Prologue

There are many scenarios in which a breakup could take place. This depends on each individual's personality, blood type, zodiac sign, horoscope and their current stance on love relationships. Some are brutal; some filled with hate and angry words; some with a fountain of tears and heaps of broken-hearts; some are actual crime scenes; some are nonchalant; some are regretful... or forgetful; others are mutual, relieved and possibly filled with slight laughter. Mine?

None of the above.

It was a Thursday afternoon. I remember because I had to deliver a huge bouquet of roses – mixed whites and reds, to a client at a mall. I loved going to that mall – one of my best friends works there as a barista. We always go to Benji for a free cup of latte. Or chai. I remember ending the call with my client as I stepped onto the upper landing, my eyes landing on the signboard hanging over the brown-bricked exterior of the cafe.

Cafe Magique.

Yeah, every folk working in that cafe knows a bit of magic. Benji? He's the head magician and I've got to admit: he's good. He's so good that when I pushed the doors open, I had to blink twice to make sure that I wasn't seeing things. Jesse was there. Benji was there. Sitting at the same table, hands touching each other's, eyes locked on each other's, lips latched and pressed into each others.

"Jesse?" I remember my voice floating out of my mouth like a wisp of smoke – weak and pungent, like I was almost afraid of disrupting some sort of important moment.

So when people ask me "What happened?", I could only tell them that it was filled with the aroma of roasted coffee beans, surrounded by the mindless chatter of other cafe-goers, and etched with the image of two pairs of puppy eyes staring back at me in horror. That's my break up scene.

And I vaguely remember a huge bouquet lying on the floor next to my foot.

Chapter One: Day 1

The shrill ringing of the alarm clock did nothing to alleviate my throbbing headache. Ugh, too much gin. I feel around for my glasses, wincing when I find them broken under my bottom.

There goes the Raybans.

Fine, I'll go without my glasses. I squint and try to make out the objects lying around the bathroom. An empty gin bottle is balancing haphazardly across the toilet seat, my jacket and my favorite Batman tshirt are strewn around the bathroom floor that is somehow decorated with puddles of brown stuff, and my pair of jeans are hanging on the door that is left open.

Before I could get up properly without worsening the throbbing, the door flings open and an angry-looking blonde takes its place. Her intimidating figure blocks out most of the sunlight that is streaming in through the skylights just outside my bathroom. I'm grateful.

"Becs? What the heck happened?"

I look at her all drowsy and before I could string my words together, brown stuff comes pouring out from my mouth. Oh so that's where all those brown stuff came about. After I'm done, I look up again and her face has disgust written all over.

Disgust and worry.

The next thing I know, cold water is upon me and besides the sound of the liquid splashing against my skin and the surfaces around me, I can hear her screaming. Doesn't help the throbbing, doesn't help the throbbing.

"Seriously, what happened? Are you alright? Why are you naked and drinking by yourself? Why didn't you answer my calls!"

I try to answer but the roar of the shower head belittles my voice. She turns off the tap and grabs my shampoo – squeezing a handsome amount onto my hair and starts scrubbing them. Somehow the ridiculously rough scrubbing action does great help to my headache. I peer up at her to thank her but she silences me again with a glare.

"You have everyone worried – your dad, me, Ms Dean-"

"Ms Dean? What's she to do with this?"

"You didn't deliver the bouquet yesterday, Beca. The client has called to complain."

The bouquet. The client. The mall. The cafe. Benji. Jesse.

Oh.

"Oh crap."

Aubrey's face morphs into an "yeah huh" expression as she turns the tap on. Once again, her voice gets drowned out by the thundering jet and the voices in my head. Someone is singing in my head.

Benji and Jesse sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G.

I shake my head to get rid of that singing voice. No, I do not want to be reminde- oh shut up! The yelp from Aubrey stops my shaking and I look up at her again. She gives me the look of disbelief and turns to grab a clean towel from the cubby nearby.

"Ms Dean wants you to call her asap." She says, her voice softer this time as she wipes the droplets of water off my face. I guess that is when she noticed my bloodshot eyes and swollen nose.

"Beca. You've been crying," she halts the wiping and pulls me into a bone-crushing hug.

That's the thing about Aubrey - another one of my best friends. No, scratch that. My only best friend now. I mean, how do you go about labeling someone who has just kissed your boyfriend like that? Do you still call that person your best friend? Anyways, back to Aubrey.

We've known each other since we were born; Mr Posen is my dad's best friend and vice versa. Our moms literally gave birth to us both the same day in the same hospital. She's still hung up that I was born in the afternoon whilst she was born that night. We grew up together and went to the same schools together – although we did split up during college because of our different majors. She did law school while I went the other way for social sciences and music. Dad wasn't pleased but well. Despite our interests in different things, we are really close. One look and we know what the other is thinking or feeling.

Only this time, she can't figure out what's eating at me, shredding my insides into tiny, million bits.

"Beca?"

"What?" Did I just fall asleep again?

"You fell asleep again. You should see Dr Burke regarding that micro-sleep thing."

I shrug. I think I should see Dr Love instead to see if there's something wrong with me that my boyfriend would turn for... other men.

"Is there something wrong with me, Aub? Like, is there anything fundamentally wrong with me?"

I can see the clogs working and turning in that blonde head of hers as she ponders and considers my question. Right, wasn't expecting a very serious answer but then again, Aubrey.

After what seems to be a thousand years, my best friend finally makes a sound again. She shakes her head and says in a firm voice.

"No." I smile, grabbing the towel over to continue drying the rest of my body. We're close but as we grow older it just gets kind of awkward – ignoring the fact that she's standing in the middle of my pukegate and I'm utterly naked.

"But," she continues, making me pause wiping my right armpit. "There is something wrong. What happened?"

I sigh, knowing full well what Aubrey Posen is capable of.

And I was right because she is now screaming her lungs down the receiver into the ears which I believe belong to my ex-boyfriend Jesse Swanson. Oh that suave man.

I hope Aubrey gives it to him.

"You son of a floor-licking bag of potatoes! How could you do that to her! How could you?! You know what, you explain to her – on your knees! With durian shells underneath them!" I wave frantically at her, mouthing big "No".

She looks at me confused as she continues her tirade, "Oh wait, wait. Wait, you idiot." What she mouths back. I gesture by having my hand air-slicing my throat. Cut it out! I don't want to see or hear from him!

Aubrey shoots me an unsure look before slamming the call, "You know what, Jesse? You're an eye dee eye oh tee for doing such a thing. You and Benji both!"

We eye each other for a while, both unsure of what to do. The sound of my cellphone ringing breaks our reverie and Aubrey retrieves the device for me. She takes a glance at the caller ID with worry washed over her face and she quietly passes it to me.

Ms Dean.

"Hi Ms Dean. Yeah, I'm terribly sorry – there was an accident. I promise it won't happen again. No! Of course not! You know what, you people are unfeeling ingrates who only care about having money in your banks made by poor people like me! You all are assholes! Assholes!" I yell and fling the cellphone over my shoulder, my heart sinking when I hear a splash.

There goes my iPhone. What an expensive breakup.

I take a deep breath, not believing what has happened. Day one and I'm this wreckage of a person – a possibly gay ex-boyfriend, a destroyed beyond hope friendship with my gay best friend, and I called my boss an asshole. Just as a fresh wave of tears hit me, I feel arms wrap tightly around my torso. It helps that Aubrey is way taller than me and has longer arms. Eyes shut, I lean and melt into her embrace, trying to seek every comfort I could find in this sudden darkened world that enclaves me.

"Asshole? Asshole?" I cringe as Ms Dean repeats the word in an exceptionally loud voice. It would be funny if the situation isn't like this because usually she speaks in this very casual and soulful voice that naturally calms people's nerves and not kill them.

"My employee failed to deliver the bouquet to our client and thus, caused the proposal to fall through and she calls me an asshole?" Ms Dean asks again, her eyes bulging as she tries to level me with her glare.

I worry my lower lip as I carefully ponder my next words. They have to be gold to get me through this.

"Can I sit down, Ms Dean? I'm kind of tired."

Damned right, those are golden words right there, Beca Mitchell.

My pink-haired boss looks at me as if I've grown two heads. I believe my own face mirrors hers in that instant. Shaking her head, she sighs and motions for me to sit down. I quickly take the seat across from her and relax. Her chair is always so comfortable.

"So what happened, Mitchell? It better be some good reason!"

I open and close my mouth. The words that are swimming in the back of my mind are teetering on both pathetic and far-fetched. Should I go for the summarized version?

"I fell out of love, Ms Dean."

"Out of love? And you call me an asshole."

Now, I'm really thankful our conversation went this way because Ms Dean is the kind of boss who, if she scolds you or criticizes you, you still have hope. I've been in her office for the past half an hour and she even let me take a seat. I exhale with relief as she continues to complain and gripe about the young today and their attitude towards work.

Everyone in our office loves Ms Dean. She has started out as a junior copywriter at Ogilvy & Mather and worked her way up to become Creative Director. It was her 7th year in the company when she realized that she didn't like her job anymore. So she came out and created from scratch Dean's List at a huge loft in the heart of Manhattan. We do loads of various errands and projects for advertising, publishing and events planning & organizing.

"Alright, Mitchell. You may go. Just don't pull this on me again!" I hear her yell as the door closes behind me. I rub my face and sigh.

Long day ahead.

I try to come up with the day's To-Do list as I walk down the corridor past a glass writing board to my desk. That board is used to indicate what current projects each person and/or team are doing. I turn to look at my slot and see that Project Proposal with a million roses has been savagely rubbed off. I sigh again as I reach my desk, feeling the eyes of my colleagues burn into the back of my skull as I nonchalantly turn on my computer and settle down in my seat.

The first brave soul to approach me is this big blonde who calls herself Fat Amy. She's really good at socializing and PR but she's also very loud and filterless. She's from Tasmania and apparently she rules in every thing and/or competition.

"Hey short stuff," she greets, offering a packet of salted cashews. "Good talk with Ms Dean?"

I shake my head and smile as happily as I could. When I have free time out of work, I would never spend it with my colleagues. We have this sort of one-sided "I don't know you if I see you outside of work" relationship with me being the more anti-social one. And besides, I have... I had Jesse and all my time was given to him. Did I mention Aubrey? Hmm. Anyways, that and also these people are weird.

Besides Fat Amy, sitting next to me to my right is Lilly Onakumara – a Japanese designer who speaks really softly but sings very loudly. Doesn't help when I'm rushing a proposal and she's singing with her earphones on. Behind us is our events guru Luke O'Brien who is so vain, he owns more beauty products than all the ladies in the office combined. If I had to bet my chips, I'd definitely mark him as playing for the boys' team. I'd even set him up with Benji but uh, I received a punch in the shoulder from Luke after he returned from the date so I guess that straightened things out.

Working with Luke is this stocky-looking man with sandy hair called Bennett Allen. Everyone calls him Bumper though. Like Fat Amy, he's good with PR and accordingly, both of them are having some sort of competition to see who brings in the most sales and accounts. I've also heard from Lilly once at the pantry that the two have this strong and intense sexual tension going on. Whatever image that flashed across my head during that conversation with Lilly was definitely not a pretty sight.

Ding!

That's not the school bell, that's the ding from our pantry's microwave. A yelp from the receptionist cum administrator indicates that he has indeed burnt his lunch again.

"Unicycle!" Everyone choruses as he rushes to dispose of his burnt lunch. For the most meticulous person in the office, the afro guy is really dense. There's no one time when he doesn't burn his lunch. Fat Amy has told us with her usual conspiratorial voice that Unicycle does that on purpose to see the young pantry lady. I remember rolling my eyes when I heard that.

The sting from the smell of the burnt plastic reminds everyone of how we have yet again wasted an entire work morning achieving nothing on our To-Do lists. I look up when Lilly and Fat Amy nudge me to go with them for lunch.

"Thanks guys but I've already packed lunch." They nod and leave while I flip my lunchbox open.

Time for youtube videos with funny cats.

I chortle and almost choke on my food watching the cat jump and miss the opposite ledge when I hear someone clear their throat.

One thing about this office space is that, everyone has no cubicle - it's a huge open space with beech desks everywhere covered with stacks of papers, moleskines and iMacs. Ms Dean doesn't think that creativity flows when all of us are cooped up in our "little hell hole doing God knows what." Verbatim.

Oh and she has skylights installed in the roof, along with huge ass windows so that "we can tap on the light given by our Mother Nature."

Pausing the video, I look up with as much annoyance as I could muster.

"Hi Beca."

"Chloe."

That ginger's cerulean eyes are unflinching as she continues her fake smile and incredibly fake formality.

"Mind if you lower the volume a little? I'm reading here." She waves her Snoopy & Friends recipe book in the air and gestures at it. I flatten my lips into what I hope is a smile and nods.

"Sure, why not? Won't want to disturb you and Snoopy." There - my first Chloe-glare of the day. Always an achievement.

The two of us have been at each other's throats since the day she stepped into the office. She has smiled sweetly at everyone of us (including myself) when Ms Dean introduced her on the first day. When our eyes met, there was this spark and it seemed to have ignited this rivalry between us. It could be because we are the two hottest girls in the office or that Ms Dean has simply slotted her into this project that I was halfway through and was so proud of. Man, did she mess up my plans for that project.

The boss probably did not receive the memo on our apparent rivalry because a week later, she proudly announced to the entire room,

"Chloe, Beca, you two are on the same team for all the projects from now on."

"You could cut the tension between them with a chopper." I'd heard Fat Amy whisper to the rest after we have both calmed down from that broadcast.

She raises her hands and clutches her left breast as a mock pained look flashes across her face. "Aww, like how you've disrupted your boyfriend and his boyfriend making out? Oh wait, I mean your ex boyfriend. Still, nice of you to finally think of others, Beca."

How did she know? Aubrey? Stacie! Ugh, that big-mouth brunette whose filter is worse than Fat Amy's and who has more beasts than brains (not true - I'm just jealous). Why would Aubrey go and rattle off to her girlfriend whose best friend happens to be Chloe? Why?

Lifting my right hand, I am about to return the redhead the finger when my cellphone goes off. My heart skips a beat when Jesse's name flashes across its screen. I turn back to Chloe and she's giving me this look which I've never seen before – at least not directed at me. It is as if she's feeling some sort of sympathy for me. She hitches her head towards the ringing thing and urges me with her eyes to answer it.

"Hello."

"Beca. Are you having lunch?"

I scoff as I check the clock on the wall. "No, no. I'm just having my lunchbox open for the air to eat. Air, you're welcome."

"Beca..."

I sigh, leaning against the vending machine in the pantry. The smell of burnt plastic still lingers around as I wait for him to continue. I can hear him breathing heavily at the other end of the receiver as if he's taking deep breaths to tell me something I don't want to hear.

And I'm right.

"I'm sorry."

"For what? For kissing my best friend? For mucking around with my feelings? For seeing somebody behind my back? For hurting me? It hurts, Jesse. It friggin' hurts. And it hurts more because it's Benji. No, no. It hurts more that you aren't whom I thought you were!"

"I'm sorry, Becs. I did love you bu-"

Tears sting my eyes as I try hard to keep my composure. I emphasize the word Try. Ever since I saw them together, I've been rehearsing back and forth in my head what I want to say to him and to hurt him. I don't want this to be real.

"Jesse Swanson. Don't give me that pitiful excuse of an answer! First of all, you have no more right to say that four-lettered word. Second of all, I do not need your love!"

"Becs..."

"When?"

"What?"

"When did you... When did it start?" My voice meek.

He coughs. "About 6 months."

I can feel the bile rising up my gut and inching towards my throat.

"Up yours, Swanson! 6 months? 6 months! To think we have spent the past 6 months planning for a trip together! And all those movie marathons?! So what, when I dozed off during Star Wars, you guys were kissing from across my stomach on the couch? What do you treat me as? The faithful audience to witness your epic love story unfold? A fool so that you two can laugh as you tell your grandchildren about your younger days?"

"Becs, will you calm down?"

"I will not calm down!" I hear myself screaming. I am thankful that he has called now because my colleagues are away for lunch. Well all except Chloe. I quickly turn around and see her looking at me through the glass panels. Maybe it's the distance but for the second time that day, her expression is unreadable.

"Becs?" His voice breaks my reverie and I return to our fight.

"Jesse, you have been the one I was planning on marrying. Heck, we have been dating since senior year! How can you do this to me?!"

"Becs." I don't like the sound of his tone. I know that tone. It always bears bad news.

The tears that stung my eyes earlier has finally broken free from the gates. They're now flowing freely down my cheeks as I listen to him speak. Images of us in the past – ice cream dates, holding each other's hands during movies which he loves, him pushing me on the swing, us singing into the wind at the beach flash through my mind like a slow-motion slideshow. I cup my mouth as another fresh wave of tears hits me. My body shake as sobs wrack through my small frame.

This isn't me. This isn't Beca Mitchell.

"Forget me, Becs..."

As his voice trails off at the other end of the receiver, I roughly wipe my tears away with the back of my sleeves. Taking a huge breath to calm my nerves, I muster the most even voice I have in me.

"Forget you? That's too hard." My tear-stained voice now a squeak. Hate it when that happens. I shut my eyes as I prepare my next words. He broke me - I won't let him go unscathed.

"Becs-"

"Because I have never ever remembered you."

I fix my eyes on the blank screen as tears start to cloud my vision. It starts out as a sort of vignette, getting blurrier and blurrier. The last thing I hear is Chloe's voice, laced thick with concern. That's odd. Her cerulean eyes pierce through that cloud as everything else starts to fade to black.