He wanted to forget. So he drank. He drank his soul away. And as his thoughts were drowning in whiskey, she entered the room. There was a shadow in her eyes. She wasn't sad. She wasn't angry. She was just bitter. Bitter as the tears he wish he had had the right to shed. But Chuck Bass wasn't like that. And he offered her his drink. Because she was like him. Just like him. And his hand touched hers. It remembered him of a night, a long, long time ago. When she was so pure. When he was just like the devil. A long, long time ago. They kissed. A long time ago. It had tasted like innocence. But now, it tasted just like whiskey. But it was okay. He just wanted to forget.
There was the candle. A single ray of light in a room full of darkness and broken thoughts. And there were his fingers on her skin. So wrong. Because they both knew that these fingers didn't belong there. Because it felt like Blair's perfume was hanging in the air. She tought that maybe it could have made her feel better. But it was worse. And it felt wrong. Still wrong. « I don't wanna be alone. ». But she had never been so lonely. In this bed. With him and his broken heart. So wrong. And she knew it was supposed to be that way. Wrong. Just wrong. And she could have left. She could have run away from this place. From him. From herself. Instead, she blew off the candle.
And she cries, she cries, she cries. She cries, because now, she is just trying to light up the candle again.