I cried. My mind was racing, replaying the scene over and over in my mind. What color were his eyes? I couldn't recall, there was a shadow from the mask. They seemed dark. He was Caucasian, I remembered the snow white skin of his bare foot, a stark contrast against the cherry wood of the hall's hardwood flooring. I remembered the way he smelt as he moved over me, like body odor and an expensive type of aftershave that I couldn't seem to remember the name of. He was average height, average build. No accent. He was as nondescript as an Oldsmobile Cutlass Ciera. I felt used, cheap, soiled, like he left a mark I would never be able to wash clean.

I cried. I cried until I was dry and there was nothing left. I aimlessly wondered what time it was. The shades were drawn and didn't give any indication of the sun's position in the sky. I forced myself to stand. My muscles ached in protest, stiff from my lack of movement. I shakily made it to my feet and moved towards the bedroom door with hesitation in my step. Should I call the police, an ambulance? Just shower and pretend it never happened? I moved unsurely towards the door.

I was naked and bruised, my head still pounding from whatever he used to knock me out. I put a hand on the doorknob and cautiously opened my door, then stuck my head out to make sure the coast was clear.

I took maybe two steps into the hall when I heard a crash of dishes hitting the hardwood floor of the hallway. I turned towards the sound and saw Dorota standing there with a horrified look on her face, dishes broken in a pile at her feet, food and beverage beginning to puddle, and her hand over her mouth. "Ms. Blair," she questioned before she expertly dashed around the mess at her feet to my side. Her worry and concern brought on a new round of tears. I crumpled in her arms and let her lead me to the bathroom.

The rest is a blur. She asked a million questions, most of which I did not know the answer to before she insisted that we go to the authorities. I cried and shook my head, begging her not to make me go out for fear that someone might see me. Although Gossip Girl had lost interest in my hibernation, I did not want to risk anyone seeing me in my current state.

Dorota seemed to be talking a mile a minute and I nodded or shook my head in response and stared at my reflection in the mirror. Mascara streaks ran down my cheeks, tear stains tinting my snowy complexion a blotchy red. I kept my arms folded tightly over my chest, staring at the bruises from where he had held my arms down, the bite marks that littered the area from my breasts to my neck. I tightly gripped the fluffy robe that Dorota lay on my shoulders, pulling it around me like a blanket. Worst of all was the cut on my forehead, the dried blood that had trickled down from my wound, matting my hair. I must've fought back too hard, although I don't remember it.

I started to get dizzy, wanted to sleep forever, never wake up. I didn't want to think about what had happened here. I felt too weak, too vulnerable. How did this happen? Why me? I wanted to die. This isn't the sort of thing that happens to someone on the Upper East Side, let alone Blair Waldorf.

I became numb, allowed people to lead me wherever they wanted. Dorota stayed protectively at my side. I couldn't tell you when we left, what I was wearing, who was there. Fingers snap in my face, making me jump. I start and look to the sound. A woman police officer is asking me the same questions Dorota did, who is standing at her side providing answers, elaborating on mine when they don't seem sufficient. I'm sitting on an examination table in a hospital and I find comfort in the sterility of it. I'm dressed in cotton slacks and chiffon button down. I don't remember putting it on and I certainly didn't pick it out. "Who did this?" I hear the officer loudly query, probably because I wasn't paying attention. I turned to her, eyes filling with tears. Her voice softened, "Do you know anyone who would want to hurt you?" The tears threatened to spill. I shook my head, closing my eyes tightly, succumbing to the fresh wave of sobs.

Author's Note:

Alright, sorry for not introducing Dan for the first 2 chapters, but I promise he will pop up soon. I want to make sure the story is set up properly and that you can tell just how fragile Blair really is. I really appreciate everyone who took the time to review, it meant a lot to me and gave me the motivation to try to pump out this chapter in a timely manner. If you have any thoughts or input, please let me know. I really like feedback, as long as it's constructive.

I also want to add this information. I know this is just a story. I know that not many people read Dair fanfiction, but I feel better knowing that if per chance this does reach someone who needs it, that I provided a place to get support. If you have, or know someone who has been sexually assaulted or abused PLEASE talk to someone, whether it's a counselor, family member, friend or the police. Or call 1-800-656-HOPE (4673) You can also go online to .org/ The Rape, Abuse and Incest National Network (RAINN) is the nation's largest anti-sexual assault organization. You do not have to deal with this alone.