Sincere appreciation for the favorites and follows. This story may go back in time at points. For now this is immediately after Chapter One.
There hasn't been many words exchanged after she had let Beca in.
She hadn't been composed, at least she hadn't been at first. Shock altering her routinely bubbly features before concern appropriately made her jump into action. She'd led her to the couch, several questions boiling uncomfortably in her core as she attempted to address the current situation. Blood tarnished the tattered jeans, and one of the several plaid shirt's she's grown to admire from a far.
"What happened, Beca?"
Silence. A quiver of a split lip.
"Who did this to you?"
It appeared her inquiry further instilled fear, for the commonly fierce DJ curled a bit more into the couch.
"What can I do for you, we should call the police-"
"Don't."
And then her eyes were trained on hers, blue mirroring blue. She tentatively took a seat then, reaching to put an arm around her best friend.
A flinch. "Just, Don't."
Silence filled the apartment again, the only sound the occasional pitter patter of the rain as it collided with the windows.
It was three o' clock in the morning, Aubrey was sleeping soundlessly in her bedroom, and the instinct to wake her grew with each unnerving second.
Aubrey would know what to do, she always knew what to do.
She may have made sure to instill a little fear with the intention of those around her being the "Best" to their ability, but she also cared.
She didn't know what to do, Beca wasn't talking and Beca was hurt. Someone had hurt Beca, someone had...
She was making an assumption, but she had a feeling she was right.
"I want to help, what can I do?"
Her inquiry was met with initial silence, and then a request.
"Can I Shower?"
Beca's voice cracked with the request.
But if she showered, and her assumption was right...
"But, Beca-"
"Please."
And that was how she ended up with her best friend wrapped up in her arms, the DJ asleep after exhaustion proved to be victorious. Her eyes were trained on her best friend who looked too fragile in the shirt that was too big for her, on the hair that was still damp and gradually drying with each minute that passed, on the split lip that no longer had blood crusted around the edge, and the bruise that crept up her hip at the curl of the shirt.
There'd be more questions in the morning.
Aubrey would be awake in the morning.
But, that was the morning.
The clothes that Beca had been wearing were tucked neatly in a bag, the tears that had been shed had gradually tapered, and now she could only vow that she would never let someone hurt Beca again.
But, someone had. She didn't know who. She hadn't been there when someone had. And, she very well may have lost any evidence that would have definitively proved who it had been.
What kind of best friend was she?
She didn't know. But she remained awake, hands held securely around her best friend.
The minutes ticked by, and sleep was a forgotten friend.