Blair 

Music blasting, drink in hand, dancing on a table, blackout drunk.


I woke up the next morning with the worst headache of my life. In desperate need of water, I get myself out of my bed and head to the kitchen. There I find my lovely parents. Sense the sarcasm? I was just about to reach for a glass when my mom interrupted my thoughts.

"Blair Vanderbilt, where were you last night?"

"In my bed. Sleeping. Like I told you. Why?"

"Then where are the keys to your Porsche?"

I look over to the island where we keep all the keys in a little tray, just to find mine missing. Shit. 

"Blair, I'm not going to ask again, where were you last night?"

I don't even have the mental capacity to make up my usual excuse for why I was out and about the night before. So I fess up.

"A party." I mumbled out.

"Speak up, we taught you to talk to talk to adults properly." 

"A party." I say louder. I watch her face drop, her head tilt to the side, as she closes her eyes and sighs. 

"Blair, I didn't want to have to tell you this. But, pack you bags, the jet leaves in 2 hours."

"What? Where are we even going? Why didn't you tell me about this like yesterday?" 

"Since you made me angry, your coming on me and daddy's work trip."

Oh hell no. I'm living in hell. 

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