"Alright. Stay here, okay, hon? I'll go get my stuff," Chloe suggested, though it felt like an order. Her piercing gaze was the one that made me follow against my will. She opened the door and sashayed out of my dressing room to God knows where, leaving me sitting on the make up chair, dazed and confused.

When the door clicked close, I slumped into my chair and felt weak. Physically, emotionally, mentally weak. Series of questions flowed inside my brain, and I couldn't help thinking them.

Why the heck is Chloe here?

What's up with Chloe and Nath? Did they have some sort of history together? If so, why wasn't it exposed to the public? Usually, celebrity relationships instantly become an issue after a few weeks!

Does Adrien really has amnesia?

The last question raised a million more, which made my heart and head ache. No one even bothered to tell me before. When and how did he get it? I placed both of my hands on my head and let out a silent scream, because my goodness, this is too overwhelming. And morning hasn't even ended yet.

"Could this day get any worse?" I groaned and leaned on the make-up table. I shrieked when I saw Chloe standing beside me, arms crossed. "Chloe! How long have you been standing there? You scared the crap out of me!"

She ignores me and waved her hand back and forth, gesturing me to lean away from the table. "Shoo."

The way she did it was annoying, but I followed anyway. I adjusted myself to feel comfortable, despite the fact that my high school enemy was sitting with legs crossed on top of my make-up table in front of me. Her eyes were as cold as ice, but as pretty as snow, which captivates most guys. But I noticed that the more you look into it, you'll see sadness hidden deep inside.

As she began to zip open a beige colored pouch, I shifted in my seat. Being alone in a room with her made me feel uneasy. I still had a lot of questions about her, but I don't think she'll acknowledge them, even listen to them. She probably wouldn't even let me speak.

Rummaging through her beige pouch, she spoke, stealing glances every second, "Mari, you haven't changed at all! You still look like a . . . a child."

Is that a compliment or an insult? I couldn't tell. Could be a compliment because we're already basically adults, and looking young is definitely a good feature. But looking too young—to the point of looking like a child—is most probably an insult.

Well, that's Chloe, so it's most probably an insult.

"Thanks," I awkwardly said. Thanks? Really?

Chloe takes out an expensive bottle of foundation and places it next to my face, then studies me. "Hm. Not your shade."

I stayed there in silence as she took out a rather big pink pouch, then starts to search for something inside. Probably another foundation that matches my shade.

"Hey, Chloe?" I finally managed to say. I played with my fingers as I waited for her to reply.

"Yes, hon?" She continues to search for make-up in her bag, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration. "Where the hell is it?"

"Uh," I muttered, "Since when were you a make-up artist?"

There was a long pause before she takes out something from the bag, raising it up with a smile of victory. "Aha!" she exclaimed while looking at the bottle of foundation, then looks at me and flips her blonde hair over her shoulder. "I'm not a make-up artist."

My breath hitched. She's not a make-up artist? Then why the fuuuuuck is she here? It wasn't long when I had come to a conclusion that she really was here to ruin my life. What else would she do except that? Showing up without any warning in my dressing room? Definitely up for something.

I snapped out of my thoughts when I heard Chloe laugh out of the blue.

"What's with that face, hon?" she asks, shaking the bottle of foundation, her icy blue eyes sparkling with the lights of the vanity mirror behind her.

"Nothing," I replied.

Her laughter slowly died down as she studies me.

"You're scared of me, aren't you?"

Well, who wouldn't be? This is Chloe Bourgeois, the female terminator of our high school, the Queen Bee of the showbiz industry, and my biggest bully in my high school years. Of course I'd be scared.

And she's apparently not a professional make-up artist, but claimed to be my make-up artist, which makes it even scarier. What if she put something horrible in those products to make me look like a witch instead of a female heroine, which would be the cause of the downfall of my career, which has barely even started?

What if she and Adrien came up with a plan to trick me again? Maybe Adrien didn't really have amnesia, and they're just trying to make me fall into a dark pit once more and laugh. Did Adrien tell Chloe about . . . about us before, then? And she'd think it would be funny to make me think that what happened before was all a horrible mistake because Adrien has "amnesia"?

My heart squeezed. That was too much. I'm even too tired now to even think of insults to say at that yellow gorilla breakfast today. I don't think he'd even be worth of my time anymore.

When I didn't answer, Chloe sighed and puts down the bottle of foundation. I noticed that her eyes were still cold, but they were genuine.

"I understand. But I changed, Marinette. For the better. Before, I was destroying you, but I didn't realize that I was . . . destroying myself as well," she bites her lower lip and nervously plays with her hair. "That's why I fixed myself. It took some time, but eventually it was worth it. I lost a few precious people—"

She stopped talking, her eyes losing its piercing color as it began to droop in sadness, and took a deep breath. I had a feeling that I knew who she meant by precious people, but I kept my mouth shut. I didn't want to push it. Besides, I'm pretty sure it would only end up hurting me even more.

She continues, "—anyway, that's why now, I'm making it up to you."

"Making it up to me?"

"Yeah," she nods, looks at me, then gives a sad smile. She looked so sincere I almost didn't believe her, but this was Chloe. She'd never speak about "making it up", since her ego was too huge to say those words, let alone be genuine about them. But this Chloe Bourgeois in front of me was entirely different from the Chloe before.

"I volunteered yesterday to be your make-up artist. I paid your previous one to make her agree," she said so casually, despite the fact that she probably paid huge to make someone agree to be replaced to a big job.

I probably looked flabbergasted, with my mouth opened wide, my jaw literally felt like it was going to drop on the floor. She ignored me.

"Besides, I know what suits you best," she shrugs and picks up the foundation bottle. She turned back to the confident, powerful Chloe as she looked at me with her ice cold gaze.

"Trust me. I've been observing you in high school. I've always wanted to give you a makeover or something, but nope. At that time, I was strongly afraid of social suicide. So I tried correcting you through insults, but you wouldn't budge. You were just utterly ridiculous," she scoffs as she slowly put some foundation on a make-up sponge.

I stayed quiet as I tried to process her words. She's been observing me in high school?

"I've seen your designs before, though," she continued, patting the soft sponge on my face, "When I grabbed ahold of your sketchpad. They were amazing. I wondered why you couldn't wear them yourself."

My jaw clenched as my eyes widened in shock. Even though that was years ago, it still felt like she basically invaded my privacy. My sketchpad was like my diary, which held my precious designs from the heart that were meant to be secret, and she grabbed ahold of it?

WHAT THE FUCK.

I took a deep breath to calm myself down. I couldn't afford to yell at her now, since she was doing my make-up. If she was going to make it look bad, might as well avoid her making it worse.

"You've . . . seen my sketchpad?"

She nods, oblivious to my mad expression. "Yeah. You were so clumsy, you left it at my desk once. Or twice?" her face softened as she lets out an amused laugh, her eyes sparkling with nostalgia. "But don't worry, I wasn't evil enough to share them to everyone. High school Chloe Bourgeois actually had a conscience."

I was mad, alright, but thankful. She didn't have the right to meddle with my things—specifically my sketchpad—like that. But she didn't let anyone else look at it, which I'm really grateful for. Guess she wasn't that bad after all.

She shakes her head and puts down the sponge, then looks back at me again. Her gaze turned ice cold again, as if one second of vulnerability was too much for her to handle. It was then when I realized that this girl was fragile, so fragile that one little flick would make her break; but she hides it with pure ice, so cold that no one would even dare touch.

"Anyway, you got any more questions?" she asks as she picks up a small, cylindrical container, with the word 'CONCEALER' written on it in perfect cursive.

Questions. I have millions of them, but I can only ask a few. One question immediately popped up and stood out the most in my mind that I was sure she could answer.

"You—" I paused, my voice cracking. "—you said Adrien had . . . amnesia."

Oh god here we go, I thought, mentally preparing myself for whatever she'll say. I almost wanted to get up from the chair and run away as fast as I could, but what good will it make? Besides, I doubt anyone would want to see a random girl running in the streets with dots of concealer on her eyebags.

Chloe nods as she professionally blends in the concealer on my face with her fingers. "Yeah. I can't believe you had no idea! Back in high school, I was so jealous, you know? You and Adrien were, like, inseparable. You guys were high school swe—"

"—Okay, yeah," I spoke, cutting her off, almost choking on my own saliva. My heart began to beat faster. "But, no one told me about his amnesia. And I'm sure it wasn't reported in the news."

She shrugs, then searches for something in her pink pouch. "I mean, I kinda understand. His father didn't want to make it public, but it was everywhere on the Internet. But I thought that someone actually told you. You deserved to know."

The fact that she talked about this so casually scared me. It was as if her close friends normally gets amnesia and she was used to hearing news about something that's basically brain damage and death. I shuddered.

"Uh, but his memories can return, right?" I asked.

I immediately wanted to throw myself off a cliff after realizing that I sounded so stupid. It's been years, and he clearly said and acted like he really didn't know who I was. That was enough evidence that his memories wouldn't return.

Marinette you dumbass.

Chloe chuckles as she opens an eyeshadow palette. "How . . . cute," she says, though I know she wanted to say stupid. "But I guess you've got a point. He's actually been getting memories prior to his amnesia, but they're really vague. He'd forget about it after a few days though."

"He has retrograde amnesia," she continues, emphasizing the term, as if I was supposed to know what it meant. When she realized that I didn't (oops), she rolls her eyes. "It means it's permanent. He may remember some stuff, but it's actually pretty useless since it's not the full memory. Get what I mean? I wouldn't be surprised if he said he didn't remember you; he told me that as well."

"If only I had known."

I immediately regretted saying it. If only I had known, then what? What the hell would I do? Thinking of Nathaniel, the precious tomato boy, I felt my chest tighten.

"I know, right?" Chloe sighs, "what could have been, huh? But you're with Nath now, right? Take good care of him, hon. He's a big softie."

Sadness was evident in her voice. She hid it well with her icy gaze, but I heard it. I heard the longing, the regret, and the heartbreak in just a few sentences. It was as if she had something with Nathaniel, and when she realized that he and I were together, she decided to let it go. It hurt her, but she didn't want to show.

I felt mad. I wanted to slap her, scream at her, and kick her out of my dressing room for having feelings for my boyfriend. But I knew better. She was letting him go because he was already with someone else, and I respected her for that. She really has changed a lot. Guilt washed over my anger and I gave her a genuine smile.

"I will," I promised. She looked shocked by my confidence in my reply, but she smiled back, as if saying: thank you.

My stomach churned. I was frozen on my seat as she continued to work on my make-up in an unusually comfortable silence. I couldn't think straight; I was still processing everything that I've heard within this morning.

I felt scared. I didn't want to sleep later at night, because I had a really bad feeling that this day would be the last good day in my life. And I didn't like that. But then I remembered Nathaniel, and suddenly everything was alright.

I had Nath, and that was enough. I just need the answers, and everything will be okay.

Yeah.

All is well.

But something told me that I was just lying to myself.

×××

The day passed like a blur. I wasn't in the mood, which resulted in lots of cuts, reshooting, and a lot of apologizing.

Nathaniel would casually give me kisses on the cheek and gentle hand squeezes for comfort when he saw how distracted and tired I was, which pulled on my heartstrings and made me feel a whole lot better.

Adrien, on the other hand, continued to tease me about being Britney Spears, but stopped when he realized that I wasn't okay. He even glared at the staff who tried to take the last donut and gave the last piece to me, saying that I looked like I was the mother of death.

I went home earlier than usual, because I felt exhausted. My mind was a mess and my heart is in chaos.

The yellow gorilla meal was starting to confuse me. At first, he'd insult me here and there, and then he'd start to act like he genuinely cares for me. It annoyed me.

As soon as Alya entered the apartment, she saw my zombie-like face and grabbed the Pringles from the kitchen.

"Okay. Girl, spill," she says, sitting down beside me as she opened the can. "I'm all ears."

I sighed as I took a piece from the can and ate it. I proceeded to tell her everything, without filter, because this was Alya. I trust her with everything, and so does she.

I told her about the donuts, the amnesia, the sudden appearance of Chloe Bourgeois, and everything else. She looked so focused as she nods here and then, taking a piece from the Pringles can and eating it in a rather fast pace, which kinda worried me.

"Why does it affect you so much?" Alya asks when I finally finished.

"What?"

"Adrien's amnesia. I mean, yeah, you guys were like high school sweethearts. You were drop dead in love with him, and so was he, so everyone thought you guys were together. But is there something more that you should tell me?" she asks, looking straight into my eyes.

Then I had a sudden realization that Alya had no idea. Nobody knew about the secret between Adrien and I. But I have to tell her now; I couldn't keep it any longer. Out of all people, Alya was the one who deserved to know.

"Yeah. About that," I cleared my throat, avoiding eye contact. "We . . . we actually were . . . together."

"What!" she exclaimed, her hazel brown eyes widening in shock.

"Yeah," I bit my lower lip, trying to stop myself from crying. I would finally be able to tell Alya, but she'd be so hurt by the fact that I hadn't even bothered to let her know. "He was my boyfriend for two years."

"Two years."

". . .yeah."

"And you didn't tell me."

"I'm sorry."

She puffs her cheeks and crossed her arms. She looked really, really mad, but she was also hurt. I understood.

"We had an agreement," I managed to say, after a long pause.

"An agreement?"

"Yeah. I can explain."

Alya scoffs and adjusted her position on the bed. She wasn't eating the Pringles anymore.

"Please do."

As I recalled the events from a few years back, my heart began to ache. Tears pricked my eyes when I suddenly felt the pain from before. I thought I've already moved on. I thought I've forgotten how it threw poisoned swords in my heart, rotting it forever.

But the pain and the wound was still fresh.

I took a deep breath.

Here we go.