Someone to stay

~ It's not right, but It's (not) Okay ~

Pov Beca

Breathe. In and out. It's not difficult. I just need to focus on my breath and everything will be fine, right? God, I feel like dying. And if everything goes wrong? If no one shows up? If I can't speak, let alone sing? What should I do? For God's sake, I'm only a few hours away from the concert and I don't feel ready at all. I'm going to suck, it's going to be so pitiful that my boss will fire me on the spot, the tour will be cancelled and I'll end up working in some fast food restaurant, dragging the stench of fried food behind me for all eternity. 

- Oh shit..

I whisper, bringing my hands to my forehead so that I can slowly rub my head in, in some attempt to calm down. I'm already at The Forum, in my dressing room, waiting for the team to come and dress me, which I sincerely did not consider necessary. But never go up against Blake. She had already organized everything for months and although I opposed it with all my energy, she did not want to hear any reason. Especially since the concert will be streamed live to multiple television channels. In a nutshell, they did things in a huge way, so as not to increase the weight of the expectations that everyone has for this event. And that I have.

Nobody tells you how to handle these situations. All this anxiety. No one had warned me that I would feel that way. I feel as if at any moment I can throw electric shocks even if I just move my finger. Of course, there are psychologists, therapists, breathing exercises, and all those things that are supposed to help you stop the massive stone that is slipping down to end up straight on your chest, but unfortunately, sometimes it's not enough. And you find yourself in your dressing room staring at the mirror, with all these lights on the sides that God only knows what they're for, dwelling on everything that's happened and how I ended up in this chair. It all seems so crazy to me. 

I haven't been able to sit still for three days. If I am standing, I walk back and forth to make a hole in the floor, if I am sitting my legs move as if they had their own life, I can't say that I slept because, who do I want to kid? If I have 3 hours of sleep in 3 days is too much. I am a concentration of anxiety and caffeine, and you know, do not get along very well together. Amy also moved in to watch me, she was a tracker. I can say that I only managed to eat thanks to her, otherwise at the moment I would have my stomach full only of air. I really don't even know how to thank her. I'm cranky, not that I'm not usually so, but in these situations I'm 100 times worse. I've certainly sent more people to hell in these last hours than I can in a year. It can also be said that I don't talk but growl. I don't even know how they can stand me.

The guys, then, are the ones who are suffering the worst of the worst. I can't even count how many insults I threw at Tom and Duck, and my glances at Alex and Sam. I just call them dicks who don't even know what the rhythm is, but they're actually terrific. They are very good and above all, they have an endless patience. And I'm putting it to the test. At least I have to give a holiday to each of them after the end of the tour. If they manage to survive a wild Beca in conditions of hysterism and irritability. 

It just seems so unreal to me. I haven't realized yet that it's happening to me. A girl from Oregon, Astoria. I think this is one of those important events to celebrate in the family, those of which a parent feels his chest swollen with pride. And the only figure closest to a parent I had was Sabrina. Surely if she had been here she would have called me Kid once again, giving me the nerves, she would have told me not to become a big-headed person and that she would have burned down anyone who dared to boo a song of mine during the concert. Just like someone who really cares about you would. I wish she could see all this. She would be proud, I think.

These are the moments when I really wish she hadn't gotten involved in that bad stuff, that she hadn't been buried under a foot and a half of land in New York and that she hadn't been in touch with me after she'd left. I'd like someone to say "my girl did it, she did it. I'm so proud of her", in the same way that you would boast of a freshly graduated son. I don't know what it's like, but I get the impression it's a good feeling. I know for a fact that I'm lucky to have someone by my side anyway, that I'm not alone, on the contrary. The Bellas and the others are my family, the only one that can be called such. But I always feel that there is something missing. Or maybe it's just the moment and I'm getting very influenced by the anxiety and the spasmodic need to have someone to reassure me. Come on Beca. It's always been you and yourself.