Chapter 10 – Shame
Blair wasn't quite sure how she managed to make it back to her penthouse – it was mostly a blur of tears and confusion. But suddenly she was standing in the familiar elevator, as it ascended to the top of the building. Alone. She was alone, and suddenly she couldn't breathe. What have I just done?
Chuck, who had been nothing but good to her these past few days. Patient, kind, caring, and a gentlemanly, words that society would scoff at if they were connected to Chuck Bass. But he allowed her to see him as he'd allowed nobody else to ever see him. Chuck Bass was a romantic. And she had just messed everything up, and she wasn't even sure why.
I said I would fight for you.
Instead she had aimed an arrow at his heart and let it fly. She knew by his solemn expression, his refusal to look up at her, that she had hit the intended target spot-on. She closed her eyes to steel herself. She couldn't think about Chuck right now. She knew her mother was angry, disappointed, and her instincts were telling her that there was no way Eleanor Waldorf would let this pass without meddling. Her mother was on her way back to New York, and she had to prepare for that. As if on cue, Blair's phone chirped in her pocket. The unknown number from earlier. Her mother. On my way to New York. Plane lands at 5:00. We have much to discuss. Blair shivered at her mother's words. She quickly checked to see if she had any other messages, half-hoping there would be one from Chuck. No such luck. Instead there were more texts from Serena, from Nate, and all the old messages she had still neglected to open. She didn't feel like dealing with any of it.
The elevator dinged to alert its sole occupant that they had reached their destination. Blair found her keycard and went to slide it into the designated slot in one quick motion, habit, before jerking her hand back. She hadn't been here since that night. She didn't know what she expected to find on the other side. The mess had been cleaned up, sure, but…Stop it, Blair. You're being ridiculous. Taking a deep breath, she willed herself to slide the keycard in, and the elevator door dinged once more, announcing to the inhabitants of the penthouse of a new arrival.
Taking one step forward, and then another, she was greeted with silence. She expected Dorota to scurry forward at any moment, but after several moments and a quick glance around, she realized Dorota wasn't here, and probably hadn't been in days. A small amount of dust was evident on the table in the foyer, and the vase was noticeably absent of any flowers. Alone. She was completely alone.
Sighing, Blair started towards the stairs with her belongings, suddenly desperate for a shower, for if nothing else than to cleanse herself of what was already starting out as a terrible day. It wasn't long before she realized that there was no possibility she could get her suitcase up the stairs by herself – the pain of simply walking up the stairs unencumbered was bad enough. Leaving the suitcase, she slowly made her way up the stairs and down the hall to her bedroom. The door was wide open and everything looked completely the same. Bed precisely made and turned down. Laptop lonely on the desk, a perfect stack of books on the night table. The heavy currents drawn as if someone was still sleeping, avoiding the daylight. Everything looked exactly the same, but none of it felt right. Chuck was right; this place didn't feel like her home anymore.
Blair wandered into her bathroom and started the water, turning up the heat just a little more than she usually did. She wanted to punish herself a little bit. Gingerly taking off her blouse and bra, Blair saw, for the first time, the dark purple bruise on her ribcage, and the small scar where the stitches were starting to dissolve. Ugly. She let her fingertips run across the bruise, and she winced lightly at the contact. Apologize? To him? Blair shook her head at the unwanted thoughts and turned away from the sight of herself in the mirror, shedding the rest of her clothes with her back turned away, and stepped into the steaming hot shower. She let the water run over her for a long time before washing. She washed her hair with her nails, scraping at her scalp. She exfoliated a bit too vigorously, turning her skin raw and pink. The water was near scalding but she barely felt any of it.
Finally done with her punishment, Blair stepped out of the shower and toweled off. She ran a brush through her wet locks, and applied some product to her ends. She didn't want her mother to think they were too dry. She slipped on the first negligee she could find before finding her phone. She had a few hours before her mother's plane touched down and she desperately needed to nap, if for no other reason than to escape. She sighed a dug through her purse before she found what she was looking for: the bottle of Vicodin. Popping the cap, she poured two pills into her mouth and slowed them dry. With that, she crawled under the covers of her bed and stared at the ceiling until she felt the effects of the drug. Once she felt the pain of her injuries and her emotions fade away until they just lingered in the background, she allowed her eyes to close and hoped she could get some sleep.
An escape.
She awoke hours later, completely groggy. She found her phone cradled against her chest, and tried not to think about the implications of that as checked the time. Just after 3 PM. It was time to start getting ready for her mother.
Blair gingerly lifted herself off the bed and made her way to her dressing table. Her hair was a mess, air-dried and matted from sleep. She made quick work of it, brushing it out and styling it in a low chignon. She didn't have the care or energy to style it any other way – she frankly could care less right now. She moved on to makeup, and decided to go for a natural look. Foundation, a bit of contouring, and some blush. Minimal eye makeup as well, a soft, shimmer brown, with a lighter shade on her inner eyelid and mascara. She darkened her eyebrows expertly with a pencil and then applied a light red lipstick to her mouth. She didn't care about any of this, if she was being honest with herself. Satisfied with her makeup, Blair moved to her closet and easily chose a mustard shift dress that fit a bit loosely and accommodated to her broken ribs more easily than a more form-fitting dress. She chose a pair diamond earrings and slid them through the holes in her lobes. She didn't even bother looking at herself in the mirror, she didn't care what she looked like.
Blair checked her phone again. 4 PM. She had done her routine in half the time it nearly took. One more hour until her mother's plane touched down. The anxiety rose in her belly and she grabbed the bottle of Vicodin once again from her bag. One pill would help her with her anxiety, she reasoned, as she downed the pill. Satisfied, she made her way slowly down the stairs and sat down to wait for her mother in the penthouse's formal living room. She sat down stiffly, primly, with her hands crossed demurely in her lap. Forcing her mind blank, she sat patiently, and waited.
At 5:30 promptly, Blair heard the elevator ding, and the flustered click-clack of high heels against the marble of the foyer. "Blair?" Eleanor Waldorf's floated through the silent penthouse.
"In here, Mother," Blair forced herself to answer neutrally.
The click-clack of Eleanor's heels turned and they came closer as she made her way to where Blair was sitting. "Blair!" Eleanor huffed.
Blair met her mother's eyes. "Hello, Mother," she responded quietly.
"What is going on? I've been trying to reach you for days! I had to call all of your friends to make sure you weren't in a morgue somewhere. And then I find out you're with Charles Bass," Eleanor sneered, "and you've left the prince? Explain this, young lady, instantly."
"I told you, Mother. I left him. He hurt me."
Eleanor rolled her eyes. "Please, Blair. He's a mild-mannered prince. Stop making excuses. Tell me what happened."
Blair locked her gaze with her mother's. "I have a broken rib. I'm now missing a spleen. A missing organ means I'm down a few pounds," she said quietly. Before Blair even knew what was happening, she felt the sting as her mother slapped her across the face. Blair flinched, and felt her eyes fill with tears, but she choked them back. This wasn't the first time her mother had struck her, but now it felt different. It felt like a violation.
"Stop being so dramatic, Blair," Eleanor answered haughtily.
"I'm not being dramatic, I'm telling you the truth, Mother," Blair said simply.
Eleanor rolled her eyes at her daughter, completely disbelieving, or otherwise uncaring. "Well, we are going to fix this, Blair Cornelia Waldorf, whatever it is you've done. When Louis gets here—"
"What?" Blair replied, horrified.
"Louis, he's on his way, and we're all going to sit down and have a chat," Eleanor replied, clearly proud of herself.
"No." Blair felt the blood drain from her face and into her ears, burning hot against her temples. Her vision shifted and she could hear her heart pump in her skull. It was too fast, much too fast, and she could feel a weight on her chest, crushing her preventing her from breathing.
"Blair?" Eleanor questioned, impatient.
"No!" Blair shouted, rising from her spot on her couch.
Moving quickly, she did the only thing she could do: She ran. Upstairs, ignoring the shooting pain in her ribs as she did so, and into her bedroom, locking the door and leaning a chair up against it for good measure, before grabbing her phone and into her closet, closing the door. Without a thought, she pulled out her phone and pressed the 1 on her speed dial. Several rings later, she was sure he wasn't going to answer and she felt the fat, salty tears slide down her face. On the seventh ring, he answered the phone, but didn't speak. "Chuck? Are you there?" she asked quietly, her voice wavering.
"Yes," he replied.
"Chuck," she started before pausing.
"Yes," he said once more. It wasn't a question, his voice on the other end of the phone was flat, disaffected.
"I didn't know who else to call," she admitted, quietly. She heard herself wail slightly at the end of her sentence and felt slightly disgusted with herself.
"Blair?" he asked quietly, softening towards her slightly.
"I need your help," she sobbed. As if you even deserve it now.
"What do you need?"
"I need to get out of here," she cried.
"Where are you?"
"At the penthouse. My mother…She…Louis is on his way," she sobbed. She was met with complete silence. "Chuck?"
"I'm on my way. Where are you?"
"My closet," she whispered. Who was this Blair Waldorf who hid in her closet? She certainly didn't know her.
"Stay there," he ordered.
"I will."
"Be there soon," he said, before hanging up the phone.
Without the sound of his voice, she felt herself completely lose control, tears streaming down her face, a loud sob coming from the back of her throat. The sound was muffled through the closed door of her closet, but Blair distinctly heard a knock at her door. "Blair. Stop the hysterics. Louis is here. We need to chat."
At her mother's words, Blair curled into herself, ignoring the pain in her side. "No," she whispered, knowing that there was no possible way for her mother to hear her. No, no, no, no.
"Blair?" Bleh. "It's me. I think your mother's right, we should all talk. I've tried to reach you."
No, no, no, no, no.
Blair closed her eyes and tried to be unhearing. Eventually their voices faded away, but Blair wasn't sure if it was because she had succeeded in her task or because they actually left. She welcomed the silence now. The noise was much more suffocating than the silence had ever been. Her breathing evened out at the silence, but a breath caught in her throat when she felt another knock at the door. "Blair, it's me." Him.
Blair dragged herself up and flung her closet door open, pushed the chair away and unlocked the door for him, opening it to let him in. Without a word, he slipped inside and locked it back, noticing the chair she had moved away, he leaned it back against the door. He didn't speak, he didn't move towards her, but just stood there with his heavy-lidded eyes, not meeting hers.
"Chuck," she whispered.
Chuck looked up, but his eyes were looking away from hers. "Come on, let's get you out of here."
"Are they still here?" she whispered.
He nodded. "Probably right outside. They followed me up here. Eleanor is not pleased that I'm here."
"I don't want to see him," she whispered.
His eyes finally met hers. "I won't let anything happen to you," he said darkly, before his eyes once again slid away from hers.
"Ok." Blair grabbed her bag and Chuck offered her his hand, and she gratefully took it. She was surprised when he laced his fingers through hers and she felt mildly comforted.
"Come on, just follow me," he urged her.
Blair nodded towards the door, in affirmation that she was ready.
Chuck slid the chair away from the door and unlocked it, pulling it open. Eleanor and Louis were waiting impatiently on the other side, looks of fury on both of their faces. Chuck jerked Blair's hand and she found herself flush against his back. "Move, both of you," Chuck demanded quietly. Deadly.
"This is my house, Charles. How dare you," Eleanor responded.
"I said move," Chuck replied, ignoring Eleanor completely. "She doesn't want to be here, so we're leaving. Now, move."
Blair couldn't see what was happening beyond Chuck's form, and she didn't want to see. But she felt Chuck moving so she followed. She closed her eyes and pressed her face into his back. She didn't want to look at her mother, and she certainly didn't want to look at Louis. She felt a hand on her elbow as they walked and knew in an instant that it belonged to Louis. "No!" she yelled, shrugging him off.
Blair felt herself being pushed back, Chuck placing himself in front of her like a human shield. "Was I not clear the last time, Louis?" Blair heard Chuck say, voice dripping venom. "Don't fucking touch her." Chuck turned around so he was now facing Blair's back and gently pushed her forward. "Come on."
Blair walked forward at his request, and once again made herself down the stairs. This cannot be good for broken ribs. Finally, they made their way to the elevator, and Chuck pressed the 'down' button. It took too long for the elevator to come, and Blair could tell Eleanor and Louis had come down the stairs by the way Chuck turned to block her view. Eventually the elevator came, and Chuck pulled her inside. They rode down the lobby in silence, their hands still entwined. Tears falling down Blair's already puffy, tear-stained face.
The elevator dinged once they made it to the lobby, and Chuck led her through, to the glass doors that were held open for them. He led her to his waiting limo, and opened the door for her, dropping her hand in the process. Blair settled into her usual seat and exhaled shakily, as Chuck stepped in and took a seat on the opposite side, far away from her. Her heart clenched. They rode in complete silence, Chuck staring out the windows as they drove, taking periodic sips from a flask he produced from the inside of his coat. Finally, she broke the silence, "Chuck."
Chuck didn't look at her. He merely lifted a hand to halt whatever she was going to say. "Don't." He sounded tired, defeated.
"Chuck," she tried again.
"I said don't," he responded, a low growl. He was suddenly fascinated by the sight outside the window of his limo, a view he knew all too well.
"Thank you," she said instead.
Chuck took a large swig from his flask. "You called. I didn't have much of a choice."
"You had a choice," she said quietly.
"No, I really didn't," he replied flatly, clearly wanting the conversation to be over.
Blair rose and sat next to him. His eyes flickered to her face before returning to the window. She could tell he had been drinking. "Chuck," she whispered. "Look at me."
"I can't."
"Try?"
"No."
"Chuck—"
"Blair, I can't. Stop. You needed my help, so I helped. That's it," he said, leaning his head back against the headrest of his seat, closing his eyes. "Please, just leave me alone," he added quietly.
Blair's heart sunk in her chest. It hurt, even knowing she completely deserved it. "I'm sorry," she whispered back.
Chuck didn't respond, and she was convinced that he had fallen asleep when the limo stopped in front of The Empire and he promptly sat up and pushed the door open before stepping out. He held the door for her and she climbed out as well. She felt a rush of familiarity, a sense of home. This was her home, not the penthouse she had grown up in. Too bad you ruined that, she thought to herself.
More silence as he led her to the elevator and pressed the button for his penthouse. She was surprised and shot a look at him. "Your own suit tomorrow or Serena's. I'll take the couch."
"Chuck."
"Stop!" he shouted.
She flinched at his tone. "Ok. I'm sorry," she whispered.
After a moment, he spoke, calmer now, "I don't mean to yell. I don't want to scare you. I just don't want to talk anymore. I don't want to be around you right now."
She nodded and felt fresh tears build behind her eyes. "Ok."
The elevator opened to his penthouse and he stepped inside, leaving her behind. Meekly, she followed. Hours ago, his penthouse had felt like her home, her oasis. Now she was a stranger. And the only person she had to blame was herself.
Chuck had already thrown himself down on the couch, a glass of scotch in hand. She couldn't push him anymore tonight, she knew, so she made her way to his bedroom and softly closed the doors behind her before sliding into his bed, still dressed. Her phone chirped and she saw a text from her mother. Come back. We all need to talk.
No, she texted back immediately.
She scrolled through her other texts. Nate, asking when he could see her. How he missed her. How he hoped she was ok, text me when you get a chance! Serena, asking how are you doing, B? Oh my god, have you seen the latest issue of Vogue? B, I have news! Call me! From the unknown number: Miss you, baby. She felt the bile rise in her throat and she couldn't help it. She rushed to the bathroom and emptied the contents of her stomach into the porcelain bowl.
She sat back as another wave of nausea rolled through her and she tried to stifle it, but couldn't. She leaned over the toilet again as she dry-heaved, crying into the porcelain bowl. She felt a hand around her shoulder. "What the hell are you doing?" Chuck was finally looking at her, his eyes slightly bleary, worried. But there was also unbridled anger.
"I—I didn't mean to." She handed him her phone with Louis' text still visible. "I didn't mean to," she whispered again.
Chuck read the text and nodded. When he looked at her again, the anger had disappeared. He pulled her up. "Come on, you need to lie down."
She nodded. Suddenly she was exhausted. Chuck led her to his bed and helped her into it, tucking the covers around her. "Sleep, ok?" he said gently.
"Stay with me," she pleaded, as she heard him move away from her.
"I can't."
Exhausted, she burst into tears. Ugly, tearing sobs, sobs that seemed to come directly from her core. She couldn't control them, couldn't stop them. She cried so hard her ribs were on fire. She wanted to stop, but her sobs, so often held in, had taken on a life of their own and wouldn't be stopped. She didn't feel the dip in the bed as Chuck laid next to her, but she did feel his arms as they wrapped around her. "Please?" she sobbed.
"I'll stay," he said quietly.
Xoxo.
He didn't know why he even answered the phone. He had been drinking scotch for several hours, trying to forget her – like that's ever worked before – when her name had come across his phone. He considered ignoring her - but despite everything, he couldn't. So, he answered, but he wouldn't be the first to speak. He wouldn't give her that power. He, of course, immediately heard her sobbing on the other end. He knew something was wrong the moment she said his name the first time.
She was in her closet. Hiding in her closet. Blair Waldorf never hid, but at that moment, she was cowering in her closet and there was no way he could say 'no' to her. She was scared, and as hurt as he was, she didn't deserve to be ambushed by her mother and Louis. He helped her without a thought, held her hand without a thought – It had only been a few hours, but dammit, he missed her. He burst into the Waldorf penthouse like he belonged there, Eleanor and Louis too surprised to even move. He glared at both before making his way to Blair's room. They both followed him, and he was disgusted. They wanted to put her in this perfect box she didn't belong in. They wanted to hurt her. So, he had to save her. As good, as right, as her hand felt in his, he remembered her cruel words from hours before and dropped it as soon as the limo was in sight. And he had to be away from her. Away from her scent, her words - but her tears. The tears he really couldn't handle.
When he found her in his bathroom, he was convinced she was making herself sick, and he was furious with her. When he asked, she said she hadn't meant to and he didn't believe her. When she motioned to her phone, he read the text message. The second time she said it, he believed her. The text made him nauseous, too. How does he even have her number now?
She begged him to stay with her and he said no. And he really did mean it. But her tears, being ambushed by both Eleanor and Louis, and the fact Louis even had her new number – he couldn't leave her. So, he told her he'd stay, and slid in next to her, and held her close. He loved her. He always had, and he knew he always would.
So, he stayed, even though it hurt.
Xoxo.
Blair woke up the next morning to a pounding head and puffy, itchy eyes. She needed an aspirin. Or a Vicodin. She moved quickly, too quickly, and groaned at the pain in her ribs. She just needed a damn Vicodin. "Fuck," she whispered.
Chuck stirred beside her. "Blair?"
Blair was surprised he actually stayed. "Hurts," she whispered.
He nodded in understanding. "Where?" he asked.
"My bag. Two, please."
Chuck found her bag and dug the bottle out, and popping the cap off, he selected one pill. "You get one."
"Two," she argued.
"That's not what your prescription says."
"Since when do you care about what the prescription says? I know how much Adderall you've bought over the years."
"I care because it's you. That's me, not you," he replied harshly.
"So, you're allowed to kill yourself, but I'm not?"
"Yes."
"Well, that's not very fair, now is it?"
"Maybe not fair, but it's different," he replied. "You get one. And based on how massive your pupils were last night, I'm being too generous."
"How-?" He hadn't even looked at her last night. Had he?
"I'm Chuck Bass."
"I just wanted to sleep," she explained. "Then, I had to be calm for Eleanor. She didn't believe me, Chuck. She slapped me." She winced at the memory.
Chuck simply nodded, inwardly flinching at the idea of Eleanor striking Blair after everything else, and pressed the pill into her hand and handed her a glass of water.
Blair glared at but swallowed the pill anyways, chugging the rest of the glass water quickly, suddenly noticing how dry her mouth was. And how Chuck Bass still wasn't looking at her. "Chuck," she began.
"Do you want a suite here or do you want me to call Serena?" he responded instead.
Blair felt her heart fall. "I want to stay here," she said quietly, honestly.
Chuck nodded. "I'll make a call, find you something suitable."
"That's not what I meant."
Chuck pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, furrowing his brow. Blair's heart twinged when she realized how beautiful he looked in this moment – frustrated, conflicted, but still beautiful. She also knew what he was about to say was going to hurt.
"I know. But that's not a good idea."
"Chuck, what I said yesterday…It was a mistake. I didn't mean it," Blair insisted, knowing that if she could explain her words away, the reasons, that he would forgive her. They had both made so many mistakes, and said so many horrible words to each other, she reasoned. He would forgive her, she knew it.
Chuck's eyes snapped open and for the first time since yesterday morning he met her eyes for longer than a few seconds. "You don't even understand that it's not even about what you said yesterday. This is what you do to me every single time, Blair."
"What?" she asked weakly, dumbstruck.
"I told you. You always pick me last, I am always the consolation prize. And I always choose you first. You pushed me away and ran straight to your mother, even after that fucking conversation, because you still want that fairytale life, where you're the perfect Upper East Side Princess, and I have never and will never fit into that fairytale. You're always going to choose me last, Blair," he finished sadly.
"Chuck, no—"
He interrupted her, "You told me you didn't need me anymore."
"I didn't mean—"
"I don't care, Blair. I'm tired of you choosing me last. It's not fair to me, but the person you're being really unfair to is yourself and you can't even grasp that."
Blair felt tears well in her eyes and she nodded because he was absolutely right. "Oh," was all she could manage.
Chuck's gaze pulled away from hers and he stood stiffly. "I'll make a call, find you a room," he said, his voice completely flat.
Blair shook her head as she willed her tears to disappear. "No, don't. I'll call Serena. I'll go stay with her," she said in a near whisper.
"Alright."
"You were wrong, you know," she said after a moment of silence.
"About what?" He was tired. He was a man tired of fighting.
"You did fight for me, Chuck. From the moment you realized something was wrong, you fought for me."
Chuck nodded solemnly, and a sad smile flittered across his face. "I guess you're right."
"I'll call Serena. Then I'll leave, ok?"
Chuck didn't acknowledge her, just opened the French doors of his bedroom, closing them behind him to give her privacy, and she was grateful, because she couldn't hold back all of her tears anymore. She needed to let a few fall, just a few. Wiping the tears from her still-puffy face, she called Serena.
"B!" Serena's ecstatic voice burst through the phone after a few rings.
Blair tried to compose herself to match the blonde's mood. "Hey, S!" It was enough to fool Serena.
"Oh my god, B! I feel like I haven't talked to you in forever! How are you?"
"Doing alright, S. Listen, I was wondering if I could come and stay with you for a while?" Blair didn't want to deal with Serena's inane small talk. She needed to get right to the point so she could get off the phone.
There was a pause from Serena's end, before the blond responded, obviously confused. "I thought you were staying with Chuck?"
"Oh, I was, but I think it would be better if I stayed with you," she lied easily.
"Did he hurt you?" Serena demanded.
No, I hurt him. Blair forced a chuckle instead. "No, nothing like that. I just feel bad that Chuck has to sleep on the couch every night."
"Oh, ok! Sure! I'd love to have you come stay here! It'll be just like old times, B!"
Just like old times. "Yeah, of course. Old times. Is it ok if I come today?"
"Of course! I'm out right now. Oh my god, I have the best news to tell you, B. I can't wait."
Just like old times: Serena being blissfully unaware of anything but herself. "Oh, that's so great, Serena. I'll be over in a bit with my things. Can't wait to see you!" Blair hung up the phone as quickly as possible – she couldn't deal with Serena much longer. How are you going to even live with that? She had absolutely no idea.
She dragged herself from the bed and grabbed her bag – the only thing she had with her, and left Chuck's room. She found Chuck sitting on the couch, a glass of scotch in his hand. He swirled the amber liquid around the glass as he stared down at it, clearly deep in contemplation. Blair sat down next to him, making sure to leave at least a foot between them. She saw his eyes flicker in her direction, but he didn't look up. "I'm going to go stay with Serena," she said quietly.
Chuck gave a jerky nod and took a gulp of his scotch.
She realized she wasn't going to get anything else out of him, so she stood and gently squeezed his shoulder before moving towards the door of his penthouse. Before she even made it to the door, the scent of scotch, cologne, sweat, and Chuck enveloped her and he had his arms around her, pulling her gently to him. He buried his face in her hair and placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head. Chuck held her like that for a few minutes, and then as suddenly as he had wrapped his arms around her, he was gone, and Blair heard the soft click as Chuck retreated into his room, alone.
Xoxo.
Blair had only been in Serena's apartment a few times since she had moved out of the penthouse, but it immediately screamed, "Serena van der Woodsen definitely lives here!" There was a distinct boho-chic element about the place, but Blair's expert eye could tell that everything was insanely expensive. Smooth, dark, hardwood floors, covered partially by an area rug of flowers in blues, greens and yellows. A cream sofa, yellow curtains. A van Gogh hung on one wall – Serena had always been a fan of the post-Impressionists, with the haphazard use of paint, the inherent expression, arbitrary color choices, it was no surprise, really – and another wall was full of vintage mirrors, different shapes and sizes. Serena really was that vain - she needed mirrors everywhere she went.
Blair made her way to the vacant guest room and threw her bag unceremoniously on the ground. She didn't care how much it costed, she was basically homeless. She didn't want to be her, she didn't want to deal with Serena. She didn't want to pretend to be happy when she most decidedly was not. She laid down on the bed – her bed – and stared up at the white ceiling blankly and felt the tears roll down her cheeks. She was so, so tired of crying.
"B!" Serena shouted as she slammed the front door to her apartment.
Blair wiped the tears away from her face and did her best at putting her mask in place. "In here, S!" she called after she had pulled herself together.
Serena burst through the door of Blair's room and jumped on the bed, jostling Blair and her broken ribs. Serena saw her wince. "Oh, my god, B! I'm so sorry! I didn't even think…"
You never do. "It's ok, S."
"Blair, oh my god, you won't believe the news I have for you!"
Blair smiled tightly back at her best friend. "What is it, Serena?"
"Carter," her best replied, a huge smile lighting up her face. "He called me a few days ago…and it's just been amazing, B. I'm so happy."
"I'm happy for you, Serena," Blair responded automatically.
"You sound less than enthused," Serena accused.
"I'm tired, Serena, okay?"
"You aren't happy for me?" Serena pouted.
"I'm happy for you, Serena." Blair raised her voice an octave to feign happiness.
Serena bought it and wrapped her arms around Blair. "Oh, B, I'm so happy," she squealed.
"I'm so happy for you, S." She was so, so exhausted.
"So, B, what's up with you?" Serena asked.
Blair looked at her for a long moment. "What do you mean?"
"What have you been up to?" Serena encouraged.
Blair blinked once, then twice. "I just got out of the hospital, Serena. I haven't been up to much of anything."
Serena blanched at Blair's response. "B—"
"I haven't been to any restaurant or club openings, I don't have a new boyfriend. Moving hurts, living hurts. So that's what I've been up to. I'm so glad you're happy. But I'm absolutely miserable, S."
"Blair, I'm sorry."
"I just want to sleep, ok? I'm tired," Blair replied, somewhat apologetically, even though she internally screaming.
"Ok, B," Serena replied softly.
Blair felt the weight on the bed lift as Serena left, and Blair also felt the weight of talking to her best friend lift from her shoulders. She wanted the silence. Just the silence. She rose from the bed and found the bottle of pills and swallowed three. They would help her find the silence again.
Xoxo.
He was sitting on their – his – bed, glass of scotch in hand, thinking, when his phone started to ring. Serena van der Woodsen. "Hello, Sis. To what do I owe this pleasure?" he drawled, answering the phone.
"What's wrong with Blair?" she demanded immediately.
Chuck flinched. "You'll have to be more specific, sis. A lot has happened."
"I know that, Chuck. But she seems…so sad. She didn't seem sad before. Hurt, sure. Unsure, yes. But sad? I've never seen her this sad before."
Because you never paid attention. "I don't know, Serena."
"I'm not as dumb as you both think I am, Chuck. Something happened between you two. She was crying when I got home."
Chuck sighed into the phone. "Just watch her with the Vicodin, ok? She needs you right now."
"I can't—"
"Serena, think about someone other than yourself for once."
"She needs you, Chuck. Not me," she protested.
"I can't right now, Serena," he forced. "I love her, but I can't."
"Why?" Serena asked earnestly. "With Carter and I, it's so easy…"
"You want to know what's wrong with her?" he asked.
"Yes!"
"You're happy with Baizen and you're rubbing it in her face."
"I didn't even—"
"Think, I know." Jesus Christ, Serena. Fucking think, for once.
"Just be there for her, Serena." A long pause ensued before he continued, "I think she's self-destructing," he finished quietly.
So, what? You just abandon her, Chuck?" Serena exclaimed.
Chuck sat up in their – his – bed and shook his head furiously, even knowing that Serena couldn't see him. "I'm not abandoning her, Serena. I just…." he faltered. "I just can't right now."
"Chuck?" Serena's voice softened on the other end of the phone.
"Look, I really don't want to talk about it, Serena – now, or ever. Just be there for your best friend. That's kind of the whole point, is it not, Sis?" he shot back at her with irritation. He really didn't want to have a heart-to-heart with the clueless Serena.
"Fine," she responded with annoyance.
"Call me if you need anything."
"Bye, Chuck," she replied in a huff.
Chuck ended the call and threw his phone onto the empty side of the bed. He glanced at her side of the bed, the slight indentation of her body on his memory foam mattress, and sighed. It had only been a few hours, but he missed her desperately. He rolled onto his side and pulled her pillow to him, taking a deep breath to inhale her scent, as if to commit it to memory.
All he wanted was her, but the way she had immediately thrown him away after a phone call from Eleanor was more than he could handle. He had to be away from her, at least for now, for his own sanity. Chuck knew he would do anything for her, give her anything, but she had been choosing him last since Constance and his heart couldn't take it anymore.
Chuck Bass had a heart, yes. Very people knew it, of course. And only one girl had ever held it – Blair Waldorf. There had been others, of course, many others – Eva and Raina were the only other girls who had ever really seen his heart, but they had never truly seen its depths, they only ever held Chuck Bass' heart on the surface. They were band-aids for his broken heart, when what he truly needed was stitches. They were no match, not even close.
No, Blair Waldorf was the only one. But for her, it seemed, Chuck Bass would always be last.
But all he wanted was her.