Reviews are always love:D I can take negative ones too:P Also, I don't own Gossip Girl or its characters.
She never said it before. She tells herself it's because the words don't mean anything to her; the truth is she doesn't trust them. She's heard them too often from people who always fail to deliver; had her own heart broken and seen others' break too. She's not Blair; she can't pretend that life is like the movies, that those words can move mountains when really all everybody wants is a one night stand. They never look at her while they do it, she never questions it because in her world sex does not equal love, it's not about knowing another person, it's not about trusting someone with yourself. It doesn't bother her, it's the reality she's seen since she was little; her mother going from husband to husband with the occasional just-boyfriend in between, they all say it but it never lasts. She takes it as a fact of life and accepting it as such makes life easier, simpler. Without those words there's no betrayal, no fast-beating heart at the brink of breaking. Whatever happens as long as you don't believe in that you're safe.
But suddenly he's there and everything changes. He says the words, gives them meaning. He looks in her eyes, sees her for who she is; 'I love you for your laughter, your loyalty to your friends, I love everything.' It's a little bit scary what his words imply and for a second before belief sets in she feels naked in front of him in a way she has never experienced before. Then her heart beats faster, their mouths meet and, suddenly, before she knows it she's said them too, the words she never trusted. 'I love you'. She's never meant anything more and she's certain this will last for forever, she's ready for it. But forever doesn't come.
He never said the words before. If you ask him why he'd scoff and say it's a myth you tell yourself to make life bearable, something to add poetry to what's simply lust and sex. The truth is they mean too much and he's afraid, afraid that they'll overwhelm him, afraid he'll never hear them back. He'll act the smarmy womaniser, provoke and disgust his friends, never let anyone in; it's better to be loathed than pitied, at least he'll never have to face rejection.
It's a mystery how despite his precautions he finds himself with fluttering butterflies in his stomach. It's her fault with her dancing and her moaning, and her claim that if he says those three words, eight letters she'll be his. She ruined him, tore down his defence and left him vulnerable to life. He can almost hear himself say the words and he panics. Maybe if he had had the nerve to say it then things would be different. This way it ended up a game of power, the frustrations both felt from that only convinces him of the words' might the more.
It's a relief to him when he doesn't have to say it first, not because he won the game but, truthfully, he never fully believed she would say it and if he's honest there's a part of him that still doubts their truth, maybe that's unfair but he can't help it. It's hard to unlearn a life-long defence. No matter, it's useless, he can try to run but she's there and it's too tempting to give in, he jumps: 'I love you too'. It's heaven. He always knew the words were magic, now he sees the proof; even Chuck Bass can turn a romantic for the right girl. But the fairy tale ends; either the words lost their power or they're not as strong as he thought because there she is, breaking his heart and deep down there's something falling into place: he always knew he was too horrible to be loved.
She never used to trust the words. She believed them once and got burned, but the memory of it all lingers, she can't shake it off. They changed something: sometimes she thinks they ruined her other times she's grateful, because she's been searching ever since, trying to recapture the lost, hoping people will see her and love her –all of her. She used to know where to draw the line - know where the fantasy stopped and reality began. She no longer does. Love me, see me and fuck me she demands from the new men in her life, it's not that she's saving herself or that she gains more when she asks it of them because they learn to read her quickly. 'I love you' they'll say. She'll believe them, always believe them, say it back, and think she mean it. She's one man's muse, the catalyst for change in a bad boy, becomes the other woman, is united with her childhood friend, it all seems so perfect, you'd think there'd be a happy end. The illusion never lasts. There's always something missing; I love you never has as much meaning as it had that first time. She wishes she could hate him for that, for ruining her like this, for making her trust the words, giving them meaning, making them matter but the truth is he still means too much to her; mostly as a friend but at times she sees it there, the chance of their past becoming a new present. Maybe that's why she can't let go, the reason she keeps returning to point A. She used to be so carefree, always in flight, going from one place to another - free as a bird she told herself, independent. Maybe that wasn't happiness but at least she always trusted her own worth, at least she didn't depend on anyone else to complete her, make her happy, she never looked beyond today, never dared. Now she dreams of tomorrow, hopes for forever. Maybe she's a little grateful after all.
He has lost his faith in words, not just those three words, eight letters he once revered so much but any words, any well-known phrase. Even 'I'm Chuck Bass' has become meaningless. They've all been tainted. Drenched in her and void without her. He never expected anyone to love him but someone did and that is where the story ends. No one ever warned him afterwards would be harder. Once the words have been said and you lose her anyway. He tries going back to how he used to be; women, booze and drugs, but it's not the same anymore. It always becomes something in relation to her - a defiance of her, a cry for help to her, a challenge to her. He hates her for that even if the hate can't burn out the love.
What's worse, whatever he does he hears her making a running commentary in his head. 'You're saying this because you lost your dad', 'You're trying to keep the world from hurting you again', 'You said this to not face loss' and the worst: 'Your pathetic attempt to make me angry is useless'. He wishes he could pick her out of his brain, squeeze her out with his hands but he knows it won't work -Rhett Butler never succeeded in doing that to Scarlett so he guesses he wouldn't either. He tries to drown her instead - drown her in more sex, more alcohol, more drugs. If she doesn't die at least he might be able to ignore her better. And ignoring her he can pretend he's okay, that he's never been better. When he's shot his first thought is: 'I'm finally rid of her'. Guess he was wrong.
He's sitting at the bar, a drink in his hand. He's not bitter, no, not bitter that she came back in his life and Eva left and he's back to not knowing how to get her out from underneath his skin. She comes in, not her her but the other one, Serena. She doesn't look at him as she sits down beside him, orders a drink for herself. Neither of them says a word. Once upon a time, before either of them had uttered those dangerous, delicious life-changing three words they'd been the same, or as close as could be. The darker, less perfect part of the non-judging breakfast club; the reason that club needed to be non-judging. They'd been united in their rejection of love, their lust for life, their gluttony for party, the quick fulfilment of desire. Carefree and independent. Then she'd left and when she came back things had changed, she'd moved ahead while he was left behind (a truth he would never admit to: before this few things had hurt him more). Things happened and for a while it seemed their paths had been separated forever. But they're back to square one or maybe somewhere along the way it turned out they were headed the same way after all and have landed on a new square at the same time. As they look at one another they both see it – neither of them are the same anymore. If ever men were islands they were them, drifting freely in the ocean, needing no one, caring about nothing, but someone anchored them for a while and that memory can't be shaken off. For better or for worse love has changed them, it's no longer enough existing on their own, as their eyes meet they see the sense of loss and being lost in both. There's a solace in that, that they're not alone in their misery and for a little while this means more than the fact that she hurt his best friend, that he hurt hers and that they've both done things they'd prefer to forget.
He makes a lewd remark about her appearance, she comments on his latest dubitable conquest. They don't comment on who's not here. The girl(s) who left him, the boy(s) who never leave her. The ones who made all this hurt possible, because they're not hurt, they're really not. Love is for the weak, love is for romantics. You can't die of a broken heart if you haven't got one. You can't be hurt if you don't care what people think of you. Regret is for losers and there's plenty more fish in the sea no need to settle for one. They know that each sees right through the other but they won't kiss and tell. Right now none of that matters, it doesn't matter that they're feeling more exposed than they have in ages, that by meeting like this they're betraying other friendships, revisiting a past that distorts the picture of who they've been trying to become . They need it, need each other. The two of them, together against this thing that tied them both to the world, that made escape impossible by cutting off their wings and made them dependent.
The words ruined them, made them better, they can't decide, but the words were there, for a time, mattering and as they look at each other, playing this game of pretence it's there. A flash, unexpected, hope blooming, because they see it; their person, their history reflected in another being like a mirror, an echo of themselves reverberating in the other. Even if it's a different image from what it used to be, even if it's hurtful and ugly it's comforting too because there is that: that tiny twinkle of a brighter future, a promise of better days to come, of that non-existent heart's potential to heal, of recovery and redemption and a chance for them both to feel the words matter again. She smiles at him, he winks at her. 'I hope I get there first this time'.
In the end it doesn't matter, they know it, their paths might separate for a while but there'll be a time sometime in the future when they'll find themselves on the same square once again, different people having led different lives but yet the same, always the same. Two people living parallel lives; always were, always will be.