A/N: First of all I want to thank each of you who read any of my stories, reviewed them or messaged me nice words about my work. It really means a lot to me. Here's another Dair one shot, inspired simply by them...and Paris...and fall...Below there is a song that Blair listens to, it's from the band Shivaree - I Close My Eyes (one of my favorite songs from them, if you don't know it, look for it, I'm sure you'll like it). Thanks again :*
She doesn't know how many times she checks her inbox and each time there are mails that aren't from him. She doesn't know how many mails she sent him, explaining everything. No reply. Nothing.
Chuck isn't there. She is once again alone in Paris, only this time she has no wish to go in galleries or museums, she just stays in the hotel room while Eleanor is at work. Not even Roman and her father can interest her with anything. She used to love going to Versailles with them, but now she would just rather stay in and be miserable. She knows she deserves to be, just as she knows that he is too…somewhere south from Paris, down the continent in Rome. She wonders if he's alone and how easily he will forget her.
One day she sits on the balcony of her suite, with the blue rooftops and the Eiffel Tower in front of her eyes, she sips her coffee and a sudden terrible thought passes through her head. She can't bare the sudden realization that when she goes home, there will be no Humphrey in her life. Not as a boyfriend, but as a friend, a person, as a shoulder to cry on, as a rock…
Her vision is blurry, she can't feel her legs and her breathing is so shallow she can swear she doesn't breathe at all. It's just a panic attack and she has forgotten how it felt. Last time she had it was when her father left and her world fell apart.
She sits still on her chair, squeezing her black silky robe over her chest, trying to stabilize but it doesn't go away. She is giving her best to take few deep breaths and then exhales. When the noise in her ears and the high pressure are finally stabilized, her heart still pounds fast, but now she is able to stand up from the chair and goes to her bedroom. She puts on clothes, a colorful dress and high heels and just in case she takes a cashmere long scarf, because it's Paris, and it's the end of the summer and it can get chilly any time. Her hair isn't perfect, it's somewhat wavy and she doesn't bother to put a lot of make up, just some mascara and lip balm. Sunglasses will do the rest.
Wandering through the streets of Paris is never boring. She knows exactly where to go to entertain herself, but today she doesn't want to mingle with tourists. She needs to be alone, alone enough to hear her thoughts or even cry maybe. It does get chilly, so she wraps herself in the sugar cashmere scarf and walks aimlessly down the street. She knows she'd end up sitting on a bench by Seine, watching the boats with tourists admiring the architecture and the couples who sit by the river, drinking wine and kissing.
A small vintage bookstore gets her eye and she walks in, thinking that he would definitely do that if he was there. The old lady who owns the place welcomes her, talks to her in French, explains how she never thought a young and classy girl like herself would be interested to walk in a dusty old bookstore. The woman is pleasantly surprised when Blair replies in fluent French, telling her that the place oozes with calmness and she feels safe there. The woman can tell that this girl is sad and she doesn't bother her a lot, just tells her where the good romance books are. Blair replies that she doesn't need that at the moment and then she spots vintage letter envelopes and sheets and the woman knows. She tells her that people don't even think of buying those things anymore, the Internet has ruined them and that a letter written by the hand can't be compared to the cold and lifeless electronic mail. Blair smiles with sad eyes and buys few of them and when she is about to leave the store, the woman tells her that whoever let her go is an idiot. Blair sighs and says "Yes, I am". The woman thinks she didn't understand her well, but doesn't say anything and Blair leaves.
…
Wrapped in her scarf, she sits alone on a bench by Seine and it's like she escaped in an alternative universe in the middle of Paris. Just across the riverbank tourists are rambling, laughing, taking pictures, Parisians are going to work, having wine, chatting, hating the tourists…and she all alone. She gets a pen from her purse and puts the sheet over Le Monde she bought on the way there, and starts writing.
I saw a couple the other day. He's taller than her, his hair was messy and he was wearing some hideous clothes, plaid shirt, jeans and some weird vintage shoes. It's Europe after all and I guess it's acceptable…or they think that hipsters are trendy…Anyway, she was a typical cute French girl, petit and I'm not gonna lie, she was wearing some bad hipster dress too with combat boots, but they were matching so much. It's me you know, I notice such trivial things as the clothing, when the real thing that caught my eye was that he reminded me of you. If for a moment I had amnesia, I'd have thought "I want to be loved like this guy loves his girl". I couldn't help but hear their talk. She was barking something at him, being annoying and bossy and he would have kissed her each time after she'd insulted him…her cheek, her shoulder, her fingers. He was calm and tolerant and the little bitch was nothing but irritating. They weren't talking too loud, but apparently she had issues from her previous relationship and was trying to pass her frustration of her new guy. Before they left he said to her something like "I'm here for you…always". And it melted the little bitch's heart. She sat in his lap and hugged him as strong as if her life depended on that. I realized that my magazine was not in front of me, but in my lap and that I was staring at them with so much interest. They stood up from the bench, and he never let her out of his arms.
I had that, I thought. I had that and I walked away. And today, I'm walking aimlessly in Paris, while you're in Rome (probably) and I can't handle this anymore.
I miss you Humphrey. I know I don't have the right to say this, but I feel physical pain because you aren't near me. Before you toss this letter to garbage, let me tell you how stupid I was…Serena texted me and she said that you slept with her, apparently the same day when you told me you loved me. I tried my best to pretend that day with you, to stop my rage and tears …Later I found out that it was a lie and that you did it the day I left. I don't know what's worse…me believing her or you actually sleeping with her…I guess I deserved it anyway…I don't expect anything from you, I just wanted to tell you that I panicked and got so scared to deal with my emotions and the fact that I might never be as good or as pretty as Serena. I went back to my safe pattern. I am not with Chuck and I will probably be alone for a long time. I need to get over you by myself. Thank you for being mine.
Love, B
She puts the letter in the yellowish envelope, licks the inside of it and glues it firmly. She wants to kiss it, but she knows he'll throw it away if he sees it like that. She presses a light kiss and there is almost invisible little print of her rosy lips. On the way to her hotel she sends it.
It's evening when she is back to the hotel. It starts to rain. Paris is even prettier when it rains. In the hotel loby, the gentle voice of Ambrosia Parsley quietly sings:
…Tonight, I'll dream of ways to keep you occupied, so I can lock you up, we'll keep it classified, alright, you're mine tonight love when I close my eyes….
The song is stuck in her head, and she googles it and listens to it the entire night as the raindrops are making noise hitting the windows.
….
It's November when he reads it. He's alone in the loft, refreshed and tired from Rome in the same time, cured yet still sick from everything. He came back two weeks earlier but went in Hudson to visit his mother, willingly not checking his mail. The letter is almost three months old and at first he is tempted to rip it or burn it. That's when he notices the pale lip print on and opens it. At first he expects a letter full with insults, accusations that he's a scumbag for sleeping with Serena (everyone knows already). Her handwriting is perfect, curvy and the letters are all the same size. The sheet is a vintage paper, with printed Paris, France in the bottom and he reads slowly. The blood in his hands seems frozen and he feels them shaking, letting the letter slowly floating to the floor. He can't fall for this. No. He spent the most terrible summer in Rome, Georgina being his shadow, teasing him and torturing him the entire summer, although she was meant to be helpful. He never managed to write the book he intended to. Georgina was full with sick stories but in the end he couldn't. Most of them seemed surreal and he already knew Blair better than ever, he didn't need stories from other people. He doesn't call her, doesn't go to her penthouse and doesn't have any contact with his former friends. He doesn't even know if she is in New York. It's better that way.
Alessandra is furious. He had to come back with a book, and he comes back with nothing, just like he left. "Inside" is still one of the bestsellers, but he needs something new. Instead, he focuses on school and writes short stories about few newspapers.
….
It's Valentine's Day, and he is invited to a party that he doesn't plan to go at all. Nate organizes it and even though there is no reason for him to be mad at Nate he acts a bit arrogant. Nate tells him that there won't be people that he doesn't want to see.
By 10 PM he's already drunk. It's first Valentine in years that he is actually alone in the literal meaning of the word. No phone calls, no watching a movie together, no kissing the girl he likes…He doesn't know how he gets there and how drunk he is, but keeps drinking after he says hi to Nate. He doesn't talk to people, he just empties his glasses. And then something makes him turn around. It's like a magnet and he puts the glass down and slowly turns his head. On the other side of the room, among heads and shoulders, red dresses and people who make out, he sees her. This time she wears black dress, her hair is flat, and in the dim light she looks as if she is tired from everything. He blinks and few people move and he can see better now. Chuck stands next to her, giving her a glass of drink. He closes his eyes, raises his eyebrows and shakes his head. He is drunk but he knows what he saw and he is sufficiently drunk to tell the bartender that "She said she'd be alone for a long time…to get over me by herself…My ass she will be alone for a long time." The bartender smiles, he has already heard stories like that. He gives him another round, but before Dan takes a sip, something happens to him. He is drunk enough to agree with himself that he'll think about what he's about to do tomorrow. He puts the glass aside and walks through the people. Everything is blurry. People can hardly recognize him. His hair is long, tied in a messy ponytail, his beard is long (although trimmed, it makes him look like a hobo dressed in a suit) and his eyes are heavy. He doesn't care if his shirt isn't perfectly buttoned up with a nice tie, he simply walks to Blair. Her face is the only one that he can see clear.
Chuck notices him first and doesn't inform her. He just looks at him with a tint of pity but somehow he likes to see that he is miserable. When he is close enough, like three steps away from the circle of people who stand near Blair, she lifts her eyes from her glass and she can't hide the surprise mixed with fear. She opens her mouth to say something, but he is faster. He practically pushes her two steps back, his hands on her neck, kissing her as if there are no people around them. And the kiss is deep, like he can't get enough of her, like there is no tomorrow. She kisses him back, doesn't even notice that his beard is long enough to scratch her delicate face and to leave red marks. They are holding on each other so tight and people are staring at them, Chuck taking long sips from his Scotch, making disgusted face, because he knew why she was avoiding him after her sudden try to win him back in Monaco. He doesn't even hate Humphrey, he doesn't think of him. He reached the bottom where his numbness is stronger than any hate or love. He puts the glass in the hand of first person standing next to him and simply walks away. They are still kissing and some people comment that the boring party needed a man with guts who'd do such thing as Dan.
He pulls away first and she still has her eyes closed.
"I'm not with him" – She says.
"I don't care. I just wanted to keep the tradition." – He says and with insecure drunken steps tries to walk away from her. She grabs his wrist.
"Where…?" – She asks.
"Home" – Her eyes are pleading, like asking him to take her with him. – "No…Not yet…" – He says like he understands the expression on her face. – "It still hurts".