Nothing

A Pitch Perfect Story

Part 2 of 2

**Heads up, Lover-Bug**

Disclaimer: I do not own anything familiar.

Song Recommendation: Nothing by The Script

Author's Note: Alright, this one is Jesse's reaction to the breakup. The email Jesse sends is in italics. I hope that you like it. Sorry that I made Jesse a cheater for these two, but this is just one of the reasons why people might breakup. Review at the end, please?

Mistake. Seven random letters combined together to represent one's idiocy. As a noun, it is defined as an incorrect action or decision, an error, or a misunderstanding. As a transitive verb, a mistake is defined as misunderstanding something, to identify something or someone incorrectly, and choosing something incorrectly. You do something by mistake, accidentally, not intending or wishing to do something, but you do it anyway. Generally, mistakes lead to hurting someone or something. It is one thing to make a mistake that hurts you, that messes things up for you, but it is a completely different thing (read: it is worse) to make a mistake that hurts someone else, especially someone you claim to love. Those mistakes are unforgivable; they are worse, because you are destroying something so beautiful and special, something you vowed never to destroy.

It has been three weeks. Three long, horrible, awful weeks, if you ask Jesse; he feels like he's dying slowly, and part of him wishes that he could just die. Surely, he would be better off that way, right? It would be better than enduring the soul-sucking pain of losing someone he loves. He's heartbroken, and he's guilty; he feels so much shame and hatred for himself for doing what he did. Why did he do it? Why did he have to destroy them? Why did he have to hurt Beca so terribly? Surely, there is something wrong with him. He just wants to give up, quit on life, because he's heartbroken and depressed and angry as fuck, because it was entirely his fault. His bosses are starting to notice that something's up with him, because he's been throwing himself into his work, spending long hours in the studio composing, avoiding going home to the tiny motel room that he's been staying in for the last few weeks; this wouldn't be a problem, but everything he has been composing over the last few weeks have been depressing as shit, and that's not exactly what they want for a happy, feel-good family movie.

Jesse opens the door to the motel room and drops his keys and the Chinese takeout bag onto the table that sits by the door. He pulls his messenger bag off his shoulder and drops that onto the table, as well. He can't exactly play his piano in this little motel room, so he's stuck spending an obscene amount of money each month to store pretty much all of his belongings from the tiny apartment that he and Beca had shared, including his piano; that is his excuse for spending so much time at the studio—he can't exactly compose on his own anymore. He keeps buying weekly stays at the motel, hoping that eventually she will respond to one of his emails, text messages, and phone calls. Hell, if he thought it would work in his favor, he would send her letters in the mail or a fucking carrier pigeon or smoke signals or something to get her attention. Nothing seemed to work though. He sighs, unbuttoning his white dress shirt, pulling it off and laying it over the top of the chair that goes with the table. He's running out of clean clothes; he makes a mental note to get together a bag of stuff to wash at the Laundromat that is down the street. He removes his belt and unbuttons his dress pants after he kicks off his shoes; he pulls the pants off and tosses them over the chair, walking over to the bed with the bag of food in his hand, dressed only in his black boxers, a white wife beater, and his black dress socks. He's sure that he looks like some businessman looking for a quickie with a prostitute before heading home to the wife.

Jesse drops onto the bed and pulls his laptop towards him from where it is lying on one side of the bed. He opens it up and types his password (BeautifulBeca) when it prompts him to. He digs through the bag as the laptop loads, pulling out the container of food. He pops the lid open and grabs the plastic box of forks from the end table beside his bed to get one to eat his dinner with. As he chews a bite of chicken and rice, he opens the internet. He's paying out the ass for internet service, which pisses him off. He just wants to go home. One of his three homepages is Facebook, so he immediately switches to that tab. It's like some kind of sick torture for himself, but he's looking for any information on Beca. The day after their fight and Beca kicked him from the apartment, Jesse saw that she and all of the Bellas, except Stacie, defriended him on Facebook. It about killed him, because those girls are (were) his friends, too; plus, it really showed him how upset Beca was with him. His eyes scan the newsfeed from that day, looking for any information on her. All of the Trebles she is friendly with are still her friends on Facebook, but it appears that none of them have been chatting with her recently, nor had she commented on their statuses or pages. In fact, she hasn't posted any statuses or comments in the last two days, which is beyond weird for her, because normally Stacie posts about ten statuses a day. He knows why Stacie decided to stay friends with him on Facebook. It is so she could post statuses or pictures that relate to Beca in order to rub it in his face what he's lost. He doesn't need her to do that in order to know that he royally fucked up; he still studies her page over and over, though, trying to absorb anything about Beca that he can get. He should defriend Stacie; if he was smart, he would. He just can't bring himself to do it. It's like a punch to the gut, groin, and heart every time he sees a picture of Beca or sees that Stacie tagged her in a status.

Jesse bites his lip as he navigates to Stacie's page, looking at her recent album from the former Bellas' trip to Hawaii. He ignores the pang in his stomach as he studies the pictures. In the first few pictures, she looked so sad, and the captions all related to how this trip was going to be great for getting over a bad breakup. As time went on, she began to look happier in the pictures, and the captions implied the same. There was a running commentary in the comments section for each photo of one of Stacie's many suitors (aka former and current fuck-buddies) about how much they wanted to do every girl in the picture. Fat Amy made a couple of inappropriate comments about midgets, dingoes, and kangaroo pouches that made him blush, and he was a grown man. As he studies the pictures, he wishes that he could have been there with her—that they were on a vacation together, soaking up the sun, enjoying their time spent together. Instead, he cheated on her, broke her heart (and his), and lost her. Now, he's left with the gaping Beca-shaped hole in his life. He hates himself.

His cell phone buzzes from inside the front pocket of his messenger bag. He sets the food on the bed next to the laptop and makes his way over to the bag to grab it. He sees that it's Donald calling. He answers after a moment of debating whether or not it is likely that he will get another lecture. Donald's probably heard from one of the girls by now that the reason why he and Beca are separated (he refuses to call it a breakup—he's going to win her back; he has to) is because he cheated on her. He decides to accept the call, mentally and emotionally preparing himself for the lecture. "Hey, Donald."

"Hey, Jess. How you doing?" Donald asks him, and Jesse just sighs. How is he doing? He feels like shit, thank you very much. He says as much to Donald, who grunts back, "sheesh! I'm sorry I asked." Jesse sighs again. He feels like a douche bag now.

"I'm sorry. I'm just…I miss her. She won't return any of my calls or texts or emails or anything. I just…why won't she talk to me? I wanna explain. I need to explain. I…just…I know I can make her understand, and she will take me back. She has to!"

"Shit, Jesse. I know that this has been rough on you." Donald says, pausing for a moment. Just as Jesse is about to respond, Donald starts speaking again. "Honestly, though, can you blame her? She has every right to not want to see or talk to you, dude. You cheated on her." Jesse sighs, pressing a hand to his forehead. Here it comes: the lecture. He has been waiting for it.

"Save the lecture, Donald. I've gotten it more times than I can count; most of them included rather interesting language from Chloe and the other girls. I just…I don't need to hear it again."

"I'm not gonna give you a lecture, dude." Donald pauses again, and Jesse hears him take a deep breath into the phone. "You fucked up—like majorly fucked up, and I think you know that. What I don't think you realize, though, is that she's done. She's not coming back, Jess. You keep contacting her, but she's not responding, because you hurt her too badly. She can't forgive you, dude. I texted a couple of times, letting her know that I'm sorry that things didn't work out between the two of you, but she hasn't really tried to call me and I haven't tried to call her. We both know that Daddy is getting me in the divorce, so Mommy and I are keeping our distance. I'm getting most of my info from Chloe; she keeps me in the loop." When Donald refers to him as daddy and Beca as mommy, Jesse wants to laugh, because he imagined since they met tiny people that share their DNA calling them those names, but he can't because he feels like his heart is giving out as hears everything else that Donald said in surround sound inside of his head. She doesn't want him back. No, he can't afford to think like that. He's gonna keep contacting her. He's gonna keep trying.

"Donald, I appreciate…fuck, I can't give up." He says into the phone after a few minutes. "I'm not going to give up on her. I love her too much."

"Can I…can I ask you why?" Donald asks, making Jesse sigh. He has so many reasons why, but none of them seem like good enough reasons for why he did what he did. Honestly, he has no idea why he did. It felt right in the moment, like he was finally being appreciated after so many months of being forgotten, but when he finally realized what he did, he hated himself for doing it. Those fleeting moments of feeling whole again were squashed completely when he realized who it was with—what exactly he had just done. He closes his eyes, swallowing.

"I have no idea." He says after a few minutes of silence. "I have a million reasons for why I did it, Donald, but they're all piss-poor excuses that don't even begin to really explain why I did it, what I was thinking, and how much I hate myself for doing it. I fucked up, and I know it, and I just…it was a huge mistake, and I regret it. I just want to tell her that."

"I'm sorry, dude." Donald tells him quietly. "I wish that there was something I could do to help both of you, but I honestly have no idea how to fix this."

"The only way you can fix it is to get Beca to listen to me, to take me back."

"I can't do that. We both know it." Jesse groans, stabbing a piece of chicken angrily with his fork.

"Yeah, whatever."

"I gotta go. Margot is calling me to dinner, but I wanted to let you know that I'm flying into LA for a business trip for Wednesday through Friday, and I was planning on staying the weekend. I talked to Benji and Bumper, and they are both gonna fly out to so that we all can hang out for the weekend. Would you be for that?" Jesse chews on his bottom lip. Does he really want to deal with the pitying looks from Donald and Benji and the obnoxious, rude comments from Bumper? "We can get shitfaced on Saturday night so all three of us are hung over for our flights back home." That thought makes him smile.

"Yeah, I guess I'm willing to put up with your bullshit for a weekend." He says after a few moments.

"Cool. I'll see you this weekend, dude. Text me if your close to offing yourself or something. I'll try to talk you down."

A couple of days later, Jesse and his best friends from college are walking his shitty motel room to a bar he and Beca and their new LA friends had frequented over the last year. Jesse decides not to invite those so-called new LA friends along, because he isn't in the mood to do damage control when Bumper is likely to say something offensive about fucking their mothers or to punch someone who makes fun of Benji if he decides to do a close up magic trick that leads to him pulling a gerbil out of someone's nostril or to get Donald to stop rapping and beat boxing when he drinks too much. Plus, he knows that all of them are just gonna ask him where Beca is, and he doesn't need another reminder from their sort-of mutual friends (aka his work buddies and their girlfriends) that she isn't there, because he was a fucking asshole who cheated. He's laughing and smiling as Benji relays his last first date horror story to them as they walk, but his heart's not in it. He wishes that he was with Beca, holding her in his arms, kissing her, being with her. Hell, he wishes that she was there with them, laughing at the way that she insults Bumper without feeling any remorse (because, really, it's fun to do that). He's trying his best not to drag his feet; he's amazed that he's even moving at all right now, that he's keeping up with their pace as they walk towards the bar. Then again, they're following his pace, because he's the one that lives here and knows where the bar is. Well, he has no reason to be proud of himself now.

"Dude, you're so fucking lucky that you two have broken up. You don't get it. Beca was a fucking bitch." Bumper says as they walk into the crowded building and immediately begin making their way towards the bar.

"Fuck you, asshole." Jesse spits back. When the bartender walks in front of them, he orders a whiskey sour and tells the guy to spit in Bumper's drink.

"Bumper," Benji begins, after he has ordered a beer. He has turned toward the older guy he's addressing, leveling him with a furrowed brow and slight glare. It's amusing to see Benji stand up for him, because he looks like a child yelling at an adult for playing with a toy the wrong way. "Jesse's is going through a real rough patch right now, and we need to be supportive. You're being a…a….a…total dick." He whispers the curse word, making Bumper laugh and roll his eyes at the curly-haired man.

"Shut it, Merlin." Bumper says. He focuses back on Jesse, ignoring the way that Benji starts talking about how Merlin is a wizard, not a magician, and it would be awesome if he could have the same powers as Merlin. Bumper just decides to start talking over Benji as he chatters. "Seriously, Swanson, you're dick turned into a bleeding vagina after you started dating that colossal dyke bitch who kept your 'nads on a necklace swinging around her neck, but you finally grew a new set when you fucked your hot neighbor. It's time to realize just how fucking awesome that is, how fucking awesome it is that your free of Queen Bitchington of Bitcheryville, and how fucking awesome it is that you can go swimming through the sea of hot chicks that are hoping to become singers, actresses, and dancers. All you have to say is 'I'm working on a movie,' and you will ten girls fawning all over you in about five minutes, trying to suck your dick, all in the hopes that you can get them a cameo role in the film. You don't tell 'em until afterwards that you're just the fag composer." Donald and Benji stare at Bumper in horror over pretty much everything that comes out of the douche bag's mouth. Jesse just shakes his head, not even looking at him and a humorless smile on his face, and takes a sip of his drink (read: drinks half of it in one gulp). "You're so much better off now."

"Bumper, do you ever listen to what the fuck comes out of your mouth? Gentleman, I think I just figured out why this dickhead is still single and a virgin at twenty-six—and it is not for religious reasons or because he hasn't met the right person. It's 'cause he's a fucking idiot-douche." Donald shakes his head, tagging a big sip of his beer. Bumper scoffs, punching the bespectacled man in the arm.

"I can't believe that I'm going to say this. Seriously, is there a doctor nearby, because I'm about to die from the shock of it, but I kind of agree with Bumper on the very last thing he said." Benji says, making Donald and Jesse stare at him in shock and horror, whereas Bumper is grinning, obviously pleased with himself. "Only that, though. You're better off without Beca now. Before you punch me in the face, hear me out." Benji puts his hands up when he sees how Jesse tightened his hand into a fist over the fact that his very best friend told him that he's better off now without the love of his life. Fuck that noise. "This last year has been really tough on both of you as you readjusted from the Barden Beca and Jesse to the more mature couple that is living together Beca and Jesse. You told me about how you've been fighting way more than usual over the last year, with Beca snapping at you for what appears to be no reason at all, but you suspected was because you got the better job than her right away. Then, you told me about how busy she got, how you hardly ever saw her, how your relationship suffered both…uh…in and out of the bedroom, ever since she got that job. You were miserable, and I think we both know that Beca was miserable, too. While having sex with someone else might not have been the best way to go about it, I think that it was your subconscious's way of telling you that you're not happy in the relationship anymore and that you needed to get out. I think that it is time for the both of you to move on."

Jesse stares at Benji, dumbfounded. What in the actual fuck? Benji—sweet, kind, caring, good Benji—is telling him that he's better off now without Beca in his life. That's fucking bullshit. Donald clears his throat, bringing Jesse's attention towards him. "Little Houdini does have a point, Jess." They all ignore the way that Benji then begins talking about how amazing Houdini was as an illusionist and how he aspires to be like Houdini, hopefully one day being able to replicate his ill-fated under the water act that resulted in the man's death—although, Benji hopes that it doesn't end the same way this time. Donald talks over Benji's tirade about Houdini. "You cheated, and she's done, so it's time for you to move on. She's trying to." Jesse glares at his three friends. Donald signals the bartender, ordering shots. He pushes two of them in front of Jesse, when the bartender finishes pouring them. He tells the man to keep them coming. He turns his attention on Jesse. "A few of these bad boys, and maybe a couple of Irish car bombs, will help you forget her." He raises a shot glass at him before downing it. Jesse follows suit, wincing slightly at the burn of the shot going down his throat.

About forty-five minutes later, four shots, two and a half whiskey sours, and one Irish car bomb, Jesse begins to realize that no matter how drunk he gets, he will not be able to forget Beca Mitchell; he loves her too much. Later, he knows that he will probably regret this, but he's drunk enough now to give him the excuse to actually do what he's thinking. None of them get it; he and Beca will get back together—it's just a matter of time. She needed her cooling off period, and he needed the time away to really appreciate how much he loves her and needs her. The time has come, however, for them to put aside the bullshit and get back together. He told her five years ago that it was inevitable that they were going to marry and have kids and grow old together; he meant it. It is inevitable that they were going to end up together, despite what Bumper, Donald, and Benji all seem to think; they just can't see how this is all going to end: with him and Beca back together. He knows that they're gonna think he's nuts, but it makes all the sense in the world to him: if she isn't going to answer his calls or texts or emails, then he is just gonna show up at her (soon to be theirs again!) place and make her listen. He slaps two twenties onto the bar and stands up, stumbling slightly, because his legs feel like jelly.

"Dude! What are you doing?" Donald asks, but Jesse can barely understand him; either he is too drunk to understand what people are saying, or Donald is so drunk that his words are coming out in inaudible jumbles of letters. The only one who is mostly sober is Benji, who had stuck to one kind of alcohol and only had two drinks, and his eyes widen when he suddenly realizes just what Jesse's about to do.

"Jesse, no! Don't."

Obviously, Jesse doesn't listen, and soon enough, he is stumbling out of the bar and down the street in the direction of the place he used to share with Beca. Even in all of his drunkenness, he knows where it is, like a missile following a homing device. "Beca! I'm coming, Beca!" He is shouting, unable to control himself; he needs to announce it to her—he needs her to know that he's trying. Because he is. He is trying so hard to keep it together, to get her back. He just needs her to hear him, see him, and he knows that he can fix them. He has to, or else his sanity will be lost forever. Fuck, he just misses her. Benji struggles to keep the three of them upright, stop them from walking into on-coming traffic (Jesse's risking life and limb to get to his Beca, but he's drunk, so he doesn't even care), and trying to keep them quiet. (Jesse's screaming Beca's name; Bumper's screaming that Jesse's an asshole who is whipped beyond belief and a smattering of inappropriate names related to his lack of a penis and testicles, his newfound female genitals, and religious slurs about Jessie's Judaism; Donald's screaming about how much of an idiot Jesse is and how much of an asshole Bumper is, and that he hopes that Bumper gets jumped and either is killed or lands in jail, bleeding and in pain—poor Benji would quiet down one only to have the other two start screaming; he was exhausted and in need of a lot of assistance). "If I go there now, I just know that I can change her mind about us. I swear, I will turn it all around and fix this! It was a mistake, and she'll listen to me!" He tells Benji, who wraps an arm around his waist and tries to keep him upright when he tripped over a lip in the sidewalk and nearly face-planted.

"Jess, you're drunk. I can barely understand the words coming out of your mouth, because they're so slurred. This isn't going to work."

"No! It's gonna work, Benji! She's gonna listen to me, even if my words are slurred. I have to tell her the truth." With that, he pulls his cell phone out of his pocket and hits two on his speed dial, pressing the phone to his ear. Benji attempts to grab the phone from his hands, but Jesse pulls away from him and starts running. It goes straight to voicemail, like always, but that is okay. He's gonna make her understand. "Beca! I love you so much! Please pick up the phone. Please! I'm coming to you, and I want to…I need to make you understand. I'm so sorry, Beca. I love you. Please! Please pick up the phone." He hung up the phone and then called her back, still running, ignoring Benji's frantic calls and heavy breathing as he rushes after him, dragging Bumper and Donald by their arms. He keeps calling and leaving the same desperate message on her voicemail over and over, but she never picks up. She never responds. All he hears is the deafening sound of her silence, and it eats away at him, pushing him to get to the apartment faster.

Jesse stumbles his way to the apartment building where he used to live; he's pretty proud of himself, considering he made it there in about a half hour and only fell over onto the sidewalk and against parked cars or the walls of buildings a couple of times. Once she sees him, sees what a mess he is without her, hears him say how much he loves her, she will take him back. She has to. He is so sure that this is what is going to happen. He is so sure that she will understand, that she will take him back. There is no other alternative. She's gonna take him back. He slips inside and rushes towards the stairs, not even bothering with the ancient elevator that takes forever. He knows that Benji, Donald, and Bumper are following behind him, but they have quieted down now.

He stumbles down the hallway until he finds the old apartment door, and he proceeds to pound on it, jiggling the door knob as he does so. "Beca, please open up. I'm so sorry, baby. I love you. I miss you. Please let me come home." He keeps banging on the door, yelling against it, hoping like hell she will respond to him. Benji's tugging on his arm, telling him to stop.

"Jess, people live here; they're trying to sleep!" Benji's telling him. Jesse doesn't care, though. He doesn't care that Bumper and Donald have slid down the wall and are stretched out on the floor of the hallway, snoring and mumbling to themselves. He doesn't care that all of his former neighbors are hearing him plead with his ex-girlfriend, begging her to open the door, to let him in. He keeps telling her how much he misses her, how much he loves her, that he made a mistake. He tells her that he needs her to take him back.

"I love you, Beca!" The door across the hall opens, and he jerks his head to see Kelly standing in the door way, tying a robe around her waist. Her brow is furrowed, her hair is a mess from sleeping, and her eyes are drooping; she obviously just woke up because of his shouting and banging.

"Jesse? Is that you?" He stops banging on the door for a moment, turning fully to look at her. She smiles sadly at him and glances at his friends.

"Hi, Kelly." He says quietly, and his stomach feels sick. He knows that Beca is probably watching him from the other side of the door, waiting to see what he does. What would he want her to do? Spit at her? Curse at her? Punch her? Even in his drunken state, he wouldn't do any of that. He's still a moderately nice guy (although, at the moment, that is under debate).

"Shit. Is this the bitch you fucked?" Bumper mumbles from the floor. "Damn, Swanson. Who knew you had it in you? I don't get why you're so hung up on the Goth bitch when you could have Malibu Barbie." Benji kicks him in the thigh, making him yelp in pain and Donald to laugh and point at him, his glasses askew on his face.

Jesse ignores them and stares at Kelly. He is filled with an overwhelming amount of hate for the pretty blond girl, because she kissed him when he was drunk and feeling lonely. He was vulnerable when she invited him over that night, and she had taken advantage of that. Sure, he wasn't exactly a victim in all of this, but she had done her part. "I haven't seen you in awhile. I just…I wanted to say I'm sorry. I invited you over that night with the most honorable intentions, but I…I…um, I really liked you. I just…I shouldn't have kissed you, but I wanted to tell you that I don't regret it, because I had…have feelings for you. I know that you're hurting over everything that happened with Beca, but maybe you and I could…you know, one day?"

He glares at her, shaking his head, his jaw tense. What in the fuck is wrong with her? He doesn't want her. He wants Beca. Even if Beca weren't to take him back (which is totally not going to happen—she will take him back!), he wouldn't touch Kelly with a ten-foot pole now. He would forever associate her with his weakness, with the shame and guilt that he is wracked with over cheating on his best friend, his soul mate, the love of his life. "No." He says one word, and it is hardened with anger and betrayal and sadness and all of the other negative emotions that are swirling through his body. She swallows, running a hand through her hair, looking away from him as she blinks back the tears.

"Right, yeah…I understand." She struggles to get the words out without crying, and he knows that he should feel bad for how he is treating her in this moment, but he's using the excuse of being drunk for why he frankly doesn't give a shit. He turns his back on her, about to pound on the door again to get Beca to open it up. Kelly speaks, making him pause before his hand hit the wood. "She's not there. She hasn't been back since after I left for work yesterday morning. Her friend has been staying with her. She's tall with brown hair and big boobs." Jesse doesn't acknowledge what Kelly's saying, but he's listening. He already knew that Stacie had been staying with her since they finished up their trip to Hawaii via Facebook. "I haven't seen them since her friend cursed me out as I was leaving for work and they were walking into the apartment. I don't think they ever came back. Sorry." He hears the door click shut, the sound of a lock sliding into place, and he knows that Kelly is gone.

Jesse presses his forehead and hand against the door, his eyes clamped shut tightly. He takes a shuddering breath before he says into the wood, "Beca. Please open up." He was hoping like hell that Kelly was lying, but nothing comes through the door. It is eerily quiet on the other side of it, no fan, now sound of breathing, no shifting of the floorboards or anything. No one can sit completely quietly, without moving, for ten minutes. A tear slips down his cheek when he realizes that Kelly wasn't lying to him. No one is in the apartment. He just wishes that he knew where she is.

"Jess," Benji says, laying a hand on his shoulder, making him jump slightly. "Let's go, okay?"

"Where is she, Benji? Where is Beca?" He asks, rolling his head slightly to look at his friend. Benji frowns, shaking his head.

"I don't know. Let's get you back to your motel room, okay?"

The next day, Jesse wakes with the worst hangover known to man. He feels like he is dying, and his head feels like cotton. He contemplates perpetually getting drunk in order to feel the hangover, because he's focused more on the nausea and pain than he is on the heartache that comes from having no idea where Beca is, if she is okay, et cetera. He stumbles to the bathroom, emptying the contents of his stomach. When he finally feels like he can stand again, he brushes his teeth, washes his face, and takes three aspirin from the bottle that he left on edge of the sink. He makes his way back into the room, grabbing a juice pouch from the box on the floor by his bed. He climbs into the bed and sets his laptop on his legs, letting it load, as he opens the juice pouch and takes a hearty drink of it, grimacing at the way the sweet flavor mixes with the mint of his toothpaste.

He logs into Facebook, just like his usual habit, and he sees that an hour before (at ten after ten in the morning), Stacie finally posted another status. She had apologized in the status about her disappearance over the last few days, but she said she wanted to be sure everything was a done deal before she made a very special announcement. Apparently, she had gotten a job and was moving to LA. She then proceeded to post an entire album of pictures of her and Beca and their new apartment that they were living in, together.

It is soul-crushing to look at those pictures. For the last five years, Jesse Swanson has been intoxicated with Beca Mitchell; she is alluring, beautiful, smart, funny, kind to those she cared about, unique, special, amazing, frightening. She leaves him breathless and confused and excited and feeling alive. She makes him so angry and happy at the same time. She pisses him off more than any other person he knew (well, with the exception of Bumper). As much as he loves her, he also hates her. They fight constantly; they have nothing really in common aside from their mutual love of music. They don't make any sense, but he is addicted to her. When Jesse looks at those pictures—pictures of an empty two-bedroom apartment, pictures of her and Stacie grinning as they stood next to all of her old furniture and some new pieces, along with a ton of boxes, pictures of them in the fully unpacked apartment, looking like they were at home there, together—he feels like he is coming down from the worst high in the world. His hands are shaking, his stomach is cramping, his head is pounding, and his heart feels like it is about to give out. He finally realizes something in that moment. Beca is really trying to move on from him, just like Benji said she was. For the last three weeks, she has been doing everything she could to move on from him, ignoring his calls, his texts, his emails, going to Hawaii with her friends, letting Stacie live with her for a week, and now she has moved out of the apartment she shared with him for a year. She is obviously trying to escape the memories that that apartment has of the two of them, both happy and unhappy. He hates himself even more, because he was being selfish by trying to get her back. He has been so wrapped up inside of his own head and thinking about how much this breakup has been for him, and he hasn't once thought about her and her feelings. She needs to move on from him, and he has been going out of his way making it worse for her. She isn't going to take him back—not now, and maybe not ever. He finally realizes that no matter how many times he calls her, texts her, emails her, or even attempts to go see her again, there is going to be no response, that there is going to be no one there waiting for him. She is done with him.

Jesse lets out a shuddering breath, clamping his eyes shut. Just a few days ago, he was contemplating giving up, quitting, and even killing himself over not being able to have Beca in his life. Now, he's finally realizing is it quitting to move on from their relationship? Is it really going to kill him to be without her, or was Benji right when he said that they weren't happy or good together for a long time, and that maybe he would actually be better off without her. Giving her up…maybe it isn't exactly giving her up, but just accepting that their time together is over. She deserves to be happy, and she isn't with him. Hell, even though he is such a fucking asshole for cheating on her, he deserves to be happy, too. He hasn't been happy in a long time, and even though it is going to be hard without her, he feels like if he were to let go, to let her go, that maybe he could find that happiness again. If he let her go, then she could find happiness again. He's glad that she has Stacie there. She needs to have someone to help her recover from their breakup, to help her move on. He might not have anyone in LA, but he has his family—his older sister, especially—and Benji and Donald to call whenever he needs to talk. Beca holds everything in, so if she didn't have Stacie there—actually living with her and seeing her—she would hold it all in and get so caught up in the negative emotions that she would shut down way worse than she had following her parents' divorce.

Jesse sighs, wiping at the tears that slipped down his cheeks. He exits it out of the photos and scrolls to the top of Stacie's page. He settles his cursor over the checked friends box, hesitating a moment before clicking on it. He shifts the cursor down until he highlights the 'unfriend' option. He takes another breath and then clicks on it, officially ending his connection to Beca via Stacie. He exits out of Facebook and goes to his email. He is going to send her one final email, but instead of begging her to take him back, this one is going to be about saying goodbye. He wipes at his cheeks again, before he begins to type.

To: Beca Mitchell

From: Jesse Swanson

Subject: Goodbye

My dearest Beca,

I want to begin this email by saying that I'm sorry. Only, this time, I'm not saying I'm sorry for the mistake I made and the pain I caused you. Instead, this time, I'm saying I'm sorry for harassing you these last three weeks. I realize now that you don't want to be with me anymore, and even though it is killing me to do type this, I can understand it. Even taking the cheating out of this, I can finally accept, after these last three weeks apart, that neither one of us were happy.

Our problems didn't begin at the time that you got your promotion. No, that was just the turning point that helped us both to see just how much we weren't working together anymore. Our problems began well before that. Actually, our problems started in the very beginning—five years ago to be exact. You and I were a mess from the start, and I don't regret a single moment of it. All the fights, all the love that we shared, it made me a better person because of it. The only thing that I regret from our relationship is the mistake that I made at the end of it, which tainted us and our relationship forever. I hate myself for hurting you that way, because now, when we look back on us, it won't be with happiness; it will be with pain, hurt, betrayal, anger, and the list goes on. I wish that I didn't lash out in that way. I wish that I could have held it together for one more week, and then maybe you and I could have talked about it—fixed us. Maybe we could have finally had a conversation that we needed to have—about all of the things that were going on between us, and maybe we could have worked together to make it work. We were both so exhausted at the end, and I made that huge mistake, and now there is no more hope for us.

I feel like I'm talking in circles. Essentially, what I'm trying to say in this email is that I'm sorry. I'm sorry for hurting you. I'm sorry for cheating on you. I'm sorry for breaking us in the way that I had. I'm sorry for putting so much pressure on you over these last few weeks. I'm sorry for not realizing long ago just how much pain you and I both were experiencing as we attempted to stay together and to navigate this new stage of our relationship following our graduation from Barden. Most of all, I'm sorry for not talking to you, especially when we became so distant after you got your promotion, and telling you what I was think and feeling.

I want you to know that I'm so proud of you and everything you have accomplished. You are an amazing person, and you're so talented. You deserve to have all of your dreams come true, and I know that they will. You will work so hard, and you will succeed. I'm looking forward to opening a ton of CD jackets and finding your name there. I am looking forward to turning on my radio and hearing 'Beca Mitchell featuring [insert artist's name here]' just before a song starts playing. I'm looking forward to knowing that you're happy.

Before I end this email, I'm going to finish it off by telling you just what I should have told you when I started to noticed that there was that massive canyon between us. For five years, I was the one who supported your dreams, your music, ahead of everyone else. I was the one who mattered the most to you. I was the one who you went to for comfort and support and praise. I was the one you loved. Then, we got to LA, and we tried living together and starting the next chapter of our lives together. It was hard, because being in school and supporting each other was one thing, but having to be adults—to work, to pay the bills, to be a grown up couple who is living together—on top of supporting one another was hard. You were insecure over Kelly and her obvious interest in me, and even though I wasn't lying to you when I said that I loved you and only wanted you, I wasn't honest with you or myself. I was attracted to her, and I should have put the distance between her and me at the first sign of her interest in me. I didn't, and I'm sorry. I knew you were insecure and kind of resentful that I got my dream job (albeit not fully) while you were working two part-time jobs, and making mixes at night to send out to record labels. I wanted you to be proud of me, and I know you were, but you were also angry about it. I should have known that there was a problem right then and there when I liked that. I liked that you were pissed off at me; I liked that you were jealous of me. I liked that I was the most talented one, the one on top. Then, you got your big break, and suddenly, you didn't need me anymore. You didn't need me to be your supporter. You didn't need me to be the one who constantly fluffed your ego about your mixes. You didn't need me; your success had nothing to do with me anymore. I became resentful of your job, your coworkers, your dreams, because it was taking you away from me. You weren't dependent upon me anymore. You were standing on your own. I hate myself for admitting that, but it is the truth. You're so amazing and special and fantastic, and I just wish that you and I weren't constantly competing with one another over everything, including our careers. We should have known from the beginning that the healthy competition (with the Bella-Treble rivalry and beyond it) would turn into a mess.

When we stopped having sex, I snapped. I sucked it up at first. I understood that you were busy, but when one week turned into about nine weeks without us making love to one another? I broke; sex was always a huge part of our relationship—our way of expressing to one another just how much we loved each other, how important we were to the other person. Now, the sex was gone, and you were hardly around. I needed to feel whole again, and then Kelly invited me over for dinner, and I got drunk. I got drunk, and she kissed me, and for a few moments, I felt whole again. I felt loved. I felt important. I felt needed. I let myself get caught up, and I made a mistake that I will have a hard time forgiving myself for making. The entire time, I wished it was you, and when it was over, I felt sick. I broke the last of our brittle relationship. I regret it so much, and I wish that there was a way that I could go back, but I can't.

Shit, this is a crazy long email, and I'm sure it doesn't make any sense. I just needed you to finally hear me, to finally understand what was happening in my head and in my heart when I made that mistake. I also need you to know that I finally hear what you have been screaming at me (via not saying a word at all) for the last few weeks apart. I'm letting you go. It's going to be one of the hardest things that I will have to do, but we both need it. We both need a clean slate and a fresh start. I wish you all the luck, happiness, good health, and love in the world. Goodbye.

I love you (and I will never stop loving you),

Jesse

Jesse wanted her to respond. He hoped like hell that she would. In the end, though, he wasn't surprised when he never heard from her again. He never asked his friends about what was going on in her life, not for a very long time. Ten years later, he was happy to hear from one of his old Treble friends was dating Stacie, and he learned from her that Beca had fallen in love with someone, gotten married, and had a son named Matt, but everyone called him Junior. She was wildly successful in her career. He was happy for her. He knew that his old Treble friend had casually let it slip to Stacie that Jesse, too, was happy. That he had met a girl named Hannah a year after he and Beca had broken up, and they too had gotten married. He and Hannah had two kids (Sarah and Leah), and they were expecting their third, this time a boy to be named Joshua. He had won a couple of awards for his compositions in movies. He was happy, and he could only hope that she was happy for him.

Author's Note: So, please review! Let me know what you all think!