Chapter XIV

The house was rather large, made of old English oak. Mahogany drapes were drawn to block the sunlight from entering the house. Every step one took revealed a rather loud squeak in the floor. In the first floor was a sitting room with an old fireplace and a brown leather sofa. Across the sitting room was a kitchen and a small bathroom. Up the wooden stairs were three rooms: a master bedroom, a second bedroom and a family room. The second bedroom sat at the very end of the long, narrow hall with dimly lit lamps. Inside the second bedroom was a small bed, a bathroom, a closet, desk and chair and a window that had been boarded up. In the corner of the dark room sat Blair, crawled up into a small ball on the ground with her back leaned on the wall. Her knees were pointing up as she held them close to her chest with her arms. She had a tired look on her face and a weary look in her eyes. A gentle knock came on the door and she tilted her head up slightly towards it. A moment passed before the door opened and an elderly male walked inside carrying a tray.

"Hi Blair," he greeted her warmly as she stared at him blankly. "I brought you some dinner."

Placing the tray on the bed, he looked up at her.

"Will you eat tonight?" he asked her.

"Will you let me go?" she replied, her voice revealing her exhaustion and weakness as he shook his head and sighed.

"We already went through this, Blair," he stated. "I thought you had finally accepted it."

"Accepted the fact that I'm a prisoner in a foreign country because of my psychotic mother?" she said with an angry scoff and looked away. "That'll never happen."

Sighing again, he looked at the young girl with sympathy.

"I'm sorry you feel that way, sweetheart," he said quietly in his British accent. "Eat your dinner."

With that, he turned and walked out of the room, locking it behind him. Staring at the locked door, Blair's eyes slowly moved to the tray of food. Forcing herself to her feet, she sat down on the bed and stared down at the dinner before her. There was a plate of mashed potatoes, steamed vegetables, boiled chicken and peas with a side of salad and cake. She stared at the food for a long time, her mind debating whether or not she should eat it. Her hand then slowly moved to the fork and picked it up. Moving to the plate, she took a small bite of the chicken and then another and another. Within minutes, the entire plate was finished along with the salad. As she took a final mouthful of the cake, Blair dropped the fork onto the empty plate. Looking up with anguished eyes, she quickly ran towards the bathroom and fell in front of the toilet, throwing up everything she had just eaten. Once the contents of her stomach had been emptied, her shaky hand flushed the toilet before she leaned her back against the bathroom wall. Tears streamed down her face and she began crying aloud. Burying her face in her hands, she turned away from the toilet and curled into a ball on the floor, her cries intensifying.

Opening his eyes, Chuck slowly looked around himself and realized that he was back in the hospital, in a room similar to the last one. Sitting up slightly, he rubbed his tired eyes just as Dr. Williams walked into the room.

"Perfect timing," he expressed, checking his chart before sighing. "Do you know how many rules you broke leaving the hospital the way you did?"

Chuck leaned his head back and remained silent.

"Well I hope that it was worth it because you could have almost killed yourself," he continued. "Apparently your neighbors heard some commotion coming from your suite and if the manager hadn't come up to check on you…"

He let the sentence trail off as Chuck looked at him with sad eyes and cuts down the sides of his face that had been treated with antiseptic.

"It doesn't matter anymore," he said sadly before looking away.

The doctor was unsure of what to say to comfort him and decided to stick with the issue of his treatment.

"We've ran a series of tests and it's concluded that you do not have any serious neurological damage," he explained. "You passed out because of the side effects of your surgery and concussion. You're very lucky, Mr. Bass."

Chuck refused to look at him and instead stared at the windows in his room.

"You will be able to leave later today if you can get a parent or guardian to sign you out," he continued. "As I remember, you mentioned that your father…"

"I lied," Chuck said suddenly, cutting the doctor off.

"But I thought…," he began.

"I said I lied," he repeated. "I would have said anything to leave…but now I have no reason to."

"Are you sure you're telling me the truth?" Dr. Williams asked sternly.

Turning to face him, Chuck revealed his glossy eyes. "Please leave me alone."

With that, he turned back to the windows as Dr. William nodded slightly.

"Then we will contact your father," he said before walking out.

Once he was gone, Chuck ran a hand through his hair and exhaled. Leaning back, he closed his eyes to relax, but Blair's image popped into his mind. The memory of Victrola that first night came flooding back to him and he scrunched his eyes, wanting nothing better than to forget.

An hour passed before Bart Bass walked into the hospital, dressed in a crisp grey suit and a black overcoat, looking every bit the rich Park Avenue resident that he was. Speaking at the main desk, he got the address for his son's room and walked in with a deep breath. What he saw made him slow down. Chuck was sitting up in the bed with his face buried in his hands. Clearing his throat, he got his attention as Chuck opened his eyes and looked up. Bart finally noticed the cuts o his face and had to bite back a gasp.

"Chuck," he said firmly. "I can see that you are alright."

Scoffing, he looked away from his father. "What do you want?"

"I was called by the hospital to come and sign you out," Bart exclaimed before softening his voice. "Chuck, I wanted to apologize…"

"Don't bother," he replied, tossing the covers aside and getting to his feet.

"Wait," he pleaded with him. "Just wait…please let me say this."

With his hands at his waist, he shrugged his shoulders motioning for his father to continue.

"I want you to know how sorry I am…for everything," Bart began, the sincerity in his voice puzzling his son. "I know that I haven't shown it properly ever since your mom…but I do love you. I love you so much, son."

He came to take a step towards him, but Chuck instinctively stepped back, causing Bart to stop in his tracks.

"I just…I want you to know that I'm going to get help," he continued. "I need help because I'm so close to losing the one important person in my life…if I haven't lost you already. I'm so sorry, son. I am so, so sorry."

Chuck stared at his father with a frown, unsure of how to take all of this.

"You can't just come in here and apologize and expect everything to be okay because it's not," he said firmly. "I don't think that I can ever forgive you for any of this. Both for hitting me all those times and for the hateful words you said the other night. I didn't remember it at first but I remember it now. You said that you hate me because of mom and that you blame me for her death. How can I forgive any of that?"

"I don't expect you to forgive me overnight. I understand how badly I have behaved towards you, how I used you as a scapegoat for my shortcomings both as a husband and a father," he expressed. "I just want you to know how sorry I am and how much I love you. You are my son, Charlie, and I love you with all of my heart."

Chuck couldn't believe the man standing in front of him was the same father who had attacked him both verbally and physically a few nights ago. Needing a couple minutes away from him, Chuck grabbed his clothes and stumbled into the bathroom as Bart watched him go with teary eyes. He stood in the silence of the room for almost five minutes before the door opened and Chuck stepped out, tossing the hospital gown on the bed beside him.

"I'm glad that you are going to get help because you really need it…professional help," he exclaimed and sighed. "But as for any relationship with me…I can't do it. I can't forgive you. Too much damage has been done between us and we can't go back."

"Chuck…," Bart began, but his son held his hand up.

"What you did to me…no child should ever be beaten by his or her parent," he exclaimed, forcing Bart to look down in shame. "I saw mom being raped, not you and she killed herself over her guilt for me, not you. How do you think I felt all these years? How do you think I felt thinking my mom killed herself because of me? It killed me, dad!"

Bart smiled sadly on the inside at hearing his son calling him by an endearing term.

"And the one person who I thought would be there for me and help me grieve was the one person who couldn't stand being in the same room as me without feeling disgusted…without hitting me," Chuck stated as Bart looked away again. "I can't let it all go and I can't get past it. I want you to get help for your sake but as for a relationship with me…that ended a long time ago."

With that, he turned and walked out of the room as Bart watched him go sadly. Dr. Williams watched him go and before he was able to object, Chuck pointed behind him.

"He just signed me out," he said aloud before disappearing down the hall.

The Doctor turned and stared at Bart who watched the departing frame of his son desolately. Once he was outside, Chuck stepped onto the sidewalk and glanced around himself. People who passed him by stared at him with frowns and looks of awe at the cuts on his face and the bandage behind his head that had been made smaller. Finally hailing a cab, he gave Victrola's address and made his way to the club. When he was inside, he made his way to the back of the uninhabited club to his personal table. It was only six o'clock at night and the club held only the workers. Falling into his seat heavily, he leaned his head back and sighed.

"Hey," one of the younger dancers exclaimed, sitting down next to him as he faced her. "You look terrible."

She was dressed in complete uniform and leaned back towards him.

"What do you need, baby?" she asked, touching the side of his face tenderly.

"I don't want to feel," he whispered.

"Then I have just what you need," she said, reaching into her pocket and removing a white powder that was inside a small clear bag.

"What is that?" he asked with a frown as she opened the bag.

"Just a little something to make you forget," she replied.

"Heroin?" he asked in disbelief before pushing her hand away. "I don't take that shit."

"You said you want to forget," she began. "I think you want to forget what gave you all those bruises and what put that sadness in your eyes, right?"

When he didn't answer, she smiled and leaned in closer to him.

"You've taken this stuff before, Chuck," she said as his eyes met hers. "You're not exactly a virgin in any category."

He looked away from her, but the corner of his eyes remained on the powder in her hand.

"Come on," she said, taking his hand and putting the substance in his palm. "You know you want it."

Chuck stared at it for another unsure moment before lifting his eyes to meet hers again.

"I have nothing left. I lost my best friend, the girl I love and I have no family left," he said quietly, his voice both dark and grave. "Why not self-destruct fully?"

Before she was able to say anything, he took the substance from her and leaned forward. Placing his nose at the bag, he took a single sniff before closing his eyes and holding the sides of his head for a couple minutes. Tossing the bag to the girl, he leaned back in his seat and looked around himself with a dazed expression and blurry vision.

"Enjoy," the girl whispered before placing the almost-empty bag back in her pocket and leaving the table.

Chuck continued to look around himself before his eye lids grew heavy and he slowly closed his eyes.