- Part 1 -
Arrhythmia
Do you still feel like you know what you're doing?
'Cause, I don't think you do.
Do you still feel like you know what you're doing?
I don't think you do.
I don't think you do.
Let's the hear the applause.
C'mon, show me how much better you are.
-Taylor Swift
"I can do it," Aubrey hisses and pulls away from Luke as he tries to show her how to aim a dart at the board. He puts his hands up and takes a half of a step back. A crowd of locals has gathered around them, and while Aubrey wants to think a simple game of darts usually brings together an audience, she's sure that they just aren't used to seeing someone like her playing. She tries to ignore the pressure and focus on the colorful dartboard in front of her. She draws back her hand then releases the dart as she snaps it forward again. It misses the bull's-eye by less than a centimeter and lands in the green area beside it. She grimaces at the miss. That's one throw down and two more to go. The locals look impressed. Luke looks bored. He leans against the bar and waits for her to go again. His disinterested gaze only increases her desire to win.
The second dart hits the green circle as well.
"You could always picture the bull's-eye as someone you hate," the bartender suggests. She's watching Aubrey from behind the bar with her arms folded on the counter. "I like to pretend it's the sheriff."
"Hardy har," a man deadpans at the bar. Aubrey glances back. The badge on his jacket confirms his identity. She looks at the bartender, who just smirks. Aubrey realizes this must be a close-knit community for the bartender to have the nerve to say something like that and for the sheriff to take no offense. She turns to face the board again and tries to refocus.
She just needs to think of someone she hates. That's easy enough. She pulls her hand back as the front door opens and releases the dart just as Beca walks inside. It sticks in the wall about three inches away from the board. Aubrey's hand drops limply against her side and she gapes at the dart in a mixture of frustration and defeat.
Beca halts and looks back and forth between Aubrey and the dart with raised eyebrows. "Nice throw," she deadpans, "I hope the wall has insurance."
Aubrey whips around to face her directly. "What the hell are you doing here, Beca?" she demands.
"Shouldn't you be at dinner instead of trying to bang my boss?" Beca evades the question and points at her.
Aubrey's face flushes and she straightens her posture. It suddenly feels like every single person in the bar is staring at her. Upon glancing around, only most of them are. She waits for Luke to jump in and save her (not because she needs him to, but because that would be the gentleman thing to do), but he doesn't. Of course, he doesn't. He just stands there. She exhales a short breath and prepares to defend herself. She has nothing to prove to Beca, but she's not going to be part of the gossip mill in a bar that reminds her way too much of Cheers. She'd rather everybody not know her name. "This isn't an appropriate conversation, and –" She pauses almost immediately. Why the hell are they talking about her? She furrows her brows. "Shouldn't you be at dinner?"
"It's not your job to dictate where I'm supposed to be anymore, Aubrey," Beca clips with undeniable relief. She shakes her head and walks past her to the bar.
Aubrey turns and watches her then follows. "You're the one who walked in here and called me out," she reminds her. She stops beside the bar and frowns as Beca eyes the bottles of liquor lined up on the wall. She can't resist telling her where she's supposed to be whether it's her job or not. "I was here first. Get out, Beca."
Beca presses her lips together in a tight smile and shares an amused look with the bartender. "I'll take a vodka and tonic," she orders.
"That'll be to go," Aubrey adds in a too-sweet voice. She glares at Beca.
"Yeah, I'm not leaving." Beca picks up the glass as it's slid across the bar to her. She takes a sip. "But you can always go. Don't let the door hit you on the way out."
"I'm on a date," Aubrey replies and shakes her head. She'll be damned if she's the one who has to leave.
"With Luke?" Beca asks incredulously. "He doesn't even like you, Aubrey. He thinks A Cappella girls are lame. He just wants to get your clothes off because his girlfriend left him for a movie producer last week and he's desperate."
Aubrey clenches her teeth together and breathes slowly through her nose. She's not naïve. At least not as naïve as Beca seems to think she is. She didn't step into this bar thinking that a night with Beca's boss was going to lead to some sort of relationship. Honestly, she's a little fuzzy on why she's with Luke to begin with. But she knows it's not because either of them are actually interested in each other. She looks at Beca in silence and hopes that she'll just take her drink and go. There are uncomfortable feelings she can't quite pinpoint swirling around in her chest, and the longer she stares at Beca, the worse they become. So what if Luke is using her? It's mutual. She tells herself that the knowledge only makes her a little more put off by him.
"He's an Indie film producer," Luke cuts in as if that matters.
Aubrey and Beca both turn their heads to look at him. "Stay out of this," they snap in unison. They face each other again, and Aubrey does her best not to look bothered. Beca looks neutral about the situation, and Aubrey wishes she was easier to read.
Beca's fingers tighten around her glass. "You know you're only here because of Chloe, right?" she reminds her harshly.
"I'm not an idiot," Aubrey replies. She has to resist the urge to throw Beca's drink in her face when Beca arches her brows like she's not too sure about that. "I know I'm only here because you were gracious enough to invite your ex-girlfriend to your wedding." The corners of Beca's lips twitch and Aubrey knows she managed to hit a nerve. She can't help but appear smug.
Beca takes another swallow of her drink. "After this week, you're out of my life again," she tells her. "That means you're not seeing my boss, because I don't want to see your face when he starts flying you all the way to LA for booty calls. God knows you'll end up at my job to make my life hell." She waves Aubrey off as she turns and makes her way across the bar.
"You can't tell me who I can and can't see." Aubrey follows her. This is suddenly no longer about Luke. She knows they both know it.
Beca places her drink down on the corner of the pool table. "Jesus Christ, Aubrey, go away," she blurts out.
The words sting. Aubrey starts to think that maybe she wants to fix the gap between them, but she doesn't know how. She wouldn't even know where to start. "I'll play you for him," she makes an offer.
"You'll what?" Beca asks.
"I'll play you for Luke," Aubrey repeats confidently. She raises her voice to make sure she's heard over the bar's deafening music.
Beca looks momentarily taken aback before her brows quirk in amusement. "You want to play darts and the winner gets my boss?" she asks and sounds like she's holding back a laugh.
"Not darts," Aubrey answers and shakes her head. Beca already knows that she can't hit the bull's-eye, and there's a dart in the wall that practically proves she'd lose. "You do know how to play pool, don't you, Beca?"
Beca peers around her at the dart in the wall. "I think I'd fair better in darts," she replies. She picks her drink back up and takes a step forward, but Aubrey steps to the side and cuts her off. Beca presses her lips together in a tight smirk and tilts her head.
"I get to pick the game," Aubrey informs her. Beca's clear hesitancy to play pool almost guarantees her an easy win. She places her bag down then leans over the table and begins gathering the scattered balls into the triangle.
"You proposed the bet, so don't you think it's fair that I get to choose the game?" Beca inquires.
"That's not how I do things," Aubrey reminds her, though she doubts Beca has forgotten who is in charge. She slides the triangle into the middle of the table then removes it and places it off to the side.
"Right," Beca whispers. She puts her glass next to the triangle and picks up a cue stick. "Let's get this party started then," she says with false enthusiasm. She steps forward and leans over the table with the cue stick.
Aubrey lets her go first, not that it seems as though she has much of a choice. Before she can say anything, Beca is already hitting the cue ball and makes a legal break. She fails to pocket any of the balls on her first try and Aubrey holds back a sigh of relief. She grabs a stick for herself and walks around the table, locking eyes with her opponent. Beca narrows her eyes in a competitive glare. Aubrey draws in a breath of the bar's smoky air (she's probably going to get lung cancer from being in this place) and leans over the table. She zeros in on a solid ball only a few inches away from a corner pocket. She draws her lower lip in between her teeth in concentration.
"You know you have to actually hit the ball to make it move," Beca interrupts her in the quiet between songs.
Aubrey lifts her head and cranes her neck to look at her. "Shut it, Beca," she snaps. Beca smirks and leans against her stick. Aubrey scowls and refocuses on the seven ball she's aiming for. She slides the stick back and forth between her fingers a few times to the tune of Maroon 5's One More Night as it begins playing before hitting the cue ball and knocking the solid ball into the pocket. She straightens up with complacent grin and looks at Beca.
Beca shifts her cue into one hand. She lifts the other hand and feigns impressed. "Still your shot," she says simply.
Aubrey rounds the table for a better angle to hit the cue ball again. She's only slightly oblivious to the people watching them play. She hits the ball and it knocks into the solid three. It rolls a few inches then stops.
Beca passes her cue stick between hands as she cuffs the sleeves of her plaid shirt. She glances at Aubrey then aims her stick at the cue ball and easily knocks a striped ball into one of the pockets. She rounds the table and hits another one into a pocket before missing a third. "Your shot," she says with a smirk.
Aubrey's gaze snaps up from the table to Beca's face. It takes her all of two seconds to realize she's just been hustled and that darts was just a cover. She wonders if Beca can even throw a dart. Her lips part slightly and her grip on the cue stick becomes so tight that her knuckles turn white. "You bitch," the words slip from her lips before she can stop them. She's not sure she would have stopped them if she had the chance.
Beca's lips twist into a devious grin when she realizes she's been found out. "I hear if you break the stick in half, it's considered an automatic loss," she comments.
Aubrey's not sure if she's telling the truth or not, but her grip on the cue stick loosens almost immediately. She clenches her jaw and presses her tongue hard against her teeth. She walks around her and stops just centimeters away, so close that they're almost touching. "You're going down, Mitchell," she warns her. She steps away and looks at where the balls lay haphazardly on the table for her next shot.
Beca spreads her arms out to the sides. "Bring it on, Posen," she dares her.
The onlookers are silent, and for that Aubrey is glad. They at least know their place, unlike Beca. She takes her shot and knocks a solid ball into one of the pockets while simultaneously bumping one of the striped balls out of the way. It rolls across the table into a position where it won't be an easy shot. Beca doesn't seem bothered. Aubrey misses on her second turn, and the two of them are tied already. Despite that they both have five balls left on the table, Aubrey's nerves begin to make her stomach turn. She feels like she's playing for so much more than Beca's boss; but for what, she doesn't know. She steps out of Beca's way and glances at her, trying to figure it out.
Beca pockets another ball with ease.
"So, you seem less than happy to be marrying Jesse," Aubrey comments with feigned worry as Beca aims the cue stick again.
Beca presses the stick flat against the table and turns her head to look at Aubrey. "Excuse me?" she sputters. "This wedding is none of your business."
Aubrey finds that a little funny considering she's in it. "I'm just concerned," she responds in a honeyed tone. She pretends to be focused on her cue stick and absently scratches the top of it with her thumbnail. She glances up at Beca, who is staring at her, then looks at the table to remind her she's holding up the game.
"Well, I don't think I need your concern, Aubrey," Beca matches her tone, but her voice is more strained. She gives her a tight smile then returns her attention to the game.
Aubrey knows that she's found a weak spot. It may even be the only weak spot that Beca Mitchell even has for all Aubrey knows. She doesn't really know the depth of it, but she doesn't need to in order to exploit it. She twists her hands around the cue stick when Beca isn't looking at her and wishes that she had never stepped into this bar in the first place. She wishes neither of them had stepped into this bar. Her gaze is trained on Beca's back and she momentarily thinks that she might apologize, but the words that slip out are anything but an apology. "I just think it must be hard accepting Chloe is only your maid of honor and Jesse is the person you're marrying." She knows immediately that she shouldn't have brought Chloe into this, but it pays off when Beca misses her shot.
Beca watches the ball ricochet off the wall of the table then end up back in the middle. She takes a step back without saying anything and studies the position of the balls.
The lack of sarcastic response from Beca throws Aubrey off. Beca's facial expression is unreadable, and she doesn't even glance at Aubrey as she uses her teeth to pull a hairtie off her wrist then pulls her hair back away from her face. "I don't have all evening to wait for you to shoot," she tells Aubrey finally. "Someone is going to come looking for me eventually."
She's right. Aubrey is surprised that Chloe hasn't shown up looking for them both yet. She makes another shot that ties her with Beca again. It doesn't surprise her that the game is remaining so close now that she knows Beca can play pool. She aims again.
"I heard you're a law intern," Beca mentions casually. "So, how long until you call your father and ask him to take you back?"
The cue ball flies off the end of the table and smashes someone's glass of liquor. Aubrey spins to face her. "How long until you and Jesse get divorced?" she spits back, absolutely livid that Beca would have the audacity to bring that up – in public, nonetheless. She can taste the bile rising in the back of her throat, but she has finally become better at not vomiting under stress. She'll be damned if Beca screws that up for her. She swallows thickly and glares at her in disgust.
"We're not getting divorced," Beca answers all too calmly. "We're not you and Chloe."
The bartender approaches them with the cue ball in her hand. "Knock it off," she snaps and throws it back on the table.
Aubrey draws in a breath and spins to face her. She doesn't know how, but she almost forgot they weren't alone. "I am so sor-"
"Save it for the sheriff if you break anything else," the bartender cuts her off. She gives both her and Beca a warning look then walks back to the bar.
"Way to go, Beca," Aubrey accuses her and turns around to face her again.
"You're seriously blaming me for that?" Beca asks in disbelief.
"Take your shot," Aubrey demands. She knows that the reason the bartender is now eying them like she's ready to throw them out is her own fault, but she's not going to bring herself to admit it.
"You really haven't changed at all, have you?" Beca asks.
Aubrey doesn't like that she seems to be getting a kick out of this whole situation. "I said make your move," she insists. Her mouth tastes bitter and she has to take a calming breath. She's tempted to insist that she has changed, but Beca has a way of bringing out the worst in her. She's fully aware that her current actions would just defy her words.
Beca steps up to the table much like all the times she obeyed when Aubrey told the Bellas to put their hands in. She glances at Aubrey then does as she's told. "Shit," she seethes under her breath as she misses the shot. She takes a step back and grabs her glass then takes a long swallow of vodka.
"I'm sure that will help your aim," Aubrey can't refrain from commenting. She can't say she doesn't long for her own drink, which she long since left abandoned on the table she was sharing with Luke. It's probably warm by now and the melted ice has no doubt watered it down. She's tempted to order another, but no bartender in their right mind is going to serve alcohol to someone who is already breaking the objects around them while still sober. Clouding her judgment around Beca probably wouldn't be the best idea anyway. But she does wish she could take some of the edge off her anger, if only because it's making her feel sick. Or maybe that's just the Tequila already in her system.
Aubrey makes another shot that puts her one ahead of Beca. She just needs to make three more and she can go back to dinner with Chloe. Her desire to be with Luke has turned into a desire to be fifty feet away from him at all times. She decides to blame him for this, because she wouldn't be playing billiards with Beca right now if he had never approached her on the ferry. She steps back away from the table when she misses again to make room for Beca to take her next turn.
"I don't know why the hell I agreed to this," Beca mutters. She pockets two balls and puts herself ahead again.
Aubrey shifts her weight in frustration. She's never seen a game move so quickly before. She wouldn't have a problem with the speed if she was winning by a longshot. She inhales and rubs the cue stick between her palms as she studies the three balls she has left on the table. One of them is an easy shot, and she goes for that one first. She pockets the ball with ease then studies her two other options. She could shoot at the one she has a chance with, risk missing, and keep the other ball completely out of range; or she could shoot at the one she doesn't have a chance with, hit it closer to a pocket, and have a better option for her next turn. She glances at Beca and wonders what the risk of her shooting at a ball that isn't her own and ruining Aubrey's next shot is. Her eyes fall back on the table.
It takes a few moments, but Aubrey decides that strategy is more important than paranoia. See, I have changed, she thinks as she lines up the stick with the out-of-range ball and knocks it closer to one of the pockets. She exhales a breath she didn't realize she was holding and remains where she's standing as Beca walks around the table to shoot. Their eyes meet for a moment and Beca is first to look away. She focuses on her shot while Aubrey just presses her lips together to form a straight line and pretends to be interested in the bar logo printed near the tip of the cue stick. She can't help but wonder if she has managed to screw things up even more than before. She knows she did. She glances up and watches as Beca takes her shot and misses.
"Damn it," Beca hisses and backs up. She glares at the pool table then leans her stick against the wall as she pulls off her plaid shirt, revealing a simple black t-shirt underneath.
Aubrey didn't realize how hot the room was becoming, even in her dress. She wipes at the beads of moisture that have been gathering on her forehead with the back of her hand. The bar makes her feel disgusting. She's going to walk out smelling like cheap cigarettes and stale booze while drenched in sweat. It's distracting. She feels suddenly less composed and more like Chloe on a Friday night than she feels like herself. She uncomfortably adjusts the straps of her dress and pulls it up higher in the chest area before she leans over the table and pockets her second to last ball. That just leaves one more. She straightens up and walks around the table, eying the shot from multiple angles.
Beca taps her fingers on the stand that holds the triangle and her drink. She's mouthing the words to the song playing on the radio (Let It Rock by Kevin Rudolf, if Aubrey has learned anything from Chloe's iTunes playlist) and staring at the pool table. Unlike Aubrey, she looks right at home in a place like this. She glances up and gives Aubrey a look that urges her to hurry up and finish her turn.
Aubrey draws in a breath and leans over the table. She just needs to perfectly line up the cue ball, the six ball, and the pocket. She exhales slowly and hits the cue ball. It collides with the ball she's aiming for, but the six misses the pocket and bounces hard off the wall. "Shit," Aubrey blurts out and takes a step back. Her features fall in aggravation. The ball hits two walls then rolls and balances on the edge of one of the corner pockets. Aubrey blinks as she realizes it's still moving then crosses her fingers and nearly starts bouncing on her toes as she tries to urge it into the pocket with her mind. "Yes!" Her mood changes immediately as it falls in the pocket.
"You still have to hit the eight ball in," Beca reminds her in an instant attempt to crush her elation.
Aubrey's gaze flashes to where the eight ball is in relation to the cue ball. It's a straight shot. The corners of her mouth turn upward into a closed-lipped grin and, as much as she wants to practically prance around the table, she straightens her posture and calmly walks to the other side, radiating confidence. She aims at the eight ball and hits the cue ball then steps back. The balls collide and roll across the table and Aubrey can't hold back from grinning wider as the eight rolls into the pocket. It's followed directly by the cue.
"Scratch," Beca announces immediately and folds her arms as she leans against the wall. She gives Aubrey a smug look.
It takes a moment to process the loss. Aubrey opens her mouth to speak then closes it again and looks up at Beca. It's Beca's desire to announce her failure that causes it to sink in. Aubrey purses her lips together and swallows before trying to appear as though it's no big deal. "Double or nothing?' she suggests.
"Are you serious?" Beca pushes herself away from the wall with a grin. "What else do you want? My fiancé?" She props her cue stick up against the table then turns to face her. "You lost, Aubrey." Her next words are harsh, even for her. "Now get out of my life."
Tears are not welling up in her eyes. Over Aubrey Posen's dead body will she cry in front of Beca Mitchell – not because of some stupid game of Billiards or because of an insult. "You're the one who invited us here," she snaps thickly, searching for some way to cut Beca down.
"I didn't invite you, Aubrey," Beca retorts. "You and Chloe are like a two-for-one package. You invite one and you get stuck with the other." The emotion behind her smile is unreadable as she continues. "But we've already addressed that before."
Aubrey can't find words for once.
"Hell, I didn't even invite Chloe here," Beca admits. "You think I wanted Chloe of all people to be my maid of honor? This entire thing was Jesse's idea."
The disgust Aubrey feels is almost palpable. "I swear to God, Beca, if you tell her that, I'll-"
"You'll what?" Beca cuts her off.
"If you hurt her again, me and Luke will be the last thing you have to worry about," Aubrey warns her. She breathes heavily through her nose, not wanting to accept that it had been Jesse to arrange for Chloe to be in the wedding – not when Chloe has been so elated thinking it was Beca. She almost wants to cry for her.
"Are you threatening me?" Beca asks with a hint of amusement in her tone.
"I'm just saying to be careful what you say," Aubrey elaborates and takes a step closer to her.
"Right." Beca boldly meets her gaze and takes a half of a step forward so they're only inches apart. "Or what?"
Aubrey doesn't know 'or what' at that very moment. What she does know is that their faces are so close that she can smell the vodka on Beca's breath and that if looks could kill, they would both be dead. She has to remind herself to breathe. Her eyes wander to Beca's lips and she nervously shifts her weight from one foot to the other when she realizes that Beca's gaze is locked on her and she can see where she's looking. She smooths down the sides of her dress and stands up as straight as possible. Her hands are quivering with rage and there's a fire in her stomach that demands she shoves Beca against the nearest wall, because it's been too long since they've put their hatred to good use. She can't believe her own thoughts. The look on Beca's face suggests her mind has wandered down the same path and her eyes lock on Aubrey's lips. They both lean in like magnets being drawn to each other. What are they doing? The anger swells then explodes into a sudden burst of panic and Aubrey snaps back before their lips can touch.
"Jesus Christ," Beca murmurs under her breath and lifts her hand to her forehead as reality sinks in for her too only seconds later.
Aubrey throws the cue stick onto the table and grabs her bag then spins around and flees from the bar.
"Shit," Beca hisses. She doesn't move from her spot. "Aubrey, wait!"
But Aubrey doesn't stay to discuss whatever just happened. She doesn't need to. Their passion has never been anything more than intense bursts of ineloquence and anger. She shoves the bar door open and steps outside, in desperate need of oxygen. The air is warm and thick and doesn't help her constricting chest. She has to remind herself that she has long since let go of any fabricated feelings for Beca Mitchell, and that it's Chloe who is the one with problems letting go. She tells herself that until she believes it, and she storms back to the inn with a mantra in her head of: I did not just nearly kiss Beca Mitchell. Because, for crying out loud, Beca is gone and she is marrying someone else.
He took her faster than you can say, 'sabotage'.
