Fumbling Towards Happily Ever After
Chapter Fourteen – Part One
April 7, 2009
I know a lot about secrets. I excell at them. I think most gay teenagers must. I managed to keep it hidden for a year after I discovered it. I never said it aloud. I never wrote it down. I tried to not even think it. I hoped it would go away and reasoned that I was no different than anyone else. We all have them, tiny bits of us that we keep conceal. At least I was no different in that.
We are all scared of the judgement of others but that's not the entire reason why we keep secrets. We keep things secret not only because we don't want others to see all of us but because we're not ready to see ourselves. Our greatest secrets are wrapped within our greatest fears. That's why they can be hidden in plain view. The entire world can know our fault while we are too afraid to acknowledge them.
Serena teased me mercilessly for months about coming out to Chuck first. I have to admit she had a point. Who would start with their unempathetic, womanizing stepbrother? I finally told her in California. Chuck had been the only one to guess.
Eric Van der Woodsen
Chuck wasn't sure whether he was lucky or cursed for drawing Sebastian Everett II as his roommate. Apparently the boy was an icon at the center, had lived there on and off for the last three years, a formidable feat since he was only sixteen now. He used to get discharged and readmitted, now his parents just kept his room at ready. Chuck had wondered why they let their son out at all. Then he heard a few conversations from 6-8 and he understood. That boy was good! He was also good at getting Chuck to socialize. If Chuck had been avoiding the rest of the patients then bunking with Sebastian forced him into the mix. He got dragged to the recreation rooms, played at something other than laps in the pool but mostly realized the truth. Just because he was in rehab didn't mean he had to devote all his time and energy to being rehabilitated. That was the problem. Chuck always had a propensity for obsession but now he was rediscovering the playful side he thought had been put to death.
In return Chuck had only to accept Sebastian's two faults: the first of word choice and the second hobby. Sebe (pronounced Seb-ee and one of the strangest conversions of the name Chuck had heard) managed to string the word God into nearly every sentence. He'd explained one night as they shared a cigarette that his great uncle was a Bishop of the Episcopal Church (from booze to God in a single generation). Apparently that gave Sebastian permission to use the Lord's name at will. It didn't really bother Chuck. The closest he got to religious was the St. Christopher's medal he wore around his neck and even that had been a gift.
The second wasn't so forgivable but Chuck was growing a tolerance to it. The boy strummed all hours of the day and night, favoured songs that dated closer to his year of birth than admission. By the second night, Chuck decided that Sebastian's biggest problem was being born twenty years too late. He strummed Silverchair, played at Nirvana, Bush, even tinkered around with Hole but mostly he preferred the Dave Matthews Band. It should have been an obscure reference for Chuck except for a long legged brunette named Phoebe. His father had dated her for three weeks which was a long time based on the Bart standard of 2004. She had been obsessed with the band and, for a moment in time, Chuck had been obsessed with her.
That's why when Sebastian hit the familiar notes Chuck couldn't help but smile. And when he reached three quarters of the way through Chuck couldn't help but sing along.
"Hike up your skirt a little more, and show your world to me. In a boy's dream...In a boy's dream."
It shocked Sebastian so much that he stumbled through five chords before recovering himself. Then he played louder to match Chuck's throaty intonations.
"Oh I watch you there through the window. And I stare at you, you wear nothing but you wear it so well, tied up and twisted the way I'd like to be for you, for me, come crash into me."
"Bravo!" Sebastian tossed the guitar to the side, too impressed to finish the last refrain. "You have hidden talents!"
"I try."
"But how?" He asked. "That songs from like 1996!"
"One of my dad's girlfriends."
"Ah."
"I fucked her to that song," Chuck said with a self-satisfied smile. She might have made it four weeks if he hadn't. Not that Bart ever found out but Phoebehad had a strange attack of conscience (about ten minutes after they were done).
"You had sex with your dad's girlfriend?" Sebastian asked with just the tiniest flicker of either disgust or disquiet. Chuck supposed it should have been disgusting but he'd never felt that way. He just remembered being fourteen years old and impressed that he could put one over on his dad.
"She was closer to my age," Chuck pointed out
That relieved the younger boy, initial aversion traded for a winning smile. "God!" Sebastian muttered in awe. "I had you pegged all wrong. I took you for a neurotic overachiever who took speed to stay awake."
"I told you I am just an alcoholic."
"So maybe I took liberties in the retelling." Sebastian shrugged casually. "But still...there might just be more to you than meets the eye."
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX
Serena walked into the family suite ready to drop her bag on the side table. There was just one problem. The side table was gone. It was a Bass piece, some antique that Misty had collected in their travels. Serena stared at the empty space for a moment, felt the loss and then dropped her bag to the floor. Something changed every day at the Van der Bass suite. There would be a throw removed, another drawer emptied through, a missing vase or sculpture. It was the frequent reminders that everything was changing. Chuck's belongings had gone first, packed and moved over within three days. Bart's were slowly joining them. The Van der Woodsen's were slower to move, necessity delaying the final division. Bart's home, with the exception of some trim work and paint, was ready to be lived in. Lily still had tenants in their family townhouse. The lease had been broken but it would take another week before they could settle.
So for now they remained a family. Serena sometimes wondered why or how. How could Bart and Lily progress so amicably despite everything? She wanted to believe it was because her mother had comforted his father, or that maybe there was still a spark of something there. It could have been true, or at least she could have believed it if she hadn't heard the truth. She and Eric had listened at the door when the lawyers came, part curiosity and part outright dread. They could accept a physical division but neither wanted to face a real one. Once they heard the terms of the prenuptial they grew nervous. There had been an infidelity clause, probably reasonable for a woman like Lily. When they heard Bart ask the lawyer, in a clear and unemotional voice, to ignore it they'd exchanged looks. Bart had been smart enough to put it in but perhaps smarter to not enforce it. Any of the residual acrimony had been washed away with the gift and their mother and soon to be non-stepfather were able to end things as neutrally as they had begun.
Serena supposed she should be happy. Her mother had set worse precedents than this. They'd nearly run through flying china to escape a couple. She didn't feel happy though. In fact, as she watched all the little pieces of Bass disappear she felt distressed, even a slowly building misery. It was an ironic turn of events. She'd stumbled towards this marriage with more despair than any of the others. She'd loathed Bart Bass and the idea of being stepsister to Chuck? Well that had been worse! But now her heart broke to leave the two. She wasn't as bad as Eric though. Her brother had threatened the movers with bodily harm if they touched a thing in his room. They'd dragged boxes from her and her mother's but Eric's remained pristine. He'd have to get over it. Either that, or one day he'd arrive back from school and find his room emptied from top to bottom.
"Serena," Her mother's voice intruded on her thoughts. She turned to it and saw Lily walking her way, manila envelope in hand. "I forgot to give this to you. Bart said it was from Kathy." Serena took the package, allowed herself one last look at the bare wall before sitting to read. Serena grabbed her mother's letter opener from the side table, gave the flap a single rip and then pulled the letter. There were four pages of print, stapled in the top right corner. Attached to the first copy was a pink sticky crossed over with Kathy's cursive print.
Dear Serena,
Sorry I didn't get the chance to deliver this myself.
Good Luck,
K
The K was as elaborate as Kathy herself, two curving lines that spread across the full length of the tiny page. Serena pealed it away to read below. She got only as far as the first line when her heart sped out of control, little tremors of excitement building from the base of her stomach outward. She read through the paper three times, imprinted the date and time on her mind. She'd have written it across her arm if that wouldn't interfere with her interview. Kathy had got her an meeting with IMG models. It was the agency that represented not only Chuck's cousin but some of the most highly demanded models in the world.
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX
"Have you ever been to the Dominican in winter?" Sebastian asked excitedly, feet drumming again on their shared floor. Chuck nodded his head from across the room. They'd been talking for hours, feeding travel stories between others. They were freakishly similar despite the age divide. Sebastian launched into another story, got as far as Consuelo San Pedro de Bacoris when they heard the footsteps. They were hard and heavy just like the nurse they belonged to.
"Sebe," Deborah snapped before she'd even stepped into the room, girth preceding the rest. "You missed group this morning!"
"I got wrapt up in a novel."
"We've gone over this before," The nurses' resigned reprimand showed just how many times. "It's a mandated part of treatment here."
"Can't I just paint three abstract but emotionally relevant paintings to make up for it?"
"Finger painting doesn't cut it." The nurse retorted. Her chins jiggled enough to scare newer patients but Sebastian just smiled. "I will be escorting you personally tomorrow," Deborah promised.
"You'll have to find me first," Sebastian mumbled under his breath.
"How do you manage to skip group?" Chuck asked the moment Deborah was gone. "If I'm five minutes late they send a search party."
"I have my methods," Damien arched a brow smugly.
"Like?"
"And my secrets."
Chuck rolled his eyes and sat back. "I hate group."
"No one likes it. Well except for drama queens and this place has enough of those."
"My group is nearly all girls."
"Ah, then you have drawn the short straw."
"Is it always like that here? You know, two girls to one boy?"
"You actually mind?" Sebastian asked in surprise.
"Usually I wouldn't," Chuck agreed. "But group is like synchronized crying."
"I'd have to show you a picture of where I was." Sebastian said with a pointed look. "It's cyclical," He promised Chuck. "It's mostly boys after the New Year, and then the females take over from Valentine's Day to the onset of summer."
"So I'm four months too late." Chuck couldn't help but think how much better the last four months could have been if he had come here first.
"Or four weeks too early. What are you doing tonight?" Sebastian continued after a momentary pause.
"They're playing Quantum of Solace in the Rec,' Chuck suggested.
"Bond?" Sebastian arched a brow. "Usually a good choice but I have something better."
"Like?"
"Why don't you join me for the out trip?"
"Cricket?" Chuck rolled his eyes. He ought to have enjoyed cricket, the outfits alone were enough for him to love the sport. He couldn't. The first time Chuck had bowled to a batsman he'd got the ball back twice as hard, right in his most prized extremity. It had very nearly ended the reign of Chuck Bass three years before it'd begun. As it was he needed a full two days of bed rest.
"That's Mondays and Wednesdays. Tuesdays and Thursdays are something far more special."
"Like?"
"I'll sign you up," Sebastian flew out of the room before answering.
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX
Serena's celebratory dinner was an epic event. Her friends swelled three tables at Butter, champagne toasts premature but flowing nevertheless. Serena had modelled a little when she was younger, catalogue work that she'd put to the back as another experience she'd remember but never repeat. It was what the photographer had said. She was stunningly beautiful but just too much so. She was too perfect, there was nothing to distinguish her or set her apart. Serena had accepted it. She hadn't thought to model as her future. In truth, Serena hardly thought about her future at all. She didn't need to; everything eventually fell into place for her with little to no effort. However, now that it had fallen she couldn't think of anything else. Her heart had never raced to her acceptance at Brown, it'd hardly moved at all. That alone made it seem right. With two exceptions the rest of the table agreed. Blair and Eric were the sole dissenters. They sipped their champagne rather than gulped, shared looks and wondered. Was this the best choice for Serena? That world brought so many temptations and the blonde bombshell had never excelled at restraint.
Serena smiled down the combined tables, blonde curls falling from side to side, alcohol building a rosy stain to her cheeks. She tried to let nothing could disturb that night, most particularly Nate's positioning beside Blair. Penelope had offered a seat first; she'd kept it empty on pain of scratched eyes. When Nate had sauntered in thirty minutes late she'd launched herself at him, all smiles, touches and coy suggestions. Nate was officially single now and Penelope wasn't about to miss another opportunity to land him. Nate had refused her, pulling the chair to sit beside Blair instead. The brunette hardly noticed because she was too deep in conversation with Eric. Nate waited patiently; spoke exclusively to Blair when the opportunity presented itself. He let his arm brush hers against the table, let his eyes feast too openly. Nate was becoming downright obvious and that made Serena downright nervous. This time it wasn't just for Nate, but for the other girl, the first outside their club to notice.
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX
Chuck was the only boy to not know the destination, to watch out the window as the bus crawled down the hill towards Yale. He listened off and on to the other speakers but mostly he stared. He and his cousin had driven through the blackness, he caught glimpses of the university from the Southern side but Chuck had never been there. His parents weren't like Blair's. They hadn't brainwashed him to accept any one school as his destiny, they hadn't bred him from birth to accept an Ivy League future. They assumed he would attain greatness but they had never affixed that greatness to any school. After all, Bart had graduated from New York University and was happy to have done so. His grandfathers were a plumber and grocer respectively. There was no Ivy tradition to uphold, just the possibility to create one. When he watched the metal gates rise, the miles of manicured green and thick bundles of roses twining out of engineered boxes, Chuck knew he could pin the Bass name to Yale forever. He felt very much at home. It was almost disconcerting simply because it wasn't.
"You found another newbie to beat," One of the boys yelled enough to distract him.
"It's the only way he could win a match," Another met the teasing and Chuck realized they were yelling at Sebastian.
"Shhh!" Sebastian hushed the other boys. "Chuck doesn't know where we're going."
That seemed to amuse the entire bus. They talked amongst themselves but said only one thing more aloud. "I hope you're comfortable with aggression."
He didn't know what they were talking about until the white jacket was thrown his way, set of breeches, plastron and glove to complete the outfit. Chuck was a bit disturbed by the weight, the amount of Kevlar that was woven through. He couldn't help but remember the cricket incident. If a competitor could do that much damage with a wooden bat then how much could be done with a sword? The Yale fencing association sponsored Clayton House twice a week, provided materials and trainers to teach them the basics of the sport. Sebastian suited up without hesitation but Chuck just laid the uniform against one arm.
Then someone passed the sword. The moment the metal touched his hand, warmed beneath his wrist, the moment he flipped that wrist and felt the point move to his command, then Chuck knew this was something he could love. So he slipped the rest on, covered his face with a mask and adjusted to the diminished vision.
The night went just as the other boys had predicted. Sebastian, for all his rough and erratic movements, bettered Chuck in every single round. It wasn't surprising. They'd had only thirty minutes of instruction, barely enough time to memorize the four hand positions never mind the offensive or defensive rules, positioning of the feet or the science of the thrust or tarry. The only surprising part was Chuck's response to losing. He'd felt the frustration but it had never ended in eruption. He'd controlled his temper through every hit and Sebastian had scored repetitively, embarrassingly often. It didn't matter. When the masks came off, when Chuck pushed back his sweat soaked hair and offered a hand it was with genuine humility.
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX
Sometimes the morning dawns bright, with shining sun that spins patterns through slowly budding leaves. Sometimes you wake up and know the day will end happily. Sometimes the skies open up, rain floods the earth and you know the day will end before it even begins. Blair knew something was wrong the moment she entered the school. She brushed at her wool jacket, and tried to chase the hanging droplets from her hair before it could frizz. She went to sit with her regular group. When it rained they took to the main floor, sat in the three metal benches that lined outside the main gymnasium. Blair always sat in the middle, the rest always gathered around but when she arrived that morning her place was occupied. Penelope sat between Kat and Is, eyes slowly following her Queen's arrival but feet making no effort to move. When Blair stood before her and Penelope still didn't move Blair remembered something. Penelope had always been a problem. She had a pedigree that could outdo hers and a desire for power that could rival. Blair should have gotten rid of her after the Jenny incident.
"Blair," Penelope smiled just enough to make her defined cheekbones pop further. "Why don't you join us?" She pointed to the bench on the right, eyebrow arching to match the side.
Blair arched her own brow higher, stared down and waited for the other girl's self-confidence to falter. She waited but it didn't. "I will when you give me my chair."
"That's too bad then," Penelope gave a flip of her straight brown hair and turned back to the rest of Blair's friends. Blair waited for one of them to intervene, to put an end to the whole charade. When they started talking instead Blair felt the first strains of dread.
She didn't let it show, she dropped the oversized Prada bag that served as her school bag right onto Penelope's foot. "Opps," She tried for effort but none of the other girls laughed.
"You should pick that up," Penelope suggested. Blair wasn't planning on it. But then when the other girls laughed not at her but at Penelope she lost her nerve. "And go sit over there," She pointed at the spot beside Hazel.
"I don't think so."
"Kat," Penelope smiled at the petite Asian girl.
"I think you should sit over there," Kat narrowed her eyes and Blair didn't know whether to laugh or cry. She didn't need this right now. Then again, that's probably why Penelope used that moment to attack. She should have fed that girl to the wolves a year back. Blair shifted in her heels.
"We're under new management," Penelope dropped the truth at last.
"You?" Blair's reproach was automatic.
"At least she cares about us," Kat shot back.
"Penelope?"
"Have you seen William around lately?" Penelope asked knowingly. William was the waiter Katy had met at New Years. The waiter that had turned out to be heir, the boy Katy had sworn was the love of her life.
"He was 5'5"; I couldn't see him even when I was looking for him."
"He dumped me," Kat admitted, almond eyes misting over the truth.
"I'm sorry."
"Nice try," Penelope interrupted. "But if you were really sorry then you'd have been here for her."
"I've been busy," Blair shot at the newly elected leader.
"Chasing after Chuck Bass," Penelope shot back. "That's not busy, that's pathetic."
"I'm not..."
"Oh don't even try." Penelope grabbed at her old fashioned pearls and twisted. She was winning, and her smile grew with each entanglement. "You've been mooning over him for months and completely ignoring your duties to us."
"I..."
"Let me spell it out for you. You have been yearning for a rapist."
"He didn't have anything to do with Jenny. He was trying to help...' Blair began the refrain that entire school knew. Even Gossip Girl had posted her own retraction.
"Please," Penelope arched that brow again. "It's Chuck!"
"You don't know..."
"And he followed it up with what? A trip to rehab? Definitely a winner!"
Blair tried to offer another retort but her mind wouldn't cooperate. All she wanted to do was defend Chuck but doing so seemed to dig the hole larger.
"We think that someone who shows such bad judgement. Well, she's not fit to lead us."
"But you are?" Blair put her chin out, waited for one of the other girls to disagree. They didn't.
"Let's go," Penelope pushed Blair's bag away with her toe, grabbed her own and led the procession out.
Blair didn't turn to watch them go. She didn't say anything as they walked away. She just stared at the three empty seats with a frightening sense of deja vu.
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX
Chuck stared at the window in the counsellor's office. It was thick leaded glass like the rest, as small as old fashioned glass tended to be. You could barely catch a view but Chuck wasn't looking beyond the glass. He was studying the patterns of water. It was raining outside, a steady downpour that created a waterfall effect on the pane. It reminded Chuck of Dr. Sherman and the elaborate waterfall in the main office. It was supposed to be calming and if there was any feeling Chuck needed right now then it was tranquility. He couldn't be calm and serene. Today was the day he dreaded more than any other but it was also one he had chosen. It was paradoxical. He'd chosen Clayton House not just for their excellent tutors, for the teen nature of the program, not only for the view of Yale. He'd chosen Clayton House because they specialized in dual diagnosis cases. He knew he'd get the truth.
But the funny thing was when the truth came he didn't want to hear it. He couldn't look at the doctor and only spoke when he hesitated awkwardly. Chuck told him to continue and kept up his own study, watched the tiny rivers of rain push down and fall to nothing. He heard the doctor's insistence that diagnosis ought not to be attempted for at least a year following withdrawal. He rambled on about brain chemistry, familial precedence and other stuff that Chuck really didn't care to hear. He was waiting for the words. When they came he felt his future fall along with the water. There was a glossy pamphlet. Chuck took one glance at it and chuckled mirthlessly. It never left the desk. His eyes went back to the window. The drug information sheet was next. He couldn't laugh that off. "How long do I have to take them for?"
"Charles," the doctor began in a soft tone and Chuck hated him for it. "This is not the stomach flu or an inner ear infection. There is no magic pill to clear this in a few weeks."
"How long?" Chuck asked. He could feel his eyelids twitch, the slow clutching in his chest that proved he already knew the answer.
"This is something that needs to be managed for the rest of you life. You may always..."
Chuck didn't wait for the doctor to finish. He was out of the chair at rest, barely registering the always that so logically followed. The counsellor did his best to make him stay, called his name and tried to say something. Chuck didn't care to hear him. He was down the hall before the doctor was out of his chair. It was darker than it had been when he had entered and Chuck was tempted to just walk right out: To find the sun, transverse the full mile until he ended in New Haven. He could try to find one dream while the others broke away forever.
He nearly ran his roommate over. The boy put a hand out but Chuck rushed right by it. He said something too but Chuck was fixated on the far exit door. He likely would have made it there but he could feel the tears building, the slow crawl of tension that spread everywhere, from the apex of his shoulders to the middle of his stomach. There was no way he was crying in broad daylight, before his fellow patients. So he detoured to the boy's hall, entered his own bedroom, pushed further into the bathroom and slammed the door. He had it locked before he fell. The room was slowly spinning but Chuck couldn't figure out if it was a panic attack, the force of his tears or something else. So he just sat back, pressed his head against the door and tried not to consider the other times life had found him in that predicament.
He never thought he'd prefer to be an alcoholic but he did. It was logical, could be reasoned to a mathematical formula. The diagnosis was uncomplicated. Alcoholics had trouble with drinking. The solution was as simple. An alcoholic needed not to drink. The answer was in the number zero which had always been Chuck's favourite. He'd always taunted his father to add more zeros. Bart had associated it with making more money but at five years old Chuck had just been in love with the perfect circle formed by that number. He never outgrew his affection for it. He could have spent his entire life chasing zero in his consumption. It was simple. Zero meant success; any other number meant he had failed. There was no simple equation for this. This was complicated, unpredictable and unmanageable. He knew that. He'd lived it firsthand. It didn't matter how many shiny white pills they threw down his throat. They hadn't helped her. Chuck wish he'd never asked the question because now he was never going to be able to pretend that he was just an alcoholic again.
The doctor knocked on his door but Chuck didn't answer. He'd pulled his knees harder to his chest, pressed his eyelids to them until it hurt. He cried fully but it didn't help. The entire feeling was too overwhelming. He felt entirely hopeless. It took twenty minutes of outright despair before Chuck realized he couldn't handle this alone. Sebastian was lying on the bed when Chuck finally opened the door. He could have been concerned but the playful smirk on his face didn't push to that conclusion. The cigarette he offered in one hand might of. "I need your phone," Chuck asked with an absent brush as his wet cheeks.
"Only between the hours of 6 and 8, you know the rules." Sebastian chastised his roommate lightly, waved his hand again to offer the alternate.
"I know how you like to bend them." Chuck reminded the blonde and Sebastian couldn't help but smirk wider. He tossed his special blend to the side table and offered the phone instead. "Would you mind," Chuck said with a deliberate look at the door. Sebastian might have argued that point once but this time he took to the floor and disappeared without comment.
Chuck punched the ten digit code he'd memorized the year before. He waited through the longer dial tone, the three rings that ended with his brother's voice. "Hello?" The voice was uncertain and Chuck knew it was the unfamiliar name. The moment he intoned his own greeting Eric's voice changed, words rushed so fast that Chuck had to concentrate to keep up. There were a dozen questions ending with the fundamental "how are you?"
"Honestly," Chuck began with a deep breath. "Not well and I really need someone to talk to about it."
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX
A/N – I hope you are all proud of Chuck :)
SkySamuelle – Sebe isn't meant for Vanessa (he'd a bit young for her anyway)
Roswell Dream Girl – I can promise that Chuck will have no romantic feelings for any other girl. Does that help?
Gglover – Sebastian is more like understanding Eric but he's mostly like our protagonist.
Bellakatalina – I'm glad, hopefully you'll be satisfied only at the end ;)
Oc-Journey – Chuck will descibe it in details when he first sees it. Think the reverse of what it was before.
BrittyKay – Chuck will be much better when he gets out. It won't be steadily upward but they'll be very few stumbles the rest of the way
Princetongirl – thanks
Annablake – Chuck is going to tell us what she wrote (what they all wrote) when he gets back. Bart is going to need an intermediary to get Chuck and likewise. I'm going to give him one though. 1-2 more postings and you'll see who that is.
Court – yeah, poor Nate :p
Tiff – he's in love ;)
Up Next – Blair gets some good news to balance the bad. Chuck bends the rules until they break and ends himself in the Southern wing.