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The world's most talked-about global tour of 2026 started with its European leg. Its European leg started in Paris, with three nights at the Accor Arena.
Beca Mitchell, a woman who previously sang acapella in college and could hardly hold a conversation anymore, had no idea how she did it.
She went through her first twenty-something years of life thinking she wasn't much more than the daughter of a hippie and an emotionally unavailable English teacher; Now she was headlining three sold-out shows at an arena that could seat twenty thousand at most. It was easy to look in the mirror and be proud of what she saw.
While national acapella championship victories were perfect for her fun, naïve college days, the size of the stadiums she was booking for her tour was far more rewarding. To Beca, the money was nothing; the music that came straight from her soul, resonating with people globally, was everything.
Her team celebrating her with noogies and popping champagne as soon as she stepped off the stage made the pride a hundred times more real.
"Amazing work, Beca!" Someone spoke from behind her.
"Two hours and not a single voice crack!"
"Or wardrobe malfunction!"
"And your crowd work with the French audience was magnifique!"
"Don't forget–"
"Beca!" A voice cut through the noise. Beca turned around to see her makeup artist, Brianna. The young woman approached her wearing what was probably the brightest smile in the city, and slung an arm around her boss's sweaty shoulder.
"Babygirl, you won't believe it!" She exclaimed, the familiar nickname making Beca chuckle.
She turned her head towards her friend and raised a brow, the rest of the team subsiding to celebrate each other. "What's up?"
"Fuck your stupid hotel, Beca! We are officially VIPs for the hottest Parisian club," Brianna declared. She waved her phone in Beca's face. The musician could hardly read it, but it was a text exchange with someone claiming to be the owner of said club. "And we're going A-S-A-P, babe. Forget your sweatpants, we're clubbing tonight!"
While she wasn't particularly thrilled, Brianna was so excited she felt like it was rubbing off on her. Beca didn't like to go out; she much preferred pajamas, buttered noodles, and video games after a hard performance. Regardless, she accepted with a nod, a firm hand planting itself on Brianna's shoulder.
"Thanks, Bri. You're the most amazing bitch that's ever done my eyeliner. Ever." Beca said with a reserved smile.
"Heh, I know," she flipped her hair— a cropped blonde bob, held back by the cutest hairpins in the world— dramatically. In the few months Brianna had been working for her, they'd developed a strong bond. Not strong enough for Beca to bare her soul, but strong enough to go out and have fun every once in a while. For both of them, that was enough.
Brianna broke off from Beca and raised her hands in the air, fingers forming the symbol for love— as opposed to the devil horns she intended to make, contextually. "B and B! Out on the town tonight! Get ready, muthafuckahs!"
Beca just chuckled as she walked back into her dressing room. She knew she hadn’t packed any clubbing clothes in her personal case, so digging through her tour outfits and mixing and matching was her best idea.
An idea that took longer than she had mentally projected. By the time she stripped and dabbed the sweat off of her sticky body with a hand towel, Brianna was already at the club and texting her to let her know she was there.
Beca slipped off her black cami, reaching instead for a white cotton tank top with a tighter fit. As soon as it was over her head, her phone buzzed on the folding table next to her.
From: Brianna Nguyen
Hieee Bec, ETA?
Beca didn't have one yet, so she didn't open the notification to reply. She continued to change, pulling on purposely torn tights and black leather hot pants before it buzzed again.
Plz? <3
She rolled her eyes and flipped her phone over, focusing on putting together the rest of her outfit. It was January, and a matching leather jacket wouldn't kill Beca. Especially not her custom designer jacket, with about twenty zippers and a flared collar. In fact, it would probably do her some good.
When it was zipped all the way up to her chin, another buzz came from the table. One Beca pointedly ignored.
Deciding to commit to the look and the kinkier side of European clubbing, Beca selected the sexiest knee-high boots she could find and pulled them onto her feet.
Fuck it if they were uncomfortable. The whole concept of clubbing was uncomfortable. At least she would look hot while she did it.
When she started accessorizing, three subsequent buzzes almost shook the phone onto the floor.
"Jesus Christ, Bri, what do you need?" Beca murmured after putting on two silver rings, the metal clattering against her phone case as she picked it up.
From: Brianna Nguyen
ETA plzzz xxx
Showed the bouncer my texts with the owner and he won't let me in unless ur here ;;;;;;
Bec txt me plz I'm ready to crank it and this bumbling idiot won't let me party without u
BECA PICK UP YOUR GODDAMN PHONE
As she was reading, Brianna linked the club's address in a new message. She followed it up with more pleas for an ETA, and Beca gave her the laziest response in the world.
Maybe thirty minutes?????
Beca....... I am actually gna kill u
With a groan, Beca dropped her phone back onto the table and cradled her face in her hands. Her head was hanging low in annoyance as she deliberately let another round of messages ring out.
"Oh my god,” The popstar grumbled, “So fucking needy. It's like having a dog."
☆ ☆
Beca’s first time in Paris was eleven years ago, after the Bellas’ victory at the 2015 World Acapella Championship in Copenhagen. It was Fat Amy’s idea, initially. The cash prize for the winning group was enough for them to spend a single day in Paris, which seemed like a very romantic, once-in-a-lifetime type of experience. Every Bella was immediately on board— Especially Chloe, whose eyes lit up like a firework over the idea of visiting the so-called “City of Love.” Beca, however, was not so excited.
It took about thirteen hours to travel from Copenhagen to Paris by train, not including the transfers they had to make on account of there being no direct route between the cities. With a mix of pocket change and prize cash, each Bella bought their own two-hundred Euro pass for the ride. Beca gave Chloe the window seat and smiled passively whenever she looked at her with that wide-eyed, pretty grin. Though the older woman was very excited, it didn’t take her long to realize that her girlfriend wasn’t particularly thrilled.
She squeezed Beca’s hand, rubbing her thumb over the back of her knuckles, “Why the long face, Beca bear?”
“...Don’t call me that when the girls are around,” Beca murmured. Her ears turned a specific shade of pink that always made Chloe’s heart melt, mostly because she knew nobody else would’ve noticed it. “I’ve just never been big on visiting Paris, that’s it. I don’t like tourist cities. I don't like being around a lot of people. Especially a bunch of people who don’t know where they’re going.”
She paused, thinking Chloe would have some kind of unnecessarily positive rebuttal that she couldn’t say no to, but she didn’t; she just tilted her head and looked at Beca inquisitively, like Chloe wanted to know every single thing on her mind.
“But, you know, you guys wanted to celebrate together and go to this cool, chic, famous city. Flo and Stacie wouldn’t shut up about ‘tearing a hole’ through the city in honor of Amy. And then you looked so— so… I dunno, Chloe-y?”
“...Chloe-y?” Chloe repeated with a quiet chuckle.
Beca nodded, “You know exactly how you get. All… Happy, and stuff.”
It was a weird way of describing general excitement, but there was a specific way that Chloe looked when she was anticipating something positive. They were both quiet for a minute; Chloe brushed a few stray strands of hair out of Beca’s face and kissed her forehead. “We don’t have to go to the Eiffel Tower, we don’t have to go to the Louvre,” she said, standing up to go through her luggage and retrieve her laptop, “I’ll find something for us, Beca. We don’t even have to hang out with these dummies.”
Beca watched as Chloe gestured towards the Bellas around them. They stood out among other passengers, as per usual. The two captains typically would’ve tried to reign them in, but between Emily watching Lilly play some loud game on a small console and Stacie nearly standing up as she dubbed their trip “a ride on the railway to good railing”, neither of them really wanted to associate with their teammates at the moment.
People in Europe are respectful and hushed on the train; The Bellas have a habit of making themselves at home and speaking as loudly as they live. It was slightly embarrassing, but Worlds sucked Beca dry of all the energy typically reserved for handling them. Chloe sat back down, connected her laptop to the train’s Wi-Fi, and pushed away Beca’s head when she tried to peek at her screen.
“Quit it, nosy,” She scolded playfully, “Take a nap. We have five hours until we’re in Hamburg. You need to rest.”
“I just wanna know what you're plotting,” Beca grumbled defiantly, but rested her head on Chloe’s shoulder and shut her eyes anyway.
“I’m plotting something you'll enjoy in Paris, just don't worry about it,” Chloe said. She placed her hand absentmindedly on Beca’s thigh and squeezed it reassuringly.
“Alright,” Beca murmured, nuzzling further into the crook of her neck. “Love you.”
“Love you too, Becs,” Chloe whispered. With the gentle rocking of the train and the ability to match her breathing to Chloe’s, Beca was out before she could make another snarky comment.
The rest of the trip was unremarkable. They changed trains twice, and by the time they'd arrived in Paris, Chloe and Beca had slept, on-and-off, six hours each.
They were both groggy, but Chloe made the wise decision to book a daytime hotel for them to reset and regroup. They lugged four suitcases— two were huge, the other two were slightly less huge— down the dirtied Paris streets up into their room.
In Copenhagen, they learned the hard way that a “king-sized bed” in Europe was just two double beds pushed together, so Beca wasn't as alarmed when she flopped over onto the mattress and felt the crack in the middle.
“Up, up, don't get too comfortable,” Chloe tutted, reaching out and grabbing the back of Beca’s hood. The brunette pouted and sat up, wrapping her arms around Chloe's waist.
Beca’s voice was muffled as she pressed her face into her lover’s warm chest, “Baby…”
“Don't get pouty with me. We'll be in this room for, like, three hours. You were shoving your face in the mattress before I even told you the plan.”
“Three hours?”
“Yes, Beca, that's what I said.”
Beca stood up slowly, keeping her arms wrapped around her girlfriend’s waist but starting to rub up and down her spine. The younger woman leaned in, maintaining a tantalizing distance between their lips, “We have time. I can think of something better to do before our plan debrief.”
“I would really prefer if you let me get it out of the way now,” Chloe whispered back, letting her hands explore whatever Beca would let her.
“Tell me while I do this,” a kiss to the tender skin of the redhead’s neck. Chloe didn't continue. “Tell me, Chlo.”
“Shit, Bec— Um… Would you even be listening?”
“Mmh… No, but I can pretend like I am.”
☆ ☆
While her concert ended at 10:30, it was 11:45 by the time Beca arrived at the club. The sign read Versteck in clean white letters, and everyone in line to get in was dressed ridiculously well.
Beca— whose face was obscured by sunglasses and a sailor's cap that was, in accordance with the rest of her outfit, leather— met Brianna's eyes with a subtle smirk.
Her makeup artist was practically jumping up and down, buzzing with excitement when she first saw her approaching. She must've changed in the car, because she looked a little less business casual and a little more like a doll. She contrasted Beca almost aggressively, her baby blue and white outfit matching her bubbly personality.
"Beca!" Brianna squealed. "Did you know winter Paris Fashion Week is happening right now?"
"Yes, of course I know," She confirmed, taking off her sunglasses and cutting to the front of the line. She looked the bouncer in the eyes, tapped her frames against her hand, and he pulled back the velvet rope without question. Brianna was holding onto padded shoulders like she would fly away if she let go.
"An army of like, twenty super hot model chicks just walked in," She chirped from behind. "You are swimming in babes tonight, because they're definitely VIP!"
"Any of the tall, dark, and handsome type guys for you?" Beca dodged; It was typical of her to avoid any discussion of her sex life. She didn't like to talk about it, and Brianna knew that, but she still— on occasion— also liked to try and poke the nest.
"Tons, babygirl. I could have two, if I wasn't so monogamous," she said, skipping over to Beca's side as they walked down a flight of stairs. "Actually, who cares? I might have two anyway."
Beca put her sunglasses back on and swung the doors open, industrial techno hitting them like a gust of wind. As they weaved through the crowd towards the roped off area behind the booth, Beca shouted over the music. "Good for you!"
"What?!" Brianna shouted back, now closer than before.
"Good fo- Fuck it, forget about it!"
As they approached yet another restricted hallway, Brianna flashed some kind of digital VIP pass that the owner sent for both her and Beca, and they were let in promptly.
As they entered, the music didn't drown out at all. Whatever kind of speaker system this place had was insane. Beca could feel her heart rate rising as the bass thumped in her ears, but as she looked around, she realized the bass wasn't what had her heart jumping up into her head.
Brianna was right. There were at least twenty models in the room, all legs and sex appeal, wrapped up nicely with a chiseled, symmetrical bow. She hated when her desires got blown up on the big screen, but a redhead caught her attention as soon as she laid eyes on her. She ran her hands through her hair freely, jumping with the fast-paced music and ignoring the colleagues who cared only for coke.
She was beautiful. Careless. When someone gave her an inch of space, her arms started to move with the rest of her body, and she was the only person in the grimy VIP room who looked like they belonged to the scene the club claimed.
By the time the musician even realized she had been staring, Brianna was already off, approaching a 6'5" guy and his friend in the corner. Beca tried not to get in the way of the drugs and the occasional three-way make-out as she was pulled in by the gentle waves of auburn hair about sixteen feet away from her.
Through the strobe lights, flashing white and red, the woman started to turn her head, and for a second—
“Chloe, I'm sorry—”
"...Not now.”
She came back to reality when someone's elbow rammed into her side. The underground room vibrating with a noisy drone synthesizer was almost as grounding. The side profile she saw was impossible to forget, and the memories were drawing Beca straight in.
By the time she was right behind her, Beca didn't know what to do other than put two small, soft hands on a slim waist.
"Quoi?" She asked as she turned around, and Beca suddenly felt very ridiculous.
It shouldn’t have even been a question. It wasn't Chloe, it was never going to be Chloe.
Chloe didn't speak French, she wasn't in Paris, and even if she was, she wouldn't be a VIP in some underground techno club. It wasn't like Beca didn't know that, because if it really were Chloe, she would've settled for tapping her shoulder and waving awkwardly.
She would probably get murdered if she touched Chloe like she was touching this woman, after all their time apart. The woman in front of her was receptive to it, and Beca folded quickly.
"Ah! C'est toi, Beca Mitchell!" The woman in front of her said, tugging at the zipper of Beca's collar and pulling it down so she could wrap a hand around her neck. Beca was sweaty and hated the proximity, but the woman smelled like she bathed in designer perfumes, and looked identical to the love of her life. That made it tolerable.
Beca lost sight of herself before she even realized she was wandering away.
The ginger’s accent was deep and attractive, especially as she pulled Beca in and spoke straight into her ear. "I heard you were here, in Paris. I would've gone to your show, but I was busy with mine."
"Votre émission?"
"Oui. Oublie ça, you speak French?
"Un peu. Are you one of those fashion week girls?"
"I'm flattered you think I'm pretty enough to be a model,” Beca opened her mouth to rebut, but Amélie held up a silencing finger. “Yes, I am…”
Beca looked her up and down, taking her in like a breath of fresh air that saved her from suffocating in the club’s thick atmosphere. She leaned in to bury her face in the woman’s neck, her shoulders heaving as she inhaled deeply. Then, she started to kiss up to her jaw. The model welcomed it easily, a cocky grin taking shape on her face.
When Beca pulled back to meet her eyes, the music pounding through her head, she realized just how deep the resemblance lied. She noticed how blue the model’s eyes were, then how they stared straight into her soul and sifted through every thought in her dirty mind.
Were they actually blue? Beca couldn't really tell. Maybe they were a light green, but they looked icy through the harsh strobe lights. Beca momentarily wished they were green, because if she stared for too long—
"You said you would stay. You told me you would stay no matter what, Chlo."
"Fuck what I said, I can't do this anymore. I can't keep fighting about a life you won't even fight for. I have to go."
A door slamming, her face dripping with tears— Beca could remember the keen feeling of rejection just as well as the burning sexual attraction she felt for her ex.
Standing in front of her was a woman who looked exactly like Chloe. It was foolish, but Beca didn't know what to do with herself other than pretend that was exactly who she was. She was okay with being a fool in exchange for one night of nostalgic, delusional sex. It did beat crying while jerking off.
"Comment t'appelles-tu?" She asked, though she knew she'd never think of her as anything but a temporary replacement.
"Oh… Stop with that. Stop trying to impress me, I speak English better than you," the model playfully slapped Beca's shoulder with the hand that wasn't on her neck. "Amélie."
The thundering music had started to fade into background noise. It didn't matter if the speakers stayed at the same volume; Beca's mind was filtering it out as it tried to soak up Amélie.
Her chest was pushed up by a white bustier top, and accentuating the way her hips moved were the cleanest pair of jeans Beca had ever seen in a club. It seemed more casual than the musician expected when it came to celebrity clubbing outfits. It wasn't like she was super familiar with the celebrity clubbing scene, but she knew enough to know that this way of dressing seemed civilian, regular.
So regular, she could imagine how someone else would look wearing it.
Beca bit her lip. It was embarrassing that the only thing she really wanted was the former co-captain of her long forgotten acapella group, but it was so easy to pretend that she was with her. It was so easy to pretend when Beca hated remembering that she was gone.
She imagined the thumb on the nape of her neck bearing a ring, cool against her hot, dripping skin.
God, she was so sweaty. All leather was a terrible choice when body-to-body with a hundred other people in a cramped room. But she didn't complain. This was exactly what she chose. Additionally, it was an excellent excuse to get out of there.
Though she was trying to let go and have fun, Beca was also painstakingly sober. She was aware that every other model in the room was off coke, and probably really, really drunk. It would've been irresponsible for her to fantasize without asking: “Are you under any kind of influence?”
“Are you, comment dit-on…” Amélie paused. Her hands and eyes drifted, and she started to continue pulling down the center zipper on Beca's jacket. “A narc?”
The question stunned Beca, and she let out a chuckle before she had the chance to think. She hated that this girl was making her laugh. “What? No, of course not. Oh my god, how do you even know that? I just… I want to get out of here, but I wouldn't do it if you're intoxicated.”
Amélie hummed. Beca couldn't hear it, but she saw the thoughtful look on her face. “Ah, that…” she looked around, her colleagues bent over and snorting lines with battered Euros off of a filthy booth table. “These girls need coke to stay thin, so they keep their contract. I don't. And I don't drink, not at, uh… shitty clubs.”
Amélie differed from Chloe on that front. Chloe loved to drink— responsibly, mostly— at any form of party.
“Okay,” Beca said with a nod. “Because I–
“Beca,” Amélie cut her off. She got closer, her mouth near the shell of Beca's ear. She bit down on the lobe, then ran her tongue over the mark. “You are so sexy on stage but so naïve in life. Does your girlfriend like when you talk dirty? Because you are not so good.”
“...I don't– I don't have a girlfriend, Amélie.”
“Parfait.“
Their faces were close, but Amélie was starting to think their bodies needed to be closer. She pressed her crotch directly into Beca’s and tried to move to the music. Beca bit her lip to suppress a gasp. There wasn’t much pleasure physically, but it was suggestive, and Beca found it incredibly sexy; Chloe did something similar in 2015. Stacie led them into some club hosting a kink party before they left Copenhagen. Stacie claimed Europeans were more sexually liberated than Americans, and Chloe wanted to lean into that. Amélie repeating that bold move took Beca’s mind straight back into that place in her head she was trying to wrestle it away from, where the person she could’ve sworn she was over had a permanent residence.
The model just chuckled, leaning into Beca and encouraging her to take the lead.
“I don't even know how to dance to this music,” the brunette confessed, her hands clumsily sliding up and down Amélie’s waist.
“There are ways to do it, but for the most part… You don't,” Amélie shrugged. She followed by gripping Beca's jaw, forcing her to look around at everyone else in the VIP room. Nobody was dancing. Not even her favorite party girl, Brianna. She was busy smiling from ear to ear as her two boyfriends for the night took turns kissing her neck. “Not in here, at least.”
Beca didn't know why she thought this was a good idea. She turned her head back and looked at Amélie’s face. Her lips curved just like Chloe’s, the shape of her nose had the same bump in the middle, and those eyes. God, those eyes. Beca kept having to remind herself it was a different person standing in front of her, someone other than her Chloe Beale.
There were little differences Beca focused on to stay in the moment; Amélie is taller, she doesn’t have that scar on her forehead, her smile could never be as genuine, her voice was huskier. She was more intense, and most obviously, she didn't love Beca.
Actually, after careful consideration, that was something they had in common—just not in the way Beca remembered it.
Neither of them knew a thing about the other; maybe that made it worse. The spontaneity and the lack of discussion were probably what made the musician ready to get Amélie out of the club and into a cab.
Their unfamiliarity was why Beca wanted her so bad. If she closed her eyes for long enough, if she buried her face in the red waves that fell over Amélie’s shoulders like a waterfall, Beca could convince herself she was with Chloe again, and that was the only thing she wanted.
Beca took a deep breath and tried to recenter.
Flirting, right. Act cool and try not to think about fucking your ex, Mitchell.
“Then… what do you do instead?” She tested, trying to push out of her memories.
Amélie just smiled, sticking out her tongue to lick a long stripe up Beca’s cheek. “This.”
Their lips met in a deep, consuming kiss. Beca responded, taking control of the situation confidently as their tongues fought for dominance. Her hands slid up to cup Amélie’s jaw, pushing them backwards through the crowd as she tried to go further.
Even though it was a horrible thought to have, Beca loved how similar Amélie tasted to Chloe. When she groaned, it was low and rattled into the back of Beca’s throat. Her voice was too deep to pour additional fuel on the fire in the popstar’s mind, but Beca was already more into this than she should've been.
No matter what happened, she was set in her visions of Chloe. They didn't break when Beca felt a hand creeping up her neck, tangling into her brunette locks, and gripping them tightly. Every time Beca tried to pull away and catch her breath, Amélie sucked her right back in.
Now pressed against a wall, Beca's wandering hands found Amélie’s waist. She slipped her fingers under the fabric of the model’s top, but didn't go any further than her midriff. She imagined them running over Chloe’s soft skin instead and groaned at the image, a wave of longing washing over her as she tried to push in closer.
Instead of allowing it, the model pulled away and giggled. She was blissfully unaware that Beca was picturing another woman's body— she was under the impression that all of this intensity was for her. For Amélie. She didn't know the tongue in her mouth was trying to trick its senses into believing that it was feeling something that wasn't there.
She reached for Beca's sunglasses, which the popstar had been wishing she wouldn't do. There was a yearning in those dark blue eyes, a nostalgic kind of love that she wanted to hide.
“I want to see you,” Amélie said, her nimble hands unzipping Beca's jacket to reveal the collar of her tank top. She hooked the sunglasses on the fabric to get them out of the way.
“You can't see shit in here with these ridiculous strobe lights,” Beca replied, her voice taking on its typical tone of sarcasm.
“So you're saying we should get out of here?”
“I didn't say that.”
“You did, actually. Earlier. Now I want to as well.”
“Hmm… Do you live around here?”
“Ouais. You've seen a tourist’s Paris, Beca Mitchell. Let me show you mine.”
☆ ☆
Chloe’s “no shoes in the house” rule took place the first time she saw Beca in bed with her Dr. Martin’s on. While it took some scolding to drill into her head, Beca learned to follow it quickly. She wasn't the neatest person in the world; Typically, she just loosened the laces and kicked them off.
But tonight, coming home from the studio past midnight, she believed it would've been inconsiderate to her vet-in-training girlfriend to make any kind of ruckus. She carefully took her boots off, placing them next to the entry mat as quietly as she could.
Before she could leave the entryway, Pepper—the mutt she and Chloe had adopted just 3 weeks prior—jumped up onto her and started to sniff around. Beca was glad to see her and gave her whatever attention she’d been missing, until she let out a loud bark of excitement, and Beca hushed her like the dog would get what it meant.
“Shh, shh… Quiet, Pep. Chloe’s sleeping,” She whispered, scratching behind the dog's ears before taking a few steps forward to get her off of her legs.
When she turned into the apartment, the last thing she expected was to see Chloe awake and sitting at the kitchen table. She was slouched over her laptop, her blue light glasses reflecting what she was looking at on her screen. Beneath that, she looked tired. It wasn’t unusual, considering vet school had completely rewritten her daily schedule, but what was unusual was her being awake any time past 10:30 when she didn’t have a big assignment. If she did, Beca believed she would’ve known.
“Oh! Hey, baby,” Beca greeted, surprised. She dropped her duffel bag carelessly on the floor, then approached Chloe from behind and wrapped her arms around her waist. It was one of the few benefits of using stools instead of chairs. “You're up late.”
“Hello. So are you,” Chloe mumbled back, her voice dripping with annoyance. She didn't even smile when Beca buried her face in her neck and planted a lingering kiss on her skin.
Beca wanted to act like she didn't notice, but the shift in tone set off glaring alarm bells in her head as soon as she heard it. The musician racked her mind for anything she might’ve done wrong, but she recalled completing all of her typical chores. In her years, however, she'd learned it was better to stop a fire before it started instead of running from it while it burned everything in its way down.
“Okay, whatever I did,” she started as she pulled away, “I'm sorry. Today these exec guys were driving me crazy with their suggestions for my new single. It was super annoying. I just… whatever this is, can we please talk about it tomorrow? I love you, Chlo, I just had a really long day in the studio, and I don't know if I can—”
“That's exactly it, Beca!” Chloe exclaimed, whipping around in her chair. “You've been having long days at the studio, like, every day. You literally slept there on Monday!”
Despite being exhausted and not wanting to argue, Beca knew that avoiding it would make everything a thousand times worse. She stood in front of Chloe with her head down, accepting whatever scolding her girlfriend wanted to dish out. Beca was beginning to think that whatever Chloe was mad at her for, that anger was probably deserved. Then she started to feel ridiculous for being so self-pitying and pathetic.
Beca looked down at her shuffling feet, her voice low and passive when she replied, “I had to sleep there on Monday, Chlo. I called you, you know I wanted to come home. It’s just, with the studio being in the city and with all the work I had to do, it would’ve been easier—”
“That’s not the point!” Chloe shot back. She reached forward for Beca’s arm, her grip shaky but grounding. She knew about her girlfriend’s tendency to shut down during arguments, her bad habit of avoiding conflict and dodging accountability by ignoring it until it went away. Whatever this conversation was, they needed to have it, and Chloe was so tired of biting back her feelings for Beca’s sake.
“I know you have to, Beca,” She tried to calm her voice, because she would’ve cried if she got any louder, “I know, okay? The point isn’t that I don’t get it, or I don’t know; the point is that I do know, and it’s still hurting me. And… I get that you might think it’s unfair, because you’re working, and…”
Chloe trailed off, her voice breaking into a weak, exasperated sigh. She rubbed her thumb over the inside of Beca’s elbow before moving her hand to her cheek. She tilted her head up until they met each other’ eyes, and Beca almost fell apart when she saw Chloe biting her lip, trying not to shed tears.
The weight of unspoken words made the room feel so heavy. Beca flailed her arms about; She wanted to reach out and hold Chloe, but she didn’t feel like she deserved to touch her right now.
“You’re the best thing in my life,” Beca murmured, her eyes soft and unable to hold Chloe’s gaze anymore. Her lip quivered, “I don’t… I’ve never wanted to hurt you. I didn't even… know, Chloe.”
“I know,” Chloe pulled Beca into a hug, her hand wrapped around the back of her neck. Both of them were profoundly exhausted, and while Chloe knew this conversation wasn't over, she also knew they both needed to rest.
“After I finish tweaking this stupid album,” Beca kept her voice low, pressing her lips to Chloe’s cheek hesitantly. “I'll be with you all the time. We'll have all the time in the world together, because I do all this stupid work for us. We can… look into moving to Oakland like we talked about, and… get more dogs.”
“Or cats,” Chloe added in a whisper, tightening her grip around Beca. Pepper trotted between their legs, pawing them up and down. Despite being a dog, she operated on a strict bedtime schedule. Beca and Chloe had clearly thrown her off.
Chloe laughed quietly. She squeezed her girlfriend tight and then pulled away, briefly focusing her attention on her dog. “Let's go to sleep.”
Beca knew that the conversation was far from over, but as Chloe squeezed her, every worry she had left her mind started to fade away.
☆ ☆
The apartment was within walking distance of the club; once they got outside, Beca called her driver and told him to go home for the night. It was freezing, so after she returned her sunglasses to her face for anonymity, she pulled her jacket’s zipper back up.
She turned to Amélie, who was raising her arms to pull on a coat she'd parked in a closet in the club.
“It's, um,” Beca cleared her throat. “Cold. Shorts were a bad idea.”
“But they are sexy, non?”
“Yeah. Sexy. If you think so.”
“I don't even know if I want to say what I was going to say. You clearly have no idea what to say when a beautiful woman flirts with you.” The model shrugged. Beca laughed, but it was a disturbingly accurate observation. One she was hoping Amélie wouldn't make.
She hadn't been on a date since 2019, when she took Chloe to get sushi to celebrate an internship. She hadn't had sex in months. Nobody had touched her in seven years. It was embarrassing, and whatever was happening with Amélie— considering her resemblance to Chloe— was probably a step in the wrong direction.
“No, no, say it,” Beca waved it off, not wanting to think so much about her awful sex life. “I'll give you the hottest response you've ever heard.”
Amélie laughed. For the first time that evening, Beca could hear it clearly, and it didn't bring her half of the self-satisfaction Chloe's did. “You are very charming, Beca Mitchell. You are like a lost puppy. You are so cute, you don't know what to do with yourself.”
A thick silence followed Beca’s soft chuckle. It almost settled before she started to awkwardly stammer over responses. Then there was relief when Amélie continued before Beca could embarrass herself.
“Do I make you nervous, ma chérie?” Amélie questioned quietly. Her fingertips brushed over the leather on Beca’s forearm, and then she linked their arms together as they walked.
You look like my ex that broke up with me seven years ago. I keep seeing her in your face. I'm nervous because I miss her. I'm nervous because I am ashamed.
“Yes. God, Amélie,” Beca exhaled, a gross oversimplification of her actual feelings. Her body went tense as they weaved together, “You're beautiful. I want you so bad I don't know what to do with myself.”
Amélie winked, “Good things come to those who wait, Beca Mitchell."
The brunette's breath caught in her throat, but she attempted to maintain her composure. Chloe would say that often, especially when she gave Beca a striptease, which Beca loved.
She recalled, briefly, holding Chloe's thighs while she straddled her, taking her sweet damn time to get her top off. She recalled leaning in to sniff the valley between her breasts, then she remembered hands pulling at her hair, lifting her head back.
It was a rule not to touch; Beca loved to break it, and then she loved the punishment of having to wait. She loved the mischievous glint in Chloe's eyes and she loved the awkward, messy laughter. She loved their inability to take the sexy thing seriously. Even then, she loved how serious it was. She missed how it felt to be so in love and so free.
Then her eyes met the blue pair that looked at her with curiosity and an unreadable intention, and she mentally slapped herself in the face.
Get it together. Get it together. Chloe's not here right now. She won’t be here ever. You’re with Amélie.
“Is that right?” Beca asked. She flashed a soft, performative smile as Amélie turned a corner. Most of the walk was uphill, which made her thankful for her cold. Sweating any worse than she was in the club probably would've killed her.
“Ouais, and I am in a good mood tonight, too. You are lucky,” Amélie declared. She fumbled in her coat pocket for a second, then came to an abrupt stop in front of an apartment door. “Here, un moment.”
She unlinked their arms; Beca bounced awkwardly on her heels, then on her toes. She watched the redhead pull out a key, just to put it back, and lift up the cover of a keypad. She punched in some numbers, and the door opened with a loud buzz. For something going off after midnight, it was quite obnoxious.
They walked up to the sixth story of a building; the door to Amélie’s apartment sat at the end of a hallway that lit up when it detected motion. The rickety staircase betrayed the gorgeous apartment that was resting behind that door, Beca almost couldn't believe her eyes when Amélie opened it.
There was a view straight from the entrance to the living area’s floor-to-ceiling windows. Amélie had a terrace with a view of the entire city and the Eiffel Tower. Beca had never seen anything like it; it distracted her as she started to stumble in, but the model quickly snapped to get her attention.
“Shoes off, s’il te plaît.” She directed, pointing at the shoe rack by the door.
The musician followed the instructions quickly. She was certain that this was the first of many loud, awkward unzippings that would fill Amélie’s quiet space. As soon as the boots were off and put up neatly next to the rack (they were a little too tall to fit on it), Amélie was wrapping her arms around Beca's neck and hanging off of her.
“Tu crois qu’on va même réussir à atteindre mon lit?” The redhead questioned quietly, and her gentle fingers lightly brushing against Beca’s shoulder made her shiver.
The musician leaned in slowly, her eyes fluttering shut, “Maybe. Maybe I can see how many times you'll cum before I do.”
She was saying those words to Amélie, she reminded herself.
Not Chloe.
Amélie.
“When did you get so bold?”
When I got so scared of being alone.
“When we walked through this door, and I knew you were all mine for the night.”
“And are you all mine, Beca Mitchell?”
No. Of course not. I could not be further away from you than I am now.
She tried to keep herself grounded in the moment, in the woman in front of her. Their lips were so close they could've touched, but Beca didn't let them. Not yet.
“Oui,” Beca murmured, her hands finding a comfortable spot to rest on Amélie’s slim waist. She wasn't as full as Chloe, who was still thin, but not supermode thin. Even though they were squeezing through the model’s bustier, her hands couldn't have been any emptier.
Amélie took the lead as they stumbled through her quiet apartment. Their lips kept meeting quickly, Beca’s seeking tongue darting out and trying to reach more, only for Amélie to pull away and make sure there wasn’t anything obscuring the path to her room. The apartment was not only sleek but also incredibly clean and organized, which wasn’t too surprising.
It was nothing like the cluttered space she used to live in with Chloe, where it was highly evident people had lived and breathed. Beca could’ve assumed that Amélie’s home was so neat because it was the opposite; with her busy modeling schedule, Beca didn’t feel crazy for assuming Amélie spent most of her time on private jets and upper-end hotels.
In that regard, she was more similar to Beca than she was to Chloe. Always on the move for her job, never quite at home. She was probably just as lonely, too. At least Beca wasn’t the only one.
☆ ☆
Beca’s first nationwide tour was something she expected Chloe to be excited for. Thanks to her and her label’s tireless promotional work, the new album was a huge hit. So huge, in fact, she’d even landed herself a little spot at Lollapalooza. Most of her Friday was spent in the label's building, filming promotional content for her brand-new TikTok page (the app's recent popularity was doing wonders for her success), and working with her social media manager to write captions for a few tour announcement posts.
It was unusual, but Chloe didn’t text her once while she was working. Even if Chloe was busy, she’d typically send over a few kiss emojis or a GIF of some animals hugging each other. Today? Nothing.
They hadn’t been fighting recently. Beca was trying to be more attentive. She had been working from her home studio more, which was convenient with her line of work. She wished there was less to do after the release of her album, but her ghost-writing for other artists kept her busy working on demos. Chloe, as far as Beca could tell, was fine with it.
Which was why it was so confusing when she came home to an unnerving silence. Beca supposed at first that Chloe was at the library, staying late to study. But that wasn’t right. It was nine when Beca got home. Chloe should’ve been there.
Beca let out a sigh of relief when she heard something clatter in the bedroom— too loud to just be Pepper misbehaving and knocking something over. It was definitely Chloe.
“Babe?” She called, a soft smile tugging at her lips as she approached their room. “I’m back—”
The door was slightly ajar, and when she pushed it open, she stopped in her tracks. Chloe was packing, and didn’t even turn around when Beca came in.
Beca swallowed the lump tightening her throat. “Are you going somewhere?”
“Yes,” Chloe replied curtly.
“Um… Is it an overnight internship thing again?” Beca asked, but she knew it couldn’t be that. As she stepped further into the room, she saw more than just a single suitcase. There were boxes full of Chloe’s belongings— and their memories— stacked on top of each other. Beca couldn’t rationalize it. Frankly, she was afraid.
She came closer to Chloe, placing a soft hand on her back. Chloe pulled away as if she had been burned, and then turned to face Beca.
“Oh, cut the act, Beca,” She hissed. She rolled her eyes as she turned back around, only for Beca to realize that she’d been crying. Her face was puffy, her eyes were red, and she couldn’t seem to get rid of the creases on her forehead that formed when she was afraid. “You think I can just be… content, all the time? With every little thing you do? Expect me not to notice?”
“Chlo, just— Just chill out for a sec. Let's talk—”
“This is what you always say!” Chloe exclaimed, slamming her suitcase shut and zipping it up so aggressively that Beca thought she was about to break the pull off. “Chill out, dude,” She mocked under her breath, “Don’t experience one of the most basic human emotions, man. I get scared when you do because I never learned how to deal with my feelings.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I wish you were.”
“Okay, that’s not fair,” Beca spat back. When Beca got scared, she got aggressive, but ever since she blew up on Chloe in front of the Bellas four years ago, she couldn’t bring herself to shout at her like that again.
Chloe took the suitcase off of the bed and started to grab some of the moving boxes she packed, hauling them out of the bedroom.
“What the hell are you doing, Chloe? Where are you going?” Beca exclaimed as she followed behind her frantically.
“I’m leaving, Beca! Until you can figure out that we need to talk about shit before you announce it to thousands of people on Instagram, I’m not coming back. Do you understand me? I can’t live with someone who thinks that being quiet means that she’s not doing something wrong.”
“Baby, c’mon. I was gonna tell you tonight. I was—”
“You’re leaving me alone for three months during the hardest time of my year,” She stopped to drop the boxes off in the kitchen, then turned to face Beca. Tears had welled up in her eyes again as she placed her hands on her hips. “How come you didn’t tell me about Lollapalooza? You’re going on before Twenty One Pilots— That’s huge!”
“You can’t seriously be leaving me over that,” Beca said, her voice uncharacteristically whiny. She reached out and grabbed Chloe’s wrist. "You said you would stay. You told me you would stay no matter what, Chlo."
"Fuck what I said, I can't do this anymore. I can't keep fighting about a life you won't even fight for,” She sighed, pulling back so Beca couldn’t grab her again. “I have to go."
Beca lowered her head, sitting down at the table and picking at the nail on her thumb. Chloe left the apartment to put the first couple of boxes in her car. As she sat there, Beca was back to feeling like a kid again, watching her mom and dad fight. The only difference was that the sinking feeling that weighed in her stomach was heavier, because now she was more than a bystander.
She felt like she was drowning when Chloe came back inside to continue getting her things. Following her girlfriend back into their bedroom, Beca tried to get the words out without breaking down. It'd been so long since she cried in front of Chloe, and while she knew watching her pack up and leave was probably an appropriate time to get emotional, she also didn't want to seem weak.
“Listen, please, you know I work so much to keep us on top of everything we've ever wanted,” She said, her eyes fixed on the back of Chloe's head. She'd stopped in place, her fingers flexing at her side as she held back from collecting another one of her boxes.
Chloe took a deep breath in, like she was considering something.
“The only us that will exist this summer is on Skype, Becs,” she murmured, “I can't come on tour with you. You know that, and it's ridiculous that you didn't talk to me about it before you made this… huge decision.”
“Yes, you can! My label will pay for everything, we don't have to pay for it—”
“You think this is about the money?!” Chloe whipped around, a smile of disbelief tugged at her lips, but didn't reach her eyes. Her tongue swiped the inside of her cheek, and she shook her head. “You're fucking unbelievable.”
“Why can't you come, then?! What is this about?”
“My summer internship, Beca! The internship for my dream job?! The one we celebrated two weeks ago?”
Beca paused. She wasn't sure how it completely slipped her mind. Of course, she remembered it now that Chloe had said it aloud, but that wasn't enough. She had a bad habit of constantly digging herself a deeper hole than the one she was already in. At this point, she'd been digging her hole for her whole life, and it was probably the size of a lunar crater.
She hated herself for that, but it would be foolish to acknowledge this as anything other than her fucking herself over.
Somewhere between the confusion and the self-loathing, Beca watched Chloe become exhausted with her. She watched everything leave her eyes. The investment in the argument was gone as she lowered her head. The only thing she seemed to be was sorrowful. Chloe seemed unhappy with herself and with Beca, and she finalized her decision.
She wasn't going to stay. She was going to leave, and she wasn't going to come back.
“Chloe, I'm sorry—” Beca started, though she was cut off by Chloe holding up a hand and shaking her head.
“Not now,” she murmured, continuing to round up her things.
The floorboards groaned as Chloe moved in and out of the apartment. Beca sat in the living room in silence; the sorrow in her soul was heavy and had all of the force of a scream ripping through her lungs, but she only let it escape her as tears. She didn't hiccup or sob, she just let them well up in her eyes and blinked when they blurred her vision. When they fell, she wiped them off as soon as she could.
In one arm, Chloe held Pepper. Beca felt stupid for wanting to keep the dog, but it made sense that the veterinarian-in-training was the one to keep the animal. In her other hand, Chloe held her suitcase. She stopped in front of the couch, and she must've opened and shut her mouth at least three times while she looked for the right words.
“I'm breaking up with you.”
“I know.”
“I'm going to stay with Aubrey for a few days, and then I'm going to visit my mom while Bree watches Pepper. I…”
Chloe trailed off again. Beca looked up, only to see her chewing the inside of her lip.
“I just… I can't keep acting like I'm fine like this. If the fame doesn't get to your head or anything, you… You know how to reach me.”
Beca nodded, and Chloe let go of her suitcase in favor of cupping Beca's cheek. She pressed a kiss to Beca's forehead, then pulled back to where she was.
“I love you so much, Beca. I'm sorry.”
“I—” Beca paused for a few seconds that dragged on like hours. “I’m sorry, and I love you too.”
Chloe let out a quiet “okay” that was so soft it was almost inaudible, and then tightened her grip on the suitcase handle. Before Beca could blink away the tears again, the love of her life was gone.
☆ ☆
Sex with Amélie was fun, heavy, and fast. Despite the number of rounds they’d gone, the model was still able to stand up straight and smoke a cigarette out the window afterwards. Beca, on the other hand, could hardly catch her breath. An orgasm hadn’t ripped through her body like that since she was with Chloe. Of course, that was who she saw when she looked up at Amélie’s face while she was fucking her, but Beca didn’t want to think about that.
Not wanting to think about it didn’t mean the thought would go away, but Beca was almost able to stomp it out as she turned to watch Amélie smoke. Chloe would never do that; She didn’t even like it when Beca smoked weed around her.
“So, um, what… brands do you, like, model for?” Beca asked awkwardly. She picked at a stray piece of fuzz on the mattress, feeling like she’d forgotten how to small-talk like a normal person.
“You are funny,” Amélie chuckled, turning away from the window to face Beca, “I told you earlier, in Versteck? Maybe you didn’t hear me,” Beca shook her head. “Okay. Most models like me have contracts with agencies that get her gigs, right? I have a close partnership with one designer. I am her muse, exclusively. We are partners in fashion.”
“And who would that be?”
Amélie took a long drag of her cigarette, and then she took a few steps towards her bed. On the nightstand, there was an ashtray. It was practically the only sign of life in Amélie’s cold home. When she was close enough, she put her cigarette out and crawled back into bed next to Beca.
“Oni-Onna’s own,” She said with a subtle shrug, and a shiver ran up the brunette’s spine, “Your friend, Beca Mitchell. Lilly Onakuramara.”
At the mention of her fellow former-Bella, Beca’s world went silent. She wasn’t sure what to say or how to react. Instead of confronting her unease, she looked down at her hands. Beca swallowed a thick lump in her throat, ignoring the rush of anxiety that started to gnaw at her mind.
“Lilly is… quite the gifted designer,” She murmured, letting her nervous gaze meet the confident face of her temporary lover, “I bet she dolls you up real nice, pretty girl.”
“Mm, she does. She’s incredibly talented,” Amélie’s voice was getting quieter as she spoke. She ran the back of her hand along Beca’s cheek, and then leaned in to press their lips together quickly. “Why has she not done work with you, hm? She has talked about you before, you know.”
Beca didn’t want to know. Whatever Lilly had to say about her, she didn’t want to know. She tried to laugh it off, then laced her fingers with Amélie’s like she wasn’t freaking out over the mere mention of her old friend.
“I don’t… Um, I don’t really care all that much for clothes,” She lied. Before Amélie could question any further, Beca got out of bed and started to pick the clothes she’d discarded off of the floor. That was jarring enough to warrant a subject change, which she would never admit to being grateful for.
“For someone who doesn’t care for clothes, it really seems like you’re about to put yours back on.”
“I meant fashion, Amélie.”
“Ouais, ouais… Are you leaving me?”
“Um,” Beca huffed, scratching one of her brows. Other than changing the subject, she did have another reason to collect her clothes, “No, I just wanted to take a walk real quick.”
“You won’t be comfortable walking around in that sexy leather. Go through the top drawer over there and borrow a hoodie and some sweatpants. It will be good for the chill, too.”
Beca paused, looking over her bare shoulder to smirk at the Frenchwoman. She could’ve been imagining things, but the moonlight seemed to catch a glint of loneliness in Amélie’s eyes.
“Thank you,” She nodded, opening the top drawer and pulling out a basic black hoodie and grey sweats. Was it flattering? No, not really. But it wasn’t like anybody was going to see her.
Amélie simply watched her change into her clothes, humming smugly and settling into her mattress, “The code to my front door is 0690. So you can get back in.”
“Heh, nice.”
“Mais tais-toi. It’s easy to remember for the pea-brained horny women like you.”
That was mostly true. While she wasn’t sure about being pea-brained, Beca at least didn't have to repeat the numbers over and over again in her mind to remember them as she walked through the empty Parisian streets. If she was being honest, she never intended to just “walk.” She especially didn’t expect Amélie to be so okay with it, let alone invite her back into the apartment.
The apartment was, conveniently, in Montmartre. It was the only neighborhood in Paris Beca had ever really explored, and she was familiar with it by memory alone. Even though she had a final destination in mind, she had to pull out her phone and look at the map a couple of times to make sure she wasn’t totally lost.
As she looked down at her phone screen, the cold air met her warm breath and let it fog up in front of her, and she wondered if Amélie was finally asleep. Beca felt weird for her curiosity about what the model looked like when she slept. This whole night left her feeling like a creep, or some kind of pervert. Everything Amélie did, she wanted to compare it to the Chloe she remembered.
Whether or not it was actually perverted was one of many things about tonight’s predicament she didn’t want to dwell on— But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t. Guilt had already found a comfortable spot in her stomach to settle into, and by next week she’d probably have a whole album's worth of songs about seeing her ex’s face in another woman.
The walk uphill would’ve been grueling if Beca didn’t know exactly where she was going. The first time she came here, all she did when she stopped for lunch was gripe about how bad her legs hurt. Now, as Beca drowned in her own thoughts and scaled up a steep staircase, she realized it was mostly mindset. At that time, she was only so whiney because there was someone to whine to.
Chloe took her here. She could remember their little trip vividly as she found her way to the Basilique du Sacré-Cœur. Basilica of the Sacred Heart. It was so Chloe it almost made her sick.
Beca took a few turns until she could see it, and she was grateful that there weren’t other people around. It was appropriately empty for whatever-past-4:00 a.m. Even thinking about the time she saw on Amélie’s little analog before she left the house was disorienting. The bustling city was quiet, and Beca had properly wasted her early morning hours trying to get the stress sexed out of her system
The Sacré-Cœur was huge, bigger than Beca remembered. Now that she was looking at it up close, she hadn’t the slightest idea how she couldn’t recall its sheer size. Maybe she thought it would’ve been easier to turn and look at the pretty view of the whole city from the hilltop, but that was incredibly unhelpful. As she turned around, memories came flooding back to her as if a dam in her mind had burst.
Across from the church was a fence— though it was difficult to actually see over all of the love locks that’d been attached to it by touristy couples. During the day hours, men sat on blankets and laid gimmicky, heart-shaped padlocks in front of them. Some of them even had little Eiffel towers printed on. Beca’s didn’t, and she hated that she remembered exactly where it was.
Regardless, it wasn’t easy to find. There were so many locks stacked on top of each other, for a minute she was worried she wouldn’t be able to find it at all. Beca crouched in front of where her old, rusted lock hung on the fence. She tugged it forward, and leaned to rest her head against the fence as she looked down at it.
C.L.B. + B.R.M.
♡
MAY 2015
“Fuck,” Beca whispered, pulling her head back just to thunk it against where it just was. She ran her thumb over the faded sharpie. She inhaled sharply as tears started to prick at her eyes, and the first sob came out with a puff of cold air. It was like she was locking it on again, promising Chloe an eternity as her hand rested on her shoulder. She could hear Chloe in her ear, giggling as she wrote their full initials. Beca remembered wanting to keep it simple. She remembered Chloe having a lot to say.
Beca’s lips quivered, and words came spilling over before she could save herself the embarrassment.
“I wish you were here,” She murmured as her eyes squeezed shut. “I wish you were here to hold my hand and talk about… dog parasites and bacteria. Smart shit that I’ll never understand. I’ve been so empty without it.”
A pause. A moment to quiet her voice and flick the hood of Amélie’s hoodie over her head.
“I have everything I thought I really wanted, you know. All I ever wanted when I was nineteen? It’s mine. Big tours. Big… houses. Fast cars. Amazing equipment…” Beca trailed off, and her grip around the lock tightening. “But I was stupid to think that that was all there was. All this money, and all of these fans, and all of this… Shit that I do for my stupid job. It’s nothing. I pretend that it’s enough, but it’s not. I don’t need more. I need you, Chlo. I need you.”
Her throat tightened, her voice going hoarse as she pushed out the confession. She felt so stupid, talking to a hunk of metal like it could communicate how she felt back to her ex-girlfriend.
“I need the girls, too. I hope… I hope things aren’t different without me. The last time I talked to any of you was when I was hitting Baltimore on a tour stop and I tried to go out for a drink with Stacie. Obviously she said no. And then called me a scummy friend because I missed Cynthia-Rose’s wedding and an even worse partner for… losing sight of you. I hope she came to that conclusion on her own. I know I hurt you, but I hope…”
Beca’s mind had placed her back in her old apartment, watching the light fade from Chloe’s eyes as she packed up their whole life together. She tried to blink it away, hitting her head against the fence again. God, get it together. You’re already embarrassing yourself, she thought.
“I’m such an idiot. T-This fucking— this artsy Parisian model girl at the club had your exact face. I did the rational thing and had sex with her. Like a maniac. So, good going, me. Worst of all is that she works for Lilly. Do you know Lilly has girls working for her that look just like you? Do you even—” In the not so far-off distance, Beca heard a little yappy dog let out a loud, assertive bark. She figured that was her cue to leave, just in case the dog was being walked. God forbid someone saw her this way.
It wasn’t like the general public didn’t know she was heartbroken. Heartbreak was practically the Beca Mitchell trademark, sorrow was her signature sound. But like this? Clutching a rusted padlock like a lifeline and talking to it? Beca didn’t know if she would ever be able to show her face in public again if she got caught.
So instead of finishing her thoughts, the musician let go of the lock and stood up. She sniffled, rubbed the hoodie sleeve over her teary face (she would have to think of an excuse for the mascara stains on the fabric later), and sighed.
“The last thing we said to each other was that we… Y’know, we loved each other,” Beca mumbled, “If it's still true for me, sometimes I wonder if it's still true for you, too.”
Though she was making an effort to be quiet and not cause a scene, her uncomfortable knee-high boots made quite the sound when she kicked the stupid fence. She was able to suck up all of the tears for good after that.
With a punctuated turn, Beca mentally swore off ever coming back to this part of Montmartre. She had made plenty of mistakes in her life, she had put her passion before the people who wanted her around more times than she could count. Maybe it was too late, but Beca didn’t want to keep repeating those mistakes for the rest of her life. Instead of stealing the clothes she’d borrowed and running back to her hotel, she was going to hurry back to Amélie’s apartment and crawl back into her bed.
Maybe Beca could convince herself, with time, that feeling indebted to stay with Amélie had nothing to do with Chloe Beale.