Beca wasn't a runner.
She could barely remember a time after the age of ten when she had felt any desire whatsoever to run anywhere at all.
And yet - here she was - crashing through the snow, her clothes bundled close to her chest and her hair flyaway, tangled into an incredible mess. By the time she'd reached Baker Hall she felt - and looked - a little like she was about to go into cardiac arrest. Thankfully her roommate was out. Beca ripped off her clothes - Chloe's clothes, she was reminded with a painful waft of her perfume as the jumper flew off over her head - and then climbed into bed. Everywhere was silent apart from her heavy breathing and the pounding of her heart, thick and loud in her ears. Her head throbbed. She didn't know who she was more angry with, herself or Aubrey. She couldn't believe what had happened - last night and this morning - and yet the more she thought about it the more she imagined Chloe's gentle touch on her skin; the way her lips had felt on her own lips, her stomach and her hips - and there was nothing she could do to shake the warmth that radiated in her lower body. there was nothing she could tell herself to dissuade the electrifying pulse that shot through her bones as she thought about the way that chloe had laid beside her asleep. There was no denying it - any of it - and yet she found herself fighting so hard to do so. She fought so hard it hurt, so hard she had to let the pain and confusion she felt break from her body in a throaty sob, thick with emotion. She blinked and tears tumbled down her cheeks onto her bedsheet.
"I'm so sorry..." she croaked to nobody in particular, and yet deep down inside she wanted somebody - anybody - to hear her and tell her it would be all right. The tears came in a furious mixture of hatred towards Aubrey, frustration that she had let somebody get to her so much she had to cry, and undeniable respect and attraction (which she could barely admit to herself) that she felt for Chloe. All of this left her alone, in her bed, laying still and silent whilst the tears rolled from her eyes.
Eventually she fell into a deep sleep, still troubled by her thoughts, but her dreams providing a silent blanket of escape for just a little while. By the time she awoke her face felt sticky, her eyes sore, and her mouth dry. She was hot and uncomfortable, cramped into a ball underneath the quilt. She pushed it from herself, and blinking the sleep from her eyes, realised the dorm room was now bathed in a dull glow from the street lamp outside, and darkening quickly as the wintery evening fell. she had slept all day, she realised, and then began to panic - she was supposed to be back at the radio station, shadowing Luke's evening set. As she moved to get dressed she caught her reflection in the mirror on the back of the wardrobe. her eyes were red and swollen, and her cheeks were blotchy. She was already late, and so by the time she'd fixed her face she would be even more so. She tummaged in the bundle of clothes she'd brought back from Chloe's and pulled out her phone. With a pang to her stomach she ignored the new messages that sat unread on her homescreen (most of which, she noticed, were from Chloe) and proceeded to scroll through her contacts to Luke's name.
"Hey," she typed out. "Really sorry - can't make it in tonight - pretty sick. Will be back next week. Beca."
She didn't feel even in the slightest bit guilty for pulling a sicky, she had things to sort out before she went back to work to face Luke and Jesse. Jesse really was the last thing she needed to see tonight, she thought.