A/N: I lied: I couldn't resist putting some fluff in. Don't worry, the angst is back before the end of the chapter. I'd like to think, however, that this is the beginning of Beca finally getting her head out of her ass and admitting that she likes Chloe.
"Can we talk?"
She smiles and beckons you to sit on her bed. "Of course," she replies, moving the duvet out of the way and patting the spot next to her. "Sit down."
You shake your head nervously. "No," you say. "No, I shouldn't …"
So, you sit on the edge of her bed and try not to think about the reason why you can't allow yourself to sit up next to her. You clear your throat and bow your head, staring at your folded hands that lie in your lap.
"What's up, Becs?" she asks, concern evident in her voice.
"I was talking to my dad earlier, and …" you start, but the words get caught in the back of your throat. You look up again and see Chloe's worried smile again and you swear you're going to fall apart under her gaze. She's pushed her glasses up her face so she can see better and she now sits cross-legged. She's a masterpiece all on her own and you can feel your heart breaking.
"And what? What did he say, Becs?"
"He said …" You take a deep breath. "He told me that … he said that …"
"Becs, what did he say?" she asks. "I know that I'm mad at you but you can tell me anything."
And then you crack. You're not sure what happens, but one minute you're staring at your lap and the next you're sobbing into Chloe's shoulder. Her arms are wrapped around you and your head is buried in her shoulder, most likely soaking it. You're so embarrassed at the fact that you're breaking down like this but God, being in her arms again feels so good.
"Just breathe, Becs," she whispers into your hair. "Just breathe and you'll be okay."
"I'm sorry," you whimper. "I'm so sorry, Chloe."
"Why are you sorry?" she asks, and you get the feeling that she's trying to make you fess up rather than actually being confused about it.
But you're weak for Chloe Beale in every way so you crumble after only a few minutes of tense silence. "I'm sorry that I kissed you," you say. "I'm sorry that I pretended I didn't, and I'm sorry that I'm still with Jesse."
"Becs, you can't be sorry for being with Jesse. You love who you love, right?" Her voice cracks at the end and you watch as her eyes fill with tears at her statement.
"I know," you say. "I know you love who you love. That's my fucking problem."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean I can't help the fact that I want to kiss you all of the time, or the fact that when I tell Jesse I love him it just feels like I'm lying to him, or the fact that I get distracted whenever you're around. I can't help that —"
"— Wait," Chloe interrupts. Her lips quirk into a small smile and you're about to ask why she's smiling when she says: "You want to kiss me again?"
"What?" you ask, momentarily confused by her interruption. "Oh. I mean … that isn't the point."
"You want to kiss me again," Chloe repeats, clearly in a daze.
"Yes, but —"
"— No, Beca, you want to kiss me again. And you just admitted it to me."
"Yes, and?" you ask, slightly irritated.
"And that's progress. The last time we talked about the kiss, you were literally denying it ever happened, and now … and now you want to do it again."
She's giddy, almost; her eyes are shining bright and she's smiling so wide you're convinced her face is going to split down the middle. Her lips are parted slightly and her tongue is peeking out, and you're probably just a little too focused on how pink her tongue is.
"You're getting somewhere, Becs," she says, taking your hand in hers. "And, for the record —" she says, almost as an afterthought. "— I want to kiss you again too."
You can feel yourself getting caught up in the moment — can feel the conversation with your dad slipping out of your mind. You know that you should be talking to Chloe about the decision your father has forced upon you, but right now, in this moment, you just can't. You don't want to sully the memory of Chloe looking so happy with something as horrible as that.
You soak in the sight before you, because you're not sure when she'll let you see her like this again. You memorise the slope of her neck, the curve of her jaw, the dip of her nose. Your mind takes note of her pale pink lips, her sunkissed skin, her cerulean eyes.
"Beca, you've gotta stop looking at me like that," Chloe says softly.
"Why?"
"Because if you don't, I'm going to kiss you." She says it with such certainty that it scares you; it's like her purpose, the reason she was put on this earth, is to kiss you again.
You hesitate for a few seconds before you swallow down the lump in your throat and say, "Well, maybe you should."
Her eyes widen a little, almost comically. "What?"
"I don't want to stop looking at you like this, so maybe you should kiss me."
"Beca, are you sure about this?" she asks.
And the honest answer is no, you're scared out of your fucking mind, but you know you can't tell her that so you smile probably unconvincingly and nod. "Yes," you say, voice barely above a whisper.
"Promise?"
You're about to back out but then your eyes flit down to her lips almost subconsciously and you see the way she's smiling hopefully and all of your doubts are out the window in that moment.
"I promise."
So, she leans over and cups your jaw in her hand, cradling it gently as if you are something to be treasured. She brings your face closer to hers but instead of leaning in to kiss you, she just rests her forehead against yours and closes her eyes. She's silent for a few minutes, keeping your foreheads joined together. You're going to say something or maybe — maybe — make the move to kiss her first when she lets out a shaky breath and says, "You are … everything."
You understand that she isn't looking for an answer so you just reach out and take your hand in hers, squeezing it tightly. You know that you're making promises you can't keep right now but you can't help it.
Eventually, she closes the small gap between you and allows your lips to meet. You're convinced that the moment they do is the best in your entire life, because all you can taste is Chloe and all you can feel is Chloe and everything is Chloe.
The kiss remains chaste until she runs her tongue carefully along your lower lip, as if her actions are planned. You part your lips just slightly, only enough for her to slide her tongue in, and when it does, she takes it upon herself to explore your mouth. She takes her time, like she has all of the time in the world. You wish that was the case.
You can't help but let out a quiet whimper when she bites down on your lip, which seems to fuel Chloe to continue rather than scare her off. She takes your bottom lip between her teeth, sucking on it with purpose.
You can feel the familiar heat pooling between your thighs and you know what it means, but you try your hardest to ignore it, but well, it's Chloe Beale.
She moves her mouth from yours and you're about to protest when you feel warm lips on your neck. She leaves a kiss on every inch of exposed skin, taking her time in covering it carefully. Every so often, she stops to bite down on a particular spot on your neck, flattening her tongue against the mark to soothe it.
When she attaches her lips to your pulse point and starts sucking, later running the tip of her tongue over the now sensitive skin, your hips buck into hers subconsciously, eliciting a low, guttural moan from Chloe.
This, however, brings you back to your senses.
Here you are, making out with your best friend on her bed when you have a boyfriend and a father that will disown you as soon as he finds out about it. You're sitting with Chloe and you're kissing her and you're moaning and God, you were so stupid to think this could turn out okay.
You pull away so quickly that you're convinced your neck is going to bleed because Chloe's in the process of biting down on your pulse point.
"Becs?" she asks when you're face to face, clearly alarmed. You hurry to get off of her bed, jumping up and rushing to grab one of your hoodies that Chloe has in her room. "Beca, what happened? Everything was going so well."
You turn to face her and you can feel yourself break when you see the look on her face. She looks so confused — so utterly heartbroken — and you want to comfort her more than anything.
"I … I can't do this," you get out, running out of her room and downstairs.
"Beca!" she calls after you, desperation seeping through in her tone. "Beca, come back!"
Before you know it, you're at the Treble house and there are tears in your eyes. You don't bother knocking, barging in and hollering up the stairs:
"Jesse! Jesse, where are you?"
"Becs?" you hear from upstairs, and your stomach twists when you remember how Chloe had sounded asking that just ten minutes ago. "I'm in my room!"
You shove past Donald and Uni who are taking part in a heated debate by the stairs and you stomp up to Jesse's bedroom, trying your hardest to blink away the memories of Chloe's low moan. It doesn't work — the sound rings in your head nonstop.
As soon as you're in Jesse's room you grab him by the neck of his shirt and kiss him urgently. Your hands move to his jeans and you unbuckle his belt, quickly discarding it. Your small hands slip into his underwear and before you know it, you're jacking him off and trying so hard not to think about the way Chloe had made you feel with only a kiss.
(You fail).
"Becs, not that this isn't — fuck — a great surprise, but are you — shit — okay?" he says, his head tilted towards the ceiling.
"I'm fine," you get out through gritted teeth. "Can't I get my boyfriend off without him making a big deal out of it? Fucking hell, Jesse. We haven't touched each other in weeks."
"I know, I know," Jesse says, letting out a groan that sounds too masculine for you to imagine it's Chloe's. "I'm sorry."
"It's fine."
When he finally comes undone, it's messy and you wince. He leans down to kiss your neck — most likely in an attempt to start getting you off, too — but he pulls away when he sees one of the hickeys that Chloe left.
"Becs," he starts warily. "What the hell is that?"
"What?" you ask, momentarily confused.
"On your neck. What the hell is on your neck?"
"Oh," you stumble. "It's … I … it's just a bruise."
"Beca, I wasn't born yesterday," he snaps. "Bruises aren't red. That's a hickey."
"What are you accusing me of?"
"I'm not accusing you of anything; I'm saying that you have a hickey on your neck that I didn't give you."
"What do you want me to say, Jesse?"
"I want you to tell me the truth!"
"No, you don't," you say with a smile on your face, even though nothing about this is funny. "You don't want me to tell you the truth, because the truth will kill you. The truth will kill me."
"What are you talking about?"
"The truth is this: I was trying to apologise to Chloe, and things got away from me, and …" you let yourself trail off because you have no way of finishing this without breaking everything this relationship is.
"What? Why were you apologising?"
"Because I messed up. I messed up and I don't know how to fix it and I tried and I just made it worse and I am so, so sorry, Jesse."
"Why are you apologising? I don't get it."
"Because I fucked everything up with us."
"What? I'm so confused. Why are you apologising for telling Chloe you're — oh."
Realisation sets in on his face and you can see the entire foundation of your relationship crumbling beneath you.
"Jesse, I am so sorry."
"So, that hickey — that's … that's from Chloe."
"I'm so —"
"— Yeah, I know — you're so sorry," he cuts you off.
"Jesse, I know that nothing I can say will make this better, but … I tried so hard. I'm sorry. I tried so hard to stop thinking this — to stop feeling this."
He scoffs. "Is that supposed to make me feel better? Is that supposed to be some sort of … consolation? I mean, my girlfriend cheated on me with her female best friend, but hey, at least she didn't want to want to fuck her."
"Jesse, stop it," you say weakly, but there's no use.
"No, I mean, I thought that we were in love, that we were good, only to find that you've been sleeping with your best friend behind my back! But hey, no, it's okay; you didn't want to hurt me. You're sorry."
"We weren't … it was just one time. And we didn't go all the way. We just … all we did was kiss."
"That doesn't make it any better, Beca!" he shouts.
"I know! God, I know!"
Your hands shake and you bow your head in shame, the tears in your eyes blurring your vision. You can feel Jesse's anger from across the room and everything is so broken that you can't help but cry.
"No," he says, voice trembling. "You don't get to do that — you aren't allowed to … to make me feel bad when you're the one that cheated."
You move towards him slowly, like a cat. You trace the slope of his jaw with your index finger, running it over the stubble that feels so wrong. His face is too rough and too stubbly and too Jesse. You feel sick to your stomach but you continue; you trail down his jaw to his collarbone, skimming feather light touches over it.
"So, what?" you ask. "That's it? We're over, just like that?"
Jesse scoffs. In lieu of an answer, he storms out of the room, leaving you alone in a room full of reminders of everything you could have kept.
