Hey, everyone. I've been able to write so much more over winter break, so I'm excited, yay (:
Disclaimer: Don't own them, except for mystery girl.
Author's Note: Okay, this just came out, I have no idea why, how, when, who. Anyways, it's a little confusing because it started off in two people's point of view, then went to one person. It's a girl, and she's constantly referring to another girl, so when you see italics, it is the girl not actually present. Regular font is the girl's point of view.
"Would you believe me if I said I was sorry
The question wasn't mean to hurt,
It was just my fear of losing you.
And now you're filling all the space that surrounds you
I'll soon be tucked away underneath your bed
Where you gave yourself to me.
Where I gave myself to you.
Maybe it's all for the best,
But I just don't see any good in this, no.
Maybe we'll find something better
But the lovers that leave us
Will always hold the place"
You and I
-Every Avenue
The room is dark. She's arching up to him, moaning his name, ripping buttons off his shirt as if her life depended on it. He's pressing his lips behind her ear, her neck, and slowly continuing downwards. She's screaming in ecstasy; she's letting him take out all his pain and anguish on her. He's pouring out his emotions onto her; he's feeling the movement of her body under his.
He wants to believe in his heart that he's doing the right thing. She wants to believe that he really and truly is kissing her, not imagining who she could be. He knows masking his anxiety and disgust with himself by using a girl isn't the right way, but he can't stop now. She can't keep pretending she doesn't know that when they're making love, he doesn't see her.
It's been at least two years now. They've been married for two years, yet, she doesn't know his favorite color, he doesn't know her favorite food. He doesn't care enough to know; she is scared that letting her emotions show will make her seem vulnerable, something he despises, and she knows.
They both lay panting on the band, eyes screwed shut, hearts racing faster than the speed of light. Their clothes lay in a tangled mess on the floor. Both disheveled, they sit up and look at eachother, and she's one hundred percent certain he doesn't know who it is, what they'e done, or where they are. It's always like that with him.
She sleeps around with other guys all the time, and he knows it. He doesn't sleep around because she's the only one close enough to her. She's the only one with cascading brunette curls and amber eyes that mimick hers. She's the only one that can verbally battle in a way that almost rivals hers. Yet, she still knows she's second best. Second best is all she'll ever be in his eyes.
She knows her husband still talks to her. She knows her husband still dreams that she is the one running her hand down his smooth, pale body. She knows he wishes she is the one that's twisting his chocolate locks in her hand, making him scream in a way that she's never been able to make him.
"I'm going to shower," he says, routinely, just like he does right after every time they have sex.
"Okay, you want something to eat?" she says. They've played this game their whole life and they don't intend to stop now.
"Uh, no thanks," he repeats night after night.
"Alright, just let me know when you're done," she's become accustomed to this fake exchange. She knows when he's "showering", he's really going to his study to talk to her. She knows this, and he knows she knows, yet they play the perfect Upper East Side family that pretend eachother are the faithful loves of their lives.
Something strikes her today. What does she have that she doesn't? She wants to know, she's craving to know, she has the strongest desire to find that girl and ask her exactly what it was that made him want her so much more. And she would change. She would change herself until he was satisfied. She knew, though, his satisfaction lay in the hands of her.
She tiptoes to his study and feels guilty. She's breaking routine. Her role is supposedly to go down to the kitchen and make sandwiches for the both of him. But she's dying to know what he's saying, what she's saying.
"Hey, baby, how are you?" She hears him croon softly into the phone, in a hypnotic voice she's never heard him use before.
A distinctive voice wafts through the phone and out the thick, mahogony doors of his study and she immediately recognizes it. It's her.
"I'm good; do anything fun today?" he asks, softly.
Again, the phone chatter slips through the cracks of the door and her unmistakable voice is creating an ache in her heart like she's never felt before.
"What have I been doing? Well, Blair, I've been thinking about you all night," he answers.
Though she's tried to deny it, she knows in her heart that Chuck is telling the complete, utter truth.
Wow. That was…intense. ChuckBlairRandomgirl love triangle.
Sorry for any confusion and leave a review and will sing Jingle Bells to you.