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Gabriel Agreste doesn’t need Lila anymore.
He told her so yesterday afternoon, the way he always speaks—spoke—to her: at the Place des Vosges, from the comfort of his car, while she listened in from a nearby bench. She didn’t turn to look at him, no matter how much being supposedly relieved of her duties meant she could break every bit of their agreement as much as she wanted. All she said was, “I don’t follow. I thought you only wanted good influences around Adrien. He even said we’re friends. Isn’t that what— “
“What we agreed on, Miss Rossi”—he cut her off rather coldly then—“was that you would do your utmost to keep certain bad influences away from my son. To date, I have failed to see you do so.”
She stayed quiet, but only for a spell. She liked to think she was above begging for chances. No need, when she had every tool in her pocket that turned those chances over to her so willingly. “So you think I’m a bad influence, too,” she said. Final. Sour. It always worked.
“I have my own agenda,” he said. “I’ll let you see to yours.”
Lila had no idea what that was supposed to mean—and she prided herself on knowing what adults meant most of the time. But before she could ask, Gabriel Agreste had already rolled up the window and driven away.
She could have screamed, but really, that was the other thing she was proud of: quietly biding her time to exact the worst revenge. That always worked, too. Besides, adults had taught her how to play the manipulating game. Some of them had even lost to her. He would just be another one. Eventually.
It was supposed to be that easy, anyway. Except she spent the whole train ride home stunned with a silent and otherwise indescribable rage. Except she woke up the next morning to nothing but an apple on the table and a sticky note on the fridge, again . Except she took herself to school and got an eyeful of Chloé goddamn Bourgeois gloating about something or other, and another eyeful of Adrien and that fencing girl holding hands of all things, before she’d even made it to the front steps. And then, as if the universe had decided she just hadn’t had enough to ruin her life, there was Marinette talking to that blue-haired boy again, the one who always carried his guitar around like some stupid security blanket. And they were smiling, and he had his hand on her shoulder, and what right did any of them have, getting to be so happy?
Lila composed herself just in time for Guitar Boy to salute and pedal away on that cheap bike of his, and she pushed into the school building before she had to endure any more of that nauseating expression Marinette had on her face. Anything to get away from her stupid friends, and her stupid smile, and her stupid happiness. Anything to get away from her.
She found herself in the empty, echoing silence of the restroom just down the hall from her class before the bell rang. Found herself staring down every hard line in her face, the grit in her teeth so firm they might break, knuckles white from gripping the edges of the sink. The hate in her eyes. The hate everywhere.
Don’t break, she told her reflection in the daggers she glared at it. Don’t you dare break.
Her teeth didn’t break, but she did, in spite of herself. Her cheeks flared, and her jaw stayed tight, and her heart twisted on itself so many times that it was almost unbearable. she hated it, hated them, hated her, right from the first angry, poisonous tear. And the next, and all the ones that came after that.
Her name was Lila Rossi, and she was not supposed to drown. She would stare herself down to death if she had to. And if she took anyone down with her, well. That would only be for the better. If she had to hurt, then so did everyone else.
She was so focused on crushing the growing weight in her chest that she almost didn’t notice the creak and swing of the restroom door. Half-wildly, she jerked her head toward the door with no time or chance to compose herself, nearly ready to scream because no one would believe it if it got around the school—she would make sure they didn’t believe it.
Apparently, the universe wasn’t done with her just yet. Because of course it was Marinette standing there, her expression caught somewhere between sour and exhausted and... concerned. Not even a hint of glee at the corners of her eyes. It made Lila sick all over again.
“Miss Bustier’s taking attendance,” Marinette said simply, her words echoing hollow off the tile. “She’s looking for you.”
Lila steeled herself, turned back to the mirror. The angry wrinkles in her mouth. The hair in her eyes. “Get. Away. From me.”
“For the most part, I’d love to, trust me.” Out of the corner of her eye, Marinette folded her arms, hip cocked. “But I can’t. It’s kind of my responsibility. Class representative?” A pause. A sigh. “Look, do you need me to—”
“Do you want to know what your problem is, Marinette?” God, Lila even hated saying her name. Tasted like sour milk. Like plaque. It took everything in her to tear away from the sink and stare her down. Maybe if she did it long enough, Marinette would finally screw off.
But Marinette stood unfazed; even the quirk in her brow barely budged. “I’m sure you’re gonna tell me anyway.”
The air went cold, and Lila counted the steps she took toward the other girl. She wouldn’t dare get so close that the tear streaks would be obvious, but her limbs locked with every threatening click of her shoes. “Everyone just fucking adores you. All you have to do is walk in a room—you don’t even have to lift a goddamn finger—and eeeeeveryone wants to be around you. I bet you don’t ever have to think about it. You just get to be so popular, and so loved. You just get to be a goddamn blessing to everyone, don’t you?”
Her voice was rising even though it didn’t need to, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care. She was beyond it. She’d scream if she could get away with it. Somehow, backing her into a corner was starting to be enough. “And I bet you don’t even care, do you, Marinette? You don’t even care how much everybody loves you, because you’re just basking in it. You probably don’t even hear it. But I do. I hear it all the time, because it’s like no one can stop talking about how great you are for two seconds. Don’t you get how sick you make me? Don’t you get how much I can’t fucking stand you?!”
Take it, she wants to scream. Take every last goddamn word, because if I have to deal with it, then so do you. Because if I have to destroy myself, then I’m taking you with me. Because if I can’t have control, then neither can you. Because if I can’t be happy, then neither can you. You don’t have the right. You did this to me. You did this to me, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, do you hear me? You did this, you did this, you—
Marinette was tense, standing in the corner with her arms still folded. Lila would take even that as a victory. But her eyes were searching her face, looking for all the unsaid things, and if she found any of them, she made no sign of it. Eventually, all she said was, “Are you finished?”
At first, Lila was too stunned to do anything but look at her incredulously. “ Excuse me?”
Marinette shrugged; it was just barely visible. “Did you get it all out?” she said none too sweetly. “Do you feel better now, taking that all out on me?”
Of course she didn’t. She wouldn’t feel better until she never had to see Marinette’s sorry face again. That, or until she finally crushed her under her heel. She didn’t say anything. She only glared.
“Because if you’re not,” Marinette went on, “I’ll just tell Miss Bustier you’ve got some weird, totally-not-contagious stomach bug or whatever, and you had to leave school early. That’s right up your alley, isn’t it?”
Lila still said nothing. There was nothing to say. There was no reason for Marinette to do something like that for her. If anything, it only made her more furious. “Didn’t I tell you to get away from me?” she spat.
“You approached me,” Marinette said. “And you’re mad that I’m right.”
“You’re a liar too.” It was the first thing Lila could think of, and maybe it would hurt enough to make Marinette go away for good. “You tell her that, and you’ll be just as bad as I am. Don’t you hate liars, Marinette? Do you hate yourself now?”
The only little victory was that Marinette actually paused for a moment. And that her arms loosened, and she seemed to go… disgustingly soft around the edges. “No,” she said. It didn’t matter how quiet it was; it still rang through the bathroom and scurried into the stalls, hauntingly matter-of-fact. “I don’t hate myself. And I don’t lie because I want people to like me.”
“Of course not.” Lila narrowed her eyes. “You don’t have to.”
“Neither do you,” Marinette said. “No one does. And for what it’s worth to you, not everybody loves me.”
“Good.” Lila said it without thinking, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Why should she? “It’s about time someone didn’t.”
Marinette winced, either because she was hurt or because she was holding back what she really wanted to say, and Lila loved every nanosecond of it. But otherwise, she kept her composure, and turned on her heel. “I’ll just go tell her—”
And then she paused, and Lila saw exactly why.
A butterfly.
Hawk Moth’s butterfly. Phasing through the bathroom door, all royal black and purple, and fluttering towards her.
Perfect. She’d show him. She’d show all of them how much they needed her—
“Get down!” Marinette yelled, and Lila saw and heard her tackling her to the bathroom floor before she actually felt the impact. When she sat up, Marinette was already standing up, arms spread out, firm from head to toe. Shielding her.
Lila scrambled to her feet. “What is your problem?” she nearly screeched, reaching out for the butterfly.
Marinette swatted her hand away before she could touch it. “Don’t.”
“What do you care?”
For a moment, the butterfly hesitated, and Marinette turned back to look at her. “I’m not gonna let you use your feelings to hurt other people,” she said. “And I’m not gonna let you use your feelings to hurt yourself.”
Lila rolled her eyes. “Oh, forget it—” But she’d barely taken a step before Marinette shoved her back again—surprisingly, she was stronger than she looked—and she stumbled backwards, slamming into the wall with nearly all the wind knocked out of her. Her head throbbed, and she stumbled to find her balance again, and Marinette was still standing there, still protecting her as though she could actually do anything about it.
“What? She gripped the edge of the sink, didn’t bother to look at her reflection again. “You think you’re Ladybug now or something? What are you, her best friend? Don’t tell me you’re doing this because you pity me all of a sudden.”
“I don’t.” It was… almost exhilarating, hearing Marinette talk through her teeth like that. “I don’t pity you. Not for how you’ve strung people along, and not for how you’ve treated me. And I don’t have to be Ladybug to know what she values. But when Ladybug says that everyone deserves to be protected, she means you, too. I don’t care how much you hate her. I don’t care how much you hate me. But I’m not gonna just stand here and be okay with you making choices that hurt people.”
“People?” Lila sneered. “Or Adrien?”
Marinette didn’t give her an answer. Instead, she turned to face the butterfly again, stood stock still. Its wings were still fluttering, though slower now. She took a few deep breaths, mumbled something to herself. Numbers, it sounded like. Over and over, she said them, and eventually the butterfly balked and flew backwards, through the door, away again.
She went lax, sighed in what sounded like relief, and turned toward Lila again. She looked… almost exhausted. “Your move, Lila,” she said. “I’m going back to class. As far as Miss Bustier is concerned, you went home sick.”
Finally, Lila spared herself a glance. Well. At least she looked the part. “Why?”
Marinette looked her up and down. Not a hint of judgment in her eyes. It was almost sickening. Almost. “Because you’re hurting,” she said, voice shaky as she made for the door. “And I was hurting once, too. And if someone being nice to me helped, then maybe someone being nice to you will help, too.”
The bathroom door swung open and shut behind her, and Lila was still left by the stalls, the echo of the words still taunting her. And when she was sure no one else was coming in or out again, she cried. With her back to the mirror and her fist pounding the edge of the sink, with every emotion and none she could actually name. She drowned. She’d go home, and that sticky note would still be on the kitchen counter. Adrien would still have that fencing girl, and Marinette would still be his friend, and have that guitar boy to boot. And Gabriel Agreste wouldn’t actually need her. Gabriel Agreste didn’t need her anymore.
By the time she wiped her eyes and walked out of the school building, she had already decided to prove him right.
And if Marinette Dupain-Cheng thought that some empty words and seventy seconds of shielding was going to do her any good, then she had another think coming.