Author's note : So, this is my first story like ever, or at least published on this site, but no need to be nice with your comments, don't worry, I can take a criticism, I need it in order to get better at this. Anyway, the idea for the this story came to me one night just as I was falling asleep and I just had to right it so I go up ad poured it right out of me. I reread it this morning corrected the many errors (it had gotten quite late once I was done with it the previous night) and I finally got the courage to publish it. So here it goes, hope you enjoy it as much as I did. (Please review!)
The Heart Has its Reasons Which Reason Knows Nothing of
There once lived a little boy without a heart. You see, he had everything else; the body, the brains, the clothes, the money.. But there was no muscle pumping the blood through his veins. This made him barely human. It made him numb to everything surrounding him. His father hated him: so what, he still gave him money. Nobody loved him: so what, he, himself, couldn't love anyway. He simply could not understand the importance those around him gave to trivial things such as feelings or emotions. But then again, he didn't have any, so how could he?
As the boy grew up and became more and more disconnected from the others around him, he started to think. Why should he be the only miserable one? And so started the destruction. For he not only rejoiced in the destruction of others, but also his own. He discovered the wonders of pot, pills, cocaine and alcohol (you'd be surprised the amount of damage a single night of scotch can do to your system) and while he was going at it, he also succeeded at dragging innocent little Nathaniel down with him. He enjoyed getting to taint a being that, unlike him, knew love and was meant to be someone one day.
That went on for a while.
Then, one day, came Georgina.
He wasn't going to lie, with all the talk about the magical experience sex was supposed to be, he expected a little more than a five minute fuck in a janitor's closet between two classes. Still it was worth it because for the first time, the boy felt something in his chest, something beating. Could it be? Unfortunately, the beating disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, with his orgasm. Making the boy believe he had imagined it. But still, the experience was worth reliving. So the next day, the boy invited his first hooker to his hotel room (a birthday gift from a father who couldn't even stand living in the same environment as him). Once again, as the muscles of his lower stomach clenched, he felt the same feeling in his chest. Like something in there was indeed beating. And for the first time in his life, the boy had something he'd never had before: hope.
What if he did have a heart? What if he indeed was like everybody else: human? What if he could feel the same things as the others did? Maybe he had only lacked practice until now? Maybe sex was the key to bringing him to life? At least, there was nothing wrong with hoping, right?
And so he fucked. He fucked as many women, as many times as he could. And each one of those women gave him a couple of minutes of heartbeat, a couple of minutes of play-pretend. But it always ended way too quickly for his liking. Like everything else, it never lasted.
So in the end, those fucks only left him felling even emptier inside. Like a shell without content, like a body without a soul. But that didn't make him stop, far from it. You see, like every troubled being, the boy was a bit of a masochist and so the hurt of not being able to make the heartbeat last only made him seek it even more. This is how sex addiction ended up being added to his long list of addictions.
Then one night (he'd call it faithful, but he didn't believe in that sort of crap, even now), he ended up in his limo giving a lift home to the last person on earth who should have been in there with him. You see, you may trick yourself into thinking that that dance she did on that stage had changed his perspective on life and that it had awoken buried feelings he had had about his "best friend's" girl, but the truth is he needed a fuck. What, can you blame him; his father was mad at him again, he had been this close to losing Victrola and he wasn't going to lie, she did look fucking hot on that stage and she had broken up with Nate, which was a big plus. So why not, right? As long as he got what he needed. He said a couple of lines he knew girls like her fell for and there you go, she was all hot and bothered waiting for him to ravish her. Which he did. And as expected, with the crescendo of their screams came the thudding of his heartbeat.
What he didn't predict though, was that once they had put their clothes back on, once she had quickly left the scene of the crime smacking the door as she went, even once the sent on sex had almost entirely left the backseat, his heat kept beating.
Needless to say, he didn't sleep that night. The muscle he once thought nonexistent was furiously beating out of his chest after 16 years of non activity. What was wrong with him? This had never happened before. That night, the little boy with no heart was brought to life and he had no idea what to do. Once, he had rejoiced in the few beatings he would get out of this frozen heart of his and now, he wished it would stop. He wasn't used to this. Right now, a permanent beating heart felt uncomfortable and painful. If only he could turn it off to at least get a few hours of sleep. He had to go to Waldorf's birthday party tomorrow and bags under his eyes would certainly not match with his suit. Wait a minute... Waldorf! This was all her fault! Surely, she has done something to him. And as he thought back at the earlier events of that night and the girl he saw stripping on a stage, something unbelievable happened: his heat started beating even faster. There was no denying it anymore, Chuck Bass had a heart and for reasons still unknown to him, it reacted to Blair Waldorf. But no need to worry, he was going to investigate on this.
And investigate he did.