I Miss YOU: A YOU v. Gossip Girl Fiction

By: ​KaLa Keaton

​Hello, Serena. It’s been a few days since I’ve checked up on you. I know, I caved. I've been doing so good lately, too.
I notice you’ve been posting every day on Instagram, tweeting every ten seconds on Twitter, and updating your Facebook periodically. Way more than I would’ve been comfortable with when we were married.
And all of those pictures with Blair and Chuck and their son, Henry. Your recent restaurant rendezvous with Nate in SoHo. You even had the time to catch up with Jenny, I see.
Everyone except for me.
Any normal ex would want to keep up with all of the new things in your life. Your new job (a writer for Cosmopolitan (you specialize in romance and sex advice, which seems so fitting)), your new address (I didn’t look up the exact street, but you’ve moved from our humble home in Brooklyn back to the Upper East Side. At least I know you’ll be safe in your expensive loft), and, of course, your new friends (a lot of celebrities. You’re still invited to a million parties a year.)
I hate your new friends as much as your friends back at Constance. They’re all on a Kardashian level of bimbo and lazy and yet have an insane amount of followers. You’ve gotten a fake tan, lip injections, and fat transfers all for what? A tag on Instagram and maybe a Buzzfeed News feature?
And of course, your new Facebook status. In a Relationship. Again. This is your third one this year, and it’s only February.
This isn’t you, Serena, and I know it’s not. I don’t know why you keep insisting on doing this to yourself and wouldn’t let me help you. I should have never let you leave me; I should’ve saved you while I was still close. I’m trying so hard to put all the bad things, Candace and Beck and us, behind me, but you’ve left me almost no choice.
I just have to add a couple of extra steps and a few more dollars. You just had to move to the part of New York I hate?
I told Ethan I was going to another book selling festival. I can trust his blind faith in me enough to know that he won’t ask about it.
First, I needed to know who you’re dating. Unfortunately, after your last two relationships failed, I guess you’ve learned your lesson about posting too soon. You have millions of followers and you follow a few hundred thousand people. So the only option I have is to resurrect an old friend of ours.
 
Hey Upper East Siders. It’s been a while. But just because I needed my beauty sleep, doesn’t mean I haven’t been listening. And I have a feeling something is about to happen to our favorite Manhattan elites, so I need all hands on deck. Desperate times call for desperate measures.
xoxo Gossip Girl
 
            It was a foolproof plan. No one will suspect me. I’m in my thirties, running a successful bookstore, and managing a plentiful social life. If anything, I think the Upper East Side has forgotten me.
            Within seconds I started getting emails. Mind you, they were all useless to me. Mostly things about who was cheating on who and who and where to get the best Juul pods. Whatever that means. My post was too broad. I needed to focus the army.
 
            Loving the enthusiasm, New York, but my grand return needs to start with a bang. And I can’t imagine starting without Serena van der Woodsen at my side. This’ll be the collab of the century.
xoxo Gossip Girl        
 
Now the real planning begins. I use my Gossip Girl Map to track down your place, the people you’re with the most, the places you visit the most. You won’t even notice. You’re so famous now that my Gossip Girl posts will be the last Google search you’ll find.
An avalanche of pictures started flooding in on the daily and I started tracking your most frequent stops until I finally found your apartment. You’ve been hiding in your mother’s apartment in plain sight this entire time. This is almost too easy for me.
I carefully packed everything in Mr. Mooney’s car. A knife, a duffel bag, multiple towels to both clean and gag, bleach, air freshener, a match, gasoline, and a gun just in case I feel like faking your suicide. I packed an extra note, too.
            It was time.
            I drove to New York Palace Hotel dressed as a new cleaning employee. Man, that place hasn’t changed a bit. The back door was still cracked open from all of the times we used to sneak in after your curfew.
            I noticed a few of the old crew still worked there. It was bittersweet. Now I didn’t know if you still had the same hotel room as your mother, although I assumed you did. But just to be sure I asked around, claiming you requested me from another cleaning service.
            I’m on my way, Serena.
            Knock, knock, knock. “Room service!” I bellowed. The clicking of high heels echoed on the other side.
            “Coming!” you sang. You opened the door.
            Well, hello again, Serena.
            Your blouse is a little bit loose. You wore a necklace. Not as as high as a choker but not obviously low. Just the right length to let me notice what you wanted me to. Your golden hair was strung up in a messy bun but you could still go to the gala if you needed to. You wore dirty, gray sweats.
            You’ve never looked so beautiful.
            “Dan?”
            Why couldn’t you let me enjoy the moment a little bit longer?
            I quickly took out my knife and stabbed it into your left side. You face, frozen in a half welcoming smile and horror, went dark. I pushed myself into your room and laid you down. Ripping out the knife I held it over your heart.
            “Dan?” You whispered. The moment was almost too good.
            “I loved you. You didn’t love me. I’m sorry it had to be this way.” You went still.
Rest in Peace, Serena van der Woodsen. I’ll miss you so much.