A/N: I am slowly but surely getting better at updating. I have spring break this week, so the next update should be even faster. Yay for that!
The last chapter got an unexpectedly big amount of reviews. So thank you to all who reviewed - it means so much to me and i hope you'll all continue offering feedback.
Anyways, thanks for reading! Enjoy :)
P.S. The song lyrics throughout the chapter are Hear You Me (May Angels Lead You In) by Jimmy Eat World.
Chapter 12
What We Are
There's no one in town I know
You gave us someplace to go
I never said thank you for that
I thought I might get one more chance
Serena Van der Woodsen didn't care about many things in life. She didn't care about her grades or what her parents thought of her or how sleazy the guys she slept with were. But she cared about Blair.
And so when Eleanor called her, frantically yelling about hospitals and fainting and unconsciousness, Serena did not hesitate. Not even for a moment. Because despite what had happened between her and Blair in the past few days, the dark-eyed brunette was still her best friend, still the only girl – only person, even – who truly understood her. And she wouldn't give that up.
Blair might not want to see her, of course. But Serena didn't care.
She hailed a cab as quickly as she could, standing up straight, shaking out her long blond waves with one slender finger in a calculated attempt to catch the eyes of the drivers whistling past her. Finally, a yellow cab screeched to a stop in front of her, and the driver, a heavyset Latino male with overgrown eyebrows and sparkling white teeth, looked her up and down leeringly. She shook her head disdainfully and flung open the cab door, swallowing hard as she struggled to whisper, "Take me to Memorial Hospital."
"Whatever you want, baby," the creepy driver muttered under his breath. Serena cringed, for once not grateful for the attention.
The cab weaved through the busy Manhattan streets at last, and Serena let out a relieved sigh that sounded more like a heave. She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, enjoying the taste of rust and salt on her tongue. She wondered fleetingly what happened to those poor souls who left this earth earlier than expected. Was there a different afterlife for all those people whose lives ended when they were young and full of promise, some chance for atonement and redemption?
She hoped so. She didn't believe that Blair was dead, but it gave her some small comfort to know that heaven awaited her best friend. If, indeed, the great Blair Waldorf could ever really die.
The cabbie began to blabber in Serena's ear, asking for her number, complimenting her on her show of skin, leaning in to smell the patchouli oil clinging to her hair. But she only shook her head gently and let the waves of pain carry her away. She didn't want to think about what might have happened to Blair, but accepting it was easier than fighting the suddenly crippling weight on her chest.
After a few long, terribly frightening moments, the cab pulled up alongside the hospital, and Serena sprung out the door, throwing a couple twenties through the window in her haste. The cabbie yelled something after her, but she paid no heed. She only had one purpose, one word running through her usually capricious mind:
Blair.
The hospital entrance's revolving doors felt painfully slow as she pushed on them, humming under her breath as she struggled to maintain her composure. She prided herself on being easygoing, unlike Blair, but she couldn't deny that this was really messing her up.
Well, she thought, this is Blair we're talking about. Her unconsciousness definitely warranted some panic, especially since Serena had been the one to betray her in the first place.
But Serena didn't linger too long on that thought; there was too much else to worry about. She ran through the doors with a nervous gait that surprised her, wringing her arms in despair as her eyes flitted around the room. But she didn't stop to ask the nurses in the ER where Blair Waldorf was – she already knew. Chuck had just texted her with the room number. She wondered briefly why Chuck, of all people, knew where the reigning Queen B was being treated. But she disregarded that thought. There would be time to worry about that later. When things were calmer.
As she raced up the crowded stairs in her Balenciaga brown leather boots, tears welled in her round, navy blue eyes and cascaded down her makeup-free cheeks. She raised a hand to wipe the infuriating moisture away, but stopped herself, realizing that these were not the last tears she would shed. She couldn't control this reaction, and besides, did she really want to?
No, she didn't, she realized. She didn't want to be comforted. She didn't want reassuring words and tight-lipped smiles designed to inspire hope and banish fear. She wanted pain. Raw, broken pain. She wanted her heart to break.
Because she deserved it.
What would you think of me now?
So lucky, so strong, so proud
I never said thank you for that
She had hurt Blair, hurt her so deeply that she wasn't sure either of them would ever recover. She had taken Nate from her. She knew Blair would never forgive her. Of course, Serena would still try – she was nothing if not persistent – but she knew somehow that the effort was fruitless.
She approached the white door she was looking for at last, glaring at those stupid red numbers, and inhaled sharply to calm herself. And before she could stop to think about what she was doing, she firmly grasped the doorknob and slinked into the white hospital room.
It was quiet – too quiet, Serena mused – and for a moment, she wondered if she had gone to the right room. But then she saw Blair, dear, dark, conniving Blair, Blair lying on the bed, tucked under the covers. She saw her oldest friend, and something akin to agony flickered in her eyes. The fault line in her perfectly sculpted chest rippled with remembrance and regret, and she swayed on her feet. She clutched her heart in a vain attempt to soothe the burning, the fire seeping through her veins. But even as she closed her eyes, desperate to banish the sight lingering in the darkness, she could not escape it.
Because Blair, the Blair who ruined girls' reputations daily and whose highest goal was acceptance to Yale…that Blair was gone now. And in her place was a frail, skinny girl who was almost lost in the pristinely white covers clinging to her body.
Serena gulped, tracing the sheen of sweat lining Blair's forehead with a growing sense of unease. She looked at her best friend's eyelids, the bulging veins coupled with the light lavender color. She looked at her limp curls, scattered across the fluffed pillow supporting her lolling head. She looked at the one foot peaking out of the sheets, pale and arched. She looked at the silver necklace nestled at the base of her throat. She looked at Blair, looked at her lying there, and quickly turned away, ready to leave.
But someone cleared their throat just as Serena's hair flew through the air, and her gaze flew to the corner of the room, where…Chuck Bass sat.
Chuck Bass. Serena shook her head in unconcealed wonder, blinking frantically. Maybe she was seeing things, she ventured. But no. Chuck Bass really was sitting in a chair by Blair's bedside. He was even holding her hand.
Serena almost scoffed at the foreign sight, but restrained herself, instead asking quizzically, "What the hell are you doing here?"
Chuck shook his head, not looking at the statuesque blonde accosting him. He didn't really care about Serena's presence. It didn't matter to him whether she and Blair were ever friends again. All that mattered was that the unmoving beauty before him awoke. He sighed, his eyes lingering on the curve of Blair's deathly pale cheek, and said nothing in response to Serena's indignant query.
In the silence that followed, Serena shifted her weight from foot to foot, suddenly feeling awkward. She shouldn't, really; she was Blair's best friend. If anyone should be here, she should. But somehow…as she looked at Chuck, she realized that maybe he belonged by Blair's side more than she ever could.
She wasn't sure why, though. She had never known Chuck and Blair to be anything but playful enemies – their only connection was through Nate, and, to a certain extent, Serena herself. Sure, they were friends, but had it ever really extended beyond that?
Apparently, it had.
And Serena wasn't one to let such questionable circumstances as those deter her. She led life through her emotions, and she felt certain that Chuck cared about Blair more than either one of them was willing to admit. And that was enough for her.
She shook her head slightly, though, her blond waves tumbling across her back as she moved, and stared at Chuck for a long moment. She was curious about when this…thing between Chuck and Blair had developed. But the tear she suddenly saw, a drop of moisture sparkling in his eye, caught her by surprise, and she stumbled backward. His pain suddenly seemed so private, so intense and unimaginable. Why he was in pain she didn't exactly know, but that one tear shivering on his fluttering eyelid broke something in Serena.
And she turned around and fled the room, closing the door behind her and leaning against it, because she realized that she had never cared about Nate the way Chuck so obviously cared about Blair. She had ruined her and Blair's precious, lifelong friendship for a guy she had only ever felt attracted to. Everyone knows the girl code, she reprimanded herself. Feelings must be legitimate if they are acted on, if at all.
Serena mentally cursed herself for being such an idiot.
The overwhelmingly abrupt and intense pain ripped through her, and she gasped for air as she closed her eyes and searched for some sliver of light. But there was only darkness, of course.
May angels lead you in
Hear you me my friends
On sleepless roads the sleepless go
May angels lead you in
But no. She was Serena Van der Woodsen. She was light and laughter, and a socialite. Most importantly, she was Blair Waldorf's best friend. She would not give in like this.
She heard, somehow, Chuck utter one soft plea, "Don't."
She thought she had never heard such a desolate word. It was uttered so quietly…she strode back in that room without a second thought.
"Chuck," she whispered, wrapping her arms around herself as she shivered from the sudden cold. The light April air swept through the room, the open window clattering a little, and she breathed in slowly. She let her eyes flutter close, because the weight of her eyelids was simply too much to bear. And she waited for Chuck to answer her, waited for tears to fall down his hollowed cheeks, waited for any reaction at all.
But he only turned his head and fixed her with a solemn gaze, strange fear lurking in his eyes. Serena wondered why he was so afraid. Could Blair be in real danger?
She had to know. She had to know, because she had to save her and Blair's friendship. She needed to know how much time she had to resolve their tangled web of problems.
Because she remembered the way it used to be. She remembered lying on Blair's perfectly made bed, watching Audrey Hepburn movies and laughing as they said the lines along with the characters. She remembered taking long shopping trips along Fifth Avenue, breaking only for coffee, and often being offered modeling contracts. And she remembered the many times she had cried in Blair's smooth, warm arms, the times she had woken up in her best friend's bed with a pounding headache and a hazy memory.
But she remembered the bad stuff more easily. She remembered everything that had happened that same week, the moment Blair had spun around and gazed unblinkingly into Serena's eyes, as if she was searching for reason. Serena remembered how Blair had climbed into that black limo without saying a word and had just driven away, because to speak at all hurt too much. She remembered her own awkward apology and Blair's gracious almost-forgiveness.
She remembered all that, and suddenly, she wanted to scream.
But Chuck saved her, if only for a moment. "The doctors say she'll be okay."
Serena let out a relieved sigh and breathed, tears welling in her eyes, "Really?"
Chuck only nodded, whispering, "You should talk to Eleanor."
And with that, Chuck Bass dismissed Serena. She didn't mind, really. She sensed Chuck needed to be alone with Blair. Besides, he and Blair both deserved happiness. Serena herself had taken Blair's sole source of joy away from her. She couldn't begrudge her this. She wouldn't.
Serena was proud of herself for this conclusion, but soon faltered when she realized she had no business being gracious. She had done a horrible thing in deceiving Blair, and she deserved nothing.
She nodded to Chuck and murmured, "I'm glad you're here." She paused for a moment, shrugging her blond waves off her shoulder as a tear slipped from her eye. "Blair deserves someone like you."
A puzzled smirk curved the corners of Chuck's mouth, but he only shook his head from side to side, as if in acknowledgement. He seemed resigned to his fate, but also glad to be by Blair's side. Serena supposed that was to be expected. She almost doubted Chuck, doubted his ability to really care about anyone but himself. But she wasn't above forgiving him for his past transgressions.
Oh, wait. What was she talking about? This was Chuck Bass, playboy, heir to a billion-dollar corporation, and all-around sleazebag. She didn't trust him. Especially not with Blair.
She snapped, "Don't try anything with her."
Chuck's face didn't even register surprise. He simply smiled wanly and nodded, blinking incessantly as he sat up a little and leaned over Blair's bed. Serena craned her neck to see what he was doing, unable to stop herself from reaching to glimpse Chuck's more sensitive side, if it even existed.
She watched in astonishment as Chuck stroked Blair's cheek with one hand and kissed her on the forehead tenderly. Serena reached up to touch her own forehead longingly. She had never seen a more beautiful moment.
She sighed heavily and whispered, "I'll leave now."
Chuck said nothing, only nodding minutely. Serena shook her head and left the room, closing the door behind her. She strode down the hallway quickly, wondering where Blair's family – what was left of it – might be. She headed towards the staircase when no one magically appeared before her. She sighed and tried to hide her disappointment at Eleanor Waldorf's absence. She should be used to it by now.
But a soft hand falling on her shoulder shocked her, and she stumbled backward. She spun around angrily, her bright blue eyes flashing. She almost muttered a venomous rebuke, but winced when she realized it was only Eleanor.
Serena winced again when she realized she had not referred to her in her mind as Blair's mother. Because in reality, Serena had never first thought of Eleanor as Blair's mother, for she had never been directly that, actually. She had cared too little about Blair to be considered her mother. Dorota did that job.
Serena flinched at the coldness in Eleanor Waldorf's eyes. They were the exact same color Blair's were, chocolate brown, but they were remiss of any warmth, any affection. The woman standing before Serena was nothing like Blair.
Serena stepped back slightly and addressed the older woman, "Mrs. Waldorf."
Eleanor nodded stiffly. "Serena."
They stared levelly at each other for a long moment, tension simmering in the stifling air. Serena didn't know how to ask Eleanor what was wrong with Blair. It had been so long since the best friend and mother had had a real conversation.
Finally, Eleanor dropped her eyes and whispered, the pain in her voice astonishing Serena, "The doctors don't really know what's wrong."
Serena nodded and waited for Eleanor to say more, anxiously shifting her weight from one foot to another. But the older woman remained silent, her eyes boring into Serena's with an intensity that unnerved them both. At last, Eleanor averted her eyes and whispered, "They say it has something to do with her…stress-induced regurgitation."
Serena could only nod stupidly as the older, less complicated, less appealing Waldorf continued, lifting her gaze to meet the younger girl's sorrowful navy eyes, "Of course, I never guessed," she trailed off, and Serena struggled to control her anger. She wanted Eleanor to call it what it was: bulimia.
Serena cringed. Blair had been making herself throw up for as long as she could remember, but Serena had ignored it, because the very thought of it twisted her stomach. She had always felt a little guilty about not doing anything about it, but it was just too hard. She had enough going on. Maybe it was selfish – she could admit that readily – but it was the truth. Sometimes it was painful, and sometimes it was more difficult than was probably necessary, but it worked for her.
Serena didn't want to think about what kind of person that made her.
So what would you think of me now?
So lucky, so strong, so proud
I never said thank you for that
Now I'll never have a chance
She smiled a little sadly and asked Eleanor, "Is she going to be okay?"
Eleanor winced and shook her head slowly, murmuring, "They're really not sure. Apparently this…stress-induced regurgitation has interfered with her natural ability to digest."
Serena clenched her fists and spat through gritted teeth, "But why now?"
Confusion flooded Eleanor's eyes, and she asked, "What exactly do you mean? The doctors implied that Blair consumed rancid chicken and then threw it up. That was what caused this…incident."
Serena shook her head and crossed her arms over her ample chest, for once grateful for her towering height. She hesitated a little before contradicting Eleanor, "Your daughter has had bulimia since she was twelve. And obviously, you haven't been paying enough attention to her to notice."
Serena was a bit surprised at her own audacity, but also a little proud. She should have done something about Blair's condition long ago. She was ashamed that she hadn't.
Eleanor crossed her arms, a mirror image of Serena's defensive stance, and argued, "I think I would know if my only daughter had stress-induced regurgitation. This is an isolated incident, I am sure."
Serena couldn't contain herself any longer. She half-yelled, almost trembling with ill-concealed fervor, "It is not stress-induced regurgitation! It is bulimia. And maybe if you called it that, Blair wouldn't be in a drug-induced coma."
Such venom laced Serena's voice that Eleanor reeled back as if she had been struck. She nodded stiffly and smiled, a little awkwardly, a little sadly. Her hands flew to her slightly lined face, and she gasped in horror. "I never meant for this to happen."
Serena doubted that, really. But her natural instinct for grace and kindness flooded her senses, and she fought the urge to forgive the broken, cold woman before her. Eleanor was most of the reason Blair had begun making herself throw up in the first place – Serena and Nate being the rest of the reason – and Serena couldn't forgive her for that. She couldn't even forgive herself, although she suspected that was much harder anyway.
"Of course not," Serena gently reprimanded, breathing in deeply as she fixed Eleanor with a steely gaze, "But now I'm going to go talk to the doctors."
Serena nodded slightly, as if to accentuate her offhanded words, and the woman before her looked at her for a long moment, murmuring, "Goodbye now, Serena."
Serena didn't have the strength – or courage – to whisper a reply. She heard her own game, and a torrent of doubt and guilt pulsed through her bruised heart. She didn't really notice when Eleanor grazed her cheek with her cold lips and swiftly walked away, her head held high, her body trembling with the effort. But she did notice that the sun was rising higher outside the paned windows, and she noticed that a doctor clothed in a white jacket, a stethoscope hanging haphazardly around his neck, was walking in her direction.
Serena stiffened when said doctor approached her and asked gently, "Are you Ms. Waldorf's relative?"
Serena answered easily, "I'm her sister."
And how true that was.
The doctor seemed skeptical, then eyed Serena's impressively sharp Galliano stilettos and nodded. He reached in his coat pocket and pulled out a thick stack of files with Blair's full name written in bold, clear letters. He sighed a little, furrowing his eyebrows worriedly, and his features twisted into that expression Serena knew so well, the expression parents always had when they announced divorces and boyfriends always had when they were about to break up with you. It was the expression of the bearer of bad news.
Serena steeled herself for the worst, but the doctor only said, "Ms. Waldorf is not doing well. Her vitals are weak, and she's not responding to treatment."
"What kind of treatment?"
"Well," the doctor began, rubbing his eyes tiredly, "Ms. Waldorf's bulimia has caused some…complications, if you will. She has thrown up so many times over the last few years, it seems, that she has begun to regurgitate her digestive juices."
Serena shook her head, not bothering to hide her confusion – she had barely passed freshman Bio. "English, please."
The doctor broke into a soft smile, and a sudden sadness gripped Serena. He looked so young. She couldn't imagine how difficult it must be for him to deliver this kind of news. She had always thought that trips to the hospital were not commonplace, obviously. The hospital seemed almost…isolated from the rest of the society. It was weird and hard to think about the people who worked at hospitals and dealt with anorexia and car crashes and cancer every day.
Serena wanted to ask the doctor how he did it, how he coped with the endless agony of not knowing whether someone would live or die. But she resisted.
In the past, before everything that went down with Blair and Nate, she probably would have engaged the doctor in a serious conversation about the meaning of life. But now, all that mattered to her was whether her best friend would make it through this.
The doctor took a deep breath and clarified, "Ms. Waldorf has begun throwing up what's in her stomach."
Serena let out a huff of disgust and asked, "How can you fix that?"
The doctor shook his head, leafing through Blair's file with practiced nonchalance, and replied uneasily, "She needs to eat more food, to start. Her body is not getting the proper nutrients she needs to flourish and survive."
"It's kind of like anorexia in that respect, then," Serena countered absently, peering at the doctor's nametag. Sean Reilly. He must have a family – a beautiful wife, perhaps, and a young daughter. They were probably sitting at home waiting for him. Serena's heart ached at the thought. She felt quite remorseful suddenly, because she realized that she wanted that. She didn't want drunken hook-ups night after night. She didn't want to have to piece the broken shards of her life back together every other week. She wanted peace, and safety, and comfort.
Maybe that was all Blair had wanted too. And Serena had taken it away from her.
May angels lead you in
Hear you me my friends
On sleepless roads the sleepless go
May angels lead you in
The doctor nodded slightly, murmuring, "It is. Ms. Waldorf's bulimia has caused her digestive system to dysfunction. She will need to spend a few days in the hospital. We'll have to monitor her progress carefully."
Serena shook her head, still a little shocked, and wiped a few stray tears from her eyes as she whispered, "But will she be okay?" She found that was all that really mattered.
The doctor sighed, "We won't know until her tests come back."
"And when will that be?" Serena almost snapped, but refrained. She was sure Dr. Reilly was doing all he could to save her best friend. There was no reason to be angry with him – only at herself.
"In a few hours, I suppose," Dr. Reilly shrugged, his warm brown eyes sympathetic. "She's rather lucky, though. Her friend found her quickly."
"Her friend?" Serena was confused again. That seemed to be happening a lot lately. She wondered why, then realized it was probably Blair's absence from her life. Blair had always helped Serena understand life itself. Without her, it was hard to really function.
"Yes," Dr. Reilly whispered slowly, searching Serena's face for visible signs of insanity, "Mr. Bass?"
"Oh."
The word hung in the air as Serena considered this new piece of information. She should have come to this conclusion much earlier, really. Obviously, Chuck had been the one to find Blair. It all made sense. He had been the one who had told Serena what room Blair was in, and he had been in Blair's room when Serena had visited her.
He had found her. He had saved her.
May angels lead you in
Hear you me my friends
On sleepless roads the sleepless go
May angels lead you in
Serena sighed, whispering brokenly, "Will you let me know when there's news?"
The doctor nodded, sorrow flooding his eyes. "Of course." He turned to walk away, his white lab coat billowing behind him.
Serena watched as he strode down the long hallway. Just before he disappeared around the corner, she yelled after him, "Dr. Reilly!"
He spun around, anxiety twisting his features, and she smiled a little. "Thank you."
He nodded, and Serena thought he might have even blushed. As soon as he was out of sight, she turned around and walked in the other direction, heading toward Blair's room. She needed to apologize to Chuck for her harsh judgement, and more importantly, she needed to be with Blair.
Blair was her best friend. She knew that if she didn't go see her right now, she would lie awake in bed that night, willing her eyelids to close, hoping her dreams would take her to a different place, a better place. Then suddenly, she knew, she would remember the times they had made cookies together – or failed at making cookies together, she thought ruefully – or the gossip they traded back and forth as if it were the most important thing in their lives. She knew she would remember Blair's smile and her brown eyes. She knew she would remember their friendship, and then she would not be able to succumb to sleep.
It would simply hurt too much.
And so Serena walked to Blair's room and tore right in there, ready to face her demons once and for all.
Chuck was in the same place he had been a half hour ago, and Serena eyed him uncomfortably, unsure what to say exactly.
But finally, the words fluttered on her tongue.
"I'm sorry, Chuck," Serena murmured, shaking her head, "I didn't know you were the one who -"
"It's fine," Chuck interjected gruffly.
Serena nodded, hesitating a little before whispering, "Can I just have a minute with her?"
Chuck seemed reluctant – as he should be – but only nodded. He stood up slowly, taking care not to jostle Blair with any sudden movement, and gently extracted his hand from hers. He leaned over her and whispered something in her ear. Serena turned her head, wanting to give the two some measure of privacy. After a long moment, she turned back, just in time to see Chuck brush Blair's forehead, her cheeks, her nose, her lips, with his lips. She thought she saw a tear slide down Chuck's cheek, but she couldn't be sure.
She gulped, moisture welling in her eyes, and murmured, "Thank you."
Chuck brushed past her without a word.
Serena heard the door softly click, and she smiled a little, grateful for the sudden quiet. She strode over to her best friend' bedside and perched herself in the chair, reaching for Blair's hand.
And if you were with me tonight,
I'd sing to you just one more time
A song for a heart so big
God wouldn't let it live
She played with the ruby ring on Blair's finger for a long moment before trying to explain herself. "I don't know what happened to us." It was quiet, broken. But it was a start. "I don't know who I've become. I don't know why I did it."
And she didn't. Because there was so much about her and Nate's history she regretted. She realized she didn't really love him anymore, if she ever had. She didn't want him either. She didn't want him, didn't want to kiss those pouty lips and run her fingers through those perfectly spiked, sun-streaked locks. She just wanted to forget about what had happened between them.
But that wasn't going to happen.
And so she whispered, "I guess I just wanted what you had." It took courage to admit that, and she suspected that Blair couldn't even hear her. But if only for her own sake, she had to explain. "And maybe I thought I actually cared about Nate. But I didn't. And I don't."
She closed her eyes, wiping the tears from her cheeks with her free hand. "What we did was a mistake. A mistake I don't expect you to forgive me for."
And Serena didn't expect Blair to forgive her. Not in this lifetime.
"But I want you to know…" Her voice trailed off as she struggled to get the words out.
"I'm so sorry, B," Serena whispered, tears cascading down her cheeks as she watched the slow rise and fall of Blair's weak chest. She wasn't sure if Blair could survive this. And it was all her fault.
But as she sat there, holding Blair's hand, shaking with the silent force of tears, eyes fixed on her best friend's pale eyelids, she begun to hope again. She begun to realize that maybe things really would be okay, that maybe Blair would wake up, that maybe she would forgive Serena, that maybe Nate would leave once and for all so he never got between them again. Serena begun to have a little faith. Because as her tears fell on her and Blair's entwined hands, something happened.
Blair squeezed her hand.
May angels lead you in
May angels lead you in
tbc
