Into the Penseive: With Blair Waldorf

Summary: Twenty-one year old Lit. Major Blair Waldorf gets the assignment of a lifetime. "Look back on your life and think on those memories, those moments of truth, those times of revelation. How did you feel, how did you survive, and more importantly, what happened?" Her expose.

Author's Starting Notes: This is a flashback story. I'm basically doing a collection of flashbacks about and/or starring Blair Waldorf. If this goes over well, I may do one for other characters. If people like it that is, I don't want to commit myself to something no one is reading, so, please tell me if you're interested in reading this or not. For future reference, this isn't one of those "Oh my gosh, I'm a witch!" type stories. Just thought the title sounded better than "The Memories of Blair Waldorf". So, yeah….

Time Stamp: Updated 4/19/08 after 5 PM

Sentences of yours, running through my head,

Searching for a chance to catch my breath

Day or night, dark or light

You'll be, taking over that thing called my shadow

One: Sentences- Age Seventeen

Looking back upon the days of my childhood, I often wonder how I could have been so foolish? So trusting? So down right stupid? A person, namely my ex-boyfriend, could have told me the sky was chartreuse and I would have believed them. Not because I had recently noticed the way the sun's rays came down they no longer looked blue above us, but because I felt something for the boy that went beyond the simple crush. When I was near him, I felt whole and, when apart, I longed for nothing more than to be with him. So imagine how I felt when it was over, Nate and I. A relationship that had been forced upon us from that first day in kindergarten, and a relationship I had grown to depend on. It was over because of the very person who put me in my seat of power and another person, whom I had trusted above all odds.

I'm sure after hearing what I have to say, people will ask how I had gotten in such a horrendous situation. The only answer I could provide to them though would be insufficient and pointless. Obviously, after having plenty of time to think back on it, I still have no idea. My main question has always been how did I end up studying in France for a semester. Or the ever popular, how did Charles Bass, son of Marissa and Bartholomew Bass, heir of Bass Inc., put me there? I've found one other question to be thrown in the mix. It was asked by my best friend, Serena's, boyfriend.

He, who if you want to know is named Dan, asked, "How could someone who meant so little and had done so wrong affect you that much?"

I never could find an answer to that. I mean, I thought about it for who knows how long. Every fricken night, every waking moment, every breath I took in and every breath I let out, the spiteful words Chuck had spat at me went through my mind. I'd already been hurt previously. I had felt as if there was nothing, as if I was nothing. How could just a few words go beyond that? Confusing, I'm sure, I'll go back to that faithful day in 2008 when reality finally set in.

My perfect world, the one I had so naively lived in for seventeen years, came crashing down as hard as that bomb that took out Pearl Harbor in the beginning of World War II. I had always been the Queen, the one at the top who controlled everyone else. Then, suddenly, I was a social pariah with nothing more than… than… that's just it, nothing. One stupid mistake in the back of that filthy limo of one of my friends brought on the worst twenty-four hours of my life. I thought finding out that my best friend had slept with my boyfriend was bad, but it was just a food fight in comparison to what I was going through in January.

Heartbroken and alone, I had set off to find the person that I was sure had ruined everything. Chuck Bass was seated where he always was at the bar of the Palace Hotel. His father owned the place, so, it was no real surprise. I had come in quietly and sat down by him at the bar. I turned down a drink offer and just waited, seeing if he'd say anything in response to the horrid truths he had spilled across Manhattan. He didn't have anything. He looked up at me with this blank, impatient stare. So, I spoke instead.

"Came to congratulate you in person," I said, there was no reaction to my words. I continued after a pause, "You ruined my relationship with Nate, Serena, all of my friends, even little Jenny thinks she's too good for me. So, bravo! Just like you wanted, I have no one to turn to but you,"

I now know that making him seem like a last resort wasn't probably the best choice but then I needed to get a reaction. I needed to see that someone in the world still cared about me. If I could at least get something from him, I'd know that everything would eventually be okay. That we'd be fine, even if-no, even though, there wouldn't be a 'we' in the picture.

"Actually," he began swirling his scotch in his hand the way he always did, "You don't even have me,"

I looked at him flabbergasted and shocked. Without thinking, I uttered a simple word, "Enough." Evidently, it wasn't for him.

"I'll try to be more succinct,"

There was venom in that smooth voice I had always found comfort in. There was a deep urgency to understand but not in the way I preferred. He was pleading for me to go away, to move on, to be different. It didn't work for me. He went on speaking and I listened to every bitter, hurtful word as if my life depended on it. I listened as he compared me to filthy horses, insulted me, and ripped away the little bit of self-esteem I still held. It wasn't more than twenty words he said, it didn't take longer than a minute or two, yet those two minutes were the cherry on top of the most fantastic day, sarcasm intended. I needed to escape. I wanted to say something, tell him to take it back, beg him to hold me like he used to, look at me like he cared, and love me in the way I had so idiotically taken for granted. I refrained from doing so and left the building without another word.

Little did I know years later the things he said would still be haunting me. I'd still look back and hear him say, "I don't want you anymore, and I can't see why anyone else would". I'd continue to wake up at night, with millions of unanswered questions floating through my mind and countless tears running down my cheeks, wondering what I had done wrong to turn my main ally in that crazy backwards world against me. It would later occur to me, sometime between the dream and the awakening, that a person can only take so much before they crack. And much like a board used for karate, we broke in two that night, never to be repaired again.

© Dezi. While everything above was written by myself, the characters and the world they live in was not. I don't own Gossip Girl, The Upper East Side, The Harry Potter item that inspired the title, or anything else. I also don't own inspiration, that comes from you guys and more importantly, your reviews, so give me some inspiration if you like it, won't you?