Disclaimer: This story is loosely based off the novel "Thirteen Reasons Why." However, it will not follow that storyline.
Author's Note: This story does mention suicide. Please try to keep an open mind and don't get offended.

This story starts near the end, on an early Sunday morning, just as the golden orb known as the sun was slowly rising over the Manhattan skyline. The main subject of our story no longer lives in this glorious city - full of wealthy socialites, bustling traffic and breeding grounds of scandalous gossip. In fact, she no longer lives anywhere. To be blunt, she's dead. She took her own life and left behind a man who loved her, possibly more than he could have ever loved his self.

Perhaps for this reason alone we should consider him to be the hero of this tragic story, a dark prince who comes riding up on his white horse a few seconds too late. He doesn't live in a castle but rather a hotel, ruling his concrete kingdom from the penthouse he shared with his best friend.

Now let's get back to the day of the week- Sunday. For some it was just another day to stay in bed and hide from the rest of the world. Others used it to practice religion. For the infamous Chuck Bass, the first day of a new week was usually reserved for long walks through Central Park that almost always ended with a kiss near the duck pond. He would never admit this to anyone, especially not the girlfriend of his who "forced" him to go on such walks, but he enjoyed them. In fact, there were a few times when he actually looked forward to them. Like this very morning for instance. When he awoke, before reality had a chance to set in, he went to his straight to his closet to prepare for a date that would never happen.

He was walking out of his bedroom, freshly showered and fully dressed, when a package caught his eye. It was small, around the size of a shoebox, rewrapped in recycled Christmas paper and sealed with clear packing tape. It looked exactly the same way it had been sent to him. One of the maids had done a good job of wrapping it. He considered tracking the person down and thanking them with a tip but the thought disgusted him.

How could he possibly pay someone for packing up the last bits of her that he had left?

Breathe, Chuck whispered. A bead of sweat rolled down from his hairline onto his face. He didn't bother to wipe it away. He was too busy taking small, tentative steps towards the box. After what felt like an eternity of walking, he finally reached it. He held the package in his hand. He didn't want to let it go but he had to. There was someone else on the list after him.

Chuck momentarily wondered how he would send it. Should he give it to the doorman of the next person's building, like whoever before him did? Or should he use a postal service. Lord knows that Eleanor could use one last day of rest before she was confronted by the past.

He lifted a hand to his forehead, using his fingers to rub the wrinkles out of his brow. To be honest, he didn't care how it would get to the Waldorf penthouse. It just had to be done that very day. The longer he kept it, the longer he would force himself to suffer.

A tumbler of scotch was resting nearby, he fantasized gulping down the amber venom as though it were some potion that could make him forget the previous night. But he would never forget the sorrow in her voice. He will forever be haunted with the knowledge that he had missed it when he had a chance to save her. Last night, he heard her pain loud and clear. Unfortunately, it was too late for anyone to do anything about it.

He was a wreck. And it was all his fault. It was all of their faults, because she was once theirs but they let her slip away.

Author's Note #2: leave a review and let me know what you think