fic: i hate myself - dan/blair un_love_you
“I hate myself.” Those are the first words she utters when he finds her out on the balcony that night. Three words that single handedly reveal her vulnerability and insecurity, words he knows she’d never willingly speak so openly to anyone. Except him, apparently.
He’s a little startled and surprised at her admission, wants to ask if she’s drunk, but says nothing, settling instead on observing her. She’s sitting on the cement of the balcony, her back pressed against the cold metal railing and feet crossed at the ankles. Her green dress is vibrant against her pale skin, her hair perfectly coiffed and makeup flawless as always. Yet he sees the cracks within this picture of perfection, the jagged fragments they are about to become. He watches her stare in the depths of her full martini glass, like she’s searching for answers.
The silence stretches on and time seems to still. He shoves his hands into his pockets. “Why are you telling me this?”
She laughs bitterly, a sound he’s heard so many times before. “Who else could I tell, Humphrey?”
He shrugs. “Serena, Nate, Chuck, your parents, your therapist…” He trails off, knowing full well she’d never confess anything so private and weak to any of the people he’s listed.
“And they’d all love that, wouldn’t they? Me, finally on a breaking point.” She looks at him then, the smirk on her lips almost succeeding in concealing the pain in her eyes.
“This isn’t your breaking point,” he tells her honestly.
“Oh, yeah? Then what is it, oh wise one?”
“It’s your turning point.”
She raises a delicate eyebrow, skeptical. “My turning point? Are you channeling your inner Dr. Phil?”
A chuckle bubbles in his throat. ‘We both know Dr. Phil is full of bullshit, Blair.”
“So then what’s all this shit you’re giving me about a turning point? Hating oneself is the end point, Humphrey, the point where one takes too many sleeping pills, slashes her wrist or dives off a building sans parachute or bungee cord.”
He quirks an eyebrow. “Are you telling me you’re contemplating suicide?”
She scoffs. “Of course, not. But who’s to say that I won’t some time down the road? I’m destructive, Humphrey, everyone knows that.” Softly, she adds, “I know that.”
“So? Everyone’s destructive in some way or another, and everyone has some probability of contemplating suicide some time in their lifetime. It's not a defect that you only possess, Waldorf.”
Her eyes turn away from his and she doesn’t say anything in return.
He sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “What I’m trying to say is this: maybe you just hate who you are. And if that’s the case, you don’t have to be her anymore.”
She sends him an icy glare. “Humphrey, I don’t know what they’ve taught you in Brooklyn, but here in the Upper East Side, you don’t just change on a whim. You can’t just become someone entirely different because you're sick of being what you are. I have an appearance to keep up, a reputation to maintain.” Her eyes narrowed even further. “I am not at leisure to pull a Serena.”
“I don’t expect you to ‘pull a Serena’. But everyone’s capable of change, Blair. Even you.” His gaze turns to the New York skyline, sparkling and shining in the dark like some morphed modern fairytale. “You’ve just graduated from high school, and right now you can choose to finally be done with high school. Away from the city, away from these people,” he gestures wildly around him, “you can be whoever you choose to be.”
“And what if I can’t?” Desperation creeps into her voice, shaking it a little. “What if I don’t know how?”
He shrugs. “You try anyway. You try because there’s that hope that you might actually succeed.”
Her eyes are muddled, confused and sad. “All my life, I thought I loved who I was, the things I had, the society I represented, the life I lived. And today I wake up and realize that none of it has meant anything to me, that even with all this stuff, all these people, all these parties and events, I was never really happy with who I was. And all I can see when I look in the mirror is this shallow, vapid girl who has only known manipulation and betrayal her entire life.” That bitter laugh trills again. “God, eighteen years and I figure all this out now?”
“Maybe you just weren’t ready to admit all this to yourself back then. Maybe you’re finally strong enough to confront all this stuff you’ve just told me.”
She finally sets the martini glass down and clasps her hands in front of her. “I’m scared, scared shitless that I’ll try to change and be a better person but end up falling flat on my face. I don’t do failure, Humphrey.”
“Failure’s in our nature. You can’t not ever fail in your life, Blair. You shouldn't not try because there's a chance you might fail.”
She sits and stares at her hands. He stands and stares at his shoes. For a long time nothing but silence passes between them.
She finally relents, huffing in annoyance because she knows there's truth in his words. “Fine, but me being a better person doesn’t mean I’ll become a saint, give up all my Jimmy Choos and move to Brooklyn.” She’s challenging him, daring him to tell her she could never be good.
He laughs instead. “I would never expect you to. I said you could choose to take control of your life and choose to be who you want to be. I never said you had to change the essence of who you are. Besides, you aren’t Blair Waldorf without the designer handbags and the witty, if not somewhat biting, comebacks.”
“I’ll still be a bitch.”
“And I’ll still be self-righteous.”
“I’ll still make fun of you and your disgusting loft in Brooklyn.”
“And I will continue to ignore it all.”
“I might still hate myself.”
“Yeah, but I might hate you less.”
Her nose scrunches delicately as she eyes him in mock distaste. “God, if that happened, I might hate myself even more.”
Laughing, he says, “And I’ll probably end up hating myself too.”
They both smile at the sheer ridiculousness of their banter. He didn’t know that the two of them could indulge in such light and easy banter. He likes it.
He sobers a little, finds himself moving towards her and planting himself next to her, back against the railing and legs extending forward. He leans his head back and rolls it to the side, looking at her profile. “In all honesty though, I don’t think you’ll still hate yourself.”
She turns to look at him, masking what might be hope with nonchalance. “Yeah? And how would you know that?”
“I’ve just got a feeling.”
She rolls her eyes. “You’ve got ‘a feeling’?” she scoffs. “Why don’t you just pull out your crystal ball and have a look-see?”
“Actually, I’m more of a Magic 8 Ball man.”
More eye rolling. “And please read my palm and tarot cards while you’re at it.”
He smiles. “Well, I can at least say one thing for sure.”
“What?” she demands, genuine curiosity in her voice.
His smile widens as he leans his head back and closes his eyes. “I won’t hate myself for hating you less.”
His eyes closed, he misses the rare smile of pleasant surprise grace her features.