Chuck Bass slammed his empty scotch glass down onto the wood, hoping that the sound would stop the sickening cuddling happening across the bar. It had been a year since he'd been back to New York City, and it was the same as it always had been. Same bar, same people, same damn couples. It made him almost sick to his stomach, the consistancy of it all. He expected things to change. Stupid. He picked up his scotch glass and watched the little moisture left drip down to the bottom through his hazy vision. Slowly, slowly dripping. As slowly as his life passed before his eyes, meaning nothing to him.
Then he heard her giggle. Almost reflexively, he slammed the glass down onto the bar, hearing it crack as he did. His fists clenched until his nails dug into his palms and his heart pounded in his ears. He hunched over farther onto the bar, hiding his face with his shoulders, breathing heavily though his nose. The gasps of cold air into his throat did nothing but make him more anxious, hearing nothing but the frantic palpatations that were shaking his body. If anyone payed attention to him, they would notice the strange resemblence he bore to a wild animal at this moment in time, for the sheer anger and pain that intoxicated his body was overwhelming. All from one giggle.
But no one recognized Chuck Bass even after just a year, because the "tossled hair, browned skin and stubble look" was the exact opposite of how he was last year. He looked in the mirror and smirked. He reminded himself of Carter Baizen, which disgusted him. Rich boy traveling across the globe, sleeping with every girl he could get his hands on, smoking as much hash as possible, running away from his problems. Well, problem. The same one that sat twenty feet away, happier without him.
"Refill," Chuck grunted, sliding his cracked glass towards the bartender.
"Right away, Mr. Bass," he said smoothly, starting to walk away.
Wait. His name. That guy knew his name. Chuck reached out and grabbed the bartender's sleeve desperately. Someone cared. Maybe. Someone knew about him.
"How do you know my name?" he muttered, his eyes a little wild.
"Well, I do remember you from last year, sir. You look a bit different, but you always order the same thing," the bartender smiled, sheepishly.
Chuck nodded, a bit of electricity sparking inside of him. Someone cared.
"Plus, that girl over there has asked about you every damn night for a year!" the bartender said conversationally. "Did you guys have a thing before?"
Chuck's heart stopped beating. His mouth dried and countless emotions shot through him like a bullet, almost causing him pain because of the pure power of it all. He closed his eyes letting it flow through him, imagining her flawless smile.
"Yeah. We did." he gasped, not entirely sure that the bartender heard him.
He turned his barstool around slowly, not entirely sure of what his body was doing. His heart was still in his chest, his palms sweaty. Then he caught a glance of her. And he couldn't stop. He stared.
Her shiny, smooth legs were crossed, her left foot tapping impatiently as it always did. Of course she was wearing heels. Her skirt was a bright green, her elaborate top barely showing any cleavage, because she was too classy. Too beautiful. She was staring at the ceiling, her gorgeous brown eyes darting back and forth. And she was sitting next to Nate. Nate Archibald, his best friend. He knew that they were together, but the visual evidence was painful. But the perfection of his former lover was a powerful opiate.
Suddenly, her eyes stopped moving. Chuck gripped the barstool with his wet hands, watching her every move. Her head slowly moved downwards, coming closer and closer to meeting his gaze. Nothing mattered but her. Nothing. Nothing. Even farther downwards. Nothing.
She caught his gaze. Blair Waldorf's eyes filled with tears.
