AN: Sorry it took me so long. I made this chapter almost double the length of normal. Lmk what you think :)

Haunting deeply and touched intimately is the heart with curiosity for the masochist. A mouth carved open, eyelids fluttering as the ghost of a fond happening kisses porcelain skin. Still, she is found bound and shut with broken faith. Swallowed monologue in acceptance of pain, broken faith fuels every beat of a heart in love with intimate destruction.

Beca lifts her head from the recording booth's desk. Her pounding headache amplifies her annoyance with the unnecessary itinerary C.R. keeps repeating. She watched her manager talk, registers her lips moving, but not a single sound makes it past the drumming of her brain in her skull. A frustrated groan unwillingly leaves her lips as she takes off her sunglasses. The harsh light stuns her briefly before she picks up her phone and sees a notification from an unknown number. She pinches the bridge of her nose and unlocks the phone.

"Don't file a restraining order, but I totally sent myself your number. This way I can annoy you at any time of day ;) -Chloe"

Beca's eyes glaze over the kissing emoji that completes the unexpected message. Did this girl have no shame? Her head continues swimming in waves of dulled reminders of the previous night. She had gotten a total of five hours of sleep – which is a win in her book – before shot gunning a Redbull outside her booth. This has been her routine for the past two years and a half; the dark shadows tattooed beneath her eyes provide all the evidence. She blinks one more time, rereading the message, then runs a shaky hand through the hair she neglected to tame before work. Do I even respond?

Her queries were interrupted by the next buzzing of her phone.

"Also, I'm stopping by after my shift to drop off some groceries. Redbull and juice? Really?"

"For fuck's sake…" she muttered, dropping her phone glass down on the table. Her eyes finally meet C.R.'s. Her dark complexion is painted in curiosity and her hands gesture to explain. Beca heavily debates the decision before her: she tells C.R. that she acquired a crazy fangirl who Beca doesn't completely despise, or she keeps it secret until when? She doesn't know. Okay, Beca. Choose carefully. "Nothing, just pointless emails." C.R. narrows her eyes slightly but neglects to challenge the statement.

"As I was saying," a pointed expression in Beca's direction causes a pair of eyes to roll into attention, "the label is putting a lot of pressure to release this album early in hopes of a bigger tour which hits all of the major festivals. Right now, Coachella and Hangout have you as a headliner; Lollapalooza is still figuring their shit out, but it'll most likely be the same for them as well. How close is the album to being released?" Beca shrugs her shoulders, her thoughts miles away. "You seem off, B, more so than normal. Did those girls give you a run for your money?" Beca's tired eyes meet C.R.'s with a wave of her hand discarding the idea.

"They were something else, that's for sure…" she trails off, her mind full of fire and sapphires. The DJ blinks. Breathe. Stop being pathetic. She shakes her head. "Anyways…the uh, the album just needs to polish up, make sure the final EQ is good and details like that. If they want it so bad, we are looking at maybe a week before we can send it to the publishers. It's not ideal for my liking, but, when you sell your soul over…" she finishes with a mirthless chuckle. Her hand finds the second can of Redbull and pops it open in a satisfying crack of carbonation. A long swig of the disgustingly sweet drink and she was ready to work, but not before picking her phone up and typing out a text.

"I'm trying to tell myself that if I don't respond, you will go away. Knowing what little I do know about you, however, doing so would only increase my torment."

With the tiniest of smiles pulling at her lips, she puts her phone down and turns to the sound board. She quickly goes to work with her headphones thrown over her ears and her fingers dancing across the different dials and switches. The overwhelming hangover combined with the strangest night Beca can remember are fading from the forefront of her thoughts. Working with music was truly a blessing for her. It's no secret that she has severe anxiety; the years of therapy were more of a nuisance than a remedy. The only thing to truly alter the cyclical torrent of thoughts was music. Music ran through her veins, filled every breath. Growing up, it had been her lifeline. The stress surrounding an unstable home and overwhelming emotion weighed Beca down heavily. It was a constant to feel her chest wrapped in an invisible noose, tightening little by little as time passed. This was just her reality. Music, though? Music did what no therapist or medication could. The swirling melodies, countered bass, solid percussion all intertwine. This lifeline was steadfast and strong. When the world let Beca down, music would pull her back up. It's all she had.

Her focus was moved from the sample she was working on when she felt, more than heard, the door swing open. She whispered a silent prayer, begging to be left alone before the headphones were ripped from her head. Brown hair whipped from the speed she snapped her head to glare at the woman who was responsible.

"Why haven't you answered any of my calls?" Anastasia hissed, her left, manicured hand grabbing the padding of Beca's headphones in a vice grip. She sported dark jeans and a forest green shirt; a cream-colored cardigan hung off her shoulders with the sleeves in the crook of her elbows. Long gold necklaces swung with her movements and her eyes possessed a crazed gleam that Beca has rarely seen. Beca stared at her, the patience it was taking not to call security was her yearly good deed. She was convinced of it. "I know you saw my texts. What is your damage, Rebecca? Can't you see that I care about you? I love you and this," she gestures wildly, "is how you treat me?"

Beca's hand roughly rubs her face, trying desperately to collect her emotions. Breathe. One. Two. Three. Unclench your jaw. One. Two. Three. It wasn't working. Her knuckles were white, gripping the armrests to her chair. Her back was straight, and she felt the tension in her muscles about to snap. "Anastasia," she calmly and quietly articulates the syllables, "I will give you three seconds to calm down. If you do not – no, no, let me finish- I will call security. My patience has reached its end." Beca saw her green eyes narrow, but she swallowed her protests and shoved the headphones back into the brunette's lap with a huff. Beca breathed the smallest sigh of relief but remained stiff. She wasn't out of the woods, yet. "Why are you here?" Beca says just as quietly.

"What do you mean 'why am I here' are you stupid? I'm here because you—"

"Why are you here? Why?" The exasperation in her voice bleeds into the room. "You repeat the same. Fucking. Bullshit. over and over and I still don't know! It's astonishing! I'm truly amazed at the growth you've had as a person." Her words, while tired, still carried an edge that digs underneath your skin. You feel the cold before you feel the pain. Her anger had charged the air and the oxygen was slowly seeping out. Strands of chocolate rose and fell with the energy surrounding her. She closed her eyes. One. Two. Three. She's not worth it. One. Two. Three. "Ana," she whispered, her voice losing the edge and finding a gentle rhythm in each phrase. "I can't keep doing this. I can't."

Anastasia peered back at her behind false eyelashes. The usual emerald green had darkened and it alarmed Beca. In her years of being with Anastasia, there was never once where her gaze simmered with something nefarious. Sure, she has always been the same cunning, cutting, and albeit insecure woman… but this Ana? Beca didn't recognize her. The last tug at the DJ's heartstrings pulled itself taught. Alarm bells sounded in Beca's head. What would she say? Would she be okay? She's not mentally stable of course she's not okay. She can't keep this up. Her head is about to explode. Dramatic. We can't leave her. How could she not? Beca was scared. If you care so much, why did you say those things? Her lips pulled into a tight line.

"You can't keep doing what, exactly?" Perfectly punctuated, expertly sharpened.

Beca pressed firm hands into her eyes. What was the point? Seconds ticked by, no one moving, no one breathing.

A buzz sounded on her desk.

Anastasia's eyes snapped to her phone. Beca was praying it wasn't who she thought it was. She was praying Anastasia wouldn't care to ask. She was praying to be anywhere but what was once her sanctuary. There was another buzz.

"Aren't you going to get that?" Beca felt her hair stand up when she heard her voice. A small, pale hand reached to the phone and turned on the screen.

"They're just emails," Beca sighed and turned her phone back over. Anastasia kept her eyes on Beca's hand. "Do you have anything else to say? I need to get back to work." Beca knew this was a cop out. Beca also knew that this was neither the time nor place to bury the decade long hatchet. Green eyes finally found tired grey and she rose silently. Grabbing her purse, Anastasia left, her face completely blank.

"It's not torment if you enjoy it ;)"

"I don't know, Bree! I don't know what you want me to tell you!" Chloe exclaimed in a shushed whisper. Her lavender scrubs rustled as she gathered papers and files. Aubrey, dressed in a charcoal pantsuit, held a hand on her hip with growing impatience.

"Chloe, something must have happened in order for you to one, stay the night, and two, for the perpetual smile that seems to be tattooed on your face. Or is that all a coincidence?"

Chloe huffed, knowing she had been caught. Her red hair was thrown into a messy bun complete with loose curls framing her face. The faintest blush painted her cheeks-which she vehemently refused to believe was there. Yes, she may be caught, but that didn't mean she had to give in. "So what if it did? Is that really such a big deal?" She called over her shoulder, reaching to place a file on a shelf. She tried to be coy, but this was Aubrey of all people. She couldn't fake it.

"It IS a big deal because you haven't even been on a date in MONTHS, yet here you stand with a secret smile after holing up in a millionaire's penthouse. So… you tell me." Aubrey leveled her gaze and Chloe was reminded why she was one of the best prosecutors in the country. Cliché, Chloe thought. To her defense, she was staying to make sure she didn't accidentally kill herself. Mostly. She kept trying to busy herself with the papers on the desk, but she realized she had already organized the papers by room number. She put her palms on the desk and closed her eyes. She felt the tense muscles in her neck and shoulders stretch and pop and she groaned in tired frustration. Was it that obvious? She hadn't spoken so much a word to anyone about the events of last night and yet Aubrey was already standing at the nurse's station when she clocked in at 7:30 this morning. Ugh.

"Aubrey, I love you, but you're being dramatic," Chloe smiled and patted Aubrey's arm as she left behind the desk with files tucked under her elbow. The blonde just rolled her eyes and followed the redhead down the corridor, the clacking of her high heels echoing in the early morning stillness. Chloe cringed knowing that Aubrey wouldn't let up without knowing some answers. She huffed in stubborn defiance. If she wanted answers so badly, she was going to have to work for them. "Let it go, Bree, you're reading into it wayyyy too much." Aubrey stared blankly as the nurse struggled to slide the file into the folder outside the door. They kept moving from room to room, neither breaking the silence or stride. The redhead was starting to get irritated by the obvious hovering. Aubrey continued to follow as Chloe went about her day. "Are you just going to follow me for my shift, or do you have a job to go to?"

"Why are you being so stubborn about this? You've never been radio silent about a one-night stand."

"Woah, woah, woah," Chloe rushed out and she turned to fully face Aubrey with wide eyes. 'One, not a one-night stand, two, I'm being stubborn because I'm trying to respect Beca's privacy. Her life is already on display, I don't want to add to that." Aubrey had the decency to look guilty and she knew her best friend would respect her choice. Chloe wasn't lying; she valued privacy in her life which was a luxury Beca didn't have anymore. It was something small, but she wanted to at least give the DJ that. While she may have told the truth, she wasn't being 100% honest, either. Aubrey was her best friend; she knew practically every area of her life. This impromptu and entirely random occurrence was something she wanted to keep to herself, something only she would know. Her reason for this sudden change? She wasn't entirely sure, yet.

"Sorry, I know it's not my business. I can't help being curious," Aubrey smiles back sheepishly and checks her watch. "Well, I should head to work. Call if you need anything!" The echo of her shoes follow her to the elevator and fade with the closing of the doors. Chloe took a long breath and pushed the fly away hairs from her forehead. It wasn't like anything happened, right? She only wanted to fulfill her oath to protect and treat. That was innocent enough. It was purely professional and done to keep a clear conscious. The fact that the tiny DJ was incredibly talented and attractive weren't even in the equation. Not one bit. Chloe sighed and checked her phone behind the desk. The screen lit up and saw a notification. She didn't bother hiding the smile on her face.

"You use an ungodly amount of emojis and emoticons that its nauseating." Chloe rolled her eyes and began to type out a reply.

"You think I talk like this to everyone? I know it triggers you." She tapped send. With a hum, she sank into her chair and waited to make her rounds. 7pm couldn't come soon enough.

Aside from the confrontation with Anastasia, Beca's day had been pretty calm. She expedited the album to compensate for the label's demand, and she was able to touch on some new mixes. C.R. left her alone after her (ex?) left. The DJ was blessed with her as a manger. With the space she needed and her creative outlet, Beca felt content. She was tired, but she was always tired. Her head hurt, but her head always hurt. Was this what getting old was like? No, it was definitely just a hangover. Why was she always hungover? She should smoke. Yeah, that's a good idea. She gathered her belongings and headed out of her studio. Her keys rang together as she flipped them back and forth in her hands walking down the familiar hallway. Once she got home, she was going to roll a joint, change into some sweatpants, and forget the day even happened. A sliver of panic clawed out of her chest at the thought of this morning. It's not like her relationship with Anastasia was a secret; the tabloids would occasionally spot them together and snatch an opportunity. But now that it's over? She didn't even know if it was over. There were so many thoughts tossing over in her mind and all of them pointed to an unknown. She hated that. The unending variables, the uncertain decisions…how could anyone function like that? To be fair, she was impulsive. She was responsibly impulsive. Most of the time. The worst part of all, was not being able to accept where she was or how she got there. One minute she was complacent with Anastasia's demands, and now she saw who she really was. That moment was jarring, whiplash to her memories. There were so many instances where she remembered she felt happy, but the rose-colored glasses have begun to fall. Beca had done everything she could to make her satisfied; there was rarely a time Beca told her 'no'. Making Ana happy made Beca happy. That was just how it was. And, at the end of the day, Ana was always there when it counted. Letting go of that will be the hardest. Letting go at all will be the hardest. She wasn't just something you could erase from your memories. In fact, Ana played a crucial part in Beca's life. Forgetting her would be like forgetting your name. And thankfully, Beca knows just the way to make her forget.

Beca rode up the elevator to her apartment and went straight to the cabinet to the left of the refrigerator. A glass was set, filled with ice, and full of vodka, all under a minute. She was too damn good at this. Her eyes found her phone again. She had a few notifications, nothing pressing. Using her rare instant of free time, she found herself scrolling through Instagram. She didn't love social media, but she did admit it was easy entertainment. She took a sip of her drink and sighed. Even vodka had lost its novelty. She returned back to her phone and her eyes caught at the sight of a text from Chloe.

"Send your address! I have the goods."

Beca lowered her brows, thinking hard as to what Chloe was talking about before she understood. Chloe said after she got off work, she was bringing food. Beca felt silly for thinking it was a bluff. Of course she was serious. It was now 8:04pm and that meant she had little time to get ready for her stalker. She debated not sending a reply, but Chloe had already taken the time to go out and buy Beca groceries. Beca wouldn't even bat an eye if she bought out a full store, but here is Chloe, spending her money on a millionaire. It was as confusing as it was interesting. Beca typed her address, sent it, then called the concierge to let them know about her visitor.

Minutes pass and Beca has no idea what to do with herself. She hadn't yet changed from work, so she didn't need to change from wearing a Ramones shirt and skinny jeans. Not that she should care what she looks like. This was her apartment after all. Her eyes glanced around the space and was pleased to know it was still clean. That was one less thing to worry about. Not that she was worrying. The seconds tick by in the monotonous metronome within Beca's head. Tick, swing left, tick, swing right. Her heart was accelerating the longer she sat on the couch. Her skin crawled, needing to get up, to do something instead of sitting still. It's just Chloe, she told herself. But when did 'just Chloe' become a thing? Her apprehension grew. She wasn't going to think about it.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The last bit of air in her lungs left from barely parted lips and she rose to open the door.

Beca was impressed. The redhead had managed to carry at least 10 grocery bags by herself to her floor. Sure, there was an elevator, but this was Olympic grocery level.

"Jesus, why so much?" She said before taking half of the bags and heading inside. Chloe didn't even look winded. The redhead was still in her scrubs with her hair cascading down her shoulders. Her makeup, while minimal, was only an instrument to her blue eyes. Beca cleared her throat while she lifted the bags to the island in her kitchen. Chloe took an unpainted, manicured hand and brushed some flyaway hairs from her forehead. She finally looked at Beca with one of the biggest smiles she had ever encountered. The corners of her eyes crinkled, and her cheeks revealed dimples. The DJ's lips turned into a faint smile in return.

"'Why so much?' You literally had no food in your fridge. None. I'm not even being dramatic," she said, sifting through the bags and putting items away.

"You really did not have to do this. Like, at all." Her voice was determined but not devoid of gratitude. Chloe only shrugged her shoulders.

"I know I didn't have to. But I wanted to. So now you have food and amazing company!"

"Really? When is Fat Amy coming?" Chloe scoffed in disbelief her hands palms down on the counter.

"Fat Amy slept with your Grammys. To be honest, she probably stole one."

Beca nodded, remembering. "Yeah, I'll need to follow up on that. But that's besides the point!" She realized how easily Chloe could derail her thoughts. "You shouldn't have gotten me food. I'm going to pay you back for everything you bought. And I refuse any alternative." Chloe's eyes narrowed at her before she gave a stubborn humph. Beca's lip twitched upward. They continued to unload the bags in silence, Beca taking note of all the vegetables that Chloe had implemented. She'll need to donate those to a food pantry or something. The bags were finally unloaded and Beca awkwardly shifted from foot to foot. She didn't know how to talk to people. While she may be famous world-wide, her anxiety still found time to make an appearance.

"So…" she said, her eyes glancing up at Chloe's before darting back down to the ground.

"So…" Chloe repeated, her bright, blue eyes dancing with amusement. Beca hated it.

"What do you want to do or whatever?"

Chloe tapped her chin and hummed. "I don't know about you, but I am exhausted. Netflix and chill?" Chloe winked and slid her shoes off behind the couch. Beca still stood at the bar and blinked a few times before joining the redhead on the couch.

"What do you want to watch?" Beca awkwardly cleared her throat with a sip of her drink. A smooth, controlled burn fell past her lips and she allowed herself to settle into the couch. Chloe sat a respectable distance apart; she was closer than most people would dare, but she left a distance between them. Beca could tell that was meant for her, and she appreciated it. She didn't feel inclined to verbalize it, either. She knew it was a simple kind act, one that Chloe offers everyone, she would assume. That's just how Chloe is.

"Something easy," she replied. Beca's eyebrow twitched but she said nothing. After a few minutes and an agitated huff, Beca decided to put on Frasier. She didn't know what episode she left off, so a random episode was picked. Chloe cocked her head with an incline of her brow.

"Frasier?"

"What's wrong with Frasier?"

"Nothing! Just," Chloe continued to look at her. "I didn't take you for a Frasier fan."

"I don't know," Beca shrugged. "This was my best friend's favorite show. Guess the pompous humor grew on me." Chloe nodded her head and turned back to the TV. It was a good enough show. The episode became more of an afterthought, the laugh track filling the silence. It wasn't necessarily awkward, though. Beca supposed the whole idea of her being famous had something to do with it. This wasn't an everyday occurrence; Beca could understand if she were right. She took another sip of her drink and tried to focus on whatever absurd situation the spin off show created. It was easy enough to follow even though she didn't find it hilarious. It was a good enough show.

"Have you eaten dinner?" Chloe asks after checking the time on her phone. Beca takes a pause before answering.

"I don't know, maybe?" She shrugged; she doesn't really feel hungry these days. Chloe rolls her eyes and stands from the couch. In the second it took for Beca to process her getting up, Chloe had already reached the kitchen. She began rifling through the fridge with her head hidden behind the doors.

"What are you doing?" Beca asked. She tried her best to hide the suspicion from her voice though it wasn't easy. Chloe's blue eyes peeked halfway to meet Beca's with no visible interest. Beca gestured to continue but was easily ignored.

"What does it look like I'm doing, Bec?" The redhead started to pull ingredients from the shelves before searching for the pots and pans. Beca stood, watching her; Chloe couldn't identify exactly the look indicated. Chloe decided to end the semi-awkward moment by answering the question herself. "I'm making dinner. You're not allergic to anything are you?"

"Why are you doing that?" Beca could not understand what her potential agenda could be. If it were money, why was she buying her groceries? If it were sex, she would have tried to sleep with her, and, while she may have flirted, she was never disrespectful. The only other glaring reason is her fame. She remembered dreaming about where she stood now and thinking about how wonderful it would feel. But, as much as Beca wanted to be suspicious, her heart knew Chloe wasn't searching for the limelight. This is what troubled Beca the most.

"Because you need to eat. I doubt you ate at all today which led me to guessing that that isn't an isolated incident." Chloe took pride in her innocent coverup. While she was doing her job and helping people, she sometimes forgets that not everyone enjoys her meddling in their life. Chloe wanted to neglect the part of her that wanted to be around the DJ. If it were anyone else, would she do the same? Of course, if she didn't it would be morally wrong, but the evidence remains: she isn't craving their conversation. Beca clears her throat and Chloe's thoughts came to a screaming halt. A small puff of air blew some stray hairs from her face. Chloe continues to work on dinner while Beca sat down at the bar with a blank face. Chloe turned back around. She finished cooking and gave Beca a plate of mac n cheese (the fancy kind) with a weak smile pulling her lips. The shorter girl continued to stare her down. 'What? Do you not like mac n cheese? If you don't there is something wron- "

"I can't figure you out." Beca cuts her off. "We met yesterday, you stayed the night, and now you cook me dinner? Why?" She didn't realize her right hand tapping the granite This line of questioning is totally warranted and offers a sobering moment in time. It wasn't a movie and it was no way perfect. This lack of trust within Beca wasn't new; she had lost faith in trust a while ago. That outlook has shaped a lot of her opinions, mannerisms, and music.

Chloe placed her palms on the cold countertop and straightened her back. "I don't know," she says honestly. "All I know is that I want to."

Beca pushed her hair back before picking up the fork. "I guess I should eat. It would be a shame to waste it." She dips her head into a quick nod before eating. It wasn't surprising that Chloe was good at cooking. She would be more surprised to see the redhead being bad at something. The sky was black and Beca sighed while sitting on the couch. By this time, Beca had consumed five (maybe six?) drinks. Her words were barely slurred, and she seemed to be functioning well. Chloe kept looking at her with piercing eyes, but the DJ's eyes stayed true to the TV playing The Office now. Chloe has joined her onto the couch, and she yawns into the crook of her elbow. The redhead was closer this time than before. Beca's mind went back to the metronome as an episode played. Something fell onto her shoulder and she realized it was Chloe. She had fallen asleep. She tilted her head towards the shoulder to catch a glimpse at her face. It was so relaxed and peaceful. Beca needed to get up, but she couldn't pull away.

"Thank you. For being you." Beca whispered these words to the shadows on the walls of the living room. Chloe smiled and turned her head to sleep. Beca let her.

AN: I know its a slow burn, like, slow, but understanding the character and what they say may not be what they feel. Seeing through the smoke and mirrors in a way. If that turns you off from the story, that's totally fine. But I hope to share this journey of psychology with those willing.