A/N: So I started this when I shouldn't have since I have like 5 multi fics going on but this just has to be written. I honestly dont know how frequently this will be submitted but I'm trying to get my others out frequently so... who knows. But I hope this will suffice for now.

Summary: "You didn't exactly complain last night about how I defiled you," Chuck sneered. "And I don't think it's classified as violation when you squirmed with so much pleasure around me. I'm surprised someone didn't call the authorities. It sounded like you were getting murdered."

Disclaimer: SL belongs to Buffy. Characters belong to the geniuses at CW and the beta belongs to comewhatmay.x who did it twice because she's awesome and I'm an idiot.

I'm positively feverish.

I've never hated anyone more.

Every nerve ending in my body is electrified by hatred.

There is a fire pit of hate burning inside me, ready to explode.

Blair dug her fingernails into the carpet, willing her eyes not to open. But the very fact that she was on carpet and not underneath her silk duvet in lacy lingerie told her that very thing that she had willed herself not to remember. She tried not to remember how he fisted his hand through her hair and ripped her garter to shreds.

She tried not to remember that her dress was currently halfway across the room and not on her body. Goosebumps rose on her arm and although she was no longer wearing her dress, she found her eyes opening of their own accord to discover she was wearing something else.

It smelled like him. She pushed herself onto her side and she knew he was still there. She couldn't bear to look behind her, where he undoubtedly was, but Chuck Bass wouldn't have left his jacket that he had thrust away from him the previous night. It was the sole understanding that if the house had crumbled to the ground, she wouldn't have noticed. Not while he had been touching her like that. Not while she could feel the heat of his eyes burning into her back.

It was something that she could no longer ignore and she turned to her side, clutching his jacket across her body to see him staring at her, completely unabashed that he was wearing even less than she was.

"That's a good look for you."

Her mind was still humming from the memories of piano tops and moans cresting into the night.

"But I must admit, to complete the ensemble, it belongs on the floor."

Blair self-consciously dragged his jacket to cover her thighs. He smirked in amusement at any flesh she bared, hating how they had literally come full circle. Having sex like the sixteen-year-olds they were in the most inappropriate of places.

"Serena," Blair blurted suddenly in horror.

"I don't know what about this situation reminds you about Serena," Chuck said, "but if so, I hope you filmed it."

"You're heinous," Blair said reflexively.

He was looking at her in that way was dangerous again and she knew this was all wrong. This was wrong because they were both falling so fast towards each other like they had the first time and it was just wrong.

"Serena must have come home last night," Blair said. "What if she saw us?"

"I could get into that," he said smarmily. "But you don't remember."

"Remember what?"

He was smug and she didn't like it.

"Serena came home while we were recuperating between rounds 1 and 2," he answered. "Good thing she didn't arrive about two minutes earlier or she definitely would have heard you climaxing on top of that piano."

She glared furiously at him, so flustered that she couldn't find the proper words to fight him. Then again, what they had done was the opposite of fighting. Even when they had torn their peace to shreds, they both found a way to turn everything on its head.

"What I'm curious about is if we woke Eleanor," Chuck mused, looking at the ceiling. Blair cursed herself. In the throes of passion even she forgot that her own mother was staying at the penthouse.

"I have to go," Blair announced, getting to her feet. Chuck kept his lounging position on the floor, staring up at her in almost an accusatory glance.

"You have to go," he repeated. "This is your house."

"Fine," Blair snapped. "Then you have to go."

"We both know that isn't going to be happening any time soon."

"Why not?" Blair burst out in frustration. "We hate each other."

"Maybe," Chuck said. "But I can honestly say this enemies with benefits route we're taking has potential. I never knew hating someone so much could lead to such pleasurable ends."

"Well it doesn't," Blair answered. "Because it was just a one-time thing."

"Was it?" Chuck asked in mock curiosity. "Because by basic math, last night I calculated it to being about a five-time thing."

Blair closed her eyes against his words and his sardonic chuckle echoed in her ears.

"Face it, Waldorf," Chuck sighed lazily, "we opened a floodgate last night. There's no going back now."

"Well you need to," Blair answered. "Because this can't happen again."

"Why?"

An answer not coming to mind, Blair just threw his jacket at his face. Knowing she had limited time before he started leering again, she tugged her dress back up her body before starting a search for her shoes.

"I think they landed somewhere behind the piano," Chuck said ever so helpfully. "After you dug them into my back, at least."

"You're not helping," Blair said scornfully.

"Of course I am," he answered. "I'm helping you realize that fighting your desires is futile. Whether we're at war or not, attempting to stop this is about as effective as attempting to stop an avalanche."

"It's possible if you never did anything to start it," Blair replied, keeping herself sane by looking for her shoes and not into the scalding eyes that could always see her right to her core.

"If that were possible," he said. "But we both know it's not."

"Serena could be getting up at any moment," Blair attempted to appeal to his logic. "I doubt she would be pleased at seeing us in this position."

"I can think of a lot of positions that would be pleasing," he said smoothly.

For the first time since exhaustion had overtaken her that night, she let herself look at him. His eyes were probing and intrusive but she knew every word he spoke was the truth. They could never control themselves when they were around each other. And she knew that Chuck was far past caring. She hated how his lack of morals made her strip down even faster but this was something that could not continue.

"Besides," he answered. "I don't quite feel like moving at the present moment."

He leaned back against the piano, tucking his arms behind his head, looking as comfortable as he could muster. Such an act was respectably easy when she was looking at him like that. Her hair that had been tousled almost violently by his own hands made her ripped stockings and rumpled dress even more evident that she had been thoroughly ravished hours previous. If Serena did in fact come down the stairs, there would be no denying what had just happened. But he just couldn't help it. He couldn't help but cave to her.

"You really think that enacting a sit-in is going to change what has to happen?" Blair asked. "This isn't happening again."

"You said that already."

"This was a mistake," Blair said strongly, "and I won't defile myself by letting you violate me again."

She shouldn't have been standing that close to him because fury so familiar to her birthday flashed in his eyes and his hand clasped around her wrist, pulling her down into his lap.

"You didn't exactly complain last night about how I defiled you," Chuck sneered. "And I don't think it's classified as violation when you squirmed with so much pleasure around me. I'm surprised someone didn't call the authorities. It sounded like you were getting murdered."

"Let go of me."

He could affect her too effortlessly and too greatly. He was wearing absolutely nothing and their predicament was far too compromising.

"Make me," he taunted. She attempted to berate him across his far too naked chest but it only further incurred his enthusiasm. "I really wasn't planning to have my morning fraught with play fighting with you."

"Play fighting," she laughed bitterly. "This is me hating you."

"You made quite the impression last night," he answered. "So much that I was looking forward to more of that the present moment."

"Well you won't be getting it."

"Waldorf," he said with condescending amusement, his hand creeping too far up her bare thigh. "I think you forgot something."

Blair bit back a moan as his wicked fingers took advantage of her.

"You're not getting out of this," he rasped huskily into her ear. "I knew it. I knew this was how it had to be between us. I knew it couldn't end just like that. I knew that it could only get better once I screwed you again."

Blair's hands met his shoulders with a furious shove and she was on her feet again. For a halting moment, he thought he saw it. He thought he saw some sort of betrayal at his words. But this wasn't anything but just sex to her. It had to be. So why should it be any different for him?

But he knew that it was. Even if he couldn't admit it to himself.

"Don't act so high and mighty, lover," Chuck said in that relaxed tone that always followed their dalliances into the night and made her quiver. "I know you."

Chuck didn't have to get from the ground that he found so comfortable to make her feel anything but.

"I know you better than anyone," he remarked, "and you know it. You know that I know how to make you squirm with a simple look. You and I are the same. And that will never change."

"You think last night mattered?" Blair sneered cruelly. "You were just there."

"I was just there," he repeated. "You are so convinced in your denial. I was there because there was no other way that this could go. You don't let them do the things I do to you. You don't let them make you scream. No one can do the things I do to you. That's why last night happened."

She watched in dismay as he finally made it to his feet in his fit of anger, grabbing his pants to sheath himself in accompanied by his wrath.

"You think last night was the same as any other?" Chuck asked. "It wasn't. You let me touch you. You practically begged me. You climbed on that piano yourself. You can't deny that things changed last night. They did."

"You're the one who just wanted to screw me one last time."

"It wasn't just one," he reminded her malevolently. "Just try to deny it. Tell me that you've had better. Just try."

Her face faltered and his dark laughter ricocheted off her walls.

"You should do something about those ego-maniacal tendencies," Blair seethed. "It's not nearly as becoming as you think it is."

"No," he agreed, "but you're the one who won't let me go. I may be unable to resist you but you're the one who's supposed to be the Ice Queen. What's your excuse? No one has ever got you as hot as me. And no one ever will. I may be a boozing, lecherous debaucher, but you're the one who seeks it out. You pretend to be pristine and virginal on the outside but I know who you are. On the inside, you're just like me. And I love being inside you."

His arm had slung around her neck, bringing her against his very bare chest. She braced herself against him, feeling so vulnerable as his natural musk surrounded her. At their proximity she could see the slight abrasions on his chest and could only imagine what his back looked like due to her nails the heels of her spiky shoes that she had forgotten to take off.

The first time.

"If you won't leave," Blair said quietly. "I will. I have class anyway."

"On a Sunday?" Chuck asked, seeing right through her. "I doubt you would go to class in a evening gown that has my stains all over it anyway."

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" Blair asked, attempting to a different tactic.

"Me?" he asked. "Where would I have to be? I have no ambition except getting you into bed."

His eyes raked over her disheveled form.

"Not that we even made it there."

"And we never will."

"I'm looking forward to the exertion of breaking down your defenses to get into that bed I've missed so much," he responded easily. "That was always the exciting thing about you. You never gave up easily. Though you gave it up pretty easily last night. Absence makes the heart grow fonder."

"If you tell anyone what happened last night," Blair vowed, "I will do everything in my power to discredit it."

"That might be sort of hard," Chuck said, reaching into his pocket, retrieving exactly what she couldn't find that morning. "Not when I have this as evidence."

Blair didn't bother retrieving her own underwear before kicking him savagely in the shin.

"Be seeing you, lover," Chuck said after her as she left him in her angry wake, fleeing up the stairs without bothering to fetch her shoes.

It was strange. It wasn't like he was worried or anything. He was a guy and Chuck had the tendency to disappear for a few days. But ever since that catastrophe with Juliet, Nate needed something to focus on. Dan was cool to forget about the Upper East Side but Chuck was Chuck. And right now, Chuck looked like he had just been through a wind tunnel.

"Hey," Nate said after the sound of the elevator had alerted him of the presence of his best friend. Chuck looked around the furnishings of his penthouse, looking more dazed than Nate thought he had the capacity for.

The suit that he had been wearing the previous night hung off of him at odd angles. His shirt was untucked from his pants, his tie was nowhere to be seen, and his hair was in such a state of disarray Nate could hardly recognize him.

"You usually bring your conquests home with you," Nate noted. Chuck sauntered casually through the foyer, still looking around quizzically. "You okay, man? Or was it just a heavy night at Victrola after Blair kicked you out?"

Chuck's eyes finally snapped to attention and Nate new exactly what word made the focus sharper.

"Blair," Nate suggested again. "You know about last night. I know what that treaty meant to you. But if you actually-"

It was the first laugh he had heard from Chuck in a long while.

"That treaty is the last thing on my mind, Nathaniel," Chuck said with a lascivious smirk, making Nate sure there was some inside joke he was missing out on.

"You know how Blair gets," Nate said. "Eventually the two of you will be back to how you were before."

"In what way?" Chuck said suggestively. "That mishap with the treaty, actually, was one of the best things that could have happened to me."

"In what way?" Nate asked in confusion.

"I'm going to head to bed," Chuck answered evasively. "I had a long night."

Nate knew as he watched Chuck slide the doors of his bedroom closed behind him. Those answers were exactly the sort Nate would get after Blair had broken up with him the first time. That attention every time her name was mention was exactly the way Chuck acted before their Cotillion so many years ago.

Nate just hoped everyone was right and that his instincts weren't that sharp.

He didn't look like himself. That much he was sure of as he stared at his reflection in the mirror. At least he didn't look like the self that he had come back from the summer as. But for the first time in six months, he had never felt more himself than ever. And he knew exactly who to attribute that to.

Blair Cornelia Waldorf.

This was it. This was him, he was sure of it. Before her, his life was just a wasteland or bottomless drinks, easy girls, and his father's apathy. And then there was her. Then he became who he was truly meant to be.

When she went away, he was nothing. His life was an abyss of alcohol and women without faces. He found himself wandering around and wondering how he got to be in Prague's red light district. He wasn't himself. He was this fake person who smiled too much and pretended that half of his soul hadn't left him.

Things were different now. Now he knew it. Now he knew what it was like to be Chuck Bass again. Because as he looked in the mirror, it never felt more right. His eyes were bloodshot and he knew he smelled of Cacharel Promesse that coated no other woman but his.

Things were different because now he knew. Now he knew that she was just as lost as he was. She felt empty inside because when he filled that void, her voice crested and he never felt more complete.

There was one thing that he knew without a doubt. Last night would not be the last time.

Chuck stepped away and walked towards his bed. He leaned against the back wall in exhaustion, sliding to the floor. He reached behind his bed to retrieve a perfectly rolled joint. Smoke filled his lungs gloriously as he held it in before exhaling with relief. He closed his eyes, feeling familiar contentment that this was exactly where he was meant to be.

He remembered a time where he had to sneak into his own sister's shower to mask the effects of toking up. Things had changed so wildly and yet they were the same. They were the same because finally, he had something to live for again.

Chuck traced his hand over the ornate carving attached to his bed. Something that he had not dared to look upon since his not so triumphant return. Without thinking, he opened the drawer beneath his bed only to be assaulted with perfect memories that he had commanded himself to keep locked away, for fear of that same dark place he had reached that night he fell into a maelstrom he could only define as hell.

He removed the lacy undergarment that was still in his front pocket like a pocket square to toss it on top of every single thing that reminded him of her. The first of which were thousands of candid pictures that had accumulated over the past year. He removed the one from the top, relieved that his fear of further heartbreak had not come to pass.

Taken more than a year ago, Chuck couldn't remember how it had landed among his possessions despite the fact that he was half of the whole in it. He remembered the ecstatic pleasure he had felt that night at Lily and Rufus' wedding. Things had come so far since then now that he was barely allowed in his own stepmother's penthouse.

But there she was in the glossy photo, her arms wrapped around his neck in an intimate dance like only they could perform in a loft in Brooklyn. He had heard awkwardly constructed vows but couldn't help but look to his side at the brunette that he was finally allowed to call his. To his astonishment, she had been looking right back and it was at the moment that he knew without a doubt.

One day, he would make her his wife.

He laid the photograph gently back on the pile, knowing that wasn't exactly what he had opened this drawer for. He knew it was settled at the bottom where it could only only be found if someone knew exactly where to look.

Only Chuck did.

He reached down, feeling its velvet exterior, his fingers wrapping around it. He pulled his hand out, letting the smallest of boxes rest in the palm of his hand. He closed his eyes and felt his fingers work like second nature to open it.

He couldn't look. He didn't want to look. It was so acutely painful and so tragically beautiful that he didn't want to look. Because even now, it seemed like something he could never obtain.

He opened his eyes to see the perfect eight-karat diamond settled in silk. He knew the engraving by heart and the perfect date, 11/07/07, when he had first fallen in love with her. He could still remember every minute detail that she had given him when they were together.

This box was better with the rest of those possessions that would never see the light of day again. They were better off forgotten.

Or at least they had been. Because last night changed things. Last night gave him something he was never meant to have.

Hope.

Chuck shoved the drawer closed before dizzily getting to his feet. He knew thoughts like those were toxic at this point. She was convinced that the previous night was a one-time mistake that would never be happening again.

He was going to persuade her differently. Because if there was one thing that Chuck Bass was good at, it was making Blair Waldorf's inhibitions run free.

Chuck stalked over to his closet. He opened the doors, walking past the lining of designer suits to reach the one part of the walk in closet that no one had reached. It was a place that Chuck hadn't let himself by and certainly no one but him knew of its existence.

He stopped before the garments, almost afraid to reach out and touch them like he used to when they donned that certain other half of his. There weren't many. She had taken most of them back after those fleeting words and her fading footsteps.

Goodbye, Chuck.

She had so many dresses certainly she wouldn't miss these five that still hung at the back of his closet. Almost as though she had just gone on a vacation or a business trip and she would come back to live with him once again.

Chuck ran his fingertips over the expensive silk, glorying in the feel of them again without her rebuff. The most expensive silk that old money could buy. The most high class perfection because that's what she was. Nothing could exceed Blair Waldorf.

He knew this was wrong. Almost as though he were invading her. But as he buried his nose into the fabric and let her complete essence surround him, he could forget that she still hated him. At least for a moment.

He can hear her laughing again. It iss something that he can't remember being blessed with for so long. Her dark tresses flow down her shoulders and he is whole again. Her lips are hot on his and he can breathe again. The world could collapses around them and he doesn't know because she is sighing his name without any sort of resentment or discontent.

His heart is caught in his throat and his breathing is unpracticed and uneven only in the way that it is when he's buried deep inside of her like this. They scratch and bite and bleed on each other and they are connected again.

"Chuck."

Her voice is distant and beautiful and he wants her to murmur it, sigh it, scream it for the rest of their lives.

A bullet embedded in his flesh was nothing. It was nothing because he was back with her again. Not even death could stop him from coming back for her.

"Did it hurt?"

"I've had worse."

"Have you?"

"I lost you, haven't I?"

"You're not really telling me that was worse."

"Nothing could compare to the pain of that. Not even a bullet."

"Stop talking like that."

"Why?"

"Because we hate each other."

More kisses. More scratches. More wounds. But he's in her again. Where he's meant to be.

"This is right."

"Stop talking like that."

"Why?"

"Because we hate each other."

He never says it. He never says that thing that is at the back of his throat because he feels pressure and he is spewing all over her every sweet feeling and sordid pleasure.

All he ever can say is the one syllable that is her name.

And his own name is the last thing that echoes in his ears before a sharp pain is delivered to his chest.

Chuck sat up with a start and knew he wasn't dreaming any longer. For a moment, he was sure that he was because of the darkly ethereal woman standing before him. But he knew he wasn't dreaming.

He could smell her again.

Blair was relieved that when she walked into the penthouse that still held so much weight for her, that Nate was nowhere to be seen. She attempted to walk quietly but her expensive heels clicked efficiently on the tiled floor, making her wince. Still, Nathaniel did not make himself known so she continued towards the familiar double doors.

He was sleeping.

Typical.

His breathing was deep and even as his bare chest rose and fell. She dimly wondered where all of his clothes went when a nasty voice in her head replied on the floor of your bedroom.

"Chuck," Blair said, trying to silence her inner monologue. His eyelids fluttered and she knew that he was dreaming. He tossed slightly and his sheets dipped lower so that she was keenly aware that he was wearing no clothes.

At all.

"Charles Bass."

She attempted to make her voice get louder but even at his full name, her voice was still a deathly whisper. She started forward, not sure how to wake him without touching him.

Touching him, she knew, was terrible. Touching him would be the end of her because it always was. With a single touch he could command her very will and that was not something that she needed right now.

She could have left. She should of. But her eyes strayed past his hip again and her heart begged her to break.

She remembered the previous night. She remembered when she fingers pulled his shirt out of his pants and strayed past the scar that would never completely heal.

Blair found herself presently leaning over his immobile body and she knew that she was past the point of no return. She had passed it on the night of November 7th, 2007, she had passed it as he thrust her on top of her mother's piano, and she was passing it again now as her fingers lightly caressed his ugly scar that only made him-if impossibly-ever more beautiful.

She wrenched her hand away like she had pressed them on a hot stove as a single syllable escaped his lips.

"Blair."

"Wake up, Chuck," Blair said furiously, smacking him hard on the chest. She had been standing too close to him because he awoke with a start, sitting up suddenly in bed.

His eyes darkened with annoyance at first before he took in her appearance. She hated that sly smirk that crossed his features, always making her feel naked in his presence.

Not that she didn't literally know what that was like, considering what happened last night on her mother's piano.

"Hello, lover," he said with warm seduction. "Were you missing your La Perlas already?"

"Do you sleep through anything?" Blair asked, ignoring his question. "I was yelling."

"Well I certainly know what that sounds like," Chuck said, shifting comfortably, forcing her to look away. "And can you really blame me? Last night wore me out."

"And here I thought you had your self proclaimed stamina," Blair sneered.

"You are always the exception, my love."

"I didn't see Nate here," Blair said quickly, drawing away from his propensity to pull her in.

"Why?" Chuck asked suspiciously, hating even after two years and one night alone with her, that green monster still snarled threateningly within him for the blue-eyed boy's head.

"You didn't tell him anything, did you?" Blair commanded. He felt his monster recede, but he knew it was never for long.

"No, I didn't," Chuck answered. "I want to keep this little secret to myself for now."

"For now?" Blair demanded. "You aren't telling anyone ever."

"Well it won't be some sort of surprise scandal, Waldorf," Chuck answered. "Everyone saw this coming."

"Oh did they?" Blair asked. "I didn't."

"Didn't you?" Chuck asked. "You weren't exactly pulling me away when I grabbed you."

"That isn't why I'm here," Blair finally said.

"Isn't it?" he smirked.

"Have you seen Serena?"

"Serena?" Chuck asked dully. "That's why you're here?"

"I'm worried about her."

"You could have come up with a better excuse if you wanted to see me. Not that I'm complaining," Chuck said, rising from bed unabashedly. She averted her eyes to his amusement as he snorted. "Like you're so virginal."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

He could stoke her fire like no one else and it bothered her.

"I know I'm not a good person," Chuck snorted. "But neither are you, princess. I may be well versed in the world of depravity but you can do things to me that no one has even dared to try. And it comes second nature to you."

"Serena is getting in over her head again," Blair said, ignoring his comments. "An affair with a teacher is too far, even for her. I came here for my best friend."

"Is that the only reason?"

His voice was dark and reminiscent of backseats in limos and his compulsion to sabotage every relationship she had that wasn't with him.

"You think I'm just going to roll over now?" he asked with dark laughter that sent a thrill through her that she shouldn't be feeling. "You think I'm just going to pretend that what we have isn't anything anymore?"

"We don't have-"

"You're here for a reason," Chuck announced. "And it isn't for Serena. You hate to admit it, but you are just like me. You don't care about other people. You only care about yourself. And right now, yourself needs this."

"I used to care about you," Blair pointed out bluntly.

"And why do you think that is?" Chuck asked. "How many times do I have to tell you? We are exactly the same. Of course you care about me. Of course you love me. We're exactly the same. Who would you love more than yourself?"

"I used to love you more than my wellbeing," Blair answered. "And look where it got me."

"Right here," Chuck pointed out. "Where you're meant to be."

"Last night was the most disgusting, perverse, and depraved experience of my life," Blair said coldly. But he could still feel her heat calling for him.

"And it felt good didn't it?" Chuck husked in her ear, sliding his hand up her thigh. "You liked it, didn't you?"

There was no lying to him. Lying to him when he knew the answer was counterproductive. Instead, she just shoved him and his hands away to his triumphant smirk.

"This is just the beginning," he told her. "You think that you can just get me out of your system like that. But I'm in your blood now, sweetheart. I'm embedded in your flesh. You're going to crave me just the way I crave you."

"I won't let you," Blair said, hating how her breath was short.

"Just try to stop inevitability."

"Where were you today?"

Serena's voice started Blair out of her reflection. She turned to see her best friend hesitating at the doorway.

"I thought you had class," Blair said distantly.

"It's a Sunday."

"Did you go to see him?"

Blair finally turned from the mirror. Serena's blue eyes were wide with her entrapment. Blair knew the answer to her question anyway.

"You know I don't approve," Blair sighed. "You don't have to hear a lecture."

"Thank you."

And yet Blair still felt a sort of resistance in her being. What Serena was doing wasn't right. Cavorting with a man years older than her in a way that could get her expelled. It wasn't right.

And she was Blair Waldorf.

"Although," Blair couldn't help but add, "you do deserve it from the amount of times that you've judged me."

"That was ages ago," Serena said quietly. "Does that still matter to you?"

I don't know what I was thinking. Sleeping with him once, I understand, but twice?

What, Blair, you slept with him?

What happened to no judging?

Yes. Suffice to say, it still mattered. It shouldn't, but it did. Because she was in far too much over her head.

"Do you love him?" Blair asked.

"What?" Serena asked laughingly. "Of course not."

"And you're just going to risk your reputation, your college career, for a fling?" Blair asked.

"Would it matter if I loved him?"

"I would take it into account."

"Why does it feel as though I'm on trial?" Serena asked.

"I don't know."

Because I'm on trial.

"Blair," Serena said softly. Vulnerability was flashing through her eyes and Blair relented. "The reason I went to go see him today was to tell him that we couldn't do what we had been doing. It's wrong."

"I think that's best," Blair answered. "Some things may feel good but it doesn't mean they're healthy for you."

"Right," Serena answered.

"I'm glad you came to this decision," Blair answered. "Even if you've never felt more complete with anyone else, or no one knows you better. This is the right choice. Even if it's like you're the same person."

"Blair," Serena said and Blair snapped out of her reverie. "Are we still talking about Colin?"

"Of course," Blair said. "Who else would we be talking about?"

"Last night," Serena said, "after your party, I went to see him."

"Well it doesn't matter now," Blair answered, "does it? You're done with him."

"Well, I came back pretty late," Serena answered. "But you weren't in your room when I went to bed."

Blair felt ill, remembering just how that piano dug deliciously into her back.

"I was cleaning up downstairs," Blair said. "You must have just missed me."

"Must have," Serena answered. "It's just that it was pretty dark down there. I didn't think anyone-"

"Dorota's about to do laundry," Blair announced in a quick change of subject. "You should probably gather your clothes."

"Right," Serena said. She looked around Blair's usually impeccable room to see a single red garment that she had been wearing the night before laying across the spotless floor. "Do you need me to take that-"

"No," Blair said quickly. "I've got it."

"Alright," Serena said reassuringly at Blair's harsh tone. She turned to go back to her room before stopping for a movement. "You know you're right. It's more healthy... giving up Colin."

Blair nodded absentmindedly.

"Just like it's better for you to give it up."

"Give up what?" Blair tested.

"Giving up..." Serena said, "scotch."

"Scotch," Blair repeated.

"Yeah," Serena said. "You know I can smell it from here."

"Right," Blair said, her eyes straying towards the red dress on the floor. "You're right. I am giving it up."

"I'm glad," Serena said. "I wouldn't want you to develop a problem or anything."

"Right."

It was as Serena turned that Blair could think of the only thing that was coming to mind.

Too late.

It was a few minutes after Serena had left that Blair found it in herself to pick up the dress from the floor. She suddenly felt exhausted as she climbed exhaustedly on top of the silk duvet, clutching her dress to her. The scent of scotch came off of it in waves and she closed her eyes against it, feeling that familiar emotion of heartbreak.

She knew what she had to do.

She had to give him up.