These drabbles are inspired by parts of Ted Hughes poems. I do not own the rights to these poems, or Gossip Girl. If you want to read the entire poem, the title will be the title of the chapter.
Chapter 3
Your Paris
My fingers linked in yours, you expected
The final face-to-face revelation
To grab your whole body. Your Paris
...
Where your letters
Waited for him unopened. Was a labyrinth
Where you still hurtled, scattering tears.
Was a dream where you could not
Wake or find the exit
...
Her room had a certain open elegance, a certain light. It was so doubtlessly regal that he wasn't sure if it really existed or if this was a dream. But Chuck knew it couldn't be a dream, because he hadn't dreamed in exactly seventeen days. He had only had a reoccurring nightmare.
He fought a sad smile from taking over his face as he brushed the palm of his hand against the white linen of her bed, his hand tingling from the warmth she had left on it. If only this place didn't smell so much like her, maybe he wouldn't be so scared.
No. He was Chuck Bass.
Bass men were never scared. Bass men won.
And he was here for the win. No uncertainties. No more games after this one. Blair was his since before he can clearly remember anything but headbands and curls coming towards him on the playground long ago.
But if only the smell wasn't driving him to the door, because he knew if he smelled it, smelled her too long, he would go insane. She wouldn't be his, he would be hers.
Not that it matter, because they were both going to hell. Well he was anyways, and he wasn't going to go there without her, he had decided.
He loved waiting though. It gave him time to think; plan; strategize. Blair Cornelia Waldorf deserved nothing but his best game. Besides, he wasn't the only one with seventeen days to map out what to say. Memorize every retort. He was sure his queen also spent her time well.
He moved over to her desk and scanned the various items on the desk, trying to take his mind off the hideous sound his heart was making in his chest. Nothing seemed out of place or different from her vanity back in New York.
Except the stationary.
Chuck knew Blair never wrote letters. She demanded audience.
Before he could slip a hand out of his pocket and open drawer number one, he heard the sound of his angel, his executioner, his prisoner, his everything and nothing.
"Chuck."
He turned and was taken back for the billionth time by her flawless beauty.
He knew in his head this was the most important game he would ever play, and to lose would be unthinkable.
Blair watched the sun rise slowly.
Her eyes still burned from tears and her skin still burned from his kisses. Despite these things, she had a moment of clarity in which she decided that the sun burned more vibrantly in France then elsewhere.
Or maybe everything, including her, burned more vibrantly when he was around.
Except Fire. Fire burned no matter what.
She watched as the ten letters were turned to ash. Her words and tears and feelings from the few weeks curling into red. Then she watched the ash swirl away in the wind before heading back up to her room; To her Chuck.
The game was over and somehow they both had won.
For now.
A/N: I would like to thank puresimplicity-xo, princetongirl, Blood Red Kiss of Death, Isabelle, dreamgurl, and BlairCorneliaWaldorfBass for reviewing. :) Well, here is another drabble. It is a little AU. As always I hope everyone who reads enjoys! :)