A/N: I am extremely sorry for the long wait! I have been really busy with finals (yes, again!) and dealing with personal stuff... But here is Part 4! I really appreciate the feedback on this story and I hope you will like this part! Comment/Review if you feel like it ;) Xx
[Part 4]
She arrives to The Katacomb at around 11 o'clock to set up her stuff and have a drink or two before her gig; alcohol improves her creativity and the sharpness of her senses, she finds. The line-up at the entrance is already quite lengthy so she takes the backdoor instead, using her small rusty key.
As soon as she crosses the threshold, she's welcomed by a deafening beat that shakes her entire body from within, an atmosphere of overwhelming euphoria and the splashes of some stroboscopic lights rippling along the narrow corridor. Just another day at the office. She walks to her locker, distractedly turning the wheel of her padlock and shoving her jacket in the crammed metallic box. It's only fall and she's already chilled to the bone; what is it going to be when winter marches in, spreading cold and insidious death in its wake.
"Hey Bec!" Matt steps in the staff room, unabashedly unbuttoning his shirt to reveal his bare olive-skin torso and elaborately tattooed arms. Now, it's been a while since Beca admitted to herself that she was into the other flavour but she can't deny that the guy's fine. Being just a little over 26 years-old and easy on the eye, having a tall and strapping stature and working as a barman—which allows him to offer as many free drinks as he pleases—has gotten him more ladies than Beca ever cared to count.
"It's fucking hot in there man, a real goddamn frying pan!" he chuckles.
Another thing; he's a swell dude. In two years and a half, she's met her share of twisted people in the business but somehow, whether it was his cheerful attitude, his caring personality or his familiar humor, Beca had immediately eased up around him. What had started as a few drinks after work ended up as endless strings of conversations ranging from fervent criticism of the modern society to drunken rants about their last romantic fling. He's been pissed on a lot by life, his parents having abandoned him when he was sixteen, and yeah, in perspective Beca's life was a picnic. But Matt never even once looked down on her for that and instead he took her under his wing. Now, she kind of considers him like the brother she's never had.
He throws the shirt in his locker and trades it for an old white wife-beater that's been in there for god knows how long.
"Jesus, Matt..."
"Want me to faint out there?! Besides, they show off my guns and I know someone who's gonna dig it," he replies as he starts rummaging frantically through his locker, obviously looking for something under his messy piles of clothes.
"Do you mean Sarah?"
He bursts out laughing and as irritating as Beca finds him sometimes, she smiles.
"Hah cute! I don't even talk to her anymore! No, now I... "upgraded". She's tall, blonde, 34 C. You'd like her."
"Funny," Beca deadpans. Truth is, since last week, they've been having this sort of friendly competition to see who would bring more chicks home and so far, the brunette is biting her charming friend's dust.
He finally finds what he was looking for; a bag of weed joints. How fucking excellent.
"Shit, I've been looking everywhere for it! Killer said that he couldn't provide me until next week and I was starting to run low..."
Killer is his drug dealer and probably the creepiest guy Beca has ever met. He bears his name well because from his dodgy face, one could swear he's already killed before, and not only insects.
Matt gives a brief look at the bag then at his friend. "Want some?"
"I'm working in about two minutes thank you," Beca crosses her arms over her chest. "Wait scratch that, my shift's already started."
"Here, have some for later then."
The DJ doesn't protest when Matt pushes the bag in her hands. She swiftly takes two joints and stuffs them in her jeans pocket. "Thanks..."
"Sure," Matt smirks as he sinks in a worn-out burgundy sofa, taking a spliff from his stock and lighting one up.
"Aren't you on the same shift as me?!"
"Yup! I'll be there in a sec. By the way, I saw your posh friend around the bar! I think she was looking for you!" He winks suggestively and Beca rolls her eyes playfully before leaving him to his business.
She's slightly disappointed because she really wanted a drink before her set and instead, she ends up with a few spliffs. Anyhow, she walks straight past the bar, purposefully avoiding any undesirable encounter. The DJ gear and spinning tables stand a foot away from the dance floor and just as it is meant to be, the place is absent of any red jumpsuit big-shot DJ. It's all about her tonight. She's decided to open the night with Guetta's Titanium because the tune's been stuck in her head for days now and maybe this song was a hit five years ago but hell can it still have people groove to its beat. She takes out her headphones and sets them around her neck, feeling empowered by her new title.
"What's up everybody, DJ Bella here!" she shouts in her microphone, making the people cheer.
Right there, this is where she feels best. Blasting her expertly-crafted tracks manages to unleash her frustrations, empty her head from the constant brooding, torments and memories that plague her day and night. Sure it's fucking Titanium, the song she sang with a naked Chloe in one of Barden's shower stalls in her freshman year. Sure it brings back the feeling of complete fusion with another individual, of sheer exhilaration and inexperienced lust. But when she's working, the pain hurts so good she wishes it never stopped. It never fades, but she basks in it, craves it even.
She's so caught up in her work that her shoulders jerk when she hears, "Hey Beca," slurred in her ear by no one else than Ellie. Oh course, what a better way to spice the night than with your last hook-up being all lovey-dovey. Judging by her roaming hands and dilated pupils, she makes it obvious that she has treated herself to a few drinks already.
"Hey," Beca replies coldly, needing to speak increasingly louder to cover the music.
"So I've been thinking, and I don't care if you're a stone hard bitch with a dark cloud permanently raining on your parade! I still like you!"
Was that a compliment or an insult? Perhaps a bit of both? Beca couldn't care less. "Glad to hear," she shrugs.
"No, I mean I still like like you."
The girl is charming, with her naivety and uninhibited affection. Plus, she looks really great tonight; she's curled her hair and put a solid layer of make-up all over her face. She's definitely "hook-up" material... However, there are three reasons why Beca doesn't throw herself at Ellie right away. One; she's a spoiled rich girl and that kind of people is the most unpredictable, clingy and detestable kind there is. Two; Beca needs to act distant to assert her own independence because she's the one leading this dance after all. And three—while that reason is probably the most important, it's also the most irrational, messed-up and completely fucking stupid—Chloe.
She leans in and says, "Yeah, you still like me after the shit I said the other night? I'm sorry about that by the way. I was... distraught."
"It's okay, I know how you can redeem yourself!"
She grabs Beca by the wires of her headphones, bringing her inches from her face. She'd want to chastise her for not handling her precious possession with more care but Ellie's breath strongly smells of rich white alcohol and it excites the DJ far more than it should.
"Maybe," and she licks her lips in a suggestive manner, "we could meet up somewhere nice and quiet, like the girls' bathroom?"
"Y—yeah, I guess we could. After my set though."
Ellie nods and struts away, effectively swaying her hips as she goes. That fucking tease... Her attention turns back to the dance floor and she scans the crowd. Dancing is so ridiculous nowadays; there is no thought, no effort. You just dry hump everything remotely within reach. As her eyes sweep over the club, she spots a redhead grinding her body against a tall and hunky dude and suddenly, she itches to throw a drink at his douchy face.
Fuck.
Where is Chloe right now, she wonders. Partying on a boat with the L.A. elite? Trading make-up secrets with famous actresses over a late dinner date? Hooking up with some smoking hot model in her luxurious penthouse overlooking the whole city?
Two hours of mixing have gone by already. She's been so absorbed darting the Chloe doppelganger that she didn't notice from corner of her eye that Ellie was walking up to her behind the sound system. She doesn't display her usual swagger; perhaps she doesn't feel like having a quickie anymore. Beca chooses not to care and so, she doesn't even look up to greet the girl, focusing on the tracks playing on her computer monitor.
"Beca!"
The voice is muffled because of her headphones but she gets such goose bumps out of its bright and joyful ring that her heart flutters and she doesn't even need to guess.
"Chloe?!"
There she stands, in her everlasting glory; the girl who had taken her heart five years ago. The girl who had saved her from herself so long ago and to whom in return she had promised the world and more. But... her hair! What happened to it?! A blonde curtain has replaced the ginger locks, trimmed right up to her shoulders, and the spotlight emphasizes this luminous dye. She's never pictured her as a blonde before; it makes her look even more angelic and innocent.
"You hair!" is the first thing she manages to say.
"You like it? They asked me to change it up, for a photo shoot!"
The older girl is beaming so brightly, so obliviously, that Beca has to bite back some weak unwanted tears. She knows that Chloe wants to hug her, but this is awkward enough as it is. She leans on her laptop to play with the bass sounds and treble effects so she can avoid the formal and oh-so very uncomfortable greetings.
"I'm sorry I didn't call you first!" she exclaims. "My last meeting ended early and I thought I could surprise you at work! I was so excited for our coffee date on Friday you know! Two years already and I never heard any of your sets here!"
"And a half!" Beca yells in her ear.
"What?!"
"I've been here two years and a half!"
Chloe makes a face as if she's worried she said something wrong so she ends up simply nodding. Meanwhile, Beca wants to punch herself in the face for how absurd and childish she sounds. What does it even fucking matter? It seems like yet another way to reproach Chloe's lack of involvement in her ex girlfriend's life after the break-up.
This is so not right. For the past years, Beca has sought solace in an underground world of debauchery, binge drinking, malice and dubious entertainments. And then one day out of the blue, Chloe storms her dark miserable world and brings in all of her light; it's blinding, disorienting and frankly, Beca is not sure if she feels relieved or threatened.
Light and darkness. In the end, which swallows which?
There are five minutes left to her shift, one last song on her set list; it's Pitbull's Give Me Everything. That's some fucking outstanding timing. She had thrown in this song at the end as a filler track more than anything but of course, it had to play while Chloe was around, listening eagerly to the DJ's work. She violently shoves aside the memories of the Bellas winning the ICCAs thanks to this song and of her feeling more triumphant and accomplished than she'd ever been, thinking that she indeed was able to achieve great things.
The excruciatingly long four minutes and seven seconds come to an end when the clock strikes three o'clock. She grabs the microphone.
"Thank you everyone for coming tonight! Hope you had a blast because I sure did and I will see you next time! DJ Bella over and out."
Chloe opens her mouth surely to comment on the name, but Beca cuts her by grabbing her hand and guiding her away from the dance floor. Together, they push their way through the throng and make it to the back of the club, to the staff "lounge".
As they step into the room, Beca finally releases her grasp on Chloe's hand, realizing just how moist it was. She stammers, "W-what the hell are you doing?!"
"What the hell does it look like I'm doing?" Matt retorts, his straw hovering above a freshly made line of powder.
"What about your shift?"
"Oh man, I didn't realize this was the shift police!" he jibes. "Relax, chief! I got off at 2:45."
Unceremoniously, he blocks one nostril and sniffs the whole substance in a brisk movement of the head. He coughs a few times, sniffing loudly and sinking into the sofa with a blissful air about him.
As if he just took notice of Chloe, he knits his eyebrows. "So no Ellie tonight then?"
"Oh shit! Look, can you tell her I left already?"
He sighs. "Sure..."
An uncomfortable silence beings to settle in and Matt catches Beca's meaningful glances. Grunting, he grabs his stuff from the table and puts it back in his locker. As he makes his way to the door, he takes one last look at the two girls and bobs the head appreciatively. "Nice catch, this one Bec. You might even the score."
Ignoring Chloe's quizzical eyes, Beca takes Matt's place on the sofa, patting the seat next to her. It's funny because if at first, when she saw Chloe's face tonight, she wanted to act all proper and maybe even try to impress, now she doesn't really mind. It's not that she wants the girl's pity—because fuck, she'd rather die than have it—but she figures that hiding herself is useless at this point. Or maybe she really just wants to shock her, disgust her. Just for fun... and perhaps for pay-back too.
The DJ wriggles in her seat, reaching down in her back pocket to take out a spliff that Matt has given her earlier. Casually, she lights it up and takes a languid and nonchalant drag. Meanwhile, Chloe is studying Beca with such a transfixed gaze that the girl wonders if she's trying to burn a hole through her. She's silent and Beca appreciates that immensely because right now, she doesn't feel like answering a million questions or be burdened by the Chloe's sympathy overload.
She decides to push things further; see how far she can take the situation in which she has the upper hand for once. "Wanna have a puff?"
Chloe hesitates but seeing Beca's dopey grin, her weary eyes and offering hand, she figures, "What the hell."
Beca smirks when the newly blonde accepts the small joint and inhales the drug. She coughs a few times, studying the spliff. "I've only had one of those once! You know the business. But yeah, it was not my thing so..."
Chloe hands the joint back to Beca, looking carefully about. Yeah, the room is hardly glamorous with its fractured walls and peeling wallpaper. It's clearly falling apart and Beca ponders that perhaps this is why she feels like this place is familiar.
"Do you.. take anything else?" Chloe asks, her eyes riveted on where Matt's coke was a few minutes ago.
Beca takes another drag, exhaling in a puff of thick gray smoke. "Uh, once I almost snorted coke," the brunette admits as if it's the most normal thing in the world—there is even a hint of pride in her voice.
"Almost? What stopped you?"
Beca plays with the joint between her fingers, giving the stub a lot more attention than it deserves. She doesn't meet the other girl's gaze when she voices a faint, "You."
They don't linger in the club very long. The air is crisp and so, even with a jacket she's shivering pathetically. Chloe's got a nice beige duster coat that underlines her tall and slender frame. They're walking side by side, Beca biting the inside of her cheeks, another one of the bad habits she picked up with the years.
"So uh, who's Ellie? Someone special?"
"Oh she's special alright! Not really my kind of special though, but she does the trick."
"Oh."
"What about you?"
"Well I'm seeing someone."
"Yeah? Good for you," she nods a little too casually. The news unnerve her but she's determined not to let it show.
"She's one of the album producers."
"That's... good," she says after what feels like an eternity.
"She's completely in love with me. She didn't say it but I can tell."
"How do you know?"
Chloe takes a sharp breath, as a pale flimsy fog escapes her lips. She takes a while to answer. She always does when she's about to say something important.
"It's how she looks at me. Because you used to look at me the same way..."
As the night fades into dawn, Chloe and Beca part ways as the blonde catches a cab. She assures the girl that she'll text her sometime Friday. "Don't you think I forgot about this coffee date we set up!" she said before disappearing into the taxi and riding off to god knows where. She didn't even ask where she lived. In fact, she didn't really ask her anything at all, and come to think of it, yeah, perhaps she was a little too scared of knowing anything.
Feeling the effects of the weed die away, she's suddenly overcome with an unfathomable loneliness. Hands shoved in the pockets of her light jacket, she makes her way home, trying to control her goddamn shivers as she realizes that perhaps, they're not due solely to the cold weather.
