Second story ever written, first Gossip Girl FF. This just came to me after seeing a clip on YouTube from season two. I suppose you could say my prompt in my head was, "You came to me, broken, giving me all the pieces to fix you. And I tried." Anyway, tell me what you think of this. Constructive criticism and reviews are always welcome.
xoxo, ginbug
You had always been there. Since we were little, we had always been around each other; growing up with the glorious blondes we called our best friends. You were always a little different, a little more risqué, a little edgier. This became more evident as we became older. You dabbled in things I would never dream of, while I engaged in my dream, the fairy tale romance I always wanted. But I was never wanted by him. He merely casted me aside when it came to her. She was tall, blonde, thin, everything I felt I wasn't. This was when my eating disorder arose. I felt subordinate to the blonde goddess whose shadow I lived in. By throwing up, I felt as though I could control how things went. I always did like the feeling of being in power, of being powerful. I lived out the movie in my head, something he never grasped, but you always seemed to understand. Sometimes, I would find small things that seemed ordinary, but I knew had been implemented by you to help me fulfill my movie. Like my first headband, when I was in the sixth grade. I think that was almost an apology gift that I found on my bed. After I found out what you did with her, I was shocked and appalled. You felt guilty, but never let anyone see that. The day we got into that huge fight at school was when I came home to find a wrapped present on my bed, with a small card that had your initials engraved attached. That headband was my personal tiara, the crown I wore to distinguish myself as ruler, even when I felt that little tramp had taken that from me by doing those things with you. Those feelings faded, but the headbands remained. And they kept coming on birthdays and holidays, each more exquisite than the next.
When half of the glorious blonde duo left, I felt empty. I clung to the only thing I felt I had left, which was him. But, he wasn't the same. He was distanced, never really there. You weren't there, either. You kept drifting away, getting more and more involved in the things that ordinary people disapproved of. You were the talk of the town; people pitied your father for having you, the party boy who couldn't get enough of sex and drugs, for a son. I tried to keep you as a friend, but eventually, you too deserted me for him. We only ever talked when I needed to scheme. Mainly because you were too lost in your world of parties to be a friend.
Then, she came back, and my whole world started to fall apart. He didn't love me. He never had. I had no one else to turn to, and I came to you. Running, crying, a broken mess, I came back to the one person I knew could fix me. And that night, I gave you everything I had. You filled me, and I had never felt so right. But, because it was you, I thought it was wrong. You brought me the most gorgeous jewelry I had ever seen, and apologized, capturing part of me. I wouldn't admit you had my heart, because that would be accepting defeat. Rather, we played a game, one with secrets, lies, and deception. But at the first sign of him coming back to me, I ran away from you, and straight into his arms, which never felt as right as yours did around me, stroking me in all the right places, his voice never husky enough and never saying just what I needed to hear at just the right moment. Finally, I admitted that you were what I wanted, and you stopped your crazy life to be with me, too.
It seemed perfect; it was perfect, until you left me. I used another man to drive you wild, and it worked. But then I tried to make you say those words to me. The ones I needed to hear. And you wouldn't say them. You still seduced me, you still made me burn with a passion no one else could match, but you still wouldn't admit anything. We played our game, our game of dangerous love, of deceit and wit, until tragedy hit. Your father died, and you were a wreck. I quit the game then, and uttered those three magic words; the ones I thought would make it all better. I love you, I said, and you brushed them aside, and ran away. I was brokenhearted, and then you came running back when I least expected it. You fell into my lap, broken, giving me all the pieces to your heart that was left in shambles. You left after that night you stayed with me in my bed, and began to drink heavily again. Still, I held onto the pieces and tried to put you back together, even when you threw my work into my face. But after a while, you can only be so supportive of something that's pushing you away. So I quit.
I went back to him when my life was falling apart again, and I thought living under my fairy tale would make things better again. I lived in my delusion, hurting myself and hurting you. Once I realized that he wasn't going to work, he never had and he never would, I told her. She knew all along I loved you, and tried her hardest to get you to tell me, too. It was to her you first said those magic words about me. "Because I love her, and I can't make her happy," you said to her. But I wouldn't believe that. You made me happy by being you. I tried to make you say those words back, by pulling out all the stops and seduction. Just as you were about to say those magic words, my secret was out, as was yours. I took your face in my hands, and told you how much I loved you, but you turned me away, left broken and bleeding. I accepted this, and tried to move on, with a huge hole in my heart where you belonged. Finally, you came around, bearing my favorite gifts, and the present I would cherish for a lifetime. "I love you, too," you said, and gave me the gift of you, of your heart, given to someone for the very first time. You gave me second chances, you gave me happiness, and you gave me all you felt I deserved. But the one thing you never stopped giving me was love, and the promise that you loved me. What I had needed all along. You gave me you, and that was the best thing I ever received.
So today, on our 50th anniversary, I'm giving you this. Our story. Our crazy, mixed up, out of whack story that took seventeen years to start, and a lifetime to finish. I love you, Chuck Bass.
Forever yours, Blair
