A/N: A challenge fic from F/R. The ending is kind of rushed, but I tried. :) As always, con-crit is appreciated.
Tucking a stray curl behind her ear, Blair Waldorf struggled to keep her skinny ass on the narrow windowsill, pulling on her navy blue Constance skirt until it covered her knees. Five days. It had been five days since she had been admitted to this shithole, and she had yet to receive some fresh clothes.
Blair gazed out the grimy window, alternating glances between her chipped French manicure and the medley of cabs, people and buildings that was New York City.
She would give up her entire trust fund to be there…………..
Blair slammed her champagne glass down on the sticky mahogany bar with such force that the stem broke into small pieces; showering her arm in the golden liquid and miniscule shards of glass. Blair barely noticed the blood tricking down her arm; she was too focused on the scene she had just witnessed: Chuck Bass, surrounded by half naked girls, one of whom had planted a kiss on his full lips.
Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes; she wiped them away with edge of her chiffon tunic-another Eleanor Waldorf original. She knew that Chuck was an asshole, a guy who could never stick to one girl. Why had she even considered-no, hoped, that she would be exception?
"Would you like another glass, Miss Waldorf?"
Blair shook her head no; the lump in her throat prevented her from speaking. She motioned for a shot glass and a bottle of something potent; she didn't give a fuck what it was, as long as it would get her drunk as quickly as possible.
The bartender obliged and Blair watched with a dreamy fascination, leaning forward and resting her chin on the rich wood of the bar, which had seen better days. The clear liquid filled the miniscule glass; Blair grabbed it out of the bartender's hand before he had a chance to put the glass down on the rough wood, downing the drink in less than ten seconds. Risking a glance back at Chuck, Blair noticed that he now had both girls on his lap, the redhead running her fingers through his dark hair.
Blair turned around, glancing at her manicure in a devil-may-care way, trying to ignore sinking feeling in her stomach and the still lingering lump in her throat.
She knew she shouldn't turn around and look again, but it was a stubborn compulsion and the strange desire to torture herself that had her facing Chuck once more. A blonde had joined the little threesome; clad in a lacy slip similar to the one Blair had worn out partying weeks earlier. There was something about her that Blair couldn't put her finger on, something that reminded her of Serena.
The blonde hair was obvious, so were the enviable lithe limbs that made Blair feel even more fat and inadequate than usual. There was an attitude, a certain je ne sais quoi that this anonymous blonde possessed; similar to Blair's on again, off again best friend. Both of them were blessed with the ability to have every man in a room stop and stare. Or better yet, to have the one guy you loved actually pay attention to you, and you alone.
The blonde leaned over and kissed Chuck on his tanned, sweaty forehead, his fingers roaming from her shin to the tops of her thighs, grazing the edge of the lace trimmed slip. The unpleasant image of Serena and Chuck flew into Blair's mind; she tried to think of others things, like puppies. Blair nodded. Puppies were good. A cute little golden retriever puppy, rolling over on his belly, looking up at her with soulful brown eyes……..Serena's in Chuck's lap……he was kissing her neck….her hands fiddling with his belt loops…..Blair squeezed her eyes closed, hoping that the images would go away. But they grew more intense; in Blair's mind Serena and the anonymous blonde were one and the same. Fuck this. Blair reached into her wallet and grabbed a handful of bills, tossing them at the bartender. Staggering to her feet she tried to walk out of the bar with as much dignity as she could muster. Said dignity was crushed when she fell flat on her face trying to hail a cab. Five inch Christian Louboutin stilettos were definitely not the most practical footwear. But who ever said Blair was practical?
"Where to?"
"Seventy- Ninth and Park."
The key scraped the ornate gold lock; a perfectly manicured hand pushed open the door. Blair blinked in the dim lighting, running her hand against the smooth plaster wall in an attempt to find the light switch. The foyer was empty and judging by the darkness of the rest of the penthouse, she was alone. With the room bathed in the artificial glow of a chandelier suspended from the ceiling above, she noticed a tiny, robin's egg blue box sitting on a side table. Her curiosity piqued, Blair picked up the box, the card falling on the marble floor unnoticed.
A white gold pendant rested on white velvet; a diamond encrusted letter B dangling from the simple, elegant chain. Blair smiled and undid the clasp; putting on the necklace with the exaggerated caution of a jewelry salesperson. She glanced at her reflection in the oversized mirror hanging above the small table. The diamonds sparkled in the warm lighting; Blair blew a kiss at her mirrored self, certain that the pendant was a gift from Chuck to say, "I'm sorry." She kicked off her heels (much to the relief of her aching feet) and was about to head upstairs to her room when she noticed the forgotten card lying on the freshly waxed floor. Hopping from foot to foot trying to keep warm on the cold floor, Blair picked up the card, her brown eyes skimming over the fancy gold lettering.
Dear Blair Bear,
Giles and I were in Tiffany's the other day and I thought of you when I saw this.
Love,
Dad
The pendant that looked so beautiful before now seemed ugly; the glittery diamonds had morphed into cheap, tacky, dime store rhinestones. It felt like there was a noose made of iron wrapped around Blair's neck; choking her and weighing her down. She grabbed the chain and pulled as hard as she could, snapping it in two. The necklace laid in Blair's hand, she threw it on the table and ran towards the kitchen, anywhere to get away from the necklace, the note, everything. Blair's nose began to itch and the lump in her throat grew- a sure signal that she was going to cry.
No. I can't cry. That's stupid, to cry over something so small, Blair thought. I have to think of something else.
She opened the refrigerator door, scanning the contents inside. An unidentifiable object covered in plastic wrap. Some cupcakes from Magnolia Bakery, arranged on a china plate. A bottle of Taittinger compte de champagne rose. Chinese leftovers from a takeout place across the street, no doubt belonging to her brother, Tyler. Blair grabbed the cupcakes and the champagne, sitting on one of the redwood stools surrounding the kitchen island, stained a coordinating color.
With the ferocity of a lion attacking a fresh kill, Blair stuffed the garishly frosted cupcake into her mouth, spilling crumbs onto her dress and getting frosting on her glossy curls. Blair stuffed another in her mouth, washing it down with a swig of champagne straight from the bottle. It became a familiar rhythm: chomp, chew, and wash it down with champagne. Ten cupcakes and a quarter of a bottle of champagne later, Blair's rhythm changed, to something much more familiar
The patter of feet slamming against the marble floor as she ran across the foyer to the bathroom.Kneeling in front of the toilet, her knuckle touching the back of her throat. Tears springing in the corners of her eyes, a flush of the toilet and it was over. Blair slumped against the wall, wiping her moth with the back of her hand. Something shiny caught her eye and she squinted, taking in the drops of crimson but not registering their significance.
Her breath caught in her throat and in a panic, she reached out to the only person she could: her best friend.
"Blair!" the nurse's bright and cheerful voice grated on Blair's nerves even more than usual, "Blair, you have a visitor!"
The woman smiled, ushering in a flustered Serena, overloaded with bags from various boutiques and department stores around the city.
"Hey," Serena attempted a small wave, an almost impossible task with the gargantuan Barney's shopping bag she held in her right hand.
"Hey yourself," Blair smiled feebly at Serena's child like enthusiasm.
"So," Serena dropped all of the bags on the linoleum floor and perched on the windowsill uncomfortably.
"So what?" Blair couldn't help letting the bitterness take over.
"So……." Serena bit her lower lip and studied her ragged cuticles, "So, I brought you some clothes," she said, indicating the overflowing shopping bags on the floor.
Blair felt herself smiling, in spite of the everyday sullenness that had consumed her. Digging through an overwhelming amount of tissue paper, she unearthed a gold mine of designer clothing. Tossing aside piles of silky tops and overpriced jeans, Blair pulled out a black sheath dress, almost exactly like the one Audrey Hepburn wore in Breakfast at Tiffany's. With an uncharacteristic squeal, Blair threw her arms around her oldest friend's slim torso. Serena seemed to stiffen and Blair pulled away, looking into Serena's cerulean eyes with a quizzical expression on her face.
"What's wrong? Did Humphrey dump you again?" Blair said Humphrey the way she'd say, "Turd sandwich."
"Nah," Serena said, keeping her eyes fixed on the black dress, crumpled up on the dirty floor.
"What then? Spit it out," Blair's impatience was beginning to reach epic heights.
"I- I, um," Serena continued to stare at the dress as if it was the fascinating object she'd ever encountered.
Blair rolled her eyes and glanced at her chipped nails, wishing that she could bring a nail file into this godforsaken place. The nurses had searched her when she'd arrived, confiscating anything that was slightly pointy, for fear of self-mutilation.
"IsleptwithChuck," Serena blurted.
Immediately Blair looked up, her cheeks turning pink with rage, "You did WHAT?!"
"Look Blair, I'm sorry. It was a one night stand thing, we were both drunk and….." Serena trailed off, afraid of invoking the Wrath of Blair.
Too late, sweetie.
"I don't want to hear your bullshit excuses." Under normal circumstances Blair would have gotten up and walked out the room, her head held high. In this hellhole, that was no longer possible, so she settled for the next best thing.
"Get out! Get the fuck out!" Blair shrieked at the top of her lungs, ripping tissue paper and throwing clothes, anything she could get her hands on, in blind fury.
Serena wasted no time, grabbing her Sidekick and leaving in flurry of blonde hair and her signature scent of Calla Lily.
Blair resigned herself to sitting by the window, her cheek resting against the cool glass; energy depleted. The sound of high heels squeaking against the waxed floor made Blair's shoulder muscles tense visibly. She really didn't want to deal with Serena right now. Not ever. But like the plague, Serena had a habit of showing up where she wasn't wanted. Sure enough, Serena appeared at the edge of the doorway, her normally smiling face solemn. Both she and Blair knew, in some odd way, what was about to happen. And to Blair, there was a twinge of sadness, but she mainly felt relief, like a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She was certain that later there would be tears, mourning for her childhood friend, but right now, it felt right.
"If I had known it would end like this, I never would have told you."