Monday.
Everybody hates Monday's. Nobody more than Beca Mitchell.
Monday involved rushing around, getting everything done that needed to be done.
She just never seemed to have enough time in the day on a Monday.
Beca reluctantly reached out her hand to press the snooze button.
Time for another day...
Beca wasn't to know that this particular day wasn't going to be quite the same as every other boring Monday.
She did everything as normal: her normal morning routine, got to her normal job, and did it as well as she normally did. Her boss nagged her about deadlines, the sleezy guy from down the hall made his usual sleezy remarks and Gary-the-sandwich-guy delivered her normal order to her.
It was all as mundane as ever.
Until she got a text:
Beca felt sick with anxiety at the sight of the message. She recognised the number instantly. She double checked the number. Then again. It couldn't be. But it was.
Horror washed over her. Nobody from her past ever contacted her. Not since she went off the radar.
She couldn't even work out how anybody had gotten hold of her number, let alone her location. But somebody had.
She couldn't say yes.
Could she?
No, no she could not.
She had worked too long and too hard to go digging up the past again.
The answer was obvious; she just wouldn't reply. She just. Would. Not. Reply.
Not a moment had gone by before her eyes had darted down to her phone again, her fingers unwilling to release the object. Beca winced at her own weakness.
"C'mon, Mitchell. Get it together," she muttered frustratedly to herself, as she pushed her phone to the bottom of her bag in an attempt to rid it from her mind.
The rest of her afternoon consisted of Beca picking up and putting down her phone, trying to force herself to not answer the message.
"It won't do you any good," she reasoned. "You'll only get yourself into even more trouble. Just let it go.
Marching out of her office in a desperate attempt to clear her head, she soon found herself pacing the corridors.
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