Her Body: Chapter 7

by alabastersnow



(n.) mutual trust and friendship among people who spend a lot of time together.


"DON'T SCREAM," Paris' tone was firm and dead steady. Whereas Bleu was almost hypervantilating, her eyes wide and hands gripping the edge of the door so tight the knuckles were white.

"I-is that a-a-" Bleu couldn't form a coherent sentence. She felt like fainting.

"It's a heart, yes," Paris indicated to the bloody organ on the sink as if she was talking about her dog. "Do you have a plastic bag?" She knelt down to check under the sink's cabinets.

Bleu swallowed bile. "A human...?"

"God, no," Paris said, no humor in her voice. "A pig's. At least I think it is. They wouldn't dare kill another person." When she said the last part, she sounded unsure.

"Wait. Wait a second, Paris - would you stop moving around and just freaking listen to me!" Bleu whispered yelled, almost fully yelling but remembering at the last moment that her parents were probably in the hallway. "What on earth is going on? Who's they? Fucking tell me Paris, or so help me I will scream and call the police."

She stood there, staring her friend down. Paris looked back helplessly, knowing she'd have to explain the bloody heart in her best friend's sink. What would she think of her?

"Ok, fine," the brunette sighed hard. She pinched the bridge of her nose and shut her eyes. "Just help me clean this up first before your mom comes in here and I'll tell you everything." She hesitated, thinking of just telling Bleu the half-truth and keeping the rest hidden.

"Paris, you forget that before your stupid drama, we were best friends. I know that look. Don't you dare lie to me or leave a single detail out," Bleu ground out, reaching down her sink cabinet to wrench a plastic bag away and shove it into Paris' hands. "I want a damn good explanation as to why there's a fucking bloody heart on my marble sink!"

She shut the bathroom door on Paris' grim face and heavily sat down on her bed, breathing hard. Her mind tried to connect pieces together, but none of it was making sense. She just checked and cleaned her room about four hours ago. No one had come or left their house. Her window had the standard security accessories. Whoever would dare climb would immediately be electrecuted and it had to be turned off from the inside. And how is it connected to Paris? Why is she behaving like she sees this all the time? Does she? It's almost like she's been expecting it.

She heard water running from inside the bathroom and figured the brunette was washing the evidence away. She didn't have to wait long before the door opened and there she stood with a plastic bag in one hand, no doubt with the heart in it.

"I need to bury this. I obviously can't just throw it in your trashbin."

Bleu nodded her head towards the corner of her room, where two large silver bins were sitting. "Throw it in the left one. It's a chute that goes straight down our furnace. It burns the trash immediately."

Paris nodded, and walked over to dump the bloody heart in. Bleu winced at the slight squish sound it made as Paris held it in one hand to open the latch and dump it in. Normally they separated the plastic from the organic ones since it polluted more when it burned, but in this case, something had to keep the chute from staining red with the freaking blood.

Once satisfied the evidence was gone, Paris stood there for a moment, not facing Bleu.

Bleu crossed her arms, tapping her foot on her carpet. She knew Paris well enough to know the other was preparing herself, or planning a script on what to say. She gave her about five seconds of that before she cleared her throat.

"Explain. Now."

The brunette sighed, her hands dropping to her sides. She turned around and slowly walked to sit on the bed across from Bleu.

Bleu stared at her, and Paris got so conscious under her gaze she couldn't help but bite her lip. Which of course, distracted the blonde so much so that she forgot what she was demanding for in the first place.

"Anytime in this century, please." Bleu's eyebrows knitted together, her crossed arms tightening in impatience. "Why was there a heart on my sink and how do you know it's meant for you?"

"It's a threat," Paris clasped her hands together on her lap, staring at them. "From people who- um, people who want something from me."

"A threat?" Bleu was shocked. "Why? What do they want from you?"

"Bleu, before I continue I want you to know that I never meant for you to be involved in this," Paris' tone was desparate, her pleading green eyes searching Bleu's. "They were never supposed to find me. Or know about the people connected to me. You're in danger now, and it's my fault." Then her eyes widened and she clamped her mouth shut, as if realizing she had said too much.

Bleu couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Paris," she said slowly, noting the panic in her friend's voice. "What happened in that one year you were gone?"

"I left to lose weight," Paris wouldn't meet her in the eyes, knotting her own fingers together. "That's it."

"You're lying," Bleu said firmly, reaching out to grab the brunette's hands in her own. "Let me help you. And I can't do that when I don't know anything." She softened, feeling some sort of ease and hope in her heart, and wishing that Paris' reason to leave her was more than just to 'lose weight'. She didn't want to believe she was that easy to leave behind. "Tell me."

Paris lifted her head to look at her friend in the eyes. Green orbs connected with electric blue ones and held on, searching for genuine truth and trust. "Please promise not to tell anyone until I can figure this out," Paris whispered. "Not even your parents."

"I promise." Bleu replied, and the weight of those words were felt in herself, knowing she meant it.

"Ok," Paris took a deep breath, and the words that came out of her mouth next left Bleu literally speechless.

"I'm a Crown Princess," Paris said calmly and Bleu almost choked on her own spit.

"I'm sorry, what?" Bleu's eyebrows felt like they were going to fly away anytime soon. "I don't think I heard you right."

Paris sighed, looking down on her hands again, which were still clasped in Bleu's own. "My real father is Prince Nikolai Grimaldi of Monaco. Which is the second smallest country in the world." Paris never failed to add little fun facts to the stories she told, but this story was something Bleu had yet to believe. "And my real name is Paris Antoinette Grimaldi."

"According to my mom," Paris continued, after drawing in a shaky breath. "My real parents handed me over to them when I was born. A couple of nobody's in a city with millions of others was a perfect place to hide their only daughter. They did it to protect me." Her voice cracked at the last sentence but she forced herself to keep going.

"My dad had cancer," her voice was almost a monotone now. "He knew he didn't have long, and when he died, his brother would take over the kingdom and his businesses from there. My birth mother, the duchess, overdosed on drugs when she found out her husband was dying. Sending your daughter away and finding out your husband is dying are quite plausible reasons to do it, I guess. Long story short, my uncle took over everything when both my parents died. I'm supposed to go back when I turn eighteen to reclaim the throne as per my responsibility, but I didn't make it there long."

Bleu was afraid to ask why, and stayed silent to let Paris continue.

"When I left that day, it had only been a month since I found out the truth about my bloodline. My adoptive parents brought me home to Monaco to train to become a royalty. Apparently they thought it was time their teenaged daughter learned the etiquettes and politics of the royal family."

Paris softly laughed, remembering when her mom had first tried the Princess Etiquette training and had quit after a few minutes. She was a free soul.

Then Paris' voice darkened.

"However, no one told my uncle that his niece, the rightful heir to the throne and a few months shy of turning eighteen, was training there," She swallowed hard, and Bleu heard her voice truly crack. "He got possesive. He wanted the throne all to himself. So the bastard secretly sent spies to have us all slaughtered. I managed to escape. Mom and Dad didn't."

Bleu covered her mouth in shock as Paris' shoulder shook with her sobs, finally letting the tears go.

Bleu was having every bit of difficulty in believing what Paris had just told her. Putting her own feelings aside, she wrapped up the blonde in her own arms, giving her the only comfort she knew how. By being there.

Losing your parents twice was unimaginable.

And I've been such a bitch to her. Bleu bit her lip to keep from crying. Paris came back for comfort and I greeted her with a fucking slap. Bleu held her tighter. She begged to give our friendship a second chance because I'm all she has left.

"I'm sorry," Bleu let go of all the pride in her heart, she stripped herself bare of any malice, selfishness, and hatred and focused on one thing: Paris. "God, I'm so sorry, Paris," her voice cracked. "You deserved better from me." She squeezed her eyes shut, and the image of Paris' tear-filled eyes as she begged her to give her another chance made her lose it.

"Hate me," Bleu said shakily, pulling back to wipe the tears from her best friend's eyes. "I don't deserve you. After all you've been through, I treated you like shit. Hell, I even made out with your fucking bully right in front of your eyes." Her tears wouldn't stop flowing. "And yet you came back anyway. You, an orphan asking someone like me to give you another chance when I should have been the one to beg for you or at least give you a chance." She hugged her tight, burying her face in her blonde locks, crying. "Forgive me, Paris."

"I already have," Paris whispered. "Just please, don't leave me." All the desperation, all the anguish and hope of finding her home again, she infused in those words. When she came back to this town, she was half-mad, driven sane only because the thought of seeing Bleu again kept her going. The only two people she knew her whole life turned out to be people who were only paid to care for her. The moment she found out, she lost track of her identity, her integrity. That one year was pure hell for her, knowing that she never truly knew about her real parents, and the parents she had now were the only ones she knew to love. When they were killed, she had nothing left. But when she remembered the very best friend she left behind, she was filled with hope. Bleu was all she had left, all that she was sure of. Even if they fought until the end of time, she wouldn't let her go. "I'm begging you. Please don't leave me. Promise me."

"Never." Bleu replied. Without another word and overcome with grief, Paris laid her head on her shoulder, seeking the only home and comfort she had. Bleu silently held her, not knowing that her tears simultaneously flowed along with Paris', each one released for different reasons, but the same story. They cried until they fell asleep, still holding each other tight. What's going to happen in school the next day? What sacrifices was Paris going to have to make to save what she loves? Neither one cared at the moment. They relished their rekindled friendship and that was enough for tonight.

And outside, in the dead of the night, a deep voice chuckled as the scene of the two best friends reuniting unfolded before his eyes.

"It's going to hurt more when you lose her, princess."

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