Thanks to:

JuSt To RaNdOm- to clarify, they have Alices, there was Persona, but there was no evil principal... even though they somehow know Rui, Nobara, Hayate, etc.... o.o?

greentulip- someone likes smileys... =)

Najika Tsubasa-chan- I know, everyone likes Natsume to be jealous.... oh well. ^-^

2Lazy2MakeAnAccount- (Actually, it should be "que," not "qui" or "quoi"... ) Okay, so. That was a really long review and you included a lot of stuff in it but I'm not really sure if I can write "moments" because I'm the most unromantic person I know (other than my best friend who is super innocent and all) and I'm in middle school so my only research can be from other people's fics.

-Tribal Addict--...You sound like Hotaru with the $_$ and all... *shivers*

kiers- thanks for calling me an impressive writer, but according to my english teacher... I guess my fiction is better than my essays. XD

- why does everyone say hahaha? Is my story that funny...?

IceGirl7- *cries* Mikan haaates me! And it's all... wait, it's all my fault? Oh. Never mind.

Sakura Breeze- Thank you!

ღ

So, according to responses, a chapter does NOT disappear when the document disappears. Thanks, that lowered my risk of a heart attack. I think.

BTW, before I forget... I'm going skiing for a few days, so I won't be able to write, so I won't be able to update for a week or so. Sorry.

I don't own Gakuen Alice. 'Cause I would have spent more time making Natsume jealous. I know, sadistic much?

Never Again

Chapter 8

I used to think my life was perfect.

Mikan had a strong urge to destroy everything around her, particularly Tono who was still hanging onto her like a koala.

—No, wait. She had built all of this, and she wasn't going to turn it to ashes just because of this.

No matter how much she wanted to annihilate the creatures in front of her—especially Misaki.

"Misaki?" she said with a demonically sweet smile. "Why is everyone here?"

After she had kicked Rui into Nobara's corner, where he began hugging her (she seemed unaffected), and while she punched Tsubasa into the wall, Misaki replied, "You said I could do whatever I wanted." She, along with Hotaru, Natsume, Tono, Rui, and Nobara were the only ones who were unfazed by the Mikan-demons swirling throughout the entire office.

Everyone else cowered in terror. What had happened to their dear, sweet, cheerful Mikan?

Natsume wasn't afraid—Natsume was never afraid—but he stared at Mikan in shock, swatting away a demon that had been hovering about his head, earning himself a scarily sinister glare from Mikan. Where had his infallibly bright ray of sunshine gone? …God that sounded so cheesy.

He tried to ignore the pinch in his chest as he reminded himself that the Mikan he thought he knew was gone—and she was no longer his.

"Sakura-sama," Reika slipped past Kitsuneme and bowed hastily. "I-I'm sorry, b-but these p-people—"

Mikan sighed, shifting her glasses to rub at her temples, and the demons receded. "It's fine. Have you gotten their schedules?"

"H-hai, Sakura-sama." Reika bowed again and retreated to her desk.

"When is can we meet?"

"Um, a-actually—"

"Most of us are free right now," Natsume interjected coldly. "Why don't we just do it today?"

Some others murmured their assent, and Mikan narrowed her eyes and said icily, "I have no problem with that. However, the only thing we can do today is get your measurements and decide who's going to be wearing what." She suddenly smiled her professional, amiable smile, keeping her bloodthirsty thoughts to herself. "Is that alright with all of you?"

They nodded, still rather frightened.

"Then let's all proceed to a conference room." Reika and her assistants escorted everyone through a nearby doorway into a large, airy room with a long table, comfortable swivel chairs, and a wall entirely of glass. "Feel free to take any seat you wish."

Mikan had brought a briefcase with her, the kind one often sees on television dramas, filled with bombs or money. Mikan extracted a folder.

"These are some finished sketches," she said, "Please be careful with them." She handed the folder down one side of the table. Most of them fingered it nervously before gasping in delight. She took out several other folders and passed them down as well.

"As you can see, these are labeled according to their usage: evening gowns, casual wear, swimsuits, and etcetera. As we are currently near the end of the spring to summer transition period, we shall be doing summer shots.

"Within the next few days or so, I shall review your previous apparel and jobs, and decide on ensembles for each of you. If you have any preferences, or would like to either avoid of stay within one type of clothing, please let me know by the end of this meeting.

"If you have already seen all of the folders, you may stand and walk around each of these designs—" here Mikan pressed a button on a remote by her chair, and the wall opposite the glass smoothly slid apart to reveal a row of mannequin, fully outfitted "—and please do be careful, these are merely prototypes. If you have a desire to model a certain one of these, there are signs on the bottom of each stand with the name of each piece, and feel free to let me know. You may ask now or call my secretary later if you have any suggestions, opinions, or questions for me."

Mikan didn't let down her cool, expert façade, even after her long speech, as she gracefully slipped into her seat. There was no sigh of relief, no gulp of water—nothing to prove she was anything but a professional.

Some were indifferent, some were proud. However, Natsume's forehead wrinkled, and he frowned. He hated being treated merely as a client, like any other customer. He didn't want Mikan to be so detached, so distant.

He sighed as he flipped through the folders, refusing to reveal his amazement. He could feel a disappointed stare on his back, but he brushed it off.

Mikan observed, a polite smile still on her face. She kept her expression friendly and open, even as Sumire bounced up to her and squealed about how incredible she was and which dresses she preferred. Mikan continued to stay focused and appeared interested, taking careful notes even as Sumire gushed about her favorite dress. Other girls also confidently expressed their opinions, and poured out dreams about the perfect outfits.

The entire time, Mikan was an absolute professional. Reika knew that once she had clientele, Mikan could switch on the business attitude that had earned her praise and impressed customers. Once Mikan began treating these people she knew as patrons rather than acquaintances —Sakura-san denied a friendship with over half of them—she had had no problems whatsoever.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Confused, Mikan called for them to come in. The door opened, and a young woman rushed in before most of them could take in her appearance.

She had wavy strawberry-blond hair, cerulean eyes, and a curvaceous figure, only enhanced by the tight tube top and miniskirt she was dressed in, as well as strappy stilettos. She was wearing heavy lip gloss and mascara, and was carrying a small designer purse. Basically the stereotypical image of a—

Never mind the previous sentence. That slipped out of the character's minds, Mikan in particular. After all, the first thing the newcomer had done was race into Natsume's arms.

After she had regained some sense, Mikan adopted an aridly removed tone. "Excuse me, but we're having a meeting here. If you could please come back some other time—"

The new girl retreated from the still very bewildered Natsume, only to switch to one side and leech—latch onto his arm with her body pressed against his side. "Be quiet," she snapped, her eyes and face very obviously disgusted, "Can't you see my Natsume-kun and I are having a moment here?" She stroked Natsume's cheek with a bejeweled finger.

Natsume self-consciously glanced at Mikan to see her reaction to this intimacy before re-adopting his coldness. He couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed by her continued casualness.

"Have your little moment some other time," Mikan said, completely serene, as if she dealt with this all the time. "We're currently working, and Hyuuga-san needs to do his job before he can be excused."

"Shut up, you ugly b****," the woman said nastily, "Don't act as if you're better than me. Don't you know who I am?"

The room immediately flared. The current aura in the room was far darker than Mikan's had been earlier, the barely controlled anger spreading like wildfire.

"This entire room is fire-proof," Mikan remarked tranquilly, before continuing, "I know who you are—"

"Wait, you're that stupid slut who went to that party with my Natsume-kun!" Luna gasped. "What did you do to force him to go with you?! Oh, my poor baby," she crooned.

The darkness in the room only increased, but the ex-Dangerous Abilities didn't notice. They were used to this darkness—besides, they were too busy trying to control their own.

Mikan didn't seem the least affected. "If you have a problem with me, I'll deal with it later. For now, please leave."

"Hmph," Luna leaned on the table, smirking as her top slipped a little lower. "Why should I listen to an ugly old woman like you?"

To everyone's surprise, Mikan merely sighed. She then undid her smooth bun and slid off her glasses. She then slid out of her jacket, revealing a tight black tank top, not nearly as exposing as Luna's outfit. She was still in her knee length navy skirt and black pumps, but she was definitely

HOT, was the first thing Natsume thought. He then mentally beat himself up.

"Do you know who I am?" Mikan said, her eyes and voice never faltering.

Luna defensively took a step back, her eyes narrowed, biting her lip, with her manicured hands curled into tight fists.

"You would do well to remember my name," Mikan said, a confident smirk dancing around her lips. "Mikan Sakura, fashion designer. My status in this world is currently far above yours, despite your—what was it?—your 'willingness to do anything, literally anything.' Now, don't be calling people ugly like that, little girl. You could end up in a very, very bad situation."

"You—Ugh. whatever." Completely humiliated, Luna made another disgusted face and stomped angrily from the room.

There was an awkward silence as Mikan slipped her jacket and glasses back on, and quickly redid her hair into a loose ponytail.

"Borrowing my insult?" Natsume finally commented, unable to stand the tension.

Mikan looked up, completely isolated again. "I'm sorry, what was that Hyuuga-san?"

There was no way she could have not heard him—the room had been dead quiet when he'd spoken.

"…Nothing."

"Um, okay." Mikan didn't seem bothered by his comment at all as she turned back to the rest of them and bowed deeply. "I am extremely sorry for the interruption. I apologize for any trouble our uninvited guest may have caused. Please continue as if there had been no intrusion."

And just like that, people began to move again, although with some uneasiness.

Everyone had now noticed, even if only at a sub-subconscious level.

Their happy little Mikan hadn't grown up—she had vanished.

…………………………………………

Mikan stayed up late that night sketching, trying to rid herself of the day's memories. In fact, that's how she first came upon the idea of becoming a designer.

"What are you doing, Aima?" Rena smiled as she walked through the door, coming home late as always from her part-time job. "You shouldn't be up, it's already two."

Mikan didn't reply, but continued to sketch random people she had seen on the street that day, particularly focused on their clothing.

"You're really good at drawing," Rena remarked, watching Mikan's hand make soft strokes across the page. Mikan hadn't even noticed when Rena had sat on the bed next to her. "You could become a designer, you know."

Mikan stopped, and looked up. "But I don't sew," she said quietly.

Rena laughed softly. "I can teach you that."

"But…" Mikan bit her lip, "I only draw for fun."

Rena cocked her head. "For fun?"

"Well… it- it takes my mind off…. things…" Mikan whimpered.

Rena's smile faded. "Look through your sketchbook again tomorrow, Aima," she whispered. "For now, get some sleep." She gently extracted the notebook from Mikan's hands and stood up without a sound. She silently placed the book on the desk, and smiled, smaller this time. She whispered, "Night, Aima," and flicked the switch.

Later that night, Mikan woke up. She couldn't sleep, so she decided to look at her sketchbook, as Rena had told her. She glanced over at the lump on the other bed, and cautiously hoisted herself out of bed, pausing anxiously each time the mattress creaked. She tiptoed over to the desk, grabbing her book and a flashlight before heading back to the warm blankets. The bed creaked loudly as she settled back into the sheets.

She slipped underneath the covers, creating a hollow before turning the flashlight on and slowly opening the book.

The first page was of a boy with glasses, holding onto someone's hand. He was smiling brightly, his cheeks flushed, wearing a uniform and carrying a bookbag. He looked so innocent and naïve for a boy, different from most other boys his age.

She flipped the page. The next drawing was of a tween girl, seen through the window of the nearby bakery. She was also smiling happily, in the process of setting the sample cakes in the window. She had flour on her face, her curly hair was tied back, and she was wearing a simple dress with a dirtied apron. Mikan had been taken by her happiness when she perfected the display.

She flipped the page. A little boy, sitting alone at the playground, was looking directly at her, his eyes too cold for his age. He was very cute, but she had drawn his bench in detail, while the other children so obviously shunning him were sketched out vaguely. She remembered his isolation had caused her to constantly look over at him until he disappeared.

Flip. A young woman with dark, straight, long hair, captured in profile, determinately looking up at a tall building, carrying a case. Mikan knew the building was a prestigious scientific institution.

Flip. A street scene of two teen boys with exceptionally spiky hair and a girl with short, curly dark hair, where the boys were laughing and running away while the girl chased after them, swinging her purse and shouting violently.

Flip. A respected local vet, smiling and petting a little boy's rabbit right outside his office door.

Flip. Two little girls at the playground, one emotionlessly sitting on the swing, while the other cheerfully pushed her friend. She recalled how they had been picked up by one person.

Flip. A teenage boy she had once watched street dance. She remembered he was amazingly agile, and by the time he finished his routine he had gathered quite a crowd. His physique in the drawing was tall and muscular, and she had even shaded the creases in his ripped t-shirt and baggy jeans, and drawn in the emblem on the cap and the little sweat drops. She remember how he had spotted her while he was drinking water, and how he had grinned at her mischievously, causing her to push her way out and stomp back home.

Flip. Flip. Flip. Each drawing was somehow connected to her previous life. A lonely girl looking wistfully at a group of friends in front of her, a far too happy young man pouncing on another very irritated young man, a girl doing a very strange dance and ignoring all the surrounding stares… every page had a relation to something from the Academy.

Mikan stopped, the blanket slipping off as she wondered how Rena knew. She absently flashed the light at Rena's bed, but hastily switched it off. She paused.

The lump on Rena's bed was just a pillow.

Mikan sighed. Drawing relieved her of her memories, as long as she didn't look back at them.

She put down the sketchbook and turned the light off. I should have noticed earlier what Rena had been doing, she thought bitterly.

"Goodnight…" she whispered softly to herself.

As she drifted away, she thought she heard a gentle breeze murmur, "Night, Aima."

------------

I used to think my life was perfect.

Notice the past tense.

Review!