AN: 328 VIEWS, 11 FAVOURITES AND 31 FOLLOWERS? GUYS, I CAN'T BELIEVE IT – THAT'S MADE MY WEEK! I JUST WANT TO EXPLAIN THAT SOME OF THE SONGS LINK BACK TO DIFFERENT PARTS OF THE BECHLOE TIMELINE, SO ALL DATES ARE IN RELATION TO THE FIRST CHAPTER (END OF AUGUST)

"Oh no, here we go again, fighting over what I said, I'm sorry. Yeah I'm sorry.

Bad at love, no I'm not good at this, but I can't say I'm innocent, not hardly, but I'm sorry.

And all my friends, they know and it's true, I don't know who I am without you.

I got it bad, baby, I've got it bad…"

Three months earlier:

It had been a rough six weeks. Beca looked at herself in the mirror of the airport bathroom, trying to touch up her appearance before going out to face the music. She'd been all over the country lately, getting shipped out to wherever the artists needed a semi-decent producer. She hadn't been home in weeks, and she hadn't seen Chloe in person for a month. She hadn't spoken to Chloe for six days, and the silence was killing her. Their last conversation hadn't ended all that well, and she knew – as much as it hurt her to admit it – that Chloe was coming to the end of the line.

SIX DAYS EARLIER…

Beca clambered into the back of a taxi on the way back to her hotel. Right now, she wanted nothing more than to be on her way home, to her apartment in LA, heading back to the girl she loved. Away from demanding artists who needed her to be at their beck and call all day, every day. It was insane lately – she missed her home. She missed leaving the label at five, instead of whatever this mad hour was. It was pitch black out, and the roads were empty. There was still noise though, but she was in New York. This city never sleeps, she reminded herself, as she rooted through her bag, desperately searching for her phone. Where was it?

Finding what she was looking for, her lips broke into an ecstatic grin. She was going to call Chloe, she missed the sound of her favourite ginger's voice. Who was she kidding? She missed everything about her girlfriend – no fiancée, she corrected, smiling even harder.

But when she turned the phone on, her face fell.

~ 1 new message ~

16:03 – Chlo: B? Are you okay? I've been trying to call all afternoon xxxx

~ 1 new message ~

17:36 – Chlo: You said you were coming home. I'm missing you B xxxx

~ 2 missed calls ~

~ 1 new message ~

18:44 – Chlo: B, where are you? Have you forgotten what day it is? You promised Beca xxxx

~ 1 missed call ~

~3 new messages ~

19:22 – Chlo: Beca, are you coming home?

20:16 – Chlo: I guess you aren't coming home today. Call me when you can.

21:27 – Chlo: Beca, the label shuts at this time, so you must be able to see these. Call me. We need to talk.

~ 1 missed call ~

~ 2 new messages ~

22:45 – Chlo: Beca, please pick up, or reply or just something. Are you okay? Where are you? You promised you'd be back but you aren't. I'm worried Beca.

23:33 – Chlo: Beca, I swear to god. Ring me as soon as you see this. We need to talk.

~ 4 missed calls ~

~ You have 1 new voicemail ~

Voicemail (08:22) ~ "Beca, it's Chloe. I don't know where you are, what you're doing or even if you're okay. But, just call me back. You said you'd be back. I'm worried Beca. I'm going to work, so message or call as soon as you hear this message."

Her eyes flitted to the date at the top of the phone and she cursed. 24th April. How could she forget? How could she have missed their anniversary? Thinking hard, she remembered a one a.m phone call she'd had with Chloe the other night. She was tired and missing home, and Chloe was worried. She'd asked Beca when she was coming home. And Beca, in her sleep-deprived state, had said she'd be home in time for their anniversary. The anniversary that was now over.

Shit.

Feeling sick to her stomach, Beca quickly checked in at the hotel the label had booked, running up to her room as soon as she had the key. Sitting on the bed, she got her phone back out, staring at the screen. 8 messages. 8 missed calls. And those were only the ones she'd seen up to now.

How had she not gotten any of them? Should she call Chloe? She knew she should, but then she didn't know if Chloe would pick up. Then she shook her head, this worry was irrational – Chloe loved her, of course she'd pick up. She'd apologise and explain how busy she'd been. Chloe would understand. She always did.

Tapping on the screen of her iPhone, Beca listened as the phone began to dial Chloe's number.

"So you're alive then Beca," came a response from the other end. Beca immediately noticed the edge to Chloe's voice, the voice that was giving nothing away.

"Hi, Chlo," said Beca, nervously, fiddling with her hair as she tried to figure out what to say.

"Don't 'Hi Chlo' me Beca. Not when you promised you'd be back. Where even are you now? Do you know what day this is?"

"Chlo, can we do this another time? It's pretty late here…" Beca pleaded, her voice trailing off as she realised how stupid it sounded.

"No Beca, you've been gone six weeks. I've heard more from JESSE than I have from you. Last time I checked, Jesse isn't my fiancé. Jesse isn't even one of my closest friends. I don't even know where you are. And it's our anniversary. Not that you seem to care!"

"Chlo, you know that's not true. I care about you more than anything."

"Apparently not Beca."

"That's not fair Chlo -"

"No Beca," Chloe said, pausing for breath, "what's 'not fair' is vanishing for six weeks, without so much as saying 'hey Chlo, I'm going to have to work away.' Yeah, there's been the occasional phone call, but nothing else. I learnt that you were in LA the other week from a NEWSPAPER Beca! Seriously, you were at home, and you couldn't even tell me?"

"I was there for less than twelve hours Chlo – no sooner had I landed was I taking back off"

"Never stopped you calling before."

"Chlo…"

"Beca, I'm sick of this. I'm sick of you just disappearing off for work, and just expecting me to fit in with things. I'm sick of false promises, getting my hopes up, making plans; just for you to have some other priority and to bail on me. It's our anniversary Beca. You promised you'd come home."

"Chloe, when you rang I hadn't slept in over forty eight hours…"

"You can't even look after yourself Beca! It's no excuse. I took the day off yesterday, thinking you'd be home. You didn't even call."

"I didn't even know I'd promised until you said."

"Wow, Beca, just wow. So what's it this time? Drunk again?"

"Chloe, I know you're annoyed right now –"

"Annoyed doesn't come close Beca."

"Chloe…"

"I'm crushed Beca. You promised. That will be the third time this month you said you'd be back, and you didn't show."

"Please Chlo, I can't do this right now…"

"You never seem to be able to do this. You never seem able to have the time to do anything lately."

"Chloe, can we do this later?"

"Here we go again."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what I am getting at Beca. When will later be? Do you mean 'never'? You and I both know you have no intention of ever having this conversation."

"Chlo… that's not fair."

"Beca, you don't get to discuss what's fair."

"Chlo…"

"No Beca. I'm tired of picking up the pieces. Lately it feels like I'm the only one trying to keep us together as you insist on drifting apart."

"You know that if I could stay home all the time, I would say yes in a heartbeat."

"Do I Beca? Because you seemed to be enjoying your night out according to the paps."

"Seriously Chlo? Since when did you start reading their rubbish?"

"Since that was the only way to find out what was going on in your life, seeing as though you're too busy to keep me up to date."

"That's low Chloe."

"Right now, you're in no place to tell me that I'm being harsh."

"Chloe, I'll be home soon, I promise."

"So when's 'soon', Beca? You know what, I don't care – I'll believe you're coming home when you actually show up. Enjoy whatever you're up too, wherever you are."

"Chlo…" Beca said, "As soon as I'm done, I'm coming back."

"You said that the last three times Beca. Do me a favour: don't make promises you can't keep. See you later." Chloe muttered with a sense of finality.

"See you soon Chlo," Beca said, "I love you," she breathed, but the click from her phone told her Chloe hadn't heard any of what she'd said. The girl she loved had just cut her off, and Beca had a nasty feeling that it wasn't just with the phone call.

Chloe wasn't happy – not at all. Beca knew she'd screwed up big time. How had she forgotten their anniversary? She needed to get home, and fast, if she wanted to stand half a chance of fixing this. What was she supposed to do?

Staring at the screen of her phone with glassy eyes, Beca looked at the clock. She knew she wasn't leaving New York until the artist was content with her work. This new artist – Ben Dover – was proving to be particularly stubborn. She regretted ever taking him on. But Beca knew how messy contracts were.

Almost as messy as relationships, she grimaced. Shaking her head with frustration, Beca realised there was nothing at all she could do right now to fix this. She walked over to the fridge, something the label always made sure was in her room. The bottle of Smirnoff smiled at her from the shelf. She lifted it out, weighing up her options. But Smirnoff had a good friend to her these last few weeks. Desperate for an escape, she poured the vodka into a glass. Knocking back a shot, she took a long look into the mirror before collapsing onto the bed.

TODAY (AN / but still three months ago, if that makes sense xD):

Beca looked back at her reflection, feeling slightly disgusted with herself. No, it was more than slight disgust – she was furious. How had she let this happen? She regretted her phone call with Chloe massively. Why hadn't she just left it until morning? Why hadn't she just booked a plane ticket home?

Deep down, she guessed it was because she was scared. But that was irrational. What would she be scared of? There was nothing to be scared of. Except, Chloe had been pretty angry on the phone. There was something about what Chloe had said as she hung up that told her there was something massively amiss.

Over the last six days, there had been no messages, nor had there been any phone calls. Beca herself had rang Chloe multiple times, only to reach her voicemail. She'd messaged Chloe whenever she could, but she hadn't even read them. She knew she was in big trouble.

Walking out of the airport, she hailed a cab outside LAX, telling the driver her address so she could go home. Beca sat nervously in the back of the taxi. It seemed as if with every mile closer the cab got to home, her anxiety grew tenfold.

By the time the cab pulled up outside her building, Beca was a bumbling bag of nerves. She hastily handed the driver 50 bucks for the ride, and got out of the cab. Grabbing her case out of the trunk, she turned towards the door and walked into the building. She walked the five flights of stairs up to her floor, taking a deep breath as she stopped outside her door.

She knocked once. There was no reply. She knocked once more. Still no response. She knocked again. Nobody came.

She bent down, looking under the door. There were no lights on, giving the apartment an eerily empty feel. Reaching into her bag, Beca searched through its contents until she found her keys, right at the bottom of it. Pulling them out, she put them into the door, turning them until she heard the click. The door swung open into their dining room.

But there was nobody there.

Anxiously, Beca shuffled into the apartment, leaving her luggage abandoned by the door. Where was Chloe?

"Chlo," She whisper-yelled, "are you home?"

There was still no reply, something that made Beca feel really uneasy. It was a Saturday – there was no way Chloe would be at work today. So where was she?

She searched the tiny apartment just to confirm what she already knew; Chloe was not in. There was nobody in the apartment – only Beca. Wandering over to the fridge, she was shocked by the lack of food in it. Maybe that's where Chloe was… out buying groceries.

Deep down, Beca knew that wasn't true. She had a niggling suspicion that Chloe hadn't just 'popped out' because, who pops out at 6AM on a Saturday? Certainly not Chloe Beale.

It was with this suspicion, that Beca noticed the envelope on the kitchen side. Curious, she approached it and picked it up. The name on the front was hers, and Beca knew all too well the hand that wrote it. Hands shaking, she ripped open the envelope, pulling the letter out. She unfolded the letter, and with her heart in her mouth, she read the four words on the paper.

I'm sorry Beca – Chlo

Beca felt like she was going to throw up.

There was a small clang, causing Beca to look down at the floor. What she saw made her blood run cold.

There, on the tiles, laid the ring Beca had carefully selected but two months ago, the promise she'd made to Chloe of forever.

Suddenly, Chloe's silence had a whole new meaning.

Chloe was gone, and Beca stood at the kitchen side, stunned. She turned to the big mirror in the passage, watching her reflection as she felt her heart shatter. Without Chloe, Beca knew she was nothing, and the realisation that she had ruined the best thing that she'd ever had begun to sink in.

Feeling the emptiness that accompanies heartbreak begin to take over, Beca just slid to the floor, where she began to sob. What had she done? Clearly, Beca wasn't any good at love. And, more importantly, what was she going to do?

Right now, Beca didn't have an answer to either of those questions, but she knew she needed to get her feelings out before anybody else saw her like this. Stumbling into the lounge, she collapsed onto the sofa, where she felt herself break as she looked at the pictures of her and Chloe on the wall.

Barden. Amy and Bumper's wedding. Emily's Graduation. The freshman year road trip. The trip to Paris they took on a whim. Every picture was a memory, something that would normally make her smile. But today, every picture was just another punch in the stomach for Beca.

Nobody actually needed to say that it was over; the ring that laid, abandoned, on the kitchen tiles said more than words ever would.