Megan had never been this terrible.

She had, in fact, but Drake had gone so long without having to deal with one of her pranks that they seemed to pale in comparison. The time she had set his guitar on fire, the time she had put a pregnant sheep in his care and Josh's, even the time she got them back for killing her hamster by not getting them at all- regardless of the fact the hamster was alive- faded in Drake's memory as he stared at himself in the mirror.

How dare she.

How dare she.

"JADE!" Drake slammed the door of his bedroom, shouting for his room mate. They had been living together for a week already with no major collisions. He had foolishly hoped things would work out all right. Despite her edgy nature, she had seemed to keep to herself. Drake had been able to focus on music and working on new songs while she had gone and done whatever she usually did during the day. Maybe she went to work. Maybe she served the devil. Drake couldn't have guessed before, but judging by his rude awakening this morning, he believed it to be the latter.

"Jade!" He called again, searching the apartment. "Where are you?"

She was on the couch, sitting cross legged in his favorite spot. Her silver laptop was open to a website dedicated to scissors. Drake would never understand her obsession with them, or why a particularly shiny pair hung on the wall over her bed.

Her bedroom was terrifying. The first thing she had done when moving in was paint the walls and ceiling black, throwing a vibrant purple carpet on the floor afterwards. Drake never went in there, but he occasionally caught a glimpse of it when she left the door open. He steered very clear of her space.

"What?" she asked with a smirk. "Nice look." Her eyes laughed as she surveyed his hair. Her own personal work of art, her victory. It really captured the anger in his brown eyes well. "You look nice today."

"What is wrong with you?" Drake snapped. "I have a meeting today!"

"Wear a hat." Jade shrugged. She turned back to her computer. Drake was boring her.

"Jade." He growled. "Fix it."

"It's just hair dye." She purred. "You should be able to do it yourself."

Drake glared at her, his eyes narrowed. He drummed his fingers on the table. "Dye it back. I'm meeting with the president of the record company today."

Jade looked up blankly. She blinked once, uninterested, before looking back at her screen. "And maybe you should have remembered that before last week."

"Last week-?"

Drake racked his brains. The only thing that had happened a week ago was the first night Jade stayed with him. He couldn't remember anything out of the ordinary happening.

She sighed. "Idiot. You probably forgot."

"What are you talking about?" a very furious Drake demanded.

"You ate my sushi." Jade hissed. "Don't eat my sushi." She stood from the couch, her irritation returning to her gaze. She stared Drake down. He took a nervous step back. "I was hot. And gross from moving. I wanted a nice dinner after I took my shower. But when I came back, my sushi was gone. That made me angry. Angry enough-"

"To kill?" Drake asked, hoping he hadn't been poisoned.

"To dye." She smirked, playing on words. "I hope you enjoyed that sushi. Was it worth having a head like an overgrown grape?" Jade's eyes gleamed with evil pride. "Don't worry, it will was out."

"When?" Drake demanded.

"In a week. Or a month. Or two. I just can't remember what strength I used." Jade said. "I'm going out. Good luck at your meeting."

With a little wave of her fingers, she took the keys to her Chevy and left, closing the door behind her. Drake threw his hands up in frustration, at a loss for ideas.

"I'm screwed." He said to himself in the mirror. "I'm completely, totally screwed."

Drake wanted to be a rockstar. It was what he craved. It was what he worked his entire life for. He liked the image that he had built. He didn't want to be known as the guy with the purple hair.

No. No. No.

Grumbling, Drake headed for the bathroom. His intent was to wash his hair as many times as it took to rid himself of that horrible purple dye. The water was hot as it hit his skin, and he squeezed shampoo into his hand, finally feeling calmer. He relaxed as he washed his hair a few times, even singing to himself as he saw purple soap bubbles swirl down the drain.

After the fifteenth time, he shut the water off and stepped out, feeling relieved. Drake rubbed the condensation from the steam off of the mirror, eager to see his hair its natural color once again.

He screamed.

The pigment had been in his shampoo.

He had only made it worse.