Chapter 7
Beca Mitchell starts her day late.
Always and without fail.
But does it matter?
No.
First, she wakes up with a headache which ranges from mild to raging, depending on the type of party she was in yesterday in the afternoon. Honestly, it's rare that vampires wander out in the day to go party, that is, if you don't know exactly where to party or which party you should be attending. For Beca, connections is always important. It was one of the two lessons her dear father had taught her—the second one is intimidating people by just one look—and frankly, she was just being the good daughter that she is. Thus, the countless connections she has. Connections to clubs, owners of said clubs, women and–sometimes—men in said clubs, DJs playing in said clubs, musicians, cars or any type of vehicle, legal and illegal, weapons, also, legal and illegal, security you can bribe, hackers, and even the mob, yes, the mob, any kind of mob. As a matter of fact, she has connections from Canada to Berlin, Russia to China, India to Brazil and even down to the islands of the Pacific or at least, every place her father had thrown her in. It's not like she would exactly fit anywhere thus the throwing, like she was some baggage to be dumped wherever he decided it to be dumped. That's what happens to the rebels and rejects, the troublemakers and the outcasts. Always unwanted, pushed far away, unwelcomed. That's what she is, outside the spotlight of being the next heir of, currently, the most influential and powerful vampire in the world. At the age of nineteen, Beca Mitchell has walked almost a huge percent of the world, learning as she travels whilst barrelling through harsh and unforgiving conditions. Her dagger, the only thing keeping her company through countless Christmases, birthdays and any occasion which she deems worthless.
The sharp blade, her only friend.
Ah, that word. Beca's allergic reaction to it is truly grave. It's the type of condition no doctor in any universe can fix. Beca strongly believes that friendship is just an excuse to use people to your advantage. Friendship? Trust? Love? Ha, she'd say none of that is real. There are no such things. They're all feelings people conjure up and romanticize just to give their lives meaning. It makes her vomit.
And it sucks to exist.
Sometimes, Beca wished she hadn't.
But that's another story.
Moving on, the second thing Beca does when she starts her day is of course, a glass of rich, fresh, type B blood. Take note, it has to be type B. It has that that specific sweet and slightly bitter flavour that rolls well against her palette. Like dark chocolate. Sometimes she mixes it in her wine while she checks her notifications from any of her huge number of connections. Every time she does, how she wished to be someplace else instead.
Ibiza sounds perfect this time of the year too.
Sighing, she throws her phone to the side, the device bouncing on the cushions. She hates being confined in this university, one of her many prisons. She could be chasing danger anywhere around the globe right now, the thrill of always being high on adrenaline pumping in her veins tempting her to break out from Victor Barden. She could always just face the consequences later on.
Well, what's new?
Standing up to stretch and heading towards the bathroom to shower, hopefully, washing away the stench of all the resentments she has in life. Although, washing it away completely is just far from happening. It continues to cling to every part of her body. There's a very long list of them she needs to drown away, most of which would need the help of alcohol and music. But for now, a cold shower would do.
Beca's never really been serious about her classes. It's not like she'd die if she didn't attain a degree. It's all just a waste of time when her future is already set on stone the second she was born. Nevertheless, she walks to the Kern building, her eyes carefully following Emily and Stella. The two best of friends are the first to break away from the group, making their way to their classes as Beca quietly ensures that they both get to their rooms safely and by safely, having none of those older Vanderbilts bullying the little Du Pont sweethearts. God, how she detests the 'B' word.
Her dark blues scan the room for the only Vanderbilt present in her younger cousins' evening class, Scott Vanderbilt-Collins. There's something about that kid that Beca admits is a little different from the rest of the Vanderbilts. It doesn't pass her when he subtly glances towards the girls' direction. Of which the two he was glancing at, Beca has a good guess who. Her observation skills, honestly better than any high-definition CCTV camera, polished through years of training, and she's been closely monitoring the youngest Vanderbilt since the start of the school year.
Leaning her shoulder lightly against the wall opposite the classroom, she lingers for a while in secret. The youngest Vanderbilt seemed to be focused on his book but the way his eyes would quickly dart towards her younger cousins stirs something inside Beca. It's a familiar feeling. She's seen this before and from experience, it's not good news. This makes Beca's stare turn deadly, a growl ready to rumble from her chest while red starts to colour around her irises, slowly washing away her ocean blues.
She's always observed that Scott doesn't look at a Du Pont the way his older cousins do. Beca initially thought it was a good thing. He wasn't the type to care about the feud which means one less person to worry about. But when those green irises trip away from the plethora of words condensed into a hard bound book resting in his hands towards soft chocolate brown hair and bright sunny smiles, this changes things.
Scott Vanderbilt-Collins is a threat.
Adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder, Beca leaves as quietly as she had come. Dark blues finally becoming more prominent while the slightest tinge of red slowly ebbs away. It's not a good idea to lose control out in public. She'll have to do something about it but now is not a good time. It's all about timing after all.
Walking away, she reaches her classroom but doesn't stop, passing it by. Her feet taking her out towards the university's huge and high iron gates where security promptly opens it for her, like always.
Perks of being the heir.
In a few moments, she is sliding into her black Bugatti and cruising out of the borders of Bartholomew Cross and on to the next town, Westenra, where she parks in front one of its establishments, Club Dusk. It's a small club compared to the ones in the big cities but it's a club nonetheless.
Club Dusk was exploding beats by now. People were starting to get tipsy, dancing recklessly all over the place as Beca makes her way with ease towards the bar on an empty chair that only needed to have her name carved on it to make it officially hers. Every regular knew it was her seat. The bartender, Flo, a Hispanic woman, smiles at her as she cocks her head up. In seconds a drink is whipped up and placed in front of her. It's the usual, her favourite dark red colour, her poison of choice.
She downs the liquid, burning down her throat and warming up her neck and cheeks. Finally, her head's slowly going back into that hazy comfort and the whole world seems right even for a moment.
"You're up in ten," Flo breaks to her as Beca narrows her eyes back at the petite bartender. She takes another big gulp, this time finishing up the contents of her drink before getting back up on her feet and heading towards the DJ's booth. She is greeted by patrons who quickly recognize her even through the dimness and flashing red lights. She gets a couple of taps and pats at the back, a couple of handshakes and some flirty winks along the way. One stands out and it belongs to a dark haired girl wearing a sexy green dress and she's already had her eyes thirstily glued to the Du Pont. Beca smirks at that, the night's already promising as it is.
The crowd cheers as the set ends and the DJ manning the booth gives a wave before heading down to greet Beca with their usual handshake. Luke gives her a pat on the shoulder with some words that sounded like "Go do your thing, kitty, make 'em go wild" before he goes off to hang out with the ladies.
Beca goes up the booth, headphones on and after a few moments, heart and soul lost to the music. Moments like this are the only escape she has, the only time she can truly breathe, moments when she is high from the exhilaration of every note played, every rhythm, tempo and melody. Her thoughts forming into a blur until all that's left in her head is nothing but a dark pit of inexistence. She lets the bass go and her heart pumps to the beat, blending into the music as one. Her eyelids flutter close as she throws her head back, the flashing lights blinding, intoxicating. It feels like running towards a cliff, never stopping even as she reaches the edge. But instead of falling she spreads her arms and flies. When the climax descends back down she too crashes back from her high and soon her feet hit the ground once more.
When she finishes her sets, Beca goes back down for more of that burning bitter liquid, arms now full with a warm body, hands tangling around her neck, dark hair covering her vision. Perfume fills her lungs but it's not a scent she is fond of, it's too strong but it will do. Anything will do at this point, anything to distract her mind from wandering far into dangerous places. Distractions have always been her remedy, her pain killers that she has to take every four hours or when needed.
The warm naked body underneath her writhes, a breathy moan, a scream of pleasure, nails digging down her skin. Red returns to replace her dark blues but it's a lighter shade compared to earlier while her lips part to show two thin white fangs that had descended down to replace her canines. The beating pulse drums in her ears like another kind of music she'd want to immerse herself in. She grips the moaning female's face with one hand, fingers on her jaw, forcibly turning it towards her and as soon as their eyes connect the deal is sealed. The woman falls into a trance like state, eyes dropping low but not closing as if she were drugged. Her neck lay bare and exposed as Beca leans down lips parting, fangs ready to sink deep into soft skin.
Ring.
Beca's closed eyes pop open as she pauses but the incessant ringing doesn't stop. It breaks the silence, the mood, her high and the woman underneath her from her trance. Beca closes her eyes to sigh in annoyance. When she opens them once more, dark blues search into the pocket of her jeans which laid haphazardly on the floor of Club Dusk's private room. She then answers the call without even checking who was calling, ignoring her companion's protest at the abrupt disruption.
"Are you heading home, dear master? I'm in front of your room right now. Can I come in?" the warm chirpy voice rings from the phone's speaker and Beca's jumbled thoughts suddenly clear up, suddenly finding its center. Frowning, she pulls the phone away from her ear to squint at the bright screen. Being bathed in the dark and red blinking lights for so long, it takes a while for her eyes to adjust to the brightness as the name of the caller shows.
Idiot Slave.
"No—" her cold words cut short when the chirpy caller beats her to it.
"Oh never mind, Emily let me in. I'll just go ahead and clean up your room then,"
Beca's brain suddenly buckles into a complete stop, dazed thoughts crashing into a wall as her entire body goes rigid. She then moves away harshly from the other body she was getting closely acquainted with, a frown forming in her features.
"Don't touch my stuff, Vanderbilt," she growls lowly, angrily grabbing her pants from the floor as she stands up from the sofa, ignoring the other female's disappointed pleas.
"But it's my job to ensure that you live in a clean and comfortable environment. I'm just being an obedient slave—oh! This is cute! A stuffed otter! It's an otter right? Mine's a red panda," there's some shuffling heard in the other end of the line and Beca almost loses her cool. She doesn't. Biting the curse words she would've spat out loud a second ago, she exhales instead.
This ginger idiot.
"Put the otter down," she slowly says in a dangerous tone, emphasizing the last word.
"Does he have a name? Or, wait, is it a she?" there's unmistakable glee in the tone used and Beca's in the brink of breaking something.
"I said drop it, now," she orders.
"What? I didn't do anything wrong,"
That's it.
She hangs up before another word spills across the line and puts on her jeans before hastily grabbing her shirt and jacket. When she slips into the black leather jacket she gives the female one last look, leaving her with a wink and leaves.
She's inside her car in seconds, running a hand through her hair as she presses the power button. The engine roars to life before she speeds back to Victor Barden with intense focus and a number of curse words, locked and loaded.
It's been a week since this master-slave blood contract came to life. Of course, it was mostly to her advantage, seeing the bubbly redhead scrunch up her face in irritation whenever she orders her to do the most absurd of things. Other than cooking, cleaning and doing most of Beca's Russian Literature papers—even though Beca is secretly fluent in Russian—the Du Pont has admittedly turned her into her own personal entertainment whenever she got bored. But hey, it wasn't her fault if the slave showed up every single day without even being called and there's just a lack of ideas for her to think of.
She had already made the Vanderbilt princess sing, play an instrument, dance and re-enact a scene from that movie called Twilight—complete with the sparkly sparkles.
"Why can't you just download the movie?"
"And where's the fun in that? Now go on, just… stop dousing yourself with glitter,"
"But this is necessary because they sparkle when hit by sunlight,"
"What the… fuck?"
But then as it turns out, the energetic little monster is the type to pee on your favourite chair when you are sleeping.
Three days ago, Beca had decidedly spent her evening at home when the redhead dropped by unannounced with a bang, wrecking her peace and quiet as she carries props from theatre practice. It took so much control for her not to scream when her precious electric guitar almost got hit by that damn horse head. Not to mention, the amount of glitter her sheets were sporting afterwards—the rule that her bed and closet was off limits to slave hands only meant she'd have to clean all that pink and blue shiny little objects by herself.
The excuse of the idiot slave?
"I didn't have time to go home and besides, I'll only just get a ton of inquiries when I head out again. At least, I'll have 'fixing the props' as an excuse,"
The nerve.
Beca wasn't a fool. As a matter of fact, she catches on pretty quickly. The redhead was doing her own silent revenge underneath the façade of being a good slave. The faux sweet innocence in her voice—because yes, she can tell, no matter how schooled in acting you are—is already making Beca want to strangle a rabbit. The sparkly idiot also has this bad habit of bouncing around wherever she goes, like Beca had grown a tail that can chatter for hours, persistently asking her about anything that comes to that idiot brain of hers.
"What ice-cream flavour do you like?"
"If there's one that magically shuts out noisy idiots then that's my favourite,"
"What perfume do you use?"
"Death. One that kills pesky little idiot birds when inhaled,"
"Are you a cat or a dog person?"
"Which one breathes fire? So, I can have it attack annoying idiots,"
"Have you—"
"No,"
This is war. That Vanderbilt clearly thinks that she's going to win and Beca is determined to put her in her place. So, she storms upstairs when she reaches the manor, all her cousins jumping and swiftly moving out of the way as she passes by. When she reaches her room she opens her door and enters with every intention of punishing those that needed punishment and there's nothing that can sway her other—
Blueberry cheesecake?
The sweet and creamy dessert was offered in front of her face, inches from her nose, catching her off-guard for a moment. Behind it, a huge smile and lively bright blue eyes belonging to that idiot slave.
Look at this idiot grinning like a… well, idiot.
"This was from the new menu of Café Dawn. I stopped by earlier and bought a slice. It was so good which is why I went back and bought a whole cake. But then I don't have anyone to share it with 'cause Aubrey is organizing this book event, Claire is with her current boy toy, Arthur hates blueberries, Scott's hibernating in his cave, editing his film project and can't be bothered. Tom is in his usual conference video call and—"
"Stop," Beca quickly says, a hand up in the air to stop her. "I don't care," she coldly replies as she stares hard at the redhead.
"This is delicious, C Slave!" Jesse's voice cuts as he peeks from the open door, a slice of blueberry cheesecake on his plate, mouth full of the dessert. If Beca had been aware of her surroundings earlier she would've immediately noticed the little cheesecake party happening in the living room, all her cousins gathering around the coffee table where a blueberry cheesecake sat, already sliced down to half.
Beca slams the door shut, the noise outside ceasing quickly into a quiet murmur. She then turns to the culprit of her unfortunate night, small plate with blueberry cheesecake still being offered in front of her. It does look delicious but instead of taking it, she walks around it, taking off her jacket to throw it over at one of the single sofa chairs. Her fingers fly up to her temples as she massages the brewing headache in her head.
"You don't like cheesecake?" the Vanderbilt asks and there's a hint of disappointment to that tone but it could very much be that innocent façade act she'd been playing at all week.
Oh how she really hates fake people. They're like up on her list of things she hates. Scratch that, it's the very first thing on her list of things in life which she hates.
Beca sighs before facing the redhead once more, her eyes landing down on to the otter tucked in Chloe's other arm. "I don't like it when people touch my stuff, especially when said stuff is found in my bed where I specifically ordered it to be off limits to overly cheerful intruders," she says sharply, snatching it away harshly from the others' grasp. She turns towards her bed, grabbing the blankets and placing the stuffed toy underneath it where it had always been hidden whenever nosy idiots come around.
"Technically, the floor where I found your otter near your bed isn't off limits so I wasn't breaking any rules," she sing songs the last few words and Beca mentally kicks herself in the head for being careless but she's not going to admit the mistake. Never—
"You really have to try this cheesecake. Plus, its blueberry, your favourite!"
As soon as the words ring out of the Vanderbilt's lips, Beca stiffens. Silence follows as if a bomb has exploded, making her temporarily deaf to the world. Her inside's stir as if she ingested something toxic, deadly. Her chest feels tight like someone was gripping her heart and slowly squeezing the life out of it. A memory enters her head for the first time in a long time before she could even stop it. She quickly forces it violently out of her system. First it was the old nickname at the party then the pancakes and now the stupid cheesecake. By now, her balled up fists were shaking with so much emotion, jaw clenching hard, eyes shut tight. Her mind still struggling to keep out the unwanted memories and it's a good thing that she has her back turned towards the cause of all her building rage because she's so close to losing it.
So she wants to play it this way, huh? Mercilessly cutting open old scars and rubbing salt vigorously all over it. They really do love to play dirty, don't they? She wouldn't even be surprised if the blood contract was just a ruse so they can torture her into insanity. The video wasn't even her idea. She even fixed their god damn problem and this is what she gets? She was fine in her own world, keeping to herself and then these Vanderbilts enter like they own the place, stomping around as loudly as they want. Evil. So evil. All of them. Her pain, their joy. That's how sick, twisted and cruel this world is. Well, what else did she expect?
Trust no one.
The slave was saying something, chattering fast and stumbling around with her words but Beca can't make out any of what she was saying. She was too consumed by the flame of anger burning inside her. If it wasn't for the telephone ringing, she would've done something drastic, something that would cause real war and maybe even expulsion.
The telephone. The only telephone in the house. It has been connected to the manor way, way before Beca was even born. It has actually been replaced into a newer model every ten years ever since telephones started existing. Everyone in the Du Pont family knows that direct calls from this phone were to be answered immediately because it only meant two things, family and emergency. Which is why it has to be placed at the room of the bloodline heir.
"Aunt Katherine," Beca breathes out as she hears the caller on the other line, anger forgotten momentarily put on hold. It was Emily's mother and Beca suddenly realizes it's that time of the month again.
"No, it's okay I wasn't really doing anything. I just got home," she says, tone softening as she looks out to the balcony overlooking the gardens. Her eyes drifting past that and unto the huge wall enclosing the whole campus, her legs wanting nothing more but to head out to the forest as soon as possible.
The nightmares couldn't touch her in there.
"Emily is doing great. She's a good kid, aunty. She's doing great in her classes and enjoying campus life," Beca continues to say. The image of Scott earlier suddenly entering her mind and bringing back the dark cloud hanging over her head as she talks about Emily.
"Yeah I know, her birthday is coming up in a couple of days and she said that she wanted something simple and intimate. Just an outdoor picnic dinner with family and close friends," she recalls, already mentally listing the important details in her head.
Beca goes on talking about the rest of her cousins, rolling her eyes at the mention of the twins and sighing when she talks about Jesse and his latest heartbreak. She only has positive words when she continues on to the younger Conrad but a shake of the head when it comes to the older Conrad whose own academic competition with Aubrey Posen is still ongoing—yup, Stacie's taking it seriously now. Her lips finally break into a small smile at this point. Clearly, the youngest ones are the better Du Ponts. At least, she can easily say that the future looks bright with regards to the young ones.
She was just about to say her goodbyes when a sudden pause in the other line fills Beca with dread. She could already sense it, trouble. Her posture unconsciously straightens, body tensing as if preparing to, and for an, attack. It's a habit she's acquired since childhood whenever her father's presence is felt.
Darius Corbin Du Pont.
His voice ice cold, deep and almost sinister. Anyone standing in front of him would naturally shudder and even cower in fear. His steel dark blue eyes that Beca has inherited were always unreadable. There was no warmth in them and Beca has never felt any kind of affection from him even when she was young. That's what happens when you are the spitting image of your mother. The mother who left Beca when she was barely 8 years old.
Robbyn Mitchell-Du Pont
She was named after the robin as she was born to human parents at a time when the little bird merrily sung a beautiful tune by the window sill. Her parents already knew then that music would be such a huge part in her life. They weren't wrong. What they didn't expect was Robbyn becoming a servant to the moon. The fangs that have turned and claimed her to the dark belonging to none other than her very father. Although hard to believe, Darius had gave so much love and received just as much, or maybe even more, in return. It run deep and Beca… was the product of that love.
A love she deems a mistake.
That's what happens when you let your heart be captured by that stupid bond. The unbreakable connection of two sworn lovers that transcends even death has driven countless souls mad after their other half ceases to exist. Half of your heart dies along with your beloved. Beca swears she'd never open her heart to be laid vulnerable and bare in someone's hands. Thankfully, it won't be hard. Nobody would want it anyway. Nobody would take it even if she'd offer it, raw and whole. Especially when they see the state it is in.
Bruised and broken.
"Father," she says, distant and detached. The words that then follow from the other line is something she's heard ever since she was young.
"How long are you going to keep disappointing me, Rebecca?" the tone in which he says it is calm, each word rolling slowly and smoothly in his tongue but it wasn't soothing, not when those are the words he chooses to enunciate perfectly.
"You bring nothing but disgrace to the family name. All the women, your noisy music and your wild little stunts that I keep having to cover up. You haven't even been attending any of your classes," this time there's a sneer and bite with each word, all a slap to her face.
"Don't wait for me to take action and—"
"And what?" she finally speaks up, an action no one would ever think of doing, voice shaking and wavering with so much rage. The amount of control she is showing surely must be commendable. "Where are you going to send me to again? In which dark part of this world are you going to throw me this time? What kind of methods are you going to have them do in order to enforce sense into your messed up, alcoholic, psychopath of a daughter? Tighten the loose screws and break the bad bones, what else is new?" she spits out bitterly with a sardonic smile.
"You dare challenge me now?" he growls, a rare occurrence but Beca is proud of it. It takes a lot to rile up Darius Du Pont. "Oh yes, I'll have them break whatever is needed to be broken inside of you in order to throw out all that is rotten and replace what is needed to cleanse out the wrong. Mark my words, I don't care how intense and harsh it will be. Enjoy your last year in Victor Barden while you still can because I'm sending you back to Russia,"
The line goes dead. Beca doesn't feel the sting in her balled up fists until after a few moments have passed, her nails cutting through soft flesh with how tight she was clenching them. Her breathing was deep and quick that she was sure she'd collapse any moment now. Nothing new. But then no matter how familiar or how used to it she was, the sharp pain at the center of her chest ached like it always does. The feeling carries through her unfocused eyes, a sting coming up from the back of her dark blues and her vision starts to blur. She fumbles for something to hold on. Her shoulder bumps against the wall as she steadies herself against it.
A distraction, she needs a distraction, fast. She needs to survive. She needs the feeling of being high, the burn of alcohol in her throat, the loud music blaring her senses, those dizzying flashing lights, the heat of a throbbing pulse, the thrill of falling off a cliff, the pain of a blade slicing through her flesh to numb out everything else.
And lastly, the familiar warmth of soft hands encasing her own.
"Beca?" a soft voice breaks the loud ringing in her ears as she finally gets a grip of reality, her darkening vision finally lightening up. And then she feels it, warm soft hands really clasping her own. She stares at it before glancing up to find a pair of sky blue eyes, watching her.
Chloe Sofia Beale.
Painfully beautiful, sweet, loveable, Chloe. The Vanderbilt's precious princess. The girl whose gorgeous bright blue eyes lights up a room and dazzles everyone who is lucky enough to be the center of its focus. With her every trace, her every step, a flower is born, blooming into vibrant colours. The girl whose gentle touch on Beca's cold palms creates waves of nostalgic warmth, of some kind of safety, solace.
The girl who also pierced one of the sharpest and longest thorns straight into Beca's heart, breaking the stitches she thought would finally heal her wound. Instead of recovery, her heart shatters into a million broken pieces which then broke again and again afterwards.
"Hey, breathe. I got you," Chloe gently says, worried eyes searching her face, her fingers wrapping around her palm tighter as she steps closer. The action sets a loud warning alarm off her head and that's when she finally makes sense of everything.
She'd been careless.
It instantly resonates across her entire system horribly as she flinches from the simple touch, almost jumping back. She had let her guard down for a few moments and she of all people knew that, that's what is going to kill you. Once you become careless that's when your enemies strike you hard.
She jerks her hand away harshly from the Vanderbilt's touch, the motion setting a chain reaction as she accidentally hits the plate the redhead was holding on her other hand. The plate smashes unto the wall loudly.
"Don't you fucking touch me, slave!" she lashes out. "Get out!"
The Vanderbilt abruptly steps back, a frightened gasp leaving her lips with Beca's sudden outburst. The look on her face was a mixture of fear, shock and hurt but she wasn't fooling Beca.
Not this time.
"I don't need your forced sympathy or your useless words of comfort that do nothing but make me vomit. I don't need you," she sneers, eyes dangerously on the brink of turning red so she turns away. "This is what you wanted right? Well, you got it. So you better run, run before I lose whatever self-control I have left and hurt you," she threatens. "Go!" her voice booms as the whole manor suddenly goes dead silent. The rest of the Du Ponts knowing immediately not to bother her when she is in this state.
With a soft whimper, the redhead's chest jumps at the violent tone. Those bright blue eyes seemingly losing its vibrancy. Meek and uncertain feet slowly move until they were rushing to the door, the creak of wood opening and closing with a bang. A soft sob ringing from a far.
Then silence.
It was only then that she can finally breathe, shoulders sagging as she leans against the wall once more, allowing herself to be fully vulnerable now that she stands alone in the dim room. Her empty gaze lands to the floor before the colour of rich violet catches the corner of her eye.
Cake was splattered all over the floor along with the numerous shards of broken pieces from the plate it was in. As broken as she was. Thoughts suddenly fill up her head, evoking the feelings she's buried and locked deep within. She lets them all rush in, too tired to fight it constantly. Tonight's okay, she thinks. She can let them slip for just moment.
There was a time once when even the word 'blueberry' had given her comfort and joy, accompanied with gentle smiles and hugs that could take her breathe away, take all the pain away.
Her most powerful distraction.
She chuckles to herself sarcastically. It's pathetic to think that the only happy memory she can conjure up in her head at times like this happens to be that thorn still painfully lodged in her heart. She knows it's also sinful to do so but she can't help it. At the darkest times of her life, it was only those 'happy memories' that had kept her sane... even if they weren't exactly real.
"W-Was there something I did wrong? Please... please talk to me. Please... Chloe, don't leave me,"
Right, they weren't even real. All of it, only a lie. So, she holds the tiny pieces of her shattered heart ever so carefully, shielding them from any more damage by placing them deep, deep down, locking it away from those who threaten to destroy all that's left.
With a swift move she crosses her balcony, lifting her legs over the rails. She grips the cold metal tight before jumping down the ground below, like she always does. She then threads towards the familiar path, passing the garden until she reaches the massive wall. She pushes open the secret door and slips in stealthily, the darkness welcoming and swallowing her completely.
The nightmares can't follow her here.
She's finally safe.
And there goes another day in paradise.
Tomorrow, the cycle continues.
A/N:
Hello loves. As promised, I am on time today!
We have Beca's point of view this time because I think we all need to know a little bit more of our cold and aloof but a softy deep down cute little otter. But things are seemingly heading in the wrong direction because our baby otter has just lashed out on our poor baby red panda (yes Chloe is a red panda because have you seen a red panda? I don't blame Kendrick for falling in love with that adorable furball). Now things look bleak but I urge you guys to hang on tight because next week is no joke. I've started writing the next chapter and I am going crazy because FINALLY we have come to this! We're already down 7 chapters! Time does fly so fast when you're having fun (god I hope you guys are having fun).
Parziwolf: Oh yeah there will be a lot more flashbacks with angst. Thanks for the love. I feel it. Totally. Deep down my heart.
Yuzu-chi01: "We need your fingers! We LOVE your fingers!" OMG. I can't-! I need to have this printed and framed in my room.
Kasia143: Hope you got to eat pancakes this week. I also hope you like this chapter which is about... blueberries this time so... i guess it is only right that I tell you that next week is about cupcakes, cookies and brownies... and nope I don't like food at all. Btw, you're right, I don't feel that much pain from guitar playing by now. Got em calluses.
Comiiksde: Yup, my fingers are fine! Thanks for the tip. And well, you know the easy beginner stuff, Wonderwall, Ain't no sunshine and now learning some Coldplay.
Sa0621: Oh darling, if I do break your heart know that it is never my intention to do so. If however, said grave misfortune does happen, I am sending all the chocolate and pizza I could give along with soothing music, the warmest of hugs and a Bechloe Forever pillow to mend it.
Love, redchocopanda - PS: Shhh nobody should know how sappy we are~!
mp0427: Hey there! Welcome aboard the redchocopanda express! Hope you do stick around till the end.
Thank you for reading Midnight Sunshine! To all the new followers, those who favorited and reviewed, thank you so much! And most importantly, THANK YOU TO THOSE WHO WERE WORRIED ABOUT MY FINGERS! I AM SO TOUCHED BY YOUR CONCERN. I PROMISE TO TAKE GREAT CARE OF THEM. :)
