Author's Note- Okay. I know this is super short, but I don't do well with chapter stories, so you'll have to bear with me. Please review. My last story with Chuck and Nate got tons of hits, but is lacking in reviews. Any criticism is good. Anyway, here you go. :)
~The Queen
He watched, in terror, as he lead her into That Room. This seemingly innocent act ripped into a heart that had been hiding for years. And Archibald even had the nerve-the audacity- to wink at him just before disappearing into That Room, flashing that ever-so beautiful smile. And although he had superb abilities to mask whatever emotion he truly held, his expression faltered. He had to grasp on the column next to him to keep from tumbling down the stairs. He had to touch the cool marble against his skin to remember the sensation of touch.
Yes, he had slept with Blair. But he had slept with a billion different women(and yes, the number is accurate, a billion) and that hadn't changed anything. It was true that feelings had emerged for that girl. It was also true that he had a couple shots earlier that evening. He was buzzed and the evening was fuzzy and all he could think was that her skin had slid against Nate's, her smile reflected Nate's, her lips had more than brushed Nate's. And he was sickened with himself, really. Had he really lowered himself to the stature of a common stalker? The thought revolted him.
An yet, the deep yearning remained. He had snuck glances at his friend while dressing. Of course, Nathaniel could never epitomize the sheer perfection that he did, but he came as closely as possible. But truly, there was more between them than any stupid, insipid female could arouse. At the end of grade school they locked the door to his room and practiced kissing on each other. Nathaniel never did know that he had already been an expert, but he felt that he could always use the practice, and… Well, a friend was in need, so he was obliged to assist.
So here he stood, burning holes into the crème color of the door, a keen intent to know what was happening- or rather, exactly what was happening. Because, really! He wasn't naïve. He's not an idiot. He took a gulp of air(he had forgotten to breathe, it seemed) and found his way down the stairs, relying heavily on the railing. It was cold, just as the column and it made him shiver slightly. This wasn't happening. The Charles Bass had not lost himself to another person. He didn't give his heart away to someone. No one deserved it! He found his father, muttering a meaningless apology and regaining enough composure to get to his car and duck into the back seat. He told the driver to drive anywhere, for he didn't care. Just keep going. The lights of New York flashed and glittered above and around him. It was overwhelming.
He fumbled to the seat that raised and revealed the bottles of alcohol he craved and possessed so dearly. He didn't know what he had chosen before it dipped down his throat. He hadn't bothered with a glass. Vodka. Appropriate. And as he downed what remained in the bottle from previous parties and tossed it to the ground, Chuck Bass began to laugh. It was here, as his senses dulled and vehicle moved through the city that he realized: he cared. The notion was vile, but he knew the truth and he couldn't deny it. But he had not lost. A Bass never loses. A new feeling welled in his chest, a new appeal! Pride and competition and excitement bubbled within him(of course it could have been the alcohol, but he liked to fool himself sometimes).
"Game on, Waldorf."