I'll Always Be The Rain Cloud To Your Sunshine [Bechloe]

A New Life

"Beca! Beca, wake up, wake up!", the sound of her mother's voice was echoing in the whole house. 

"You are going to be late if you do not hurry!", yelled Martha Mitchell as she entered her daughter's room, walking with her usual martial, heavy step, "Come on, sleepyhead! Up, up!". 

Beca finally opened her eyes and couldn't help but groaning as soon as she saw her mother bursting into her room. 

"Mom, please!", Beca implored while her mother was pulling the blue blinds of her room. Beca hid her head under her pillows as the early rays of sun came through the big window, "Another 5 minutes and I'll be ready, I promise".

"Honey, listen...", her mother sat on the bed, her hand sweetly touching her daughter's head, still hidden under the weight of the soft pillow, "I know you are not motivated, I get that. I know this is not what you had in mind after finishing high school... but Beca, please, make an effort. Try, at least", she sighed, holding back a deeper breath.

Beca was now staring at her mother, her head finally visible. "Mom, could you please explain me one last time why do I have to do this? I never wanted to go to college", Beca noticed that her tone had sounded whinier than intended, so she put herself together before continuing her talk.
She never wanted anybody to see her weaker side - not even her mother - and that's why Beca would rather find herself crying alone under her blankets, instead of sharing her worries and sorrows with someone else; Beca the Badass, Beca the Indestructible: all nicknames she had given to herself to be daily reminded of the strength she knew she had within. The walls she had been building around herself were so thick and high that nobody could ever hope to make them tumbling down, not a chance.  

Martha was looking at the big, blue eyes her daughter had inherited from her. She thought she had seen a glimpse of angst into them but she didn't want to interrupt Beca so, despite her being worried, she let her keep talking. 

"I mean...", continued Beca, now in control of her own emotions, "Not that I do not appreciate what you and dad are doing. I do. I mean it. But why - for Christ's sake - do I have to get a degree in philosophy when you all know I have my heart, head and body set on being a DJ?", she asked, her voice trying to disguise impatience, "I want to produce my own music, I want that with all myself and I don't get how college could help me achieving it". 

Her mother smiled: she loved how passionate Beca could be when it came to music. "I know, sweetheart",  she comforted her, her hand now running through Beca's dark brown hair, "I know it's hard for you to get now, but trust me: college isn't just a bunch of classes and loads of books to read and study from. College will be the most amazing experience of your life... the people you know, the things you learn about yourself: this is the time of your life, Beca!". Her mother's eyes were now shiny, tears starting to form in them. Beca quickly perked up, alarmed by the sudden change of atmosphere. 

"Is everything okay, mom?", Beca asked, her eyes staring into her mother's, trying to find the answer to her question in them. Martha quickly wiped her eyes as if a midge had tried to sneak inside them, "Yes", she briefly sniffed, "Yes, it is. It's just that it seems like only yesterday that you were born and now, here you are, off to college".

Beca rolled her eyes. She hated this kind of sentimental stuff, it always made her... sentimental. And she couldn't allow herself so. "Mom, you are going to Europe for work, you won't even have the time to miss me", Beca tried to comfort her, her hand on her mother's shoulder, "It's not like we don't get to see each other ever again, am I right? We still have Skype!". A smile appeared on Martha's face, "Now that you taught me how it works, I guess you're right". 

"You see? Just remember to not cover the web-cam with your finger and it's a done deal"

Both of them burst out laughing. Beca knelt on her bed, her face at the same height of her mother's, and she hugged her. That gesture came so unexpected that it took a couple of seconds for Martha to return the hug. "I love you sweetheart, and I'll miss you sooo much", she pecked Beca's cheek. Beca smirked, "Me too, mom". She released herself from the hug, her mother looking her straight in the eyes, her face more relaxed than few moments before, "I'm going to be fine". 

"Yes, indeed you are", Martha grinned, "Besides, with your father teaching at Barden, it will be a good occasion for you two to bond and know each other a bit, won't it? He can keep an eye on you as well", she winked. 

Beca didn't actually know what to say: she often forgot her father taught in college since he had rarely been there for her in the latest years... oh, let's be honest, he hadn't been there at all. But Beca didn't want to wreck her mother's hopes, so she just went with it, "Yeah, it will be cool. I mean, I will be cool. And stuff. It'll be fine". A weak, awkward smile formed on Beca's face. 

"Let's get you out of here, lazy thing", Martha Mitchell pulled her daughter out of her bed, Beca mumbling. "I got it, I got it, I got it, I can do it myself, thanks. 10 minutes and I'll be ready", the girl dragged herself out of bed, still wearing her gray pajamas. "Could you please take one of my suitcases with you as you go downstairs? I don't want to kill myself before college is given the opportunity of doing so", she laughed. Her mother got the sarcasm, and laughed, too. "Of course, darling".

Now alone in her room, Beca grabbed the clothes - a pair of black, ripped jeans, a claret lace tank top and a gray gilet - which she had prepared on her chair the previous day, and she dragged herself inside the bathroom. As promised, 10 minutes later she was ready, her eyes perfectly contoured by black eye-liner and pencil, her beloved ear piercings on. Her hair was softly pulled  back with a hair clip. 

"Your taxi is here, Beca!", she heard her mother yelling from downstairs. 

"Comin'!!", she yelled back. 

"Are you sure it's okay for you to get there by taxi? Don't you want a lift?", Martha wondered as soon as Beca was in front of her, sweetly touching her daughter's cheek. 

"It's fine, you'd be late and couldn't catch your flight", she reassured her, smirking. 

"Okay, if you say so, boss... Oh, don't forget these!", her mother's hand moving from her cheek to the nearest small table, grabbing a black pair of professional headphones, "If I know you right, which I'm pretty sure I do, you'd be lost without them", she winked. A smile widened on Beca's face as she pulled Martha into a tight hug, "Thanks. I love you, mom, I will call you tonight". 

Martha smiled. She loved how every now and then her daughter let down her guard and let the walls around her crack a little. One of the deepest hope she had, was that Beca could find someone - a boyfriend, a girlfriend, friends, whatever - who could make her exit her comfort zone. Someone who could really get her.

Beca ran towards the taxi, her hands busy with the luggage. She turned to her mother, still on the doorstep, and she blew a kiss to her. 

A new, important phase of her life was about to begin. 

During the taxi ride - the journey wasn't supposed to be long, 50 - 55 minutes at the most - Beca pulled out of her bag her lap top, a Mac Book Pro she had bought herself the summer before as a gift for graduating. That PC was great for its purpose: mixing music and producing high quality mixes. And that's exactly what Beca had in mind to do while waiting for her destination to get closer: a few days before she was listening to the radio and a song came up, which she hadn't heard in a long time, "Bust A Move", by Young MC and she was working on its mix.

Beca was extremely talented: she had excellent hearing, she knew which songs could perfectly fit together as soon as she heard the chord progression. Her knowledge of music was astonishing: it ranged from the most popular bands - Arctic Monkeys, Radiohead, Red Hot Chili Peppers - to the lesser known as such - Tame Impala, Vows, and so on. She couldn't tell if she had a favorite genre, she loved every song from every time period. Except maybe for classical music, yeah, that wasn't her forte.

Her fingers were skillfully running on the keyboard, lowering and increasing pitches and tones. She smiled to herself. She was always happy when she mixed music: she liked to imagine herself at a kick-ass event, DJing and making a living out of it; or, again, that she moved to L.A. and, once gotten there, she would pursue a career as a music producer for a well-known record-company. 

Her mix was ready. She had been working on it for several days, and now she could get to listen to it. She put her headphones on  - 'How could I nearly forget them?!' - and she pressed play. 

It was great. Beca never said it out loud - she was pretty humble and she thought that nobody could actually care for her music - but she knew it was. "Bust A Move" had found its soulmate, "212", by Azealia Banks, the pitches perfectly aligned, not a flaw could be found. Satisfied with herself, Beca smirked and played the song again and again, until she could finally see the green meadows of Barden University welcoming her from afar.