Every chapter in 2nd person is Chloe's POV. I read somewhere the other day that this site bans 2nd person stories? Talk about living dangerously. Anyway, this chapter, my writing tries to be eloquent and makes your heart ache but failing miserably. Hopefully next chap will be better.
Beca Mitchell is 19 years old.
She hates cliches, cheesy movie endings and generic Hallmark cards. Her native language is music and she's fluent in sarcasm.
Her favorite food is Taco Bell (allegedly).
But most of all, she likes to stay grounded. On her feet. She considers herself a realist.
That means she doesn't fall.
Or so she thought, right up until the moment she met Chloe Beale with those ridiculously blue eyes that make her feel like she's drowning in the ocean (or, less poeticly, the blue liquid they use in Maxipad commercials, which would probably be a less pleasant experience).
Being with Chloe is like being blindfolded, told to spin around 10 times and then walk in a straight line.
It's incredible and dizzying and it makes her feel anything but grounded and in control.
It is staring at the phone, willing for it to ring and for 5 simple letters to show up on her screen when it does.
It is this constant need to see her smile (and the overexcited butterflies in her stomach when she does).
It is seeing flashes of red and blue every single fucking time she closes her eyes.
It is silently begging the hands of the clock to turn faster when she's not with Chloe and begging them to turn slower when she is.
It is missing her even after 5 minutes of not seeing her.
It is Chloe creeping into the corners of her mind even when she's mixing, which is something that, up until now, blocked everything else out.
It is completely ridiculous is what it is. Since when did her happiness become so dependent on someone other than herself?
It's these thoughts that Beca would often catch herself having nowadays. Right now, as a matter of fact, when she's at Chloe's door.
But then the door opens and the redhead gives her that smile (the one that Beca knows is reserved just for her, or at least she fucking hopes it is) and pulls her in for one of those kisses (that she fucking prays is reserved only for her because her heart physically aches in her chest at the thought of Chloe kissing anyone else) and oops the thoughts disappear into the black hole of her brain where shitty pop songs go to die.
Seeing Chloe happy is sunshine and rainbows and puppies and Christmas and a delicious taco when you're starving, all rolled into one. Everything else melts away.
It's like a really weird magic trick.
"I missed you," she says in a half whisper with their mouths an inch apart, cradling Beca's face in her hands.
The brunette rolls her eyes, but her heart flutters at the words. "You saw me like, yesterday." 10 hours and 24 minutes, but who's counting. Beca sure as hell isn't. (But she missed Chloe, too)
"I missed your smile." Kiss. "I missed your laugh." Kiss. "I missed your voice."
God, she is beautiful. She makes Beca want to write cheesy poetry and listen to cliched love songs and make corny mix tapes filled with said songs.
"Come on," Chloe says, reaching down and grabbing her hand, intertwining their fingers, leading her into the spacious guest room of her house. "I want to show you something."
Once inside, the first thing her eyes land on is the grand piano in the center of the room. It's brand new, like something straight out of a concert hall.
"Sorry to burst your bubble, Beale, but piano isn't on my list of many talents," she jokes.
"Good, wouldn't want to embarrass myself in front of a master." The redhead grins as she sits down in front of the piano. "I know you love making music for everyone else, but I keep wondering if anyone's ever done it for you." She looks pensive as she adds, "I mean, just for you."
Beca shakes her head as she leans forward on the instrument.
"Good." The ginger smiles as she begins to play. "I like the idea of being the first."
It takes maybe less than two notes in for her to realize that she's fallen for this girl. No, she's plummeted. Beca doesn't know quite how to put it into words or beats or notes, she doesn't know how to be eloquent or speak romantic languages or write sonnets. No song or poem or piece of literature or cheesy line can capture what she's feeling into words anyway. Beca just knows that from this moment on, she cannot be without this girl.
She doesn't know how or why or what compelled her to do it, but halfway into the song, Beca pulls out her phone and types in a text, pressing 'send' before she chickens out. Some things are easier to write out than say, even if there's nobody else around to overhear.
Chloe's phone buzzes with a new text seconds later, and her fingers pause on the keys to reach out and take hold of the device. Beca suddenly feels a rush of nerves as the redhead scans the lines of text on her phone screen, a smile forming on her features. The room now quiet without music to fill the air.
"Is that really how you feel?" Chloe looks up, and there's just something about that smile that knocks the wind out of her. She taps the space next to her on the piano bench, beckoning the brunette to sit down, which she does.
Beca nods. "You don't have to write anything in reply," she says hastily. "I just wanted to tell you, I guess."
"You're amazing," Chloe murmurs quietly as she turns her head and kisses the girl's shoulder gently, followed by words which sound very very close to 'I love you', but Beca can't be sure, and she doesn't ask. Her hand just finds the redhead's and tangles their fingers together effortlessly. She would much rather screw out the stars and unhinge the stratosphere than let go.
They stay like that for a while before Chloe breaks the silence. "My dad was talking to me the other day, and you know what he said?"
Beca shakes her head.
"He told me that when I fall, I give my whole heart away," Chloe says, looking down at their joined hands. "I think he's wrong. I think you took my sanity, too. I can't even go an hour without thinking about you." She chuckles.
The brunette doesn't find it amusing, she feels exactly the same way.
"Don't leave me, okay? Not until I say so."
"Well then never say so."
She didn't want to fall in love.
She certainly didn't ask to fall in love.
But maybe she did. Inevitably, unconditionally, unbearably.