A/N: This is a slightly AU take on how Blair and Chuck get together. It will explore the beginnings of her bulimia and how he will help her get through it. It should be around fifteen chapters.
Thanks for reading! Enjoy :)
P.S. Yes, I realize this just about rewrites the show. Bear with me ;)
Chapter 1
A Single Step
Come to me, and I will help you crawl
Won't let you fall
Show you how to breathe
Come to me
- Megan McCauley
Blair Waldorf was a perfectionist.
Her hair, her clothes, her body…it all had to be perfectly smooth, delicate, beautiful. The pain in her feet when she wore the outrageously high limited-edition silver Manolo Blahnik heels to her fifth-grade graduation didn't bother her; at least she'd be tall enough to almost look into Serena Van der Woodsen's eyes and maybe, just maybe, feel more than inferior. She barely noticed the forest green, scratchy fabric rubbing against her moisturized skin, despite the tears welling up in her soft brown eyes. Her mother had told her it looked okay on her but would look better on Serena. And Blair had to try to look better. She had to be enough for her mother.
Blair was five when she first met Serena. She had been impressed by the other girl's confidence, awed by her flowing blond locks and doleful, round navy blue eyes. From that day on, Blair only felt envious when her eyes fell on her best friend.
She was six when she met Nathaniel Archibald, six when she first swooned at the sight of his golden locks and skin, princely smile, piercing blue eyes. He had given her a cookie, asked her to be his girlfriend. Four years later, he had pledged solemnly that he would love her forever and that he would marry her one day. Blair had doubted him even then. But she had said nothing. He was an Archibald, she was a Waldorf. They were supposed to be together. He was perfect.
But was she?
Blair was fifteen when her world fell apart.
She descended the marble stairs of her family's penthouse on a cold December night, her hair conditioned, her eyes sparkling. Her thoughts were far away, lost in dreams and hopes and fantasies. She wished she could be near Nate, be near him right now. She wanted to tell him she wanted to marry him someday, too, wanted to tell him she needed him to want her the way she wanted him, needed him to want the heat and the contact and the rain as much as she did. Maybe, she thought, he felt the passion, too. Maybe, he wouldn't shy away from her when she brought her lips to his, and she'd connect to him in a way she almost thought she'd forgotten.
Affection rushed through her, colored her thoughts. Blair Waldorf Archibald. She tried it out on her lips, silently mouthed the words. She smiled to herself.
She treaded silently through the kitchen, stopping to nibble on a pastry her father had sent from France. She missed him, yes. But she was happy he had found someone he loved, even if that person wasn't her mother.
Eleanor Waldorf glided into the kitchen, her eyes narrowing as she caught sight of her only daughter with a petit four in her mouth. "Blair, what are you doing?"
Her voice was accusatory, and Blair cringed a little, swallowing anxiously. "Eating a petit four. Daddy sent them from France."
"Well," her mother sniffed disdainfully, "Stop eating it. You barely fit into that dress as it is."
Blair looked down at herself self-consciously. She was wearing an Eleanor Waldorf original, a blue and white ruffled silk confection. She had thought it was perfect, but not anymore. She tugged on the hem nervously and quickly flicked a stray strand of chestnut hair behind her ear.
"Yes, mother." She gulped.
"And stand up straight." Eleanor's voice was irritable. "God knows you're not tall, but at least try to look like Serena doesn't completely dwarf you. And on that note, perhaps you should give that dress to Serena. She's skinny enough to fit into it. Unlike you."
Blair hung her head in silent defeat.
"Now go away." Eleanor snapped at her daughter. "Go on a run or something."
Blair nodded and almost curtsied; her mother was ordering her around like she was a master, and her daughter her servant.
She ran up the stairs, tripping over herself in her rush to forget her mother's harsh words. Comparing her to Serena…why would she do that? Did she want Serena as a daughter instead of her?
But no. The thought was too painful. Blair pushed it away.
She stumbled into her bathroom, tears cascading down her cheeks. She couldn't breathe, couldn't speak. She pressed her cheek against the cold wall and looked at her reflection, wondering where she had gone wrong. She had dieted, exercised…why wasn't she skinny?
Angrily, she tore the smooth silk off her body, ignoring her mother's suggestion that she give the dress to Serena. If she couldn't have it, neither could her best friend.
And she stood before the mirror in her bra and underwear, her eyes tightening as she took in the flaws in her body. She saw too much fat on her thighs, not enough definition in her stomach, too little muscle in her arms. She didn't like what she saw, and apparently, neither did her mother.
She wasn't perfect. Not in the eyes of her mother. Not in the eyes of anyone who mattered.
The world crashed down on Blair. Right then and there.
Everything she had ever done wrong, every mistake she had every made, every person she had ever hurt...it all came back to her, in a rush of memories that made her cry out in pain. She sobbed again and again, hugging her knees to her chest, pawing the ground in a desperate attempt to relieve the ache in her heart.
She couldn't be who her mother wanted her to be. She couldn't be Serena, no matter how hard she tried. She couldn't be blond. She couldn't be tall. She couldn't be confident, happy, sparkling.
She couldn't even be skinny.
Or could she? She stood up, looking at the toilet thoughtfully. Health class had taught her about more than sex. She could do what they had always told her she shouldn't. She could be just another statistic, just another girl who felt fat and couldn't lose the weight fast enough. And maybe she could make her mother see that she was worth loving. Maybe she could make Serena jealous of her for once instead of the other way around.
Maybe, she could make Nate notice her…she clutched her heart in pain. He barely looked at her anymore. His eyes never met hers if he could help it.
She sighed and closed her eyes, letting the memories flood her mind for a moment. Kisses, touches, rain pattering on the windows…it had all meant so much once. And now, she didn't even know if what they had still mattered to him. If it ever had.
But she could make him see. She could make him love her again.
She didn't dare think about what she was planning to do. The very thought of it twisted her stomach. How could she do it? It would hurt. It would make a mess. And Serena would be so disappointed in her…
But she didn't have to know, she reasoned. No one had to know.
Blair looked at the toilet again. She had to do it. She knew she had to. She had to make them see. And besides, immediate gratification meant more – and saved her more – than her mother's approval or her boyfriend's attention or her best friend's admiration could ever mean to her.
She needed to do it. Now.
But she didn't want to have to. She didn't want to have to resort to hurting herself to be perfect. She didn't want to have to be perfect. But she did. She did want to be perfect. And she always would.
That night was the first time Blair Waldorf made herself throw up.
The next morning drifted by lazily, as if everything was suspended in the air and Blair was the only one still moving. She felt as if she were living in a blank, foggy haze, her thoughts clouded, the line between hope and despair blurred. She couldn't talk to anyone, least of all her mother; her tongue felt as heavy as her heart.
But she had to talk to Nate.
Blair walked up to him at lunch, holding her head high, smiling secretively to herself. She felt prettier, more put-together, now that she was skinnier. Everything would be all right. It had to be. He would love her now. He would want to be with her.
But he didn't move when she touched his arm tenderly, didn't acknowledge her at all. She flinched, faltered. Maybe he didn't want her anymore. Maybe he saw her pain, but ignored it because it would shatter his perfect, untainted life…but no. He was Nate Archibald. She was Blair Waldorf. Nate, Blair. They were perfect.
But she still wasn't.
In a last, desperate attempt to catch his attention, she reached up on her tiptoes and grazed his cheek with her lips. She lingered there for a moment, waiting for him to smile at her touch. This was their tradition, their ritual. If he didn't respond…she breathed a sigh of relief when he turned his head to catch her lips with his.
There. That was more like it. Even if it was just a kiss, just a soft, sweet, chaste kiss that left her a little happier than before.
But Blair remembered every kiss she had ever given and received. The contact wasn't something she ever wanted to forget. It was connection she craved, the hope of knowing someone else had felt it too. She didn't want the romance. Kisses didn't make her heart race and her palms sweat. She didn't touch for that. She touched for heat. She touched so that it could convince her that she even existed at all.
And when Nate pulled away, his eyes distant, Blair knew that he hadn't felt it. And she felt dead, less alive than when she had expunged the contents of her stomach into the porcelain toilet. He still didn't care.
She couldn't take it.
Blair looked around anxiously, searching for her best friend, hoping to find solace. That had always been their way. Blair told Serena all about her problems, despite how jealous she was of her. She could tell Serena anything, couldn't she? Even about this? Even about the things she held inside, even about the memories she pushed away?
Her eyes lit up when she caught sight of Serena, willowy, ethereal, beautiful Serena. The taller girl glided towards Blair and Nate and laughed breathlessly, her bell-like voice shimmering, "Hey, you two! What's going on?"
Nate chuckled in response and threw his arm around Blair, stiffening when she buried her head in his shoulder. "We're doing great!"
But Blair saw the way Nate looked at Serena, saw the desire in his glittering eyes and the way his fists clenched as his eyes roamed her statuesque body, saw his struggle to keep his expression neutral. She thought she might throw up.
And so she did.
With a quick "Excuse me" to her bewildered friends, she pranced away, tears blurring her vision. She didn't know why she wasn't enough for Nate. She didn't know why he was so much more attracted to Serena than he was to her. She didn't know anything.
She wandered the halls of Constance Billiard for a good while, wondering where the hell the bathroom was. For some reason, she couldn't remember.
But eventually, she found it, and she threw open a stall door, her breath hitching in anticipation. Ah. Sweet release. And so she kneeled over the toilet, plunging a finger down her throat, wincing when she tasted bile on her tongue.
She cried when she was finished.
She sat on the bathroom floor, ignoring the bells that rang every forty-five minutes. She stayed there, thinking, hoping, dying. She wanted to be enough for Nate, enough for her mother. She thought that maybe, just maybe, this last act of self-deprecation would make them see.
And what else could she do? She had already sacrificed her dignity, her pride, and even her wellbeing. And all for Nate. All for her mother. How could they expect her to survive if they didn't want her?
With a slight groan, she pulled herself to her feet at last and wearily opened the stall door, not sure she was ready to face her demons just yet.
Her mouth formed a perfect O when she realized Chuck Bass was standing in front of her.
Her eyes narrowed at the sight. Of course. It was just her luck. Chuck Bass, womanizer of the Upper East Side and all-around sleaze, finding her there. She dreaded what he would say. She knew there would be a devilish gleam in his eyes, because if there was one thing Chuck Bass loved, it was information.
He was the Upper East Side's Gossip Girl, some suspected. But Blair knew better. He just loved telling people's secrets. He loved hurting people. He thrived on it.
"Bass." Blair managed to spit out through clenched teeth.
"Waldorf." His voice was uncharacteristically soft. No smirk. No excited gleam in his eyes. No victorious tone. And Blair thought there might have even been concern…
But no.
Why had he come?
Chuck answered her unspoken question, whispering, "I heard you, and I just…you shouldn't do this to yourself."
Blair cringed. "Why do you care?"
"I don't know, actually." He looked at her for a long moment, brown meeting brown. She was surprised at the warmth in his eyes.
And with that, he strode away, leaving a very confused Blair Waldorf behind him. She scoffed.
Chuck Bass, concerned? Yeah, right.
tbc
