DISCLAIMER: I OWN GOSSIP GIRL BIATCHES ... lol jk, I'm Irish. Kudos to Josh and Cecily for creating such mouthwatering characters, etc
BETA: I'd like to thank Tatiana, without whom, as cheesey as this sounds, this story WOULD NOT EXIST. NOW BOW AND WORSHIP HER ... tehehehe
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STOCKHOLM SYNDROME
Chapter Three
...
I hate everything about you
Why do I love you?
'I Hate Everything About You' – Three Days Grace
...
Blair stood by the window. Black night pressed up against the glass, masking the world in its velvet cloak. She leant her forehead against the cold pane. She could see nothing. No streetlamps, no passing cars, no people, like her, looking out over the world from lit windows. It was though someone had shut off the outside world. Yesterday, Blair rolled up her tinted windows and kept the world at bay. Today was different. She pressed her hand up against the glass and wished she could fall through the black mirror out into the world. Into yesterday.
But what was yesterday? She had no idea of the date, the time. She had no control and it made her feel so stranded.
The window was so black it worked as a mirror. Blair could see herself. And she could see Chuck.
Very slowly, very deliberately, she bent down and picked up his scarf. Mustering the last of her saliva, she spat on it. It squeaked as she began wiping the window. Blair dragged over the chair, clambering up to reach the highest panes. When she was finished cleaning, she let it fall. A white flag ruined with blood and dirt and hate.
"Whoops."
And she stood on it.
Outside the window, blackness pulsed, knocking on the glass, looking to get it.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxo
It was her fault. If she hadn't spurned him for Nate, he would never have tipped off Gossip Girl; if he hadn't tipped off Gossip Girl, she wouldn't hate him; if she didn't hate him, he would have had no reason to talk to her that night; if he hadn't talked to her, pulled her away from Serena to somewhere more private, then he would have gone straight to meet his father; if he had been with his father, he would not be here, locked in this room. With her.
It was all her fault.
But then why did he feel so guilty?
She dropped his scarf and it fell like stone under the weight of the dirt, his dirt and her dirt, all comingled, printed on the silk like some ancient story. Once upon a time there was a prince and a princess. The princess was very beautiful but very cruel and she broke the poor prince's heart when she picked someone else even after they had hot sex in the back of the first prince's limo.
Many times.
That was bullshit. She didn't break his heart. So fucking what if she picked Nate. Now she had neither of them, and serves her right, greedy little bitch; she deserved everything coming to her.
But then why did hurting her ricochet back to him? Why did every precise cut in her tatty armour feel like he was tearing off his own skin? Why wouldn't the fucking butterflies just die already?
Chuck wanted to scream out loud. To throw things, break things, break her, break her into a million little pieces and then piece her back together, piece by loving piece, so that when she opened her eyes all she could see was him.
He wanted to go pick it up, the scarf. He had wrapped it with soft fingers around her head when he first woke up and saw her, fallen and bleeding. She was an angel and he had been her knight in Armani armour. But she had been asleep.
He had wrapped her tight in his jacket and socks, he had been her prince. But she had been asleep.
He had wrapped his love around her, tight, and always. He had been there. But she hadn't been asleep. And, like the scarf, like the jacket and socks, she tore his love away and threw it on the ground and stamped on it until it was something dirty and worthless and broken.
She made him feel dirty and worthless and broken. But she made him feel so whole. Chuck didn't understand.
She was daring him to look.
"Whoops," Blair said, stamping on his scarf with fire-engine red toes.
Chuck sneered.
"Mind you don't break the chair there, Waldorf. It doesn't look like it can take much weight."
She tried to hide it but he saw her crack.
Chuck was very good at sneering.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo
The door opened and closed too quickly. Blair was only halfway across the room.
"Pity," Chuck said lightly. He hadn't moved from his corner, lounging on the chair, tipping it back on two-legs, staring up at the patchy ceiling, twiddling his thumbs, being Chuck. "Serena might have got there. Long legs, you know."
The door had opened for a reason. Three bottles of water and various snacks littered the floor, thrown in through the gap. Snickers and M&Ms and packets of cheesepuffs. Vending machine food.
Blair's stomach groaned but she stood still.
She was starving, but she would not move until Chuck did. She would not.
Blair toed a stray Oreo four-pack with distaste, nudging it back towards the main clutter. She turned on her heels and stalked to the other side of the room, the non-Chuck side. The non-food side. Every step was a decisive effort. God, she was ravenous. It was not triumphant hunger, there was no sense of achievement; she was not dizzied by her own success, merely through deprivation. Blair could not remember the taste of food. Her last meal had been an egg-white omelette with celery and cottage cheese, the evening before the Met. She hadn't eaten the day of the Opera. The dress was stunning, but was she stunning in it?
Serena was always stunning.
Blair felt her lip quiver. She forced down the lump in her throat. She could not, would not, cry in front of Chuck Bass.
Why was she crying?
Because she was scared, and hungry, and Chuck Bass was a meanie. She was trapped, imprisoned by the faceless food-thrower. She didn't where she was. She didn't know the time or the date. Was it long enough for someone to notice they were gone?
Blair doubted anyone would care. Serena had Dan. Nate hated her. Her mother ...
Blair bit her lip. It was dry. She wanted water and balm. She had Chapstick in her clutch. She had her cell in her clutch. But she had no clutch. She didn't even have two shoes.
Blair bit harder. The lump was growing. Chuck was humming tunelessly.
She wanted her clutch. She wanted her shoe. She wanted to go home. She wanted to feel her mother's embrace, feel at home and wanted within the silk arms and buried herself in the scent of damp roses. She wanted a cup of warm milk and honey and Dorota's white chocolate and raspberry cookies. She wanted Dorota, and her bed, and her father. She wanted Serena because everything worked out when Serena was around, and Serena made her feel loved, however inferior. She wanted Nate to love her like he once had. Like Chuck did.
Because he didn't anymore. She had seen to that.
Blair's whole body convulsed. Years of practice and discipline spared her the indignity of loud sobs but the tears still came, thick and blinding. She was crying so hard it hurt. It hurt deep inside.
She wanted Chuck to come put his arms around her. She wanted Chuck.
But she wanted Nate.
She wanted things to go back to how they were.
Blair screamed in anguish. The cry of something small and in pain.
She wanted to understand. She wanted Chuck to come and put his arms around her, but Chuck just looked up at the ceiling and twiddled his thumbs, humming tunelessly. Blair knew the song.
Rolling Stones – You Can't Always Get What You Want.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxo
She cried like something inside was breaking. Chuck hummed louder. Let her suffer. Let her bleed. He had bled over her.
His hands were shaking. His thumbs kept catching in each other. His thumb-twiddling was not working. He had arthritis, Parkinsons, MS, Blairitis. Cancer of the heart.
It took every ounce of self-control he possessed not to sprint over there, not to pick her up and hold her tight, not to wipe away her tears and tell her over and over again, tell her how she made him feel shiny and new. He wanted to be her white knight.
But Chuck was no hero. He was the bad guy, and bad guys get the good clothes and all the good lines, but heroes get the girl; the good guy gets the girl.
Chuck was no hero. Heroes let the past go. Heroes took the high road. Heroes were selfless and kind and kissed the girl when she cried, even if she treated them like shit. Heroes were strong enough. Chuck could bench press one-eighty but his heart was a crippled dark thing.
When they were kids, they played games, all four of them. Serena was the warrior princess, the sorceress, the guardian goddess. Nate was the knight in shining armour. Blair was the damsel in distress. Chuck was the bad guy. Chuck was always the bad guy. Secretly, he had wanted to be the hero, but he said nothing.
Chuck was seventeen and he wanted to be the hero. But he did nothing. And the princess cried in the corner as the dragon ate her up from the inside out.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxo
Blair cried herself out. By the time she had finished she expect to see her organs strewn about her, all pink and raw and private. She felt like there was nothing inside, just nothing, and that she was about to cave in on herself. Implode. The tears were still running, now without thoughts attached.
There was a soft thump as Chuck let his chair fall forward. There were footsteps. Blair did not look up. If he was coming to comfort her, it was too late.
Better late than never.
Blair closed her eyes. If he did come, if he sat down beside her, held her hand, offered her an M&M, she would take it. She would scoot close to him and cling to his hand like a drowning man.
Did that make her weak? Did it make her cheap? Did it make her human?
She let out a sigh and it rattled through her empty ribcage. She kept her head down and waited for Chuck.
There was a loud bang.
Blair's head snapped up automatically.
Chuck had popped a bag of cheesepuffs. A cloud of orange dust thickened the air and Blair coughed, a nasty wet sound. Chuck ate a cheesepuff. He selected a single puff and placed it in his mouth and chewed and swallowed. And then he did it again. Watching her watch him.
All Blair's organs came rushing back and suddenly there were far too many to fit into the cavity and they bulged and swelled and she couldn't walk because she was too gross and bloated. She clapped a hand over her mouth. The smell of processed cheese made her head ache.
Chuck finished the crisps and sucked the dust off his fingers. He crumpled up the packet and tossed it over his shoulder. It meant nothing to him.
Blair felt like that chip packet. Only he would never be able to throw her because she was too heavy. He would just stand up and leave her, crumpled and empty and used. Unwanted.
Chuck cheerfully opened the Oreo four-pack. He took the cookie, twisted it apart, licking out the cream. Watching her watch him.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxo
Chuck was hungry and he was a man and hungry men eat food no matter who's watching, but Blair was Blair. She had to eat sometime. His plan was to goad her into it. Make it a competition. She was only person he knew to savour winning more than he did, and he was the person she most enjoyed beating. His plan was ingenious.
He finished the cheesepuffs and threw the packet away. Truly, this was devotion. Chuck hated cheesepuffs. He hated chips in general. Artificial flavouring, artificial colouring, artificial potatoes soaked in artificial oil. If cheap had a taste, it would be crisps, and Chuck Bass was not cheap.
He liked Oreos, though. Everyone liked Oreos, including Blair. Nate and Serena ate them with peanut butter, but he and Blair were traditionalists. Twist, lick, dunk.
Blair loved Oreos. Chuck had bought her stocks in Kraft Foods two Christmas' ago. He would have bought her Oreos but he knew she wouldn't eat them, or if she did they wouldn't stay down long. He knew this because he cared enough to put two and two together and not insist it made five. Nate bought her an Opal necklace, thinking it was her birthstone. But Blair's birthday was November 15th and opals signify October.
Chuck ate three and slipped the last one into his trouser pocket.
Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket, save it for a rainy day.
Outside it was still raining but there were no stars. Chuck unscrewed the cap of the water bottle, watching her watch him. She was a star but she had fallen through his fingers. She had fallen and shattered. But he had shattered first. She shattered him, threw him hard against the wall.
He ate the last Oreo in one bite. Tradition could go fuck his mother.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxo
Blair couldn't take it anymore.
"Stop," she ordered. Chuck paused. Water dribbled down his chin, mixing with the dried blood and running rusty down his throat. "Stop. Stop eating." It wasn't the frenzied shriek of some glutton watching her stash dwindle, it was the tempered command of a woman in control. Blair was in control. "In case you haven't noticed Bass there are two of us, which means we divide the food in two. You take half and crawl back into your little hole, and I shall do the same."
"Gosh, Waldorf, that's an awful lot of food," he said. "You must be really hungry."
Blair flashed him her most perfect smile. "I never said I was going to eat it. My aim is merely to deprive you." She sat down beside the pile and began sorting.
One packet of peanut M&Ms for me. One packet of almond M&Ms for you. Blair hated peanuts and Chuck loved peanuts. Chuck hated almonds and Blair hated Chuck. The room was so full of hate it crackled like electricity. There were naked wires all over the floor. Everyone got burned.
Snickers for me, Snickers for you. Twix for me, Twix for you. Twinkie for me, Twinkie for you.
"And I get both bottles of water because you had two yesterday. Don't bother lying, Bass, I saw the empties." And like that she dismissed him, carrying her winnings back to her corner. Because she had won. And it felt good. It felt better than chocolate.
Blair arranged her food into a pyramid and took a long drink of water. She set the bottle down and admired her handiwork. Then she promptly destroyed it. The little pile of food by the door made everything more real. If someone was feeding them, then this wasn't a mistake, a joke. They hadn't gotten insanely drunk and, by accident, locked themselves inside.
But if they hadn't, who had?
Blair covered her food with one of the blankets. If she couldn't see it, it wasn't there. She lay down on the floor, turned away from Chuck, and closed her eyes. If she couldn't see him, he wasn't there.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxo
Blair woke up in the middle of night. She wasn't sure if she was awake, or even alive, it was so dark. The blackness pressed down on her like water. And she was scared.
"Chuck?"
"Go to sleep."
"They're going to kill us, aren't they?"
There was a pause.
"Don't be stupid," Chuck said. Gently. "We're no use dead."
"Okay."
Blair rolled over and went back to sleep. Somehow, Chuck's words made sense.
She didn't remember their conversation in the morning.