The Cinderella Agreement (Completed) [Featured Story]

30: The Aftermath

A/N Thought you'd seen the last of me eh?!

If you think you have read this chapter already, you haven't. Wrote some more stuff at the end, and now this story is officially over, till I eventually rewrite and edit it <3

...

It had been three weeks since Mit and Paris were arrested at the party and held in custody for underage drinking. Three weeks since Paris Holland died.

No, that's not quite right. It had been three weeks since the facade of Paris Holland died.

While she was at the station, Paris was convicted of another crime as she was found wearing a stolen jewel bracelet. Apparently she was a notorious shoplifter and had been seen on some shopping centre footage. Her father had to come to sort everything out, it seemed that being problematic was the only way to get his attention. Paris and her father ended up talking things through afterwards, talking about the faults they've made on both their paths and how they can heal moving forward. Shortly after, it literally seemed like Paris Holland had disappeared off the face of the earth, for three whole weeks. Till now, when she made a surprise appearance at Mit's house looking like a whole new person.

Paris was skinnier now, her cheekbones more prominent and her clavicles jutting out underneath her paling skin, but not in a way that appeared healthy. The real icing on the cake — what had surprised Mit the most — was her blonde hair, which fell in layers from her scalp and came to a choppy halt around her nape.

She smiled, but it was a strange one. It didn't reach her eyes, and furthermore underlined the presence of her chapped lips. Very light freckles dusted over her nose; Mit hadn't even known that she had freckles. She'd never seen her with no makeup at all.

Paris looked like a ghost, but an endearing one all the same. She was the kind of girl that could wear a garbage bag for all she cared and shave her head bald but still be pretty enough to pass as a model.

"Can I come in?"

Mit then realized that she'd been staring, quite rudely, and abashedly stepped aside to allow her friend entrance.

Paris moved gently, slowly with painfully measured steps, keeping her arms to herself, as if scared that one abrupt move that she'd make would tear a gaping hole in the space-time continuum. For some reason, she chose not to bring up Mit's makeover reversal to mention, and that was quite okay with Mit. Very.

"So how are you?"

There was clearly no point in asking. Nobody had ever answered that question truthfully; it was in human nature to keep things to ourselves, and pretend to be fine when in reality we were crumbling to a billion pieces inside. We lie to ourselves, and to others, but hope deep down for someone to see past our facade and save us.

It was the paradox of life.

Mit hadn't expected an honest reply, so she was caught off guard when she heard, "I'm not okay, but I'm better than before, at least. I'm trying to be, and I will, eventually."

"That's... nice," said Mit, her mind a blank space. A sighing sound filled the silence and the rigid air between them as they settled on the living room couch. It was an ugly one, with the most horrible garish shade of mustard yellow and rubbery seats, but Mit centred her entire attention on it nonetheless, having nothing else to do with herself. "You cut your hair."

Paris reached her hand to touch her head, where formerly long, silken golden locks had draped from, as if just noticing its absence. Her fingers flicked the spiky ends of her pixie cut, which Mit now noticed was ombré'd brown. "I did." Her mouth curved in a semi-circle, eyes brightening for a fraction of a minute. "Do you like it?"