He was staring at me. How was I supposed to act normal when his eyes followed me with such intense loathing that it made my blood boil and my knees weak all at the same time. I knew that look. That was the look that he would give me on some of our most memorable nights. That look said, "I hate your guts, but I want you so bad I can't even think about why this is a bad idea." That look that said such contradictory things, had my head spinning in anticipation. I knew that I should fight it, and I always had every intention of doing so, but that's the thing about Chuck, he has a way of making things that you know are wrong, feel so good.
We were always like this. Fighting, hating, and tearing each other down every chance we got, hurting each other in ways that only we could. Chase away each other's happiness, because we were only satisfied when we were both broken and bruised, humiliated and degraded, sweaty and panting the other's name. That was the only way that we ever worked. When we were in our lowest places was the only times when we could find comfort in each other. We were so much alike, and we loved each other, you could see it in the way we constantly tried to tear each other down so that we would rush back together to enjoy the comfort of a shared bed.
It was in no way healthy, not in the least, but it was us. It was fiery and explosive, magnetic and almost inevitable, like our magnetism just would not let us escape. We were doomed and blessed all at the same time. We would never last as a couple, we both knew that. It got boring and inane and one of us always eventually did something to hurt the other in ways most people wouldn't even imagine, destroying each other time and time again. It was a never ending game of revenge, I don't even really remember who threw the first blow and who received it, if it weren't for my pride I'd be tempted to say that we both threw equal punches, right below the proverbial belt.
I knew what made you tick, and I knew the best ways to hurt you, and I seemed to get more and more creative everyday, but I'm not the only one. You are probably the only one that could ever get this Waldorf to purr like a kitten and screech like a banshee all with the same breath. I adamantly decree that I hate you and you stick to your guns saying that I'm the bane of your existence. I think that out of both of us, you are the stronger. I see the weak look in your eyes when you argue halfheartedly with me, it only makes me hate you more. For being stronger than me, for being able to give in before I could ever even begin to see past my pride. I see you breaking down everyday, and that fact just makes me fight you harder, want to hurt you more, make you fight me with everything that you have and then some. I want things to always stay as they are, but I see you growing, getting older and maturing while I stay the same power-hungry, little girl that I've always been.
"Basshole," I mutter under my breath. I know that you don't miss it and I feel a slight swell of pride at that fact, but then you lift those weary, hazel eyes to stare right at me and I'm hit with the full force of the wheels turning in your head. This is the night, this is the night you will finally give up, the night that I feared for so long, because I don't know where we'll go from here. I don't know if giving up means leaving me and my childish ways in the dust to go look for someone more mature and less destructive, or if it will mean finally making me confront the reason why my heart practically stops beating everytime you walk into the room unexpectedly. I don't want to confront it, where will it lead us? To being an inane, boring couple, before either you or I do something to completely screw it up yet again? What happens if the carnage that is left behind really is unforgivable? What then? Am I supposed to just drop the only person that's ever truly given me "butterflies", however disgusting that notion is?
I don't want to. I want time to stop, to remain forever in our intricate dance of yelling matches over nothing and passionate hate sex in the most interesting of places. I don't want to just fade away as the Jacqueline to your John, waiting for the inevitable Marilyn to stroll in, I want to stand at your side and rule the world right there with you, holding your leash with an iron fist, knowing that you're doing the same for me. I want to brand my mark on your flesh, so no one will even think of touching you, knowing they have incurred the wrath of one very pissed Waldorf if the thought even crosses their dirty little minds. I want you to mark me as yours and prove your ownership every night in any and every place you could possible think of.
I want all these things, but I don't think that you could constitute any of them as love, they only scream out in desperate lust. I know that I love you, I love the way you smirk when you think you have me trapped in your corner, I love the way tilt your head when I reveal that I'm one step ahead of you, I love the way you smile at me when you think that no one, including myself, is looking, I love that cocky way you walk and the way you scrunch your eyebrows when something confuses you. I could go on forever. I love it all, I love you, and I admit that to myself, finally, but I will not say that aloud. Give you that power to lord over me, tell you that no matter what you do, what you say, I will always be there. I want to watch you walk on eggshells, thinking that even the wrong hand gesture would have me running for the nearest exit. I want to watch you squirm, before I give you the relief of telling you that you couldn't do anything to send me packing, and anything that you could possibly do, you've done and I'm still standing here. I want all this, but I will not give in first. I will not be the first to reveal that my feelings can barely be described with such an overused word as love.
Those lonely, hazel eyes are still staring me down, still fixed on my brown ones. He's contemplating. Whether it's what to say, or how to say it, I do not know, but I can see gears turning in his head. I feel my muscles tense, my back straighten even more, I didn't even know that that was possible, my eyes narrow, and my hands shake. All classic signs of a proud Waldorf who's scared out of her wits. I can feel those eyes travel up and down my body, up endless legs, covered in stockings and crossed at the ankles, to a slim waist, partially hidden by a loose-fitting dress, all the way up to chocolate curls, spilling over nicely-displayed cleavage.
"What are we doing, Blair?" I could feel my heart sink at that wonderful voice saying those words. Words that I imagined being said to me a thousand times, sometimes in fantasies and sometimes in nightmares. My future was a coin toss at this point and it all depended on one Chuck Bass, brilliant business man, infamous womanizer, and grade A self-destroyer. I was so fucking screwed.
He was staring at me, begging for an answer. "We're being together the only way we know how." It was a simple response, and it left my mouth easily, but I found a weight settle in my stomach when I said it. I knew that it was a lie.
"That isn't true. We were together, once, we were happy and we didn't sit around and plot how to make each other's lives hell. We laughed and shared our thoughts and we fell asleep in a bed not ridden with loathing. We could wake up and actually stand the sight of each other. What happened?" I shook my head cynically. I knew it was going to lead to this line of conversation, but it hurt to think of those days. They were filled with the best moments of my life. "The same thing that always happens. Someone does something and we think we're willing to forget, but then we get selfish and decide to lash out, and then we start to fix it and it all falls apart."
"I guess that has been the story of our lives." he laughed, but it was dark and without humor and his eyes were hard. He sobered and looked at me head on, getting serious, but his eyes rimmed with sadness. "Blair, I want to be with you and I know that you want to be with me, I just don't know how to make this work without us both destroying each other, because I'm tired of it. I'm tired of fighting when a part of my dies everytime I see you cry. I can't do it anymore and I can't constantly fear that every little happiness I find in life is going to be ripped away. I love you, Blair, but I think that its time we make up our minds. Either we get together and both forgive and forget, or we end it right here, right now, and completely cut each other off. I'm going to let you choose. If you think that we can make it, then I will get on my knees right now and beg you to take me back, but if you think that we are forever doomed to do this dance, and drag each other into the very pits of our own personal hells then we'll part ways here, like civilized people."
I wanted to tell him to love me forever, to jump into his arms, to tell him to never let go. I was given a chance to have the best thing that ever happened to me. His fate was in my hands, I held the cards, the power.
And yet I could feel the bitter taste of the responsibility that was coupled with that power. I knew what I had to do and I could tell that he knew too. I knew that my eyes had hardened and I could feel the tears prick my eyes. I could feel the clog in my throat. I let one tear leak away as I smiled at the man I loved.
"See you in hell, Bass." I stood from my chair and sauntered out of the room. As the elevator opened, I heard his response. "I'll save you a seat, Waldorf," then, as if to himself, "Right beside me."