Chapter Three: The Art of War
I know, she knows that I'm not fond of asking.
True or false, it may be...Well, she's still out to get me.
And I know, she knows that I'm not fond of asking.
True or false, it may be...She's still out to get me.
– Naïve by The Kooks
:::
August 18th, 2006: The Palace
"Appear weak when you are strong, and strong when you are weak."
Chuck Bass was sixteen years old when he first felt his heartbeat.
It wasn't as if he'd suddenly transformed into a romantic. Long before, he'd made the firm and conscious decision to break his own heart, numb it down, force himself to feel nothing and do everything without regret. He'd done just that the first time Bart looked into his eyes and saw something else. Chuck knew that he looked like his late mother, Evelyn Bass—dead at childbirth—but it had been clear then, reflected in Bart's black eyes staring down at him as other fathers lifted their children onto their shoulders, whispered encouragements in their ears.
Evelyn Bass, dead at childbirth.
Bart Bass, capable of nothing more than hating his only son.
Chuck thought about this as he blinked up at the ceiling above him, nothing blurring into a symphony of hallucinations.
It was the eve of his departure to The Briar House at the end of their sophomore year, and he threw the biggest bash his classmates had ever attended. He'd guilted the almighty Bart into renting out a floor of rooms for his guests, which came along with a stream of drinks and hot tubs filled with champagne and drunken hook ups that no one, not even Gossip Girl, would care for in the morning. He could remember most of the night in flashes—fuzzy, dream-like reels. Blair had been on the cusp of being Nate's girlfriend that summer, but the resistance on his part was pathetically obvious, with those stolen glances he still wasted on her blonde best friend.
Chuck had seen Nate do just that during the party, holding Blair's waist while digging his face into Serena's neck. No one had been that drunk yet, certainly not drunk enough to brush it off as a sloppy mishap.
Chuck had seen enough.
He was done.
And there he was, escaping his own party to reflect on his own misery—the sadness that he swore he was immune to. Chuck was wallowing in it when the light flickered on, illuminating the room.
"This room is occupied," Chuck drawled, his voice toneless, his eyes still trained on the ceiling. Upon hearing more footsteps, he sighed, rolling his head to one side. "Didn't I just say—" It was then that he realized who he was speaking to, and he straightened, eyes widening. "Oh, Waldorf."
"Chuck," Blair murmured. "Why are you hiding out in here?" She glanced around, taking another cautious step. "Don't tell me that you've given up your debauchery in time for the celebration."
"Celebration," he repeated, the word rolling off his tongue. "I suppose it is, for most. I'm sure that you'll be glad to see me gone."
"I wouldn't—" Blair stopped herself. "I'm indifferent." Chuck looked at her again, realizing that he wasn't the only one reflecting. Her façade of perfection was cracking now, noticeable only to those who could recognize it in themselves.
Chuck noticed.
Blair's hand traced her stomach idly, fingers feeling what wasn't there. Emptiness collided with torment in her eyes and her smile faltered like happiness didn't belong to her. And when he looked at Blair again, Chuck saw himself.
"Are you…okay?" Blair asked, snapping him out of his reverie.
"I knew that one day I'd push Bart too far," Chuck finally said, fists curling. "Sometimes, the game ends and you realize how high the stakes were all along." Blair frowned, trying to make sense of the words. Her feet carried her over to the chaise, and she dropped down beside him. He was aware of the hem of her dress, how it bunched up around her thighs, but he kept his eyes up and on hers.
"Maybe if you spoke to him—"
"There's no negotiating exile," Chuck rasped, looking away. "It's over."
"I'm sorry," Blair admitted, clearing her throat. She wasn't used to speaking so formally, not with Chuck. "I never realized that you wanted to stay. I just thought—"
"Of course you didn't," Chuck scoffed. "Why would you? I'm just a guest star in all of your lives. The love saga of Nate, Serena, and Blair."
"It's not like that."
"It's always been like that," Chuck scoffed. "Playing the court jester has proven tiresome. I'm bowing out."
"You're wrong," Blair insisted. Something shifted in her eyes, like maybe she couldn't find her role in the aforementioned love saga either. She swallowed, parting her lips but saying nothing. He wasn't surprised when she pulled herself up, ready to leave the room. He watched her as she walked away, as she stopped at the doorway without turning around.
"You're wrong," Blair repeated, in a voice so low that he might have imagined it. "You'll be missed." She laughed under her breath, her head shaking, curls falling over her shoulder blades. "If only for the lack of entertainment." Chuck choked on his breath as she vanished, wondering if he'd imagined the whole thing. He blinked again and again, hand tracing over the indent of where she'd just been sitting.
Chuck Bass was sixteen years old when he first felt his heartbeat, and it was Blair Waldorf who forced it out of him.
He'd never forgive her for it.
But he would never forget her either.
:::
September 21st, 2007: Dexter Hall Dormitories
"The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting."
Blair, as always, was perfectly coordinated.
Having a uniform had never fazed her at Constance, and it wouldn't at Briar. She rolled black lace up her legs, threw on a dark blazer over her button-down, and stepped into her short black Manolos. Her hair was in a twist at the nape of her neck, loose ringlets falling around her face. She rubbed a reddish gloss onto her lips as Jenny stood beside her in the mirror, opting for a pink shade. They shared a small bathroom, adjoined to their bedroom. Blair would never admit it—she'd rather die—but she'd grown quite fond of having Jenny around. The blonde was a subdued Serena, saying all of the right things, while recognizing that her place was a step behind Blair.
Blair cringed when she realized that Jenny was evolving from a pity project into a—God—a friend.
Together, they walked out into the hall, where the other girls were chattering and rushing off to class. Blair was in the middle of going on about the Homecoming Ball that Briar would be holding that Friday evening when they were stopped short by Chuck Bass, sticking out like a sore thumb amidst the sea of girls. Blair tensed immediately, gripping Jenny's elbow for a second of support. She instantly thought of the way he'd kissed her in the alley, a selfish kiss, like he wanted force whatever haunted him right into her. Blair shuddered as if the action was actually possible.
She already had demons of her own.
Blair released Jenny's arm, bracing herself before walking over to Chuck. Any hint of the boy who'd kissed her was gone, replaced by his typical cocky demeanor, as if he owned every inch of ground he stepped foot on. Ugh.
"I see that your man-whoring heightens with every passing day," Blair sighed, regarding him with a cautious stare. "Let me guess…doing the walk of shame?"
Chuck grinned, and she hated it. He was too similar to her to be a proper opponent. He absorbed her insults and played off of them, fueled by her annoyance. But when he spoke, his tone was gentler than ever before. "I was waiting for you, actually."
Blair narrowed her eyes. "Why?"
"I'm walking you to class."
"I'm not an animal," Blair hissed. "I don't need to be walked. You might want to try Penelope for that."
Of course, Chuck found this entirely amusing. "I beg your pardon, Miss Waldorf," he mocked her in an airy accent. "Allow me to escort you to class." Beside Blair, Jenny stifled a smile. She glanced between the two before stepping up.
"Right, so…I'll see you at lunch, Blair," Jenny said. "My class is that way." Jenny pointed to the other end of the hall, and Blair's eyes widened in panic. Before Blair could force her into chaperoning this unfortunate exchange with Chuck, the blonde darted down the hall.
Traitor.
It was Chuck who called after her, yelling Jenny's name before she could turn the corner. "Damien wanted you to know that he sends his regards, Little J." Chuck said it with a wink, and Jenny's reaction was that of a starry-eyed crush, swaying on her feet as she jerked her head into an eager nod. There was a bounce in her step as she left for class, leaving Chuck and Blair alone with a few other morning stragglers in the hall.
"You kissed me."
"I kissed you," Chuck mirrored, awaiting her reaction.
"Are you going to explain or—"
"I kissed you," he repeated. "And I'm not sorry."
Blair waited for him to go on, but she could tell that it was all he was going to give away. Finally, she crossed her arms over her chest with an indignant sigh. "You're not even supposed to be in Dexter Hall," Blair huffed. "I should report you."
"And risk my suspension?" He chuckled, gesturing for her to follow him down the hall. "What would you do without me?"
"Find inner peace, attend class without being stalked in the process, talk without being interrupt—"
"It was a hypothetical question," Chuck said, rolling his eyes. Together, they ducked into the bridge that connected Dexter to the Main Hall. They were early for English when they arrived, accompanied in their wait by one other tiny sophomore who was taking it as an AP class. Blair watched as Chuck leaned back against the wall, shoving a hand in his pocket. She clutched her books to her chest, waiting for him to explain himself.
"So, what is this, Bass?" she finally asked, treading cautiously, gesturing to the space between them. "Is it that you…like me?"
Chuck's eyes widened, and Blair was pleased by his momentary panic. It was a new thing she was trying, being more brazen with her words, aiming to shock. The Upper East Side was slackening its grip around her throat with every passing day. She watched as his mind raced, his jaw clenching in defense.
"Define like." It was a simple command, but it was enough to fill Blair with a rush of glee.
"You have a crush on me," Blair marveled, a little laugh under her breath. "And you've come to try and satiate it."
"I'm not—"
"Is it seeing something you can't have?" She persisted, braving a step towards him. He quirked a brow, clearly surprised by her analysis of the situation. But before Chuck correct her, before he could clarify that he could very well make her his if he were to strategize the right way, she went on. "It's all one big challenge for you, isn't it?" She sounded truly curious, her voice dropping low in the silent hall. Chuck thought for a moment before responding, considering the answer to her question.
He thought better of it.
"What's this that you're always reading?" Chuck asked, tapping the leather bound novel at the top of her pile. Blair frowned at the change in subject, glancing down at the book. "You always were a little nerd."
"Your insults aren't even slightly endearing."
"The book, Blair," he insisted. "Enlighten me."
Blair sighed, revealing the first yellowed page to him. "If you must know, it's The Art of War by Sun Tzu."
Chuck didn't miss a beat, a wide grin spreading on his lips. "Of course it is."
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
"It's an ancient text on war," Chuck smirked. "I just expected it to be—"
"What? Some moronic teen drama from the likes of Stephanie Meyer or Cecily von Ziegesar?" Blair rolled her eyes, tapping the cover of the book. "It's a necessity. You of all people should know that high school might as well be a battleground."
"And what an adorable little dictator you are," Chuck mused.
Blair frowned at him, irritated by his taunting. "Don't patronize me, Bass." Finally, she let out a small sigh, allowing a tiny confession to slip. "My grandmother, Cornelia, gave it to me when I was younger, before she passed away. It's a special edition. Only two were made in the year it was printed, and this—" She traced her fingers over some sort of scrawled message inside the cover. "—is one of them."
A strange look crossed Chuck's face then, his eyes widening in recognition. "Really?"
Chuck was cut off by a sharp pound on his back, and he resisted cursing at the intruder. Ethan Merrick was sauntering over to them with a sloppy grin on his face. Chuck blanched when Blair shifted away from Chuck, returning the boy's smile.
"Bass," Ethan called. His voice dropped when he turned to Blair. "And Blair. Just the girl I wanted to see."
"Oh?" Blair replied. The eye roll that Chuck shot her did not go unnoticed.
"I wanted to thank you for editing my first paper the other night," Ethan grinned. "I don't know how I'm going to survive all of this Austen stuff."
Blair shrugged one shoulder and smiled, a small dimple forming on her cheek.
"Austen stuff," Chuck murmured under his breath, so that only Blair could hear. "How intelligent."
"Anyway," Ethan continued, keeping his eyes on Blair. "I'll see you guys inside, and I'll save you—" he nudged Blair's arm, much to Chuck's dismay "—a seat."
Blair could barely manage a slight nod before Chuck grabbed her elbow, spinning her to face him. "You're a tutor now? Do tell me how I can get in on your services." Blair pried her hand away, furiously flicking her hair back.
"Don't be a perv," she sniffed. "You sound like a jealous boyfriend."
"You wish," Chuck retorted, watching her turn away from him.
Blair paused, casting him an amused glance over her shoulder. "No. You do."
Chuck shook his head, raking a hand through his hair as he watched her go. He waited until Blair had safely disappeared into the flock of students going into class before pulling his own book from the messenger bag at his side. He stared down at the brown leather cover, The Art of War glinting up at him in silver script. He recalled Blair's airy tone as she described her copy of the special edition.
How only one other person held its twin.
The two books matched, much like their owners did—different from the rest of the world, but exactly alike.
Two of a kind.
:::
"To know your Enemy, you must become your Enemy."
They say that the most ruthless wars are those without clear victors. Power plays are the most intense forms of struggle—and Chuck and Blair seemed to be well-versed in the method. He pushed, and she shoved back, harder and harder until one of them would break.
Outside of the dining hall on the next day, Blair had brushed past Ethan, making small talk about the Chaucer assignment coming up. Chuck watched them, fists clenched, before he pulled a giggling Penelope to his side.
"Penny," he murmured against her neck, eyes blazing as he glared at Blair.
"Chuck," Penelope breathed, sliding an eager hand over his chest. Too eager. Which was a good thing, he supposed. She didn't catch the silent stare down that he and Blair were partaking in from across the patio.
"Wear red for me on Friday," he continued, a limp hand on Penelope's hip. Miffed, Blair turned away, finding Eric van der Woodsen and linking her arm through his before heading back to the building. When she was gone, Chuck moved away from Penelope. Sans the excitement of the game, she held no interest to him. He tuned Penelope out as she tried her hand at the coy commandeering that Blair had down pact.
"Hello?" Penelope sighed, grabbing hold of his chin. "Are you even listening to me?"
And then there was the Ethan and Blair debacle, which made his blood boil more than he thought humanly possible—and Blair loved it. Ethan asked her to the ball on Wednesday, and she waited a day (game or no game, she had a reputation to uphold) to happily accept.
It was quite unfortunate for Chuck that she wouldn't shut up about it.
And it was quite fortunate for Blair that he wouldn't stop listening.
:::
September 24th, 2007: Bogart Gardens
"In the midst of chaos, there is also opportunity"
Of course, the battle between Chuck and Blair wasn't the only one waging. Although Blair could hardly call her stint with Penelope a war, it was still there. Penelope was not a serious opponent, but she had the advantage of familiarity. People seemed to be used to her. The Haywards owned some hall in the rec center, and she clung onto Chuck, feeding off of his popularity like a tick. Blair briefly wondered exactly what the girl's role was in their little secret society.
Blair sighed, trying to shake her curiosity. Beside her, Jenny took a sip from a bottle of lemonade, tilting her head back as the sunlight dwindled above them. They were sitting in the Bogart Gardens, atop one of the steel benches surrounding the brass statue of Apollo in front of them. They'd escaped in the middle of dinner to find the usual make-out spot desolate—if only for a moment.
"Blair, Jenny!" a voice called from behind them. The girls whipped around to see Diana St. Jean, Penelope's stray, walking over to them.
"Diana," Blair started, briefly glancing up in search of Penelope—but Diana was alone. "What is it?"
"I want in," Diana said, sitting across from Blair on the bench.
"In?" Blair repeated. "In with what?"
"With you," Diana explained, tying her hair into a knot at the back of her head. "Penelope has been a pain in my ass since I got here, and the way you stood up to her—" Diana smiled appraisingly. "It's time for a real queen to rule Briar. And I'd like to be by her side when she assumes the throne."
"Oh?" Blair grinned. "And your loyalty to Penelope?"
"Loyalty?" Diana snorted. "I've been putting sour cream in her shampoo every month for two years. Popularity came with the price of suffering in silence." Diana shook her head. "But not anymore."
Blair glanced at Jenny, whose excitement was plastered all over her cheeky features. Blair drew in a breath, pretending to contemplate it for a moment, examining her nails for nonexistent flaws.
"Fine," Blair smiled. "You're in."
Diana grinned, clapping her hands together. There was something about her that thrilled Blair. She had a catty look, but she was easy to get along with. She watched as Diana pulled something from her purse, a silky orange headband that popped against her raven locks.
"I'm in."
They were all quiet for a moment, excited by the turn of events. It was the start of Blair's rise, of new friendships, of possibility. Blair had two long years left here, and she would make them count. She reveled in it until Diana spoke again, lips curling as she leaned towards Blair.
"So are we going to talk dresses for the ball tomorrow, or what?"
:::
September 24th, 2007: The Main Hall
"The greatest victory is that which requires no battle."
Jenny gasped when a hand darted out to grasp her wrist as she was heading back to the dorms for the night, pulling her into a tiny dark closet. She trembled as the door shut behind her, warm hands sliding to her cheeks.
"It's okay, Blondie," Damien whispered. "It's just me."
"Oh my God," Jenny whispered, allowing herself to fall against him. "You scared me. I—" He swallowed her words with a light kiss, a steady hand on the nape of her neck. Jenny's eyes widened in the darkness, still unsettled by how quickly Damien had claimed her as his. After their encounter at the theater on the prior week, he had pursued her in earnest, waiting for her after every class, pulling her into abandoned corridors in search of stolen kisses.
He had been her first kiss.
Jenny probably should have known better—at least from her reluctant older brother's warnings and her father's infinite "talks." The whole reason she was here was to escape the Upper East Side venom that forced her to crave approval and abandon her innocence. But there was something about Damien that numbed her senses, intoxicated her being. All of the gallant gestures and secretive trysts were reminiscent of the Harlequin novels that she'd read when she was much too young to dream of those things. Damien was too dark, too much, all of the time.
Jenny wanted to bottle it up and feel it forever.
Damien's lips dropped down to her neck, and his hand rose to the underside of her breast, hidden by her thin camisole. Jenny squirmed away, feeling blood rise to her cheeks.
"Right, I'm sorry," Damien shrugged, holding her at an arm's length.
"I'm sorry," Jenny insisted, feeling a wave of panic wash over her. "It's just that I've never—I haven't ever, um—" He nodded, nonchalant, and she watched as he pulled a tiny plastic baggie from his pocket. It bore two white tablets, and Damien swallowed them down as if they were candy.
Damien glanced up, watching her as she took it in.
"You really are innocent, aren't you?"
Jenny blinked. "What?"
He shook his head, pressing his palm to the wall behind her. "I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"I—" Damien shook his head again. Jenny paused for a moment before she pulled a small white clasp from her pocket. She slid it into Damien's hand, and he frowned down at it in confusion.
"What's this?"
"The clasp on your watch is loose," Jenny explained, tapping the black Baume & Mercier around his wrist. "So I looked around the costume department until I found this. I thought I could fix it for you."
"Oh," Damien replied, taking the clasp from her. "Thanks."
Jenny shrugged. "Sure."
"My father...He gave it to me before he went…" Damien circled his finger in the air beside his ear, mouthing loco. "And started dealing."
"Oh," Jenny murmured, glancing at the ground. Damien was clutching the clasp tightly now, his eyes searching her face in the darkness. She suddenly felt embarrassed by the gesture, like a child who'd touched something she shouldn't have.
"Do you ever do the right things," Damien began, narrowing his eyes, "for the wrong reasons?"
Jenny frowned. "I don't know what you mean."
Damien smiled at her, the warmest expression she'd seen on his face yet. "You don't have to." He nudged her arm, slipping his hand into hers. "Let me take you to the ball tomorrow."
Jenny's face brightened. "I didn't think you were going to ask me."
Damien smirked at her, sliding an arm around Jenny's waist. "You're not the only one."
:::
September 25th, 2007: The Briar Ballroom
"All warfare is based on deception."
The Homecoming Ball made Blair nostalgic.
It was inevitable feeling, dropping upon her as Ethan led her through the sea of elegant dresses, slightly tipsy chaperones, and hushed conversations. Blair felt a glow on her cheeks as Ethan admired her violet dress, the way it pulled tight at the bodice and swished around her legs. She had to admit that he looked dashing at her side, wearing a nicer tux than most of the other boys in the room.
On either side of them were Jenny and Diana, with their respective dates. Diana had come with Harrison Callahan, another one of the Victors. The girl wore black on a suave, low-cut shift. Blair turned to Jenny, clad in a rosy gown with a sweetheart neckline. Damien was whispering something in her ear as they walked in, and Blair narrowed her eyes in suspicion. He was a miniature Bass—which could only mean trouble for a demure and honest little thing like Jenny.
"You look beautiful," Ethan murmured. "Every other guy here is jealous."
Blair smirked. Of course they were. But as he said it, she caught Chuck's eye from across the marble floor. He was on one of the lounge chaises with Penelope, sipping from a glass of punch—spiked, she was sure—as he stared at Blair.
Penelope wore red. Chuck wore a violet bowtie that matched Blair's dress exactly.
Blair was under his watch for the remainder of the ball, taking extra delight in it as she threw her head back, laughing at Ethan's jokes, smiling as she whispered to Diana and Jenny.
The entire room was aware of them, gravitating around their little circle.
It was when Ethan wrapped his arms around her for the third time that night that she felt a hand on her shoulder, and Ethan frowned before drawing away. Blair turned to see Chuck standing before her, mischief tainting his wounded eyes.
"What do you want?" Blair sniffed, pursing her lips.
"A dance," he replied. Chuck glanced at Ethan. "Can you spare her for a moment, Merrick?"
"Uh, if Blair wants to," Ethan shrugged. "I guess."
Blair sighed in faux annoyance. "I suppose it would be rude to decline." And then she was in Chuck's arms, stopping herself from moaning at the mere presence of him. What was wrong with her?
"You look ravishing."
"You look like the devil."
"How's your date?"
"How's yours?" Blair retorted. "Has Penelope swallowed you whole yet?"
Chuck rolled his eyes, fingers spreading at her lower back, grazing her bottom. Blair jumped, but he went unfazed. "Nobody swallows me whole. But I'd love to see you try."
"In your dreams, Bass."
"Yes," he agreed, quirking his brow. "In quite a few of them, actually."
Blair let a smile loose. "Well, I— "
"What the hell is this?" They both turned to see Penelope seething behind them, her eyes blazing as she took in the sight before her. "You come to my ball, with my friend, and then you whisk away with my—"
"Your what?" Chuck sighed, interrupting her. "I'm not your boyfriend. I can dance with whomever I please. " He swiped a hand over his jaw with clear impatience. "Nobody appreciates your tantrums. Give it a rest." But Penelope ignored him, setting her eyes on Blair, stepping towards her. They'd gathered the attention of the entire room, everyone hushing to listen in to their conversation, just as they had on that first day in the dining hall.
"Who do you think you are?" Penelope continued. "You get exiled from the Upper East Side, and you think you can pick up here? You had your chance, and you blew it."
Blair shook her head. "You have no idea what you're talking about. So I suggest you shut up before you make an even bigger fool out of yourself."
"Fool?" Penelope scoffed, her eyes wild. "You're the fool, Blair, if you thought that your secrets died when you left Manhattan. I'm very fond of doing research, you know. Sleuthing is in my nature."
Blair faltered. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me," Penelope hissed. "Your queendom, your title - it's such a joke. You think that you're so much better than the rest of us—that you're so perfect." Penelope paused, smiling. "Why don't you tell everyone about your urge to purge?"
"That's enough," Blair murmured, taking a step back. Chuck reached out for her, but she pulled away, glancing around at the whispering crowd.
"Is that why your boyfriend dumped you, B?" Penelope taunted unrelentingly. "I wouldn't be surprised. It's a disgusting little habit you have."
Blair shook her head, gripping her stomach, turning for the exit. Jenny called out to her, and maybe Diana did too. But all she could focus on were the two doors that would allow her escape.
And then she was gone.
:::
September 25th, 2007: The Kitchen
"Even the finest sword plunged into salt water will eventually rust."
Chuck found her in the kitchen.
It was the last—and most ironic—place he'd expected to catch her after the little spectacle in the ballroom. Everyone had turned to Ethan to find Blair after she'd run from it all. Something twisted in Chuck then, the idea of Merrick comforting her making him sick.
And so there he was, staring at Blair as she stared down at the assortment of leftover desserts on the kitchen's metal tables, abandoned from the party outside. He closed the door behind them, clicking it shut, and it startled her. Chuck tensed when Blair turned to face him in her surprise. Her hands were outstretched, glazed cherry and smashed pie crust dripping from her clenched fists. Her flawless lips were stained red from the pie filling, the glaze smeared at the corners of her mouth, falling to her chin. Blair was shaking, petrified, as a lone tear rolled down one ruddy cheek.
"Blair," Chuck breathed, stepping over to her. He grasped her arms, squeezing until her fists unclenched and the dessert splattered to the floor.
"Don't." Her voice was barely a whisper.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Chuck scraped the smears from the skin like a madman, desperate the clean her, desperate to help her. Blair was trembling as he wiped at her, ruining the sleeves of his suit.
"Stop it."
"No."
"Stop."
"You stop." Chuck grasped her chin, jutting her face up. "Why did they send you here, Blair? What did you do?"
"That's none of your business," Blair spat, yanking her arms away when he pulled her closer, fighting him when he gripped her shoulders. Her stomach churned, and she could already feel the food forcing its way up again. She clawed at her own throat, desperate to shake Chuck away, but he just wouldn't go.
"It's everyone's business now," Chuck said, a sharp twist in his voice. He held one wrist, keeping her in place. Blair let out an empty sob, falling to her knees in front of him. She hunched over, tears dotting her dress when she dropped her head. Chuck took the sight in for a moment, releasing her when he was sure she wouldn't go.
Blair was so awfully beautiful, even in this state, raw and bare and real.
Even more so like this.
He didn't hesitate before dropping down to the floor beside her.
"Bass, just," Blair let out a shaky breath. "Just leave me alone."
"No."
"Please."
"You're not going to do it," Chuck said. "I'm not going to let you do it." It was then that she finally looked at him, Blair's eyes nearly going black when she tilted her chin up, defeated.
"You don't understand," Blair murmured.
Chuck reached out for her, shoving a hand through her hair, tangling his fingers in the mess of waves. His fingers curled at the back of her head. "Then make me understand." And then he was kissing her, a kiss that dragged him into an oblivion that only ever came from intoxication. He breathed out through his nose, and she breathed him in. He pulled her hair harder, leaning forward until his other palm hit the floor, he pinned her to the ground, and she stared up at him with lost eyes.
"How?"
Chuck fell between her legs, her ruined dress bunching up around her waist. "Use me."
And so she did.
Blair was barely aware of herself as Chuck pressed himself against her, saying it again and again as he thrust his hips forward, the zipper of his pants scraping her panties. Use me, use me, use me. Blair clawed at his suit jacket, back arching from the ground almost painfully.
"Why?" Blair gasped, tilting her head back in search of air. But it only allowed him access to her neck, teeth scraping up a violent cacophony across the skin there. She was aware of the wetness pooling between her thighs, under her La Perlas, his hips so close to hers that she swore they were fused together.
"I'm finishing what we started, years ago," Chuck rasped in her ear, sliding a hand down to the top of her thigh, hitching her leg up, spreading her wider, grinding and then doing it again. Blair gasped, nearly going blind for a moment. "Use this, Blair."
"God."
"Use this and—fuck—forget everything else." And then she was seizing in his arms as his fist hit the floor beside her head. Blair shook, never having experienced an orgasm—not like this, not ever before—and Chuck was shutting his eyes against the excruciating haze of pleasure. Her mouth went dry, and she might have screamed, but she didn't know.
Blair used it.
And she didn't know anything else.
She came down like the dip of a coaster, and another tear fell from the corner of her eye because it was all so wonderful and terrible and horribly wrong. She didn't know if the dampness she felt was hers or Chuck's, and it was frighteningly exciting.
Chuck let out a breath, rolling away from her and settling on the cold floor. She stared up at the ceiling, ignoring the embarrassing stain on his trousers, focusing only on the symphony their pants played in the air around them. His vision went black. He could barely make out her voice, speaking to him, saying something.
"This never happened. It never happened. You and I, Bass, we never did this."
It was possible that he nodded, just to please her.
And when he rolled his head over to look at her, she was gone.
:::
September 25th, 2007: Dexter Hall Dormitories
"But a kingdom that has once been destroyed can never come again into being; nor can the dead ever be brought back to life."
That night, Blair lay in bed with wet hair, stained cheeks, and a stomach that was still torturously full. She kept her eyes open, staring into the darkness, forcing head to be empty, to be rid of Penelope's words, the crowd's whispers, Chuck's touch. It was then that she heard footsteps, although the light remained off.
"Blair," Jenny whispered, sitting at the foot of Blair's bed.
"What?" Her voice was colder than she intended, but she couldn't bring herself to retract the word.
"I'm here, too," Diana coughed, sitting beside Jenny.
"Oh."
"You don't have to explain yourself," Diana continued. "Friends don't judge."
"Friends," Blair repeated, her voice toneless. Diana slid her hand over, finding Blair's leg through her duvet. She squeezed once, offering Blair a genuine grin. Blair turned the word over in her head, measuring it. Thinking about it now, she realized that she'd never had a friend, not really. Serena had been her competitor, Kati and Isobel had practically been her servants, and it wasn't as if feeding the ducks with Dorota every Sunday constituted a lifelong friendship.
"Hey," Jenny chimed in. "Did you know that Diana's never seen an Audrey movie?" This caught Blair's attention. She stirred in bed, her expression incredulous as she sat up. Diana and Jenny held their breaths for a moment, waiting for orders to be given. Finally, Blair sighed, regaining her composure.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" Blair snapped. "Jenny, put on Roman Holiday."
All quotes in this chapter were taken from The Art of War by Sun Tzu.
Author's Note: Hello lovelies! I hadn't even planned on updating until next week, but I went mad with this chapter. I seriously couldn't stop writing. Your reviews have been completely awesome - especially those long ones that I swoon over - so please do keep them coming. I'm so glad to see that you guys are all enjoying this story. I must warn you that it will be a little (or long while) before my next update. I'm drowning in work, so I'll try my best to have it done by next weekend (at least).