A/N Watching all those Blair/Edward videos on Youtube got me hooked on this couple so I'm exploring this fandom a little bit. I think Blair makes a better Bella than Bella, because honestly I dislike Bella with a passion I think she's too much of a Mary-Sue. Besides, Blair is so much more kickass and I love her to bits. Please review and give criticism, constructive criticism, flames, whatever, I'm gifted with a thick skin so I might as well put it to use.
I don't know if I should keep this as a simple one-shot, flirting with the idea of what might happen or just go through with the whole thing. Anyway, I don't own Twilight or Gossip Girl, sadly enough. Enjoy.
Chapter One
The tables are set in designer white satin, with laces hanging down slightly off the polished wooden table that cost more than the value of the Humphrey possessions combined. An unlit crystal chandelier hangs overhead, lending a timelessly elegant, Audrey Hepburn look. Candles flickered in a soundless dance, alluring flickers casting brief auburn-gold illumination against the dark red lacy curtains of the room.
Blair smiles to herself, a mysterious smile that curled around the edges of her lips and lifted her mouth, completing the Audrey Hepburn image (or so she thinks to herself). Red six-inch Manolos and a white, vintage starch dress, tights and a black bowtie she knows Chuck loves to undo.
A year, she thinks, mulling the words in her head as she swishes the red wine in her glass. So much has changed in a year.
Nate and Cabbage Patch's little Brooklynite sidekick were officially together now, backpacking across Europe to God-knows-where, doing God-knows-what. Blair felt a brief flash of envy. All her life, she had been Nate's girlfriend, the one everyone thought would be The One, who would wear the Vanderbilt family ring and bring forth a brood of the next generation of Upper East Siders...but still. Backpacking. How horribly troglodyte of them. Blair shuddered in distaste. The little Sidekick was dragging her Brooklynite claws into Nate somehow. Blair would find out what, and she would teach her a much-needed lesson when they came back.
No one messed with something of Blair's - no matter how long ago it had been out of her reach.
Serena. Blair purses her perfectly-glossed lips, her face cold as she feels the familiar rage rise up in her. No, today was a happy anniversary celebrating her and Chuck. Serena would not spoil it for her. She wouldn't. Blair wouldn't let her. Not this time. She'd had enough of Serena and her constant unpredictable appearances and disappearances, as if she was some star actress in the play of her life flitting here and there, constantly disappearing and reappearing, as though she already knew when and where her scenes were and where to go. Like she already had her life planned out straight to the curtain call.
Blair slams her glass on the table, and the liquid sloshes out, spraying the table in globules of Pinot Noir. Blair stands up, nearly knocking the chair over, and careful not to trip over her Audrey Hepburn dress and dials his number.
Where R u?
No reply. Blair's patience is wearing thin. She utters a long string of curses she had heard Chuck muttering before (she'd remembered it only because it was rather ... creative), and grabs her phone again.
William Orson is having a nice day as the personal secretary of the one Mr. Chuck Bass, the owner of Bass. Industries and one of the richest men in the world. All those people who wanted, needed to see him have to first pass through security, and then to the receptionist, and to his department, before going to his own personal secretary, and then finally to him.
His job gives him ample free time and the pay is no miser's sum either – with quite a few benefits.
He grins at the curvaceous woman waiting for him, which she returns sexily. He feels himself tighten as he grabbed her, inhaling her scent as she kissed him soundly. It was purely at times like this when he wonders why so few had bothered to apply for the job.
Just then, his phone rings. He is about to ignore it, when the only instructions from the boss himself runs through his mind. If someone calls you, answer it. It doesn't matter where you are – bathing, clubbing, in the midst of an orgasm – you answer it. Truth be told, he was rather scared of Chuck Bass.
William pulled away cursing – of all times! – and giving the woman an apologetic look, to which she huffs and storms away, he answers the phone.
"Where the hell is he?" a female voice demands from the other end. William sighed. It was precisely moments like these which answers his question as to why so few people had applied.
Blair Waldorf.
Mr Bass's long-time girlfriend, and if the office gossip were to be trusted, soon-to-be fiancée. He had met her once, and had been momentarily stunned by her beauty – smooth, porcelain skin and large dark doe eyes and perfect glossy chocolate curls left the impression she was a living doll. Of course, he had recovered swiftly and closed his mouth as soon as she had opened hers. The woman was a Class-A bitch. Which meant, William had learnt, the best kind of society wife there was.
"If you would be patient, Ms. Waldorf," he tries to explain as calmly as he could, "Mr Bass is still in a meeting and he says he's not to be disturbed."
A petulant pause. William can almost imagine her pouting on the other end. "But he's going to show?"
"Certainly. Perhaps half an hour at the most." William placates her, all the while thinking of the beautiful woman who had left him earlier. Maybe if he ran after her and explained...?
"Oh, alright," a very un-characteristic Blair Waldorf voice answers. She sounds defeated, given up. William was beginning to feel a little sorry for her when she barks, "And get me new table linen."
"But didn't I just give you one already?" There is a dangerous silence on the other end of the phone and he begins to feel very flustered as he realises his mistake. "I mean, Ms Blair – I mean, Waldorf – Ms. Waldorf – those table linen are – what I mean to say is, they are very expensive."
"I don't care!" Blair Waldorf screeches into the phone. "Table linen, now. Everything has to be perfect. It has to be!" The line goes dead.
William put his hands on his head. "Bloody hell," he moans. The woman gives him a migraine. Cursing his job with all the vulgarities he knows, he begins to make calls to the hotel cleaning staff for a new ten-thousand dollar table linen.
Blair Waldorf stares at herself in the mirror. Ruby red lips that matches with a fire red headband with a simple hydrangea tucked into her bun of hair. A few ringlets fall onto a delicate face, framing it and making her doe eyes even larger.
She is perfection. The room is perfection.
Everything was perfect, even to the smallest details (the exact angles of the silver fork and spoon). Except for one thing.
He was late.
He was taking more than half an hour like Chuck's assistant had said – what was his name again, Ostroff? Osmond? She didn't know and didn't particularly care. When Chuck got here, she was going to get him fired along with his snide attitude.
But Chuck wasn't here. He was very, very late.
And Blair Waldorf didn't wait. If he wouldn't come, she'd make him come.
He's been sitting down at the exact same spot as where he'd been sitting before the board meeting began, progressed, and ended. He's been sipping the same glass of whiskey and staring out at the sane scenery. He's not moving because he's utterly terrified to move.
The ring still sits in its box, at the corner of the desk. He's afraid to touch it, afraid that it'll still be sitting at the same spot tomorrow, and even more terrified of the possibility that it might be on her ring finger. It's the longest he'd ever been faithful to anyone and he knows she's the only one who has a chance of taming him. She knows it too. He's hurt her and she's hurt him, so many times that it's become an adjective, a synonym of their relationship. No one thinks it'll work out, but they do. They both do. But what if he can't remain faithful to her? Or worse – what if she can't remain faithful to him?
He's not ready, he thinks, and yet he's never felt so sure about anything else in his life. He's ready and not ready at the same time. He's ready because it's Blair and he loves her (yes, he loves her, there he said it) and he's not ready, well because it's Blair. They're explosive and reactive and there's half a chance both of them might not survive the chemistry between each other.
He feels like he's metamorphosing into a new chapter of his life where he has to accept social responsibility and he can't bear the thought of Blair's beautiful eyes staring at his with disappointment in his life. He knows, if he marries her, he would disappoint her one day (it was only a matter of time) and then he would feel his heart caving in. Chuck Bass had always craved control over his emotions and Blair Waldorf was not helping one bit.
He picks up the phone, gulping down more whiskey. "William? Good, you're there – cancel it," he slurs.
"Excuse me, sir?"
"Cancel it, goddamnit!" Chuck snarls. "Get her out of The Palace and while you're at it I need company. Female, preferably."
There was a long pause. "Sir, you can't mean that," William says, in a voice so hesitant Chuck wants to punch him in the face. "She's been waiting for over two hours..."
"Do you want to get fired, Orson?" Chuck snaps, because he knows if his assistant says anything more, Chuck would never leave. And he has to leave this – this stifling environment of love and its chains. He has to leave Blair, because only she could make him feel this way – so vulnerable, like he was a kid again. He has to leave Blair, so he can run after her and she can forgive him. Or she won't forgive him, which means he will have to pursue her again and their relationship can lapse back into the same on-off status, it will be a while before they get to the stage where he worries about the ring again.
"....No sir."
"Good." He hangs up and stares at the city skyline, wondering if he's being cowardly again and escaping through any window of opportunity left. He loves Blair, he does, but he doesn't want to feel stifled or forced into doing this – this agreement of lifetime enslavement.
At the moment, the door opens and a soft giggle makes him aware of her presence. Chuck swivels his chair around, and stares at the woman appraisingly. This woman isn't beautiful, not like his Blair. Her hair is too blond and her breasts too big to be real. Her giggle is faked and high-pitched and this faux beauty is so unlike Blair. She is the complete opposite, and it is with this thought that Chuck pulls her onto his lap, and takes her roughly against the table.
Neither notices the ring fall on the floor, and he is equally unsuspecting of the girlfriend behind the door staring at this display of infidelity, her perfectly glossed-lips open in disbelief and pearl tears falling from doe eyes. He only breaks off from the woman underneath it when the ajar door catches his eye, and under it a single, red Manolo Blahnik.
Blair stays in her apartment weeping. How he had fooled her with empty promises that he was changed, she would never know. Perhaps it was her inner romanticism that somehow, she could change him and he would repent and they would live a perfect life together with perfect, intelligent children to carry on the Waldorf-Bass lineage.
How could she have been such a fool?
To top it all off, she's lost her favourite Manolo Blahnik. She can't even remember losing it – her eyes had been blinded with tears and she had been running, running, away from the shattered corpse of her naive fantasies to even notice. She probably had lost it in the Palace – Blair grimaced. She would never, ever set foot in that infernal hotel ever again.
Chuck, typically, had chased after her, his clothes dishevelled, hair messy and his pants hastily buttoned, shirtless and he ran after her in the corridor, his swollen his swollen lips forming words, begging her to give him another chance. He'd told her he loved her.
Blair –thankfully – had made it to the elevator in time, and had a grief sense of gratification in closing the doors in his heartbreakingly handsome (and dirty liar, cheating ) face. But he'd still said it. Those three words, eight letters. Those words, in another time, might have made her swoon and fall into his arms and return by him. Those words she had yearned to hear fall from his lips. Those words that would assure her that they were meant to be, and that they were doing something right, and not a huge fucking waste of time.
But it had been. A huge fucking waste of time. It was a merry-go-round, a carousel twirling around the same axis with its highs (where you would feel that you were on top of the world) and lows (where you just wanted to crawl under a rock and die) but back to the starting point after a period of time. They were right back at square one.
She'd walked as quickly as she could away, away from him stricken with the possibility that this time the breakup might be for real, even though her legs screamed for her to go back, BACK to Chuck, back to her regular irregular love life and imperfect perfection with Chuck. She couldn't even look behind, because she knew if she did she would be running straight back into his arms, into her life in the Upper East Side that she had grown up in.
But everyone had their limits, and Blair had reached hers. Blair deserved better, and Waldorfs never took second best.
Blair buries her head in her hands. Is this what her life is supposed to be? Dancing with Chuck around each other, each trying to express their love through hurt and insults? They were chasing their own tails and whenever Blair starts to think she's got their relationship pegged down he always goes to ruin it all. Well, either that or she ruins everything. She isn't surprised at all about the breakup, though – they've been going off and on so many times she can't remember how many first dates with each other they've had. She can't recall the number of first kisses they've shared with each other or the first time they've woken up tangled in his sheets.
Everyone used to think they were heading straight into disaster the moment they'd announced their relationship. But they'd somehow pulled through one year of non-cheating and non-backstabbing and everyone thought, maybe, just maybe they could work things out. That if Blair Waldorf couldn't tame Chuck Bass, no one would be able to.
But that was it.
And Blair realised, this time with absolute certainty, that this was the end for Chuck and Blair, Bass and Waldorf. Nothing could ever be the same now, and frankly Blair was tired of all the pain he had done nothing but to give to her.
Beside her, her phone buzzed.
Spotted at The Palace. A blessed blond entering the rooms of the one and only C. Queen B spotted running down the corridor with a cheating C chasing after. Ouch. Well, as the saying goes, a leopard can't change its spots. And Chuck Bass certainly isn't going to be changing anytime soon – unless it's out of his clothes, of course. Better luck next time, B.
Staring at her phone numbly, humiliated that everyone would be able to see and know, once again Blair Waldorf has been duped and failed yet again at the incorrigible task named Chuck Bass, Blair realises that somehow, it has to stop.
She was tired, tired of Gossip Girl and her childish posts, of Penelope and Hazel of their faux friendship and practiced sucking-up, of Nate who never looked at her the same way as he looked at Serena or even his current stupid Brooklynite girlfriend, of bastards like Chuck Bass who kept ruining her life over and over again (and who she keeps letting ruin) and even Serena, for God's sake, for her natural perfection and how easily she'd found love in Cabbage Patch, and whose life was so perfect she never really needed Blair. She had, after all, just "upped" and left her, hadn't she? Without any prior warning. With Carter Baizen. And Blair had to find out again, from Gossip Girl. Just like everyone else.
A new onset of tears prickle at her eyes, and Blair angrily wipes them away.
She needed a break from the scandals, the heartbreak and the bitching and backstabbing. A getaway, somewhere atypical so Chuck Bass and all his damned P.I.s in the world couldn't find her and where Gossip Girl wouldn't bother her.
"Dorota," she says numbly, not feeling her lips move even though she knew she was speaking. "Book me a plane ticket."
Dorota stares at her curiously. "Where to, Ms Blair?"
"Anywhere," she whispers thickly. "Anywhere that you've never heard off, where most people don't go."
"Ms Blair, isn't it quite impossible-"
"Just do it, Dorota!" Blair half-screams, half-sobs.
Dorota nods hastily and goes down. She has never before seen Ms Blair so emotional before – it must be that Chuck boy. Dorota vowed never to let that arrogant Chuck boy touch or hurt her Blair again – or he would have to deal with her.
Blair blindly gets up, and somehow gets herself into the bathroom without falling over. The porcelain bowl looks so clean and inviting... and now it is stained with remnants of her lunch, the odour washing over her as she purges herself clean of the memories, and purges away every ounce of feeling she has for Chuck. She turns on the tap and watches as her vomit is swirled away by the clear water, and she feels sick again. She throws up until her stomach protests, for there is nothing in her stomach anymore to be purged.
Blair stares at herself in the mirror and forces a small smile on her face. She is gaunt, eyes bloodshot from crying, but she feels cleaner and skinnier and more beautiful now. Now, she thinks she is ready to face the rest of the world, so long as she won't see his face again.
"Miss Blair," Dorota's voice sounds distantly as she calls from the hallway, and Blair hastily washes all evidence of her bulimia away as she leaves the washroom to face her housekeeper. "I think I've found the perfect place. It's a small town in Washington D.C called....called Forks, Ms Blair."
"Forks," Blair muses thoughtfully. The name is unheard of, and it seems slightly hippie to be named after a cutlery of some sort. Glancing up, she smiles a genuine one. "Thank you, Dorota."
Turning away, a ghost of a smirk tugs at the ends of Blair's perfectly glossed lips.
Watch out, Forks. Blair Waldorf's coming to town.
A/N Sorry to any Chuck/Blair fans out there who might be reading this, but you have to admit their on-off relationship is getting quite annoying and I had to break it off somehow. Read and Review!