FORREST, blaire camille.

[blaireforrest]

SEVENTEEN. LOCAL. BISEXUAL. DRUGGIE. FREYA MAVOR.
( BLAIRE CAMILLE FORREST )

I SEE YOUR EYES, YOU'RE BARELY SOBER.
I HEAR YOUR VOICE, YOU'RE CALLING OUT FROM ME TO YOU.
the character

the ten defining moments in blaire's life that have sculpted her to how she is now in chronological order.

i. the first day of kindergarten.
"hi!"

blaire stopped playing with her ponytail and turned to the owner of the voice. there was a girl with doe eyes and a boy with sandy blonde hair standing in front of her, smiling. why were they talking to her? were they going to take her crayons? they could take her white one, but they couldn't take her magenta one; she refused to let that happen. "...hi?"

the boy's smile grew, showing no front teeth. "i'm tatum, and this is lily. can we draw with you?" he said, holding up a packet of one hundred crayons.

her eyes widened immediately, jaw dropping in a comical 'o' shape. "only if you share those with me," she said. from what she could see, there were three magenta crayons.

tatum giggled and said, "sure," and he and lily both sat next to blaire.

allowing tatum and lily to sit with her that day was one of the best, or worst, decisions that blaire had ever made. she knew from the moment tatum held up the packet of one hundred crayons that they were going to be great friends, and that fact was cemented when they went onto draw a picture of the three of them surrounded by dragons, unicorns and rainbows with their crayons. at the end of that day, blaire had told tatum to take the drawing as they had used his crayons but both he and lily argued and told blaire to keep the picture. she still has the picture, thirteen years on, but she has no idea where it is. she just knows it is someone underneath the layer of mess in her room and closet.

ii. the death of her bird, becky.
mum. mum! why isn't becky moving? mum?! is she sick?"

"oh, sweetie. i'm afraid becky has passed on."

she had been seven when her yellow budgie passed away. it had torn her to pieces to find becky stiff and lying at the bottom of her cage. after that day, blaire promised herself she wouldn't get so attached to anything ever again.

iii. the divorce of her parents.

"shut up, roger! you're a pretentious, arrogant asshole and i am tired of fucking hearing from our neighbours and our friends that you keep screwing around behind my back!"

"mummy, what does 'screwing around' mean?"

"yeah, julia, tell her! you just taught our daughter a new phrase, good on you."

"shut up, roger! and, blaire, honey, go back to your room. i don't want you to hear this."

her parents divorced the summer before her ninth birthday. it had been a nasty battle with both fighting for custody and the large amount of money that roger had been left by his recently deceased great aunt. the battle drew out over three long months, which ended up with blaire having to stay at her grandparent's while the divorce in court continued. it finished a month into the new school semester with her dad winning both custody and all their possessions, all because of a tiny bit of information he had on her mother that changed everything. blaire never saw her mother again and never found out what had been said that caused the judge to give all custody to her dad, but she wonders every single day.

iv. the day she met her idol.
"forget everyone else. do what you want, don't even care about them. if it's what you want, then you do it."

vandalism had been the pop queen circa blaire's preteen life and blaire practically worshiped the ground she walked on. for her twelfth birthday, her dad bought tickets for her, lily and tatum to go to vandalism's concert and to meet her backstage. when blaire met vandalism, the pop queen had given her that piece of advice that blaire took to heart and remembered even after losing her interest in vandalism and her music.

v. the moment she realized she was in love.
this boy in front of her couldn't be tatum. no, it definitely couldn't be. this boy in front of her had too defined features, too blue of eyes, a too toned body and they were too tall. this wasn't tatum, this wasn't her best friend.

"hey blairester," the unrecognizable boy, the boy who just couldn't be tatum, used the nickname that only tatum called her by. blaire held back a gasp.

her best friend had grown so handsome over the summer.

the promise she had made to herself to never become attached to anything shattered that first day of high school when she saw tatum for the first time in three months. his change over the summer from the awkward prepubescent stage to the handsome teenage stage had astounded blaire and it took only four days after seeing tatum's change that she fell in love with him. not to be obvious about her new-found love for her best friend, she kept herself hidden in the shadows half the time and didn't join into the conversations that tatum and lily had.

vi. the first time she tried drugs.

"wow, this is fucking, wow, just, what the fuck is that? man, that shit is so fucking good!"

she was fifteen and two months shy of the summer. she had heard that the weed going around was fantastic and, despite her school protesting against drug use, decided to invest herself with some of this fantastic weed. the moment she inhaled the roll, blaire knew she was hooked. she just knew. it didn't take her long to use up all her pocket money and all the money from her part-time job on drugs.

vii. the worst day of her life.
blaire ended her call with tatum, thankful that he decided to invite her to coffee with him and lily. she knew she had been vague lately, having tried her hardest to not make her crush on him obvious; but blaire decided that she was going to change that. she was going to talk to him, reveal her crush on him and hope that he returned the feeling.

she rounded the corner into the local cafe and spotted tatum. the smile at just seeing him was quickly wiped off when he saw lily beside him.

they were holding hands.

it had been the most unexpected, most heartbreaking, most shattering moment in blaire's life. fuck the divorce, fuck becky's death, fuck every sad moment that had came before. seeing her crush/best friend and her other best friend holding hands, dating, took first place. her facade that she didn't like tatum anymore crumbled down as she stood in the small coffee shop, screaming at her two best friends. she used words she had learnt from her mother all those years ago during the pre-divorce stages. after blaire called them both "heart-breaking cunts", she turned around, left the coffee shop and not once looked back. after that day, their trio friendship broke and blaire hardly spoke to them again.

viii. her final encounter with a bully.
there was blood, lots of it.

blaire had been walking home, bitter winds bashing against her face, when sandra whittaker came out of nowhere, yelling insults and trying to deter her mood. sandra had been her bully for the whole freshman year and now, two days shy of the summer holidays, wasn't giving up. but blaire was tired of it. the loss of her best friends, the lack of money she had from spending it all on drugs caught up to it. she couldn't help it. she had spun around, punched sandra in the nose and watched as the blood poured.

she had left sandra whittaker bleeding and crying on the ground and ran home, telling her father that she wanted to drop out of high school.

it hadn't been the bullying that had pushed her over the edge finally, but it was a redeeming factor. in the end the bullying led to blaire dropping out of school and led to sandra whittaker's nose never being the same again.

ix. her first sexual experience with a woman.
"hi, my name's olivia. mind if i lick you out tonight?"

it was one of the most distasteful pick up lines that blaire had ever heard at the nightclubs she frequented, and it was because it was so distasteful that blaire took olivia back to her house, that smelled of weed and alcohol, and they fucked each other through the night. she had been sixteen at the time and, from a distant memory, olivia had been twenty-five. so illegal, so wrong, so distasteful, yet so fucking amazing.

x. the marriage she never wanted to hear of.
"hey, blaire. i know we haven't talked in years and no one is really sure where you are nowadays. i've heard you've been clubbing and doing drugs. well, um, whatever makes you happy, you do it, blaire. i, uh, i'm just calling to let you know that lily and i are engaged. i got her pregnant and i know i have to support her through the pregnancy. yeah, we're young, but it feels right. give me a ring back so i can invite you to the wedding. later, blairester."

that voicemail had been left two weeks ago and, ever since, blaire has been on a destructive warpath, wanting to forget, fucking forget, everything.

SO SAY THAT YOU JUST WANT TO RUN AWAY.
AND REPLAY ALL THE THINGS THAT I TRIED TO SAY.
behind the character

hey bitches, it's mallory and i've been pimpin' these hoes for about two years. i know right, it's great isn't it? need to get a hold of me? hit me up by PM. i'm also in the australian time zone just so you know. don't need to be telling you people twice. also meet the rest of my lovely babies, i don't have any others!

monty couldn't help himself. he had to stare at the girl before him. he had thought her to be pretty at first glance but now that he got a better look at her, she was gorgeous. the shape of her face and the small size of her nose fit perfectly, and the light complexion of her skin contrasted against her grey eyes. freckles were littered all over the light-skinned canvas, scattering across her cheeks and nose. monty tilted his head slightly, eyes falling onto her pink lips. he doubted she had any lipgloss or lipstick on yet her lips shun pink. a few moments passed before his relaxed body seized up. why had he gone into so much detail about her? usually when he sees an attractive girl, the only description he ever makes about her is that she's 'fuckable'. not this girl. he had actually listed her eye colour, her freckles and how light her skin was. monty never went into detail when it came to a person's appearance; the only other person his mind and eyes had even bothered going into detail about was marco. he winced, unwilling to think about him again. it was because of marco he was out here, hiding behind a bush from his therapist. attempting to banish that name from his mind monty opened his eyes and glanced over at the girl, wishing for her to distract him from the name--and he got the distraction when she answered his questions.

the girl began rambling on about how she was fast and was part of a cross country team, who apparently had came first at everything? monty almost wanted to laugh at the useless information he had just been told, but he didn't want her to feel like he was laughing at her. wait, did monty care about someone else's feelings? unfathomable, unheard of. he shook his head internally, breaking him out of his momentary pause. you can run as fast as a freakin' cheetah but there are surveillance cameras all around the courtyard as well as snitches who could told security guards where you are, which is where i am. the amount of snitches this asylum had was baffling. over the three years, monty had been sent to solitary confinement because he was snitched on seventeen times. he never found out who snitched on him was but that was because there was a low-tolerance of murder at stanfield. who'd have thought that? checking again to make sure that their hiding spot was clear, he grunted, i think we're okay for now. thank fucking god, too. don't want to be restrained again. being restrained to a bed for three days without any tranquilizers was the worst experience of monty's life, and that's coming from a kid who has gone through physical abuse by his mother, his mother's boyfriends and his first crush.

the girl began examining her feet, and monty questioned if she was actually a suicidal. she might be a crazy because, really, why was she examining her feet? but then again, monty hasn't seen her before with the crazies. since the only friends he ever seemed to make were crazies or violents, he had come accustomed to them and knew most of their names and faces--not this girl. well, now he knew her face as he had detailed it, but he had yet to know her name. he opened his mouth, ready to ask, when she exclaimed that she wasn't suicidal. his eyebrow cocked and he glanced knowingly at the bandages around her wrist. again, the girl rambled, providing information such as the wound wasn't self-inflicted but a war wound and that she could use a branch as a weapon to falter the barbed wire and he could give her a leg up to help her escape. they've upped the security outside these walls, heard 'em discussing it a week ago- when he had been put in solitary confinement for setting fire to a pyrophobic's bed -and they've apparently got guards all around the outer wall. not worth the effort. his shoulders lifted in a shrug. monty hated the place as much as the next patient, but that didn't mean he lusted to escape the prison fortress. especially not now, knowing that marco was back in his mother's life; would be back in his if he escaped and returned home, and that was the last thing monty wanted.

he heard footsteps and voices from behind and his heart began pumping radically. although he was hidden, the girl wasn't and she was in plain view. lunging forward he wrapped his arms around her body and pulled her over to the bush, forcing them both into a lying down position so that the passersby couldn't see them. don't move, don't freak out. someone's walking past, he whispered into her ear, arms tight around her stomach as he held her in close proximity. he kept his ears strained, listening to the voices and footsteps. they began fading until monty couldn't hear them anymore. shit, that was close, he mumbled, releasing the girl and propping himself up on his elbows. looking back at the girl, he smirked crookedly and asked, so if you're not suicidal, then what group are ya in?