She wonders how she got to this place.
She remembers saying to Dan, "but I know who I am, and that's not going to change just 'cause I hang out with them."
She realises that she'd set herself up to fail. Of course she didn't know who she was. She was a lost fourteen-year-old not knowing the danger of the sought-after world she was diving into. She'd promised that she wouldn't change. But she had. The first time was telling Nate about Blair sleeping with Chuck. She'd secretly hoped that Nate would turn to her. But of course he didn't – she was a little sister, someone to care about, but he didn't see her in that way (oh, how she wished he would).
She'd dated Asher; she'd lied about his sexuality, and for what? She'd decided it wasn't worth it, but only after it blew up in her face, as something was bound to do sometime. Somewhere along the way, she'd gained Blair's respect, which was what she'd always wanted (then why did it feel so wrong?).
She'd turned good girl, interning at Eleanor Waldorf's, but ruining it when she couldn't just do as she was told. Looking back, it was an important lesson for her – she had made it absolutely clear that not even the Queen Mother could walk over her. But Agnes, someone she'd trusted (but they'd both betrayed that trust, it was ruined), had burned her dresses and her world, not caring about all that it had meant to her.
She'd betrayed Vanessa – but it was only fair, after she'd stolen Nate away from her, whisking him off to be somebody else's prince charming. It hadn't accomplished anything. Nate just hated her even more, but she'd stood up to the girls at school, and made it clear that she was coming back bigger and better.
She'd watched as her father became closer to Lily van der Woodsen, and was overwhelmed with joy that Eric would one day officially be her brother. She was secretly terrified of them moving in with the van der Woodsens, and hoped beyond hope that Chuck wouldn't be there when they did.
She sent the text to Gossip Girl about her sweet sixteenth, and revelled in the immature teenagers defacing the penthouse. Serena deserved whatever she got at that moment, but as usual, she escaped, and when she came back there was a boy and a diamond bracelet instead of a punishment. Serena glided through life, and the consequences shrunk away from her instead of wrapping their arms around her.
She walked down the halls the day of graduation, coming across Blair's minions. She accepted their challenge with a hope of abolishing the hierarchy, and when she found the Gossip Girl tip about Blair having sex with Jack Bass, she realised that if she told everyone, she would be just as bad as them – but wasn't the point to make everyone a little less bitchy, a little less like Blair Waldorf?
She stood there as Blair told her, "You haven't got what it takes," and glared at her as the anger took over. She couldn't stand her somewhat-mentor, the reason she had wanted to be Queen In the first place, telling her that she couldn't rule. Who was Blair Waldorf to take it away from her? Despite this, she only felt a little disappointment when the blast hit and her gossip was exposed.
She spoke to Blair in the bathrooms, and surprised herself that she managed to keep it civil. Maybe Blair was right; maybe she was too soft to rule with an iron fist. She corrected herself – she didn't want to rule, in fact, it was the opposite (but every time she thought this, it felt more and more forced). But when Blair crowned her at the cafe, and the other girls looked on in jealousy, she realised that this was what she had always wanted – Queen.
She cringed as the new mean girls called her by Blair's mildly insulting moniker, and realised that if becoming a tyrant was what it took to make people forget that she was just the little girl from Brooklyn, then she would do it. Anything to keep up appearances, right? So when she plotted with Chuck, and Blair let her take over the spot she had been waiting so long for, she told herself she wouldn't become Blair. She would be a kind Queen, not dumping yoghurt on people's heads or yelling at the minions for messing up her coffee order. As usual, she told herself lies.
She realised that her downward spiral began when she acted like a complete bitch to everyone when she prepared for cotillion. She wanted Graham Collins, she wanted the black dress, she wanted everyone to admire her, so she could rule the Upper East Side. So she would have Graham Collins, she would have that black dress, people would admire her and she would get what she'd always wanted. She began to see how much she was like Blair – Graham was this year's Nate, after all, and Blair had most likely done plotting of her own to get him. So when she stood at the top of those stairs, something she had wanted to do since she was young (so innocent, so sweet), and realised that nobody cared enough to help her, her heart had turned to stone. Angrily punching the buttons to get to Nate, she pressed 'call', and the rest was history.
She met Damien Dalgaard. He was money and drugs and danger, exactly what she needed to make herself forget who she was. She was bored and lonely, she thought 'fuck it, why not?' as he made her a pawn in the complicated game of his life. So she dealt. She fell into the pattern (lie, steal, rinse, repeat) of pretending to be perfect, living her secret life with her prince not-so-charming, her anti-Nate. She did everything for Damien, she risked the apparently not so unconditional love of her family, she skipped school, she hiked up her skirt as his hand went higher and higher. He said, 'fuck me' and she said 'no', so he left. Everybody she had cared about left. Nobody cared about her anymore, unless they were trying to control her, make her just another puppet.
She turned back into fashion girl, working for Eleanor again, hoping beyond hope that Agnes wouldn't fuck it up this time. Of course, like the idiot she was, she accepted the drink, she trusted, and people took advantage of her (so what's new?). She could have been raped, she could have died, but she knew there was one person she could count on (always, she loved him). Nate would be there, rescuing the damsel in distress that she played so well. She fell for him, over again, and began to plot. Plotting would always be a trait inherited from watching Blair Waldorf – even her innocent brother had been corrupted (but he didn't care about her, not anymore).
She kissed Nate, feeling the rush it gave her (she was with Damien again, the drugs flowing into her system), not guilty at all. But when Serena led him upstairs, she knew she had to up her game. Blair wouldn't have rested until Nate was hers, and so she shouldn't either. She slept at Nate's, orchestrated scenes with Serena, but it didn't matter (always Serena, always the taller blonde, never her). Nate would never love her, he would never be hers.
She typed in 'cancer'; she had wanted to help Lily, to help her dysfunctional family. But when Serena slapped her across the face (one, two, three) with those words, she wondered why she cared. She swapped teams, playing for the bad guys, wanting to destroy something mythic to get what she wanted (but what else could she do?). She needed her family back, and this was the only way. But they were better than her, had been playing this game of back-and-forth longer and she was caught out. Her family hated her, everybody hated her, everybody hated each other (never love, love wasn't their way).
She sat, dumbfounded, as Rufus (she couldn't think of him as Dad anymore, he hadn't been Dad for a long time) told her that she had to go to Hudson, live with her flighty mother. New York was her home, all of Manhattan was her subjects, she had to stay and rule, not be assassinated. So she picked herself up and ran (always running, just like the other blonde), ran to the Empire. Blair had been right; nobody loved her, not even her father, not even her brother. "Nate loves Serena," were the words that kept ringing in her mind. Over and over they played (fuck off, I'm worthless, leave it alone).
She didn't care about anything anymore. She leant in as Chuck did, and when their lips met she knew that they were both thinking of different people (always someone else, never her). The sex was painful, but of course Chuck knew what to do with a virgin – he'd deflowered enough girls in his time to know – so the emotional scarring was worse. She realised that what everyone drilled into you was true (sex is meaningful, save your virginity for someone you love, bullshit bullshit bullshit), and she cries and cries on the ground, as her body collapses in on itself.
She's sitting with the blades.
She picks the gleaming razor up.
(the blade is shiny like Serena, sharp like Blair)
Jenny inscribes the marks into her wrists.
She sees no more.