xxiii.
Like The Cat, I Have Nine Lives
$$$
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Here's the funny thing about fate; it likes to chew you up and spit you right back out again.
Destruction was in the water where her body was floating like a hollow doll, just barely latched onto the boat by mere coincidence. The clasp of her jacket got stuck; she never did get to put it around her torso in time.
When John B Routledge caught ahold of her limp body, he could've sworn someone had ripped his heart right out his chest. He'd love to say whatever then, but he couldn't. For a split-second, he thought Sarah Cameron had been the one to scream, bloodcurdling, guttural, only to realize that he was the one yelling, then spat out mouthfuls of water and cried out in panic.
He brought her back quickly but delicately to the boat and tried to listen for a pulse over her sister's screams, scaring birds in the perfectly clear, blue sky above them. He searched for so long, what felt like hours, really, then realized she wasn't breathing and reached out for her sister who had practically lost it by then. Sarah was shrieking her name, shaking her so abruptly John B was scared she'd break, breathing or not. Not. He choked on a sob and shook his head in disbelief, crying out for help.
For a split second, they took a look at her face, though their eyes were blurred by tears and saltwater. Blossom lips parted slightly, nose and cheeks collecting droplets of sea, lashes wet. She had eyebrows a shade just imperceptibly darker than her hair, and they were collecting sweat and water.
Blair Cameron had never looked so peaceful. Dead.
She never had wings, only premature feathers; and she internally cried when people touched her because she bled easily, the glass-carved girl. She liked to imagine herself sitting on a church bench, illuminated by the colorful glass shapes in the windows that created fairy-dust of missed teenage opportunities. She wasn't religious, not even the slightest, but she always wanted to get married in the little chapel down the street from her house. Or . . . what once upon a time was her house.
Whatever. "We all get swallowed anyway," she told her sister once while they were sitting on the edge of dock, legs dipped in the cool water.
Sarah put a hand on her cheek, she had been icy. The girl doesn't believe she ever stopped crying over the stillness of her sister. Her girl, her soulmate, her soul flame. They weren't twins, but they always pretended to be with wide, matching grins. Who was she now that she was alone? The sole survivor.
How long the Cameron girl had been dead, they didn't know. It could be hours just as it could be minutes, seconds. Either one felt like an eternity. Nevertheless, they refused to let go of the body because it wasn't just a body, it was Blair Cameron.
Her sister cried, repeating her name over and over and over like a goddamn prayer, and then she buried her face into the crook of her neck, over the life jacket John B had clasped together just as he got to her, and wondered if she could hear her. How long until the brain stopped working after the heart did? Blair taught her that there was a certain delay in those kind of situations and Sarah remembered saying "why would I need to know that?" She cried for that day, too.
If Blair Cameron could've written her own eulogy, it would go something like this; "dearly beloved, you are gathered here today to celebrate the life of high school teenage girl poster-child, grade-A bitch, moi." She'd want whoever spoke to quote a bunch of fashion articles and dress her in clothes that Kate Moss would approve off. She'd want everyone to take a glass of champagne as they make their way inside the memorial and the picture propped up over her soft wood grave, open so they coughed catch a glance of the girl dolled-up one last time, would have to be the one of her using her mother's connection to try on runway dresses in Milan Fashion Week.
But she was in the middle of nowhere, sea for miles ahead, and the only people mourning for her were her older sister and best friend. She was starting to slip from their fingertips, for real this time, and there was nothing they could do about it. And then a boat passed by.
John B used his smarts for the first time in quite a bit (was what Blair would've said if she wasn't dead) and pulled the melted chunk of gold out of his backpack. He held onto Blair's body with one hand while Sarah had both making sure she didn't drift away, and used it to reflect a beam of light towards the boat. It caught the attention of whoever was steering it.
It was a man, Terrance, and a girl who went by the name of Cleo. And they stopped for the couple and the girl and helped pull her aboard with wide eyes. Just as soon as they were on firm ground, John B began pressing onto Blair's chest, hoping to restart her heart, while Sarah continued hyperventilating and trying to explain their situation briefly to the captain so he could help them. Help her. John B let out a yell of frustration and began crying into his hands, and so Cleo decided to take over and didn't stop.
Until Blair Cameron woke up.
Well, she didn't exactly "wake up", but instead coughed up lung-fulls of water and went back into deep slumber. John B scrambled for her pulse and laughed in relief when he found one, then wrapped his arms around Sarah and let her cry into them as the captain brought them a couple blankets.
When she actually did wake up, she came to the conclusion that she wasn't in a dull cabin with Sarah and John B, but instead under a wide window with her body still sticky from the same uncomfortable clothes she wore before. Who the hell told her to be fashionable while on a run? The sound of swishing, air splitting, made her eye flutter open, and Blair was slowly exposed to the bright sunlight that had finally dried her hair down.
She groaned and sat up, burning her face in her hands, palms pressed against her eyes. She felt as though she had just swallowed liters of soap and was thrown into an ocean to drown, bubbles cutting past her teeth. Like her lungs had been bleached from the inside. "Where the hell am I?" Bonus point: she could recognize her own voice, at least.
"Your sister wanted you to stay with 'em, but I said it'd be better if you came here. Open, bright." Blair frowned at the unfamiliar voice and scrambled further back into her seat, her brain unconsciously forcing a fighting stance. "Relax," the girl laughed. "I come in peace. I saved your ass."
Blair had to admit . . . she was fucking pretty. Dark braided hair, gorgeously harsh features, pearly teeth. She was playing with a knife and the way she was spinning it made Blair's breath hitch. All it would take was half-a-movement to lodge it right into her thigh or her carotid.
"You've got nice eyes," she said, a wide smile on her face. "I mean, I've been looking at your face for an hour trying to picture your eyes and they're even better than I imagined."
She had a heavy accent, but Blair understood her easily. "My sister and my best friend are here?" she asked.
The girl nodded. "We'll get you to them." She shoved her knife into her pocket and extended her hand for Blair to shake. "Name's Cleo. And I take it by what they were screamin' that you're Blair?"
"Yeah," Blair nodded, frowning. "Screaming?"
"You died, pretty girl," Cleo told her. Blair couldn't keep in a soft gasp at the news. "You don't remember?"
"All I remember was giving John B his life jacket and then going to strap mine. Then everything went dark. I guess I didn't." When she went to push herself off the bed, she realized that every single one of her muscles was indescribably sore. She winced and used the mattress she had been laying on for support, which she guessed was Cleo's room by the pictures and bags. "Bring me to them, Cleo. Please."
She nodded and held her hand out for the girl, who hesitated for so much as a mere second to take it. "I don't bite," she tried to ease her mind. Blair snorted and leaned most of her weight onto her during the short walk across the corridor, into the other room.
Cleo pushed it open to reveal Sarah and John B laying in a bed, talking about her becoming a full Pogue if she'd marry him. Blair smiled, exhaling in relief at the sight of them safe and sound. She called out for them, just a simply "hi" and Sarah was the first one to gasp and fling herself into Blair's arms.
Blair looked back for the girl, but she saw that Cleo was already gone. She turned around and buried her face into her sister's arms, both laughing in relief, sadness, happiness and everything overlapping. "Don't ever do that again!" Sarah yelled when they pulled away, and Blair noticed that her eyes were still brimmed-red. "You're not allowed to die."
She had said the exact same words to John B mere seconds ago, all too shaken by her sister's brush with death. She hated the fact that she could've lost her, and yet she couldn't stop thinking about having to tell Ward, Rafe and Wheezie. She never planned on seeing the two former ever again, but she knew they'd deserve to know if something happened to Blair. They loved her just as much as she did, if not even more with all their psycho tendencies. Except she knew how to show it, they broke her trust instead and called it love (when, really, it was borderline infatuation).
"I'm gonna kill you," John B said, then wrapped his arms around her tightly. She laughed into his embrace. He pulled away and inhaled deeply. "Thank you."
Thank you because it would've been him if she hadn't helped him first. Because she was saving his life time and time again while all he did was selfishly put it in danger again, until the tables flipped and, suddenly, he was the one fishing her from the sea. Maybe it was a thank you because she didn't leave her sister and him . . . Or maybe he was thanking higher powers.
Blair nodded, sniffling. "So . . ." she trailed off, looking at the door "what's the deal with this Cleo girl?"
Sarah shrugged, features dipped in confusion. "I don't know," she shook her head. "Her and her crew saved our lives. They picked us up from the middle of nowhere and helped us when you . . ."
Blair stopped her by pulling her into a hug again, trying to calm her erratic breathing. The more she thought about it, the more frightened Blair was. She died, and nobody knew for how long. For all she knew, she could've been at the gates of hell. Sarah returned the embrace, arms wrapped around her little sister just as tightly. Both were trying to get over the fright.
John B plopped down on the bed, grabbed his bag and pulled out the chunk of gold that Blair saw last in that goddamn van of his. She scoffed in shock, and Sarah smiled at her in delight as they pulled away. God, Blair wanted to hold the gold so bad. Just a taste of what they've lost everything for.
But then incoming footsteps put them on alert and Sarah was quick to warm her boyfriend. "John B, someone's coming," she said. He quickly shoved it back inside his bag.
"Morning lovebirds," a man greeted, peaking from under the threshold. His eyes landed on her and he raised a brow. "Cleo's right, you've got nice eyes. I'm Terrance. Welcome back to the land of the living," he told Blair. Sarah and John B shared a look, just on the brink of being odd. "Coming into port. Best not be onboard without a passport, if you know what I'm saying."
The trio shared a look and John B nodded in agreement. "Yeah, I hear you."
"You guys can go on my bridge," the captain offered. Blair couldn't help her brows from furrowing at the uncharacteristic hospitality in his voice, as though he was trying to coax them to listen to him. Whatever. She groaned at a sharp pain on her side and quickly forgot about her suspicions.
Sarah grabbed Blair's hand and they followed John B across the room, towards the bridge. "Through here?" he asked the man. Terrance hummed. "Okay," he breathed and climbed the stairs up quickly with the two girls in tow.
"Come on. Y'all need to hustle," he said.
He peaked inside, hand on the doorknob and ready to close it after them. John B called out to him before he could leave. "Hey, I really appreciate you, Captain," he thanked.
"Thank you," Sarah said.
Blair nodded and felt it appropriate to add her own piece to the thanking-collage, especially since she was the one who benefited from their rescue the most. "You and your crew saved my life," she stated. "I owe you. Say bye to Cleo for me. Oh! And tell her she has nice eyes too," she smiled.
The captain nodded in amusement, then wiped it from his face just as fast. "Stay put. Don't come out."
"You got it. Thank you," John B said and held onto the yellow metal railing as the man shut the door to keep them hidden. Obviously, if someone saw them without a passport, they'd be back in the Banks before they knew it. Looked around, his eyes brightened at the sight of the coastline visible through the bridge window, making his way towards it with a gasp. "What? Dude, I've never been to a foreign country before."
Of course he hadn't. Blair laughed as she and Sarah joined him in admiring the sights. "Welcome to Nassau," her sister welcomed.
"Also known as one of my favorite paces," Blair added. She shared a look with Sarah and smiled, just enjoying the moment like they hadn't been able to in what felt like forever.
"Wow," John B breathed out. "It's beautiful."
Sarah grabbed his hand and pointed to a house right across from the them, glued to the coast, against the window. It was massive, twice the size of the Cameron Residence in North Carolina. With white pillars and a burgundy rooftop, trees framing it and a pathway that lead down to sea. "That is our family's house," she told him.
"Holy super Kook!" he exclaimed, eyebrows practically raising to the back of his head. "I mean, maybe we could crash for a couple nights?" he proposed, shrugging enviously.
Sarah shared an exasperated look with Blair. "Hey, Dad, Bee and I are alive, by the way, and I'm also thinking about getting married. Can we crash?" she mocked.
"Yeah, maybe search around the house for a couple things you might have left," John B added, keeping up the charade. "Like the gold you stole from us."
"Wait, what?" Blair's jaw fell. She forced them to backtrack, "did you just say that you're thinking about getting married?"
Her sister grimaced. "It's a long story," was all she provided her sister who would've obviously burnt them for more if it wasn't for the situation they were in. "John B, Blair, we are fugitives," she spoke, as if testing the word on her tongue. "In a foreign country."
Blair sighed and shook her head, pressing her palm against the window. "We have to lay low and be careful," she told them. Their eyes were on her as she clenched her jaw. "If we get caught, we're screwed. I'm not going back, okay?"
John B nodded though the sisters didn't quite believe he would put his own safety over his main goal, retrieving the gold. "Yeah, I got it. Don't worry about it," he tried to reassure them, glancing from one to the other.
"Guys . . . I don't feel good," Blair suddenly whispered.
Sarah's eyes widened and John B grabbed her arm for support. "What? Why? Are you okay? Are you gonna pass out? Does it hurt somewhere?" Sarah stuttered out.
"No, it's not like that," she shook her head. They frowned as she looked out the window. "We need to go. I just─I can't explain it, but my gut is telling me that we shouldn't be here right now."
She glanced between them, and they shared a brief look before John B nodded and grabbed a small metal rod balancing over an empty green bottle of beer. He smashed it against the window and Blair was quick to create an opening through the broken class, pushing it outside the boat. She was the first one out, then Sarah, then John B.
And before they could ever leave, police officers were barging through the bridge door.
They jumped off the boat and onto the dock, then climbed a rope fence separating it from the pathway. The officers were yelling at each other to get the three teenage fugitives, John B was ushering them to go and Sarah was apologizing to everyone they were bumping into. Blair hadn't said a word; as a runner, she knew that talking was useless. She swallowed her tongue and crossed in front of her sister, leading the way despite her muscles and bones' agonizing tears.
The city could swallow them; it certainly wanted to. People soared a couple glances as they ran past, the crowd eventually thickening as they got to the heart of the city. Nassau, Bahamas. Paradise Island. Not so paradise anymore. "Left," Sarah told John B, following Blair between the lively streets so they could loose the crewman running behind them.
They ran through a farmer's market, passing by artisanal jewelry and scarves as bright as sunsets. "Left," John B said again, nearly knocking over a necklace stand.
Close behind, the officers were nearly breathing down their necks. Blair hurried and held onto the corner of a wall, grabbing her sister's hand and pulling her to the other side. "Here!" They pressed their backs against it and John B brought his finger up to his lips to shush them as the captain indistinctly shouted for them, the officers doing the same.
"Okay," Sarah panted. Blair leaned back against the wall, all her bones crying out in exhaustion. Surely, running after death wasn't a very healthy thing to do. "I think I know of a place where we can hole up, okay?"
John B nodded and Blair's brows furrowed, breathing heavily. "Are we thinking about the same place?" She didn't need to see her sister nod to know that they were. "Follow us," she told John B, then led them through the streets again.
They only slowed down once buildings were out of sight and walked down the road leading up to Blair's favorite hotel. It was one of the best on the island, where they knew the Camerons and held the name at a high stake. They had merits, they had a reputation that preceded even all the way across from the sea.
She remembered when she and Rafe used to race down that very road with a tiny Wheezie following them and she swallowed harshly. God, how she missed them.
John B exhaled deeply and quickened his page to keep up with the sisters. "Are you sure about this?" he asked them, skeptical.
"It's the safest place for us to be," Sarah reassured him. The entrance of the Fairmont Hotel came into view and Blair adjusted the waistband of her denim shorts over her stomach. "Besides, Bee loves this place."
"Right, and I'm glad that you're reliving your childhood, really," John B pressed, "but a five-star hotel?"
Blair rolled her eyes and pressed her hand to her hip, the ache spreading all the way up to her chest. It felt as though she had a weight in her lungs and didn't know how to take it off. "Trust us," she said and walked ahead.
The soft salmon of the wall ate them up as they entered, covered in art hung perfectly straight and centered on each corner of the room. It was one of those hotels you see in the movie, one where you're most likely to see a celebrity or have the best night of your life. The green of the plants contrasted against the flowers amid them, the atmosphere a soft, warm summery-haze though it was near the end of August.
John B looked around, fascinated by all things luxurious. He had never been so close to that much glamour before, like the white pillars and artworks that probably cost more than he could imagine. "Looks a little spendy, no?" he spoke his mind.
"Just act like you know what you're doing," Sarah irritated it dismissed him and followed Blair past the arched glass doors and towards the front. "And smile and say hi to people."
"Basically, pretend we're not fugitives," Blair nudged him, her tone sticky and sweet considering just how much she wanted to collapse and fall asleep. "Ignore the clothes. If we sell the act, they won't even point it out," she added.
John B kept going and Sarah grabbed his hand, pushing him past the carved threshold. "Where are you going? This way," she hissed. "Excuse us."
"Sorry," John B apologized. Blair glared at him.
A pristinely-kept man with a soft-blue button-up and a vivid red tie frowned at the sight of the dirty teenagers, following them down the hall. "Excuse me. Excuse me," he called out. Blair teeth dug into the inside of her cheek nervously. "May I help you?"
She shared a look with Sarah, and both put on their Cameron faces as the eldest spun around and spoke in a highly posh way. "Actually, yes. Do you have any bottled water?"
"Voss, Fiji, anything," Blair added. She flicked her wrist and tossed her hair over her shoulder. "We're dying of thirst. It's horribly hot out there."
"I know. And no," he snapped, though kept it polite.
"No, no. I─oh!" Sarah exclaimed, cutting herself off and grabbing two drinks that a woman was circulating. Blair smiled at her before grabbing the third one as her sister handed the second to John B. "Thank you. We're so parched," she shared a glance with her sister. "I cannot wait to get out of these clothes."
Blair gasped as if in remembrance and shook her head. "God, if you saw the way our yacht just sunk in the water. All so unfortunate, isn't it? And all that on the most busy of days, too," she tusked, clicking her tongue.
"Right!" Sarah added onto the charade and turned to John B. "What time is our reservation?"
He stuttered over his words, unsure of how to fit in the posh act. "Uh, our reservation . . ."
"Yes, our reservation," Blair and Sarah confirmed.
"Is at, uh, 4:30-ish," John B replied way too confidently and faced the irritated man with a sure expression.
He seemed stunned, an eyebrow arched and his grimace lopsided. "Reservation?" he repeated. Obviously, he didn't believe them. And why would he? They didn't look exactly like the type of people to stay in Fairmont. "You have a reservation?"
Sarah nodded. "Yes. We have a harbor-view king in the third floor and a suite on the fourth," she glanced at Blair, trying to hide her amusement (of course she gave her sister a suite), "and we've been patrons of your hotel for years."
"I'll make sure to let the manager know all about that incredibly warm hospitality of yours, Elliott," Blair said, irritated, glancing at the name-tag on his shirt.
He didn't say anything and let them go. Blair and Sarah quickly stormed off but John B lingered a second more to finish his drink, slurping loudly, then handed it to him and ran to get to the two girls before they disappeared behind a corner.
They were running up coral-pink stairs and Blair glided her hand over the railing as John B finally caught up with them. "You guys stay here?" he asked, shocked.
"Yeah," Sarah answered nonchalantly. "I mean, not anymore."
"The view from the roof of this place is one of my favorite things on this island," Blair added, looking back at him and smiling briefly before resuming her quick-paced climb up the stairs.
They passed by the housekeeper trolley and a woman smiled at them. "Hey, good day," she greeted, stacking white towels.
"Good day," Blair returned the hospitality and went to follow her sister up the stairs before she was pulled back abruptly by John B's hand around her wrist. "What the hell?" she groaned, thrown off balance.
He took small steps towards the cart and looked inside as a frown spread on Blair's face. "Phone," he whispered and grabbed it. Sure, Blair wasn't too keen on borrowing that nice woman's phone, but it would allow her to talk to so many people . . . He grabbed it and both of them rushed up the stairs to catch up with Sarah.
They were looking at each other with nothing short of wide smiles and bright eyes. Imagine. The Pogues thought they were dead, no doubt, and now they could let them know they weren't.
She let the palm of her hand run over the railing as they made their way up a soft-pink staircase, then down on the other side. It was all an open space, dark palm trees in the faraway lulling to a faint, humid and warm breeze that stuck to her skin like glue. A small smile twitched on her face, she couldn't help it; the rooftop held more memories than she'd like to amid, all carefully stacked in that exhausted brain of hers.
The blonde looked at the horizon, soaking in the picturesque view of the sea swallowing the sand on the shoreline. She closed her eyes, lashes fluttering, and inhaled deeply as she paused at the second to last step of the staircase, enjoying her very first moment of calm in what felt like an eternity. And though there was something in the back of her head telling her to think, to face the truth, she didn't want to. For that brief moment, she wasn't Blair Cameron running from her father anymore . . . she was just a teenage girl.
John B followed Sarah down and tried to contain his surprise at the sight of the marvelous view that laid ahead. He never went outside the Outer Banks, so she figured the foreign landscapes must've been a shock. "Okay. You know what? You guys didn't tell me you lived on a beach filled with rollers that just slide in all day," he exclaimed, jaw loose.
Sarah laughed silently, grinning at the view. "Yeah, we used to come here as kids," she recalled and shot Blair a wide smile, "when we were building the vacation house right over there." She pointed at their summer home by the coast. "Bee was the only one Ward used to bring with him to the construction site."
Blair looked down at the memory, then coughed off the wave of sadness and climbed down the remaining stairs.
"I bet that's where the gold is," John B said.
"Promise me you won't do anything stupid," Sarah sighed as he held onto the straps of his dirty backpack.
"Well, Sarah Cameron, I do stupid things all the time without realizing it," he looked down. John B stood in front of her, face illuminated by the bright sunlight.
Sarah shook her head, an undertone of irritation in her voice. "No," she pressed hopelessly. "I know you wanna go over there. But there is a gate. There's security. There's patrols. It's a death trap."
"Okay, okay, but just think about it," John B tried. "If I can get us some money . . . No, real money, okay? I can get a lawyer. I can clear my name. We─" he looked at Blair, who had been uncharacteristically silent throughout the exchange "─we can go home."
Blair took a step towards them and sighed. She didn't like how they were looking at her, like she was the judge and it would come down to her to chose the winning contestant. Like they wanted her to pick between them. She sighed and spoke only what she thought was better; they were in too deep of a hole already for her not weight her words.
"John, Sarah's right," she said. "This is dangerous. If there's anything I know for sure about our dad, it's that he won't back down easy. He's coming for us. And I don't want you there when he does."
Odd, but Sarah had just realized that Blair didn't often call John B "John B". She had a habit of only calling him "John" even though nobody else did. And maybe he didn't mind it because that was what his father used to call him when it wasn't Birdie or son or little boy. And maybe it was because she was family to him, a platonic soulmate just as Sarah was the love of his life.
John B shook his head, glancing between them. "Look, the gold is only gonna be there for a few days, and after that, it's gone. It's gone forever." He paused, sighing. "The world thinks we're dead. It's perfect. We just go, hop over the gate, steal some gold."
"No." Sarah didn't give in.
He looked at Blair, but she only stared at the horizon. She wanted so badly to tell him that she wanted to get the gold to, even if it's only to show her father that she was still there. And that she hadn't forgiven him.
"John B, you are wanted," Sarah emphasized. There were tears in her eyes. Blair frowned. What would she have done if it was the love of her life in the Routledge boy's position? What would she have done if it was . . . JJ? "It's just way too dangerous." He sighed, looking down at the ground. "Please, promise me. Promise me you won't."
He smiled softly. "I promise." Liar, Blair wanted to scream. He looked at her and she could see it in his eyes, he was going to shatter his words.
Blair crossed her fingers behind her back and promised too when Sarah looked at her. Then the oldest of the two slapped John B's hands and wrapped her arms around her little sister's shoulders. "Besides, we've got a sweet crib, Bee, and this is your favorite place."
She jumped off her feet and pressed on her back, and Blair's shriek melted into laughter as the music they were playing right underneath them swallowed them up. John B laughed, too, and he knew from the second he glanced into Blair's eyes that she shared his opinions regarding the gold situation. He grabbed some folded, white plastic lounge chairs and placed them facing the horizon.
Sarah spun Blair around, clumsily dancing to the music before they both began laughing childishly and fell into the chairs with grins on their faces and windswept gold hair. Tan skin, same noses, same smile. Only thing was, Blair had her father's eyes. Thank God she didn't have a mirror.
John B sat down, too, then reached into his pocket and pulled out the phone they grabbed from the housekeeper's cart. Sarah sat up, brows furrowed, and Blair pressed her cheek against the hot plastic, looking at John B with a complicit smile that he eagerly returned as he unlocked it (no password, thankfully) and began typing.
"Where'd you get that?" the girl asked, glancing between him and her sister.
"We borrowed it," he replied.
"For a minute," Blair added.
Sarah looked between them incredulously, then her focus was back on the phone and John B's fingers, who were still typing swiftly. "What are you doing?"
John B didn't even glance up. "Sending a message form beyond the grave," he said. The notification sound echoed.
Blair jumped onto the foot of his chair and peered at the phone, feeling her insides warming up. The ache in her muscles was only getting stronger, but she was too ecstatic to notice it. "Come one," she grinned and gestured for her sister to get closer. "Let's take a picture."
Sarah suddenly smiled widely and jumped to her feet, leaning towards John B as Blair peaked into the screen from besides his shoulder. Sarah slapped her hands over her mouth, John B grinned widely and Blair cupped her palm against the side of her cheek. He snapped the picture and sent it to a new group-chat he made with the Pogues' numbers, the only ones he knew by heart.
They fell back into the chairs and Blair wrapped her arms around Sarah as she took a seat besides her, both grimacing as they tried to imagine what was going on back in the Outer Banks.
(Kiara Carrera rambling about Shoupe's words. Pope Heyward's brain wild with senseless theories and conspiracies of cruel hoaxes. JJ Maybank clutching at his chest in disbelief, angry for feeling hopeful.)
The first message came from Kiara. WTF is this you??? Blair's heart plummeted to the very pit of her stomach and Sarah's nails dug into her flesh.
John B looked at them both. Blair was struggling to catch a breath. His fingers froze over the keypad. Is JJ there?
I'm here Bree. The reply came within seconds.
The Routledge boy smiled widely in relief and thought of something to tell him, anything, to make sure that he understood it was him. "It's JJ," he told Blair. Did you pimp my short board? "He'll know it's me." Laying super low in Nassau, he added. The girls laughed in relief. Can you clear my name? Wanna come home.
Then the phone beeped again and John B's grin fell into a soft smile, and he handed it to Blair. She took it with furrowed brows, then looked down at the message that came from a number she recognized all too easily.
Blair? You there?
"It's JJ," she breathed out. Sarah pressed her face against her sister's shoulder with a smile. Blair took way too long to come up with an answer.
She settled with something short, sweet. Straight to the point. Here. Miss you.
If she could've seen his smile as he read the message, perhaps she would've melted into nothing but a pile of her own flesh. The response came quickly. Miss you too, Princess.
John B took the phone again and pressed a hand briefly to her cheek with a laugh. She wiped at her eyes and grinned, sharing a blissful look with Sarah. John B added one last thing, something that had been itching at the back of his brain and the tips of his fingers. Be in touch. P4L.
"They'll clear my name," John B said. "I know it. And then we can go back home."
Sarah nodded and sniffled, pulling herself to her feet. "Come on, we need to get some food before we starve."
John B followed her lead, but both froze in their steps when they realized Blair wasn't following. "You guys go. I'm exhausted. I just need to lay down for a second," she told them with a smile.
"I'll stay with you," Sarah frowned, concerned.
Blair shook her head. "Go," she pressed. "Get me some sushi or something."
She nodded, leaning down to kiss her forehead softly before grabbing John B's hand and vanishing down the pink staircase.
Blair inhaled deeply and pressed a hand over her chest, breathing slow. Every muscle in her body was screaming, feeling as though it was being ripped out and cut into with cheap schoolgirl scissors. She declined the chair with an idle hand and groaned as her head collided with the plastic. Hot. She pressed her warm cheek against it and felt the skin burn. What concerned her, however, was that she enjoyed it.
Thing is, she was still stuck in the cat-and-mouse routine that had been going on in the Outer Banks. But, instead of being the predator, she found herself the prey hiding in plain sight, on the rooftop of young her's favorite place. Kildare County as an entirety had been looking for them, and now that goddamn flyer had made it around the world. What could save them now? Not the Pogues, no matter how much she wanted them to be the saviors her heart craved. Against her father, they didn't stand a chance.
The only person who did was her.
Now, all she had to do was close her eyes and hope that she doesn't die, though she was starting to believe she was somewhat of an immortal creature, blessed with the divine, in some ways. Or maybe she was just a cat with lives stacked under her belt, and she'd keep taking advantage of them until they simply ran out.
a/n: FIRST CHAPTER OF ACT 2!!! im so excited to write the new and improved version of blair and elaborate on her revenge arc bcs it's abt to be AMAZING. i have so much in store for her however so i suggest you guys get a spare box of tissues for her issues.
THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL THE LOVE AND SUPPORT!!!
love, livo !!