Pretty Young Things (Chapter 6)
It takes time. Enough time that Chuck starts to worry out loud about the possibility of Nathaniel as an old spinster with 27 cats.
(And Nate has to try not to vomit because Jenny’s voice teased the same words a lifetime ago around a coffee table in a homey loft in Brooklyn. And he can still hear it.)
But eventually, the fascination fades.
(Serena’s alluring blonde locks suddenly seem dull, mediocre; her eyes, the wrong color.)
And he thinks he might be crazy; finally cracked, utterly insane. Because-really-the wrong color? What makes it a right color?
(But he knows the answer to that question.)
And Blair never says it out loud;
(You’re hot for Jenny Humphrey!)
but he knows she does too.
She thinks she should’ve seen this coming.
(Preferably before Nate tried to kill an ambassador’s son.)
Preferably before Chuck Bass did.
(“What are you guys friends now?”)
Serena was her best friend. Wasn’t there some kind of alarm to warn against threats to the welfare of one’s best friend?
(-but if Serena was hung up on that Brooklynite, Humphrey, the whole time-)
She decides Nathaniel’s Little J situation never posed a valid threat.
(There are no valid threats to an invalid relationship.)
Though surely the motherchucker’s stupid
(deliciously distracting)
pinstripes didn’t have her this far off her game.
(“What are you smirking at?” “The look on Nate’s face, Blair.” “What look? What face?” “That face. The Jenny look.” “Oh, you don’t know what you’re talking about.” “I have eyes, Blair.” “He’s with Serena, Chuck.” “He’s sleeping with Serena, Blair.”)
She should’ve known even his dream girl couldn’t hold his attention.
(She is intimately familiar with Nate’s epic attention span, after all.)
He has his reasons.
(No, you don’t belong to me)
None of them involve Serena. They include politically-immune Belgians, distraction, and see-through evening gowns.
(Only one of those involves Serena.)
The closer they get,
(the fewer layers of clothing between them)
the easier it is to pretend
(that she doesn’t hate the film school vixen, that the ambassador’s kid doesn’t make his neck hair stand on end)
that ‘NateandSerena’ have their happily ever after.
(- there’s no good reason why to live such a lie-)
It takes time. Enough time that ‘kitchen’, ‘coat closet’, and ‘couch’ become dirty words.
(strawberry, caramel, whipped cream)
But eventually, enthrallment turns to diversion turns to dependence, asylum.
(You stand me up like a crutch, another arm)
She doesn’t wonder whose blonde hair he sees when he looks at her now.
(it doesn’t even sting; she sees brown eyes not blue)
He doesn’t ask why ‘The New Yorker’ finds its way to her kitchen table each week.
(not when the March issue of Vogue is burning a hole in his desk drawer)
So then ‘because’ is a fine answer as to why a little birdie nudges the senior Humphrey in the direction of the Daalgard backstory.
(No, you’d tell me anything, look what you’ve done to me)
Because she is always there.
(I don’t want to remember)
Because he runs, he puts people and distance between them, and he winds up back at the beginning. With her.
(I just want to forget you)
Because this is an equal opportunity fairytale; she saves him right back.
(“I figured you’ve come to my rescue enough times, let me help you for once.”)
Because he is losing her.
(turn you into a perfect stranger)
Because he thought he wanted to lose her.
(“You’re not who I thought you were.”)
But they’re finally speaking again
(“You know how these girls are.”…”I’m pretty sure they hooked up at boarding school.”)
And they aren’t Jenny’s words coming out of Jenny’s mouth and she’s cold and she’s calculating and she’s too calm.
(all you are is a perfect stranger)
Because he expects screaming; because he wants screaming. Because he needs her to scream at him until she is beyond anger and hatred and hurt and betrayal and tears; because she is Jenny and Jenny never lets Nate get away with anything.
(“You are not my father, and you are not my brother, so why do you care so much?”)
Because he is trying it all with Serena, plays all the games, all but invites her to punish him; makes her jealous, plays the jerk, feigns disinterest.
(And she walks away.)
They don’t talk. They face off, they fuck.
And he thinks that maybe it’s better,
maybe it’s easier this way,
maybe he is content with simple
(…you help pass the time…)
-maybe this time it’s not about Jenny Humphrey.
Because sometimes in a dark and smoky room
(we try not to crash but we still collide)
he catches her,
(up against a wall, pressed into a faceless stranger; where is Damien?)
And his blood boils savagely.
(her eyes are empty, her smile a sterile imitation)
What she’s doing with her hips should be illegal and that smarmy Belgian prick is just watching from a booth nearby, leering, as some un figlio di puttana paws her
(he can be international too)
-winds crisp bills through her bra straps.
It isn’t until much later that night, face buried in (the wrong) blonde hair, that it will occur to him.
(But it’s always about her.)
(And Nate has to try not to vomit because Jenny’s voice teased the same words a lifetime ago around a coffee table in a homey loft in Brooklyn. And he can still hear it.)
But eventually, the fascination fades.
(Serena’s alluring blonde locks suddenly seem dull, mediocre; her eyes, the wrong color.)
And he thinks he might be crazy; finally cracked, utterly insane. Because-really-the wrong color? What makes it a right color?
(But he knows the answer to that question.)
And Blair never says it out loud;
(You’re hot for Jenny Humphrey!)
but he knows she does too.
She thinks she should’ve seen this coming.
(Preferably before Nate tried to kill an ambassador’s son.)
Preferably before Chuck Bass did.
(“What are you guys friends now?”)
Serena was her best friend. Wasn’t there some kind of alarm to warn against threats to the welfare of one’s best friend?
(-but if Serena was hung up on that Brooklynite, Humphrey, the whole time-)
She decides Nathaniel’s Little J situation never posed a valid threat.
(There are no valid threats to an invalid relationship.)
Though surely the motherchucker’s stupid
(deliciously distracting)
pinstripes didn’t have her this far off her game.
(“What are you smirking at?” “The look on Nate’s face, Blair.” “What look? What face?” “That face. The Jenny look.” “Oh, you don’t know what you’re talking about.” “I have eyes, Blair.” “He’s with Serena, Chuck.” “He’s sleeping with Serena, Blair.”)
She should’ve known even his dream girl couldn’t hold his attention.
(She is intimately familiar with Nate’s epic attention span, after all.)
He has his reasons.
(No, you don’t belong to me)
None of them involve Serena. They include politically-immune Belgians, distraction, and see-through evening gowns.
(Only one of those involves Serena.)
The closer they get,
(the fewer layers of clothing between them)
the easier it is to pretend
(that she doesn’t hate the film school vixen, that the ambassador’s kid doesn’t make his neck hair stand on end)
that ‘NateandSerena’ have their happily ever after.
(- there’s no good reason why to live such a lie-)
It takes time. Enough time that ‘kitchen’, ‘coat closet’, and ‘couch’ become dirty words.
(strawberry, caramel, whipped cream)
But eventually, enthrallment turns to diversion turns to dependence, asylum.
(You stand me up like a crutch, another arm)
She doesn’t wonder whose blonde hair he sees when he looks at her now.
(it doesn’t even sting; she sees brown eyes not blue)
He doesn’t ask why ‘The New Yorker’ finds its way to her kitchen table each week.
(not when the March issue of Vogue is burning a hole in his desk drawer)
So then ‘because’ is a fine answer as to why a little birdie nudges the senior Humphrey in the direction of the Daalgard backstory.
(No, you’d tell me anything, look what you’ve done to me)
Because she is always there.
(I don’t want to remember)
Because he runs, he puts people and distance between them, and he winds up back at the beginning. With her.
(I just want to forget you)
Because this is an equal opportunity fairytale; she saves him right back.
(“I figured you’ve come to my rescue enough times, let me help you for once.”)
Because he is losing her.
(turn you into a perfect stranger)
Because he thought he wanted to lose her.
(“You’re not who I thought you were.”)
But they’re finally speaking again
(“You know how these girls are.”…”I’m pretty sure they hooked up at boarding school.”)
And they aren’t Jenny’s words coming out of Jenny’s mouth and she’s cold and she’s calculating and she’s too calm.
(all you are is a perfect stranger)
Because he expects screaming; because he wants screaming. Because he needs her to scream at him until she is beyond anger and hatred and hurt and betrayal and tears; because she is Jenny and Jenny never lets Nate get away with anything.
(“You are not my father, and you are not my brother, so why do you care so much?”)
Because he is trying it all with Serena, plays all the games, all but invites her to punish him; makes her jealous, plays the jerk, feigns disinterest.
(And she walks away.)
They don’t talk. They face off, they fuck.
And he thinks that maybe it’s better,
maybe it’s easier this way,
maybe he is content with simple
(…you help pass the time…)
-maybe this time it’s not about Jenny Humphrey.
Because sometimes in a dark and smoky room
(we try not to crash but we still collide)
he catches her,
(up against a wall, pressed into a faceless stranger; where is Damien?)
And his blood boils savagely.
(her eyes are empty, her smile a sterile imitation)
What she’s doing with her hips should be illegal and that smarmy Belgian prick is just watching from a booth nearby, leering, as some un figlio di puttana paws her
(he can be international too)
-winds crisp bills through her bra straps.
It isn’t until much later that night, face buried in (the wrong) blonde hair, that it will occur to him.
(But it’s always about her.)