lovely
1083 words. pre-series. blair-centric.
w: disordered eating, bulimia
summary:Blair thinks she's being practical. Afterwards it does feel better, and she thinks that means she did the right thing.
note: Written for this prompt! This was actually something I've been wanting to write for ages, like since s1 of this show.
For breakfast, Blair has: six grapes, half a grapefruit no sugar, and two spoonfuls of thick, gluttonous oatmeal – but that was only because Dorota was watching too closely.
Her mother is coming in from an overnight flight, sunglasses on and assistant trailing behind with bags. She kisses Blair on both cheeks and says, "Darling, is that uniform from last year? It looks like it's pulling a little." She looks over her frames with professional concern, indicating the waist of the skirt and buttons of the top, even the seams running over Blair's shoulders. "Perhaps a size up, hm?"
Blair does not eat lunch.
Sometime after Serena leaves, Nate begins to act like touching Blair will burn him. Blair has never felt less wanted.
For lunch she has: the remaining half of a spinach and cheese quiche found in the fridge and two dark chocolate-chile cupcakes from the half dozen sent to Eleanor as a thank-you for designing some society snot's wedding dress. Frosting smears Blair's lipstick.
Very methodical, she takes off all her makeup with her Shu Uemura cleansing oil, brushes out her hair with a boar-bristle brush, and puts it back in a smooth chignon. Flyaways are tamed with a few spritzes of hairspray on the spool end of her eyebrow brush, which is then brushed over the errant strands. She looks at herself, assessing. Her brows are too sparse. She can see the pores over the bridge of her nose even from this distance. Her jawline is fat, there's no nicer way to put it.
She washes her hands three times, leaves the water running, and sticks two fingers down her throat.
As always, she feels better.
Three things happen in quick succession: Blair's father cheats, Blair's father comes out, Blair's father leaves the country.
Blair sits in the kitchen listening to him move around upstairs, waiting for the sound of him coming down the stairs. They'd had a party that night, much earlier. It hadn't ended well, obviously. There are leftovers everywhere. There are two entire cakes on the counter, heavy and dense with buttercream frosting and sugared violets.
Harold comes downstairs and looks very, very sad but keeps checking his watch. He doesn't want to miss his flight, of course. "It won't be forever, Blair-bear."
Blair lets her eyes get red and filmy with tears. She tries to make him feel guilty in a last-ditch effort. "What if I get sick?"
He meets her eyes like it pains him but he doesn't even put his bag down before he hugs her. "You'll be okay, little girl," he promises. Empty. "You're so much stronger than you know."
Blair doesn't eat the entire next day. She feels empty, empty, empty.
Blair goes out with the girls. She has six cocktails, sugary sweet, full of syrup and juice and booze. She has three neon-pink shots and doesn't ask what's in them. She has fried-up appetizers, gooey with cheese, breading flaking off. She has two crumbling cookies, the chocolate chips melting on her fingers. Drunk as she is, she still washes her hands three times before sticking two fingers down her throat, only this time the other girls are her soundtrack, giggling and teasing each other in the bathroom around her.
Blair pretends she's only throwing up because she's drunk, and they let her pretend.
Blair has four glasses of champagne on an empty stomach and giggles as she sidles up to Nate, kisses his cheek and then his neck. They are at a Vanderbilt event, but the compound is big enough that no one notices two kids necking at the fringe of the party. Nate only laughs and gently pushes her away. "You're drunk."
"I'm fun," Blair counters, because that's even rarer than her being drunk. Serena was drunk all the time. No one ever cared about that.
Nate laughs again and pushes her away again. Contrarily, his eyes look immensely sad. His voice is soft. "No, sweetheart, no, not right now."
"What, are you gay too?" Blair snaps, rough and mean. She turns away. The next day they will both pretend nothing happened.
Blair starts telling lies when she's twelve: no, mom, I didn't eat half the box of cherry cordials, I don't know where they went; no, I'm not hungry; no, I had dinner at Serena's; I think Dorota had the rest of the pie, I mean, have you seen her waistline?
The summer she's twelve, Blair won't take off her bathing suit cover-up. Serena is already tall, slightly gangly limbs unnoticeable under the cloud of honey-wheat blonde, the sunny tan. Serena already has boobs and hips and men stare at her on the street, call out things that make Serena sheepish. Blair feels like a little girl next to her. Her mother keeps telling her things like your baby fat will be gone soon, darling but Blair's sick of waiting.
One night they eat so much ice cream Blair feels nauseous. Serena falls asleep before the movie ends, which Serena always does, and Blair slinks away from the television room, from Cher's honey-wheat hair and candy-colored wardrobe. She stares at herself in the bathroom mirror, awkward and flat-chested, her stomach a soft childish curve. She presses her hands to the skin and another jolt of nausea rumbles through her and she thinks, god, it would feel so much better if she could just get rid of it.
Blair thinks she's being practical. Afterwards it does feel better, and she thinks that means she did the right thing.
For dinner Blair has: one sweet potato no butter, a single grilled chicken breast no oil, and a heap of wet, uninteresting spinach. Afterwards she has plain green tea and one square of sugar-free dark chocolate.
The house is empty. It is Dorota's night off. Both of Blair's parents are abroad. Nate has not returned her texts since Serena came back. Serena already has a new boy in love with her, defending her.
Blair knows the exact contents of the fridge, the cabinets, the fruit bowl. She knows where Dorota keeps her secret stash of goodies. She knows her mother ordered an entire box of Danish for a brunch meeting and left more than half of them behind, buttery pastries encasing cheese and cream and fruit. Once upon a time her mother had wanted to lock the fridge, thinking it would prevent Blair from making a mistake, but the doctor advised against it. Blair goes to her doctor appointments now.
She's better.
1083 words. pre-series. blair-centric.
w: disordered eating, bulimia
summary:Blair thinks she's being practical. Afterwards it does feel better, and she thinks that means she did the right thing.
note: Written for this prompt! This was actually something I've been wanting to write for ages, like since s1 of this show.
For breakfast, Blair has: six grapes, half a grapefruit no sugar, and two spoonfuls of thick, gluttonous oatmeal – but that was only because Dorota was watching too closely.
Her mother is coming in from an overnight flight, sunglasses on and assistant trailing behind with bags. She kisses Blair on both cheeks and says, "Darling, is that uniform from last year? It looks like it's pulling a little." She looks over her frames with professional concern, indicating the waist of the skirt and buttons of the top, even the seams running over Blair's shoulders. "Perhaps a size up, hm?"
Blair does not eat lunch.
Sometime after Serena leaves, Nate begins to act like touching Blair will burn him. Blair has never felt less wanted.
For lunch she has: the remaining half of a spinach and cheese quiche found in the fridge and two dark chocolate-chile cupcakes from the half dozen sent to Eleanor as a thank-you for designing some society snot's wedding dress. Frosting smears Blair's lipstick.
Very methodical, she takes off all her makeup with her Shu Uemura cleansing oil, brushes out her hair with a boar-bristle brush, and puts it back in a smooth chignon. Flyaways are tamed with a few spritzes of hairspray on the spool end of her eyebrow brush, which is then brushed over the errant strands. She looks at herself, assessing. Her brows are too sparse. She can see the pores over the bridge of her nose even from this distance. Her jawline is fat, there's no nicer way to put it.
She washes her hands three times, leaves the water running, and sticks two fingers down her throat.
As always, she feels better.
Three things happen in quick succession: Blair's father cheats, Blair's father comes out, Blair's father leaves the country.
Blair sits in the kitchen listening to him move around upstairs, waiting for the sound of him coming down the stairs. They'd had a party that night, much earlier. It hadn't ended well, obviously. There are leftovers everywhere. There are two entire cakes on the counter, heavy and dense with buttercream frosting and sugared violets.
Harold comes downstairs and looks very, very sad but keeps checking his watch. He doesn't want to miss his flight, of course. "It won't be forever, Blair-bear."
Blair lets her eyes get red and filmy with tears. She tries to make him feel guilty in a last-ditch effort. "What if I get sick?"
He meets her eyes like it pains him but he doesn't even put his bag down before he hugs her. "You'll be okay, little girl," he promises. Empty. "You're so much stronger than you know."
Blair doesn't eat the entire next day. She feels empty, empty, empty.
Blair goes out with the girls. She has six cocktails, sugary sweet, full of syrup and juice and booze. She has three neon-pink shots and doesn't ask what's in them. She has fried-up appetizers, gooey with cheese, breading flaking off. She has two crumbling cookies, the chocolate chips melting on her fingers. Drunk as she is, she still washes her hands three times before sticking two fingers down her throat, only this time the other girls are her soundtrack, giggling and teasing each other in the bathroom around her.
Blair pretends she's only throwing up because she's drunk, and they let her pretend.
Blair has four glasses of champagne on an empty stomach and giggles as she sidles up to Nate, kisses his cheek and then his neck. They are at a Vanderbilt event, but the compound is big enough that no one notices two kids necking at the fringe of the party. Nate only laughs and gently pushes her away. "You're drunk."
"I'm fun," Blair counters, because that's even rarer than her being drunk. Serena was drunk all the time. No one ever cared about that.
Nate laughs again and pushes her away again. Contrarily, his eyes look immensely sad. His voice is soft. "No, sweetheart, no, not right now."
"What, are you gay too?" Blair snaps, rough and mean. She turns away. The next day they will both pretend nothing happened.
Blair starts telling lies when she's twelve: no, mom, I didn't eat half the box of cherry cordials, I don't know where they went; no, I'm not hungry; no, I had dinner at Serena's; I think Dorota had the rest of the pie, I mean, have you seen her waistline?
The summer she's twelve, Blair won't take off her bathing suit cover-up. Serena is already tall, slightly gangly limbs unnoticeable under the cloud of honey-wheat blonde, the sunny tan. Serena already has boobs and hips and men stare at her on the street, call out things that make Serena sheepish. Blair feels like a little girl next to her. Her mother keeps telling her things like your baby fat will be gone soon, darling but Blair's sick of waiting.
One night they eat so much ice cream Blair feels nauseous. Serena falls asleep before the movie ends, which Serena always does, and Blair slinks away from the television room, from Cher's honey-wheat hair and candy-colored wardrobe. She stares at herself in the bathroom mirror, awkward and flat-chested, her stomach a soft childish curve. She presses her hands to the skin and another jolt of nausea rumbles through her and she thinks, god, it would feel so much better if she could just get rid of it.
Blair thinks she's being practical. Afterwards it does feel better, and she thinks that means she did the right thing.
For dinner Blair has: one sweet potato no butter, a single grilled chicken breast no oil, and a heap of wet, uninteresting spinach. Afterwards she has plain green tea and one square of sugar-free dark chocolate.
The house is empty. It is Dorota's night off. Both of Blair's parents are abroad. Nate has not returned her texts since Serena came back. Serena already has a new boy in love with her, defending her.
Blair knows the exact contents of the fridge, the cabinets, the fruit bowl. She knows where Dorota keeps her secret stash of goodies. She knows her mother ordered an entire box of Danish for a brunch meeting and left more than half of them behind, buttery pastries encasing cheese and cream and fruit. Once upon a time her mother had wanted to lock the fridge, thinking it would prevent Blair from making a mistake, but the doctor advised against it. Blair goes to her doctor appointments now.
She's better.