Infinities → Miraculous Drabbles

Bittersweet (Now or Never) - Chloé

30/07/17

a chloé-centric fic i wrote back in june for an assessment in english. this work, unlike the others, is beta-ed - so hopefully it's a bit better? idk :') anyways, enjoy <3

She was everywhere. 

"Chloé!"

"Miss Bourgeois!"

"The Mayor's daughter!"

And she loathed it.

Chloé Bourgeois tiptoed out of her - now former - room, eyes darting back and forth in paranoia. No mental preparation could spare her from the overwhelming guilt that swallowed her. It worsened as the weight of what she was going to do sunk in. But it was for the best. She had a purpose. And that was to get out of here.

For a girl of only sixteen, her position as the mayor's daughter laid a heavy blanket over her reputation. Everyone knew her, even if she didn't know them. Although she was pampered with the most expensive and luxurious lifestyle in Paris, the pros of being famous were quickly outweighed by the loneliness and isolation that lay behind the flashy, glossy cover.

Fame had ruined her friendships, her childhood, even her family. And now, it was on its way to ruin her. That is, if she didn't escape its unruly grasp first.

She clutched the small scrap of paper in her hand, scanning the lounge for the perfect place to conceal it. It'll only be for a while anyway, she reassured herself. It's not like she'd permanently desert everyone. Just a small break, to recollect her thoughts.

Sharp, icy, and unreadable cyan eyes caught on the small dining table, tucked in the corner of the room. Underneath the impeccable varnish shine, it was abandoned, ignored and desolate - just like her. It was always meant to be used whenever they had family dinners - but the last one concluded in case contrasting fashion - from thunderous voices and slamming doors to the stormy silences that remained in aftermath. Ever since then, a tension had been thick in the air whenever the possibility of time together was suggested. Everyone was too busy with their own lives and careers to make room for the people of their past, even if they were connected by blood.

Her grip instinctively tightened on the paper clutched in her hand, crumpling it more than it originally was. With a sigh, she shook off the nostalgic wave threatening to overcome her. She couldn't stop now. She wasn't that weak, right?

She straightened her back as much as her mountain of bags would allow her to do, hissing at the strain. Her usual canary yellow leather jacket had been exchanged for a black puffer jacket with a mousy faux fur edge - open at the front to reveal a fitting black and white striped v neck, clinging to her body to emphasis her slim waist. Her everyday white leggings were traded for the comfort of black skinny jeans, providing little protection against the raging winds outside. Paired with white leather converse - the simplest, most practical shoes she could find amongst the avalanche of heels her mother insisted she wore - they brazenly boosted her normally average height.

Her face was one many would die for - an angular, sharp, and slightly pointed jaw line rested below high and well-defined cheekbones, structuring her look and shimmering slightly in the light like snow on a mountain. Slightly pouted, her lips were pale, pink, and untouched. Usually, a verge of a smirk would tug at her features - but it had long since disappeared due to the nerves that had wracked her mind every sleepless night leading up to this moment. They hardly stood out against her sun-kissed, tan skin - caked in a blanket of foundation and countless other makeup products to make her 'perfect'. The small, dark freckles scattered across her button nose were considered 'flaws' - yet, they relentlessly tried to escape from beneath the layers that suffocated them. She herself felt claustrophobic - as if who she really was couldn't dare to compare with the rest of the world. Like makeup was her saviour, a lifeline to keep her on trend with everyone else in her league. Did the control on her life really have to stretch as far as to interfere with her appearance? Regardless, any flaws she may have were completely outshone by something just above - her eyes.

By far her most prominent feature, they sparkled amidst whatever lighting she was in. Currently however, they were overcast - their narrow and pointed shape simply accentuated with slight eyeliner she applied. The hues that resided within the iris reminded many of a deep, unexplored ocean - unfortunately, those who were intrigued into those pools of mystery never got any further than the surface, dare they disrupt and dig any further into her typical popular and glitzy façade.

They gleamed from under the presence of dark eyelashes and thin, arched eyebrows, sculpted perfectly to make a statement against her flawless forehead. Golden hair, streaked with platinum had been swept back into a too-tight ponytail, wisps of baby hairs struggling to escape the restraints of pins and heavy hairspray. Her natural curls resisted against the straightener her mother had used earlier, having a mind of their own and rebelliously falling into ringlets at the end. All of this was forcibly secured with a white hair elastic, whilst her trademark cream sunglasses perched precariously on top of her head. They were simply there for adornment - there was no way they'd be useful in the howling winds and spitting rain awaiting her.

If she had her way, her golden locks would be loose and natural and her face free of makeup - but the 15 year long routine had become second nature, making it hard to resist the tendencies that had developed over time. People were only interested in the Chloé Bourgeois the world knew, a fact that her parents insistently reminded her of. To not be who you are, but who everyone else wants you to be.

Although her posture screamed confidence and assertion, her hands still shook as she strode over to the table and gently placed the creased note down, her delicate fingers hardly able to stay still and therefore knocking it off of the surface. It gently fluttered down to the ground, her eyes tracking it absent-mindedly.

Quickly, she knelt down and dropped it back on the table. The paper may be featherweight, but the words on it were an unpredictable avalanche - a burden of worry and hidden enigmas. She didn't want to suffocate people with her own problems, didn't want to taint her flawless reputation, but nevertheless they needed to be said. For her own peace.

Selfishness. She seemed to portray that message to a lot of people- maybe her lavish lifestyle gave her the image of being a mercenary, or possibly that she appeared to be in a higher league than everyone else due to her political status. Either way, she hoped that they could now tell that the real selfishness was happening right here, right now. As she ran away from her problems, and left everyone else to deal with them in her absence.

As she lost herself in her thoughts, her feet had propelled her to the door without a sound. This was it.

Fame had smothered her life, suffocating everything she loved and everything she felt she deserved within its powerful fist - but who was she to fall victim to its destructive grip now?

With a small click, her fingerless gloves twisted the golden doorknob of the door, letting herself out and locking it behind her. She didn't have a key to allow her to change her mind.

And soon, she was a vibrant flame burning herself a new path - but like fame, she didn't dare to look back at the destruction she caused in her wake. 

debating as to whether to turn it into a full-length book tbh (and i promise there's more heartrate coming up, really)