|Becoming The Enemy|
|Season 1, Episode 1|
|Air date:||December 2015/January 2016|
Becoming The Enemy is the first episode of the fanfiction One of the Girls. It premieres on December 2015/January 2016.
The wavy-haired girl, with her mouth agape, couldn't help but stare at the abrasive blonde-haired girl in front of her, like if she stared at Chanel long enough the girl would realize the stupidity of the impetuous words that had just tumbled out of her mouth. But the longer she stared, the more she realized that Chanel was actually being serious: she was actually asking if Grace would sell her soul to the devil, known on Earth as Chanel Oberlin, and become her newest brain-washed minion, Chanel #6.
The idea had merit, Grace supposed. The Chanels, however bitchy and despised, were the most powerful group of girls in Wallace University- by simply texting her affluent and prosperous father, Chanel could have people from different countries fired just because someone of the same nationality had looked at her funny.
However, the Chanels were also the people responsible for the corruption of Kappa Kappa Tau, probably a respectable sisterhood in its prime, and the maltreatment of other students at Wallace University. The idea that Grace would willingly join her posse of pricks was honestly incredulous and overall mind-numbingly stupid.
Or was it..?
Grace pondered on it more and came to an abrupt realization: what better way to take out the black spot on Wallace University's clean slate than to destroy them from inside their own materialistic clique? By infiltrating the Chanels, they'd be feeding her all the information she'd need! Every secret Kappa Kappa Tau had would be given to her by the Chanels themselves, their vanity too bold too let them realize that one of their own was secretly conspiring against them. And while the prospect of being referred to as "Chanel #6" was extremely annoying, the positives definitely outweighed the negatives.
So Grace looked over to the skinny dictator of Kappa and said:
Chanel hadn't actually expected the wavy-haired girl to say yes as Grace always seemed so against the Chanels, as if the Chanels personally offended her. Chanel smiled deviously, falsely assuming that Grace's disfavour about them was merely jealousy all along.
"You really want to be one of us?" She dragged out, wanting to relish the moment.
Grace grimaced but continued. "Yes, I want to be a Chanel..."
"Then we have a lot of work to do..."
"Does this look like chlamydia to you?"
The blonde-haired minions of the pompous and peacock-like Chanel Oberlin were currently at the White Stallion. The two were chatting feverishly in uncontrolled conversation. Earlier, they had been playing some game where they try to pick up guys but after Chanel #3 had brought over eleven different men and Chanel #5 had brought none (disregarding the shady seventy-year old man who was accompanied by a queer-looking drink that she obviously rejected) they both decided it would be unfair on Chanel #5's self-esteem to continue playing that game a minute longer. So now they were talking about what college girls usually talked about.
Before the blonde-haired Chanel #5 could answer her surprisingly promiscuous friend about the sexually transmitted disease, which she was secretly jealous of considering her overall lack of touch with the male anatomy since that affair three months and forty-eight days ago which was also unfortunately with some blind man who kept calling her Davey, the White Stallion's doors had overdramatically been thrown open. Chanel #5, her mouth practically lying down on the floor, couldn't believe her eyes when their leader walked in with another extravagantly-dressed girl- who she recognized as a pledge.
"N-no... fucking... way...!" Chanel #5 gritted her teeth, watching as their leader once again disrespected the age-old Kappa rules.
"'Sup, sluts. You two done doing the samba with your tongues waiting for us to arrive?" Chanel quipped, not even addressing the elephant in the room as Chanel #3 also noticed the unwelcome individual, but honestly couldn't care less. Chanel #5 was too busy fuming with anger too register the weird lesbian joke that usually would've offended the girl.
"What is THAT!?" Chanel #5 pointed at Grace, who didn't know whether to be offended, nervous or both.
"Oh yeah, this is our newest Chanel," Chanel casually stated, not really caring that much unlike Chanel #5 who fumed silently as a result, "is that going to be a problem, Chanel #5? Or is this going to be a repeat of last time, you do remember the Olive Garden-incident, don't you?"
Chanel #5, in fact, did remember the Olive Garden incident, which is why she stayed five feet away from all Olive Gardens from then on. Not out of choice but out of the conditions of restraining order.
"She's a pledge-"
"And you're a bitch, so now you two can be shitty together."
The blonde-haired lackey would've pressed forward on the subject, but after a warning look from Chanel #3, she decided to forget about it for now. She looked over to the newest minion and glared at her, which still didn't look threatening considering Chanel #5 was dressed in pink furs and wore an adorable cat-ear headband.
As the newest Chanel, Grace was practically legally required to wear clothes that would fetch more on Amazon than Grace would if she ever sold her entire physical being for her worth in gold. Chanel, "considerate" of the wavy-haired girl's inability to conjure up the money to buy the same kind of clothes as her, allowed Grace to borrow some of her own clothes. Grace was dressed sophisticatedly, topped off with furs and everything. Most of the girls seemed to wear something from "pastel colour" palette, so she dressed in a soft golden colour along with her white top, which looked great to her but Chanel quipped that people would make fun of her for her "obvious hand-me-downs" and that she looked like "a hobo who shifted through the rubbish of a clothes store and thought they looked good".
"Urgh," The group redirected their attention towards Chanel again, "where is Chanel #2? I texted her like an hour ago to be here..."
"That is strange, Chanel. Do you thi-"
"-Do you think something bad happened to her!?" Chanel #5 interrupted, attempting to get on Chanel's good side, however petty the way may be.
"Um, no! That's fucking ridiculous, #5." Chanel mocked, making Chanel #5 looking down in a mix of shame and disappointment. "She had an alcohol relapse and is passed out drunk on her bed while getting smashed by some stranger with her bra on her head and her legs spread out in the air. Fucking bitch."
Half an hour ago.
Chanel #2 couldn't muster up the courage to stuff her bag with as many clothes as she could and leave, so she laid down her bed and listened to Beyoncé as she frequently refreshed her twitter feed to see if she got some more hits yet. Her phone dinged so she reached over to check the message. It was probably that dude who was stalking her via twitter. Every few minutes he'd send her a message: the first time he had asked for a picture of her boobs and, of course, she didn't disappoint. Then, he threatened to release them to the public if she didn't do what he said, but she was quick to inform him that her boob-pics were everywhere, and that her parents and friends stopped caring after the last ten.
Then, he asked for her to show him her panties. She obliged, and then he asked for more. It was all going swell, until he started making stranger requests: "show me your belly", "show me your earlobes" and "show me your blood splattered on the wall as you bleed out slowly and painfully". Needless to say, it was all very attractive and she eagerly awaited his next message.
Sadly, it wasn't her stalker but Chanel Oberlin, the bitch that bossed her around. She requested for Chanel #2 to meet up with the other Chanels at the White Stallion in an hour or so, and the attractive brunette already knew there was no point in arguing with Chanel- she remembered the Olive Garden-incident with #5, and shuddered visibly. She quickly went on her computer and messaged all her Sonya-anators that she was leaving for now, and logged off.
The tanned girl sauntered over towards the door, throwing her newest coat on the way. She reached for the door and pulled it open.
Behind the door, someone was there.
Dressed in a Red Devil costume, a stranger peered down at her as she jumped, startled. While she looked at him in bewilderment, the Red Devil pulled out his phone and showed it to the tanned lackey. It was part of her latest tweet, reading: "Bye guys, I'm leaving right now!". She was disturbed but didn't understand until he pulled out a sharp, pointed knife. It dawned on her as she screamed as the knife swiftly descended downwards and pierced her nicely tanned flesh:
She really was leaving... this world.
Grace was confused: the Chanels seemed more unstable on the inside than she expected it to be. It wasn't just Kappa Kappa Tau they denied a sisterhood with, it was even with themselves. Chanel #5 and Chanel #3 seemed more like slaves more than anything else (and now Grace was technically a slave too), and Chanels demands didn't even make any sense- she insisted they all ate at Olive Garden, as Chanel #5 watched in sadness... Grace thought she was sad, she really couldn't see considering Chanel #5 was about five feet away from the establishment, for a reason Grace couldn't quite understand.
Soon after that, Chanel had decided that they should go shopping, while #3 and #5 strongly agreed. Despite the persistent yellow light illuminating from the lampposts, the sky was pitch-black and nothing, besides the crescent moon, was visible. But that didn't stop the group of Chanels from patrolling the shopping district like they owned the place. Chanel had bought boxes and boxes of clothes, which Chanel #5 was kind enough to carry (not by choice, of course) although they blocked her face and she stumbled around aimlessly at some points.
Grace sighed, running her hand through her hair. Surprisingly, being one of the Chanels, where you hardly ever had to lift a finger for anything, was extremely taxing: at some points, Chanel's general mistreatment towards them was disgusting. She looked around, before noticing someone staring at her in the crowd. It was Pete Martinez, looking extremely surprised to see her- but then he noticed the Chanels and what the wavy-haired girl was wearing, and his face transformed from pleasant surprise to suspiciousness. He walked over to her and she began to feel somewhat nervous.
She looked forward and waited until the other Chanels had walked into the nearest "Next" shop. When she turned to look over at Pete, she realized he was right next to her.
"Grace-- why are you dressed like that?" Pete questioned, not even bothering with formalities.
"And why are you hanging around the Chanels?" He continued.
Grace hesitated, not wanting to admit it.
"Look, Chanel asked me if I wanted to become Chanel #6," she started, but noticed him opening his mouth to interrupt again so she attempted to explain herself. "I agreed, but that was only because--"
"I'm sorry, Pete. But I believe you're talking to my minion who, in case you've forgotten Chanel #6, should be in there, carrying my bags."
Chanel Oberlin, donning a look of anger, looked at the two with fierce annoyance on her face. Behind the blonde-haired dictator, her ever faithful lackeys Chanel #3 and Chanel #5, although Chanel #5 wasn't necessarily facing Pete and Grace, her vision mostly obscured by the millions of boxes and bags (none of said boxes were hers, of course) when Chanel #3 takes pity on her and guides her in the right direction. The wavy-haired
"Okay, considering you've only recently become a Chanel, I'll let you off this once..." Chanel started, but clearly not yet finished. "But I'm going to make this clear so you don't make this mistake again: we don't talk to stalkers!"
The wavy-haired girl looked at Chanel, realizing what she meant.
"So what's it gonna be: do you want to be a Chanel or do you want to talk to your Mexican boyfriend?"
Grace looked down. She was faced with a crucial decision: would she continue to be one of the Chanels and have the ability of truly take down them from the inside and give up Pete's friendship, or would she give up her biggest chance to take them down? It felt obvious to her. Although she couldn't help but feel uneasy with her choice, she nodded at Chanel and walked over to the other Chanels. Pete watched on, looking as if he had been punched in the gut- he may have been, he had thought Grace was different. She was supposed to be sweet yet determined and, most of all, against the Chanels. His hate for the Chanels renewed, he stormed off with a furious look in his eyes.
"Well, that was dramatic."
"Shut up, Chanel #5."
Suddenly, the soft and high-pitched yet muffled sound of a "ding" could be heard emanating from Chanel's coat pocket. Sighing, she whipped her expensive and pink phone out. The other girls looked on in unease as they watched the colour drain from Chanel's face as looked at her phone. She had received a message from someone- and by the looks of her face, it wasn't somebody she was expecting and/or wanted.
The person who sent the message? Ms. Bean.
"im sorry, chanel. but there is a big mess in Chanel 2's room and i don't want to clean it up".
What was particularly creepy about this message was the underlying message hidden beneath those cold words, causing the girls to look over at each other in unspoken agreement and they all quickly rushed off, with Chanel #5 trailing behind.
Rushing into the tanned girl's room, Chanel and the others look around the room for a second for the supposed mess. Chanel #3, noticing the closet door slightly ajar, opened the closet- but falling out was the rotting corpse of Chanel #2. She screamed in fear, alerting the other girls who also looked on. They started screaming, too, and now all four were screaming at the top of their lungs. Fortunately, everyone who could hear them were outside, hidden inside the dirt experiencing extreme boredom.
Chanel #5 was the first one to talk.
"OH MY GOD-- SHE'S DEAD!"
"Yeah, we know #5."
"We have to call the police!" Grace insisted, her eyes darting between Chanel #2's dead body and the blonde-haired dictator in front of her.
"No, wait..." Chanel came to an abrupt realization and, despite the situation, smiled. "if Ms. Bean killed Chanel #2, then that means she's not dead!"
"So?" Chanel #3 drawled out, sounding as she always did: bored. Although at the moment she had some slight urgency in her voice.
"Well, if she's not dead, then ergo, I didn't kill her!"
Considering the state of her frightful minions, she breathed out and decided to take charge. Chanel #5 was the most frightened, looking horrified and looking around for sympathy but receiving none.
"New plan: I hope you girls have been practicing lifting those weights," Chanel started, the other girls looking at her in search for some guidance, "because we're taking her to the meat locker."
Angry and betrayed, Pete kicked open the door to his room and stormed in, barely containing his harsh feelings of betrayal. He had thought she was different, but she was just the same- she was like all of the other Chanels after all. She was supposed to be his partner in crime, but the dark-haired boy guessed he must've misjudged her. He plopped down onto his bed with a harsh thud, and ran his hands through his hairs.
Suddenly, he heard a "ding" sound, and begrudgedly reached for his phone. He had received a text message featuring only a picture. He gasped, looking at the picture in shock.
It was a picture of the Chanels, including his former wavy-haired friend, carrying the lifeless body of Chanel #2 away in the middle of the night.
Hastily, Pete peered up from his phone, then down again- constantly going back and forth in disbelief. He looked out the window into the dark night, and promised himself something:
He was going to bring them to justice.