AntiqueSoul83: I'm gonna hold the 'not owing anything' above your head at some point or another.
MaliXx: Thank you.
96itadakimasu96: Where's the other 1%? I need content to read, lol.
SunDanceQT: "He's not sex; he's self-destruction" is something Taylor Swift would use as a song lyric and then refuse to pay me for it.
Armybrat8: Here you go.
Guest: I, too, can never tell when I'll update, lol.
Kreativloshoch2: This was a really nice review. Thank you. It's always comforting to hear people like my OCs, bc I generally hate OCs as well - both reading and writing them. These ones were originally supposed to be minor characters, but then they demanded to stay. Thank you so much.
Author's Note: I recently had an experience where I was 100% certain I was going to die. Rest assured that my life did not flash before my eyes but the fact I had not finished this fic was one of the main things that slammed me. If I don't finish it in this lifetime, it's going to be some weird unfinished business in the next. God gonna be like, "Sorry. You can't stay here. ...you know why you have to go back, right? I need to know how it ends." ...also vaguely remember trying to talk to the EMT about Pitch Perfect while delirious and slipping in and out of consciousness. I said I love Anna Camp. He replied, "Anna Kendrick is better." Seriously considered haunting him.
Dysrhythmia
We could be simple;
We could be strange.
We could be something different,
If we'd change.
We could be happy.
We could have love.
Love stronger than the water we're fighting to stay above.
- a song i heard in a dream about this story, literally
"You picked the most insufferable person in the world to get engaged to." Beca collapses into a plastic chair near Chloe's bedside then turns to Aubrey. "You do realize Chloe is in the perfect position to listen to you talk about the Congo for hours on end, right?"
Aubrey is actually pretty proud of how long she managed to drag on talking about King Leopold II without going into any detail of the violent acts he committed. She stops next to Chloe's bedside and tenderly strokes her cheek with the back of her fingers. "You think she hasn't already?"
"I'm sure that she would love for you to tell her again."
"You do realize that means you would have to listen to it again, because you're in the room, right?" Aubrey turns to look at her.
Beca slouches down in her chair, defeated.
It's a little hard to focus on a History lesson right now anyway. The bandage has been removed from Chloe's head, revealing the devastating aftermath of her injury. Unlike Aubrey's mostly-faded bruises, the shaved area around Chloe's temple is still reddish-purple and an angry looking gash looks to be reluctantly healing after accepting the assistance of recently removed staples. Looking at it turns Aubrey's stomach with memories of trying to manage her delirium at the end and all that blood. She had known it was bad, but seeing it without her hair in the way really puts it into perspective.
"Can we join you?" Julia asks from the doorway.
Aubrey nods and steps away from the bed.
"You don't have to move."
She does though. Visually, she already needs a break. There is a second chair near the wall, facing Beca, and she takes a seat. "Did the doctor says anything when you were here earlier?"
"He said it looks like the swelling has gone down," Julia answered, "But other than that, no. They're not very sure what the future holds." She slouches against the wall, arms folded across her chest. "I know the uncertainty is hard."
It is. It shouldn't be, but it is. Uncertainty still means that there's hope. It should be a great thing. But it feels like it's killing her to just not know what's going to happen. But then again, if it isn't good news, Aubrey isn't sure she wants to know either. She pulls her legs up onto the chair and stares at her knees, her throat too tight to say much else.
"Now might be a good time to get someone in here and see if they can schedule a date for that cast," Julia suggests.
Aubrey's arm is just one more uncertainty. At least it's still attached…
"And if you could reconsider Nora's assistance, it might be easier to make sure this stuff is scheduled on time. That's a large part of her job. Just consider her a personal planner for now. What do you think?"
Aubrey thinks that her mind is usually more on track with getting things done without help. She is the personal planner for herself and everyone else.
"I say do it," Beca says.
"I need a definitive yes from Aubrey."
It would be a relief to be able to sleep at night without her cast getting in the way. It at least gives her something to look forward to. "Yeah, okay." It takes a fair amount of effort not to tag 'whatever' on the end. Instead, she forces a smile as proof of agreement.
"Let me go see if I can find anyone."
Beca turns to watch her go then looks at Aubrey. "Your arm is going to be fine."
No one knows that for sure yet. "I know." Aubrey turns her chair to face Chloe and tries to keep her eyes focused on the ring on her finger rather than the injury on her head.
"It's a beautiful ring," Noah comments, "You picked well."
Aubrey leans forward to touch it, letting her fingers linger on Chloe's hand. Her anesthesia-induced dream comes back to her – Chloe telling her it was all going to be okay, telling her she had planned on asking her to marry her junior year, electrocuting her back to reality. The vividness of it is beginning to wear off.
"Hello, Aubrey."
Aubrey lets her hand fall at the sound of Nora's voice.
"Would you mind coming to my office?"
"I can talk here," Aubrey answers.
"If you want to schedule an appointment for your arm, we need access to my computer," Nora replies, "And, unfortunately, it's a desktop."
"I thought you loved living several decades in the past," Beca remarks when Aubrey sighs.
"Has anyone ever told you they were going to kick you from here to tomorrow?" Aubrey asks.
"No, but someone once today me they were going to kick me from here to next week," Beca answers, "I'm pretty sure it was you."
"Well now it's about to be from here to the next decade." Aubrey stands up. "Are you coming or what?"
"I want to talk more about retrieving some of my things anyway," Beca concedes and follows her out the door, "And maybe figure out what to do about my dad. Am I supposed to be figuring out a funeral or something? Signing some sort of death certificate? I don't know what happens next."
"We can talk about that in my office," Norah assures her.
Aubrey reaches for her hand then locks pinkies with her as they walk down the corridor toward the elevators.
"Who wants to go first?" Norah asks and hits the button.
"We're doing anything related to…that place…together," Beca answers.
"Understandable. But if either of you do want to talk about anything privately…"
Aubrey laughs and steps onto the elevator. Maybe Beca has some dignity left to preserve, but the closest thing Aubrey has left to that is secrecy. If anyone actually cared about her privacy, she wouldn't have spent days with a bag of urine attached to her bed where everyone could see it. Is there much lower than the things Beca has already seen and heard from her? "I have nothing to say. I just want this cast off my arm."
"And I just want my shit," Beca says, "And to make sure my dad is taken care of." She pulls her hand back and rests both palms on the rails on either side of her. "Aubrey stays."
"Okay."
xxxxx
"Alright," Norah relaxes back in her chair, away from her desktop, with a satisfied expression, "Barring any complications, you should have your arm back in exactly one week." She reaches her arm forward to knock on wood. "The cast can come off, they'll run tests for nerve damage, and you can start physical therapy right away."
Aubrey flexes her fingers, dreaming of the day she'll finally be able to bend her whole arm again. "Thank you."
"You're welcome. Do you need anything else in the time being? All the medications are working well? Everything is getting back to normal?"
Normal wouldn't exactly be how Aubrey would describe it, but sure. She's no longer in excruciating pain, so close enough. "Everything else is fine."
"You're up then, Beca. You lived in an apartment building in LA, right?"
Beca nods.
"Then the first place we should probably start is with the landlord. Do you have a phone number for them?"
"The device I use to store phone numbers in, and call said phone numbers with, was kind of stolen in the dead of night so I wouldn't use it to call for help," Beca answers.
"Give me an address then." Norah leans forward toward her computer again.
Beca leans forward with her elbows on her knees and relays her building address to Norah as she types.
"And now we have a phone number." Norah places her desk phone in between them and puts in on speaker. She dials in the number and is about to pick up the receiver when they're met with a dial tone and an automated voice that says, 'I'm sorry. Your call cannot be completed as dialed. Please check the number and try to call again.'
"Nothing is ever that easy," Beca states.
Norah tries again, only to be met with the same error message. "Okay. Let me try calling another case manager in LA and see if we can get somebody over there in person. Maybe we can get connected to your landlord that way. Do you know if he or she lives in the building or somewhere close by?"
"No idea. I've literally never spoken a word to them. We pay the rent online."
"That's okay. Miss enough payments and a landlord will find you." Norah dials another number after a few minutes of searching online then lifts the receiver when it starts to ring, "Hello. This is Norah Hedley; I work in case management for New York Presbyterian Hospital in Queens. I have a client who is trying to reach her landlord in LA and the phone number seems to be disconnected, so we were hoping to find someone who could go to the apartment building and put them in touch with us." She pauses. "Of course. I have the address right here." She gives Beca a thumbs up then reads it aloud. "Oh, that's perfect. Thank you so much. Yes, I have all my information right here."
Aubrey turns to Beca while credentials are swapped over the phone. "Did something happen to your bank account?"
"You really want me to stop free loading, don't you?"
Aubrey shakes her head. "Something is wrong."
"Dude, everything is wrong right now." Beca pauses. "It was wiped clean. Jesse must have pulled all the cash out before we left. He managed to figure out my private account and get into that one too. It's the first thing I checked on your computer."
"Was he really that smart that he could get into your private bank account?" Aubrey muses.
"Apparently. He didn't even know I had my own account. It felt stupid to share all the finances though. I lied and told him I was paying into a retirement fund through work."
"So, Luke could have told him there was no fund if he ever brought it up."
"I mean, I guess so. That's the only thing that makes sense. I didn't even realize they still spoke to each other, let alone…"
"I wish I had my notebook." What Aubrey should have looked around at the pumpkin patch for was a stand selling some sort of bag to carry it around in.
"Make sense you don't have any room to keep notes in your head with all the useless shit you hoard in there."
"I'm going to ignore that." Aubrey steals a sticky note and a pen from Norah's desk.
"Great news." Norah hangs up the phone. "They are very busy right now, but they will have someone over there within there next week."
Beca doesn't look quite as impressed with that timeline. "I guess I already waited this long."
"Can I have the number you dialed that was disconnected?" Aubrey inquires and passes Norah the note.
"Getting things done here can be about as fast as getting things done at the DMV sometimes." Norah writes down the number then slides the paper back.
"Yet, you were able to meet with Aubrey and I right away," Beca points out.
"I was told very specifically by the hospital that you guys are a priority," Norah replies.
"Great. I've always wanted to be a priority. Can you make us a priority with the people in LA too?"
"Let's talk about your dad, Beca," Norah replies, "What I can do is I can try to get in touch with whoever is in charge of forensics on the island, okay? They'll know what's going on and can better direct us on what needs to be done next. If you want, I can push to have your father's remains sent here."
"Don't think he really has any left," Beca says hoarsely.
"Let me make some calls. He might have some belongings or something like that that they're holding onto. Did you have any other family there?"
"Uh, yeah, my step-mom was there with him. I don't know what happened to her. Her name is Sheila. And that's it. The rest were friends and his non-immediate family."
"Non-immediate?" Norah asks.
"Guess he liked his own parents too much to kill them. Are we done? Aubrey has her arm taken care of and it seems like you can't do anything for me right now, so…"
"I'm sorry, Beca. I'll do what I can to try to speed things up. If neither of you has anything else you need, we can be done for now."
Aubrey can't think of anything else she needs off the top of her head. She exchanges a look with Beca then slowly stands up, a bit wobbly from exhaustion. "Thank you," she says flatly then heads for the door.
"You almost couldn't get up," Beca says once they're out in the hall.
"I'm fine, Beca. I stood up too fast." It's just going to take awhile to get used to being up and moving around all day again. Caffeine might help. "I think I'm ready for coffee."
"Are you sure?" Beca asks.
Not really. Aubrey glances back at her as she presses the elevator button and nods.
"Maybe we should ask a the doctor if you're ready for that."
"You're starting to sound like me."
Beca laughs. "Like hell."
"I think it's fine." Aubrey steps onto the elevator and chooses the floor with the cafeteria once Beca is inside as well.
"I think you're supposed to be sticking to things that are bland," Beca replies.
"I'm sticking with you, aren't I?"
"I'm being serious, Aubrey."
"My stomach feels perfectly fine, Beca. But the rest of me needs coffee."
Beca groans in tune with the elevator doors closing.
"It should be relieving that I'm getting back to normal."
"One," Beca says, "Normal Aubrey is still infuriating. Two, we just went through a trauma – neither of us is getting back to 'normal' any time soon."
We. Beca said we. Aubrey stares at the floor numbers as each one lights up on its turn. "Think when we do go back to normal, we'll hate each other again?"
"I don't think we're ever going back to the old normal." Beca turns and backs out of the opening doors. "And even if we do, we're bonded by survivors' guilt now. Yay."
Right. Aubrey pockets the sticky notell then runs her fingers through her hair, resting her hand atop her head while walking toward the cafeteria.
"So much stronger than bonding over a love of music or some other mediocre common interest that could have started our friendship off right, am I right or am I right?"
"Never." The cafeteria lacks a crowd of people, but that doesn't stop one of the few who is there from crashing into Aubrey's left arm. "Watch it," she snaps and covers her shoulder with her other hand.
He looks over his shoulder with a blank expression. "You watch it," he remarks without stopping.
"You okay?" Beca asks with her hands on Aubrey's arms.
The pain has been worse. Aubrey closes her eyes to regain her breath and nods. "I'm fine."
"I hope you trip over a wet floor sign!" Beca calls after him, causing him to turn back and quirk his brows in amusement.
"Trip over a wet floor sign?" Aubrey asks.
"You want me to punch him instead?" Beca offers.
"Chloe's wrong; it's kind of hot when you hit people," Aubrey tries to joke her way through the throbbing pain, "Go ahead."
"Shut up. Are you sure you're okay?"
"I'm fine. I'm not made of glass." Aubrey gives one last look her direction to make sure he's gone. It felt like he did that on purpose.
Beca stares in that direction as well.
Paranoia and legitimate concern sure look a lot alike these days.
"Maybe we should tell security," Beca suggests and follows her toward the coffee machine with a hand on her lower back.
"Yeah." If they even believe her.
"You're sure you're okay?"
"Oh my god." Aubrey slams an empty cup on the counter. "Beca, stop."
"Sue me for caring!"
"Sue you? And get what out of it? You don't have anything."
"That's low. And also not true. I have this hat now."
Aubrey doesn't even look up from the coffee machine. "We're inside. Why are you even wearing that?"
"Maybe it will keep people from recognizing me."
That's a really big maybe.
"You want to add some coffee to that cream and sugar?" Beca asks.
The taste of coffee doesn't sound nearly as appealing as the effect. Aubrey puts a lid on her diluted drink without answering. "Do you want one? I'll put it on your tab."
"You would. What am I up to now?" Beca grabs herself scup.
"I'll tell you the full calculation after you have the money to pay me. I might knock off a few dollars if you provide some entertainment." She looks between Beca and the empty cup.
"I didn't think I could get any happier about how rich I'm about to be," Beca says and pours the coffee, "You know, I always thought you'd take your coffee black."
"Sometimes, I do. Usually in the morning before work. You really don't think I'm going to quit my job do you?"
"Sorry," Beca whispers with guilt, "I think you're going to do whatever you feel like you're supposed to do – which, yes, is one hundred percent to a cop-out answer. Do you need help with your wallet?"
"I got it." It only takes putting her cup down next to the register to pull her wallet from Brian's jacket pocket. Getting it open and taking her card out is a little more challenging, but she manages. She thanks the cashier, goes through the difficulty of putting it away again, and thanks Jesus no one was in line behind her to hold up. "It's not like I'm going to just rely on the free money, you know?" she says once they're out of earshot, "I do plan to have a career."
"Hey, you don't have to justify yourself to me. I want to work too, but I'm not in any rush to do it. Maybe we should just rely on the money for awhile and relax. We can work on the house and then figure shit out afterwards. I'm going the stress-free route from here on out. You should too."
"I don't even know what I want to do," Aubrey muses, "If I'm not a lawyer, what am I?"
"A pain in the ass." Beca bumps her good arm.
"And you're about to be tripped by karma." Aubrey weaves around a wet floor sign then looks around for anything suspicious.
Beca wags her finger. "That was a real good one – assuming I was heading toward the elevators!" she calls. She walks around the opposite side and knocks over the sign in an attempt to catch herself on the wet floor. "Jesus mother of pearl fuckers!" The wall catches her halfway down and saves her from crashing to the floor.
An elderly janitor rounds the corner, mop in hand.
Aubrey casually presses the elevator button.
"I work with HR," Beca claims and tries to stand up and fix the sign – which may or may not be broken, "I was just testing the validity of these signs. It is slippery. Keep up the good work."
The elevator begins to close after Aubrey backs onto it, so she uses her foot to hold it open while Beca fusses with the sign.
"I don't how this – I'm just gonna…" Beca lets it fall flat and backs away from it into the elevator.
Aubrey moves her foot and braces herself against the wall as she dissolves into a fit of laughter once the realization that it was a coincidence sinks in.
Beca puffs out her cheeks and watches the floor numbers in absolute silence.
Not even another person entering the elevator as they exit can ruin this moment.
"She's not crying," Beca states when Julia steps out of Chloe's room in concern.
There are definitely tears though.
"What happened?" Julia asks.
"Nothing nearly that funny," Beca answers.
"No, it was," Aubrey giggles out. Trying to rehash what happened just leads to making the matter even funnier before she can manage to speak. "Beca – Beca -" She holds the center of her coffee cup in front of her mouth.
"Beca reasonably assumed the wet floor sign was lying and then slipped on the freshly mopped floor directly next to it," Beca speaks for her.
"That is kind of funny," Julia says with a light smile.
"Oh, come on!"
Aubrey leans against the wall to keep herself from doubling over. "You should have seen it." She wipes her eyes with wrist, being extra careful not to spill her coffee in the process.
"I think you and the janitor were enough."
The way he had looked at Beca like he had completely given up on the entire world has Aubrey leaning her head back against the wall, laughing all over again. "I bet he announces his retirement today."
"Can we focus on the guy that ran into you?" Beca asks and sips her coffee, "And also on how I didn't spill this with my mad ninja skills?"
Genuine concern versus paranoia hasn't left the forefront of Aubrey's mind, yet she keeps giggling at Beca. "Can you imagine had you spilled it on the freshly cleaned floor?"
"What guy?" Julia asks.
"Some rando that was walking by slammed into her."
Julia turns to Aubrey. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine." Aside from the pulsing pain that has since formed around her shoulder. Nothing painkillers can't fix. It's not like he knifed her or anything.
"I'm going to tell the security guy." Beca travels the few feet down the hall to where one of the men charged with keeping Chloe safe is seated on a chair, reading a book.
It was probably nothing. God, she hopes it was nothing. There are enough 'something's eating her alive already.
"How about saying goodbye to Chloe so you can go home and get some rest?" Julia suggests.
"I don't need rest." Aubrey passes Noah on his way out of the room then shuts the door. "You missed Beca nearly fall on her ass." She pulls a chair up to Chloe's bedside and sits with her head back, eyes closed. Anger heats the blood running through her veins, because Chloe is missing everything. If she had just kept Chloe close and out of harm's reach… Instead, she turned her back for one second and Chloe's entire life was ripped away. Deep, controlled breaths do nothing to curb her desire to kick the other chair across the room, and she has to balance her cup between her legs and grip the arm of the chair to convince herself to stay put.
There's a knock and then Beca lets herself inside.
Aubrey sits up immediately and lifts her coffee to her lips.
"They said they're going to keep an eye out," Beca says and pulls the chair closer to sit beside her.
"Great." Her choice of response earns her a side eye from Beca, and Aubrey considers telling her she feels like a time bomb. Instead, she sips her coffee and allows the liquid to remain in her mouth until it's no longer scalding her tongue.
"Letting security know keeps Chloe safe too," Beca reminds her.
"I'm going to bring her home, after we get the money," Aubrey says, "I'll hire a nurse."
Beca only nods. She gives Aubrey's knee a squeeze before she stands up and steps back toward the door. "I think your family is ready to leave."
"I'll be there in a second."
xxxxx
Aubrey rests her head against the window in the truck – and with every bump, Beca's shoulder looks more and more inviting. The constant glass to the temple, however, spares anyone from being tasked with waking her up upon arriving at home, so she stays exactly where she is until they pull into the driveway. After that, she unbuckles her seatbelt in silence and is first to the door – where she is forced to wait because she doesn't own a key.
"Men," Noah states, joining her, "Take forever, don't they? How long does it take to park a car?"
"Probably not this long if your truck didn't take up the whole driveway," Aubrey deadpans in a mumble with a side glance.
Noah wags his finger in her direction. "Very funny seeing as I parked in the parking lot."
"What do you guys think about motorcycles?" Beca asks out of the blue once she reaches the top step.
"Awesome," Noah answers at the same time Aubrey and Julia both respond, "Death trap."
"You already almost died," Aubrey reminds her.
"At least this way would be cool," Beca says.
"Some might say the same thing about how you already almost died," Noah comments.
"You almost died adventurously," Conrad says as he unlocks the door.
"Well, some of us didn't want an adventure," Aubrey states, "Some of us wanted decent TV and room service – neither of which the hotel had by the way."
"Maybe you should leave a review on Yelp." Brian cuts her off and tries squeezing in through the door before her – essentially leaving them both stuck with their backs against the doorframe and Aubrey's cast the only thing separating their bodies.
Aubrey stares him down, daring him to see what she can still do with one hand if he gets through before her.
He whistles and Aubrey is forced to squeeze her way back outside as the dog comes rushing toward the door.
Beca laughs and goes around her as well, followed by Conrad. Julia places a hand on her lower back and nudges her in before herself and Noah follow – and Aubrey almost thinks she's managed to avoid an unpleasant animal greeting when Catsy decides to lay down across her feet. He appears highly offended when she steps back then walks around him, but forgets about it when Julia scoops him up.
"I could see you riding a motorcycle." Beca follows her toward the bedroom. "I'm serious," she says when Aubrey chooses to ignore her, "Sleeveless shirt. Cover up that scar with a hot shoulder tattoo. We could get matching ones, if you want."
"Like we could ever agree on a tattoo." That may not be entirely true, because Beca's tattoos aren't entirely that bad. She might even dare say she likes a few of them.
"Let me draw you one. And if you hate it, you don't have to get it."
"Obviously." Aubrey sits down and strips off her jacket. "What would be your plan otherwise? Tackle me with a needle in your hand?"
"Aubrey."
"I'd like to see you try to hold me down." …that sounded different in her head.
"Aubrey."
Aubrey looks up. "What?" she asks, tensing at the color draining from Beca's face. She looks behind her for the source of the threat then at Beca again when nothing is there.
"You're, um," Beca stumbles over her words, "You're bleeding."
It doesn't feel like she's bleeding, but sure enough her fingers return from her shoulder wet and red. They shake as she closes them against her palm, but she stands up tall nonetheless. "Excuse me," she whispers.
"Do you need help?"
Even if she did, it doesn't appear like Beca is capable of being the one to help her. "It's just a surface wound. It's fine."
"Your shoulder is more than just a surface wound. You were shot – remember that? A piece of metal went through your arm."
It's a little difficult to forget. "Mhm. I remember." Her walk to the bathroom can best be described as 'blurry'. She isn't dizzy, but the walk there is like a dream that begins to vanish the moment she shuts the door behind her. She forces herself to look in the mirror to better see the damage. The reflection staring back is someone else. It looks just like her, but it isn't. She's too thin, her eyes are too empty and tired. The person staring back at her looks as miserable and scared as she feels – and Aubrey can barely stomach looking at her. She reaches up and slashes at the mirror, leaving trails of partially coagulated blood across the reflection of her face.
"Sit down." Beca bursts into the bathroom and all but slams the door shut behind her.
Aubrey spins around, hiding the mirror with her body. She can't even get a word out before Beca latches onto her good arm and yanks her downward onto the lid of the toilet. "Ow, Beca. What the hell are you doing?"
"Fixing your arm." Beca opens the cupboard beneath the sink and crouches down to go through it.
By trying to pull her other arm out of the socket? Jesus. Aubrey is about to rub the space between her neck and shoulder then remembers the blood still clinging to her fingers. "I told you it's fine. It just hasn't completely healed yet and that guy ran into it."
"See how fine it is when it gets infected." Beca places the bandages, medical tape, and disinfectant on the counter. "Take off your shirt."
Aubrey folds her arm over her cast. "Ask nicely."
"Now, before I tell your mom. And after she fixes your arm, maybe she can address why you're trying to summon Bloody Mary out of the mirror." Beca takes a step away from Aubrey's work of art.
It doesn't take long for Aubrey to consider her options, and she slowly peels off her shirt and rests it on her lap. "I can do it myself," she says more to the wall than to Beca. It's barely even bleeding. The guy must have just disturbed what was left of the scab and her shirt irritated the area and got in the way of it healing back up on the ride home. It isn't even trickling down her arm. Still, Beca works like Aubrey is about to bleed out in the next five seconds. "I liked you better when you were scared of me."
"I was never scared of you. I was the only one who ever had the balls to stand up to you."
"You were kind of scared."
"How does that feel?" Beca asks about the bandage on her shoulder.
"It doesn't feel like anything." Not on the surface anyway. The collision amplified the deep, pulsating pain in her shoulder muscles – other than that, she barely even felt it being bandaged up.
Beca stands staring, cheeks puffed out, arms hanging limply by her sides. "You're welcome," she says finally, then points to the mirror, "Don't forget your work of art. I'm sure there are other ways to mark your territory."
"It must have been horrific, watching us bleeding out like that," Aubrey realizes. The only response is the sound of water as Beca rinses off her hands.
"I'll bring you a clean shirt." Beca extends her pointer finger out toward the mirror until she's out of the room and the door is once again closed.
It's not as though Aubrey was going to walk out and leave the mirror for someone else to find and clean up. She smacks the toilet paper roll and watches as it unrolls onto the floor. Once there's enough, she tears it off and holds it under the sink. Soggy toilet paper is the worst thing to clean with. It practically disintegrates in her hand and leaves pieces all over the mirror that she then has to wipe up with a few dry sheets.
Beca comes back once she's finished and is in the middle of trying to wash her hand. "This good?" she asks and holds up a sweatshirt.
"Do you know how sick I am of changing my clothes?" Aubrey takes the sweatshirt from her. Ever since she broke her arm, it's felt like she's had to change her clothes more in a single day than she originally would in a whole week.
"I'm worried about you." Beca stuffs her hands into her pockets.
Aubrey exhales a lengthy sigh as she pulls the shirt over her head. "My shoulder is fine."
"That's not what I meant." Beca looks at the mirror again. "It's fine, I'm fine, everything is fine – says the person finger painting the mirror in-" She groans as Aubrey opens the door and walks away from her.
"Everything okay?" Julia calls from the living room.
"It's fine," Beca mumbles in what Aubrey thinks is supposed to be an impersonation of her voice.
The bloody shirt gets tossed in the empty throw up bowl on the nightstand, and Aubrey sits back down on the edge of the bed. It's midday, not even close to what's acceptable for even an early bedtime, yet sleep doesn't seem like all that bad of an idea – at least not to her physical self. It feels like she hiked a mountain. "You don't have to stay," she says as she tugs down the blankets.
"I know that." Beca kicks off her shoes against the wall, not quite as irritating as if had been in the middle of the floor, then settles in bed next to her. "Get over it."
Beca's insistence on staying reminds Aubrey a lot of Chloe, so she doesn't argue the matter further. Instead, she stacks up a few pillows and relaxes back with one leg under the blanket. Once she's comfortable, she's no longer so against being on bed rest. Maybe that was the whole point. Tire her out until she appreciates being able to stop. By the time she considers leaning over to get Chloe's laptop, her body has already sunk into the mattress and her eyes are too heavy to reopen.
"Dude, are you willingly taking a nap?"
Beca would attempt to ruin this for her. "No."
"I guess it just looks like you're falling asleep then." Beca pulls the blanket up over the other side of Aubrey's body.
"If I wanted that there, I would have done it myself."
Beca takes the blanket again and drops it back down around Aubrey's knee.
Well now Aubrey wants it there. She pulls it back up around herself, and doesn't need to open her eyes to see the look Beca is giving her. She responds with a satisfied smile.
"I hate you." The words don't sound particularly hostile.
"Hate you too."
xxxxx
Something is crushing Aubrey's chest when she wakes up. The moment she realizes it, consciousness hits her like a semi-truck and her eyes fly open. Two yellow, unblinking eyes stare back at her, unphased by how her whole body jerks in fright before she realizes it's Chloe's stupid cat.
Catsy chirps once she's fully awake then leaps off the bed and walks casually out of the room.
Aubrey lets her head fall back against the pillow and stretches her arm out to the side over the empty space. For a second, the bed is warm and she can smell Chloe's shampoo – but the illusion is ruined when she turns her head and is forced to accept that she's alone. Where is Beca? She slowly sits up and looks around, internally groaning at the sight of the dog sleeping at the bottom of the bed. The whole apartment is unusually quiet until she hears – a drill?- outside the door. Several thoughts come to mind, and none of them are exactly pleasant.
The dog, however, seems unconcerned, so that's promising.
The idea to buy a gun returns as Aubrey creeps out of bed and to the doorway. The sight of Beca in the bathroom doorway brings a wave of relief – followed by a tsunami of confusion. "What are you doing?"
"What does it look like I'm doing?" Beca asks without looking over.
Aubrey has to walk down the hall to be able to see inside the bathroom. "Dismantling the medicine cabinet."
"No. Now I'm remantling it." Beca presses the button on the drill for the sound effect.
"Why? Where is everybody?"
"Downstairs," Beca answers, "And, because, I'm putting the mirror on the inside."
It takes Aubrey a moment to understand – not because it's a difficult concept, but just the fact that Beca is standing there with a power tool, trying to make her life easier sends her for a loop.
"I don't need you hovering over my shoulder while I do it either. I took it apart and repositioned the hinges just fine on my own."
"I can't believe I slept through you drilling." Aubrey ignores her comment about hovering and walks inside to sit down on the edge of the bathtub – and when that is too uncomfortable, she assesses the cleanliness of it then sinks down inside.
"I used a screwdriver. But now my hand is sore and I figured you should wake up so you're not awake all night." Beca looks over at her and laughs. "If you start trying to tell me I'm doing it wrong, I'm pulling the curtain."
"What can I do for you in return?" Aubrey asks. Trying to figure Beca out of difficult enough – layer on trying to help her and Aubrey is lost. Chloe would know what she needs.
Beca holds the door against the cabinet and lines up the hinges. "You're letting me live with you – and that was even before we figured out we can build adjoining apartments."
"It's not enough."
"It's enough." Beca stops her from saying anything further with the sound of the drill as she starts driving in the screws. "Let's see how long it takes anyone to notice this," she says between screws, "I figured they'd be making dinner long enough that I could finish it without anyone noticing. I'm not even going to question why your friend cooks downstairs when there's an oven and a stove up here." She looks at Aubrey when she doesn't respond. "You got me a radio. You helped me stay alive."
"You were never in danger."
"We didn't know that. Maybe I'm not even reinstalling this mirror for you. Maybe it's a practical joke. I'm trying to convince everyone they were bit by vampires."
"Most modern mirrors are made with aluminum rather than silver. It's very likely that, if vampires were real, modern ones could see their reflection."
Beca closes her eyes and leans her head against the cabinet door. She thrusts out her hand and closes the shower curtain in one quick movement. "I'm trying to be nice to you and you're-"
"You watched me pee into a bag attached to my bed." Aubrey flings the curtain back. "I think it's safe to show some vulnerability."
The drill has another turn in the conversation before Beca answer, "Not everything can be fixed like this can. You can't do anything to fix this for me, Aubrey. Nobody can."
Every problem has a solution – even the most difficult ones. It just takes work to find it.
"You can eat and drink and stay out of the hospital, how about that?" Beca says.
"How does that help you?"
Again, the drill has its own say, putting a hold on their conversation. Beca finishes screwing the hinges on then opens and closes the door several times, studying her work. She wraps the cord around the drill, unplugging it once she runs out of cord to wrap. And Aubrey thinks she's going to leave without answering until she stops just outside the bathroom door and before walking away, replies, "It keeps you here."
