chapter six.
( as the masks come on, secrets come out )
S1E6 — the handmaiden's tale.
PRETENTIOUS OR NOT, OPHELIA BAUDELAIRE-HUGHES HAD to admit, a masquerade ball seemed like her type of event. The alluring secrecy of it all, how it allowed for many to say what they had feared the most to disclose, like a sinner under confession. The knowledge that no one knew who anyone was made it easier to portray the inner feelings and emotions one had hidden for the longest time.
Ophelia liked the idea of the masquerade ball, as it gave her an opportunity to find a new outfit, have some fun with her friends, but also try to repair the damage that had been caused with Lorenzo and Astoria, all through their mutual adoration for fashion and parties. It would hard, she knew that for a fact, but she was determined to make things right with them, no matter how difficult or long it would take.
Residing in Blair's bedroom with Serena, Ophelia lounged on the Waldorf's bed, flicking through Vogue, whilst Serena attempted to wrap her head around the concept of the looming ball that was coming up. She chuckled at Serena's scepticism at it all, how the glitz and glam of a party for the elitists could be so enchanting yet ostentatious at the same time.
"So, Kati mentioned something about a custom-made corset, and I hear there are wigs involved?" Serena listed, incredulous.
"It's a masquerade," Blair stated the obvious. "You have to conceal your identity."
"That's, like, the whole point of it," Ophelia snickered, and Blair pulled a face at her quip, and continued on.
"But, I do have something special planned for Nate tonight," Blair revealed, unable to mask her excitement. "It's a game. A scavenger hunt." Discreetly, Ophelia and Serena shared a look with one another, curious to know whether their best friend had lost her mind during the night. "Nate starts the night with a clue, which leads him to a lady-in-waiting, who gives him the clue to the next lady —"
"Wait, hold on," Serena interjected, slight mirth shining over her eyes. "You have ladies now?"
Blair dismissed her question, and carried on with her explanation, "If he finds me before midnight, when the masks come off, he can claim his prize."
"And what might that be?" Ophelia smirked, already knowing the answer.
Blair shot them both a knowing look, raising her brows, and Ophelia chuckled, whilst Serena blanched, "Oh. Yeah, right, sorry."
Blair's shoulders fell slack, and Ophelia's hazel eyes darted between her two closest friends, sensing a small amount of tension between them, reminders of Serena and Nate's mistake flaring up in all of their minds, yet leaving it to hang around them, never to be forgotten. "I just figured that after everything that's happened, or hasn't happened, I should find some way to make it special," Blair admitted meekly, something deeply personal to her.
"Well, that's really romantic, B," Serena smiled, encouragingly.
"Yeah," Ophelia agreed, rubbing Blair's upper arm comfortingly. "I'm sure he'll love it."
Blair smiled pleasantly at Ophelia, before Serena cleared her throat, hesitant to speak, yet feeling the need to let out what she was struggling with, her inner thoughts forcing her to speak, "Look, um . . . if you don't want me to come tonight, I totally understand —"
"What?" Blair exclaimed in outrage, sitting up. "No, I want you to come. In fact, I was hoping the two of you would be some of my ladies."
Ophelia's brows flew high, and she rested against the wooden headboard, unexpected at Blair's request, "You do? What d'you want us to do?"
"Well," Blair began, "Ophelia, since you and Nate are close friends, I thought that you could be the one to distract him whilst I prepare it all. Just, y'know, dance and chat with him, all before the first clue is given. He won't suspect it, cause it's you. And, Serena, I want you to give him the last clue."
Ophelia shrugged, nodding, "I can do that."
Serena, on the other hand, appeared a little apprehensive at Blair's wishes for her to ultimately be the one to lead Nate to Blair. "Are you sure you want me to do that?" she asked, on edge.
"Tonight is all about starting over," Blair assured. "I trust you . . . and him."
A smile of relief settled across Serena's lips, and, teasingly, she agreed to Blair's requests, "Well, then I will be honoured to serve you, my queen." The three of them giggled amongst one another, before settling back, their laughter dying out.
"Aren't you bringing Dan with you?" Ophelia questioned, curiously.
Serena winced, a sigh escaping her. "Probably not. I know Dan. A masked ball? He would never want to go to some that pretentious, where he has to wear a mask, and a tux?"
"He likes you!" Blair chuckled, playfully rolling her eyes. "He would wear a mask and a tux and one of my mother's dresses if it meant that he could go out with you! Come on — are you worried he already has a date? I mean, he is Dan Humphrey."
"She's right, S," Ophelia chimed in, grinning. "Just go for it — I doubt he'd say no."
"I don't know," murmured Serena uncertainly. "I guess a masked ball is better than a regular party because then all of those kids from school that he hates — he won't even recognise them."
"You mean us?" remarked Ophelia, smirking slyly. Serena nudged her shoulder against her best friend's, yet didn't deny the question, although Ophelia was unperturbed by Dan's evident dislike for her. She wasn't his biggest fan, either.
Blair reached over and grabbed Serena's phone, pushing it in her hands, "Invite him. I insist."
Serena pondered over it for a moment, before nodding subtly and grabbing the phone from Blair's hand, and dialled Dan's number, facing her inner fears. She swallowed thickly as Dan picked up on the other line, "Hey. Hi." She glanced over to Ophelia and Blair, who urged her on with determined expressions. "Uh, hey, I was just wondering, are you, uh, are you doing anything tonight?" Ophelia waited patiently for Dan's answer, despite not being able to hear, but when Serena's tone was uplifting, she smiled, pleased, "Good, because there's this thing, and you're probably going to think it's stupid, but . . ."
Blair and Ophelia shared a glance of exasperation with one another at Serena's stumbling of her words, yet listened nonetheless.
"Who's that?" Serena asked unexpectedly, catching Ophelia off-guard, as that wasn't what she anticipated for the blonde to say.
"Hey, Blair," Ophelia's head turned at the interruption, gaze latching onto the figure of Jenny Humphrey, the young girl carrying several boxes in her slender arms, struggling to uphold them all without them tipping over. "What do you want me to do with all this stuff?"
Blair waved a flippant hand to the corner of the room, "Oh, just leave them over there, that's fine. I left you another list." Jenny grabbed the list that laid peacefully on the table, and inhaled a steady breath, before rushing out of the room.
"You have Jenny Humphrey doing your dirty work?" Ophelia snorted, amused.
"Someone has too," Blair shrugged.
"I'm sorry. Uh . . . what?" Serena's tense voice filled the room, rubbing a hand across the plane of her face. There was a significant pause, before Serena spoke again into the phone, her tone firm and hard. "No, uh . . . no, never mind. Thank you, have a good day."
She hung up, and turned to Blair and Ophelia, the latter scoffing at the foolishness of her comment. "'Thank you, have a good day?' What the hell was that?" Ophelia wondered, curious to know where it had all gone wrong.
"I don't know," Serena replied, deflated. "But I think I need a date."
☆
Retiring to her own home after the spending the night at Blair's penthouse, Ophelia was let in by her doorman, Harrison, and was greeted with the sight of both her mother and father having breakfast with one another, which neither of them had done since Ophelia could remember. She halted in her tracks, brows furrowing in bafflement, and set down her bags at her feet, crossing her arms across her chest.
"Who's died?" she quipped, both Milo and Cressida's whipping towards their daughter at her comment.
"Don't be silly," commented Cressida, tutting. "Is it so strange that we're having breakfast together?"
"Seeing as it's been, oh, I don't know . . . four years since we've all been here in the morning," Ophelia half-rolled her eyes, yet meandered forward and grasped the slice of toast that lay on her father's plate, "yes, it is strange."
"Well, we thought it was ought to change things," Milo spoke, almost ominously, as though there were underlying meanings to his words. "Come, sit. Surely you must be hungry?"
"Yes, cause Blair has a tendency of starving me when I stay at her's," scoffed Ophelia, already headed towards the door. "I'll be in my room if anyone needs me —"
"Ophelia," Cressida's voice was firm, and she stopped again, taking in a sharp, steady breath. She knew not to test her mother when her tone shifted into the maternal, dominating one, leaving no room for the young blonde to argue. "Sit down with us."
Not quite in the mood to argue with her mother, considering the time of the morning it was ( it wasn't quite appropriate to have a screaming match with Cressida at only half-past ten, she supposed ), Ophelia sat down, impatiently waiting for the explanation for their peculiar, family breakfast.
She raised a brow, breaking the ice that coated them all, "So? What is it?"
"Eat your breakfast," Milo insisted.
"I'm not hungry," Ophelia retorted, although the light rumble of her stomach begged to differ. "Can you just tell me what's going on? I need to get ready for the party later!"
"Ophelia, darling," Cressida gently covered her daughter's hand with her's, the elder woman's manicured nails gently stroking the soft skin of Ophelia's. "Your father and I are going away for a little while."
Ophelia wrenched backwards, having expected something more significant and earth-shattering than her parents spending a few weeks away in whatever country they've picked out for themselves. It wasn't anything new to her — she'd become accustomed to their disappearances throughout her school years, during her younger years, Lucille would be tasked with minding her, but, as she grew into her older teenage years, Ophelia managed to look after herself easily enough.
"Oh," she let out, shrugging. "Well, that's fine. What's the big deal? You always seem to go away."
A flash of hurt seemed to ricochet through Cressida's eyes at the nonchalance Ophelia seemed to feel towards her parent's departure, yet it seemed to exstinguish as soon as she was able to recognise it. "We'll be back for Cotillion," Milo piped up, and Ophelia blanched, a frown pulling at her rose-tinted lips.
"Cotillion?" she questioned, perplexed. "But . . . that's after Thanksgiving?"
Cressida squeezed Ophelia's hand, "I know, darling."
"Is this a joke?" she yanked her hand from her mother's grasp, laughing in incredulity. "You won't be here for Thanksgiving?"
"I spoke to Lily Van Der Woodsen," Cressida rushed to justify, "she said it's perfectly fine for you spend the day with her and her family —"
"I don't want to be with them, I would much prefer to be with my family!" she exclaimed, fury blazing through her eyes. "I can't believe you're both leaving me!"
"Ophelia, calm down —" Milo tried, wincing at the rising level of his daughter's voice and tempo.
"No, I won't calm down," she snapped, pushing back her chair harshly and jumping to her feet. "One day a year is all I ask for you to be here, and neither of you can do that. You're both ridiculous." She bit the inside of her lip as the familiar sensation of stinging rose in her waterline, iridescent tears threatening to spill over and pour onto her pink-painted cheeks. She blinked harshly, and scowled fiercely, "Have fun in whatever country you've both decided to run off to now."
Not particularly fond of hearing her parent's responses, she turned on her heel, grabbed her purse which laid carelessly on the countertop, and stormed out of the Manhattan townhouse, incapable of bearing anymore moments locked inside the confines of the tense and suffocating atmosphere that her mother and father had emitted over her.
With nowhere directly in mind for her to head to, Ophelia figured she'd make her way to her favourite part of New York City — Central Park. Its calmness and ability to relax her, even in the worst of times was almost magical, leaving her to revel in the choices she made, words she had said, and allowing her the opportunity to fix it all, even if it simply was in her head.
Perhaps it was because, in the grand scheme of it all, she was nobody within the midst of the hustle and bustle of the park, everybody else having their own, personal lives which dominated their days, and Ophelia's status and power in the city, regardless of her age, meant nothing to anyone else, except a very few portion of people. She was so small in a world so large, and, truthfully, that meant everything to her.
She sat herself upon a park-bench, giving herself a moment to let the emotions of ferocity simmer from her veins, and allow for her parents' revelations to settle within her. It may not have been such a big deal as she was making it out to be — it wasn't the first time they'd gone away ( and certainly wouldn't be the last ), and, despite them not being present for Thanksgiving, Serena's family was always good to her, Lily having being a good figure for her to look up to as she grew up.
It was one day, and they always made it up to her, bringing her back luxurious gifts and keepsakes from their trips abroad, causing her to forget the feelings of loneliness and disdain whilst they were away. She pushed past the pathetic thoughts of pity for herself, and figured that she needed to get a grip, and grow up, as her mother and father would be there for her forever.
"Ophelia?" she cast her head to the side at the masculine voice that called out to her, and her gaze fell on the tousled, blond curls of Nate Archibald, his crystalline irises peering at her deeply, confusion melting on his expression. "Are you okay?"
"Nate," she breathed, unexpected of his presence. "Hey — yeah, I'm fine."
"You sure?" he asked again, more firmly. "You looked a little sad."
Nate took it upon himself to sit beside her on the old bench, cerulean eyes squinted at her, as though intending to decipher something. She smiled gently, "I'm fine. Thanks for your concern."
"Well, I'm in need of a little advice," Nate admitted, and Ophelia quirked a brow in intrigue. "Willing to hear me out?"
"Oh, always," remarked Ophelia, smirking. Nate grinned at her, before settling back against the wood, allowing the words to spill from his lips, almost involuntarily. He spoke of his family problems, most specifically with his father, and how early in the day, had found an abundance of drugs hidden away in a small, plastic bag.
Ophelia frowned as she listened to Nate speak about his woes, and tried her hardest to muster up a reason which could ease Nate's troubles. "Y'know, maybe it's old?" she suggested. "God knows the stuff our parents got up to in the nineties."
"No, it's not old," Nate disagreed, shaking his head. "It makes total sense. I think he's been having some money problems."
"Have you asked him about it yet?" Ophelia questioned curiously.
"Yeah," Nate replied, but, by the tone of his voice, it was obvious it hadn't gone well. "I just wish he'd be honest with me. It's like he and my mom have signed some secret pact to act like robots around me."
"I wouldn't be surprised if they shared that pact with my parents," joked Ophelia, snorting lightly. "Pretty sure my parents signed it too."
"But I'm not a little kid anymore," retorted Nate, frustrated. "He doesn't have to shut me out."
"That's our parents — never telling us the truth," Ophelia sighed. "If what you think is right, then he's probably really scared. Maybe you have to tell him how you feel more than once for him to hear and understand you properly, you know? Don't give up just yet."
Nate smiled faintly, "Thanks, Lia. Now, what's up with you? You're not smiling — there's obviously something wrong."
Ophelia huffed a short laugh, before thinning her lips, blowing air in frustration. "I got in an argument with Enzo and Tori, and we haven't spoken since."
Nate furrowed a brow, "Why? You three are almost as close as you, Blair and Serena."
"I know!" exclaimed Ophelia. "It's stupid — I said things I shouldn't have said, only for them to be right the entire time. I was a bitch, and too stubborn for my own good." At Nate's inquisitive stare, the blonde inhaled sharply, elaborating, much to her own chagrin. "I — stupidly, I have to admit — agreed to a date with Carter Baizen, and it went awfully."
"Ophelia!" Nate's brows flew upwards in a stare of astonishment, an expression of, what Ophelia loathed, disappointment. "Why? Carter's scum — everyone knows that."
"Believe me, I know," she groaned, embarrassed. "I just thought that, maybe, there was some truth to what he wanted. Turns out, all he wanted was to get back in the ranks of those with power. I was an idiot, and clearly haven't got any strength to go and apologise."
"Listen," Nate began, the warmth of his hand sliding over Ophelia's cold one, a blanket of softness coating the ice-frost, "they're your friends. If they truly love you, they'll forgive you. Forget about Carter, and his bullshit. Go fix things with your friends."
"Always had such good advice," Ophelia smiled, softly squeezing his hand. "Listen, your parents don't happen to know anything about mine going away, do they?"
Nate pondered over her question for a moment, before shaking his head, "No, not that I know of. Your parents are leaving? Why?"
"I don't know," Ophelia frowned. "They told me they're going away, and won't be coming back until after Thanksgiving, in time for Cotillion. They never miss Thanksgiving."
"I can try and see if my parents know anything — ?" Nate suggested, but Ophelia shook her head fervently.
"No, no, you have enough problems without me dragging you into mine," Ophelia declined, despite the need to know more about the indiscretions of her parents' mysterious trip abroad. "Thank you, though." She rose to her feet, indicating her leave. "I'll see you tonight."
"Of course," Nate replied firmly, standing opposite her. "But, seriously, though, if you need anything at all, you know where to find me."
Ophelia reached on her tiptoes to to slink her arms around Nate's broad shoulders, the scent of expensive cologne wafting through her senses, the soft fabrics of his shirt smooth beneath the pads of her fingers. She pulled back, an expression of comfort settled across her features. "Thanks. I might take that offer up someday."
"I hope you do," Nate responded, parting her with a gentle kiss on her temple, and quiet 'goodbye', and brushing past her down the bustled streets of New York, his figure becoming more distant with the steps he took.
☆
Taking Nate's advice in strong swing, the Baudelaire-Hughes figured it was high time she quit her moping over the broken pieces of her friendships with Enzo and Astoria, and head to the latter's home first, mustering up the courage to open her wounded heart to her best friend, hopeful she could portray her feelings clearly to Astoria and that she would accept her heartfelt apologies.
She hailed a cab and directed it straight to Astoria's home, located on the Upper East Side, just like the blonde's. A tremble in her fingers showed a sign of her nervousness towards facing the fiery brunette, Astoria's temper something not to be messed with.
Astoria's home was rather similar to Blair's — located on the top floor of a grand set of apartments, the elevator the only way she could enter the Beaumont residency. As she stood in the tight confines of the elevator, she could feel the thrum of her heartbeat pounding within her sternum, anxiousness creeping up on her and settling in her bones achingly. A small sliver of her was hopeful Astoria wouldn't turn her away the second she laid her eyes on the blonde, their friendship of many years too powerful to ignore.
The quiet ding of the elevator signalled her arrival at Astoria's home, the doors sliding open to reveal the polished and classy sights of the interior, the high ceilings and diamond chandeliers hanging gently a portrayal of their wealth. Her heels clicked beneath of marble floors below her, echoing around, and revealing her presence to the occupants of the home, Ophelia's heart racing as she overheard the familiar footsteps of Astoria's mother.
"Hello, Ophelia," Evangeline Beaumont faced the teen, her arms crossed over her chest, her stance defensive when faced with Ophelia. She had never been so cold to Ophelia, always showering her with soft embraces and kind smiles, yet the woman that stood across from her clearly had no intention of engulfing her daughter's longest friend into a hug, and Ophelia knew instantly that Evangeline was aware of what had conspired between the Baudelaire-Hughes and Astoria.
"Hi, Mrs. Beaumont," Ophelia smiled gently, an uncomfortable sensation prickling at her neck. "Is . . . is Astoria home?"
"Yes, she's in her room," Mrs. Beaumont replied, yet there was no indication in her tone that suggested Ophelia should go and pay her daughter a visit. "Astoria told me what happened between the two of you."
"Oh," was all Ophelia let out, not quite finding the exact words. "I came to apologise. I hate what's happened between us, and I'd really like to fix it."
"Perhaps it's unfixable," Mrs. Beaumont suggested, and Ophelia frowned — she knew what had happened was bad, words that should've never been spoken shared between her, Astoria and Enzo, but she was certain that with a heartfelt apology shared, it would all be resolved soon enough. "I don't particularly like my daughter spending time with people who constantly put her down."
"I'm sorry — ?" A cleft formed between Ophelia's brows in bafflement. "I'm not quite sure you've got the full picture."
Evangeline approached Ophelia, only a few feet away from the teen girl. "Astoria told me what you said, how you mocked her when she only wanted to help you, and I'm not the sort of mother to allow my daughter be around those certain types of people."
"No — it wasn't like that — !" Ophelia rushed to defend, heat rising on her cheeks in indignation. "We both said things — whatever Astoria told you isn't how it happened —"
"So you're saying she lied to me?" Evangeline quirked an inquisitive brow. "That Astoria's a liar?"
"God, no!" Ophelia exclaimed in frustration. "I'm just saying, she may have gotten things wrong, or misinterpreted it, but I didn't mock her — I would never!" Desperation soared through Ophelia's piercing gaze, hazel irises swimming with the urge to shake Evangeline to get her to understand the truth to it all. "She's my best friend, Mrs. Beaumont, you know that."
"I think it's best you leave, Ophelia," Mrs. Beaumont concluded, taking a step back. "I think it's better you and Astoria spend some time away from one another, maybe even permanently."
The familiar sensation of stinging flared up in her eyes, exasperation the meaning of her tears. "Please just let me see her. I swear, only for a second — !"
"Goodbye, Ophelia," Mrs. Beaumont's tone was firm, leaving no room for the blonde to argue with. "I'd appreciate if you left my daughter alone for the time being." With that, Evangeline Beaumont turned on her heel and disappeared from sight, leaving Ophelia to wallow in her own self-pity, and leave the home of her best friend, their friendship crumbling even more as the days went by.
☆
There was nothing left for Ophelia to do except for return to her own home, and distract herself by preparing for the masquerade ball, spending her time fixing her hair and makeup, and not to allow the rise of emotions to consume her. She didn't speak to her parents when she entered her house, slipping past them and fervently ignoring the distant greeting Cressida offered her, not trusting herself to explode in rage at their unexpected leave that was approaching.
She scoffed at the bags that laid beside the set of stairs leading up to her bedroom, and slammed the door behind her as she entered, locking it also. She didn't want anyone intruding on her, and would much prefer to be left on her lonesome, away from those who were the source of her anger and dismay.
She pinned up her locks of golden with a silver clasp, one encrusted with diamonds formed into constellations, standing out within the brightness of her curls. Her dress was silk, a deep, navy blue, falling to her ankles and cinched at her waist tightly, pairing it with a set of simple, silver-coloured heels, the straps daintily wrapped around her ankles. To complete her look, she slid a mask over her eyes, a rich azure and lined with studded diamonds, a piece of thin ribbon tying it tightly to her face.
She didn't utter a word to either Cressida or Milo as she left her house, watching despairingly as her mother went to speak to her, yet stopped, knowing Ophelia's ferocity was still simmering beneath the surface, and any half-hearted apology she had planned wouldn't go down well with her daughter. Ophelia inhaled sharply, an impassive look on her face, before stepping out into the brisk air of New York City, and slid into the sleek, black limo, pushing away all the problems she had swimming in her mind, determined to have a night to remember.
Arriving swiftly at the party, Ophelia was instantly overwhelmed with luxurious dresses and suits, wild hairdos, and unable to decipher who anyone was, their features shielded by their masks. She adored it, though, the secrecy of it all, and how anyone was able to express however they felt, without the consequences of the other knowing who they are.
She gave the security guard her name, and he let her in with a polite smile, and she was immediately greeted with couples twirling one another on the dance floor, mingling with friends and drinking till their heart content. The heat was palpitating, and Ophelia desperately tried to find her friends amongst the large dresses and multicoloured masks.
However, her gaze latched onto a familiar figure, leant against the bar, a pressed, onyx suit he was dressed in, and a silver mask concealing half of his face. Ophelia would always be able to find Nate in a sea of people, regardless of the hidden features he had. She approached him, hopeful he would be able to figure her out.
She smiled at him brightly, the only distinguishing feature that made it easy for him to figure out who she was, and spoke jovially, "Know who I am yet?"
Nate chuckled, white teeth flashing through his grin, "Oh, I think I'd be able to suss you out from miles away."
Ophelia shrugged nonchalantly, still smirking, "I tend to have that affect on people." Nate nodded with a light laugh, unable to disagree. Ophelia held out a hand, the softness of her palm almost too enticing. "Come on. Dance with me."
"Dance with you?" Nate repeated, baffled. "I thought you didn't like to dance — it reminded you of your childhood, you said."
Ophelia snorted — dancing did remind her of her childhood, the years of gruelling ballet her mother had inducted her into, the only excuse she had was that she took it as a child, and her mother before her. Ophelia was only six, taking it until she was eleven, but the harsh teaching her former instructor had really put her off dancing — for good, even.
"It did. It does," she emphasised. "But, I've been having a really shitty couple of weeks, so, dancing might help."
"It won't," Nate countered, and Ophelia rolled her eyes.
"Just dance with me," she urged, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the dance floor, ignoring the sensation that cascaded down her spine at the feel of his hand on her waist, barely there, but present nonetheless. "It was almost as if you hated dancing, not me."
The band on the stage had begun to play a slower melody, the gentle beat of the drums and string of guitars thrummed beneath her feet, and Ophelia revelled in the feeling of dancing with someone she cared most about, regardless of her loathing of it. It was certain things like that, despite how silly it looked to outsiders, that made living in such a tight-knit community enjoyable at times — everyone was so thrilled about attending something so trivial as a masquerade ball, yet it brought everyone together, even if it was just for a few days or so.
"I don't hate dancing," Nate responded. "I just thought I'd be dancing with my girlfriend instead."
"Oh," Ophelia recoiled backwards, arching a brow at the blond. "Am I not good enough for you, Archibald?"
"No — that's not — I didn't —" Nate stumbled over his words, whilst Ophelia giggled lightly at his reaction. "I didn't mean it like that."
"I know," she replied. "I get it — but you'll be seeing Blair soon."
"God, what has she got in store for me?" Nate groaned, but there was no meaning beneath it.
Ophelia lightly swatted his chest, "You'll like it, I promise. As long as you find her before midnight, or you'll have to face her wrath."
Nate huffed a laugh, before the amusement died from his face, a severe expression taking its place. Ophelia frowned at the sudden change in his mood, and was even more perplexed when Nate began to spoke, the struggle to find words bleeding into his tone. "Do you think Blair and I . . . do you think we'll last?"
A cleft of bafflement formed between Ophelia's brows, "What do you mean?"
"I just —" he broke off, frustration rising to the surface. He inhaled steadily, before carrying on, "I just mean that, after everything that's happened, do you think we'll be able to make it work?" Insecurity seeped into his voice, and Ophelia knew why. It had always been said, even since they were children, that it was Blair and Nate. Both the golden children from their families, destined to be married and live a long and peaceful life with each other — the perfect fairytale.
And, up until the previous summer, it was. Then it all began to crumble.
Ophelia sighed, and stared straight at Nate, absorbing the delicate features of the Archibald bloodline — crystalline gaze, soft curls that shone gold in the dim sunlight, and the utter warmth that radiated from him. Ophelia had always admired Nate, even from afar. "Listen," she started, her voice leaving no room for arguments, "if you want it badly, then you'll make it work. And I'm not saying that because of your parents, or how it's always supposed to be just you and Blair. I'm saying it because I care about you, and Blair. If you don't want it, tell her."
Nate didn't have a response for her, and Ophelia didn't expect him to. They continue to dance, mere, comfortable silence coating them, awkwardness nothing but a stranger. The song eventually came to an end, and Ophelia stepped back, nodding gently as Nate smiled at her, the blonde hopeful her advice had made its mark on the Archibald. If it hadn't, she wasn't sure how on earth it would go down.
Approaching the bar, Ophelia helped herself to a flute of champagne, in dire need of something soothe the heat of the bodies in the room, perspiration beginning to form on the back of her neck. She leant against the bar, sipping her drink, and keeping a keen look out for her friends, hopeful she would be able to spot them in the sea of disclosed faces and wild outfits.
"Ophelia?" A voice reached out to her, and the mentioned girl turned her head towards the source of the words, and even in spite of the faint glow of the room, and the mask that hid the upper portion of her face, Ophelia instantly knew it was Astoria Beaumont that faced her.
When stood in front of her best friend, Ophelia had never expected to feel such overpowering rage directed to her. Most of the time, she experienced sensations of joy, or a gooey-sort-of pit settling in her stomach, her smiles never forced or false, her true emotions portrayed. Now, as she met Astoria's coffee-coloured irises, all she felt was overwhelming bitterness, the shark that she buried deep within began to crawl its way upwards, the flash of teeth a signature to its wickedness.
"Oh," she sneered, slammed her glass so harshly, Astoria was surprised it didn't shatter in the Baudelaire-Hughes grip. "It's you."
"Yeah . . . it's me," Astoria's reply was so weak and feeble, it was almost laughable. "Can we talk?"
"No," Ophelia answered, the word cutting through Astoria like a thousand knives, all aimed at her. "We can't talk. I wanted to talk to you earlier, and I was practically exiled from your house. So, no, we cannot talk."
"Ophelia, please!" Astoria almost pleaded, desperate. "I fucked up, okay, I know that!"
"Oh, you fucked up?" Ophelia questioned, inching closer to the Beaumont. "Fucked up by telling your mom a completely different story than what actually happened! I know I'm not innocent, and I said some hurtful things, which is why I was coming to apologise, but, God, Tori, why did you do that?"
She refused to cry, to let the outpour of emotions tear her apart so harshly she couldn't breathe. She would not cry in front of Astoria, not allow the influx of vulnerability show itself to her, let her aware of how fragile she was in that moment. She blinked harshly, and averted her gaze as Astoria began to speak again.
"I . . . I don't know," was all Astoria had to offer, her voice hardly heard of the beat of music and chatter of people's voices. Ophelia scoffed, a sob threatening to crawl its way out of her throat.
"Well, when you do know, you can come and find me," she snapped, grabbing her purse from the side, and a snarl formed its way across her lips. "Until then, leave me alone."
Astoria's hand wrenched outwards, latching onto Ophelia's slender wrist, halting her movements. Ophelia tore her arm out of Astoria's grasp, almost as if it were burning her. "Ophelia, I'm begging you," the shimmer in Astoria's gaze gave away how she truly felt, the facade of stoic vanished from her face. "Please just hear me out. Two minutes is all I ask of you."
"I was willing to listen to you," she argued, shoulders tense. "But, now, I couldn't care less about what you've got to say. Leave me alone, Astoria, or I swear you'll regret it." The words spilled from her lips, cruelty the best way to describe how she spoke, inconsiderate of the hurt and taken aback expression that painted across Astoria's face. "You'll regret meeting me. Every year of friendship we've ever had means nothing to me." Her face was inches from the Beaumont's and she felt nothing but pure and overwhelming rage. "Nothing. Leave me the fuck alone."
She shoved past Astoria's shoulder, not look back to watch as the raven-haired girl stumble at the force of Ophelia's walk, the iridescent tears that spilled from her waterline and down the plane of her cheeks, the impact of her best friend's ( if she could even be referred as that anymore ) settled within, and Astoria began to understand how royally she had messed up. And, whether there was the possibility of resolving it, she didn't know.
All the while, Ophelia had manoeuvred through the crowds, pushing past her fellow schoolmates, and found the ladies' room, desperate to escape the eyes latched onto her, taking notice of her shining eyes and despaired expression. When she got inside, thankful it was empty, she harshly tore off the navy mask and threw it down on the counter, her chest heaving with the pressure of the argument and reality of her life settling in.
She didn't want to cry — she hardly ever did, only a handful of times she had been spotted in floods of tears, yet she couldn't resist the outpour of tears flooding her face, makeup smudging and struggling to breathe. Never would she have thought her best friend, someone she had relied on for years and years would've been the reason for her sobbing in the bathroom of a party, but she understood that not everyone would always be there for her, regardless of how much she presumed they would. It hurt, almost tearing her heart from her chest, but she had to get a grip, and face the truth.
Sniffling, she overcame her breakdown, and stared at herself in the arched mirror, a true depiction of how she felt. Her hair had began to break free of the up-do she had it in, and, frustratingly, she tore the silver clasp that held it up, and allowed for her wild, blonde curls to let loose, tumbling down the length of her back. Her eye makeup had smudged, beneath her lashes and around her eyelid, the smokiness of it even more prominent. Sitting down, Ophelia began to fix herself up, making it seem as though nothing had ever happened to begin.
The door of one of the bathrooms in the room opened, and Ophelia's head swivelled towards the person, laughing cynically when her gaze fell on Jenny Humphrey. Embarrassment flooded her — the Humphrey had overheard her cry like a small child over something so insignificant, and she would love nothing more than to crawl into a hole and never escape.
But Jenny didn't mock her, or poke fun at her vulnerability — instead, she asked, "Ophelia? You okay?"
The mentioned girl was taken aback by Jenny's sympathy, and immediately took it as fake, a scoff escaping her, "What do you care?"
"Well, I heard you crying, and I just thought —" Jenny began, but broke off when Ophelia rolled her eyes, rising from the velvet seat.
"You hate me," Ophelia responded coldly. "I wouldn't be surprised if everyone's talking about how I had a breakdown in the bathroom at school on Monday."
Jenny shook her head, "I wouldn't do that. I really do want to know if you're okay."
"Well, I'm not," she answered. Then she frowned, furrowing her brows, "What're you even doing here? I thought Blair didn't invite you."
Jenny chuckled uncomfortably, "Uh . . . she didn't. I snuck in."
Ophelia snorted, "Brave. Was it at least worth it?"
"Oh, definitely," Jenny's face split into a grin, and Ophelia smiled gently.
"Good," she replied, shockingly pleased for the younger girl. "Listen, I know you and I haven't always got along, but I'm glad you had fun tonight. At least one of us did."
"You wanna talk about it?" Jenny suggested softly.
"Not really," Ophelia responded. "I just want go home, really." She grabbed the mask, and began to tie it back to her head. "Make sure you leave by midnight. You don't want Blair to see you."
"Thanks," Jenny mumbled, watching as Ophelia began to take a step towards the door. "See you around?"
"Sure," Ophelia said, nodding with a smile. She left the bathroom, again startled with the amount people that were still present. Moving towards the centre of the party, it was inching closer to midnight, mere minutes until masks came off, and everyone's identity was revealed.
She found Blair in the middle, having already known what her outfit would be, and wouldn't find it hard to spot her in the midst of covered faces. She approached Blair, who seemed on edge about something.
"B?" she spoke, making the Waldorf girl jump. "What's wrong?"
"Have you seen Nate?" she asked, and Ophelia shook her head, Blair groaning at her answer. "It's nearly midnight, and he still hasn't found me!"
"He'll find you, Blair, he would be crazy not to," Ophelia assured, although she wasn't so sure if he would live up to Blair's requests.
Blair still wasn't so sure, eyeing the span of the room in search of her best friend. In the distance, both Ophelia and spotted the third part of their group, running down and through the party. Blair rushed forward, Ophelia in tow, "Serena! Have you seen Nate?" Serena merely ignored her, still eager to leave. Blair's brows knitted together, and she exclaimed, grabbing Serena's wrist, "Hey!"
As Serena continued running, a bracelet fell into Blair's palm, studded with diamonds and delicate, and a signature that it wasn't Serena. It was Jenny, and she had been caught out. A countdown to midnight began, and when the clock chimed twelve, everyone began to cheer and remove their masks, their night of fun coming to an end. Blair's shoulders fell, and Ophelia watched in despair as Nate hadn't made it on time.
Her hand reached out to place on Blair's shoulder, but the Waldorf shrugged her off, pissed at how the night ended, and wanting to be left alone. Blair stormed off, and Ophelia watched how Nate's face fell, and found the prominent urge to go home to strong to ignore.
When she returned to her home, she found it oddly quiet. All the lights were off, and it seemed Lucille had returned to her own home for the night. As she climbed the spiral stairs to her bedroom, she passed her parents' floor where their own room resided, and noticed the bags that were once there, had disappeared. A cold shiver ran down her spine, and as she pushed into their room, opening their closets, she noticed how empty they were. Realisation had settled in, and Ophelia felt as though someone had tore the carpet from beneath her.
They had left without a single goodbye.
☆
author's note,
finally managed to push through and update, making up for the sporadic updates over the past few months x
i hope you enjoyed, and pls vote and comment, it lets me know that you guys are liking the story !! x