It's 5 am, and I cannot fall asleep again. I blame drowsiness for this horrible oneshot, but I can't help but write it. And you should know my style by now, italics are flashbacks. A different one is separated by the 3 dashes. Try to enjoy;
No, he wasn't smart. He didn't get straight A's—straight B's, even—and he didn't know about politics. He fell asleep in class and rarely did his homework.
No, he wasn't moral. He had sex… a lot. He ditched school almost everyday—why did he even go there in the mornings if he was just going to leave? It's a question he asked himself often—and drank underage. He smoked pot, did weed, sniffed coke, name the drug. He had every single one stashed in his locker. Maybe that was the reason he came to school, to get his daily dose of drugs.
Or maybe, in the last years of high school, it was to get his daily dose of her.
- - -
She was the prim and proper queen of the school, the beautiful brunette socialite. It was a cliché that every school had a perfect girl, but it was true in this case. Brains, beauty, boys, best friends. Money, too. Who didn't love her?
She was highly intelligent. Always at the top of her class, she could answer any problem you threw at her. She had earned the respect of all her teachers, along with her classmates, because throughout all her years at the school, she had never asked for help on an assignment. She could figure anything out by herself.
Except for one little thing that she couldn't do on her own.
And she credits everything she knows to him.
- - -
Blair Waldorf is seated on her favorite white stool next to the fire, tending to it when more wood is needed. A small smile spreads across her face as she pokes at the wood with the metal stick. She's thinking about him again.
She's running her hand across the stool as she is reminded of him, feeling for something in particular. There, there it is. It's right at the edge, about 2 inches away from her, and to her right. The smile grows wider as her memory sharpens.
He's holding me tight as our lips are joined. One of my arms is draped around his shoulder, the other on his cheek, keeping him close to me.
"Get a room," I hear my mother taunt and I freeze. Chuck, however, whips his body around to face the intruder, and along the way, he spills the cup of Pepsi.
"Shit," he mumbles, only loud enough for me to hear, and tries to prevent the cup from tipping over, in a failed attempt.
The white quilted stool seated between the fire and table is now stained with a mark about five inches in diameter.
I hear my mother gasp for a split second, but she quickly recovers when she learns that nothing has really been harmed. "Clean it up," she says and walks away. For this, I'm grateful. She's never been the type to ask questions about Chuck's relationship and mine. She only pops in once in awhile to make sure we're not doing anything too bad.
"I'm sorry!" we both call to my mother simultaneously, then laugh. He knows me too well.
"Um," I mutter and get off the couch, heading towards the kitchen for some paper towels.
"Wait, don't." He reaches for my arm and locks his fingers around my wrist, pulling me back. "I have an idea." He kisses me swiftly on the cheek and runs up the stairs. When he disappears into my room, I furrow my eyebrows with curiosity. Should I go up and check on him? I decide not to, and instead, I pick up the cup to throw it away in the kitchen.
I come out and I see him working with fierce determination on the stool. What's he holding?
"Sewing?" I ask incredulously, trying to stifle a giggle. I fail.
"Hey, don't laugh," he playfully scolds me, never taking his eyes off the stool. "The stain's not going to come out, we both know that, and I don't want you to have to throw the chair away."
"What are you sewing on it?" Walking closer to get a better glimpse, I pause beside him and kneel down. So far there's about two inches of black thread.
He looks up at me, winks and smiles, then says "You'll see" before turning back to his work.
She loves the feel of the raised bump, and decides to leave her hand over the black-threaded heart Chuck had sewn on her favorite chair.
Feeling a little lump in her throat, she grabs the cup of water on the table and takes a chug. She's missing him again.
She glances at the door leading to the backyard and decides that he won't come in for at least another half hour. She sets the metal stick against the wall with her free hand, and, while tracing the outline of the heart, allows her mind to roam where it pleases.
"And he's so cute!"
I'm barely listening to what my best friend Serena is telling me. I just keep staring at him, and yes, he is so cute. Not the same guy my best friend is talking about, but I don't care. Lately he's the only thing I've cared about.
"Blair!"
"Hm?" I sigh.
"Are you staring at that Chuck Bass again?"
"What!? Pbblt, no!" I wrinkle my nose and shake my head. "Of course not!"
Her eyes narrow at me. "Uh huh. So what was I talking about for the past ten minutes?"
"Uh." Damn it. "How that guy was so cute?"
A laugh escapes from her lips. "You like Chuck. It's not a crime."
"It is when all the other girls like him." A hard edge comes into my voice, and I have no clue where it came from.
"It's so odd," Serena continues, as if I had not said a thing. "You're Queen B, you know? And you're falling for Chuck, the notorious playboy. It's just such a weird couple."
"You always thought I'd end up with Nate. That's the only reason. And we're not a couple," I snap at her.
"Not for long," she says in a sing-song voice. "Look behind you. And for the record, I only thought you were going to end up with Nate because everyone else did, once upon a time." She winks at me and picks up her tray, leaving.
"Serena? Where are you going?" I shout after her and she walks away even faster.
"Well, this seat's not taken, I guess," a raspy voice says to me. I've never talked to him, but I already know who the voice belongs to.
"Chuck Bass? What are you doing over here?" I push my hands under the table so he can't see the sheen of sweat that has formed on my palms.
"You were staring at me with a 'come hither' type of look. So I came and hithered." He winks and I feel my insides melt.
"Do you even know what that means?" What a lame response.
He shrugs and waves it off. "So, you're Blair Waldorf, huh?"
"That would be me." My throat tightens.
Wearing a blue cotton sweater, he extends his arm out to me. "Pleasure."
- - -
"I'm not so sure about this…" I say shakily.
"You've never ditched class before?" He almost laughs.
Shaking my head, I swallow the lump in my throat. It tastes like guilt. "No."
"Ditching's healthy every once in awhile," he tries to assure me as we're walking in the parking lot.
"Okay…" My voice continues to sound uneven and I curse at myself mentally. "So, uh, which one is your car?" I try to distract myself from the guilt.
"Right here," he says and points at a black motorcycle.
My eyes widen and I grip my arm to prevent myself from shaking. It's no longer guilt. It's fear.
He must have seen my expression because he chuckles amusedly as he looks at me before handing me a helmet. "C'mon," he says, voice light, "live a little."
- - -
It's the first time we've ever fought, and I've never been hurt so badly. It feels like… well, to be honest, like my heart was ripped in a million pieces, pulled out of my chest, thrown into a fire, and I had to watch it burn. Salty tears form in my eyes and I let them fall.
As quickly as I thought I had been going, he catches up to me and places his hand on my shoulder.
Shrugging it off, I turn to face him and snap, "What do you want!?"
"I want you," he answers simply, but I can hear the ferociousness in his voice.
"You've got me," I say bitterly.
And then our lips crash, him being the one who initiated the collision.
- - -
"You did it last time."
"Because you really wanted me to."
"And I want you to do it again. Please, just try?" I plead, pouting.
He stares at me as if dumbfounded and we stay like that for a while. "Fine," he huffs, "but I won't like it."
I let a laugh escape from my chest and give him a genuine smile when he pokes my shoulder teasingly. We've been officially together for eight months, but his touch still makes me shiver.
Taking the notebook out of my hand, he sinks into the swivel chair facing my desk and places it on the table. He grabs a pen, opens the math book, and scribbles the first problem onto the graph paper. I sit patiently on my bed and watch him mumble to himself as he tries to figure out the problem.
"Done," he says after some minutes and a smile lights up my face.
"Done so quickly? I'm impressed."
He nods and watches me as I check his homework. There are three problems done on the front page, all of which are correct, and I flip it over.
I LOVE YOU, BLAIR WALDORF is scribbled on the back side and my smile grows wider.
"But I don't love math," I hear him say. I laugh.
- - -
"Sacrifice."
I shake my head, shying away from the concoction in front of me. "Do I have to drink it?"
"Just a swig."
He brings the beer bottle closer to me and I grab it. I take a deep breath and bring the glass closer to my lips, tilting it so that the golden liquid drips into my mouth. I cringe at the taste. "Ew!"
"Swallow it, B!"
I do as he tells me before setting the bottle on the counter. I run to the kitchen and swallow a mouthful of tap water in attempt to wash out the taste. "You suck," I yell at him when I hear him approach.
His laugh sounds sweet. "I do."
"That beer sucks."
"It does not."
"It does."
He laughs again and wraps his arms around my waist, pressing his face against my brown hair.
- - -
By now, she's smiling so much that it looks like she has a hanger in her mouth. Thinking of Chuck always did this to the brunette, no matter how much it hurt. The good times overweigh the bad, she believes, because really, there were no bad times when she was with him. It was like everything was right with the world.
Chuck Bass had taught her much. Who knew that Blair Waldorf would be learning the two most important things from him? Who knew he would be the one to teach her the thing she couldn't do on her own? To live and to love. She credits everything to that one boy. Everything.
But they were right. They were all right. Her relationship with Chuck couldn't last. They were on for three years; that was considered amazing. But apparently, there wasn't enough to keep it going. How so, she wonders? He had taught her everything she considered important. That was enough. He had loved her. That was enough. She had changed him for the better. That was enough. She had loved him. That was enough. It should've been enough, but it wasn't. They still don't know why they parted, but neither of them brings it up when they see each other. Perhaps it was because they were so different, it was just impossible. Who knows? And now, with regret and doubt still in their hearts, they can only dwell on the memories.
"You're smiling a lot. What are you thinking about?" a voice questions from behind her. Nate Archibald bends down to kiss her on the cheek before sitting across from her on the white couch.
Snapping back into reality, she takes his hand and holds it in one of hers. "The perfect guy." Blair grins a tiny smile at him. Her fingers run over the black heart.
You were everything that's bad for me.
Make no apologies.
I'm crushed,
Black and blue,
But you know I'd do it all again for you.
;My oneshots always have sad endings. Damn it. ;/ I hate myself for it. Forgive me, fellow Waldass lovers.
Sequel? Hm, maybe. Tell me in a review.