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vii. Card Games And Ease
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For as long as the world could remember it, things came easy for Blair Cameron.
She was the child of a rich man and pretentious woman who hated each other almost as much as they hated themselves, and so she was spoiled until her teeth were rotten and sticky with the aftertaste of saltwater. And so, purely for her satisfaction, they ran circles around her and brought her everything she wanted in the form of apology gifts. Because her mother sometimes forgot her birthdays and her father was left picking up the pieces then.
For one, she was a pretty girl. Not to play into the stereotypes (which she absolutely despised, by the way) but she loved when people stared, which was practically always. She was the subject of all their gazes, wether it was to talk about her potential or that cherry red lipstick or hers. Maybe the cigarettes she constantly carried around like a lifeline. And to think that Blair didn't even like the feeling of them at first; she only smoked because her mother did and she thought it would make the woman think she was just a little more like her, hence making her love her little girl more. Spoiler alert . . . it didn't work.
Instead, it left Blair with an addiction she couldn't get rid of anymore. And it wasn't just sunshine and smoke rings on yachts with yellow bikinis. There was a point in the year, she couldn't exactly pinpoint when if you asked her, where she began to smoke only for the hell of it. Smoke to die, if you may.
Teenage Blair had things a little harder than when she was a short blonde with pigtails and ribbons at the bottom. For instance, she felt as though everything and everyone was slipping from her fingertips, vanishing into thin dust and leaving her to pick up the aftermath. She couldn't even sleep anymore. Mind sharp like razor blades, all she could do was think when she laid at night, on her back, with her palms pressed to her eyes harshly.
And she hated the fact that the only person who knew all about it was gone, or at least, had been. Now? He was everywhere. She saw him when she closed her eyes or looked at herself in the mirror, imagining his ringed, calloused hands on her soft, sun-kissed cheeks where she was sure they belonged.
He walked besides her down the marina. Uncharacteristic, right? She felt it, too. He had offered to walk her to The Island Club, where they both worked during the year (him because it was the only thing that gave him a big enough income to buy food and help his dad pay rent, and her because she liked the experience, which he always thought was a little shallow). She didn't know why, and she knew better than to ask.
They spent the night at The Wreck, and then gathered on the dock behind the Château in the morning, where they tested the drone the Pogues had gotten their hands on the night before. Kiara and John B were blasting it out in the water, making funny faces and skimming their fingers over their teeth in front of the camera. She and Pope set it up; JJ watched. He'd prefer to say he was looking at the drone (R.O.V.!) but his eyes just kept glancing to the blonde peered over the equipment, chilling softly at whatever nerdy thing Pope said. And, suddenly, he remembered why he hated her so much. Because Blair Cameron was sticky and, soon enough, the Pogues would start to think she was essential.
