A/N: So here we go again! I've been working on this for a long time, and I really hope you all like it. I'm pretty proud of this fic, and out of all of the fics I've written so far, I think this is the one I've worked the hardest on. I've spent a lot of time writing and editing, and I just hope I got everything right.
The alarm woke Chloe Beale up at 9:30 pm. She rolled over with a grunt and searched for her phone in the folds of her blanket, finally finding it under a pillow. She switched it off and dropped back down into bed. Her eyes closed again, refusing to open more than a few millimetres.
"One," she mumbled. "Two. Three. Four. Five." She forced her eyes open and rolled out of bed.
She'd only been asleep for an hour, and it wasn't enough. Not for the first time, she wondered why she was doing this.
She stepped into her shower yawning, and washed her six-hour shift at the convenience store out of her skin and hair. She kept her eyes closed as she rinsed out the shampoo and rested her head against the cool tiles as the hot water ran down her back. Then she heard her second alarm ringing on her phone, and she turned off the shower.
She dried off and dressed quickly, blow-dried her hair, and tied it up in a messy bun. She didn't bother with make-up.
It was almost 10 pm when she walked into the kitchen, before remembering that she was out of coffee. With a sigh, she grabbed her keys off the bench, planning to stop by the store on her way.
"Damn Red, don't you ever leave here?" Her co-worker Cynthia Rose asked as Chloe made her way to the counter.
"I just missed you too damn much," Chloe said, her voice sounding as tired as she felt. She paid for her coffee and left.
At 10:50 pm, she arrived at her town's Support Line office, where she worked four hour shifts, three nights per week as a volunteer. Her job was to answer phones and to listen to the multitude of unhappy, often suicidal, people who called Support Line every day across the country.
She made her way through the small office, waving a hand at Ted, the office manager, and sat down at her phone, which was beside her best friend Aubrey. They had met at college and Aubrey had started volunteering here when she began working towards her Master's degree in psychology. This place was the perfect work experience for her.
Chloe had her own reasons.
She placed her coffee on the desk, put on her headset and switched on her phone.
Her phone didn't ring for another twenty minutes. She had been passing the time reading a book before hearing the familiar chirp in her ear that let her know a call was waiting. She pushed a button on her headset.
"Hello, you're through to Support Line," she said in a calm but soft voice.
Her Support Line voice had taken a lot of practice. At school and college she'd been a loud, bubbly person, her voice cheerful and bright. After college, her voice had gotten hard, rough, and cold. And neither of these voices would work for this kind of job.
Whoever had called didn't say anything, but that wasn't uncommon. Sometimes she had minutes of silence before the person felt comfortable enough to talk. Sometimes they never did. Chloe wasn't allowed to cut them off or rush them, and she didn't want to. She waited, listening to the soft breathing on the other end.
She counted to 30 in her head, then spoke again.
"Is there anything you'd like to talk about?"
She heard the rustling of sheets and the sound of someone clearing their throat. She hoped she hadn't answered the phone to someone who… got off on this. It wouldn't be the first time for that either, but it was never pleasant.
She counted to 30 again.
"How about we start with something easy? What time is it where you are?" Chloe asked. The way the switchboard worked was that Chloe could receive a call from anyone, anywhere in the country. They were all randomly assigned, so even though she was working at the Barden office, she could get calls from anywhere.
The person cleared their throat again. "11:20 pm," a woman's voice said. "Just after."
"Well, how about that? We're in the same time zone," Chloe said, her voice a little more cheerful. "So, why did you decide to call us this evening?"
"Uh," the woman said. "I don't… I don't really know."
"Would you like to talk about how you're feeling?"
"Not… Not great. Kinda… I don't know… Lost. Lonely," she let out a strained laugh. "Sorry. I feel like I'm just wasting your time. I'm just… I'm having a tough time and I don't have anyone else."
"You don't have to apologise," Chloe said. "And you're not wasting my time. We can talk about anything you want, for as long as you want. I'm not going to push you, or rush you, and I'm not going to judge you. This is a safe space," she said, using one of her favourite phrases. She found it relaxed people if they knew they weren't on a timer.
The woman was quiet again, and Chloe heard the sound of ice clinking off the side of a glass.
She wondered what the girl was drinking and tapped her finger three times against her desk.
"I just moved back to my hometown," the girl said, her voice a little rougher, as if she'd just swallowed something she didn't like the taste of. The ice and glass rattled again.
"And how do you feel about that?"
"Bad," the girl said. "Terrible. Really fucking terrible." Her voice was looser. "My hometown is bad for me."
"Can I ask why?"
"What's your name?" The girl said, switching topic.
Chloe wasn't thrown. Most often the people she spoke to steered clear of the actual reason they'd called.
"Chloe," Chloe replied. Sometimes she would give her real name, sometimes a fake name if she was uncomfortable with the way the call was going. "Would you like to tell me yours?"
There was another pause. She heard a splash of liquid hit the glass, and the woman on the phone took another drink.
"Beca," she said.
"Beca," Chloe repeated. She waited again for Beca to pick up the conversation, taking a sip of coffee.
When it became clear that Beca wasn't going to carry on talking, Chloe spoke again. "What do you do for a living, Beca?"
Another pause. Another swallow.
"I don't… I'm not working right now. That's why I had to move back home. I worked at a record label in L.A. but… now I don't. I wanted to make music. That's all I've ever wanted to do."
"What kind of music?"
"Uh, all kinds really. I like… I used to make songs that were like… mashups of different songs from different genres," Beca said. Her voice was slow and syrupy now. Like Chloe had to pull each word out of her. "I was good… I thought I was good."
"That sounds really interesting Beca," Chloe said, and she meant it. "Are you still making music now?"
"Not really," Beca said. "Not for a while."
"How come?"
"I haven't really… felt it. Since I got home it's like there's a block inside. I can't get anything to come out," Beca said. She let out a puff of air, her breath hitching slightly when she breathed back in. "Can we talk about something else?"
"Of course," Chloe said. "We can talk about whatever you want."
"I can't," her voice broke, and Chloe knew she was trying not to cry, "can you just… talk. Can you just talk to me? Please?"
"Yeah," Chloe said, her voice much softer. "I can do that. So this is actually my second job, kinda. I volunteer here, but I also work at a convenience store. So this guy came into the store today…" And Chloe talked and talked and talked about nothing. Filling a silence with inane small talk was one of Chloe's specialties. Every so often, she drew a laugh out of Beca and Chloe felt a rush of pride each time.
After what felt like a long time, Chloe finally ran out of steam, and a natural and comfortable silence fell.
Chloe counted to 20.
"How are you feeling, Beca?" She asked.
"Better," Beca said. And she sounded it. "Thank you, Chloe."
"You don't need to thank me," Chloe said. "Is there anything else you'd like to talk about?"
"I think I'm good," Beca said. "I'm glad I called."
"I'm glad you did too. We are always here to listen, Beca. Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Give us a call, and someone will be there," Chloe said.
"What if I want to speak to you again?" Beca asked, her voice quieter.
"Well, the calls are randomly assigned," Chloe said. "So there isn't really a way of you calling and getting me, unless I happen to be one of the free volunteers when you call, and your call gets directed to me."
"Seems unlikely," Beca said, sounding defeated.
"If you want though," Chloe said, picking up a pen and flicking open her notebook, "I can give you a call back when I'm next working?"
"You can do that?"
"Sure, we can arrange call backs. My next shift is Wednesday, 11 pm until 3 am. Does that work for you?" Chloe asked.
"Uh, yeah. Yeah, that would be awesome," Beca said.
"Can you give me your number and your preferred time?" Chloe asked.
Beca gave Chloe her number and asked for a call at around 11 pm.
"Okay, great," Chloe said. "Now, for like legal reasons, I have to tell you that I'm not going to be using your number for personal use. Like this isn't going in my cell phone or anything and no one but me is going to have access to it. Your calls aren't recorded, and we don't have your data stored anywhere. I've just got your phone number and first name, and it's gonna get locked in my top drawer."
Beca laughed. "Seems super secure. But thanks, I'm really glad I'm gonna get to speak to you again, Chloe."
"Me too, Beca," Chloe said. "Is there anything else I can help you with tonight?"
"No, thank you. Um, enjoy the rest of your shift? That's probably a weird thing to say. Obviously you don't enjoy these calls," Beca said, sounding embarrassed.
"Well I've enjoyed this one," Chloe said, another hint of cheerfulness in her voice.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, I love listening to myself tell mundane stories," Chloe said, pleased to hear Beca laughing again.