This one's a little late, and I apologize if the writing seems sloppy. I had to move some things from here to the next chapter because it would get too long if I didn't. So you can expect more angst for Aubrey and a major life event come Chapter 4. I also realized there's no way I can reply directly to your kind reviews, so I'm doing that here.
aca-everything and Reda V: Jesse's had his fun in the actual movie so I can't say he'll have things go as easy for him in here. Hahaha I'm just cruel.
hurriCADE: I'm not sure how to approach the three-character thing yet, but I do have something in mind :)
To the rest: Second-person narration is really hard and I'm starting to get annoyed by how Aubrey needs to be petty and obsessive with everything, but thanks anyway. Also, while I can't promise GTA 5 in Aubrey's room, I will have something much better around Chapter 6. Have fun reading!
Next morning happens to be a Saturday and for some reason Jesse's up the moment you are, trailing you to the kitchen. You were just laughing over his story of how Benji almost set his bed on fire when Chloe and Beca appear on the doorway. Chloe stops so abruptly that Beca, bringing up the rear, almost walks into her.
You look up curiously at Chloe. "What?"
"It's the first time I've seen you smile in ages," Chloe says, a little too innocently. She walks up and gives you a kiss to the cheek, then settles on the chair beside you. "Good morning, one and all!"
"Too loud, Chloe," Jesse says, though he has a fond grin on his face.
Beca's setting things on the counter – a glass of orange juice for Chloe, coffee for herself and Jesse. "And what would Der Fuhrer have?" It's a moment before you realize she's staring at you with her trademark smirk.
"Didn't know I have a minion at my disposal, but tea would be fine." You give her a tentative smile to soften the insult, and then suddenly, Chloe and the two of you are speaking at the same time.
"We're very –"
"Aubrey, I –"
"I've been really –"
You realize what the three of you are doing and all of you stop at exactly the same time. Jesse's now looking at each one of you with amusement. You take a deep breath and start. "Sorry."
"Don't," Chloe says. "Our fault."
"Sorry too," Beca adds.
"Save it."
"Still mad?" Chloe asks.
"Nah," you answer, and you mean it. The moment right after your little outburst last week, you knew there was no reason to be angry; after all, Chloe and Beca were doing what all other normal couples do, and it wasn't their problem if you are the only person not okay with it.
"Won't do it again," Beca offers.
"Not in front of you anyway," Chloe giggles a little.
"No, carry on," you disagree. "I was stressed, and snapped."
"PDA's okay?" Beca sounds a little surprised, and you're willing to bet she didn't think you would be this easy to talk to.
"Just don't take off clothes around me," you answer. Part of you is screaming to prohibit Chloe and Beca's displays of affection, but your rational side knows you would just make a dent in your friendship if you ask them to do something that would serve no one but your jealousy.
And you were never a person to risk friendship over your own stupid feelings.
"Resolved?" Chloe asks, and all of you, with the exception of Jesse, nod. "Group hug!" She leaps off her seat to drag Beca and you into a hug that seemed more like cutting off your circulations with her arms.
"That was a conversation?" Jesse mock-gasps. "If I didn't know any better I'd say that was three dudes talking."
Beca chucks a teabag at him in response and you think, this is okay. Maybe you could all live like this forever. Not forever, of course, but until you decide to break up with Jesse or Beca proposes to Chloe or...you don't even want to think about it.
A Posen's life is never okay. Or so your mother had you believe. The woman was just as bad as your father – a former actress prone to bouts of depression, she hated children and did nothing but go out with other glamorous society women, only to come back drunk and bitter.
You were told this around six years ago, when you announced you're going to college in a state a thousand miles away. Your father flew into a rage right then and there at the breakfast table, and your other siblings cowered visibly. You try to hold yourself steady and say everything's arranged – you have a scholarship, you're going to live on campus premises, everything's going to be okay. And your insane mother, already busy polishing off bourbon at seven a.m., comes right out and says it: A Posen's life is never okay, sweetie.
You're dead set on believing the stupid bitch after today.
It's the last week of classes at Emory and you don't even bother to come in. (Apparently it pays to be overeager, as you completed your final requirements a few weeks before while your classmates are scrambling to do so just now.) You were lying in bed with Jesse, watching some romantic movie on his laptop, but you could tell he wasn't interested – judging by the way he was looking at a spot at the corner of the screen without reacting to what was going on with the plot.
He suddenly turns to you, staring long enough for you to feel self-conscious. "Jesse?"
"We've been together for a year," he says. You nod warily, unsure where this is going.
"I love you," he continues, and there's suddenly a huge lump in your throat. Don't do this today. Not ever. It kills you when things come out of left field. You're unprepared right now with no plans and scripts to guide you. Because today of all days, you just know Jesse Swanson and you are about to break up. And all the breakup scenarios you had in your head before were radically different from what's happening at the moment.
There's a long moment where you try to open your mouth and tell him you love him back or something. Anything. The moment stretches out to a minute and the expression on his face changes from openly sincere to brooding.
"You still don't love me back."
Still? You lean back on the pillows, waiting for him to explain himself.
"I'm guilty of trying to make you fall in love with me. It was obvious from the start that you didn't want me back, but I was selfish and hounded you in the hopes that you'd change your mind." He chuckles darkly. "That never worked, even in movies."
"No," you finally say. "It was my call. I should have stopped you earlier before you went in too deep. And I am a self-centered bitch who kept stringing you along instead. The worst is, I only thought of doing something about it now, when it's clear to me that you deserve someone better."
He takes your face in his hands and inches closer.
"My girl, Aubrey," he says, trying to smile. "When I tell my grandchildren about 'the one that got away', I'd describe her as 'that tea-drinking, balls-cutting blonde lawyer who is really good with words.'"
"Aca-fucking hell," you mutter, slapping his arm mildly. "You're breaking up with a girl who fucked you over for a year and you're still sweet about it? See, this is what I'm saying about you deserving better!"
"You said it yourself," Jesse grins and tucks loose strands of hair behind your ear. "You're breaking up with a girl who fucked you for over a year –"
"Hey, I said 'who fucked you over for a year'. You interchanged 'over' and 'for' so you're changing the meaning –"
"Seriously, Bree, I'm trying to break up with you here." Jesse smirks and you wonder where he's even getting the jokes and restraint. If you were him you'd have probably screamed yourself hoarse and clawed out the face of the other person. "Again. You said it yourself. You're breaking up with a girl who fucked you for over a year and you're still sweet about it – now why wouldn't I be? Guys would kill for a year's worth of fucks, lady!"
This was the last straw. Something wells up inside of you and before you know it, you're sobbing unstoppably, burying your face on the crook of Jesse's neck. He automatically holds you closer. The tears come too fast and in such huge volumes that you actually wonder if vomiting is better, because Jesse's shirt is soaked in a couple of minutes.
"What isn't real must be a lie. Yes or no?" you ask, not moving from his embrace. Your voice comes out with a slight rasp.
"Yes," Jesse answers quietly, removing your scrunchie, unraveling your hair and stroking it to calm you down.
"Rom-com movies are real events. Yes or no?" You fight back a sob, and repeat. "Yes or no?"
"No."
"Then pretend that the next five hours is a rom-com movie." You look at the clock; it's four in the afternoon. You take a deep breath and give him something he should've had a long time ago but you never had to give. "I love you."
"I love you too. Breakup sex?" he asks playfully, and you pinch him in the tummy through his shirt. "Hey! I'm just trying to use up my year's quota of screws."
"Do what you want. It's your rom-com," you say, straddling him and taking off your blouse in one fluid motion. You wipe your eyes with it and allow Jesse to have his way with you. After a year of fooling around with his feelings, it's probably the least you can do.
It's ten in the evening and you're sitting in the couch, dazed. The house was dim and empty – Jesse had left with the promise that you'll be good friends after moving on – and the only source of light is the television you turned on but muted. You're deciding whether to curl up into a ball or go out and get drunk when the door opens.
Judging by the heavy footfalls and clanking of those stupid little chains in her leather jacket, it's Beca. "Aubrey? Fuck, why's it so dark?"
"Where's Chloe?" Your voice is grating from having cried for two straight hours. "Don't...don't open the lights." Your hand gropes for the night light on the study table, and the living room is soon dimly lit in orange.
"Emory medical mission in Brookhaven, remember?" she answers, throwing her boots off and joining you on the couch. You groan because you did forget – Chloe was coming back tomorrow morning. "You want me to call her?"
"Don't. I texted her after Jesse left but she hasn't replied. She's probably busy." You look at the grocery bag Beca set on the table. "Why are you here? Shouldn't you be comforting Jesse?"
"Jeez, Aubrey," Beca rolls her eyes. "Jesse's out drinking with the Trebles. We'll talk in the morning. Did it occur to you that I'm here to hold you through the night?"
You couldn't see her expression in the weak glow of the TV but you're pretty sure she's being sarcastic. Through your sadness, though, your insides still couldn't help but do a somersault at the thought of Beca holding you. "Fine. Whatever. " You remain slumped on the couch, eyes closed.
Beca's moving around, and you hear the rustling of the grocery bag. "I brought ice cream. Chloe mentioned in passing that this is your favorite, I hope it still is." You open your eyes and glance at the coffee table, expecting a tub of butter pecan. It was. "Some merlot, if I remember your drink correctly...cheap kind, though. I didn't have much money on me when I went out."
You're fighting the urge to swoon, but you settle for reaching out and ruffling Beca's hair. She dances away. "You're spot-on so far, Bilbo."
"Fuck off my hair, aca-bitch." Beca smooths her locks, trying to recover from your disrespect of her badassery. "I was about to add that we can order pizza, but you're acting up –"
"Pizza's good," you cut in. "And then you're staying in this couch to watch mind-fuck movies with me, because unlike Chloe and the rest of the lousy female populace, The Notebook is not my just-dumped go-to movie."
Beca groans, but she gets up to order the pizza and even fetches you a blanket afterwards.
Inception is on its last ten minutes. You and Beca had emptied the wine bottle and the couple of pizza boxes, but not one has spoken after the arrival of pizza. The two of you are now drinking beers and your head's starting to get heavy.
Beca clears her throat. "Shall I get the ice cream, m'lady?" Without waiting for an answer, she gets up to find the ice cream and hands you a spoon. You open the tub and soon the two of you are quietly digging into cold, creamy butter pecan goodness.
"Do you wanna talk about it?" Beca asks gently, and you notice how she subtly scoots closer, until her thigh is touching yours.
"No." Your answer is so abrupt she pulls back, trying not to let her surprise show. You immediately see this and so you push forward and tentatively lean your head on her shoulder.
She stiffens for a moment – you're sure you'd practically go to pieces if she shoved you away – and recovers, even guiding your head towards a spot below her collarbone so she can timidly put a protective arm around you. Thank god. Chloe apparently taught her some semblance of tenderness.
"He was so kind. Like, what the fuck, dude? He's dumping me and he's being goofy about it though it's obvious his heart is aca-fucking breaking. We even had breakup sex –"
"Uh, Aubrey," Beca tried to interrupt, "too much informa –"
"Shut up," you snarl. Beca's grinning now, probably thinking you're a hilarious drunk, although you're sure you're not doing anything to look like it. "Breakup sex is absolute new shit, Beca. No guy does that anymore. You break up and it's all shouting, threats, tears, slaps, sometimes lawsuits. Every guy has an ego and when you dump them they act like banished fucking Loki. Except Jesse. He's fucking perfect. Well, not in my dad's standards, but still. I was, like, if only we have fucking met earlier!"
"You're using too much cuss," Beca says, grimacing. "I therefore conclude you're drunk."
"Nope," and you vigorously shake your head to prove it. She blurs a little, and you wonder why your vision's suddenly off.
"Wait – what do you mean, if only you and Jesse met earlier?"
You groan inwardly, because Beca's not seeing the obvious. "Then I haven't fallen for someone else."
"Whaaaa..." Beca's eyes are round, semi-blue gray orbs in the gloom. You clamp a tight grip on her wrist.
"Do not tell Jesse or I'll cut off your fucking hand."
"Jesus, Aubrey, I'm not some gossip. We're lesbros now."
"I am not a lesbian," you grind out through your teeth.
"Wow, you just said that like we're lepers," Beca laughs. "Are you a homophobe? Wait, how does that even work? You have a bisexual best friend and half the Bellas are probably closet lesbians –"
"I am not a homophobe! Why are you a dick in every conversation we have?"
"Oops, I'm forgetting you were just dumped. I'm supposed to hold your hand through it or something. Sorry." You lift your head from Beca's chest and see her wearing a smirk, although you somehow know she meant the words.
"It's okay," you mumble, scooping some more ice cream, not looking at her. "I know you're just here because Chloe asked you, but thanks anyway."
"Who said Chloe asked me? Dropping by to check on you..." Beca's voice is suddenly lower in volume and you glance at her to hear the next words, "was purely my idea."
You search her face for any sort of indication she was lying. There was none.
Disconcerting. This is your first thought when you wake up in the darkness.
Then you realize it's not all dark. The lamp on the study table is still open, casting muted orange hues at a corner of the living room. The TV is closed and the Inception DVD is lying on top of the coffee table. Someone had cleaned up because you could swear you left pizza boxes and bottles on top of it and now it's spotless.
You look around and realize you're very comfortable; apparently you're lying on the couch, head on Beca's lap, your blanket snugly wrapped around you. Beca's half-seated, head slumped in a throw pillow on the arm of the couch, sound asleep.
Wait, when – or how – did that happen?
You lift your head a little to observe her face; it shows nothing, just the peaceful expression of someone who finally had time to rest. You don't know how long you've been staring until a rustling from the kitchen makes you turn; Chloe emerges from the kitchen in a shirt and cut-off shorts, rubbing her eyes. She spots you and walks closer and you're suddenly worried about how wrong you and Beca must look right now.
"Hey Bree," she whispers so as not to wake Beca, and you breathe a sigh of relief, knowing your fears were groundless. How Chloe was okay with you lying on her girlfriend's lap is totally beyond your understanding, but then again it must have something to do with how touchy-feely she is with people.
Chloe crouches and forces herself to fit beside you on the couch. This was nothing new; Chloe had a habit of cuddling in a way that's she's practically draped over you, not caring if you can't breathe and ruining the last semblance of personal bubble you might have. You've gotten used to it and you don't even flinch when Chloe's breasts push against yours as she wraps her arms around you. The air you're breathing is suddenly thick with the scent of lavender.
"Hey," you murmur back, watching her lay her head on the remaining space of Beca's lap. Beca doesn't seem to notice, just slumbering right on. "What time did you arrive?"
"Just around four a.m." She presses her forehead against yours. "You okay?"
You shake your head no. You're feeling numb right now, worn out from the day's events and all that effort of not crying. But breakups are breakups and while you didn't exactly love Jesse you spent so much time on him, gotten so used to his presence, that you're not sure how losing him would work out for you tomorrow.
Chloe tightens her arms around you – you don't even understand how it's possible given your proximity – and you give a small noise of protest. "Don't. It hurts all over."
Chloe's eyes go wide. "Oh my god, did he hit you?!" she hisses.
"No. Everything went rather well." You see she's not entirely convinced with your answer, as her eyes are raking over you in the darkness, trying to scope your physical condition.
"Then why do you have a hell of a lot of bruises?" She holds up one of your wrists, where purple indentations of Jesse's fingers can still be seen. Her tone is demanding and anxious at the same time. She gently runs her fingers through your collarbone; you inhale sharply because it stings and she's frowning at the teeth marks. "Aubrey..."
"Breakup sex," you murmur in the tiniest voice possible, and Chloe frowns again, not sure if she heard you right. "Breakup sex. That's how well everything went."
Even in the shadows, it's obvious that Chloe's unsure how to take your statement. She's half-smiling and trying to school her face into seriousness at the same time. "Breakup sex? Is there such a thing?"
"Jesse apparently thinks there is. I've always thought make-up sex is the best, but breakup sex trumps that now." You realize what you just said and clamp a hand to your mouth. The alcohol is obviously still working on you. "God, that was inappropriate. Sorry."
"You're perfectly entitled to say whatever you want. You're heartbroken." Chloe gives you a light kiss on the forehead and hugs you. "So...it seems you and Beca are best buddies now. Should I be jealous?"
You feel the blood rush to your head – the first sign of panic – but you look up and Chloe's smiling, for real. "Jeez Bree, you need to relax. Though I will rip your vocal chords out if you ever replace me as your best friend."
"Not gonna happen. And certainly not with this smurf."
Chloe grins. "Everything will be fine. We're going to be three domesticated ladies who happily bake and do housework over the summer while men drool at our windows. Like a musical."
"One: I will not allow myself to be domesticated like some 60's housewife. There is a thing called women empowerment. And two: men drooling at our windows sounds like the beginning of a horrible slasher movie."
The redhead just snuggles closer to you, sighing in your ear. "Go back to sleep. We're not going anywhere."
You don't know how you manage to fall asleep again – the couch, after all, is tiny and nothing compared to your bed – but it's unexpectedly easy, with Chloe and Beca keeping you warm.