Chapter Nine: This is How You Lose Her

Goodbye, my almost lover. Goodbye, my hopeless dream.

I'm trying not to think about you. Can't you just let me be?

So long, my luckless romance. My back is turned on you.

Should've known you'd bring me heartache

Almost lovers always do.

- Almost Lover by A Fine Frenzy

:::

December 21st, 2007: Dexter Hall Dormitories

He'd only been gone for six days, and Blair was already desperate to erase him. She wanted to peel away every layer of Chuck Bass that had managed to work its way under her skin: his eyes glinting as he teased her, the imprint of his lips scalding her skin, his voice in her ear, that low delicious rasp—even when he was mocking her with that insufferable catchphrase: "I'm Chuck Bass."

Blair sighed, her brow furrowing underneath her lacy eye mask. She peeked out from under the fabric, her fists curling when she realized that it was three AM on the morning before her last final, before she would no longer have a chance to sulk under her duvet with Audrey, Marlon, and Marilyn as her only companions. Across the room, Jenny snored lightly, messy hair strewn around her face like a miniature blonde whirlwind.

And still, Blair thought of Chuck.

He was like a plague, really, and it irritated her to no end. Every time sleep threatened to pull her under, she heard that deep, wicked drawl right in her ear. Behind closed eyes, she saw the shadowed corners of the library after hours, where Chuck had often waited for her at the cusp of midnight before Briar descended into an emotional apocalypse. It was their secret place, and Blair had to force every ounce of romance out of herself whenever she saw him perched beside the reserves, an easy smirk on his lips, his eyes wild with excitement as he reached out for her hand.

Weeks before Ethan's accident, after their first tryst on the fields, Blair had gone to meet him when the campus had fallen silent. It was her time of the month, and she was wrapped up in her striped silk pajamas, her hair tied up in a single braid, a small scowl on her face. Blair used her phone as a flashlight, her fingers grasping the shelves as she made her way through rows and rows of dusty hardbacks. She let out a small yelp when a hand hooked around her waist in the darkness.

"Bass," Blair had whispered against Chuck's chest, holding onto his shoulders as he tugged her forward. "One day, we're going to get caught. And if I don't get into college because you find torturing me amusing, I'll hunt you down and make you watch as I cut up every scarf you own." She narrowed her eyes, hoping to intimidate him. "Even the Armani ones." But it was to no avail. Chuck, of course, found her entirely amusing.

"Hm, I love it when you talk dirty," Chuck drawled, taunting her. He held her chin, and she shot him a dirty look in the darkness. "But would a little trouble be so terrible? I'm sure that Yale would be thrilled to hear about your choice in extra-curricular activities." Blair parted her lips to argue, but found him distracted when she looked up again. She watched as he took in her oversized pajamas and chuckled. "Nice outfit, Waldorf."

Blair pulled away from him and frowned again. "What's wrong with my pajamas?"

"Nothing," he smirked, hooking loose fingers through hers as they found his favorite window seat. "In fact…" Chuck had smiled against her cheek then, hooking his fingers under the silky material. "They're quite charming." Blair gasped as his fingertips skimmed the skin of her waist. And just as she was about to fall into his touch, her stomach twisted, a sharp and angry cramp that reminded her to pull away.

"I can't," She lifted her chin, racking her brain for excuses as he frowned, confused by her sudden discomfort. "I'm on… I have my…" Blair hated this, hated this week of torturous weakness, hated the furious blush on her cheeks as she admitted it to him. "I'm on my period, Chuck."

Chuck's eyes widened, and he sat back against the glass for a moment. Blair rolled her eyes, bracing herself for his departure. Knowing Chuck Bass, he'd run from the first sign of a hormonal Blair Waldorf. But instead, he had pulled her onto his lap—a move so juvenile that she almost protested. But she fell silent when his lips descended to her neck, fingers splaying out over her stomach.

"I guess," Chuck whispered, listening to her sigh as he rubbed her belly, soothing her with his palm. "I'll have to find another way to make you moan." Blair bit her lip as he draped two of her legs over one of his, worrying the skin below her ear with his teeth. Her cramps faded, the ache in her lower back vanished as he held her chin and tilted her head up. Blair shut her eyes when his lips pressed against her ear, his voice drowning out the rest of the world. "You're so beautiful. So fucking—" Chuck cut off as he popped open the top button of her pajama top, then the next one. "And these…" He licked his lips, tracing the dip of skin between her breasts. "Are bigger."

"Chuck." She meant to sound annoyed, meant to scold him as he leered at her. But his name came out in a breathy moan, and her fingers anchored in his hair. She threw her head back the moment he kissed her breasts, his tongue painting indecipherable patterns along her gooseflesh. She barely noticed his other hand, sliding down her stomach, safely over her pajama bottoms, the pad of his finger finding the source of her desire through the fabric there. She was sensitive, especially then, and it pulled her under instantly.

"Mm," Chuck groaned, pulling her tighter against him. She gasped when took one of her rosy nipples between his lips, sucking with languish. Blair's hand curled into a tight fist. "That's my girl." The whisper washed across her skin, igniting her flesh as she took in his words. "So responsive, even now."

His girl.

"Just imagine what it'll be like when I finally take you." His fingers pressed harder, and his kisses grew more insistent, but ever so gentle. "How I can make you feel…" Blair nodded at his words, lost in a haze as he caressed her. "You and I are electric." He pulled her bottom lip between his teeth. "Magnetic." He kissed her, muffling her light whimpers, smiling as she moaned his name under one harsh breath. "I'd drive you to the edge, memorize every line of your skin, every inch, so that you'd know—" The severity of his tone startled her. This had to be one of his games, one of his facades. Even still, she'd fallen under the spell of his voice—so madly, so deeply, so utterly and completely lost. "You'd always remember I was the first."

His. Girl.

"Show me that I'm the only one who can make you feel this way." His voice was a deep rasp, right in her ear. "Even touching you, just like this, through your clothes…Show me what I make you feel."

Words that made no sense tumbled from Blair's lips as she bowed forward, opening her eyes but still catching darkness as she cried out. Chuck hushed her, goading her down from her high as she shook. His fingers nearly slipped over the silk of her pajamas, but he held firm, determined to maintain his rhythm until she peaked, scrunching up his shirt in one tiny hand, tugging on his hair with the other.

When it was over, she didn't have the energy to fight him when he curled her into his chest, the satisfaction clear on his face. And, for a moment, Blair had imagined that was all they'd ever be—cracked, broken shards of a real relationship, fragmented compassion, a hopeless equation. But if they were so irrevocably doomed, why did she love it so much?

"Speechless?" Chuck had teased, and it was a wonder that he didn't fall over from that enormous chip on his shoulder.

"Whatever, Bass," Blair said, rolling her eyes. She shifted in his lap, then groaned in slight pain, clutching her stomach. Chuck startled with that nagging, impulsive desire to help her. But, for once, this wasn't something he could smarm or flirt his way out of.

"Are you… " Chuck's brow furrowed. "Do you want me to…"

Blair forced herself to recover, shooting him a coy glance as she slowly sat up. "I'm fine, Bass." She paused, daring to smooth out his frown with her fingertips. "Who's speechless now?"

It was then that they—whatever Chuck and Blair were—became something else entirely. Because instead of mocking her or biting out some crude sexual remark, he simply kissed her again. That was how it was between them—they each so stubborn, so intent on turning away from love that they couldn't see when they fell right into it.

And, after that, she often found herself talking to him until the sun rose and the Briar campus began its morning bustle, threatening to pop their little bubble. He'd ask her questions in the form of mockery, and she'd pretend to sigh and roll her eyes, all while indulging his curiosity.

"I don't get it," Chuck had once said, tilting his head back as he sipped from his flask. Blair watched him from across the stone bench, where they sat at the edge of the fields. Blair had frowned when he extended his arm to offer her a sip. From anyone else, the gesture would have been considered polite. But his eyes were calculating, his features twisting into a silent dare. With Bass, it was always a challenge.

"What don't you get?" Blair sighed, closing her eyes when she tasted him—cigars and cinnamon—on the silver rim. The whiskey inside slipped down her throat, the slight sting of alcohol making her flinch for just a moment.

"You pretend to be this cold-hearted queen," Chuck leaned forward, quirking his brow. Blair went to return his flask as he spoke, but he waved it away, opting instead to pull her in for a kiss, slipping his tongue across hers, tasting the liquor on her. He left her breathless when he pulled back. "Why the charade?"

"What charade?" Blair echoed, shifting back to put a safe distance between them. "I'm not pretending. True queens simply don't toil with affairs of the heart."

"No," Chuck mused. "And yet you spend your time watching romance movies, idolizing Audrey Hepburn, and dreaming about the city of lights. You feed ducks at Central Park, Waldorf. That isn't exactly reminiscent of Stalin and Hitler." He cocked his head to the side, regarding her carefully. "It's something that's always fascinated me about you." Chuck held her gaze so fiercely that she thought he might burn her with his stare. "The cool exterior—the fire below."

Blair blinked once, registering his words. "You're deranged." She shook her head, avoiding his eyes. "And delusional."

"And correct," Chuck had added. "You're soft, Waldorf." He raised his eyebrows, swiping his tongue across his lower lip. "In more ways than one." Blair's cheeks reddened in both anger and embarrassment, and she pried her gaze away from his smug, sure expression. Across the field, in view of the school, a couple of sophomores laughed and whispered. The couple held onto each other, the boy pressing his apparent girlfriend against the old oak tree that stood behind campus.

Blair looked away, ignoring the fact that she and Chuck were there, hidden away from the rest of the world. She feigned nonchalance as she brushed her hair away from her face, letting her Oxford slip from one shoulder. Chuck watched, lips curling, as she leaned over. "That's right. You can see right through me. Can't you, Chuck?" Blair smiled, biting down on her lip. Her tone was dripping with playful sarcasm, and she had allowed herself the freedom that she only ever truly felt around Chuck. "Right to my—" She cut off, reaching down to hitch her skirt up. "Core." The conversation was lost as Chuck pulled her forward, his hand covering hers before hitching her thighs up and around his waist.

But it had always unnerved her, how right Chuck had been. But he couldn't possibly know that, just as Holly had the windows of Tiffany's, Blair had her brown bag of cut-up gourmet bread and the sun settling on Central Park's duck pond at noon. Ever since Dorota had taken her along when she was a mere five years old, Blair had claimed the spot as her own, completely romanticizing it. She'd returned every Sunday, hoping that it would be the place where she'd turn around to see the love of her life standing right behind her.

At first, the mystery man had been a combination of the different actors Blair had swooned over as a child: George Peppard's bright eyes, Cary Grant's slick hair, Paul Newman's full lips. Then, at the cusp of adolescence, that man became an older version of Nate, as she was so desperate to write him into her story. She was Blair Waldorf, and she didn't have time for chance encounters and hopeless dreaming. Nate was supposed to be hers.

But now—Now, none of that mattered. Not anymore. Her fantasy was empty, her pond was miles and miles away, and her heart felt as if it had been trampled on by a stampede of emotions. That Basstard.

She should have known it was a mistake, even then, even at the height of their twisted little relationship. Blair's eyes fluttered shut in her exhaustion, remnants of the memory fading away as she curled up alone in bed. Her hands reached across her sheets, finding purchase in a heavy black book, one that still smelled of his cologne, one that still spoke of the heart she knew he had, and she hugged it to herself until Chuck Bass could storm his way into her dreams again, just as he had into her life.

:::

December 21st, 2007: The Briar Dining Hall

Hours later, when morning came, Diana fiddled with a strand of her hair, scooping apple sausages beside the stack of pancakes on her tray. It would be her last breakfast at Briar before winter break would commence, but it felt more like she was having her final meal on death row. Their supposed kingdom had become a no man's land, and it was clear from the striking amount of empty tables at the center of the dining hall that no one was willing to break the silence first.

"Someone looks lonely."

Diana tensed, not bothering to turn around at the sound of Penelope's pitchy tone. Diana continued down the row of trays, hoping to shake her unwanted lag-on, but it was to no avail. The other girl persisted, smirking when Diana finally reached the end of the line.

"God, you are so fucking annoying," Diana snapped. "It's really a wonder why Chuck dumped your skank ass for Blair the minute she showed up." Diana shot a cold glare at Penelope. "Talk about an upgrade."

Penelope's wide grin didn't falter for a second. "Still defending the almighty and fallen, huh?" She cocked her head to the side, then turned to stack her own tray with food. "But…what ever will you do now?" Diana shook her head, ready to walk away, but Penelope continued, blocking her exit. "Look around you, Di. Chuck is gone, and Blair has shown her one weakness. Your king and queen have left this school in ruins, and someone has to pick up the pieces." Diana watched as Penelope happily shrugged. "And with or without you, that person is going to be me."

"Move," Diana warned, squeezing her tray until her knuckles burned white. "Now."

"Don't be stupid," Penelope hissed, her eyes going nearly black. "You want to stay loyal to girls who exiled you the minute drama hit? You want to be on the outside when everything goes back to the way it was?"

"I'd rather be on the outside," Diana countered, "Than pretend to be your friend ever again." Her heart leapt when she caught a flash of blonde across the hall. Jenny was just sitting down to eat with Eric and her other theater friends. "Now, if you'll excuse me..." Diana shoved past Penelope, jabbing her in the side with the edge of her tray. Penelope scowled after her, arms crossed.

"Fine," Penelope called after her. "But they're going to let you down, and you're going to remember this. You're going to realize how right I am. Choose wisely, Diana."

"Don't hold your breath," Diana murmured, making her way to the table across the room. She swallowed, unused to being so nervous, bracing herself as she set her tray across from Jenny and sat down. The rest of the table glanced up at her, then at Jenny.

"Hi," Diana tried. Eric gave her a kind nod, and the rest of the table offered half-hearted greetings, but Jenny's eyes were still the coldest blue she'd ever seen.

"Am I your friend or your charity case today?" Jenny asked, clasping her hands together. The blonde shook her head, picking at her nails as she spoke. "Because it's getting hard to keep up."

"Jenny—"

"Or maybe I should find a new boyfriend," Jenny stated. The table fell silent, and Jenny's breath wavered as she spoke. "So that you can sleep with him, too."

"I don't want to leave things this way," Diana pleaded, ignoring the small audience of gawkers they'd attracted. Jenny flinched at the near desperation in Diana's usually playful tone. "I thought that we could talk. I just wanted to explain…" She trailed off, letting out a sharp breath. "I'm going home to my aunt's manor for break." Diana offered Jenny a small smile, her eyes brightening with an idea. "An indoor Jacuzzi, an enormous flat screen, and, like, zero parental supervision. I'm sure we can find something to tell your dad. You can come, and we can fix this." Diana nodded, more to herself than anyone else. "And Eric, too. All of us. We can—"

"I'm not interested," Jenny snapped, finally lifting her eyes to meet Diana's. "Okay? There's no us, and I don't want to have anything to do with you." Jenny got up from her seat, furiously piling trash onto her tray. "You and Damien wanted to be together so badly, and now…here's your chance. Just leave me out of it. For good."

"Damien and I aren't—" Diana cut off when she realized that Jenny was already halfway across the room, wiping a tear from her cheek as she dumped her tray. She cursed under her breath, turning back to Eric with an ounce of hope, but he was already getting up to leave, too.

"Look, I'm sorry," Eric said. "I'm all for playing the wise mediator, but this one is out of my hands. You really—"

"Messed up," Diana finished. "I know."

"Take it easy," was all Eric said before he left, followed by the rest of the table. Diana sat on her own, her appetite lost as she picked at the food on her plate. She swallowed down the lump in her throat, nearly feeling Penelope's eyes on her from across the room. Diana shoved away from the table, heels clicking away when she'd had enough. Black strands of hair whipped at her cheeks when she shoved through the dining hall doors, ducking under a broken gate of ivy, slipping into the musky alleyway behind it. Her fingers shook as she tried to light a cigarette, flicking the lighter again and again in vain. She cursed when the cigarette fell to the ground unlit. But before she could bend to pick it up, another hand stopped her.

"Harrison," Diana breathed, startled.

Harrison Callahan had been a distraction. Green eyes, a set jaw, broad shoulders and a built body—the key to losing herself in mindless hook ups, useful in parading him around in front of Damien months ago. But for the past few weeks, she'd been avoiding him, dodging him in the halls and ignoring his texts, all since she'd slept with Damien and royally screwed things up with Blair and Jenny.

"Hey, stranger," Harrison said coolly, handing her the cigarette. She tried to smile at him, mustering up as much flirtation as she could manage. But his expression was hard, and his tone was mean. Diana swallowed, eyeing the gate she'd just come in from. Harrison stepped in front of it. "Mind telling me why you've been screening my calls?"

"I…" Diana trailed off when Harrison shifted closer, touching a strand of her hair. "I have to go now, okay? Get out of my way."

"No, you don't," Harrison corrected. He was being such a typical Briar jock—arrogant, refusing to accept his wounded pride. "You just got here." Diana gasped when he cupped her chin, his fingers digging into her cheeks. "I thought we were having fun, Diana. I thought you wanted to play."

"No…" Diana choked out, hands reaching for the wall behind her. "Look, I'm really not in the mood to talk right now."

"I don't want to talk," Harrison laughed. Diana groaned when her back hit the wall and his hand jerked her chin upward, forcing her to look at him. She cried out when a sharp pain struck her spine, and his knee shoved her thighs apart. "Or am I only a good fuck when you're trying to make Dalgaard jealous?" Diana shook her head from his grip, but he only reached up to pin her wrists back against the cement. "You know, it's whores like you that really piss me off."

"Please, don't," Diana said, struggling against him. But her words met unhearing ears. She screamed when fabric tore and blood rose under her skin, when tears fell like a storm, hitting his hand when it came over her mouth. Diana had never been one for theatrics, she'd never been virginal or innocent. But, when he took her, when he muffled her screams with a heavy hand, she imagined that this was what it felt like to have the world collapse under her feet, to be torn apart beyond her skin, beyond her bones, down to her heart.

And although Harrison was as close to her as any person could possibly be to another, Diana imagined that this was what it felt like to be completely and utterly alone.

:::

December 23rd, 2007: Huntington Hospital

Ethan awoke on a Sunday.

Blair's arm brushed Eric's as they made their way down Huntington Hospital's stark white halls. She wrinkled her nose at the distinct smell of public bathrooms in the stale air and crossed her arms. She adored Ethan, but this wasn't exactly an ideal way to start off her winter break. And the next person who so much as coughed in her presence would face her imminent wrath.

"Blair, this isn't a punishment," Eric said, rolling his eyes.

"Then why," Blair hissed, hitching her bag over her shoulder as she dodged a janitor's cart. "Am I being forced to frolic in the land of bacteria and cafeteria slime?" Eric frowned at the odd sound of her voice, and he glanced at her, watching her lips pinch tightly together.

"Are you seriously trying not to breathe in through your mouth?"

"Do you honestly think I'm going to spend my winter break bedridden because this insolent hospital staff doesn't believe in having a proper supply of disinfectant?" She narrowed her eyes at a passing nurse. "Yes, I'm talking about you."

"God, you're testy," Eric groaned. "Chuck needs to come back for all of our sakes…" He trailed off when he registered the weight of his joke and felt Blair tense up beside him. "That wasn't funny."

"No," Blair confirmed, letting out a long sigh. "Your sense of humor ceases to amuse me, van der Woodsen. But…" Blair paused, clutching his shoulders and turning him around. "We're here."

"Right," Eric gulped. He ran a hand through his hair, taking an uneasy step back.

"You're not nervous," Blair said. It wasn't a question, but an order. "Oh, come on. It's not like he's had a chance to move on." Blair smirked, urging him on. "I don't think he's gotten out very much."

"Funny," Eric murmured, poising his hand over the doorknob in front of him. Blair nodded at him, but Eric froze up, twisting the knob without pushing the door open.

"Oh, for God's sake," Blair sighed. She reached out, wrapping her hand around his to shove the door open. The room was quiet when they burst in, save for the low hum of a football game playing on the monitor behind them. Eric stared down at the floor for a moment, taking a deep breath before looking up at the white bed pushed up against the back of the room. He expected the worst—someone sickly, bruised, and battered. Blood and scars, casts and oxygen masks. But, instead, he found a smiling Ethan, blonde hair sticking up to reveal a bandaged welt on his forehead, blue eyes bright with relief and excitement, as he swallowed down what looked like his third cup of Jell-O.

"Finally," Ethan grinned, sitting up in bed. "Some proper entertainment." Blair smiled as she leaned in to give him a quick hug, then screamed when he lugged her onto the bed with him, sending her Hermes clutch to the floor.

"God, you're so immature," Blair huffed, smoothing out the skirt of her dress. "I see that you're exactly the same as you were before."

"It's good to see you, too, B," Ethan teased, planting a wet kiss on her cheek. Which she promptly wiped off. "And where's Bass? It's not like I expected him to show up with flowers or anything, but you two are usually inseparable—" Ethan silenced when Eric shook his head, and Blair flinched again. Ethan recovered just as quickly, shrugging one shoulder up with a dimpled grin. "Anyway...I'm glad you're here. These doctors all act like they have sticks up their asses." Ethan paused, glancing at Eric. "I'm just really happy to see you."

"Ugh," Blair said, snatching her clutch from the floor. "You can commence with the eye sex while I go get coffee." She rolled her eyes as Eric went over to the bed and Ethan stuck his tongue at her. Once the door clicked shut behind her, Ethan ran his fingers through his hair, leaning towards Eric.

"Hey."

"Hi." Eric bit down on his lip. "You know, trig really hasn't been the same without you."

Ethan's eyes darkened, his expression taking on a sudden intensity as he reached for Eric's hand. "Nothing has been the same without you." He came closer still, and their fingers twined together atop the sheets. "I know that…I fucked up. But I'm going to change. I'm going to stand up for us." Ethan took a deep breath. "For you." Eric nodded. They were so close now. So unbelievably close. All he'd have to do was lean over an inch more and—

"Shit," Ethan whispered, yanking his hand away when the door clicked open again. This time, a middle-aged woman wearing a demure tan dress burst through it, sunglasses shoved through her blonde hair. Behind her, a burly man with a sweep of gray hair and hard features followed, scanning the room like a vulture to its prey.

"Ethan," the woman sighed, scooping up the discarded containers of Jell-O. "What have I told you about this pre-processed junk? Really, it's as if you don't care for your own health." The woman bustled about as the man stayed stationed at the front of the room, regarding the scene with calculating eyes.

"Mom," Ethan coughed. Eric startled for a moment, realizing that this was it. He was "meeting the parents" in a stiff hospital room, amidst the buzz of life machines and chatting orderlies. He straightened, suddenly willing Blair's return. She'd know how to handle a situation like this. She'd come up with some snarky, witty remark to break the ice. But Eric had nothing.

"And who's this?" his mother asked, finally looking up at Eric.

"Eric van der Woodsen," he said, reaching to shake her hand. The woman merely glanced down at his outstretched arm, curling her lip up. Eric's fingers closed into a fist that dropped to his side. Ethan shook his head as Eric continued to stammer on, "I'm Ethan's—"

"Trig tutor," Ethan interrupted. "Eric's been helping me pass."

"Right," Eric chimed in. "I'm just the tutor." On cue, he dumped the stack of homework assignments and textbooks he'd brought along atop Ethan's beside table and backed away. "I'd better go."

"Wait…" Ethan coughed under his breath. His mother was ignoring their little exchange, but his father was still watching from across the room. Ethan's eyes went desperate and wide as Eric waited. "I…" A pause came along with an opportunity. But all he said was, "Thanks."

Eric nodded, backing away with a dejected expression. "Don't worry about it." And then he was gone, pushing out of the room, slumping against the wall outside with his head in his hands. He swiped his palm across his own face, letting out an exasperated breath until a voice broke him out of his frustration.

"Van der Woodsen." The voice was deep and emotionless, echoing across the near-empty hallway. Eric glanced up at Ethan's father, his long black trench coat, his sharp, slanted features. And he wondered how Ethan could possibly be his son.

"Yes," Eric confirmed, glancing around, "…sir?"

The man stepped closer, looming over Eric's smaller form. He raised his hand, clutching a thin silver phone with tight fingers. Eric frowned, realizing that it was Ethan's. And then the man spoke again, "You're going to stay away from my son."

"What?"

"I listened to your pathetic lovesick voicemails," the man hissed. Eric shrank back as he took a threatening step forward. "I don't know what you're playing at, but my son isn't a fag. Do you understand?" Eric flinched at the word, remembering the bullies in elementary school, the names he'd hear when he was trying to fall asleep each night—the endless torment.

"You can't just tell me to stop seeing him," Eric argued. "This is who he is."

"This is not who he is, dammit." His fist came down on the inch of wall beside Eric's head. "No son of mine will be gay, and I'll make sure of that."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that Ethan will be disowned," the man explained. "Excommunicated from the Merrick family name. You think you know my son so well. Then be smart, Eric. How long do you think he'll last without his inheritance? He's certainly not going to get by on his grades."

Eric shook his head. "You don't know him like I do."

"And your family will go down next," Ethan's father spat. "You have no idea what I'm capable of. I have my hands on the biggest news companies in the North Eastern region. All of your mother's indiscretions, your slut of a sister—"

"What's going on here?" Blair suddenly stood between the two of them, a coffee in her hand, her eyes narrowed at the strange man. She placed her other hand on Eric's shoulder.

"No need to worry," the man said, instantly smoothing his expression. He smiled at Blair but kept his eyes on Eric as he continued, "Eric and I were just coming to an agreement. Weren't we?"

Blair frowned, not buying it for a second. "Eric?"

"Let's go, Blair," Eric said, casting a final glance at Ethan's father before spinning around. "We're done here."

:::

December 25th, 2007: Le Scandal, New York City

This was supposed to be paradise.

But it burned too much like hell.

A needle sank into Chuck's arm and his vision flickered to a blinding white before fading to black. He tilted his head back, falling into the rush, sparks bursting under his skin, toxins numbing his brain. He stumbled forward, grasping onto a tangle of limbs, laying back against the velvet cushions in Le Scandal's backroom. It was the only decent cabaret lounge that stayed open on Christmas, and now he was intoxicated, he was dying, he was falling, and it was fine—because anything was better than remembering her. He heard himself speaking, felt girls slip from his lap in a fit of giggles, girls that felt nothing like her. Lips that couldn't even compare.

"Another?" a blonde offered, a tantalizing white tab on the tip of her finger. Chuck parted his lips to take it in, but he froze when he heard another voice in his ear, surely a hallucination. He saw a flash of brown hair, a coy smile, a prim uniform wrapped around the most glorious body he'd ever touched.

"I don't do drugs, Bass," Blair had hissed as Chuck splayed out a line in front of her a month ago. Blair watched as he shuffled the white powder on one of her chemistry textbooks. His other hand was on her knee, his thumb idly circling her skin.

"You also claimed that you'd never do me," Chuck smirked. "And now, we both know that's not true." Blair narrowed her eyes, fighting a small smile. She watched as Chuck gathered some onto his fingertip and ran the line inside of his mouth, swiping it inside of his cheeks. "It's just MDMA, Waldorf. Relax."

"Just MDMA?" Blair echoed, slapping his hand away when he taunted her with it. Chuck grabbed her wrist and laughed. But when he went to take more, she held his hand, the amusement gone from her expression. Chuck cocked his head to the side in confusion. "You don't need to…" She recalled his words from one of their first nights together, the way he'd pulled her hair and whispered in her ear on the kitchen floor, and repeated them to him. "There are other things you can use to escape. To...forget." Chuck dropped her textbook as she climbed into his lap behind the cover of the back wall. Her fingers skimmed his jaw, and her lips whispered words against his skin that he had no chance of hearing. And then—

Chuck blinked awake as the image of Blair disappeared. He gasped for breath as he pushed his scantily dressed escort away, staggering to his feet. Somehow, he made his way through the mess of dancers and drunk businessmen, pushing through the backdoors and into the cold night. Snow fell as he sank back against the grimy wall. Couples held hands, families were loaded up with presents and hot chocolate, and he was alone. Chuck closed his eyes and imagined Blair in her little trench coat for a moment, her arm linked through his as they walked under the snow. He'd tease her, and she'd roll her eyes, allowing him a bite of her favorite macaroon. The vision of it was too much to bear.

Chuck slid to the ground, staining his dress pants as he scrolled through his phone in a haze. And then Blair's name was on the screen and a low ring sounded in his ear. He closed his eyes when the tone cut off, replaced by a confused yawn.

"Hello?" There was a pause, a shuffle of fabric, a low gasp. "Chuck?"

"I…" Chuck trailed off in his drunken stupor, raking his fingers through his hair.

"Chuck, where are you?" Blair asked. He glanced at his watch, realizing that it was almost three in the morning, that he'd probably woken her up. His heart panged when she continued in a low whisper, "Chuck, you just left. You gave me that book, and then you were gone. But you can't do that. You can't change everything and run away." Blair paused. "I'm not going to let you."

Chuck said her name then, his eyes trained on the starless sky above him.

"I need to know," Blair whispered, ignoring his mumblings. "You told me once that you wouldn't love anyone. But you, Chuck Bass, you're a liar. You gave me the book because you were afraid, and you let your mother's words speak for you."

"Blair—"

"But I need to hear it." He listened to her voice shake. "I need to know that this isn't a game. Because if it is, I don't want to play anymore."

Chuck parted his lips to answer her, but he cut off when the side door burst open, and the sound of laughter and techno broke into their conversation. Heels slipped on the concrete, and the blonde from earlier called out, "Chuck? Are you coming back inside? We…need you in there." The girl winked, thrusting her cleavage at him. His chest tightened in panic when he heard Blair draw in a sharp breath on the other end of the line.

"Blair, don't hang up," Chuck pleaded, clearing his throat. He listened to her breathe for a whole minute before she spoke again.

"Merry Christmas, Chuck."

Click.

Miles away, curled up in a duvet in the dark, listening to ungodly sounds emanating from Cyrus and her mother's bedroom, Blair hung up her phone, letting it fall to her side. A tear slid down her cheek, and she angrily swiped it away. She glanced up at the glow coming from her TV screen. As she always did on Christmas Eve, Blair had fallen asleep to Breakfast at Tiffany's. She reached for the remote on her bedside, ready to turn it off. But before she did, she watched as Holly bid farewell to her past lover on the screen, kindly placing her hands on the man's shoulders.

"It's the mistake you always made, Doc," Holly sighed, but it seemed as if she was talking right to Blair. "Trying to love a wild thing." Blair bit her lip, staring down at the dark screen of her phone. "You musn't give your heart to a wild thing. The more you do, the stronger they get, until they're strong enough to run into the woods or fly into a tree. And then to a higher tree and then to the sky."

:::

December 28th, 2007: Bass Industries

As Blair stared up at the looming silver building in front of her, she tried to imagine Chuck as a child, playing in his father's office. But she couldn't. Stern businessmen gave her bright purple trench coat puzzled glances as she made her way through the stiff halls inside, pressing the elevator button for the very top floor, where Bart Bass' name was engraved in gold under the number 26.

"Blair Waldorf," she said to the receptionist, pursing her lips as she glanced down at her phone. Of course, Chuck hadn't tried to call her again after their little debacle on Christmas. It wasn't as if she was surprised, but her heart ached all the same. And as long as her question was met with silence, she continued to seek out an answer.

"I'm sorry," the receptionist droned. "Do you have an appointment?"

"No," Blair frowned, flicking her hair back. "But it's urgent."

The woman shot her a look before turning back to her computer. "Sorry, I can't let you in unless it's appointment-based."

Blair let out an impatient breath, and then paused when she noticed the smudge of lipstick on the corner of the woman's lip, the broken button at the collar of her blouse, spread open just enough to reveal a red bite mark near her collar. Blair smiled, tilting her head to the side. "And yet, Mister Bass doesn't seem to have a problem with fitting in impromptu appointments for you."

The woman froze, dropping her pen. "What are you insinuating?"

Blair smirked. "Oh, I think you know." As she walked past the waiting area, she waved her fingers at the woman. "You might want to take a visit down to the ladies room." Blair shot her a smug grin, then glanced down at her wedding ring. "And…freshen up." She left the stunned receptionist behind as she strolled into Bart's office, taking in the ceiling-to-floor windows, the intimidating black desk, the blank walls.

"Can I help you?"

Blair glanced up at Bart, whose chair had just swiveled around. His cold, blue eyes set on hers, and she forced herself to breathe. Of course, this was where Chuck must have learned to brood, to feign cruelty. This face matched the one that had pushed her away on that night after the pool incident.

"Mister Bass," Blair greeted with forced politeness. "I'm Blair Waldorf."

The man straightened with curiosity. "Of course. I've been dabbling in a few accounts with your mother." The man paused, sitting back. "What do you need?"

"You must know that I go to Briar now...with your son. Chuck is…" Blair stopped for a moment, glancing at Bart's desk. While most others had framed photographs of their families, Bart's tabletop held only a stack of contracts and a glass of whiskey on the rocks. "Chuck left school, and now he's missing. I got a strange call from him on Christmas Eve, and I was hoping that—" Blair cut off. What was she hoping for?

"You shouldn't waste your worries on my son, Miss Waldorf," Bart laughed. "I'm sure that you can find something more valuable to do with your time."

"Is that honestly how you see him?" Blair asked, incredulous. "I just told you that he left—just vanished—and you didn't even flinch."

"Chuck's disappearing acts are too common to hold very much interest with me," Bart explained, turning back to the papers on his desk. "And anyone who decides otherwise is simply wasting their time." His voice was empty when he spoke. "Allow me to be frank with you, Miss Waldorf. My son is a miscreant. He'll be just another washed-up heir by the time he hits twenty. He's a waste of space, and so he's free to go."

"How dare you?" Blair spat in a voice that she herself did not recognize. "Chuck is one of the smartest men I've ever met. So what if he uses that intelligence to scheme and dally in his indiscretions like any other teenager would?" Blair took a step forward. "He's still more decent than you'll ever be. And despite having a monster of a father like you, all he does is seek your approval. How can you not see that?"

Bart appeared unfazed as she spoke. "Mm, I pity you, my dear. Just another little girl who's swept up in a one-sided romance."

"Don't condescend me, Mister Bass," Blair retorted. "I'm Blair Waldorf. I know things, I've seen things, that you're completely oblivious to." She stopped, preparing for the blow. "And I think you know that if Evelyn Bass was still alive, she'd choose Chuck over you in a heartbeat. And that's what kills you. Isn't it? Because he has a heart. But you—" Blair narrowed her eyes. "No one will ever love you."

"I suggest you leave," Bart replied. "Before you get yourself into something you can't insult your way out of."

"Are you threatening me?"

"If you choose to see it that way."

"It won't work." Blair shook her head. "That's yet another thing that Chuck and I have in common. We were born and bred from the same the book. We both know how to survive. And neither of us are afraid of you." She cast a final hard glare in his direction before turning to leave. "So just know that whatever war you wage with Chuck now—it'll be against me, too."

:::

January 1st, 2008

Good morning, Upper East Siders. While most of you are just waking up from your drunken hook-ups and final soirees wearing last night's trashy disco apparel, I'm lapping up a flute of Pinot Grigio at my favorite salle de bar downtown.

And who am I toasting to? Well, look around. I'm nothing without you. Because without your indiscretions and misplaced affections, I'd have nothing to write about. So, as a token of my appreciation, you're all off the hook for the holidays. Do your walks of shame with an ounce more of pride because my posts are going nameless. For now, of course.

But before we can truly ring in the New Year, there are a few loose ends that must be tied, lest we repeat the mistakes of last year's past.

Whether it's an unanswered SOS, forcing a damsel into becoming a girl she never thought she'd be…

"You're hurting me, asshole."

Diana squeezed her eyes shut in the sanctuary of her room, arms wrapped around herself, covers drawn up to her chin.

"What did you just call me?"

She felt the sharp slap on her face all over again, blood beating under her skin, bruises forming patterns across her flesh. Diana pressed her fingers into her temples, forcing the harsh voices in her head away, ridding the memory from playing out behind her closed eyes. She sat up in bed, perturbed by the silence around her. Before, she'd always invite her friends to spend New Years Day in her aunt's manor with her. They'd run around the grounds, drunk off of champagne, high off of the excitement of new beginnings. But now, she had no one. Jenny wasn't even slightly interested in what she had to say. Damien had called her once, as she was probably his last resort, but she had screened it. And her aunt had flowered her with Chanel and Armani before taking off to spend her holidays with a new boy-toy down in Cabo San Lucas.

All Diana had was a broken memory, a ripped uniform, and scars down the inside of her thighs and across her chest. And then there were the scars on the inside.

When dusk came, Diana decided she'd had enough. She wrapped herself up in a wool sweater and pulled on jeans, flinching when they made contact with her bruises. She spent fifteen minutes painting foundation over the spread of deep purples and blues on her cheek. And then she walked.

Diana walked until her aunt's manor was just a dot in the distance, until it didn't hurt so much when Blair ignored her calls. She tried again and again as she stomped across the grass, listening to Blair's voicemail until she had it memorized, until her phone died, and Diana threw it across the field in frustration. She let out a cry, sinking to the ground when her legs finally gave out.

"Hey, are you okay?"

Diana glanced up, nearly screaming. She'd been jumpier lately, completely on edge. She glanced behind her, realizing that she'd ended up in the backyard of another estate. As she stood up, backing away from the golden-haired boy in front of her, a gold plaque caught her eye near the sprawling mansion behind him. Vanderbilt Residence.

"Look, I'm sorry," Diana offered. "I didn't mean to crash your…" She gestured to the expanse of prim lawns and shuttered windows. "I'm staying with my aunt down that way." She and the boy both glanced at the row of trees she'd just surfaced from.

"No, it's totally cool," the boy shrugged, his blue eyes lighting up when he smiled at her. Diana let out a breath when he nodded at her. "You should come inside. I'm not going to let you walk back down there by yourself." The boy paused. "And my grandfather's chef makes some killer Italian sausage."

"I…" Diana nodded, shivering against the cold again, shifting to hide the bruise on her wrist from him. "Sure. I'm Diana, by the way. Diana St. Jean."

"And I'm Nate," he replied as he led her inside. "Nate Archibald."

Or a forlorn lover with his heart in his hands, knowing when to call it quits before catastrophe strikes…

"Eric, come on."

"Can you just pick up?"

"Look, I know that what went down at the hospital was messed up, but I'm home now, and I just thought—"

Eric snatched the phone from its receiver and pressed it to his ear. His mother and sister glanced up from their makeshift holiday dinner with interest. Lily raised her brows, prepared to eavesdrop, and Serena swept her hair back, her face wrinkling in concern. Eric sighed, mouthing that it was fine as he took the phone into their guest room at The Palace, locking the door behind him.

"You need to stop calling the hotel," Eric murmured. "I'm not really interested in clueing in my mother and sister on my love life."

"What else am I supposed to do?" Ethan asked, exasperated. "You've been blocking my calls on your cell." His voice was low on the other end of the line. Eric imagined him running the shower in his bathroom, muffling his voice as his mother arranged their centerpiece for dinner, and his father…Eric shook his head. He'd rather not think about that. "I want to know…what I did to make you act this way. I just needed time—I told you that."

"It's not about time anymore," Eric coughed. He sat on his bed, staring up at his ceiling, recalling that night at the pool house, the sickening crunch of Ethan's head when it hit the edge of the pool. And then he thought of Ethan's father, his cold eyes, his dead serious threats. "We could have all the time in the world, and it's never going to be right."

"That's not true—"

"It is, Ethan. And honestly, in what world do you ever see us walking down the halls hand in hand? I mean, you haven't even had the courage to kiss me yet."

"Eric—"

"I think…" Eric trailed off, squeezing his eyes shut. "You should find another trig tutor, Ethan. Because this is over. All of it is over."

Or a wounded knight and his guarded queen meeting again at the right place, at the wrong time...

"I love it, I love it!" Jenny squealed into the phone. Blair rolled her eyes, a smile playing on her lips as the blonde raved about her Christmas present—a Swarovski-encrusted headband that Blair had sent over to Brooklyn a few days ago. Her own present from Jenny hung proudly in her closet—a stunning, floor-length black gown she'd sewn that resembled Audrey's signature garb exactly. Of course, she'd never let Jenny know this, but Blair had put it on the minute she'd unwrapped it and had Dorota escort her over to Tiffany's when the sun was just rising, playing out her own little opening scene.

"Enjoy, Little J," Blair cooed. "And I expect to see you early on the third, so that we can rehash winter break. Understood?"

"Yes, Boss," Jenny teased, giggling before she hung up the phone. Blair sighed as she said goodbye and turned to eye the unopened box on her vanity. The tag was addressed to Diana, an order placed before Chuck had exposed her secret, and another headband was settled inside, still untouched. Almost on cue, her phone rang in her lap, Diana's name lighting up the screen.

"Dorota!" Blair called, shoving her phone into her purse. "I tasked you with one thing. So unless you're downstairs making that loaf of bread yourself, I don't see why we're not on our way already."

"I'm sorry, Miss Blair," Dorota huffed, helping the girl into her winter coat. As they headed for the elevators, a loaf of soft French bread from the patisserie down the street in tow, her maid handed her a silk scarf. "You are not going to answer phone before we go?"

Blair paused for a moment. "I suppose I should. Every good queen must learn to extend her forgiveness." But Blair silenced her phone anyway, following Dorota through the elevator doors. "But Diana will have to wait until we return. It's not like anything earth-shattering will happen by then."

When they arrived at Central Park, the sky was clear of clouds and slivers of sunlight were just beginning to kiss the surface of Blair's pond. Blair exhaled as she planted her heels into the ground, pulling apart pieces of bread and tossing them in the air. She and Dorota watched as fat, yellowed ducks squabbled for the food, relentless in their quest to find the biggest pieces of bread.

Blair allowed herself to smile for a moment. "They'll always be here. Won't they, Dorota?" Blair tossed another piece near the still water. "Even in the winter, even if they have to weather a storm, they'll just keep coming back."

Dorota nodded and smiled at the girl a bit sadly. "Yes, Miss Blair." Blair nodded back, finally scattering the last bit of the loaf in her hands. As she checked herself for crumbs, she felt Dorota's hand on her elbow. "Miss Blair. Behind you." Blair frowned as she spun around, and oh God. Standing there, with a black coat fitted perfectly to his frame, slightly wrinkled pants on his legs, and a face that still so devastatingly handsome, even though he looked like he hadn't slept in a proper bed in days, was Chuck Bass.

"Chuck," Blair gasped. "You're…" She forced herself to breathe. "What are you doing here?"

"I had to see you," Chuck explained. He nodded at Dorota, who was now fleeing the scene, making her way up the hill from which they had come. "Thanks."

"Traitor," Blair murmured in Dorota's direction, crossing her arms over her chest. She turned back to Chuck. "Why? Why did you need to see me?"

"You have something of mine," Chuck said, taking a step towards her. Blair thought of The Art of War, which was still tucked under her pillow back at the Waldorf Penthouse. But with the way he was looking at her, the way his eyes reintroduced their stealthy gaze to every inch of her face as they would to an old friend, she knew that he couldn't only be talking about the book. "I thought I could give it to you, and it would be easier when I left. I thought that if I stayed, you'd see…"

"See what?"

"Me," Chuck choked out. Blair flinched at the sudden honesty in his eyes, the pain clenching tightly under his voice. "And then I found out that you went to see my father. And I had to know if you still cared. I had to know what you said to him."

Blair's eyes widened. "He told you?" But Chuck shook his head in response, lifting his phone. Blair nodded in realization. "Gossip Girl. I had been so used to being away from her that I forgot she had eyes everywhere." Blair sighed as he waited for her to go on. But she wouldn't tell him about Bart. She wouldn't give him that. All it would do was give him something else to break. And so she stayed silent, regarding him with a slight challenge in her eyes.

"Blair..."

"You're here now," Blair stated, ignoring his question. "That night, before you left, I asked you a question. And on Christmas Eve, when you called, I asked you again." She braved a step forward. "You need to answer me, Chuck. There aren't any limos here. And you can't hang up because it suits you. It's just you and I. And I need to hear you say it."

Chuck swallowed. "I'd say anything for you."

Blair stepped closer to him again, closing her eyes when his hands found her hips, when he bowed his head to look at her. "It's the reason why you gave me your mother's book. Why you sought me out on that first day of school." Blair's eyes glistened. "It's why you can see things in me that Nate never could. That no one ever could." She let out a breath, concentrating on her own words. "Three words. Eight letters. Say it…and I'm yours."

The silence was deafening, and his tight grip was the only thing anchoring her to the ground. She waited what felt like an eternity, her heart racing as he parted his lips. "I…" She watched him, watched his throat constrict and his eyes water. And then she knew. She could see it in the way tears lit up his eyes, the way his hold on her faltered. Chuck would never say it. He could never say it.

"Let me go," Blair suddenly demanded, pulling away from him.

"Blair—"

"Don't." She shook her head, swallowing down the bit of pride she had left. "Just...come back to school, Chuck." Blair hid her face, turning away from him to wipe the tears on her cheeks. "You shouldn't prove your father right on all accounts."

And then he watched her walk away.

Much like our favorite classics, it looks like this story is bound to be a tragedy. It's only a shame that I won't be present for the final act.

Or will I? Maybe it's time to bid adieu to the Upper East Side in search of a fresh set of scandals. I hear that a certain boarding school upstate is holding a load of secrets, just waiting to be revealed. And who better to do the job than me?

Hold on tight. It's going to be a long year.

xoxo, Gossip Girl

Author's Note: First of all, I deeply apologize for the delay! As a lot of you can probably relate to, I've been swamped with college work over the past few weeks, and it took me forever to finish this chapter. I was literally writing it by sentence during my ten-minute breaks. All of that said, I hope this was satisfying enough to make up for the wait! This story is all about twists and turns, so I decided to throw some new things into the mix. As always, don't forget to review. Even if it's only a sentence, it helps me get a sense of what parts of the story you guys really like, and where I should take the plot from there. In other words, it helps me figure out the chapter much sooner! So yeah. See you guys soon.