The day seemed to go as always, she would write and correct articles, instead of writing them; she would say hello to her chief, and she would find a white rose, mysteriously decorated with a pink ribbon, in the office mail.
What was something new, was that her chief summoned her in his office.
—Sorry for calling you so suddenly, but we have to talk. I'm going straight to the point, finally, the singer and bassist, Marceline Abadeer, has accepted our interview.
She shuddered from head to toe when she heard that name that she had tried to erase of her memory, brain, heart, and skin many times, at the same time, she swallowed and started to sweat cold. How could just a name put her on the ropes?
—Are you okay? —asked her boss, showing worry in his voice.
—Yeah, it's nothing. Go on, please.
—Well, when I received that news, I tough about you as the perfect reporter for this special edition of our magazine, «Rock & Love». You will interview her daily routine for three months. Got it?
—It will be such an honor, chief! Thanks for trusting me. «I won't let her ruin my life. This's a unique opportunity. » tough for herself.
—That's perfect because she is waiting for us in the conference room. Come on.
There they were again, in front of each other. None believed that they would meet again and, even less in that situation. They were fire and ice, yin and yang, debauchery and formality, in short, the Rockstar, Marceline Abadeer and the princess of a kingdom come down, Bonnibel Bubblegum.
Fate's coincidences like those caused that ex-lovers, whose paths separated a long time ago, met again for something as trivial as an interview for the magazine for which Bonnie worked. She was a princess, but she always showed interest in journalism, and well, in science too, being science more like a job and journalism, a hobby.
Marceline kept up just like she remembered. Her skin was so pale that it touched he bluish white, her eyes blue-grey, her long bluish black hair, silky and messy that reached her ankles, her perfect white teeth, her well-proportioned and sensual figure and her neck tattoo with the mark of fangs, due to her passion for vampires.
And Bonnibel, a young woman of distinguished appearance that contrasted with the carefree nature of the brunette with pale and pink skin, eyes of a strange violet color, long pink hair and her curves were concealed by loose clothes.
In that room contrasted their clothes, based on a denim jacket, a grey shirt, dark blue jeans and a handkerchief tied to the neck, in case of Marceline; and a pink dress with magenta heels, in case of «her majesty»
—Well, Ms. Abadeer, here is who will be in charge of her interview.
—I've heard that this's her first interview as principal editor. I'll do everything that was on my hands to facilitate her task. —talked with her deep and sensual voice.
«She seemed another person, maybe she had changed since last time. »
—It will be a pleasure to work with you. —said the pink-haired, holding out her hand for a professional handshake.
—The pleasure's mine. —whispered at the same time that she linked her cold hand with the hot one of the reporter.
DAY 1
The journalist wore more casual with loose clothing, although it was still pastel. She was thinking about last day, it was really strange that Marceline had forgotten everything because it was her fault that they broke up. She hurt her and received a heart-breaking scream, well, better said, a big scream of a broken-heart woman «DON'T YOU DARE TO APPEAR IN MY LIFE AGAIN!» as a goodbye. People could change and mature, don't they?
She arrived at her home at the agreed time, she hadn't change of residence and to re-enter that house in which they had shared so many intimate moments, made her feel strange, mixing anguish and nostalgia. Everything would end if she rang the bell, that's what she thought. She rang for many times, but she didn't find a response.
«Maybe she has gone to do some errands? »
The question resolved itself when a voice sound on the other side of the doorbell.
—Who is it?
—Marceline, it is me. Could you open the door?
—That's strange, what're you doing here? I thought you liked to run away from your problems. —spoke with a cold voice.
She didn't understand anything. Were all the smiles and the cordiality a performance?
—Could you open to argue like normal people?
—Oh, honey, we aren't normal people. I remember making it very clear that I didn't want to see you wrapped up in my life.
—It is not about us!
—I think that it's about YOU and ME. Renounce to that job, or maybe you prefer doing your coverage about the materials of my home door? —said with a cynical and distant voice.
—I'm not joking, Marceline! I love my job and I don't want you or anybody to ruin this opportunity!
—Me neither. «Let's see if what you love's your work or the fame you've lost. »
—Well, will you open to me? You know better than anyone what I am capable of.
—Okay, I'll open because I don't want the neighbours to start thinking bad.
After a long sigh, the door opened revealing the dark-haired woman, dressed up with a black and red checkered shirt, grey jeans and black Converse. Her hair was wet and messy, and her characteristic perfume of chocolate and coffee delighted the nose of the journalist.
—Is there something in your closet that isn't pastel?
—Is there something in yours that is not red or dark?
—Touche. Well, come in, you know the way to the salon with your eyes closed. I'm gonna make some drinks, coffee or tea? Don't answer, I know what you're gonna say, you want an Earl Grey with milk, am I wrong?
—You know me good… —whispered to herself.
—Of course, I do. Don't get me wrong, it's just a matter of courtesy, you insisted a lot on that.
Everything was the same, nothing had changed, except the amount of gold and platinum discs, and the music awards that were exposed on the walls and the chimney.
The young woman of violet eyes settled into one of the leather armchairs, her armchair, caressing its surface, as if doing so, she would be forgiven for all her mistakes. She opened her laptop and started writing, focus on the description of the room that she knew so well. However, something got her out of her thoughts, the sound of the plastic tray being left delicately on the glass of the coffee table.
Bonnie looked up from the keyboard and started to smile when she saw that the musician was using the set of cups and teapot that she gave her, and moreover, Marceline had brought tea pastes.
—Don't give yourself any illusions, I don't want you to describe me as a bad hostess.
—Yeah? Well, fifteen minutes ago, it seemed the opposite.
—I was just testing your determination. —she excused herself, drinking of her cup of coffee without sugar.
—Can we start the interview? It is not just about relationships, it will be based on your likes, hobbies…
—I think that you know me enough to write that by yourself. Let's make a deal if you write that, I read it tomorrow and you aren't wrong in anything, I'll let you come along with me on my matutine jogging. —said at the same time that she got up.
—That is all?
—Yep, I've got to get ready, I've a date with my boyfriend.
—Boyfriend?!
—Bonnie, you're jealous, don't you? —joked with a malicious smile on her lips.
—ME?! Jealous of YOU? NEVER, in your dreams. I am just surprised, I am going to write it on my article.
—Do what you want, just go. See you tomorrow.