Chapter 2: Nothing There
Warning: (M) Suicidal Themes, Mental and Physical abuse.
Rating: (T-M) Not for Children.
Pairings: Adrien/Marinette, Nino/Alya, Etc.
A/N: I'm determined to finish this story. I know all my other ones haven't had an update, but frankly, it's been almost two years since I've uploaded this. I can't make any promises, but I'll try to finish this story as fast as possible.
Anyway. I truly hope you enjoy this story.
I also hope that everyone is well in such hard times.
[. . .]
"Everyone does have a past they can learn from." - Marinette, The Pharaoh.
[. . .]
He felt absolutely torn.
There were so many things swarming inside his mind. Most of them, as he expected, were negative.
He felt very unsure when the girl had begun walking, telling him that she would lead him to her home. He wondered if her home was just as empty as he was. He was wondering a lot of things respective to her home, and he was starting to feel reluctant to follow her. Those thoughts about where she may have grew up him were nothing compared to those he had about her.
They were worse. They were cruel if he considered them.
But he found that despite the running worry his thoughts tried to provoke with scenarios that led to different problems, Adrien didn't care. There was nothing inside him—nothing at all—that gave a damn. A few months ago, he would have been curious, vague, even. Not to an extreme point as to what she was doing or why she was doing this or how she existed—but to an extent, at most, she would be a distraction he would want to indulge himself with.
Who's to say she wasn't distracting him now, though? He didn't want to be here.
But he didn't care. Again, now, he just couldn't muster up any care in the world. Sure, it was weird.
It was crazy, even, that this girl—
Her name is Marinette.
He unconsciously drifted closer to her under the umbrella.
That, Marinette, would care. She didn't know him. She didn't even recognize him.
A slight pang bolted inside his chest. He didn't care. He couldn't really care. He was so tired.
But would she change? Would she become like any other person, if she found out, right here, right now, who he was?
That he was, in fact, the Adrien Agreste, son of the Famous Fashion Designer and Former Model, Gabriel Agreste?
Such a revelation was starting to overwhelm him. It made him feel dizzy and nauseous.
Or maybe those were the pills he drank.
Marinette stopped when he stopped.
He could feel her beside him. The rain wasn't touching him, he realized, but it didn't matter.
He opened his mouth and turned quickly to the side of the roads, emptying his contents.
The disgusting taste of medicinal bitterness lingered in his mouth as he heaved again, burning his throat and his nostrils that were unfortunately coated with the excess water spurt from his stomach.
He vomited again, and he felt pain, both in his stomach and his head when he vomited a third time.
He heaved a couple more times but they stopped when he felt the girl's hands touch his shoulder and make him look at her.
Perched on her shoulder was the umbrella held under her arm, covering them again from the rain. Her other hand was holding a napkin; a thick, disposable, big napkin, and she was holding it out to him, offering it for him to take.
He grabbed it from her soft hands and wiped his face, covering up a few more wheezes threatening to make him double over again.
"Are you alright?" Her soft voice asked him, concern etched into her tone.
He blinked, his eyes teary as he folded the napkin appropriately. What an odd question. How would he answer it? He wasn't okay. He felt like trash.
"Yes," He croaked, coughing a tad and raising his elbow to cover them, "I'm alright."
She wasn't convinced. "We're almost there," She told him, smiling with a curve that didn't quite reach her eyes. "You can rest there and you can eat if you want. My home is a bakery."
At this, he stopped to regard her despondently. Only one other person like him liked sweets. That person wanted nothing to do with him. "...Okay," He gave a nod, unsure of what else to say. "Thank you."
The genuine tone he took with his gratitude made her smile. "It's no problem."
And it really wasn't a problem.
He said nothing and followed her again when she began to move.
"Please let me know if you feel sick again," She advised, and he looked at her, "I don't want you passing out on me," She lightly joked.
Adrien gave a tense nod. His stomach still hurt, and his body felt fatigued, weak. It had been two days since he last ate, and the pills took out the last of the liquid. It made his throat feel dry and painful.
After she acknowledged that he would notify her if he was in trouble, she smiled brightly and continued in silence.
[. . .]
Before he even stepped inside, he could already smell the sweet scent of goods bursting forcefully from the small slant of space in between the double doors and under them. Inside the bakery, he saw one tall figure and another small one similar to the—Marinette, friskily moving around from left to right. He couldn't quite see their faces all that well because the glass was foggy from the contrast of the shivering cold outside, but he could tell that they were smiling.
Marinette shook the umbrella in her hands to rid it of the rain. "I hope you're hungry," She said, setting it off to the side by a window displaying a lovely pink poster of macaroons he was sure was used to attract customers, "My parents make a ton of food."
He knew that. They were bakers.
He moved aside politely when she reached for the handle and pulled. Immediately, the humid warmth of the room hit him all at once. "If you feel uncomfortable, please let me know," She said to him, nodding at him to step inside.
He nodded silently again, thankful even if he didn't feel anything. He walked in, basking in the very beautiful scent that matched hers partially. The bell above jingled but he paid no mind to it—the pretty beige and orange mixed coloring caught his attention from one of the display cases quickly. Croissants.
"Hello, Maman! Papa," He heard her say, and he stopped ogling his favorite food to look at the girl—Marinette, he remembered.
On the other side of the counter, he saw the large figure—a tall man with a large build and short brown hair decorated with an apron and chef hat. His mustache twitched into a smile, and his arms spread out wide, ruffling and poofing out some flour. "Hello, my dear daughter! How was your interview?" His surprisingly soft voice chimed.
Marinette smiled brightly, and unlike before when she was walking with him, her eyes gleamed like she had been given the best thing in the world. "I got the job!" She squeed, and on the other side coming behind Tom, the small figure of before stepped out with a cry of ecstatic joy.
"That's great, honey!" Her mother said, her old, tired eyes lighting up. She had a short bob, and her hair, much like her daughters, was black. Except, Adrien realized, that her daughter had a sort of raven hue while her mother had an ivory tone to it. Her eyes were grey coated in the lightest shades of blue.
Her father's eyes were dark green, and both parents, just as he saw now with Marinette, had the sparkle of adoring affection within.
It made him feel emptier. They fell into a small chatter that he paid extra attention to, a chat he thought was odd and sad all at once. He didn't know parents could be so kind. He didn't even know how they could feel so warm, either. He was sure it wasn't just the fireplace working on the treats. Their presence alone was suffocating him but in a heated and comfortable embrace.
Despite the reminder that he didn't have what they had, their personas relaxed him.
"And who is your friend, Marinette?"
Adrien shrunk back at the attention. All eyes were on him, and it was weird because they held just as much affection as when they were looking at Marinette.
Marinette smiled, this time softer, mellow. "His name is Adrien," She introduced, and he walked closer, "I brought him here to feed him!"
Adrien looked at the parents timidly.
The mother brightened. "Really? Well, honey, why didn't you say so? Come, come!" The small woman took off her oven-mitts and set them on the counter to quickly shuffle around it and toward him. "I just finished a batch of chocolate chip cookies! Would you like some, dear?"
Adrien blinked. He felt uncomfortable but oddly... welcome.
"It's okay," Marinette told him, grabbing his hand and pulling him to the mother that was waiting, "They're very good."
Adrien didn't care. But his stomach was begging for food. Silently, he allowed her to pull him.
"Give him the big ones!" The father called out after they stepped further inside the pretty pink bakery.
The mother hummed back, and Marinette shook her head, a tad embarrassed by their behavior.
Adrien felt very small.
But he was starting to become comfortable when Marinette sat him down on a chair, and when a plate of ten big cookies was set in front of him.
"Please eat! We have plenty more where those came from," Cooed the kind-hearted mother.
Unconsciously, he smiled. "Thank you," He told her softly. He paused, frowning. "How much are they?" He asked, reaching for his pocket.
"Oh no, no," The mother shook her head, placing a hand on his own to stop him before moving it away, "Don't worry, dear. They're on the house."
He tilted his head and looked at Marinette. He wasn't hungry. "Are you sure?" He still asked, because even though he didn't care, he didn't have the heart to take something just like that. His mother taught him, but if he was honest, he was only aware of it when she told him. He always had that trait, according to his mother.
Marinette smiled serenely. "Don't worry, Adrien. You don't need to pay. Just eat," She pushed a cookie with her finger. "Besides, today's a special day."
"It is!" The mother clapped her hands cheerfully.
Adrien took the cookie she touched. Briefly, he recalled what she said earlier, and he smiled. "Thank you then," He said earnestly, this time louder, and without shyness.
"The cake is almost ready," The mother began leaving the room, probably off to take care of the said cake, "So I hope you have more room for later!"
He didn't say anything but he considered. Would he stay long enough? He knew it was only a matter of time before his father found him. After all, Adrien had kept the wallet inside his pants with the tracker, (not one to track him but the wallet in case it got lost), and well, he forgot to remove it; he never thought about it either way, because he thought today...
The cookie in his hand was very warm, and to any normal person, it would probably burn their fingers. Adrien didn't care. If his fingers were burning, it only meant he was still alive.
A reminder that he...
He looked down and set the cookie back onto the plate.
Marinette saw. After all, she had been watching him, seeing if he had any trouble that she could fix. "You're not hungry?" She asked, and pulled the chair on the other side of the small table out to sit on.
He didn't say anything.
Marinette frowned. "...Do you not like them?" She asked him, weary.
At this, Adrien snapped his head up at her in confusion.
"The cookies," She indicated, feeling sad when she saw the forlorn look on his face, "You don't like Chocolate? We can get you something else if you want. We don't mind."
Adrien pondered for a moment. Not about the cookies, but if he should... "The cookies are fine," He assured, "I'm just not sure if I'm allowed to eat this, is all," He lied. It wasn't a total lie, he thought since his father forbade him from eating too many sweets. Or any sweets, for that matter.
Marinette furrowed her brows. "What do you mean?"
Adrien shook his head. "...It's fine," He waved off, picking up the now less-scalding cookie, "I'll just..." He regarded the cookie in a dulled manner. Pain as sharp as a knife kept pounding in his stomach, and he felt frail.
There was a few moments of silence. The sound of her parents out working was the only thing present, and Adrien had not moved nor taken a bite from the cookie. He just didn't feel like doing anything.
He didn't want to be here. Alive.
"I know you're probably not hungry because of what just happened," She whispered, making him freeze, "But you should eat. It'll be good after what happened today." She was pushing the pretty plate more to him again. It was no longer in the middle of the table.
He hung his head, tired once more. "I don't want to." He murmured.
"Please eat," She insisted, and Adrien almost felt like crying. Again—nothing could get death out of his mind now. He wanted to die. He wanted to die so much, he was starting to shake.
He couldn't breathe correctly abruptly, and he felt like throwing up again. His throat felt blocked, and he tried inhaling, but it came out as a choke.
The cookie dropped onto the plate and Marinette was immediately on his side.
"Adrien? Adrien, breathe," She soothed, and her voice was near his ear, her touch—warm and gentle and dare he say, kind—was pressed onto his face coated with running tears.
He was shaking. His breath rose and fell quickly, and he hurled dryly, troubled beyond what he wanted to comprehend.
He didn't want to go back home. His father would be here again and put him back in his cell. Back to that damn room.
He was supposed to die. Today was the day he planned it, after weeks of constant contemplation. A perfect day where his father was out of town, out where he could escape with the lack of guards who had accompanied his father. Today he would have been free.
But he was still here.
He was still here and his father was going to come and he would never—
"I'm here," Marinette's voice whispered, and she pulled him to her chest in a tender embrace, "I'm here for you. Whatever it is that's hurting you, I'll be here to help you. You're not alone anymore."
He was sobbing quietly, his hands still in front of the table, prickling achingly.
"I'm here, okay?" She was running her hands through his hair, his hoodie off of his head, "You're going to be okay. I know you will, I'll protect you."
He couldn't hear her properly. But her voice was soothing.
"I'll always be here for you," She was whispering, over and over again.
He felt her warmth envelop him entirely, warming his face hidden partially from her arm and her chest. It cooked his cold, bitter body, coaxing him into tranquility.
He could hear her calm heartbeat, lulling him into the peace he desperately needed. Her sweet scent of vanilla and sugar spread out into his senses, and his once crinkled face softened.
Her hands kept petting him, and his eyes stopped watering.
He could breathe.
He could breathe...
"You're okay... I'm here for you, Adrien," She repeated again, but this time, he registered her words.
His eyes closed, and he released a breath.
And she held him there, waiting until he pulled away.
After a while, he did so.
He didn't look at her. But he was calmer.
"Thank you," He breathed, wiping his eyes with his thumb.
Marinette looked sad, but he didn't know. "No problem," She replied and pushed the plate for the third time. "Cookie?"
He looked at the cookie, contemplating.
He took it and bit into it.
She smiled.
[. . .]
He waited by the door and under the covering that protected him from the onslaught of rain, already seeing the black car approach the bakery in speedy haste.
It was expected, that his father would find him. He knew this. He was aware.
And he would've felt angry, broken, and scared. Terrified, because he didn't want to go. He didn't want to see that place again.
But he only felt the usual pang of anxiousness, instead.
He knew it was the girl—Marinette's doing, that eased him down.
After his breakdown, he ate only one cookie. It was far from what Marinette had probably wanted him to eat, but she was happy anyway, that he ate at least something. He wasn't felicitous at all, and he still felt the shaking effects of his burdensome life, but he could pretend a little longer with her. He could pretend to be calm even with the continuing turmoil chasing around in his head.
It wasn't so hard, he found, because she was talking. She kept talking about her parents, and then her school, and then her home, her hobbies, her friends...
And he listened. He listened and drank in everything he could about her until a buzz from the tracker in his wallet notified him that someone was close by. He felt a weight fall on him anew, but when he focused on her again, it lightened.
It was a far cry from anything that could truly help him, but he accepted it. He accepted it because she didn't know him, didn't ask about who he was, and because she was truly the only one who had been genuine from the start.
It was different.
It was nice.
"Are you going to be okay?" Marinette asked him, coming out of the warm bakery. Her warm bakery.
He looked at her, and he formed a broken smile on his charming features. "I'll be alright." He told her. He would be for a little. Just a tiny bit.
She looked at the car that parked. "Are they your family?" She asked, intrigued.
He shook his head. "They're my staff," He muttered, and she did not miss the bitter tone he took.
"Staff?" She tilted her head.
He nodded. "They work for me," He said.
Marinette saw the door open, and her eyes flashed with recognition.
"Adrien Agreste," Her icy voice pierced, glaring with concern at the boy she had been fretting about for hours, "Get inside, now."
Marinette widened her eyes.
Adrien stepped out a little, following her instruction and ignoring the bites in his head. But he stopped. And he turned.
"I hope I get to see you again," He said, and he was almost beseeching. He was not lying.
She turned to look at him, shocked.
Nathalie hadn't noticed her.
She smiled graciously at him.
"I hope so too," She said.
He smiled. It was small, but at least it was real.
And then he went inside his car and left.
He had no idea how soon he would see her again.
[. . .]
A/N: Oh hey, long time no see. Love you guys, just saying.
If you have any questions, just remember to go ask on my profile!
Toodles~
Ana.
