Aca-author/note: Had this thought and wrote some stuff up. Let me know what you guys think? I've only written one fanfic before…technically I'm still writing it, it's in progress in another fandom. But this is my first PP so I hope it doesn't suck and I do the characters justice. Let me know what you guys think. Should I continue? Should I set the outline on fire and sing to it as it burns, never to speak of this venture again?

Obviously AU.

Standard disclaimer: If you recognize it, I don't own it. Pitch Perfect characters, settings, any songs or anything used or mentioned throughout none of it is mine and this is an umbrella disclaimer for the whole fic so I won't be doing this for every chapter. Title of the story comes from the song of the same name by Motion City Soundtrack

Chapter 1

'Her face was sad and lovely with bright things in it, Bright eyes and a bright passionate mouth, but there was an excitement in her voice that men who had cared for her found difficult to forget: a singing-'

"Beca," the voice caused her to jump in place; one hand going to the side of the dining chair she sat in.

She looked up to the familiar face of her father as he set his things on the kitchen island. A grin came across the man's face while he moved to stand beside his daughter.

"Finally," he remarked, "I said your name a couple times kid, you're really into that book aren't you?"

The petite girl nodded, forcing her own uneasy smile his way. Her fingers twitched nervously around the book as her dark eyes looked up at her father's tall figure.

"What are you reading, Beca?"

His voice was light, friendly some would easily call it; though some would be mistaken. She tilted the book enough that he could see the cover, using one hand to nervously move a few hairs behind her pierced ear. She was attempting to keep an outward calm while mentally praying for her dad to just keep going on with his day and leave her alone.

"Gatsby, huh?" he noted, "Sure does your old Lit Professor Pop proud to see you enjoying the classics."

She gave him another smile, a little more relaxed and genuine than before. He seemed to be in a good mood. Maybe he wouldn't …

"Well go on then," he instructed with a wave of his hand towards the book.

Any ounce of relaxation or relief she might have begun to feel vanished at these words. The still silent girl bit her lip and looked with pleading eyes at the man who simply crossed his arms and leaned back against the island. He ignored the very clear message in his daughter's troubled eyes. He always did.

"Come on, from where you let off," he specified. When she still hesitated, his voice came again; a darker, warning tone, "Beca."

Flattening the book against the table with a shaky hand, Beca poked her tongue out between her dry lip sand attempted to swallow down the thick feeling in her throat. Trying to settle the waves of anxiety that began pulsing through her, she started to direct her eyes back to where they'd been before being interrupted. Her anxious gaze then flicked over once more to where her dad stood; his eyes burning into her, the picture of impatience.

Swallowing again, she began to read out loud…or tried to, anyway.

"…c-c-c…c-comp-p-p…" she paused her pathetic attempt, trying not to notice how visibly upset the man behind her was becoming.

She took a breath and tried again.

"…c-com-comp…p-puls-pulsion, a …"

"Stop," her dad's voice interrupted sharply, making her flinch, "Pulsion isn't a word, Beca. Start again, say it right."

She felt like she was trying to swallow her heart back down to her chest.

"C-Comp-com-" she had to pause, her breath running out during her strain to say one stupid word.

She felt her dad move closer, coming to place his looming presence right beside her. She could feel his impatient anger rolling off of him in waves. The intimidation doing nothing to help her, but she tried again.

"CC-Comp-puh…C-C" She jumped in her seat with a small squeak like sound escaping her throat as the book was suddenly ripped from her hands.

"Compulsion!" her dad's booming voice came as he put his face way too close to hers causing her to try to shrink away. His large hand came to the back of her head; pushing it forward as he held the book open in front of her with face with his other. She braced her own hands against the table, the words of F. Scott Fitzgerald being shouted into her ear, "a singing compulsion, a whispered listen!"

He gave her head one more emphatic push as he said the last word.

"Damn it, Beca, why can't you just.." he cut himself off with a frustrated groan and ran his hand over his bearded jaw before standing up straight again; his eyes once again looking at the little brunette with fire in them, "Get up."

Beca's eyes widened, knowing what was coming and immediately began shaking her head.

"N-N-No, p-plea-"

"Get up!" he repeated louder, causing his daughter to jump to her feet and try to instinctively move enough to the side that the table might separate them.

But he was too aggravated to play games. Her dad's hand shot out, gripping her arm above the elbow and forcing her to take stumbling steps behind him. He led her into the hall while she tried to resist, but being much smaller than him it didn't do anything to stop him. She tried to reason or beg but the damn words wouldn't come out beyond the terrible stuttering mess they always were.

"D-Dad, p-p-p-pl…"

He stopped them outside the closet door, that closet door and looked at her as he opened it.

"Get in, Beca."

She shook her head, desperately trying to keep the tears from falling. She was already an embarrassing disappointment to him, she didn't need the tears to make her look even weaker.

"You don't want to go in?" he asked rhetorically, but she shook her head to answer anyway. He held up the book that was still in his hand, "Say compulsion."

The emotion and overwhelming panic made her normally awful stutter into an outright catastrophe as she tried to take the opportunity to help herself.

"C-C-C-CC-"

He didn't wait for her to try to finish, giving her a shove into the small closet. Beca stumbled in, her hands flying out in front of her were all that kept her from smashing her face against the wall. As soon as he managed to turn around, the door was shut in her face.

She heard the deadbolt click as she let herself sink to the floor in the tight space, her eyes clinging to the slit of light underneath the door as a lifeline. While trying to control her breathing and slow her racing heart, both tasks she was failing at, she heard the familiar words come from the other side of the door.

"I don't know why you make me get so hard with you, Beca," he sighed, almost like he were truly remorseful for what was happening; like his hand was being forced, "You know what you have to do to get out."

Yeah, she knew what she had to do; what he required before he would unlock the door and let her out.

She put her face in her hands and closed her eyes as tight as she could. With her eyes closed, she could be anywhere. If she was in her own self-induced darkness, she could pretend she wasn't in the tiny closet; she was somewhere else, somewhere spacious and she just happened to have her eyes closed at the moment.

Taking deep, shaking breaths to try to keep the growing nausea down.

Focus, Beca.

She told herself. If she wanted to get out, she had to calm down and focus. Taking one more breath, she moved her hands, but kept her eyes shut as she spoke.

"I…" she paused to take another breath. So far, so good.

"…wa..w-w…" she stopped, clenching her jaw shut in frustration and threw her fist against the floor where she sat. She started again, "I…"

She tried to form the next word and already felt it's resistance to come out smoothly. It was like the words were actual physical things that would dig their claws into her throat, tongue, mouth…refusing to come out as they should no matter how hard she tried.

I want out!

Just say it. Just be normal for two minutes and talk like a person.

I WANT OUT!

She just had to be able to say it. If she said it, he would let her out.

Beca knew he was waiting just outside the door, she could see the shadows of his two feet in the small crack of light. She could imagine the look he probably had on his face. That familiar look he threw her way whenever he had to hear her pathetic attempts at speech. The girl could practically hear his thoughts.

The college professor with the stuttering idiot of a daughter.

Beca wasn't stupid though; not completely, anyway. She had always tried hard in school. But even as a kid she'd had her stutter. She couldn't really remember a time when she didn't occasionally stumble over her words; though it hadn't been as bad back then. It didn't matter that she couldn't help it, or that it only happened now and then for certain letters at the time, the other kids zeroed in on it and teased her to the point she spoke less and less in school.

As her dad began to realize she wasn't simply 'growing out of it,' his patience with her transformed into resentment…sometimes bordering on disgust. SO she avoided speaking as much as possible at home too…and as time passed in this manner, the unchecked impediment became more severe which made her speak even less and so on the vicious cycle went for years.

She wasn't dumb, but not speaking meant not asking questions when she didn't understand assignments. It meant letter her teachers believe she didn't do her work when time came to give presentations. It meant teacher conferences which further convinced her father that Beca was stupid, was lazy.

No one ever cared to bring up the fact that her reports were always turned in on time and scored well. If it was something she could read through or figure out on her own she could score as well as anyone else. But anything else…if she was confused about something in class, she had to remain confused.

"Beca…" the low voice came through the door again and the girl swallowed against her dry throat to try again.

"I…w-w-w"

A bang came, making her jump and pull her knees up to her chest as her father slammed his hand against the door hard enough to make it shake. Of course he didn't seem to realize or care that his methods and style of intimidation worsened everything.

"I-I…w-wan-want…"

She heard a heavy sigh through the door, her eyes moved over to the bit of light afforded to her.

"Beca," his voice came almost gently, "I wish you would apply yourself. I wish you cared enough to try."

His words, the tone, it felt like a punch to her chest.

She was trying. Wasn't she?

Maybe it was her fault.

Maybe she just needed to work harder.

She wanted to tell him she was sorry. She'd do better. But before a sound could try to leave her quivering lips, the two shadows in the small light disappeared.

"Maybe tomorrow you'll take this seriously."

Tomorrow?

No.

No, he wasn't going to do this to her again, was he? Last time…

She heard a click and then even the tiny slip of light she'd had to hold on to was extinguished.

"D-Da-Dad?" her voice was small with fear as she was now in total darkness.

The anxious girl waited, but her only reply was the slight creak above, giving away the fact that her father was going upstairs. He was leaving her there.

She shot up to her feet and tried desperately to open the door. Not caring about the tears that now stung and fell freely down her face in the dark. When it failed to budge, she began to bang her trembling hands against it.

She wanted to scream out for him. Beg and cry for him to please, please, please don't do this. But the words…the damn words dug those claws into her throat and she wondered if she would actually choke on them as the panic continued to fly through her small body.

Don't leave me in here.

Don't leave me in here!

I want out. I want out.

I WANT OUT! I WANT OUT! I WANT OUT!