The Scars of Your Love
(title inspired by the lyrics of "Rolling in the Deep" by Adele)
The genuine uncontrollable laughter that emanated from deep within her belly tickled his ears in a joyful melody that he longed to memorize. Her own animated vivacity seemed to flow into him through their joined hands, and, before he knew it, the sound of his guffaws joined her enchanting giggles in an explosion of child-like jubilance.
There's a fire starting in my heart
Reaching a fever pitch and it'll bring me out the dark
The moment had meant everything to him, but it still hadn't been enough. He clung to the knowledge that she didn't belong to him, not allowing himself to consider that a few minutes of happiness could change the fact that this stolen moment would soon become a memory that he would replay for the rest of his life, wondering where he had lost her. It had been a bittersweet goodbye between former lovers, but it was time for her to return to her rightful place as protagonist in her real-life fairytale. The elated smile remained on his face as his body worked its way down from the incredible high that it had just experienced, and he asked her, "So that's it. Time to go back to the real world. You ready?"
There was passion burning in her eyes, and no verbal response was needed. She wasn't ready, not by a longshot. When she pulled him into the private lounge nothing else mattered except her desperate grip on his lapels frantically pulling his mouth to hers. Eager fingers worked his belt buckle in a joint effort to be closer to one another. Peppering kisses across her neck, he turned her in his arms to hastily unzip her gown and let it fall to the floor in a forgotten heap.
For a brief moment, his eyes lingered on her face, and she traced her palm across his cheek, neither one bothering to acknowledge the garish engagement ring strangling her finger. Two hearts beat unsteadily against heaving chests, while hungry lips collided together furiously and trembling hands grasped tightly to sweat-soaked skin. Forbidden desire took control as the two lovers acted on instinct, responding to the only truth they knew: their aching need for each other.
Their lovemaking was not soft or gentle; it was driven by an impassioned intensity that left them both sated and panting. Neither of their undergarments had been appropriately removed before he was thrusting into her as if this was the last moment they would ever spend in one another's arms. Her hands clung to him desperately, imploring her body to speak the words she couldn't form. They found refuge in one another's embrace.
After it was all over, they dressed quietly, unsure of the meaning behind their actions. He watched her closely, looking for signs of regret, but when she reached for his hand and smiled shyly, he slowly exhaled, forcing the mounting tension from his body. She still hadn't given him an indication of her intentions; was it one final goodbye or a reunion?
The scars of your love reminds me of us
They keep me thinking that we almost had it all
Exiting the building, they walked closely without touching. He shoved his hands into his coat pocket, and she clutched her purse tightly. She finally gave him confirmation: she would leave Louis for him. They'd been down this road many times before, and it had never worked out as they hoped. Past experience left him scared and skeptical, so he refused to become hopeful.
Approaching the limo, he observed the hard truth, "You really love him, don't you?"
"Yes," she replied firmly, before adding more softly with the slightest smile, "But not like I love you. With Louis and I, it's different. It's lighter, more simple. He makes me happy."
His jaw clenched visibly as she described the carefree relationship that she had with the prince. Her final statement was a dagger to his heart, emphasizing the insecurity that he would never be able to make her happy the way she deserved. Shaking his head, he conjectured solemnly, "And I don't."
"What we have is a great love; it's complicated, intense, all-consuming. No matter what we do and how much we fight, it'll always pull us in. What's mere happiness in the face of all that, right?"
Her words struck him deep inside his chest, reverberating through his mind like a hammer, pounding in time with the heavy beating of his heart.
Intense, complicated, all-consuming.
Fight.
Mere happiness.
He looked into the busy New York street, allowing the sounds of the city to wash through him for a moment, before climbing into the limo where it had all started.
Happiness. Her happiness.
She sat across from him on the expansive leather bench of the limo, blissfully unaware of the storm raging through him. The juxtaposition of the seemingly slow moving vehicle against the flashing city lights flickering in a blinding rhythm against the back window caused his head to reel in confusion; waves of nausea washed over his body, and he prayed she didn't notice. She glanced absently out the passenger window, lost in her own thoughts of the events that had just transpired. He closed his eyes tightly, slumping back against the headrest in a futile attempt to will away the unwelcome sensations of guilt and unworthiness.
He had done it again. Was this the fourth time? Or the fifth? Perhaps the number was even higher than that if he were to consider all of the smaller sins he'd committed against her since junior year. He opened his eyes slowly and stared down at his hands, one still wrapped in a bandage as evidence of his worst infraction to date, and the weight of it all clung to him like a heavy boulder that he couldn't quite lift. The breath was pulled harshly from his lungs, as he struggled to rationalize his earlier actions.
Selfish.
Self-serving.
Self-absorbed.
As his mind worked desperately to define his contributions to their relationship over the past few years, every single thought started with that word: 'self.' When had he ever let it be about her? Her needs? Her desires? Her happiness? Every single choice he could remember making focused on his own gain.
He continued to study his hands in shame.
His hands tell a story that his lips refuse to acknowledge. It's a story of hurt and temporary comfort - a complicated story of complete loss and short-lived joy compounded with devastation. At times, it's difficult to determine which part of the story intersects cruelly with hers and which part is merely a shadow of his past.
Sometimes the memories don't feel real. He's become a master of disillusionment, storing the more painful parts of the past year in neat little packages, boxed away in the furthest recesses of his mind, only to be unwrapped in solitary desolation surrounded by poor substitutes of feigned connection.
In the beginning of their tumultuous affair, he had allowed himself to believe that there was wander and possibility in his newfound feelings of affection. After a week of happiness, his father had successfully poisoned his mind against such notions. Bart's words had seemed positive and supportive at the time; but, now, in his misery, he wondered if it was always part of his father's more sinister plan to lead him on a lonely path of self-destruction.
No, his suffering was on his own hands. He could blame his immaturity or his father's detachment all he wanted, but in the depths of his wretchedness, he was well aware that his actions were out of a callous selfishness that he strived to overcome every day thereafter; he never thought it would be enough, but somehow it was – at least, momentarily, until he made yet another selfish mistake.
She'd forgiven him fairly easily for that offense, but he held her hostage emotionally for a full year, refusing to admit his feelings. He had the answer to her security in the palm of his hands, and he did nothing but toy with her for months, all as an excuse for the games they played. When she had been brave enough to reveal her soul to him in one of his weakest moments, he rejected her, burning through her in a selfish attempt to inflict some of the same anguish that was consuming him onto her.
But then something changed. He finally said those words that would redefine their relationship. He thought he was strong enough for her. For once, everything was exactly as it should be, and she was his. Their games were focused on others; they humiliated unsuspecting women who dared to focus their attention on the young Bass heir. It worked well for them, and they found a comfortable routine that only the two of them could understand. Mutual respect and trust were at the core of their relationship, and he thought he had finally found the happiness that he once thought was the only thing in life that he couldn't have.
She was everything - vibrant, beautiful, supportive, and present. He needed nothing else in life with her by his side. For a short yet glorious time in his life, hands that had once been filled with the flesh of multiple women of questionable backgrounds were finally able to slide possessively through the chestnut curls that still smelled of lavender shampoo. They tangled themselves in her tresses and caressed her satin skin, worshipping her faithfully with every reverent touch. Those hands held her tightly to him, wishing to never experience another moment without her in his embrace.
Like every good thing in his life, though, it was only inevitable that he would fuck it all up. Those same hands betrayed her time and time again. They offered her as a sacrifice to the altar of greed and power. He reduced her to an object to be bought and sold for his own selfish need to satisfy his skewed vision of success.
Please tell me Jack was lying. You wouldn't betray me like that.
Regret.
I would've done anything to help you. All you had to do was ask.
Remorse.
All I ever did was love you.
Despair.
I never thought that the worst thing you would ever do would be to me.
Guilt.
He had blamed her. He had fucking blamed her, and she punished him for a short while. Her pain was carved into her delicate features when she told him that she didn't like the person that she had become with him. If he truly looked at her, then he would see the invisible scars that he had caused. Instead, he mocked her by brazenly bedding the first harlot to smile in his direction.
The consequences never lasted long, though, and she found forgiveness once again that he didn't deserve. She should've left him to rot in the desolate hell he had created for himself, but instead he gave her an ultimatum, as if he had any right to hold her to it. He told himself that he should've been honored just to exist in the same city she was in, but she paid the price for his arrogance.
The next offense was unforgivable. The only justification he could reach was that his life didn't matter without her. He'd do anything to numb the pain that came with such a heart-wrenching loss. Anything just happened to be named Jenny Humphrey.
The hands that had grown accustomed to touching heaven were sullied yet again. Surely no act of contrition could undo the egregious crimes he had committed. That lone betrayal should have been enough to banish him to the fiery pits of hell without her brilliance to illuminate the darkness.
Months later, in a moment of affected hatred turned to passion, she'd given herself to him again. They convinced themselves that it was nothing more than "run-of-the-mill ex-sex," but confessions of adoration were quick to replace insults on the lovers' lips.
Alas, cruel timing and unfair circumstances formed a mountain that they weren't yet prepared to climb, so he left her with a reassuring promise: If two people are meant to be together, eventually they'll find their way back.
And they had found their way back to one another, in the most deliciously sinful way. He would never bring himself to describe sex with her as a mistake; nothing he did with her could be considered wrong. Loving her was the only thing that he'd ever done right in his whole life.
But he couldn't be selfish anymore.
He would always just hold her back. No matter how much she loved him in return, he would never be worthy. He had to set her free if she would ever find real happiness in life. He was starting to see that her emotional fulfillment would be unachievable if he was in her life.
Happiness wasn't in the cards for him, but it would be enough to watch her find hers. In that moment, it was all he truly wanted in life: to watch from afar as her fairytale dreams came true.
He was shaken from his reverie, when Blair reached over and took his hand. "We're here," she whispered softly.
"I should get inside," he responded robotically, squeezing her hand when he saw the confusion shroud her eyes. He leaned in to kiss her lips gently, a newfound sadness emerging at the corners of his mouth when he pulled away. Feeling a dull ache growing in his chest, he climbed out of the limo before she could question his melancholy mood.
He ascended the stairs to the ballroom slowly in contemplative silence. He stopped in his tracks when he saw Louis sitting patiently in an oversized chair. "You're still here?"
Louis scoffed, "Why wouldn't I be?"
Chuck gestured around the room in obvious irritation, "The party's almost over."
"I know," Louis answered, standing to his feet and fastening his jacket, "But Blair hasn't arrived yet."
Chuck did little to disguise his own arrogance as it seeped into his reply, "How can you be sure she's even coming?"
Louis remained unfazed by Chuck's questioning and responded honestly, "Because I love her, and it's just as important that I believe in her. I know she's scared, but she'll figure it out," he narrowed his eyes slightly at Chuck in emphasis, "And I'll be here when she does."
The truth in Louis's words splashed over Chuck like a bucket of ice water just as Blair made her way toward him with his coat. "You left your -" she stopped mid sentence when her eyes landed on Louis, and the weight of her reckless behavior dawned on her when a large smile spread across his face at her presence.
"I knew you'd come," he beamed.
"I'm sorry it took me so long." Her apology screamed obligatory insincerity, as she handed Chuck's jacket to him. "We need to talk."
Louis's gaze cut from Blair to the jacket in Chuck's hand as a look of sheer animosity overpowered his typically jovial expression, "I see."
Chuck's heart pounded, realization slicing through him like a sharp knife. He was about to do it again - interfere with her chance at happiness. This time he refused to be selfish by standing in her way. He couldn't bear the thought of all of the devastation that he was still capable of inflicting on her. "Blair," he warned quietly.
"No, I need to do this myself," she gulped, nervously working up the courage to break the news to the prince, "What I need to tell you is -"
"What she's trying to say is you have my blessing," Chuck cut her off before it was too late, before his hesitation, before his selfishness could hurt her again. Blair could see the pain reflected in his eyes, but Louis was easily fooled by the forced smile that crossed Chuck's lips as he said, "I couldn't be more happy that the two of you are getting married."
He quickly shook Louis's hand and turned to walk away from Blair for good.
The scars of your love, they leave me breathless
I can't help feeling
We could have had it all
Entering the lobby, he stared out the window as the weather mocked him with a clichéd analogy. The downpour must've started after Blair found him with Louis. He watched the large drops splatter senselessly against the uneven pavement of the sidewalk before coalescing into useless shallow puddles of dirty rainwater. He paced in front of the door, waiting for Arthur to pull the limo under the awning. He needed to leave immediately.
He released a frustrated sigh when he heard the impatient clicking of Blair's heels against the stairs. She wouldn't make this easy on either one of them. Marching purposefully toward him, she demanded, "Why did you just do that?"
He figured the truth was obvious enough, so he answered her without turning in her direction, "Because of what you said earlier."
"About being happy?" She asked, approaching more quickly before stopping directly in front of him. Using her hands for emphasis, she explained, "Chuck, that's not the most important thing." She ignored the slight shake of his head and downcast eyes as she continued, "People don't write sonnets about being compatible or novels about shared life goals and stimulating conversation. The great loves are the crazy ones. L'amour fou."
He could see that her idealistic vision of grand love was clouding her consideration for their reality, "Blair, we're not living in Paris in the '20s."
He saw her face drop slightly. The change would have been imperceptible to anyone else, but he knew her too well for it to go unnoticed. She continued to stubbornly hold onto hope, despite his protestations, "Well, we both wish we were."
"There's a difference between great love and right love." His words hit her hard, and her expression changed to one of anxious worry. He explained, "I left the Empire State Building after two minutes last year when you didn't show." Her eyes fell to the floor as she let reality set in, "Louis waited all night. This is your chance at happiness. You think you shouldn't want it because you've never had it, but you deserve your fairytale."
She searched for any excuse, any reason that he was wrong, "We'd make our own fairytales."
"Only when we have to. You don't," He needed her to remember what he did to her. One night together, and she'd disrespected her fiance and her engagement for him. He had to remind her he always pulled her into the darkness, "How do you feel about tonight?"
Continuing to stare at the ground, she admitted, "Awful, just terrible." He had been expecting as much, but the words still hurt. She sighed sadly, "In fact I've never felt like this before."
"Guilt," he observed. "I feel it, too. Maybe I'm actually growing up after all." He let a sardonic smirk cross his face. The irony that he'd matured from the man who hurt her repeatedly into a man who would willingly give up his own happiness for hers wasn't lost on him. His growth had come too late, and he cursed the universe for such a cruel twist of fate.
There was nothing else to discuss. Feelings weren't enough anymore. She shook her head in reluctant acceptance, "I didn't want to let you go just yet."
He could see the pain in her eyes, and he hated to be the cause of her sorrow once again. This time, though, he knew that it was the most selfless gift he could give her. Stepping forward, he placed his hand against the side of her neck and pressed a reverent kiss to her forehead, "Don't let anyone tell you you're not powerful. You're the most powerful woman I know."
Her voice cracked and her throat constricted when she confessed, "It's taking all of the power I have to walk away from you."
He nodded in agreement, "I know," and then he proceeded to offer her the most difficult words he'd ever spoken, "but I need to let you go." The tears pricked her eyes when he set her free, "You need to let go."
Her breath became ragged as she fought desperately to keep the tears at bay, "I will always love you."
Choking back his own emotions, he returned the sentiment, "I will always love you."
He turned his head to follow her as she met Louis at the stairs with a chaste kiss to the lips. His neck strained painfully, mirroring the tightening ache in his chest. He was no longer capable of concealing his hurt, as he let the anguish engulf him at last. The only love he'd ever known ascended the stairs hand-in-hand with another man, and he walked despondently into the storm with no desire for an umbrella or his chauffeur. The cold sting of the rain droplets met the harsh burning of his free falling tears, and he didn't bother wiping either away.
You had my heart inside your hand and you played it to the beat
Blair forced a sugary smile as Sophie kissed her on each cheek, failing spectacularly at hiding her disapproval of her future daughter-in-law's inexcusable tardiness. She felt hands shake hers vigorously while echoing voices boomed with congratulatory messages and bodies surrounded her in suffocating excitement. Years of practiced social propriety allowed her to feign the necessary graciousness expected of a woman of her status, but her mind was too fuzzy to really acknowledge the nameless figures blurred behind cloudy eyes.
The agony was only slightly bearable because of her uncanny ability to dissociate from reality, envisioning her current life as a space that she merely existed in for the moment.
It wasn't real.
It couldn't be.
She glanced back at Louis, and the thoughts that crossed her mind terrified her. She wasn't devastated by the idea of a life with him, but she wasn't deliriously happy, either. Everything about him was lukewarm: there was no fire or passion. He was fine; she was perfectly okay with him.
Fine.
Lukewarm.
Okay.
No. This isn't the life she wanted. This is empty, boring, and uninspired. It's the very antithesis of Blair Waldorf.
The next time you forget you're Blair Waldorf, remember that I'm Chuck Bass, and I love you.
Her heart pounded erratically, and she pulled anxiously at the neckline of her dress that suddenly felt like a choker tied too tightly around her throat. She would write her own ending to this story. This charade that she was caught up in was nothing more than a defensive farce, pretending to be capable of fulfilling her most ardent desires.
This was a waste of time - nothing but an insult to her real love story.
Nothing would ever compare to him. To them. To everything they had.
Everything they will have.
It wouldn't be my world without you in it.
A calm, confident resolve settled over her, and she turned to Louis to do the one thing that she should've done from the beginning, "Louis, we need to talk."
There's a fire starting in my heart
Reaching a fever pitch and it'll bring me out the dark
Chuck's Testoni dress shoes were likely ruined from the water saturating every inch of the fine Italian leather. He felt his socks squish against the toebox, rubbing blisters into his feet. He willed them to bleed; the physical pain was a distraction from his bleeding heart.
Slipping off the shoes as he entered his penthouse, he walked straight to the bar and poured a generous serving from his finest bottle of vintage scotch. He threw it back in one gulp, the fiery liquid burning a slow path down his throat, futilely trying to drown out his dark thoughts. He unbuttoned his suit jacket slowly, reluctant to completely remove the clothing from his body despite the cold shiver that ran over his spine from the drenched material. Subconsciously the clothing seemed to represent his final ties to Blair; ridding himself of the damp garments felt like a silent ritual symbolizing the permanent excision of her from his life.
One sleeve, then the next, the jacket dropped to the floor with a soft swish at his feet. The wide smile that she reserved only for him during moments of intimacy flashed into his mind as his hands loosened the bowtie from around his neck. Each item brought on a flood of his fondest memories to be shed from his mind like the heaps of fabric on the floor.
Cufflinks.
Who's that girl?
Dress shirt.
Something this beautiful deserves to be seen on someone worthy of its beauty.
Under shirt.
Me. About 150 times...I just wanted to make sure she had the perfect night.
Belt.
I love you, too.
Pants
Because you believe in me.
One more gulp of the burning liquid; one more flash of her flawless face. He smiled sadly to himself, remembering the sexy squeal that she released whenever he tackled her and pulled her to the bed, her melodious giggles turning to soft sighs when his hands worshipped her body with meticulous devotion. Maybe she wasn't his anymore, but she'd shown him what it means to touch heaven for a brief perfect moment.
Climbing into the shower, the trickle of the water down his spine reminded him of the tears that she'd shed for him far too many times. The scalding heat of the pressure from the showerhead burned deliciously, and he relished in the self-inflicted torment that stung his body like needles pricking his skin.
He deserved hell; she deserved heaven.
Dressing in a silk pajama set, he pulled back the heavy comforter to the bed that she'd once occupied with him. Just as he settled into the bed, prepared for a restless night, the elevator chimed to indicate company. He glanced at the clock on the nightstand: 11:34 pm. He shot up from the bed, a dread rinsing over his body. He rose slowly, grabbing the robe from the hook on the back of the door. He nearly sank to his knees at the sight awaiting him in the foyer.
A drenched Blair breathed unsteadily, sodden strands of hair clinging haphazardly to her cheeks, her chest heaving with anxiety. The ruined dress weighed heavily against her small frame, and her chin quivered partly from chill, mostly from emotion. Her eyes pleaded with him silently, vulnerability etched into her expression.
He stared at her wordlessly, startlingly still, unable to react or speak. The only sound in the room was the soft patter of water falling from her gown to the floor. The air hit her bare arms, and she shivered involuntarily, as her lower lip started to tremble under the scrutiny of his gaze.
The quaking in her shoulders was enough to spur him to action, and he finally walked toward her, pulling her into his arms. He tried to warm her with his hands, but it was a useless gesture. Guiding her by the hand into the bathroom, he helped her out of her gown for the second time that night, letting it fall to the floor. He wrapped an oversized fluffy towel around her shoulders, and rubbed the soft material into her skin.
His pajamas were now saturated, too, but what did it matter, really? He sank to his knees on the rug in front of the large clawfoot tub, running his hands over his temples, resting his elbows on his knees. He was afraid to speak; he'd set her free, and he needed time to accept that. Her presence wasn't helping either one of them, but he didn't know how to tell her that. He wanted her to stay forever, but he quickly reminded himself that those are the same selfish thoughts that hurt her repeatedly over the past four years.
She lowered herself to the small space beside him keeping the towel tightly wound around herself. After talking with Louis, she'd run straight to The Empire in an impulsive move reminiscent of a scene from a romantic comedy, where one character has an epiphany just in the knick of time before the happy ending is solidified and the credits roll. With tentative hands, she reached to trace a finger along the sharp angles of his jaw. She studied his features - the wetness tracking under his eyes, the light stubble sprinkling his jaw line, the wrinkles creasing at the corners of his lips, the thick brows slightly furrowed together - in them, she saw the surrender on every inch of his face. He hadn't meant their last conversation to be just another temporary goodbye that they had grown accustomed to over the years. This was supposed to be the final farewell between two star-crossed lovers, who were fated to only love one another from afar.
At some point, he'd given up on them. No, she realized, he'd given up on himself as a worthy contender for her heart. Her cool fingers stroked against his cheeks, and one tear slipped down his cheek past the barrier he tried to create. She slowly wiped it with her finger, watching the salty droplet melt into her skin. With ragged breath, she finally spoke softly, "Chuck -"
His eyes dropped to his knees, and he asked, "What are you doing here, Blair? We said everything there is to say."
She shook her head vigorously, "No, Chuck, we didn't. I told you that I'm not ready to let you go," she reached to lower her hand to his knee, "I never will be."
He closed his eyes and raked his hands through his hair. He was drained - physically, mentally, definitely emotionally. Ties needed to be cut immediately, no matter how much it hurt. Standing to his feet, he let both of her hands fall away from him, and he walked into the bedroom, away from her - away from the warmth of her touch and the love in her eyes.
She sat for a moment, unsure if she should follow him; finally she made her way into the bedroom after a few minutes, but he wasn't there. Walking to the nightstand, she pulled open the drawer where she used to keep a few overnight essentials. A framed photograph of the two of them from their summer in Europe lay on the top of a small box. Running a finger over the glass, a tear slid down her cheek as she remembered the feel of his lips against her skin when she snapped the photo with her phone. At the time, she had complained that he hadn't looked at the camera in a single picture that she'd taken on the entire trip; he was always looking at her, kissing her, nuzzling his face into her neck. Now, those photographs were stored neatly away in a box in her closet, much like the one in this drawer. Occasionally, when she missed him so much she couldn't breathe, she would study the pictures and allow herself a minute to remember the unmatched happiness that she felt in those moments. In every single frame, his devotion was defined by his actions and his expression.
She found love letters from her, various pictures, gift receipts, and other mementos from their relationship inside the box. Carefully placing it to the side of the drawer, she reached in to find his nightshirt that she'd always slept in. She held the garment to her face and inhaled the scent, immediately being transported to a time when she fell asleep dreamily with her head resting on his chest as his finger traced gentle patterns against her neck or stroked her hair. Standing from the bed, she pulled her black slip from her body and slipped her bra down her arms. She pulled the nightshirt over her head and curled up on the bed, gripping his pillow tightly to her stomach, as she cried tears of overwhelming magnitude, no longer holding back. She should probably leave, but she was so tired - tired of running, tired of hurting, tired of pretending. Within moments, she fell asleep with scent-induced memories running through her mind.
He didn't leave the suite; he went to his minibar for another drink, but he glued himself to the stool, expecting that she would follow him. After half an hour when she hadn't appeared, he began to grow anxious. Despite telling himself to cut ties, he couldn't stop himself from returning to check on her. His heart sank into his stomach at the sight of her curled up asleep in his bed, as if none of the tragic events of the past year had occurred. He swallowed, letting the alcohol become the excuse - valid or not - for his next move. He yanked his pajama shirt over his head and gently tugged the pillow out of her arms. He slid into bed behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her back against him. He stroked the fabric of the nightshirt reverently, remembering the many times of the past that he had curled up against her in this exact same manner. He placed a kiss against her neck and drifted to sleep, comforted by the feel of her resting in his embrace.
The scars of your love, they leave me breathless
The sun steamed into the open window opposite the bed, and Chuck awoke with a start. He had slept better than he had in months, and he was quickly reminded of why when he looked down at the sleeping brunette with limbs tangled around his. He released a breath of frustration, but instead of waking her, he simply pulled her closer and basked in the feel of her skin on his own, her silky curls tickling his cheek. "I love you," he murmured against her ear when she sighed in her sleep and burrowed her head closer against his chest. Nothing in the entire world felt more right than having his arms wrapped around her.
I can't help feeling
We could have had it all
Blair's blurry vision struggled to read the numbers on the clock beside her: 8:16 am. She stretched out and stiffened when she felt the warm figure behind her. Glancing over her shoulder, she melted at the sight of Chuck's sleeping form, feeling his fingers tighten reflexively against her waist. She rolled to her side to face him. Maybe the fact that he hadn't kicked her out last night was a sign that he was ready to listen to her because she didn't intend on giving up until he understood. She reached out to stroke his cheek and watched his eyelashes flutter lightly as his body slowly returned to a state of consciousness. "Hey," she whispered.
He blinked for several moments before returning, "Hey."
"Breakfast?" She questioned with a slight grin, not yet ready to approach the impending conversation about their future.
He reached over to the phone to order a breakfast spread more suitable for a small party than two people, neither of whom would really eat very much. He took in her appearance, noting the mascara streaks still smeared at the corners of her eyes and the tangles from the ruined chignon at the base of her neck. "If you want to shower -"
She nodded and headed toward the bathroom, "I know where everything is."
The shower felt good; the power of the droplets raining down her body seemed to wash all anxiety from her body. She knew that she could convince him; she just had to show him that he was capable of loving her the way she deserved first.
When she exited the bedroom in a fluffy robe, she found Chuck making her a plate, filling it with her favorite breakfast foods, careful to be mindful of the portion size as not to overwhelm her but also ensuring that there was ample sustenance and variety adorning the plate. She smiled at him appreciatively and sat across from him. They ate in comfortable silence, enjoying each other's company like they had done hundreds of times over the years.
After finishing breakfast, Chuck handed Blair a small suitcase and said, "While you were in the shower, I took the liberty of having Dorota gather some clothing and essentials for you."
With a grateful nod, she left to change into the simple shift dress that Dorota had packed for her, taking care to fix her makeup and curl her hair. Chuck was fully dressed in a charcoal suit when she emerged from the bathroom. This was it; she couldn't procrastinate any longer. "Can we talk?" she asked quietly, hoping that he would be more amenable to her now that he was sated and properly rested without the haze of alcohol clouding his emotions.
When he didn't protest, she cautiously reached for his hand and pulled him to the sofa. She drew a breath, preparing to reveal her soul to him, "I'm not going to marry Louis."
"Blair, we went over this -"
"No, Chuck," she responded softly. "You told me what you thought is best for me. I know that you did it out of love, but I think that I'm capable of making my own decision. I do love Louis - that much is true - but not in the way that I want to love my husband. I need passion and desire; I need someone who knows me better than I know myself. I need you, Chuck."
Her words were beautiful, and he could feel the fragile fractures in his heart crack under the weight of her admission. "Blair, I love you, and I want nothing more in the world than for you to be happy. It's why I set you free. I will only hurt you; we've done this too many times. I will always find a way to pull you into the darkness, and I love you too much to do that to you again. Please don't make this harder than it already is."
She was simultaneously moved and exasperated by his stubbornness. "I understand you are trying to be selfless, and I love you even more for that. But this isn't your decision to make. Your only decision is whether or not you want to be with me, whether you are willing to risk it all for the once-in-a-lifetime kind of epic love that we have. Even if we aren't together, I'm not going to marry Louis. He may make me happy in the short-term, but I know that will be fleeing as soon as I grow bored. I plan to find happiness for myself, but that'll be a lot easier with you by my side," Chuck started to cut in, but she continued before he could object, "I need you to understand, Chuck, that you aren't responsible for my happiness. I have to do that for myself, but I can do that with you by my side."
Closing his eyes, he leaned in to her touch and pressed his forehead against hers, "I don't want to hurt you again. I couldn't bear it."
She stroked his cheek gently and whispered, "You're a different person than you were last year, Chuck. I genuinely believe that you won't do anything like that again. Lessons learned and all," she smiled weakly, "But, in a relationship, it's inevitable that we will hurt each other to some extent. The important thing is that we communicate openly and apologize, that we find ways as a couple to move forward."
"What if I fail?" His voice was so soft she barely heard him.
"We both will, but we will get through it together. Do you love me, Chuck?"
"You know I do," he replied, "But, Blair, there are still so many unresolved issues between us."
She sighed and reached into her purse on the floor in front of her feet. She placed a card anxiously into his hand, awaiting his reaction. She half expected him to rip up the business card and tell her there was no way in hell. Instead he read the card in pensive silence. She explained, "This is the card for Dr. Nguyen. After doing some research, I learned that she's the most successful couple's therapist in New York. She's agreed to see us as a couple and refer us to her partner for individual sessions. We both have things to work on, Chuck, but that doesn't mean that we should throw away what we have. Please give us a real chance." He remained silent for several moments, and she thought that he was preparing the words to reject her once again. Chuck Bass in therapy: what kind of idiot did she have to be to ever think he would agree to that?
He took in the hopeful expression on her face, and he stopped to really consider what she was asking. She wanted to be with him so badly that she'd found a solution to really try and resolve their issues. She loved him enough that she was willing to try, even if it meant reliving all of the pain that he'd put her through. If she did all of this for him, how could he tell her no? Could he really find a way to be the man she deserved? The man who stood by her side and built her up instead of pulling her down? If she believed in him this much, then he would sure as hell give it all he had to be worthy of her. One corner of his lip rose in a half-smirk, and he nodded, "Okay, Blair. Let's try. Make the appointment."
Her eyes twinkled with a sparkle that he hadn't seen in a long time, and a huge grin spread across her face before she climbed into his lap and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. She gently brushed her lips against his as softly as the flapping of butterfly wings. His hands pulled her closer, as he wound his fingers into the silkened strands of her hair, deepening the kiss. Her nose nudged his playfully as a childlike giggle escaped her mouth. He saw true happiness in her for the first time in a while and felt his breath hitch in his throat as pride swelled inside of him. She pecked his lips again, "I love you, Chuck. You're all I've ever wanted."
"I love you, too, Blair," He lifted her into his arms and made his way toward the bedroom, "I promise to spend the rest of my life proving to you just how much I love you."
A/N: Shoutout to Klarobass for the idea behind this fic.
This story ended up being a lot different than I expected, and it became more Chuck-centric than I meant for it to. I guess that once I started writing, it just became an exploration of Chuck's compounded guilt that led him to let go of Blair. Chuck definitely needed to work on himself, and I'm so glad that he ended up going to therapy on the show, but it would've also been interesting to see them work through some of their issues in couple's therapy.
I hope your enjoyed it. I feel like this is quite different from what I usually write, so I'm anxious to hear your thoughts.
Love to you all.