Part 3

Her skin was just the way he remembered it.

Her thighs, her hands, the curve of her neck, the dip just under her lower lip.

She was everything he remembered, all that he touched and memorized. Everything that was Blair was clear and captured.

And his brain was frozen in a silent scream. The photographs were laid out in such neat, organized precision on his desk. It was as though the hands that touched them lovingly brushed on the gloss. He could see smudges of fingers just right above where her mouth was open in the corner picture; a smudge right by her breast, another on the shot of her ass. In every one of the photos there was another hand, another mouth, and she was pressed behind another man.

The door opened, and he slowly looked up because even though it was all so real he wished it was a nightmare.

And there she was, with the same glossy lips, the same heavy-lidded eyes. She gave him a small smile, but all he could see was her mouth parted while Jack's hand crept under her dress. "I came as soon as I could," she explained. "You sounded awful on the phone." And then, when he was quiet, she added, "So Jack's back."

And for a little while his hand twitched, needing to grab her tongue and crush it for ever mentioning that name.

On the third picture at the topmost row, Jack's tongue was fat against the lobe of her right ear.

"Are you okay?"

Who was going to be fine when sitting in front of that storyboard?

She sighed, and her breasts heaved under the silk of her blouse. Two photos below the tongue, Jack's mouth latched onto her nipple from over her clothes. And for that one second he wondered what it would be like to slam his first into her chest and feel bone break under his knuckles.

He was a fucking maniac; and never even knew. Not until her.

"You look a bit pale," she commented. He stiffened when she stepped closer, and he wanted to hiss at her to stay back. But his throat was tight and no sound came. "Chuck—"

She was only a few steps away, when he saw even the tiniest glint in her eye when light reflected on a photograph.

"What are those?" she asked. And she came close. Oddly enough he did not feel the need to stop her, felt instead a titillating curiosity for her reaction. He kept his eyes on her face. He did not need to see more of the pictures, yet at the same time even with his gaze on her all he could see were those pictures.

"Chuck," she said nervously as he saw the pictures one by one. She snatched one up, then another. "Oh my God!" She turned to him, and now the glint in her eyes was not the light. "What are you doing with these?"

And right then he wanted to gather the pictures into a ball and stuff them inside her mouth. Her open mouth while Jack trailed kisses on her neck. Her shameless mouth that just the night before kissed him, whispered she loved him.

"Where did you get these?" she demanded. And then she dropped the pictures, clapped a hand over her mouth. "Jack."

The name. The name. That dirty mouth that could say the name.

"Throw it away!" she cried.

He contained the trembling fury, then gathered the photographs just like she asked. Because that was what he did. Since he began the relationship he had made her happy. However that's achieved, he had promised. And that was always what he did.

"Throw them away, Chuck!"

So he crumpled them one by one and resisted the urge to throw them at her face. And he dropped them all into the trash bin. She glared at the silver can, almost like her stare could cause it to combust.

"Those are from last year," she whispered.

And he thought as much. He had known as much. But he had never seen as much. His retinas would sear off.

"He's trying to take you down," she said in a rush. He looked down at the balled photos and congratulated his uncle. When a Bass man fights, he throws it down. But he was not ready for her, not prepared for more. "That's what he's doing." And he belatedly noticed the voice coming closer.

And he could see still Jack pressed up behind her, so he raised a hand to stay her. His hand connected with her face, and he stopped. Noticed the cut on her lip and saw the blossoming blood. She looked up at him, raised a finger to where it stung. And immediately he offered the folded handkerchief from his pocket, then dabbed on the wound.

"I'm sorry," he choked out finally.

She nodded, then grasped his hand to stop him. He looked down at the blood on his white handkerchief. "Look at me." He did, and saw her watery eyes pleading. "This isn't going to affect us. Jack—Jack happened a long time ago. You know that. He doesn't matter."

He breathed.

"Tell me it won't affect us," she repeated.

She still didn't apologize, he thought. But he loved her more than he hated Jack; loved her more than he felt anything for anyone. And he would make her happy, however that was achieved.

So he promised her, "It won't."

That night, he removed his jacket before bed. The white handkerchief dropped on the bed, and he flinched at the droplets of blood. The shower was running, because she was off from school the next day and she spent those nights with him. The bathroom door opened, and she stepped outside with her hair still wet.

The pictures were gone, but he could see as clearly as if they were stapled on her robe—Jack's fingers buried in her hair.

"I love you," he said to her.

She smiled. In surprise. In relief.

Blair walked over to him and placed a hand on his chest. "I love you too."

That night she slept in his arms, and he breathed in the scent of her shampoo with his lips buried in her hair.

That was the first night he dreamed of killing her.

He thought that maybe it was because he was living in a house that Bart Bass built. Or maybe it was just that Serena had guilted him into a tentative understanding of her best friend. Maybe it was the heartbreaking story that Chuck once fed him about his mother.

Dan suspected it had something to do with the girl herself.

The party had been packed and loud. Receiving the invitation to the party for a fraternity as exclusive and influential as the Alpha Phi Omega was an accomplishment little people from Brooklyn could only dream of. By a stroke of luck, Dan received the invitation and was more than happy to attend. Getting pledged into the fraternity was his ticket to a comfortable, if not lucrative, career in the future. The editors of the largest papers in the country were alumni. Publishers, news anchors, politicians, financiers. The biggest and the best were on the walls of the Alpha Phi Omega house.

"Dan Humphrey!"

Dan turned and saw another man, who carried himself much like the way Nate did, and pegged him at once as a politician's son—or grandson. "Kyle Harris," he introduced himself.

"Kyle—Kyle Harris?" Dan clarified. "Son of Peter Harris."

"The one and only," Kyle said. "But don't let that fool you. I'm not a Republican."

Dan pointedly looked around him, then nodded. "I should think not," he commented.

His head was whirling at the welcome, and knew this was the ticket. He had one foot in the door, and he hardly even cared if this was from Georgina or from the fact that his father married Lily Bass. He was even hoping that it could be because he had made his own name in the school. He was going to pledge and be initiated into this fraternity, and he would make a future for himself.

"So what does a guy have to do to become a part of all this?"

And who cared if there were women dancing on couches, or freshmen barfing into garbage cans? He even turned a blind eye to a blond man with a loosened pink tie crushing little pills with a spoon and making his own mystery drink.

"You impress Jeff March," Kyle said, indicating the blonde that Dan had just tried to ignore. The name rang heavily of a network giant, and he realized he was looking at the last surviving grandson of a movie and tv tycoon. "He's president." And then Kyle found a newcomer, waved and nodded, then excused himself. And so early on he realized he was not so special after all.

"Dan Humphrey."

He frowned, because he recognized the voice. But there was no way for her to make it here, nor would she be interested in an affair like that. Blair Waldorf's voice was hers and hers alone, so he turned and found himself staring down at Blair.

In the khaki shorts and loose top, which he knew was branded even without looking at the label, she almost looked like she fit in.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

And the smile was the first that tipped him off. "I'm glad to see you too, Humphrey." He heard someone say her name, and when she turned there was a slight stumble. Just a little. Enough that he reached out immediately to grab her arm but not enough for her to fall.

"Jeff March," he recognized as the blonde approached with a drink in his hand. Dan's eyes narrowed at the glass, and noticed the still floating powder barely dissolved in the liquid.

Blair accepted the drink, and tipped a little into her mouth. "Aren't you lucky, Brooklyn. Turns out I'm dating the president."

So it was likely Lily, or Serena, or the fact that he knew and understood Chuck by now. Or it could it be the girl herself. The next thing he knew, he had snatched the glass from Blair Waldorf and in his rush placed it too close to the edge of a table. It fell, then crashed onto the floor, spilling the liquid on the tiles.

"What the hell?"

He grabbed her arm, then pulled her by his side. Jeff March grabbed the front of his shirt.

"Dan!" Blair complained.

"We're leaving."

"The hell you are," the blonde spat.

Dan raised a finger. "Try anything, or I will have the police over here to check for drugs." He glanced at Blair, noticed her now blinking and shaking her head.

"What's your name?"

"Dan Humphrey."

"Kiss Alpha Phi goodbye."

She was falling asleep even before they made it to her dorm room, so he took a detour and slipped her into his instead. He helped his to his bed and passed the time by putting Conan in the background and looking through his notes. Better review as early as he could, because he was going to need the As if he was going to make his own way in the world. Alpha Phi was out anyway.

When she woke up, he had a trash can ready. Blair Waldorf turned to her side and he held the can for her when she heaved pungent liquid. He held his breath and almost choked keeping his own bile inside.

And then she collapsed back on the bed and glared at him. "You realize you just ruined all your chances of getting into that fraternity."

"You realize you owe me big time. I just saved you from getting date raped," he retorted.

"You're stupid," she whispered. "He wanted me."

"Believe me. Jeff March didn't want you. A guy who wants you wouldn't need to drug you. He'll work to earn his way in," he told her. "Chuck Bass gave you your dream prom."

But words like those only served to inflame her, he realized, because then her mouth was plastered on his and he could taste alcohol and her vomit on his tongue. And for a sick minute he pressed his lips back against hers and held his breath. But then, he placed his hands on her arms and pulled himself away.

"This isn't right," he said.

Her face. If a face could be broken, then this was how it would look. He was a writer, not a painter, and the only word he could think of was broken.

"What? You don't want me either?"

Like Nate did not want her. He wanted Serena. Serena confessed the story. And Marcus, he knew, had wanted Katherine.

But Chuck Bass…

He never did get that answer.

"I know someone who wanted you."

She turned her back on him, but she was in his bed so he had no option but to sit back by the table with his notes. He heard the sniffling, and knew that tomorrow when she left she would act like tonight never happened. She dialed the phone. He heard the keypad tone.

"I'm sorry," she said. He turned, because he hoped a little it was an apology to him. It was not. She clutched the phone to her ear. She could be talking to Chuck, but then again her voice changed when the message was for Chuck Bass. "I never realized how awful it is for someone to break up with you without knowing why. Not until now. I'm so sorry, Nate."

Dan looked back at his book. The words blurred together when she whispered.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

And she was crying and her voice hitched. Nate was on the other line, but she was talking to someone else, because her voice shifted and Nate listened to an apology that was not for him at all.

"If I could take it back, I would. I would never have wished this on anyone, Nate."

The call ended, and she placed her phone by her head. The sniffling slowed, and the sobbing softened. He stood up and walked around the bed. The phone lit, then rang. She stirred, and he snatched up the phone and looked down at the caller id.

"Private," he read.

He had no way of knowing, but even then he made his way to the window of his dorm room. Dan pushed the curtain to the side and looked down at the street. The black stretch limousine sat across the street. Chuck Bass. Ruined her life with no explanation, and now the man had the temerity to stalk her. He glanced back at Blair, then made his way out the door.

The limo door opened. Dan's lips thinned.

"Bass!" he yelled.

The first thing he saw was a leg out the door, then the man climbed out of the limousine. Dan frowned at the build that was different from expected. The man turned to face Dan.

"Who are you?"

"Mr Humphrey." The man extended a hand. "Jack Bass. Chuck's uncle. I'm here to check on Blair."

tbc