Summary: One-shot, Chuck's end of things during "Roman Holiday" from Season 1.
Chuck had just returned from two weeks in the beautiful Monaco. He had spent the first two days alone, then his good friend Nate had joined him for a week and his father was supposed to come for the last week but instead had dragged Chuck back to NYC so they could celebrate with the vander Woodsen's, why, Chuck didn't know.
Chuck hadn't invited Nate to come up to Monaco but Nate was desperate to ditch his stuffy family affair in Conneticut for some more action. Chuck was always happy to provide action, but, not surprisingly, he felt nauseous the moment he saw Nate step into their hotel room. He had decided that the rest of the vacation would be best served on the rocks and in the company of many others. His distractions weren't helped by the constant beeping and buzzing and vibrating of his cell phone as Blair incessantly nagged him about not spreading around their little indiscretion. In fact, after the fourth day he just left the phone in his room all day, only making it more painful to listen or read each of her messages consecutively at the end of the day and seeing the progression of panic in her tone. Yet he didn't feel bad. He felt angry, and bitter. How dare she?
He was tempted to tell Nate everything just to spite her, she had it coming, she didn't deserve any better after how she had treated both he and Nate. But he also knew that Nate was his best – and honestly, only – friend, and to tell him would be to ruin that, possibly forever. Still, he couldn't help but to hang it over her head. He knew that if their positions were reversed she would do the same to him. Torture.
He knew he should have expected how she moved back into Nate's arms so quickly, but it had hurt him somehow without him realizing it until it was too late. He was crushed when he saw them kissing in the hallway of the hotel, he had never been crushed by a girl before. But that didn't excuse her from anything.
He didn't tell her that he was going to Monaco, but he knew she'd find out from somebody.
Monaco, huh? Something I should know?
He glared at the screen of his phone and refused to reply, hearing the gloating tone implied as she discovered where he was hiding. For 3 days she hadn't known and he'd enjoyed her panic, needing to know. She probably just wanted to keep tabs on him, but texts were texts, he was glad that she wasn't moving on and forgetting about him.
Something she should know? He was heartbroken, but she shouldn't know that, she'd just taunt him and hold it over his head for, forever. Or she'd tell him to get over it. She'd explain that he was nothing more than a rebound. He'd have to remind her why he'd always be special.
Just 1 question: How did you fake ur virginity for N?
It was true, he knew. He'd heard it from "N" himself. Nate had been excited at first, but thankfully had spared Chuck the details. He wouldn't have been able to stomach them. Poor pathetic and ignorant Nate, Chuck thought to himself at first, but it was useless, he would pay all the money in his trust fund to be in Nate's position, a million times over.
He wanted Blair to know that he was angry, maybe he deserved that sort of treatment from any of the other girls he'd been with, but not her. He had actually thought what they had was special, he had actually thought he was her confidant. But he had never liked angst much, it didn't look good on him, he preferred drunken or belligerent, bastardly or bitchy, bitter even, but never with the angst. That was so, ugh, Brooklyn.
I know u like, hate me now but could you please not tell ne body about us, please?
Sure dear, and would you like me to be the best man at your wedding as well? Seriously, what did she want from him. He hadn't replied to that message, which lead her to leave message after message on his phone in various forms all day long. That was the day Nate had entered the hotel room and Chuck had to swallow the contents of the night before down in his stomach as they threatened to upheave. That was the day he decided to drown his sorrows and anxieties, and dull any pains he had in the bar's many offerings. He'd taken a picture of him and Nate and sent it to her in a particularly sarcastic and mean-spirited text.
Don't worry, B. Who would I tell?
That would set alight the texts and messages. Maybe one of these times he'd pick up. Maybe he'd just have another rye and coke instead. Hold the coke, please.