D/c: I don't own anything that has to do remotely with Gossip Girl.
Warnings: Cutting. Self-abuse. Past self-harm. Light slash/friendship. Some language. Bart's Death. TV universe, as I haven't read the books.
Inspired by Eric Clapton's song titled, Hello Old Friend. A dark, spontaneous ficlet.
Chuck after Bart's death.
Enjoy.
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Chuck swallowed hard, shaking as he brought the razor blade down to his wrist. He watched with watering eyes as his arm moved, seemingly on it's own, toward his veins. His brain was screaming at him, Stop it! Do you want more scars? What the Hell is wrong with you?! But at the same time, all he could think about was how much his chest hurt right now, how empty he felt inside, and how much he just wanted the pain to stop. Crying was never worth it anyway, it only made him feel like shit, not that he could feel much worse right now. Besides, the pain in his arm would go away as soon as he boozed up.
The dark-haired boy gasped as the blade punctured his skin lightly and sparks ran through his fingers. He hadn't felt this electricity in a long time, and he almost missed it. The sting came as soon as he moved the blade. His eyes burned with tears from fear, anxiety, pain, and relief. He tore his skin open horizontally, not stupid enough to rip open his vein. Dropping the blade on the bathroom counter, he watched the deep red seep out from the perfect line. He blinked, and flashes of his past came back to haunt him. His thoughts yelled contradictions at him, sending him to the floor in tears.
You think your father would have wanted this? No wonder he thought you were worthless. Guess that rehab wasn't worth it. What would he say now? What would your friends think? Maybe you should have just gone deeper.
Chuck felt the tears threatening to break from his eyes and the bitter salt burning his throat. He sat against the wall, knees to his chest, blood dripping over his tan slacks and pressed white shirt.
"Chuck?" His best friend's voice called through the bathroom door with concern. Chuck didn't even know Nate knew where he was. "You in here?" He asked, trying the handle. The door swung open slowly, and Nate's tousled light hair poked in the door, followed by bright eyes. Bright eyes that widened with shock when they found the stark contrast of bright red against the pale white tiles, shirt, and skin in front of him.
Chuck met his eyes with red-rimmed, bloodshot ones. "I'm sorry..." He whispered. Nate knelt beside him, grabbing a towel from the counter. He pressed it against Chuck's wrist and held it firmly there while pulling Chuck into his arms, just like they were kids again.
"Chuck, why?" He breathed. "I thought you quit this years ago..." He felt Chuck begin to shake in his arms and felt helpless.
"It hurts so much..." Chuck said in a low, cracking voice. Nate held him tight, looking into the boy's face and feeling like they were ten again. When tears began to roll down his red cheeks, Chuck definitely looked small and weak, not like Chuck Bass, but like Little Charles he used to be. And his best friend was always there to keep him safe, so Nate would be damned if he left him now.
"It'll get better, baby." He said softly, trying to sound calming. He pulled back the towel to see that the bleeding had stopped. Reaching behind him, he pulled open a drawer and fished blindly for the bandages he knew would be there. Finding one, Nate pulled the soft fabric from the drawer and wrapped it carefully around Chuck's wrist. He brought the bandaged wrist to his lips and kissed softly, meeting Chuck's eyes.
"Thank you." Chuck whispered as Nate brushed the tears from his face with his thumb.
"Please don't do this." Nate said, trying to keep his voice soothing, as well as trying to hide his worry. "You know you're better than this. You don't need it. It's been over five years." He ran one hand through Chuck's hair slowly. The boy nodded silently and Nate tipped his head to meet his eyes. Chuck looked scared and lost and it broke Nate's heart.
"Don't ask me to promise." Chuck begged quietly.
"You know you can always come to me." Nate answered instead, kissing Chuck's lips comfortingly for a second. Chuck nodded, unable to say anything else. Nate stood, pulling Chuck up with him. "Come on, let's get some weed in you." He smiled lightly at Chuck, who attempted a smile back. Both knew that drugs were not the answer to their problems, but at the moment, nothing seemed like a better idea than leaving the pain behind for a while.
As Nate led Chuck from the bathroom, Chuck reached out and grabbed the razor blade from the counter. Nate's eyes flashed in worry, but Chuck held the blade out to Nate as a peace offering, and a silent thank you. Nate took the metal and snapped it in half, pocketing the pieces and feeling Chuck's body physically relax in his arms.
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As I said: A dark, spontaneous ficlet.
What do you think?
Maybe I'll make a story from this, a oneshot perhaps. Maybe even a chaptered one if I get time...
Till next time,
-J X