With One Note (A Pitch Perfect fanfiction)

Chapter 2-3: Concurring Heart

A/N. (I do not own most of the characters and certain parts of the plot. Courtesy goes to the creative team behind Pitch Perfect.) I'm also working on a thesis right now for my graduation requirement, hence the seldom updates. =) Hope you enjoy reading this chapter as I did writing it...

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Chapter 2-3: Concurring Heart

CHLOE BEALE'S POV...

Tiny drops of rain fell softly outside. My feet were glued as I stood stiff before the window pane, watching the cars proceed with caution along the wet road. Melancholic, I know. This view was still preferable than the panorama inside, though.

“Go home, Chloe. Take a rest. I’ll take care of things here,” Mr. Mitchell said behind me. He wore a soft sympathetic smile and tired eyes.

I sat beside Beca’s hospital bed. “It’s okay. I’ll stay until she wakes up.”

“You’ve been here for at least four hours already. You need to take a break.” Mr. Mitchell was very good at keeping a fatherly look on his face. A good rest was indeed, calling to me, but I couldn’t leave Beca.

“Mr. Mitchell, the nurse came by minutes before you got in and told me to remind you about the papers for Beca’s blood transfusion.”

“Oh. Okay. I’ll be right at it.” He grabbed his coat and made his way to the door. “And Chloe,” he continued as he pulled the door open. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. It wasn’t your fault.” One quick fatherly smirk and he was out of the room.

Damn. Charismatic smirking was a hereditary trait.

Once again, I was left in the room with only the cardiac monitor’s steady beeping audible around. Beca had not returned to consciousness, and it bothered me. Honestly, I couldn’t explain what exactly I was feeling, this entire time. There was fright, of course. I brought Beca in as she endured a horrible episode of pulmonary embolism. It was a life-threatening situation that Beca was lucky enough to escape from, because these episodes always required STAT medical interventions. There was a little of relief when her vitals went stable. That little positivity then got trumped by feelings of intense aftershocks. This whole thing was Beca’s bombshell that exploded out of timing. What I learned from Mr. Mitchell gave me a new set of emotional waves. There was rage toward Beca (for the secrecy), and toward myself (for innocently causing this crisis). Eventually, helplessness kicked in; I was at lost with all these doors flooding open. And when you’re helpless, you start longing for even a tiny sense of security; you want someone to tuck you in before you lose it. I needed Beca to tuck me in. I wanted her to softly run her digits along my locks while she traced caressing circles on my skin during her warm embrace. I wanted her body pressed to mine, and her thin lips to my forehead, as she occasionally whispered, “You’re going to be okay.”

Irony, wasn’t it? I craved comfort from the very person who caused me the pain.

Another nurse visited and checked on Beca. She reported stable neurologic and other vital functions – much to my delight. She said Beca might wake up soon…

And after an hour, Beca did open her eyes.

“Sickle Cell Trait? Really, Beca?” I greeted in an annoyed tone, my arms coldly folded.

Beca adjusted the cannula that provided her oxygen through her nostrils. “Jesse told you?”

“Your father did.” My brows furrowed in escalating anger.

“I’m sorry, Chloe.”

“You better be.”

“I was going to tell you wh-,”