earring from Molly Ringwald's character, Beca finds herself crying, again, and she finds herself asking herself, "What the fuck is wrong with me? It's a fucking movie, for fuck's sake!" But she already knows this is the closest she can get to actually feeling Jesse near her and she has realized that she misses him.

A few weeks ago, when Jesse had told her he had wanted some time apart, which is almost always a prelude to a separation, and eventually divorce (she should know, her own mother and father had one of those conversations that had ended up in a very messy, very bitter divorce, angry alimony arguments and a bitter custody battle over her that left her angry most of junior high and high school), she had thought he was kidding, she had thought it was all a joke, and when she'd come back to the apartment, he'd still be there, smiling his boyish grin and telling her it was all a funny April Fool's joke, even though it wasn't April at all. By the time she found herself in front of her apartment again, it was nearly dark, the L.A. sun had nearly set and she'd staunchly convinced herself that Jesse hadn't wanted a separation from her. No, maybe she'd misunderstood. Maybe what he wanted was just some time to himself and after he's had some time alone, he'll realize how ridiculous he's being and he's going to come back and everything will be normal again because fuck, this was exactly the reason why she didn't do relationships or marriage or the whole family with two point five kids and the white picket fence thing - because people leave, in the end they leave, and if Jesse really wants out of their marriage, then he has just proven her theory right.

So, yeah, Jesse couldn't have wanted a separation right? Or worse, a divorce, right? This is Jesse Swanson, for fuck's sake. Good ol' reliable Jesse, who's always been there even when the worst of Beca's neurotic, damaged bullshit, who'd been there through everything, from the trouble with the Bellas, to the trouble with the family and the stepmonster, to her struggles with work, to everything else. Jesse's always been there. Like furniture. Like the sky. Like the sun. She hadn't actually imagined that one day he'd want to not be there for her any longer. By then she has convinced herself so fiercely that Jesse is still inside the apartment she actually starts to believe her own lie, until her key turns in the lock, she opens the door to the apartment, and finds that it is empty, as empty as it has always been whenever Jesse is away, and as she takes a few steps into the apartment, she realizes that the apartment is different somehow, that something is wrong. Upon closer scrutiny she realizes what's different. The apartment seems a bit less complete somehow, feels a bit hollow. When she glances at the shelves, at the walls, at the tops of cabinets and dressers and tables, she realizes why: there are spaces now, where the dust has never formed, where framed photographs used to be and have been hastily removed, there are spaces on shelves where LPs and EPs and CDs and DVDs and VHS tapes where, hastily pulled out and probably put in boxes, for fear that they be thrown out of the apartment with all the rest of the stuff that Beca had made it known she had a dislike before. She realizes that Jesse's atrocious, framed collection of original Star Wars posters have been taken down, a graduation gift from Benji, Jesse's roommate and best friend. When Beca goes to their room, she finds all his stuff is gone, too, his clothes from their closet, jeans, shirts, jackets, sneakers, leather shoes, underwear, socks, watches, books, other assorted things. She doesn't know, but her breath hitches, she feels like she's been punched in the gut, there's a sense of finality here, a sense of emptiness, a sense of something ending, and she finds herself sinking at the edge of the bed, the bed that she'd once shared with Jesse and for a few moments she is unable to feel anything. There is silence, so much silence in her room, in the apartment. And suddenly she feels it: a rush of something indescribable, pain, sadness, a yawning, gaping hole, a deep, unfathomable emptiness, despair, desolation, depression, a sense of deep and profound failure, a sense that she's disappointed not only herself, but everyone else, especially Jesse.

And she feels the tears rolling down her cheeks.

She glances at the clock beside the bed and realizes that it's a little before ten and she'd slept in again. She turns, lies flat on her back, stares up at the ceiling, blinks once, twice, before she stretches and yawns and throws the bedcovers off of her body. With growing irritation, she reaches for her iPod and changes the song. Simple Mind's "Don't You Forget About Me" has been playing over and over and over, and if it is possible, she is actually probably literally physically sick and tired of the song. She goes through her iPod songs and one song stands out and she stops, stares at the title, and realizes she hasn't heard this in a while. She puts it on loop and starts to play it.

As the song starts to play, fills her room with sound and voice and rhythm and melody, she turns the volume up when the chorus comes up, humming along with the song.

"I'm bullet proof

Nothing to lose

Fire away, fire away…

She goes to the bathroom to take a shower and as the hot water hits her skin, the room fills with steam, she starts to sing with the song, screaming the chorus in wild abandon, voice cracking as she does so, and she ends up crying in the shower, like she's done many times these past few days, and she sighs, tries to tell herself to get a grip, but she finds herself sobbing, feels stupid, because it's been weeks, but it still feels like yesterday.

"Ricochet, you take your aim

Fire away, fire away…"

She feels so alone, so isolated, so lonely.

She is a mixture of emotions. She is still depressed. Angry. But mostly depressed. Her left hand is still throbbing and aching and painful where she had punched Jesse. She feels sorry now that she has punched Jesse. Jesse hasn't called or emailed or indicated that he might have changed his mind or had just been kidding about the whole sordid affair. There were times when she'd found herself on the verge of calling her now ex-husband, but when she starts hearing the phone on the other end ring, she ends the call, completely losing courage. She tells herself she should at least have a bit of pride, and not beg Jesse to give her another chance because how pathetic would that be? To beg your husband to take you back? To grovel? To cry? To admit you are lonely and lost and alone? Very pathetic.

"Shoot me down, but I won't fall…

I am titanium…

Shoot me down, but I won't fall…

I am titanium…"

Once she finishes her shower, and eats breakfast of cereals and black coffee as she watches the morning show, while working on her computer, electronic keyboard, mixer, sheet music, notepad and pens, writing down random notes and words, the entertainment segment of the morning show appears, and the host trades barbs and gossip with his co-host, before they start talking about the summer movies everyone should watch out for, and at first she just lets the show play, in the background, like white noise. But then she doesn't know why, but she catches the name Jesse Swanson and she turns and there he is, her ex-husband, smiling for the camera as he talks about the college road trip sex comedy that he shot over in Vancouver last year while on hiatus from his television show and is now promoting. Jesse had given her an idea about what the movie was and already Beca knows it's the kind of movie that she will not enjoy and she silently is relieved she doesn't have to sit through during the inevitable premier in Los Angeles.

She feels guilty at this thought and she sighs and tries to push down the sadness she feels again.

As she puts her bowl of cereal down, and stares at the screen, stares at Jesse grinning and politely answering questions, practiced polite answers coming out of his mouth so easily, Beca's heart seizes. He looks handsome. He looks young and boyish, in his jeans and shirt and jacket as he jokes and possibly even flirts with the very beautiful and obviously very flirty female host.

Beca wants to grab the remote control, but she is afraid that instead of turning off the television with it, she will end up hurling the remote at the screen, so she sits there, glued to the spot, watching, mesmerized, as her ex-husband charms the very flattered, and now very flustered female host.

As she stares at Jesse's image on the screen, she wonders to herself, at what precise point could she have changed the course of her marriage with Jesse? At what point in every part of their journey together as a couple could she have chosen one path, instead of the other, so as to have saved their relationship and so avoid the inevitable divorce this failed marriage is headed to? Should she have not followed her dreams? Should she have compromised with Jesse when he'd brought up the prospect of settling down? Should she have agreed to have children? Should she have chosen that job offered to her in San Francisco? Or New York? Jobs that offered stability and security, but also unbelievable boredom and tedium and routine?

Or maybe she should have gone back earlier. Maybe she shouldn't have said yes whenever he asked something. Because Jesse always had a way of making her say yes, even when she wasn't sure, or wasn't too confident, or wasn't ready. It wasn't that she minded, but each time she said yes, it also meant she was closer to being even more vulnerable, even though Jesse was the picture perfect ideal guy any girl would kill to spend forever with. So, maybe she should have thought twice before saying yes to Jesse when he'd proposed. Maybe she shouldn't have agreed to move in with him so soon after graduation. Maybe she shouldn't have decided so soon freshmen year in college that he was the one for her.

Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

Too many maybes.

It doesn't help that her father, Dr. Mitchell is no help.

"So…you and Jesse, Beca…" Dr. Mitchell begins now, hesitantly, cautiously, as he sips his wine and looks at Beca carefully through the top of his glass.

"God, dad, ugh, seriously?" Beca blurts out now, irritated. "You couldn't have waited 'til dessert at least to bring that up?"

Before Beca can say anything else and her father can respond, the wait staff thankfully comes with their orders and as the woman sets their orders down on the table, there is a silence that each one welcomes with relief.

"Beca…" he begins.

"Dad, don't start," Beca says, curtly, refusing to look her father in the eye. "I'm seriously not in the mood for your fatherly advice or lectures on how much I've fucked up my life."

"Beca, language and that's not why I came," Dr. Mitchell says.

"Oh yeah?" Beca asks now. "Then why did you come?"

"I…" Dr. Mitchell hesitates before he sighs, and says, "I came to see if you were okay. Jesse called me and told me what happened…"

"Ugh, is there anything you guys don't talk about?" Beca mutters now in disgust.

"Beca," Dr. Mitchell says. "He knew you weren't going to say anything and he had wanted me to know about it from him, not from anyone else, or god forbid the tabloids."

Beca looks at him. "And what, you're on his side?"

"Beca please," Dr. Mitchell says now.

"Because he left me, dad," Beca says now.

"Oh, Beca," Dr. Mitchell says now. "It takes two to make a relationship work, and two to destroy it. I don't know what happened between the two of you, but clearly it's been going on for a while now, else why would Jesse ask for a divorce?"

Beca is silent now.

"Pity though," Dr. Mitchell says. "I liked him. He was a rather nice young man." He thinks about this for a moment, before he turns to Beca now and says, "But sometimes, I can't help but think it might have had something to do with you and how you push people away…"

"Dad…"

"And the thing with you, Beca, is, you're a quitter," Dr. Mitchell says now. "You were a quitter then, and you're a quitter now."

"Dad, stop it, please."

"And getting a divorce from Jesse, that's taking the easy way out."

"Dad, you don't even know what went on between Jesse and I, and you have no right to sit there judging me for the things I've done in my life."

Beca thinks of saying more to her father, but finds she cannot really, and realizes she is exhausted. Completely and absolutely exhausted, and that she doesn't really want to talk about her divorce from Jesse right now, or anything for that matter. She hasn't seen her father in a while, and realizes she has missed him, but she feels like she isn't really ready to talk about her marriage to Jesse with him.

So she walks out on him.

She catches sight of the thick white business envelope addressed to her that sits on the living room table. The white envelope has been there for days now. She has opened it, took out the contents, folded and unfolded the pieces of paper, but still cannot accept its contents.

She is actually afraid to take it out. As if doing so would cement this situation she is in.

Already her father keeps calling her, wanting to talk to her, wanting to meet up with her the next time he is in L.A. but she never answers his calls, always waits for his calls to go to voicemail. She refuses to reply to his emails or his instant messages.

She ignores everything, grabs a whiskey and drinks, hoping this could numb the pain.

Beca is dreaming of bass beats and chord progressions done up in full Van Gogh style kind of painting, with the colors vibrating against her mind's eye, and she feels herself standing in front of all that color before she feels the ground shake beneath her feet and she looks down and in her mind's eye she can see a large hole opening up to devour her and she falls and falls and falls.

She a thud. Hears a disembodied voice calling out her name in the distance.

She opens her eyes and hears someone knocking on the door. She doesn't want to answer it, but the insistent doorbell ringing and the pounding on the door, forces Beca to get up from the bed, where she has spent the better part of the evening thinking about what went wrong with her relationship with Jesse, a past time she's been trying to unsuccessfully wean herself out of, since dissecting her decomposing relationship with her ex-husband is an exercise in futility that can quickly spiral into depression. She had wondered if she had other relationships that had the same pattern. She had been recalling past relationships prior to Jesse Swanson and she is horrified to find out that she hadn't had much in the way of relationships in the first place, that she couldn't recall any one special prior to Jesse. There were the occasional dates she went to in high school, but nothing really serious, except for this guy, junior year or senior year in high school, an emo kind of guy who was in some kind of rock band that she semi-dated but hadn't been serious with.

She angrily and grudgingly trudges to the door, half-asleep, half-awake in her shirt and sweatsuit, checks to see who it is and she opens the door, and is greeted with the image of her ex-husband, standing on her doorstep at a little after one in the morning, shivering slightly in the early morning air, with a sheepish, awkward smile on his face and a hopeful look in his eyes. She pauses when she sees Jesse standing there, before she takes one look at him and slams the door on his face.

But the doorbell rings again, so she opens the door and glares at Jesse's sheepish face.

"Um, morning, sorry to bother you, but I need to get something in the bedroom, if that's okay with you Beca," Jesse mumbles, refusing to meet Beca's eyes.

Beca just nods, wordlessly, as Jesse makes his way to the bedroom.

Beca stands there for a few seconds, before she decides to follow him.

When she gets there, Jesse is opening and closing drawers with practiced ease, drawers that used to house his stuff.

She leans by the doorway, growing irritated by the second as she looks at Jesse going through her stuff.

"What are you doing?" she finally asks.

"I…I'm looking for something…I…" Jesse mutters as he goes through drawers one more time.

"Jesse, not that I don't enjoy these little visits, but what are you doing?"

Convinced that it isn't there, Jesse straightens up and says, "Sorry, it's my grandmother's locket, I think I lost it. And I just wanted to make sure it wasn't here or anything."

"Well, clearly it's not here," Beca says. "So, if you could stop going through my stuff now, Jesse that would be great. They're not your stuff anymore…"

"Beca…" Jesse implores her now. He advances towards her now. "Beca, please."

Beca is silent for a few seconds, before she steps to one of the drawers, pulls it out, rummages through it, pulls something out, and holds it up for him to see. It is the locket that Jesse is looking for.

"Is this what you're looking for?" she asks, and before he can answer, she throws it to his face.

There is a visible hurt on Jesse's face, as the locket hits his face, but he stays calm and says, wearily, "Beca, it's late, I'm tired, I have an early day today, and I really, really, don't want to fight right now."

"Fine," Beca says. "I need you to leave now."

Jesse is silent.

"Beca…"

"I said, leave," Beca repeats now.

"Beca…" Jesse says again, hurt evident on his face. "I don't want to do this. I really don't."

"Fine," Beca says now, folding her arms in front of her. "Were you ever going to tell me about whoever you were sleeping with, Jesse? I mean, who was she, Jesse? Some stupid bimbo you met on the set…? Some fan girl you met at Comic Con…?"

"Beca, stop."

"I mean, for fuck's sake, Jesse, you couldn't wait til at least after the divorce before you…" The lump in her throat stops her from continuing.

And then Jesse loses it. Suddenly Jesse is shouting at her. "There's no one else, Beca! There never was!" This shuts Beca up. Jesse takes a deep breath. "There was never anyone else, Beca. There was just you."

Beca is surprised, his words silencing her for a few moments. "Then why would you …Why would you lie about that? Why would you say that?"

It is Jesse's turn to be silent. Then he speaks up. "I just..." He looks up at her, and there's obvious hurt and pain in his eyes. "Because…Beca, we're best friends. We're roommates. You don't love me…not really…"

"I do love you, Jesse…" Beca interrupts.

"I know you love me, Beca," Jesse says. "But you're not in love with me."

"I don't even know what that means, Jesse," Beca says. "I mean, I loved you. Love you. In my own way."

"And what way is that, Beca?" Jesse asks now. When Beca doesn't answer, Jesse says, "You think you know, Beca, but really, you don't." When Beca continues to be silent, Jesse continues, "Come on, Beca, let's not pretend anymore. This wasn't the greatest marriage ever and you know it. It just wasn't working anymore…"

There is silence between them now.

Beca just stands there, not knowing what to say. What did everything that Jesse just said even mean? About them just being roommates? Being best friends? About loving someone and being in love with someone? Was there a difference between them? How could he say that? How could he say she didn't love him? How could he think about these things?

"Divorce papers….Beca…." Jesse is saying now. "Are you even listening to me right now?"

Beca comes out of her thoughts and focuses her eyes on Jesse.

Jesse looks visibly upset. "Are you even listening to me Beca? Are you…Are you zoning out again? Are you doing that thing again where you're doing mixes on your head…because god…I really hate it when you do that…"

"Sorry, what?" Beca asks now.

Jesse just stares at her in exasperation. "The divorce papers, Beca. When are you signing them?"

When Beca doesn't say anything, Jesse just looks at her, before he marches off, footsteps receding down the hall. The slam of the front door jolts her, makes her grimace.

And she cries.

And cries.

And cries.

And cries until there are no more tears left.

Until all that is left are puffy, swollen, red eyes, dark circles and a hollowness at the pit of her stomach that she can never get rid of, and a hole in her soul. And a deep regret and sadness for what has happened to her.