Pump. The. Brakes.
WOW. When I posted this yesterday, I figured I'd get a review. If I was lucky. I didn't expect to wake up this morning to my BlackBerry full of emails about reviews, favorites, and alerts. I'm so appreciative that I can't even begin to explain it. I love to write and I'm glad you all have enjoyed this so far. I replied to most if not all of your reviews, but I can't always promise to do that – especially in the next couple weeks as finals are coming up. I also can't promise to update as frequently during finals, but I'll do my best to get a couple out a week. I mean, this is just so much more fun than studying for mass communication history or media law and ethics.
This update has the smallest of spoilers in it – just a name, really, nothing more. This one sets up where Blair is and the next chapter (which is already done) will commence moving the story along. In my opinion, Blair has lost a chunk of her backbone in season 3 and needs to find it again. So here is where Blair stands. 3 Sorry for the long A/N!
21 days.
9 hours.
8 minutes.
Blair Waldorf was ashamed that she could recite with minute accuracy how long it had been since she had watched Chuck Bass leave Dorota and Vanya's reception with the too tall Russian. She didn't want to be that girl. The girl who sat around sighing, waiting for the love of her life to return while gazing morosely at mementos from happy days gone by. Chuck certainly wasn't doing anything of the sort, judging by Gossip Girl's almost daily reports of a revolving door of upscale hookers and Chuck's apparent return to excessive partying and boozing.
She allowed herself precisely one day to grieve following Dorota's wedding. She had spent enough time shedding tears over Chuck, she had declared to Nate who acted as her sounding board when they were once more in the safety of her bedroom. The next day, she had pulled herself up by her metaphoric bootstraps and dived head first into any task that would help her forget.
A tour of Columbia had been first on her to do list. She had fallen in love with the campus, felt as though she belonged there. She wasted no time in applying as a transfer student and requesting her transcripts from NYU. She buried herself in schoolwork and had stellar grades to show for it, all the better reason for Columbia to accept her. She devoted afternoons to decorating Dorota and Vanya's small Queens apartment, paying special attention to the baby's nursery. Sometimes, she even found herself having coffee with Dan and Vanessa – and oddly, enjoying their company.
She was proud of herself. The urge to retreat to her bathroom, her safe place, was strong. Incredibly strong. Sometimes she even swore she heard her toilet calling her name. She had resisted, however, if only for Serena's benefit. Serena had enough to deal with right now without her best friend reverting to her old habits. Without Serena to pull her back from the ledge, she knew it would only end badly so she had willed her brain to think of something else and given every piece of sweet she could find in the house to an all too happy Dorota.
When Cameron had asked her to dinner, she had accepted before she could talk herself out of it. Before a voice that sounded oddly like Chuck Bass whispered in her ear to turn him down. She had dressed carefully for the evening, paying special attention to make sure she didn't put off the wrong vibe. It was just a dinner, she told herself, making sure her chest was adequately covered and her skirt a safe length. She wasn't going to go home with him, even allow him to kiss her goodnight.
Cameron had turned out to be charming company. She had laughed, listened to his stories with real interest. Under other circumstances, she would have swooned and prepared to trade her soul for a second date with him. Yet as she removed her dress in her own bedroom that night, she was acutely aware of the lack of sparks between them. She knew Cameron would be no more than a friend, simply because the storm that was Chuck Bass had blown into her life.
She allowed herself to think about Chuck once she pulled her eye mask on and settled into bed. A part of her ached for him, a part that was bigger than she wanted to admit. There was something about being in Chuck's arms that made her feel as though there was nothing or anyone that could hurt her. A month ago, she would have never believed it would be Chuck himself who took that protection away. Nothing would have made her believe that the man who clung to her in his sleep as though his life was inexplicable tied to her own would be the one who wounded her so deeply.
She believed Chuck when he'd said he was sorry. She could see it in his eyes. He was never one to mince words or say things he didn't mean. His 'I'm sorry' was genuine, even if it wasn't enough. He was woefully ignorant to believe he could woo her back with a few apologies and a necklace. He didn't understand that, however. He didn't understand a lot of things - what his betrayal had done to her, how dirty she had felt even as she had approached the doors to Chuck-turned-Jack's penthouse or after Jack had touched her knee, kissed her lips.
Twice now, Chuck had said no one had made her go to Jack. But that was where he was wrong. He had made her go to Jack. Her desperation to save him, to bring him happiness, to protect him, had driven her to Jack. She had sacrificed herself, her beliefs, for his happiness. That was what Chuck didn't understand.
She wondered if Chuck understood love. He had certainly never received it as a child and had only been able to say the words 'I love you' for less than a year. Maybe she had been foolish to believe Chuck, after his terrible childhood and deep rooted fears, was capable of truly loving. It made her physically ill to even consider the prospect, but in light of recent events, what choice did she have?
In her mind, The Empire was a thing. Compared to the love she at least thought she had shared with Chuck, it was miniscule, a minor detail, a place they went to hide from the outside world. If roles had been reversed, The Empire hers and Jack her uncle, she would let him have the damn thing if it meant sacrificing Chuck in some manner. Because to her, having someone to love and who loved you in return was exponentially more important than a pile of steel and stone.
But she understood what The Empire meant to Chuck. It was physical evidence that he was doing something right. It was a sign that he could be better than Bart Bass, God rest his soul. It was his tangible proof that his father had been wrong about him. It was, in essence, Chuck. That knowledge alone was what had driven her to Jack. That and the fear of what would happen to Chuck if he lost The Empire when she had the chance to save it. She had been terrified of the route Chuck would take if he suddenly lost everything he stood for.
She had thought a lot about those days following Bart's death, when Chuck had gone on wild, drunken, and drugged rampage across the world, spiraling further and further out of control, living metaphorically and literally on the edge as she sat on the edge of her bed, fingering the dress meant for her to wear for Jack. It had taken everything she could muster to pull Chuck out of the darkness he was living in then. She knew in the pit of her stomach that this time, if he made it back there, it would be far worse. There would be no saving him. She couldn't bear to watch him self-destruct again.
Chuck understood none of this though. He didn't understand that he had thrown every 'I love you' he had ever muttered in her face with his twisted game. He had only thought of her as a pawn as he had designed and schemed. He hadn't thought of how her heart had hammered as she'd pulled on that dress or how her hands had shook as she'd reached for the door handle to the penthouse. He hadn't considered how she would feel about herself or how the hot water would scald her skin as she scrubbed violently with a loofah to rid herself of any essence Jack may have left on her during their brief encounter. He didn't account for her washing her mouth out with Listerine so many times it became raw.
To tell her everything had been for nothing made her want to shake him, ask him if it were his idea of a joke. To him, it had been nothing. To her, it had been everything.
Her phone buzzed. She blindly reached for it, realizing she hadn't checked her messages during her time with Cameron. Serena had sent her several, checking in, asking how things were going. Nate had sent her a note of encouragement earlier in the evening, followed by an 'are you okay?' message recently. Dan had invited her to join him and Vanessa for coffee before their classes on Monday. Even Dorota had checked in to let her know she was going to bed, still no baby. The concern of those around her made her smile. She had people who cared about her, even if none of them were Chuck.
It was Gossip Girl's alerts, however, that made the anxiety in her chest rise. She ignored the posts about Jenny Humphrey's latest troubles and Eric Van Der Woodson's latest beau. She read the one with her name, however:
Spotted: The Upper East Side's most single gal wining and dining with an old money stud. Looks like a fond farewell to the Basstard that broke her heart to me.
She deleted the alert the moment she finished reading it. She wished she didn't feel guilty, as though she had cheated on Chuck. She wished she didn't wonder how Chuck had taken the news that she was, at least in appearances, moving on. She wondered if it had bothered him at all. Her hand trembled in the slightest as she opened the alert containing Chuck's name.
Spotted: Tonight's flavors – one vanilla, two chocolate, and another a tropical blend – entering The Empire. I hear the Basstard owner is having quite the private party in his penthouse. Wonder if it's his way of telling a certain brunette Chuck you?
Again, she deleted the message quickly. Was he saying 'Chuck you' to her? Was tonight's party in response to her pseudo date? Did Chuck even know she had gone out with someone? Would he care?
She closed her eyes tightly and shook her head. It didn't matter, she told herself. They were done. What and who Chuck did was his business now, not hers. She tried instead to refocus her thoughts on an upcoming essay in her Women's Studies class which, naturally, redirected her thoughts to what Chuck was currently up to.
Certain he had a bed full of women to keep him company, she reached for a pillow to fill the void in her bed. She wished it could fill the void in her heart as well.
