Borderline

bedsheets & sugar

Marinette found herself in the midst of a hallway with plexiglass walls. She questioned the molecular makeup of the glass, as one inhabitant was incessantly banging against it with no damage done, or sound heard. 

She languidly followed her new boss.

"If you don't make eye contact, most of 'em won't bother you too much," he states. The comment was meant in a comforting tone, but shook Marinette's core even further. Her stomach felt nauseous and her head dizzy.

"Come, come," he repeated while ushering his hands in the direction they needed to be walking in, noticing how Marinette cannot bring herself to pry her eyes away. Realizing she was being completely rude, she sheepishly caught up to her supervisor and squeaked a sorrowful apology. The simple nod of his head was his only acknowledgement toward Marinette.

Murky, fluorescent lights illuminated an otherwise dark hallway. "Adrien is our hopeless case here. The kid pushes everybody away due to his comorbid personality disorders," he says. Marinette felt a sting of ignorance, unable to comprehend his fancy jargon. 

Just how unprepared was she?

Leading her further down the corridor, her boss stopped her in front of the only cell without clear windows. Instead, the room is constructed of a steel or metal of sorts. A chill of uncertainty cooly slid down her spine. The door unlocks with the simple swipe of a security card. Before her big toe crosses the threshold, he plunked a clipboard in her hand. "Good luck," he said while taking his leave. She tried to call out to her superior, but was too late in doing so. Marinette felt majorly uneasy as he left her, and rounded a nearby corner.

A single hushed sigh sat on her lips, tasting sour. Swallowing any trace of apprehension, Marinette staggered into what she assumed to be Adrien's room, taking notice to the apparent lump of pillows and blankets. She skimmed the file on her first patient. 

Barely comprehending the information bestowed upon the pages, Marinette tried to calm down; for she could always pretend to know what she was doing, despite not having a clue.

She pulled out her cell phone and opened up the internet. Marinette searched for borderline and antisocial disorders. Quickly skimming the information, she found Adrien's symptoms to be risky behavior, impulsivity, narcissism and unpredictable mood swings. 

Basically, this man was set up to be a basket case full of emotion.

Not being allowed much time for proper training, the massive twisted knot of fabric begins to move, and make ample noise on the small trundle bed.

With a deafening creak, a young man sat up with perfect posture, a waterfall of bedding glided onto the steely floor. His hands tightly clenched a leather bound journal, and a meticulously chewed pencil, as his hair is a shaken tangle of blonde. He was clothed in a matching blue flannel set of pajamas, despite it being nearly noon. How long was this man asleep for?

Marinette felt the saliva harden in the back of her throat, all expectation flying out the foggy, chained up window. Her reaction, mainly due to the paper of his notebook, yellow in color. Not to unfortunately mention, he was as handsome as all get out, despite just waking up from deep slumber.

"Hello, my name is Marinette and I'm your new caretaker," she said with an uneasy smile. Adrien stared through his long lashes at her, before motioning with one slim finger for her to move closer. She complies, cautiously shuffling. Adrien kept signaling for her to move closer, until her ear was practically pressed against his lips.

"Ah!" he shouted, making Marinette clutch her ear in pain as she backed away a few good feet. "Just as I thought. You have freckles. The name's Adrien by the way," he said before turning to gently inspect the cover of his notebook. Long fingers traced every scar, bump and crease of the flimsy leather front, his focus inspirational.

Marinette openly gaped at him, confused by his behavior, before remembering he had manic cases of borderline and antisocial disorders. His eyes squinted as he looked over her every detail.

"Come to wake me did ya?" he asked. "Oh, I really had no intent to but, uh, here I am," Marinette quietly mumbled.

Fingering the chain around her neck, Marinette glanced about the room, noticing the lack of furniture, and the nonexistent understanding on the function of vacuum cleaners. She guardedly slid onto the creaking sofa, and crossed her legs in a proper, ladylike manner. "No need to be so uptight, Peaches," Adrien said, finally connecting his eyes to hers.

"Peaches?" Marinette asked tilting her head in confusion. "You smell like you had a peach for breakfast," he concluded with the shrug of his shoulders. Slowly nodding her head in disbelief, Adrien began to stretch his arms out and yawn.

He performed an obvious once over of her frame, meeting her blue eyes once again. "Hot body. Wanna cool down by rolling on the cold floor with me, Peaches?" Adrien asked. No sign of embarrassment or apologetic tendencies flashed upon his face. Only the sight of a mischievous smirk curling the edge of his pink lip. 

Her face flushed, not expecting him to openly hit on her as he did.

"The sole purpose of my being here is to watch over you. I am not here to be your personal play toy, Adrien," Marinette stated, remaining strong. To do this job any sort of justice, she needed to stand her ground. He removed his body from the bed and plopped uncomfortably close to her on the couch, forcing her to scoot over considerably. 

It was vital that Marinette keep every ounce of professionalism as possible.

"Interested in the mortal suicide that is overdosing on too much confectionery sugar?" he questioned. She is taken aback by the sudden change in topic. Getting used to this man was going to be an apparent chore.

In a seemingly frantic movement, Adrien gave the young woman no time to respond accordingly, as he grabbed her wrist, and hurriedly led her through maze like hallway, towards the kitchen. Adrien seemed to not even care that he wore his pajamas, and had a serious case of bed head. The chef and other bakers took no heed to Adrien's presence, almost like they expected him to arrive any minute.

"Pick your poison," Adrien said while proudly jabbing his finger in the direction of a case with sweets. Pushing down her initial reaction of raising her eyebrow, she snagged her guilty pleasure. 

"A cupcake for a cupcake," Adrien proclaimed loud enough for the sioux chef to drop and clang his knife to the floor. 

"And what will you have Mr. Apothecary?" Marinette asked with a slender smile.

"Had you read all of my personal report and numerous files, you would know that I am strictly prohibited from any and all carbohydrates, and sugars, as they directly affect my frontal lobe with addiction," he states.

A heavy feeling of carelessness coated every neuron in her system. Eyes widening, she yanked the clipboard off a neighboring countertop and skimmed it to find out that he was right; sugar was not allowed in his diet.

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April 21, 2017