You always know when you're being watched. Even if you can't see or hear, there is a sort of sixth sense that draws your attention to the fact that something, somehow, is not right.
Blair Waldorf sat on the lone metal bench in front of Station 12, stiff as a board, frozen in fear. She didn't dare turn around. She could almost feel a set of eyes boring into her back, and the very thought of the stranger somewhere behind her sent chills down her back. Her mind raced as she went through every possible means of escape, should it come to that. She could run, but wouldn't get very far in her black heels. The train that would take her home from school would arrive soon enough, she was certain, but if it didn't, she could always just hop on whatever train happened to be in the station at the time. Run to the conductor for help; plead the passengers to dial 911.
"Paranoid," she accused herself. A smile played on her frozen lips as she found the resolve to cross her legs and sit up straight. She tossed her wavy brown hair behind her shoulder and straightened her black lacy jacket, clutching her purse a little tighter to her body. "I am Blair Waldorf," she told herself. "Irrational fear is not what I do." So, if that were the case, why couldn't she stop thinking about the very nearly empty expanse of space behind her?
In that moment, two hands reached around from behind her and covered her eyes in one swift movement. "Guess who?"
"Chuck Bass!" Blair spat out accusingly, shoving his hands away from her face. Her heart was beating a mile a minute, and threatened to leave her body altogether, or maybe just stop, dead from fear. She turned abruptly in her seat to face him, preparing to give him the verbal thrashing of a lifetime. How dare he? It would have been a far more satisfying moment for Blair had he not been chuckling in that calm, collected way that seemed to dominate his demeanor no matter the situation. Nothing upset Chuck very much; particularly not some venomous words from their high school's infamous drama queen. He casually rounded the bench and took a seat opposite Blair, taking in her furious expression.
"Oh, come on, princess," he chided. He seemed almost offended that Blair hadn't found his prank funny.
"For the millionth time," Blair began through gritted teeth, "Do not call me 'Princess.'" She glared at him, willing the smirk to disappear from his face. Even in her fury, she couldn't wipe the self-satisfied expression from his sinister yet handsome features. The frustration won out over the anger. She turned her body away from him, folding her arms across her chest and setting her face back into its usual blank expression. She refused to let Chuck think he'd won something, especially something concerning Blair.
"Don't tell me you didn't find that funny," Chuck asked evenly, his deep voice making the question sound almost threatening.
"I didn't find that funny," Blair repeated evenly, staring straight ahead. "Further, you're an ass."
Chuck laughed, settling back into the armrest of the chair, resting a leg on the bench. How could he be so casual?
"The pot calling the kettle black," Chuck remarked.
"Correction," Blair started, turning her head towards him. "The pot calling the kettle an ass."
"Guilty as charged," he said. He leaned closer to Blair, so their faces were no more than a few feet apart. He said quietly, "But then, so are you."
"I'm sorry, is there a reason you're still here?" Blair snapped, her cheeks heating at the insult. She was very ready for the conversation to be over. God, what was keeping that train?
"Of course," he answered evenly, unshaken. "I don't waste my time, Princess." Blair opened her mouth to berate him for using the nickname again, but he continued without pause. "I'm going on a trip."
"Oh yeah?" Blair asked, a challenge in her tone. She was curious to see what kind of excuse he was going to cook up. "Where are you going?"
He paused for a moment, letting a smile play on his lips. "Javascript," he told her.
Blair's blood ran cold. What had he just said? For a moment, she allowed herself to be lost in the sound of the trains rushing by and the electronic announcements over the loudspeaker. The cool breeze from the trains and the cement ground her feet rested upon suddenly seemed unreal. Sound and sense blurred. Her only reality was the chilling possibility that someone had discovered her secret.
"Excuse me?" she said quietly, hoping her face didn't reveal how she really felt.
"A cyber café in the Warehouse district," he told her by means of an answer. "Javascript. Have you heard of it?" he asked innocently. Blair caught his eye, wondering what sort of game he was playing. She looked for his trademark smirk, and that sinister, superior twinkle in his eye, but couldn't find it. Either he was a better liar than she'd given him credit for, or he genuinely didn't know what Blair suspected he might.