This is my very first story for Gossip Girl, so please bear with me.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Gossip Girl, any of the characters etc within it. No copyright enfringement intended.

Love, Chuck Bass.

The Waldorf Penthouse

Blair,

I'm sure you've had Dorota check this letter for anthrax already, but you didn't need to go to such trouble on my account- I mean no harm.

The overpaid therapist seems to think that writing a letter to you would be 'good for my soul', to use exact words. I can't repeat what I said. I don't think you'd approve.

But I hope you'll take the time to read this, even though I don't deserve it, then you can throw it away and forget about me. I promise.

I'm writing this at this present moment for two reasons: first of all, if I write this fast then maybe I can say everything as truthfully as possible; a moment longer and I'll never write it. Secondly, Humphrey is coming over, and I don't think I can act like I'm fine when the butterflies in my stomach are being torn to shreds. He loves you too, you know. He hasn't told me, but he doesn't need to...I should be angry, hate him. How dare that muppet-haired, ragamuffin brooklynite fall for you, the Queen Bee? But friends become friends because they have something in common - I'm sure you can attest better than anyone else that I have NOTHING in common with Dan Humphrey of all people- and I guess it's you. It's easier to harbour pain, if you can see it on your companion's face too. And the pain is really all I have left of you.

Writing this letter is hard…but losing you was so much harder. If I had any clue, when Jack asked to choose between the Empire and you, that it was going to cost this much, and end this way, I might still have had you. But knowing me, I would've done something else to lose you.

Someone like me is never supposed to have some that precious.

Someone like me is never supposed to be loved.

Bart was lucky… he figured it out early, when I made my mother die, but I wish you had known too. Then you could've saved yourself from so much pain, pain that I caused, if you have known never to get involved with me.

But, Blair, you need to know: I'll be happy with the pain if, in ten years from now, you're happy. In ten years, you'll be happily married, living in a beautiful palace in Monaco with the prince you always wanted, mother to three beautiful children all of your own. You'll be loved and admired everyone, because you're more Grace Kelly than Grace Kelly herself, Blair. I've always seen that in you, and its time other people do. This is your time. This is your dream.

Just be happy, that's all I ask. Then I can truly let you go.

But I can't. I can't. What's wrong with me? 3 years ago, Chuck Bass would never have felt like this. I CAN'T feel like this now. You're not mine…you never truly were; you were always meant for the Louis' and Nate's of this world. But not me. Because people like me destroy everything around us, one at a time, until there's nothing left except my aching, throbbing heart.

I miss you so much. I miss waking up in the morning and smelling the sweet lavender smell of your shampoo in your hair, the scent of myself still lingering on your lips because I couldn't ever stop kissing you. I miss seeing your face light up and your rosy lips lift as you look up from whatever book you had your nose buried in, and your warm, soft arms wrapping themselves around me. I miss the way you'd sneak apple pie out off my plate when you thought I wasn't looking, and how you'd nonchalantly hold my hand, entwine our fingers together in public, to tell others that I was yours. Because I really am.

I'd do anything for you to look at me the way you did then.

You turned my whole world on its head and made it feel right; with you gone, my world is the same again, but it's all wrong.

I can't see anyone but you.

Only you.

I'm crying. Why am I crying? Humphrey is due to come any second now, and Chuck Bass doesn't cry. For anyone.

Except Blair Waldorf.

It's okay now, it really is; because now you have the chance to be with someone who can look after you. Forget about me. Forget about me…..

Fuck it, I'm not sending this letter. I'm so sorry, Blair. I know that you'll be happier without this.

Love,

Chuck.

I hope you all liked this. Please review and tell me what you think, I'd appreciate it!

LaVictorie