hey guys!
thank you for all your reviews, as always 3
this chapter is complicated to read, i warn you. if you're not comfortable with it, don't oblige yourself.
happy reading anyway!
tw: sexual assault
Marinette has forgotten about everything.
For a minute, maybe two. Forgotten about the threatening glance Adam shot her when Adrien wasn't looking. Forgotten that Alya and Tikki have stolen his phone. Forgotten everything in between—Alya succeeding in convincing Nino to help them unlock it, the erased video, the way they ensured there wasn't any replica.
She has forgotten Hawk Moth's ambient threat, too. This momentary blank ensues the forgetting of Chat Blanc, of her nightmares and of the terror that they could become reality.
Marinette is even early to her training. After putting shorts and a tank top on, she begins to walk towards the gym, telling herself she can warm up while waiting for the rest of the team.
A smile is floating on her lips when she raises her hands to gather up her hair. Her thoughts are entirely focused on Adrien, on the coming night.
Of course, she's nervous about what she has to tell him—so nervous that she hasn't been able to sleep more than three hours straight last night. But during these few minutes of peace, she doesn't think about it anymore. She just thinks about dinner on Paris' rooftops and kisses at the top of the Eiffel Tower.
Marinette tightens her hair band before stretching out her right hand in front of her. Her smile turns to a grin when her eyes settle on that ring. It's so unique, so meaningful.
There are few things that Marinette is quite sure of. But she's certain of this: she's going to keep this ring for the rest of her life—if Adrien is okay with it. Whatever happens next, this jewel will stay around her finger.
Always.
Marinette's cry gets lost in her throat when a hand abruptly grabs her wrist, pulling her with a strength as sudden as it is rough.
All oxygen is thrown out from her lungs when her back strongly hits a wall. Her head bangs against it, too, sending her a painful shock through her entire body.
When she opens her eyes, a dreadful shiver prevents her from breathing.
"Marinette," Adam whispers.
The hand grabbing her wrist is quickly joined by the second one, holding both of her wrists on either side of her head.
He seems anxious. The awful smirk is still at the corner of his lips but it's even scarier than usual. This time, he seems angry.
It's at this moment that Marinette starts to freak out.
To really freak out.
"You think it's funny?" he asks, his face too close to hers, his fingers squeezing too hard around her wrists. His voice is barely louder than a whisper, a breath against her skin. "Being picky? Taunting me, all the time, everyday? Playing the perfect girl that everybody loves? Is that funny to you?"
"What are you—"
Her words are muffled in a painful moan when his nails sink into her wrist, his body ever closer to hers.
"I do the talking."
She can feel his warmth, can see the flash of anger and fear shining in his eyes. "Marinette Dupain-Cheng," he breathes. "Perfect."
Oh, how she hates this word.
"Good grades, on the track team, kind, cheerful, always ready to help others."
Marinette feels her pouls beats against her temples.
"Adrien Agreste. Good grades, on the fencing team, kind, cheerful, always ready to help others." A bitter laugh escapes Adam's lips. "It's fucking annoying. All this perfection."
This illusory perfection. This perfection, full of challenges and doubts and questions and years spent in a heartache. This perfection, which is, actually, not perfect at all.
"You know, I spent my teens being compared to him. Better than me at fencing, better than me as a model, prefered by everyone. Preferred by you."
Marinette thinks back about what Alya said: He's probably jealous of Adrien. Because everybody loves him, because he's rich, because he's pretty… and because perfect people are annoying.
"I could have played fair. I could have given the best of myself, you know? But it never worked out. He always found a way to win."
Marinette wants to say that she's not some trophy to win, but words don't want to form on her lips.
"So, I thought that I was gonna do it in my own way. But he always had the upper hand."
She wants to get out. Regain the use of her muscles and go away, far away from here.
"When I heard you, that day…"
Far, far away.
"I wanted to be him so much," he whispers, his mouth close to her ear.
A shiver of repugnance runs down her back.
"But I knew I couldn't. That it would never be the same, at least."
Marinette remembers the video when she had found it on Adam's phone. Thankfully, there was nothing to see. Only the locker room. He hadn't been really filming them.
But the sound says quite enough.
"You didn't tell him, did you?"
She doesn't answer—what can she say?—and a grin curls Adam's lips.
He nods, freeing her wrists. A relieved sigh raises her chest. Her arms weakly fall back against her quivering body when Adam turns around. Every muscle of his back is tensed and drops of sweat are running down his neck.
He's nervous.
Marinette makes the most of his position to walk to the door with light steps, trying to be as discreet as possible despite the fear which makes her legs shake.
"I can't say if I find you pretty smart for succeeding in erasing that video or if…"
Her hand settles on the door handle. She just has to turn it and she would be out. Then, she just has to run, run fast and far and—
"Or if I find you incredibly stupid."
Everything happens fast.
The gaze she feels on her. The door opening. Hope making her heart beat. A dazzling pain. The door closing. Her back hitting the wall again. Hope which gives way only to a desperate terror.
"Why did you do that?" he asks in a shaky voice. "Why?"
He doesn't talk about her escape attempt. She can see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice, feel it in his nervousness that he's not only talking about that.
"You could've talked to him, you should have talked to him. He could've done something, kept us far away from each other and the temptation wouldn't have been so strong. Why did you have to keep it a secret and erase that video?"
The tragic tone of his words makes his gaze look blurry. Tears, there are tears running from his eyes.
"Why," he whispers, letting his forehead fall against her shoulder, "why…"
Here again, she knows that the meaning of his words is deeper. It's not only about her. It's years of suffering, she can hear it in his voice.
But Marinette doesn't give a damn right now. Not when she feels his hands slide down her waist, fall against her hips. Not when she feels his mouth so close to her ear.
Not when her own tears are still salty on her lips.
Her brain, clouded by fear, keeps reminding her how desperate the situation is. She can't do anything.
She can't yell. Because, firstly, it's useless, there's no one in the building—the one time she's early—and mostly because she can't. Her vocal cords are knotted, her throat so tight it's becoming painful.
She can't transform. Because Tikki is in her purse, in the locker room, and not with her. She always stays there during training. And especially because she must not transform.
Either she cries to her kwami to transform her—on the basis that the words agree to come out from her lips and that Tikki isn't too far away—or she lets Adam do… whatever the hell he intends to do to her.
It's like choosing between cholera and the plague.
So, Marinette tries a desperate call to her frozen muscles, to her paralyzed joints and to her petrified brain. Move. Move, move, move.
It's painful and her leg seems incredibly heavy, but she succeeds in launching her knee between his thighs. Her blow is intense enough to drag a moan from him and makes him loosen his hold on her body.
Marinette, her eyes blurred, lets the mix of distress and hope take control of her movements. She crashes her knee against his crotch again, using all the strength she can. His nails sink into her thighs when he falls on the ground, scratching her skin.
Her brain is so focused on this need to escape that it's preventing her from feeling any pain. Everything she feels is a primitive fear.
Marinette throws herself on the door. She would usually be faster, but her movements are slowed by her heavy and inflexible muscles.
A cry at the edge of a sob escapes her when Adam's hand grabs her ankle, strongly enough to destabilize her. Her knee violently hits the ground—she can imagine the pain.
At that very moment, Marinette's mind detaches from her body. It's as she lives it, anyway. She feels like she's seeing the scene as a helpless spectator.
She wants to yell. She wants to move. She wants to live.
But she can't. She can only observe.
Observe Adam standing up. Observe his hand catch her wrist, again. Observe how he abruptly throws her against the wall, again. Observe her back hit it, again. Observe the pure rage emanating from him. Observe his shaky hands rip her shirt. Observe his nails sink in her arm while he undoes his belt with his other hand.
No, she thinks, seeing Adam's finger run along her hip. She gets closer to her own body. No, she tells herself, do something. His fingers disappear inside her shorts. Fight, she orders herself.
Fight.
Her body and her mind gather all at once. She can see through her own eyes again. When she feels his fingers reach her underwear, Marinette grabs his wrist, violently sinking her nails into it.
"Let me go," she blurts out, despite the sob constricting her throat.
Adam looks up his eyes, until now hanging on her body. His hand has stilled in her shorts but the other one is still solidly holding her arm, preventing her from moving.
Marinette digs her nails into the skin of his wrist with all her might, enough to get a painful growl out of him and stop him from fighting back when she removes his hand from her shorts.
"What was I saying is," he whispers, bringing his face closer to hers, "you love it. Being picky."
Suddenly, all the fear, the despair, the pure dread, all of it turns into a monstrous rage. Marinette grabs the collar of his shirt. A smirk—the smirk—draws on Adam's lips.
"Sorry!"
Marinette jumps, turning her head towards the opened door. An amazing rush of hope blows through her body, shaking from fear and tensed from rage.
"Mari?"
Relief. Endless relief of telling herself that she will get out of here.
Adrien is here.
Marinette feels a sob of release escaping from her lips. She wants him to take her kilometers away from this room and from this person.
But the comfort that his presence brings her transforms into a whole new fear when she sees Adrien's stare meeting Adam's.
She can feel the hate radiate from them.
"Agreste," Adam says, out of breath, "come and join the party, man."
Adrien leaps to him.
Crack, sounds Adam's jaw when Adrien's fist meets it. This same noise sounds again, again and again.
The hand holding her against the wall drifts away and Marinette's legs let her fall as if her muscles have completely melted. Adrien's eyes trail back to her for a second. A second that allows her to see the terror in his eyes—so similar to the fear she has seen in her own irises a minute ago.
A second too long. A second when Adam doesn't hesitate to tear away from Adrien. He takes advantage of his momentary absent-mindedness and fights back—hard. A heartbeat later and Adrien is on the ground, Adam's foot meeting his ribs.
Marinette's body takes over her brain. She stands up way faster than her injuries allow her and throws herself on Adam. "Don't touch him!" she cries, pushing him against the opposite wall.
His jaw is already reddened and his right eye is slightly closed—it looks like Adrien hasn't been stingy with the strength of his punches.
"Marinette," Adam smiles. "Marinette," he says again, without moving. And he starts laughing. A laugh which sounds all over her body, making her shiver with horror. "Who the fuck do you think you are? Defending him, like that?"
Marinette tightens her hold around his collar, pressing him a little more against the wall, only making his smile widder. He suddenly creases his brows, his eyes darkening with genuine nastiness. "You act like his mommy. Aw, poor Adrien—"
Her fist crashes into his jaw before she has even decided it. Adam seems at least as surprised as she is.
But his surprise quickly turns into mean entertainment. "Oh-oh! So wild…"
Marinette hears Adrien get back on his feet behind her.
"By the way, Agreste," Adam says like he's talking about the weather, "I filmed you, that day, in the locker room. You know, when you fucked her." Her hand tightens around his shirt but Adam only grins more. "Yeah," he chuckles. "Oh, I listened to it so many times, imagining it was my name you were moaning, Marinette," he whispers, focusing on her again.
She doesn't know if it's because of his damn smirk, of her secret which has just been smashed to pieces or because of the shudders shaking her body, but her rage, accumulating for months, explodes at this very moment.
"I hate you!" she says in a voice she barely recognizes. "I hate you!" she screams.
Her fist hits his face, falling on his nose this time. Then a second time. The crack she hears on the third time brings her an odd feeling of satisfaction.
But her movements are becoming weaker and rougher as her sobs burst. "I hate you!" she keeps yelling when her fists feebly meet his chest.
Adam doesn't fight back. He doesn't smile, either.
"Mari," Adrien breathes.
Marinette jumps when his hand brushes her waist, backing away from him and Adam in a flash.
Tears flow, flow, flow. And her body shakes, shakes, shakes. Through her clouded eyes, Marinette looks at her crimson fist. "I hate you," she whispers.
She's not sure if she's talking about Adam or herself.
"I would like to hear your side of the story," the headteacher says.
Marinette can feel her gaze weighing on her while she persists in keeping her eyes down. One of her knees is red and more swollen than the other. And her thighs are lined with scratches.
Her hands are shaking, so are her legs. She squeezes her fists, squeezes so hard that she feels her nails into her skin. The pain is oddly peaceful. Marinette uses it as an anchor point to not think about her entire body hurting her, her brain repeating the scene again and again and the headteacher staring at her with pity.
She doesn't want any pity. She wants…
What does she want?
"Marinette," she breathes, "we don't have to do this today." Her voice is soft, almost gentle.
"No," she answers, her eyes studying her legs, "it's okay."
She can feel Adrien's stare, too. It's probably the worst of all. Worse than the stare of every student she has seen before entering the headteacher's office.
At least, she imagines it as the worst.
Her eyes haven't met his since the moment he has crashed his fist into Adam's jaw.
But she doesn't want to see this pity. Not in his eyes.
"Very well," the headteacher resumes. "I already heard Adam's version and got wind of a recording of some students. Look… I'll do everything I can to avoid sanctions on you both, but…"
Marinette squeezes her fists even more.
"I can't either turn a blind eye to Adam's state, nor the existence of this video."
The picture of Adam's broken nose brings a certain satisfaction to Marinette.
"According to him, Marinette, you're the one who—"
"It was me," Adrien abruptly says. His voice doesn't shake. "That day, when Adam filmed us…" He clears his throat, as if he wants to delay what he's going to say. "I made her do it. Marinette didn't want to do anything."
She sits up so fast that the gesture wakes up her aching back. Her face turns to Adrien's in a heartbeat.
His jaw is tense, his eyes plunged into the headteacher's. "And—"
"No," she cuts him off.
He doesn't accord her a look. "And, earlier," he resumes, "she didn't punch him, not a single time. It was only me."
"No," she says again.
He's begging the headteacher with his eyes. Begging her to accept his version.
But Marinette doesn't accept it at all. "No," she cries out. "I was consenting!"
Adrien's shoulders contract and jaw becomes even tighter.
"He's lying," Marinette breathes.
"It doesn't make any sense," Adrien keeps talking, without ever looking at her. "Look at her, she doesn't have any physical strength, she's super small. Adam knows very well how to defend himself. She could never hurt him."
The headteacher nods.
Marinette can't believe her eyes—nor her ears. "It's bullshit! Ask anyone, I'm perfectly able to defend myself—"
"I used our strength difference to force her, that day. She didn't want it."
"But…" She doesn't know what to say.
So that was what he was scheming this whole time? Since the moment students arrived in the locker room to the instant they entered this room, he hasn't said a word.
"Why are you lying," she whispers. It's not really a question.
Adrien's eyes suddenly trail back to her. There isn't any pity in them. Only anger. At Adam, at her. But mostly at himself.
Marinette feels her throat tighten.
"I'm not the one who's lying here," he answers.
The double meaning of his sentence drags a tear out of her. Marinette looks down at her legs again.
"Do you realize the consequences of what you're claiming, Adrien?"
"I do."
The headteacher isn't duped, she knows he's lying. But, in this way, Marinette will not have any vestige of this on her school records.
Adrien's father can erase pretty much all the possible sanctions with a check—she knows it, too.
But Marinette doesn't want to just get away from it. She surely doesn't want to get away with a lie.
"Very well. It's settled, then."
Her life is only a succession of repeated lies.
"Put this on."
Marinette's glance goes to Adrien as fast as a bullet. He's handing her his sweatshirt, his eyes looking anywhere except into hers.
"No."
He doesn't answer anything. Doesn't look at her. His arm stays raised to her.
"Can you at least look at me?"
His face tilts to her and Marinette immediately regrets the words that just came out from her mouth.
Anger and disappointment are fighting in his now darkened irises. "Please," he breathes.
Marinette grabs the clothing in a rough motion and slips it on, straight away overwhelmed by Adrien's smell.
Her throat painfully tightens.
The scratches on her arms are hidden, so is her ripped shirt and her revealed underwear. But she doesn't feel better for all that. The feeling of Adam's hands against her body is added to the caress of Adrien's sweatshirt against her skin. But she doesn't want to bring them together.
Ever.
Her breathing gets stuck in her throat compressed by a terrible sob. Marinette closes her eyes. She just wants to go home, roll up into a ball in her bed and turn off her brain.
For an hour, a day or the rest of her life, she's not sure anymore.
"Marinette!"
She opens her eyelids back when she hears her name. Alya and Nino are running in the hallway. The concern on their faces breaks her heart.
Neither of them ask her what happened—her expression and Adrien's are probably a sufficient clue to not ask anything.. Nino initiates a movement, as if he wants to hug her or take her hand or give any other physical contact, but Alya gently raises her arm before him, avoiding him from going further.
A gaze at her best friend has been enough for her to understand what happened.
Nino—who is always a step behind—notices the scratches on her legs and seems to realize it, too. His eyes turn from anxious to frenetic.
A door suddenly opens, and their four glances dart to Adam at the same time. Marinette observes the uncertain angle of his nose, the redness of his jaw and the swollenness of his eye for a moment.
But she looks down before he can meet her eyes—and finds herself particularly weak.
"I'm gonna kill you!"
Nino catches everyone off-guard. His reaction is so unexpected that no one has the time to prevent him from jumping on Adam.
His fist crushes on his cheekbone.
"Nino!" Alya cries out.
But he doesn't stop. It's his jaw that his fist meets next.
"Adrien! Help me!" she yells to him, her arms around Nino's waist.
"I'm not gonna stop him," he answers, as if it's extremely logical.
"Don't be stupid!" she groans when Nino keeps punching Adam.
A flash of doubt goes through Adrien's eyes. But the punching stops the moment he starts moving.
Marinette doesn't know if it's thanks to Alya or because some kind of reason returned to the surface of his mind, but Nino moves back. He shakes his fist, a painful grimace on his face, and Alya throws an undefinable look to Adrien.
Marinette feels like the world keeps moving without her. Sounds are becoming uncertain and Alya's hand on Adrien's shoulder is blurry. The stares of her friends are cloudy, so are the words that are coming out from their mouths.
"Mari?" she reads on their lips.
Her eyelids are so heavy. Her body is impossible to carry. She's hot, hot, hot.
Her senses are leaving her one by one, leaving her in a murky fog. The last thing she sees is Alya's wide-opened eyes and the last thing she feels is a pair of arms around her.
Marinette is laying down on something soft and comfy. She doesn't need to open her eyelids to know that she's at home, now.
"Thank you, Adrien. Thank you so much," she hears Sabine whisper with a quaking voice.
"I… I don't know how…" Tom stammers.
"It's okay," Adrien answers.
Everything comes back to her mind with the strength of a boomerang.
She sits back so quickly that a painful moan escapes her. The ache in her back brings tears to her eyes.
Gazes drift to her in a heartbeat.
"Are you really thanking him?"
Her dad seems to be this close to bursting into tears. Her mom hurries to her. Her eyes are glistening.
Adrien is at her side in a second. "Lay down," he whispers.
Marinette pushes him back and stands up, ignoring the nausea making her head spins. "I'm fine, okay?"
Nobody is okay. And especially not her.
Adrien is kneeling beside the couch where she was a few seconds ago, his eyes looking up at her.
"How can you let him do that without saying anything?"
No answer.
"It's bullshit, all he said! Nothing's true!"
"He protected you, Marinette. You should thank him."
"Thank him?" she repeats. "I never asked to be protected!"
"Mari—"
"No! That's not what happened at all, he shouldn't bear all the responsibility!"
"It's okay, my father will—"
"Precisely!" she yells, tears running down her cheeks.
Her eyes anchored into his, Marinette knows he understands.
His father will sort everything out, erasing all the story of his school records in two shakes of a lamb's tail, yes. But the consequences for Adrien are going to be disastrous.
If Gabriel is already cruel and tyrannical right now, what adjectives will be strong enough to describe him after he finds out about all of this?
Since the beginning, she has just wanted to protect him. If she hid from him the existence of this video, Adam's threats and Lila's contribution, it was to preserve him, him who has already so much to deal with.
The more she tries to make things right, the more the situation worsens. Until reaching this actual nightmare.
She feels useless. Useless and weak.
And stupid.
"It's a lie," she says with a little voice.
"Marinette, calm down," Sabine tells her.
"No!"
Perhaps she focuses on the rage she's feeling towards herself and towards Adrien to not think about Adam. To not think about his hands on her skin. To not think about his fingers sliding inside her shorts—
"You can't just lie about that!" she resumes.
"What are you—"
"I was consenting!" she assures, swallowing the sob threatening to come out of her throat.
"Marinette…" Sabine whispers.
"No!" she says again. "It's not something you can lie about! You had no right."
All the glances are on her. Adrien's seems so hurt, so broken.
"I'm sorry," he breathes. "But… for you, I'd do it again in a heartbeat."
She can't hold back her sob, this time.
Tears dripping to her lips, Marinette hurries to her room. She can't handle the intensity of his stare. Can't handle seeing all she did wrong through his perfect eyes.
Adrien doesn't know who he's hating the most. Adam, or himself.
He doesn't know to whom he should aim this rush of rage that makes his whole body shake.
Transferring his anger to Adam would be logical. It has actually been his first reaction, his most primal instinct—his fist crashing into his jaw the second his body had regained the ability to move.
The amount of reasons why he absolutely hates Adam is impressive, to say the least.
Adrien can't remember liking him from the day he has met him—two years ago, maybe—until today. At first, it was the smirks and the heavy stares he addressed to women. Then, the looks turned to comments, the sickness of which had just reached crescendo. Inevitably, words change into actions. It was his hand brushing the lower back of the makeup-artist at photoshoots, it was his palm settling on the thigh of a model during lunch break.
And, more lately, it has been Marinette.
Adrien still remembers the thoughts that crossed his mind the first time Adam had looked at her. He thought back on all the times his behavior had overstepped the mark of decency, thought back on all the sick words that had come out from his mouth, thought back on this animalistic expression that took possession of his face every time a girl entered his eyesight.
Back then, he told himself that Marinette could manage on her own, that she wasn't a fool and that she knew society's codes and injustices way better than he himself did. He knew it—how independant she was.
But it didn't stop this almost primal alarm to turn on every time Adam checked her out. It was annoying, and degrading—he doesn't feel like an intelligent human in those moments.
His first idea has been: maybe it's having her for himself for a whole summer that makes him possessive. His second one has been to find himself absolutely ridiculous. Yes, Adam is a complete moron, but Marinette doesn't belong to him for all that. Neither back then, nor today, nor ever.
Feelings had been mixed. Anxiety and wanting to protect her have added to the possessiveness and his exasperation towards himself because of what he was feeling. A cocktail that had led to his non-action.
Well, more or less.
Yes, there had been that time at training. Yes, there had been that other time, the day after Ladybug and Chat Noir revealed their identities to each other. And yes, he can't control his eyes—his gaze becomes instantly dark when it meets Adam's. It's not his fault.
But it could be worse. Oh, it could be so much worse.
If he had listened to that voice, full of instinct and animosity, his first fight with Adam would have occurred years ago. If he had, their confrontations at fencing training would have been more violent.
He thinks back at the scratchings scattering Marinette's thighs and arms, thinks back at the time he will need to lick all the wounds he can't see.
And this tsunami of hate goes into himself.
Because during all these years, Adrien did nothing. Before Adam's comments, he had just rolled his eyes, ignored him, threw him a disapproving glance. Before his inappropriate gestures, he had just called Adam to divert his attention. He remembers all the grateful looks of the girls Adam had setted on as his targets—remembers the guilt of not having done more.
Today, guilt turns into a burning rage. The first time he has done something, really done something with Adam, it has been when Marinette has directly been concerned.
So, that's it? A girl he cares about has to be involved for him to step in? He had years to stop the process. Had tens and tens of occasions to try to stop the course of things.
He had been a witness to Adam's evolution, had been a witness to the path he had been following on all this time, had seen the glances change into moves, moves change into physical contact.
Yet, he had just done damage control.
He, who always sees the best in everyone, who always repels the darkness of the soul to perceive the kindness of it, he didn't do this work with Adam. He hadn't looked any further.
Perhaps Adam is a lost cause, perhaps his soul doesn't have any kindness, perhaps he's just rotten to the core.
But what of him? Is he really better?
Is he?
Twenty-four hours ago, he would have been convinced of it. But, now… he's not so sure of it anymore. He's not so sure of anything anymore, actually.
The only thing he's absolutely certain about, it's that today could have been avoided in one thousand and one ways, and that he has failed at every single one of them.
He knew something was wrong. He had known it for a while. He could have overridden his doubts and his fears and pushed Marinette to tell him the truth. First failure: his cowardice.
For all these weeks, on all these occasions, she never confessed to him, never talked to him about the video, nor about Adam's threats—which he had still ignored the extent of. Despite his attempts to show her that he was here for her, that she could tell him everything, admit everything, despite how she trusts him, she didn't tell him the truth. Second failure: the safe environment he has not provided her.
He knew Adam. Knew his obsession towards Marinette. And even if she told him and told him again that she could defend and take care of herself, he should have been more cautious. He should have initiated action and gone to talk to her parents by himself. Third failure: believing everything was going to sort itself out so easily.
He had many, many chances to push Adam away, to scare him. Adrien knows how to fight. From fencing and his superhero alter ego, he knows exactly where to strike to cause pain. Yet, he listened to his reason—the voice of which often sounds like Marinette's—which told him to not use violence. But that's not the worst part. The worst is that Adam had fought back, twice, and that Adrien isn't sure if he would have had the upper hand if Marinette hadn't stepped in. The image of Nino pops in his mind, the self-assurance with which he threw himself on Adam, without the slightest hesitation. Fourth failure: his weakness.
The fifth failure mixes with his only victory. He developed his lie from the moment people arrived in the locker room to the one where they reached the headteacher's office. Thankfully, a glimmer of hope has lighted up this nightmare: she has been on his side.
Of course, she's far from being stupid and hasn't bought his story for a second. After all, Adam has confessed the existence of the video, so why would he lie about the injuries deforming his face? Knowing the guy, he would never admit that a girl had beat him up like this if it wasn't actually true. Plus, the headteacher got wind of the time when Adrien and Adam were in a fight and that Marinette separated them—they had been summoned at that moment, too. It's the first and the last time, she had told them then. Next time, I call your parents.
The fact remains that his lie is not believable.
But he saw the light of understanding in the headteacher's eyes. His made-up story is the only way to spare Marinette—to prevent her from being even more hurt than she already is, would be more accurate.
Also, he has probably seen the financial interest to hush this matter up and to accept his lie—Gabriel would deposit a comfortable amount of money to erase all damage from his son's school records.
Of course, he's not proud of it. It makes him sick, to tell the truth.
Lying is something he hates above all. But the painful contraction of his stomach is a small price to pay for Marinette's future. It's the least he can do.
She has worked too hard for her future to be compromised by him—once again, he's not quite sure if he's thinking about Adam or himself. Probably both.
It's ethically disgusting to lie about something so serious. To insinuate that Marinette hasn't been consenting, to say he forced her. It's also monstrous in regard to Marinette, to pretend he raped her when she just lived a sexual assault.
Adrien feels his stomach contract even more when this thought hits his mind. Not only did he pour salt on Marinette's gaping wound, but it's also an insult to every single person who lived and survived someone like Adam.
He doesn't know what is worse: lying about it or not regretting it for one second.
His stomach flips at the hollow of his belly.
His legs propel him forward, ignoring the lethargic state of his brain. He ends up above the toilet, his throat burning when what little food he ate leaves his body.
"Adrien?"
Plagg's voice is more concerned than usual—it's almost gentle.
Adrien sits up, opens his mouth to answer to his kwami, but nausea prevents him from talking. He throws up everything that is inside his stomach—everything except the guilt pressing at the pit of his belly.
An unbearing pain contracts his empty stomach at every retch, making his hands shake and his eyes water.
After a moment which seems to be a lifetime, the need to vomit stops. But the pain doesn't leave him. His forehead against his forearm, Adrien closes his eyes. His shirt is sticking to his sweating skin and cold sweat flows down his back.
The expression worry yourself sick takes on its full meaning here.
"Want some privacy, or—"
"No." His voice is throaty and the vibration of his vocal cords drags a grimace of discomfort out of him. "No," he says again, keeping his eyes closed. "Can you stay with me, please?"
Plagg takes a while to answer. Adrien thinks he left, until he feels him settle on his shoulder.
"Of course."
He doesn't ask him questions. He doesn't ask him anything and Adrien feels a tear run down his cheek—it's not because of the pain, this time.
Adrien is laying down on his bed, eyes clinging to the ceiling, hands crossed behind his head. He's been in this exact same position, staring at this exact same spot, dwelling on the exact same things long enough for time to lose its meaning.
His window is open, a little bit, leaving the wind blowing through the room, brushing his bare torso on its way. The night is already well underway—he doesn't need to tilt his head to his alarm clock to know it.
His entire body is exhausted, his mind completely washed out, but he still can't sleep. So, he stays here, wondering what Adam did to Marinette before he stepped in, if this same situation had already happened before, how much she hid the truth from him.
Answers torture him one more than the other.
Perhaps he deserves to stay awake and hurt himself like he does now.
Adrien doesn't move when he hears the first noise. He only sits up when he hears someone land on the floor of his room.
Ladybug is standing here, her long raven hair rustled by the fall breeze, her figure darkened by the night. Adrien doesn't know what to say, what to do. He's not sure she's real.
"I have something to tell you." Her voice is lacking her usual confidence.
Hearing her makes him come out of his paralysis caused by doubt. He gets on his feet, way too fast for his weakened body, and has to stop for a few seconds for his eyesight to become more than darkness again.
He doesn't move too close to Ladybug, though. His common sense tells him to keep some distance between them—a distance she can cross if she wants; if she can.
The moonlight brings sufficient light for him to see the redness and the swelling of her eyes—his are probably in the same state.
"I'm sorry I kept all this secret," she says in a croaky whisper. "I should have told you, I should have—" She closes her eyes, pinches her lips and gulps, taking a few seconds to swallow back the sob threatening from escaping her mouth. "There is something else I never told you." Her eyelids open up and her gaze meets his.
Adrien feels guilt, relief and fear bump inside him: guilt from seeing her like this without being able to help her, relief at seeing her at all, fear for what she's about to say and curiosity to know what she wants to tell him.
"Three years ago, you were akumatized."
His heart becomes heavy in his chest.
"You became Chat Blanc. I don't know why, nor how. Bunnix came to find me and I saw—" This time, she can't hold her sob back.
Adrien looks at the tear running down her mask, his incapacity to do anything at all hitting him with violence.
"Everything was destroyed. The whole world. And you were… so alone."
Her words tear a little more his heart out of his chest at every second. It's not so much what she's saying, but the way she's saying it.
It's her pain which is hurting him the most.
"I was so afraid you'd be akumatized again because of me… so I kept all this secret. I'm sorry."
"Marinette..." he whispers.
It's the first time he says her real name when she's Ladybug. Because she may well wear a suit and a mask, but she has never seemed more vulnerable than she is right now. Because he may well see every bit of her skin, but she has never seemed more bare than she is at this very moment.
"I'm sorry," she says again, eyes misty with tears. "I've really been... the worst partner ever." Her right hand is nervously tapping her left ring finger—where the ring usually is. "Do you… do you still want me? Can I… Can I still be your Lady?" Her voice is shaking and every word wounds him more than the previous one.
His throat is so tight that it's becoming painful. "Yes," he answers in a barely audible whisper. "Always."
She nods, lips pinched.
When he feels a tear escaping his eye, Ladybug throws herself in his arms, her warmth wrapping around him in a second. "Thank you," she murmurs against his chest.
He doesn't really understand why she's the one who's thanking him and who's apologizing—he doesn't feel any bitterness towards her.
But Adrien slips an arm around her and puts his other hand behind her head, keeping her right against him. Their tremors and their sobs mix together, so much that Adrien doesn't know where his sadness begins and where Marinette's ends.
"M'Lady," he whispers, his chin on the top of her head.
can't wait to read your thoughts!
about mari and adam, of course, but about adrien, too! as the person who correct my story said, "it is not often that a fic makes you want people in positions of privilege to use their power to avoid accusations as a good thing, and then explores the ambivalence of that." - and i think it resumes pretty well.
next chapter will not be easy to read, either. to be quite honest, the rest of the story (there is 16 chapters) is pretty heavy. and i'm telling you know: there will be a sequel! i published it in french around week ago and i didn't have really good reviews... so i prefer warning you guys now about the sequel and the heaviness of the next chapters. i personally really like the ending, i find it pretty realistic and it makes you want to read what happens next (makes me want to write it, too lol) but, well... we'll see!
anyway, thank you for following me so far!
have a good day and take care!
lucie 3