When he doesn't even make an effort to stop her, she realises it's true; she's not even worth his protests, she's pretty much worth nothing. So it becomes inevitable that her only constant is something even darker. She walks the steps before her brain catches up, avoiding the creaks in the floorboards because she's worn this path so many times before. It's missed her and, dare she admit it, she's missed it too. Porcelain meets porcelain as she kneels before it, performing the ritual like it's her last event on earth (it will be, she just doesn't know it yet.)
She purges his name and her name too because one doesn't really mean anything without the other, and now, she means nothing at all. Not to him anyway, and when he's the only one to make her whole, she suddenly realises; there's no point anymore.
Empty and tearstained, she feels her way through the darkness, walking blindly as the kitchen falls before her without giving her time to realise how she got there. Extracting the object, its steel affront comforts her somewhat and she holds it close, placing its worth above that of her own life. It becomes ironic that, in the end, it is worth more than her life because it's the thing that takes it away; Chuck may have been the cause but commit the crime he did not. Blair did that herself, with the help of sharp wit and cutting tongue.
She takes to her room, ascending the stairs in the most regimented fashion. It's easier than she thought it would be, slicing the knife through the flesh on her arm without so much of a wince. The blood boils a furious red and spills down her arms to the floor, pooling in a sticky mess that is soon to be the only momentum of Blair herself. She moves from her arm to her chest and then walks to the mirror because this act deserves to be watched, even if the one who it's for isn't here to witness. Placing the tip against her heart, the fast thumping vibrates through the metal and into her hands and then..
It's in and she's gone. As easy as that.
-
She's not found until the morning, when her mother brings her a plate of fruit. It smashes on the floor as the most inhuman scream fills the walls. Footsteps scurry up to the sound of sobbing and Chuck, who's appeared without anyone knowing, stares in disbelief because this isn't meant to happen.
And so he regrets it now, not saying goodbye, even though saying it at the time would have meant admitting defeat. But now, he can never say goodbye because she's gone for good. Their final act was performed in hate and now she'll never know he loved her. He takes her hand, so cold under his, and brings it to his face, the exact same space she'd hit just hours earlier but it didn't numb his pain.
Nothing ever would.
