" do you ever feel like....like you're only good at screwing things up? " question leaves cherry - gloss lips in a soft murmur, an exhausted sigh accompanies. she brings her hands to her face, runs them through her hair despite remembering her mother's protests against it ( don't mess with your hair serena, it'll get ruined ). someone once told her she wore her heart on her sleeve, but in a way that meant everybody could tell when she was upset. she could never conceal it, not like blair, whose perfectly crafted masks fit every single situation, no matter what. she's always envied that from her friend; serena always felt out of place when it came to pretending.
she sits on the edge of the kitchen counter, bare legs dangle and her hands being playing absently with the golden chain around her neck. whenever she's stressed or upset, she will move her hands a lot, it drove her grandmother crazy.
you're prettier when you sit still, serena.
" i'm sorry i came here tonight ... i didn't really know where else to go, " she finds comfort in nate, his company brings her consolation because he would never call her out on anything, " blair won't pick up, and i really don't wanna be alone in new york right now. i don't know why i came back, i ... i promise i won't stay long. just a couple hours 'till i find a flight back to LA... " @venueses ft. nate archibald.
