SunDanceQT: There are a lot more moments like that to come.
Mwallace: There is a little more of him in this chapter.
FromTumblr: It's going to be so much for awhile now.
Pixie1913: I could never stand that much physical pain. If I was ever shot, I'd die from the experience itself.
Guest: Especially when those similarities are things you don't want to acknowledge in yourself.
G: Yes. At some point, there will be more flashbacks involving Beca.
Vickstik: There is actually a really sweet Mitchsen moment coming up in the next few chapters.
96itadakimasu96: The only person who can really help Aubrey is Aubrey. Also, I hate lucky charms so much, but after writing that chapter, I feel compelled to buy some.
Guest: It was a pretty great week. It was Dr. Seuss week, so, I got to dress up for work every day. I was went all in.
Andiclauds: This is true.

Dysrhythmia

All alone, even when I was a child,
I've always known there was something to be frightened of.
I can see it coming from the edge of the room,
Creeping in the streetlight, holding my hand in the pale gloom.
- Florence and the Machine

"Slow down, or you are going to make yourself sick," Julia says.

Aubrey isn't eating quickly – just…robotically. Stab, chew, swallow over and over without breaking to think. Nothing is ever enough is it? Eat, Aubrey. Eat slower, Aubrey. Do something god damn right for once, Aubrey. She did what was asked of her, and, still, no one is happy – least of all, her. There is a knock at the door, and Aubrey puts her fork down and pushes her plate back a few centimeters.

"That's probably Conrad." Julia takes one more bite of toast, then brushes her hands together. "Are you finished?"

Her plate looks even.

Aubrey nods.

Julia stands up. "Come on then."

That means leaving Chloe...

"I wanna meet this boy," Noah says, standing up, " Give him the ol' razzle dazzle."

"What?" Julia asks him, shaking her head.

Get up, Aubrey. Aubrey wipes her hands on a napkin, then stands up.

Chloe will be fine.

Aubrey just wants to be here when she wakes up – to ease her fear, make sure she's okay. She can't do that if she doesn't know when Chloe is going to wake up, and they keep making her leave.

"It sounded shnazzy," Noah says, "Right, Aubrey?"

"What?" Aubrey asks, rejoining them.

"You don't want to know; you'll get second-hand embarrassment," Julia tells her.

Oh.

"Come on. To the door," Julia directs them, "Let's not make him wait."

Aubrey moves first, leading the way out into the hallway where Conrad is waiting for them with bags.

"Is that your dad?" Conrad blurts out.

Aubrey is digging herself into a hole claiming that these are her parents to Conrad, when her real father is only miles away. She tells herself it's fine. Brian has figured it out, and not questioned it, so maybe Conrad knows that these are Chloe's parents as well...

Conrad gasps. "I didn't expect him to be…"

A different race?

"…a man who wears argyle sweaters." Conrad puts the bags down and clasps his hands in front of his face. "Oh no," he says, looking distraught, "Oh no. Honey, this is not your pattern. These are not your colors. Oh no." He bites his nails. "You should not be out in public like this."

Julia bursts into giggles so hysterical at first, that Aubrey thinks Chloe's mom may be teetering on some sort of edge as well.

"My mom bought me this sweater," Noah says.

Conrad lifts one hand to his forehead, and looks like he's about to faint. "Then why would you wear it? Tan France, we have a problem." He exhales a long breath. "Don't worry. This is fixable. It will be hard work, but I will help you, and you will never look like this again."

"Is it that bad?" Noah asks, facing his wife.

Julia appears to be calculating her words very carefully. "This sweater is not one of the many, many reasons I love you so much," she answers.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Noah asks.

"You seemed like you really loved it!" Julia answers, "It's…tolerable."

"You have a high tolerance level," Conrad tells her.

Aubrey has a very low one right now, and she feels like she's about to throw up all over her shoes. "I need to shower." But, mostly, she needs to sit back down. She rests her fingers on her chin.

"Thank you so much. You're a peach." Julia pats Conrad's cheek, then picks up the bags. She turns to Aubrey. "Come on." She nods toward the elevator. "Let's go sort through this stuff."

Aubrey gives the closed door to Chloe's room one last look before she follows her mom to the elevator.

"Are you gonna make it?" Julia asks, pressing the button.

Aubrey nods. She steps onto the elevator and uses the pole to hold herself up straight. The wall looks so welcoming to lean on.

Julia takes full advantage of the wall. She presses the button for their floor, then leans sideways against it and closes her eyes. "If I had a basic superpower," she says, "It would be teleportation so we wouldn't have to keep walking back and forth. I know Chloe wants to talk to animals. What about you?"

The power to heal Chloe. Time travel. Something that would fix where they're at right now. "Chloe already talks to animals," Aubrey deflects.

Julia smiles. "I was thinking more in a Eliza Thornberry or Dr. Dolittle way. Think about what power you would have. I want to know."

Aubrey doesn't care about fake superpowers. She doesn't care about a whole lot of anything right now – aside from their situation. The elevator door opens, and she steps out. The cops are staring at her. All of them. Today is the day their curiosity gets satisfied, their questions get answered. Aubrey is finally awake, and her lawyer is present. She lifts her head, as much as she wants to lower it and avoid any chance of eye contact, and she carries herself past them with the confidence of someone who knows more that they do, just to get past them at all.

Julia walks beside her, a wall between her and the police, and Aubrey wonders if there is anyone she can't intimidate – and how she can be so soft, and yet instill the fear of God into people.

Inside, Beca is still under the blanket.

"We're back," Julia makes her aware.

Aubrey isn't even sure if Beca is awake. She sits down on the edge of the bed, and breathes.

"Oh, look, he got you little shower caddies," Julia says, placing the bags at the bottom of the bed, "How thoughtful." She begins to sort things into each container, giving Aubrey the pink one and Beca the green.

Aubrey tries to be helpful – picking up a few things, sorting them into the correct caddy.

"Here, Bunny." Julia hands her the bag of what she asked for.

Aubrey takes it and turns around to tuck it beneath her pillow, because Beca is sleeping, and Aubrey does not want to move anymore. But now she can't lie down on her pillow and be comfortable. She turns the table around over the bed, and rests her head on that instead, adjusting the blanket to place between her forehead and the wood. She starts to feel slightly better once her head is down and her eyes are shut.

"You gonna be okay?" Julia asks.

Aubrey nods.

"Do you need anything?"

Aubrey shakes her head. No.

"Do you want to try some water?"

Definitely no.

Julia moves to sit on the bed between Aubrey and the bags. She continues sorting with one hand, rubbing the back of Aubrey's head with the other.

Aubrey becomes painfully aware of how greasy her hair is. Maybe her superpower would be disappearing. That would be helpful right now. She covers the back of her head with her hand, and then Julia is just stroking her arm instead. She can't tell if it's being completely still or the medication that causes the nausea to start fading, so she doesn't move in case it's the former – only barely lifting her head when Julia calls for the nurse to see what to do about her arm in the shower.

The nurse suggests a sponge bath, but Aubrey will be damned…

So, the nurse agrees to give her a plastic cover to go over her arm, and, apparently, saran wrap will work to keep her shoulder dry. And Aubrey is lucky enough to get the needle taken out of her hand. The discomfort of the needle is quickly replaced with the discomfort of the feeling of saran wrap sticking to her skin.

"How are you going to manage this, Baby?" Julia asks once the nurse leaves, "I'm worried you're going to fall."

Aubrey will not fall. "I can do it."

Julia places her elbow on the table and rubs her face, then rests her head on her hand and just looks at Aubrey.

Aubrey draws the line at help in the shower. She locks eyes with her. "I said I can do it."

Julia holds eye contact with her, and breathes a quiet laugh. "You don't scare me, Aubrey. Pick somebody to be in there with you."

Aubrey clenches her jaw.

"I'm not saying they have to help help you. You can pull the curtain, and someone can sit on a chair. I don't care who it is."

No. Aubrey will not.

"You're not going to win in a battle of wills with me," Julia tells her.

Aubrey is willing to make that bet. She lifts her head and moves to sit crisscross.

Julia turns and mirrors her, the table in between them. She rolls her shoulders then folds her arms over the table, and rests her chin on them, not taking her eyes off Aubrey.

Aubrey smiles in the awkwardness of being stared at, and looks down at her lap. She cannot make Aubrey move, so…

"Here's the thing," Julia says, "This isn't a power struggle. Either you're going to go shower or you're not. You're a grown adult. You're beyond capable of making that choice. And, to be honest, whichever you choose, I don't care. What I do care about is not having two daughters with head injuries. So, you can either accept somebody helping you, or you can meet with your boss and the police in your pajamas."

Aubrey looks up at her.

Julia shrugs. "I know you want to shower."

Aubrey does want to shower. She just doesn't want Chloe's mom helping her. "Beca will help me."

"Says who?" Beca asks from under her blanket.

Aubrey didn't actually expect her to be awake. She expected to claim Beca would help her, and then never actually ask.

"Says Chloe's mom," Julia says sweetly.

"Seriously?" Beca mutters to herself.

"All of your stuff is here," Julia says, "It's all sorted. You have clean clothes."

Aubrey can't believe she caved in so quickly.

"Beca, are you getting up?" Julia asks.

Beca sits up and yanks the blanket off her head – still muttering. It's hard to make out any of her words aside from 'bed' and 'choice'. "Are you coming or not?" she asks Aubrey.

"How about you come get your things," Julia suggests to her, " I imagine you want to shower too, once Aubrey is done."

Beca is still for a second, just shaking her head. She finally turns around and takes the caddy that Julia offers to her. She raises it as a slightly sarcastic 'thank you'.

Aubrey picks herself up all the way, and turns to sit on the edge of the bed. The nausea doesn't come back, so she takes that as a sign that she can grab her things and stand up. "Thank you," she says as Julia hands her her things. She pauses then looks at Beca. Why didn't she already have things? "Have you not showered since we got here?"

"I showered when we got here," Beca defends herself.

That was days ago.

"There is a bag of clothes for you by the chair," Julia informs Aubrey.

Beca has clothes. They're in a bag by her bed. Aubrey can see them. But, she's also wearing the same clothes she was wearing the previous day when Aubrey woke up. It didn't occur to Aubrey that Beca was just in pajamas all day – possibly for multiple days.

Aubrey walks over to the bag and kneels down to sort through it. It's all sundresses and leggings, folded neatly inside the bag. Not exactly appropriate for Autumn weather, but she's glad for pants without buttons – and for not getting stuck just wearing sweatpants. She picks a light blue dress that matches the cast on her arm and white leggings. Then, she pulls out a bra and underwear, trying to override her embarrassment that Chloe's parents had to go and buy these things for her with thankfulness that they did.

Beca pulls clothes out of her bag and drops them onto the floor, creating a pile of what she plans to wear.

And Aubrey quickly looks back down at her perfectly folded clothing, aligned by size. Dress on the bottom. Leggings. Underwear. Bra. Socks on top.

"Do you need something else?" Julia asks her.

Aubrey shakes her head. "No." She picks up her things and tries to avoid watching Beca gather her own things up in her arms.

Julia stands up and places the plastic cover meant to keep Aubrey's arm dry and a towel on top of the rest of her things. "You got everything?"

Aubrey nods.

"Okay."

Beca places all of her things on the seat of a chair that she drags into the bathroom with her.

Aubrey follows. "Why didn't you ask for any of this before?" she asks, using her foot to shut the door.

"Because I don't need all this stuff," Beca answers, "I can use the stuff already here."

"But you didn't," Aubrey says. There is a bench outside the shower, that who knows how many people have sat their bare butts on, where she can put her things. She knows it's been sanitized, but she still has a hard time putting her things down on it.

"Why do you care?" Beca asks, "Not everything that is important to you is important to everybody else."

Aubrey is pretty sure that showering should be important to everybody – and, from Beca staying at her apartment before, she knows that Beca does not just go days without showering. "Is it because of Chloe?" she dares to ask. She's not oblivious to how Chloe roped Beca into being a Bella. It was the first moment that really drove a wedge between her and Chloe, and, unbeknownst to Beca, really made Aubrey start to hate her. Forget that Chloe had been in the Baker Hall showers with Tom, because Aubrey was adamant about Chloe not having sex with him, or anyone else for that matter, in the Bellas' house. Tom was a fling to Chloe. Much like Howie was to Aubrey. Just there until the tension between them after Aubrey's meltdown directly after Pukegate went down. Beca, however…

"No," Beca tells her, but her voice is weaker than before, "Just hurry up."

Aubrey turns on the water, then just sort of stands there – thinking about Chloe and Beca naked in the shower together all over again. She believes Chloe's claims that they didn't do anything, and that Tom was standing right there too, but the way Chloe talked about it… It was the first time she ever made Aubrey feel like she wasn't enough.

"Hurry up," Beca stresses again.

Aubrey turns around. "Join me."

"What?" Beca asks.

"In the shower," Aubrey elaborates.

"I know where you want me to join you, but wh-"

"It'll be faster." And maybe Aubrey won't think so hard about Beca and Chloe naked. Please, don't say no.

"You were just saying that you don't want help," Beca points out.

"I didn't ask you to help me." Aubrey is capable of showering. She proves it by taking her shirt off – managing to wrangle her good arm in through the sleeve, then easily slipping it over her head and cast.

Beca tilts her head back and closes her eyes.

Now she has to stand here and wait for Beca to say something. Aubrey's nails dig hard into her shirt. Maybe she should have asked Chloe's mom to help her. She wouldn't be thinking about Chloe naked with Beca right now, if she had.

"Fine. Whatever," Beca concedes, and gets up, "I don't care."

Aubrey isn't quite sure what exactly Beca does not care about – but she'll take it over standing there topless in front of her like that.

Beca peels her shirt off and tosses it on the chair, on top of her clean clothes.

The change in Beca's demeanor since they woke up makes Aubrey nervous – more nervous. She takes double the time to neatly fold her shirt than she usually does when she has both hands, and tries not to think about that or anything at all. Her pants, underwear, and socks are surprisingly harder to remove than her shirt – which was the worst to put on. They all require bending over, a task that makes her want to burst into tears. Her muscles say no, and she tells them yes. By the time she stands back up, her energy is gone, and she would rather go back to bed than shower or fold the rest of her dirty clothes.

"Why are you folding clothes you're going to wash?" Beca asks. She's already completely undressed, and is standing there just waiting on Aubrey by the time Aubrey even picks her clothes up off the ground.

The flip-flops Conrad picked out for her have donuts on them, and Aubrey pays attention to them rather to Beca's question. If only they amused her as much as they should. She organizes her shower caddy. Slips on the plastic cover that makes her feel like her arm is preparing to be an astronaut. And finally joins Beca in a shower much smaller than that at the inn. It's large enough to accommodate both of them and allow some sense of personal space. It also leaves her thinking about how much smaller the showers in Baker Hall were than this.

"Aren't you a little out of commission to want to have hate sex in the shower?" Beca asks, and Aubrey can't tell if she's serious or joking.

"I don't want to have sex with you." Sex with anybody sounds absolutely awful right now. Her entire body would completely give out on her. Aubrey shivers and steps closer to the water for warmth. Rather than step underneath it, they both huddle around it like it's fire, watching it go down the drain.

"You look like you're going to collapse," Beca comments.

Aubrey shakes her head. She's starting to feel a little better now.

Beca places her hand under the water than flicks the drops at the floor. "You first." She abandons Aubrey by the water in favor of sitting on a plastic shower bench. "I'll shower while I wait for you to try to shave."

"Sounds like a plan," Aubrey replies bitterly. Showering with one arm isn't as easy as she thought it was going to be. She has to rest the wash cloth on her injured arm, because she can't hold it and squeeze body wash onto it at the same time. And the water feels like fire when it beats off her shoulder. She looks at Beca, who, thankfully, has her eyes closed, and isn't watching this disaster take place. "Beca?"

"Dude, what?"

Aubrey tries to position herself so the water isn't hitting the left side of her body. "When I was shot," she says, "Did it go all the way through? Or did they have to take it out?"

"Have you not looked at your shoulder when they're changing the bandages?" Beca asks.

Aubrey doesn't want to see it. "No."

Beca opens her eyes again. She doesn't look as annoyed anymore.

"Is it bad?" Aubrey asks, not sure she wants to know the answer.

"Uhhh…" Beca draws out the word, clearly buying herself some time. "It was pretty close range," is all she says.

"So, it's bad," Aubrey confirms.

"The bullet went through. It just…tore up your shoulder on the way. You're going to have one hell of a battle scar."

Aubrey is going to have a reminder on her body that she was she shot by Jesse for the rest of her life, is what Beca means. "Did they…say anything about it?"

"Like what?" Beca asks, "Did they ask how you got shot?"

That's not what Aubrey meant. She shakes her head.

"No one has talked to me. They've been talking to Chloe's mom. Why?"

"I can't feel my fingers," Aubrey admits. She slowly bends them again. The relief she felt when she first realized she could move them is long gone. She can feel the plastic as they rub against it. She just can't feel it.

"What about the rest of your arm?" Beca asks, standing up.

Aubrey didn't even think about that.

Beca places her hand on Aubrey's upper arm.

It feels the same as her fingers – only it's also accompanied by the need to scratch deep beneath her skin.

Beca must notice from her expression that her answer isn't a positive one. "This just happened," she says, "And they've been pumping you full of painkillers."

If this is how Aubrey feels with painkillers, she's scared to know how she feels without them. She nods, and Beca lets her hand drop back down to her side.

"Is that from Luke?" Beca asks.

Aubrey is confused before she realizes Beca is looking at her chest. She follows her gaze down to the bruising just below her ribs where Luke's knee hit her. She nods. It hurts right there every time she breathes. But it's not really an injury she registered until right now. All the other ones look and feel worse.

Beca doesn't say anything else. She backs up to the bench again, and sits back down, looking away. Then, she turns her entire body around, sitting crisscross, facing the wall.

"I have something for you," Aubrey says, trying to keep the conversation going. She's going to owe Conrad and Chloe's mom so much money for everything they've picked up for her.

"Can you just stop talking and hurry up?" Beca asks, hostile out of nowhere, even more so than before, "Jesus."

"Maybe I should have Conrad take it back then," Aubrey hits back.

"Maybe you should."

"Fine." Aubrey turns around too.

"Fine."

Aubrey picks up her shampoo, glaring in distress at the place where the wall meets the floor. "Fine."

"Yeah, fine," Beca says.

There is no way to squeeze shampoo into her hand, so Aubrey has to squeeze the bottle directly onto her head, and try not to let it get into her eyes as she puts the bottle back. There is also no way to do this without water hitting her shoulder, so she steps directly under the shower head.

"You're not going to get the last word?" Beca asks.

Aubrey turns the water temperature up as high as she can stand it, then scrubs her hair as best as she can with her one hand. She finally feels warm with hot water cascading over her, and she is already not looking forward to the cold air about to hit her when she leaves. Why couldn't Beca have had a summer weather so she could go home to somewhere hot? No. Then she would just hate the heat. She tilts her head back up once all the shampoo is rinsed out, and rubs the rain from her face. Not rain. Shower water. Shower water. She takes a sudden step back, wiping it from her eyes, spitting it out of her mouth. She's in the shower – somewhere enjoyable.

Not in the rain.

Everything is okay.

Aubrey turns around, and looks at Beca's back – more or less studying the tattoo on her shoulder for a few moments. It's pretty. She briefly wonders if a tattoo could eventually cover the scar on her own shoulder. She no longer cares whether or not it would hurt. It can't hurt worse than anything she's already felt. "Move," she finally blurts out. It'll be easier trying to shave her legs if she can place her foot on the seat and bend forward that way.

Beca glances over her shoulder with a scowl, then gets up. "Your throne, your majesty," she instigates, walking around her.

Aubrey draws in a breath, and decides it's not worth it to engage. She would rather make Chloe's mom proud than finish something Beca is trying to start for no good reason. And, honestly, she feels kind of proud of herself for just ignoring her. She places her caddy on the bench, and focuses on the matter at hand.

"What the hell, Aubrey?!" Beca exclaims, and turns off the water.

Aubrey jumps and quickly turns around, actually nearly falling.

"Are you trying to burn me?!"

Aubrey shakes her head. "I didn't realize it was that hot."

"Like hell you didn't. What the fuck?"

Before Aubrey can defend herself further, there is a knock at the door.

"Are you girls okay?" Julia asks.

Aubrey and Beca look at the door and then at each other. "Yes!" they call back in unison.

Beca turns the water back on at a lower temperature.

Aubrey steadies herself with her foot in the bench, and lowers her forehead to her knee. If she screams, Chloe's mom will hear her, and if she starts to cry, Beca will see. She rubs her hand up and down her leg, just sniffling. It's fine. It was an accident. She didn't mean to do it. She didn't do anything wrong. She lifts her head, and refocuses on what she's doing. It's hard to see with her vision so blurred from tears, and the realization that there is going to be no easy way to shave under her arms after this only exacerbates her frustration. How the hell is she supposed to bend her right wrist to adequately shave under her right arm?

"Why do you have to make everything so much harder for yourself?" Beca asks, watching her poor attempts at grooming, "None of what you're doing matters."

Aubrey imagines herself throwing her razor. Not at Beca. Just in general. She pictures herself throwing her entire caddy. Sinking to the ground – only the ground is clean in her imagination. Instead, she just keeps at what she's doing, pretending Beca isn't there. The nausea starts to work it's way back, and she tries to ignore that too. Chloe's mom will be so disappointed in her if she's throws up her breakfast.

"I'm sorry," Beca says.

What? "You don't get to say you're sorry while you're in the middle of berating me," Aubrey tells her quickly.

"I'm not berating you. You just tried to give me third degree burns on my whole body."

Aubrey just shakes her head. Whatever. It wasn't hot enough to give even a first degree burn.

Beca finishes showering and sits down on the bench next to Aubrey's things.

Aubrey rinses her razor in the shower spray, then puts it away and roughly yanks her caddy closer to her. "I didn't know it was that hot," she still feels the need to defend herself, "Chloe usually just…" She motions toward the shower handle. "She usually just knows to turn it down. I didn't realize."

"Why the hell do you have it that hot to begin with?" Beca asks.

Aubrey looks at her. "Because it feels…" Feels what? Good? Maybe it's her who should have burned to death on the docks. Had gasoline poured all over her and been lit on fire. Maybe she would have liked it. She realizes Beca is still waiting on an answer. "It… It just…" What, Aubrey? "It distracts me. Okay?"

"From what?"

"Everything, Beca, everything." From her father. From herself. From Chloe. From Beca. From life. "Because for a fraction of a second, Beca, it feels worse than everything else." She takes a step back, away from her. "And that feels better." It doesn't make sense trying to explain it out loud – trying to explain how something that hurts could feel so good. She looks downward in embarrassment, too tired to react more than that.

"I know how that is," Beca claims to understand what Aubrey doesn't, "But, Jesus, Aubrey."

Aubrey makes sure all of her things are gathered up – placed nice and neat in her caddy. She turns it sideways, lined up with the edge of the bench, to let it dry there – hyperaware that Beca is watching her do it.

Then, she grabs her toothbrush and toothpaste, and steps out of the shower. She can't hold it and wrap her towel around herself at the same time. She isn't going to be able to wrap her towel around herself at all. She shouldn't have gotten her toothbrush out first. Now, she's going to have to stand there naked as she brushes her teeth, and then dry herself off. Stupid, Aubrey. She walks to the sink, sniffling more as she tries to figure out how to put her toothpaste on her toothbrush without placing her toothbrush down on the dirty sink.

Aubrey is not stupid.

Aubrey is smart.

She can figure this out.

She puts the bottom end of her toothbrush in her mouth, holds the bottle between her cast and chest, so she can twist the lid off, then squeezes the toothpaste onto her brush. There. Good job, Aubrey.

"I could have helped you," Beca points out.

Aubrey looks in the mirror, tells herself that it's ridiculous to be scared of a mirror, and brushes her teeth – only acknowledging Beca to step to the side as Beca brushes her teeth too.

Aubrey spits, wipes her mouth with her hand, then rinses her hand off. Figuring out how to rinse her mouth out like this is a problem for another day, and she spits again until it feels like all the toothpaste is out. On second thought, she'll put her toothbrush back in her caddy, then use her one hand to cup water into her mouth. It's so much fucking work just trying to brush her god damn teeth.

"Aubrey, you're tiring yourself out with unnecessary things."

Beca is only saying that because she has the ability to place her toothbrush on the edge of the sink, and use both of her hands to rinse out her mouth.

"Not everything has to be organized."

Organized. Beca says the word like organization is a bad thing, like Aubrey being clean and orderly is a problem. Aubrey thrives on being organized – on things being where they belong, on no detail being overlooked. Chloe thrives on Aubrey's being organized too, because, aside from Beca, Chloe is the most disorganized person in the world. Aubrey loves organization. It's this that Aubrey doesn't love.

"Just stop…"

The way Aubrey has to double check the make sure the edge of the caddy is perfectly aligned with the edge of the bench after she puts her toothbrush back isn't organization. It's exhausting. Because not only does Aubrey thrive on organization, she also thrives on logic. There is no logic behind a perfectly aligned shower caddy determining whether or not everything turns out okay.

She goes through the motions of continuing to prepare for the day like Beca isn't there or speaking to her – at least until she has to put her clothes on.

"I want to see you latch that," Beca comments, watching Aubrey try to hook her bra with one hand.

Aubrey keeps trying.

"You should leave it off."

Double what? Aubrey looks at her.

"Didn't you say Bologna Barb was your roommate before Chloe was?"

"Bologna Barb has no dignity."

Beca arches her brows.

Aubrey has no dignity fumbling with her bra like this. She drops her hand down to her side.

Beca has it latched in two seconds flat.

Aubrey does everything else on her own – including getting her dress over her head. It's a cute dress. But Aubrey doesn't feel pretty at all in it. She's clean now, but she still feels absolutely disgusting. She's probably vomited enough that no amount of soap can get the smell off of her, and she's just gotten used to it.

She peels the saran wrap off of her arm and trashes it. Lines up her cast cover and towel with her dirty clothes, then folds and lines up all of Beca's things.

"You just folded my dirty underwear."

And then she leaves the bathroom, not checking to see if Beca is even decent before she opens the door. She just opens it, then closes it behind her in her hurry to get out of there.

She wants to return to Chloe's mom before she turns into her own.