Chapter Ten: Match Point
(Part One)
Love is like a sin, my love,
For the ones that feel it the most.
Look at her with her eyes like a flame
She will love you like a fly will never love you again.
It's unfortunate that when we feel a storm,
We can roll ourselves over when we're uncomfortable.
Oh well, the devil makes us sin, but we like it when we're spinning in his grip.
- Massive Attack by Paradise Circus
:::
There is an awful tendency that human beings have to fall back into old habits, repeat failed patterns because they feel familiar. We seek solace in comfort, and comfort in the darkest crevices of our lives.
Which was why he missed her—completely, wholly, and irrevocably. Blair Waldorf had stolen bits and pieces of Chuck, rewritten his misery into something he could not only tolerate but enjoy. He'd only seen her when he returned home on the last night of break. Love-soaked blood ran through his veins, and her scent clouded him, the memory of her weight atop him, her heady moans persistent in his ear.
But gravity was a cruel reminder that, without Blair, he was still tethered to the ground.
And so he'd rolled over in bed, made a call warning of his return to Briar, kept his mind on her as he masochistically played Audrey Hepburn movies on his television. He watched as Holly Golightly curled up against Fred's side, her cheek pressed to his chest. Expletives slipped under his breath as he imagined Blair in her signature little nightie, doing just that in his own bed.
"Did I hear you correctly?" Bart had growled into the phone once he had finally picked up. "Actually making an effort not to be such a disappointment, huh?"
Chuck stayed silent.
"It's for the girl, isn't it?" Bart laughed. "You're just as foolishly in love with her as she is with you."
"All you need to concern yourself with is that I'm returning to Briar," Chuck spat. "The rest is none of your business. Forget that you ever met Blair. If you so much as cross paths with her again, you'll regret it."
"Hm," Bart mused, but his tone was crisp and cold. "They all leave in the end, Son. You'd be smart to realize that." Chuck winced at the threat, at the intention of his father's words. "Say hello to your little girlfriend for me."
Click.
After all, there's a reason why we are often caught playing with fire, although we know how it burns.
:::
January 3rd, 2008: The Courtyard
Narchibald: Hey, doing ok?
DStJean: Yeah.
Narchibald: Really liked hanging with u over break. Ur incredible
DStJean: Yeah?
"Slut."
Diana's phone fell in her surprise, plastic snapping against hardwood as the crowd of boys shuffled past her table. Her stomach turned at the all-too familiar voice. She narrowed her eyes at Harrison, who drummed his fingers on her lone table as he passed by, his lips lifted into a cruel smirk. The other guys with him laughed with raised eyebrows and knowing glances.
Diana pinched herself under the table.
"Why don't you fuck off," she muttered with an empty smile, "and go back to playing football so that you have an excuse to fondle each other?"
"Whatever, slut," Harrison repeated, leaning down to level with her. Diana jerked away, sitting back in her seat. "Have fun making your rounds around campus." He grinned at her as he sauntered off, an irritating swagger in his step. She let out the breath she'd been holding, tried to forget the bruises marring her skin, the ones etched permanently underneath. She cursed when her phone's screen went black at a dead battery and dropped her head in her hands.
It was odd, the salvation she'd found in hanging around the Vanderbilt manor with Nate on those last days of winter vacation. She hadn't told him, and he never asked, just taught her how to play lacrosse and told her stories about New York City until the sun set and she could rewrite Harrison's harsh breath in her ear, his fingers yanking her hair back.
Diana let out a breath. Saying goodbye to Nate had been harder than she thought it would be.
"You won't tell me where you're from…" Nate had stated as he wrapped his jumper around her shoulders. "Or where you're going after this. I'm starting to think that my grandfather employed you to keep me here." He was walking her home, their final walk before reality hit.
'Wouldn't you like to know?" Diana had retorted, allowing herself to fall into Nate's ruffled hair, his lax attitude. As the St. Jean manor came into view, she found herself slowing down, kicking grass with the heel of her shoe. "This is me…" She trailed off when Nate's lips descended upon hers, kissing her once, carefully and soundly.
"Oh," Diana had whispered against his lips. "This isn't why I came here…"
"Really?" Nate had chuckled. "Was it that bad?"
Diana cocked her head to the side, glancing down at Nate's lips. "No," she whispered. "It wasn't bad at all." Diana struggled to hold onto the memory of him as she picked at the garden salad on her plate. But Harrison's booming laughter from across the room shattered Nate's words, and she slumped back in her seat.
"Hey, are you…" the small voice trailed off, beckoning Diana to look up. "Are you okay?" Diana stared up at Jenny in disbelief, watching the blonde lean on one foot, twirling a strand of blonde hair around one of her fingers. She looked nothing like the little girl stepping on Blair's tail before break, so desperate to fit in. Her blonde hair was swept up now, the diamonds on her new headband kissing naturally sun-soaked highlights.
"J," Diana whispered, straightening up. The two stared at each other for a long, torturous moment. "Merry Christmas," she finally offered in a weak voice, realizing how pathetic she sounded. Jenny nodded, awkwardly shuffling to her other foot.
"Right…" Jenny chirped, already preparing for her exit. "Well—"
"Oh, good," Blair cut in, suddenly appearing behind Jenny. She dropped her books on the table, her brown curls falling loose from her ponytail as she sat across from Diana. "You two cut the catfight." Blair rolled her eyes, pulling open her clean purple binder. "I don't need to worry about a war on the home front when my knock-off thinks she can reclaim my throne." The three girls glanced at Penelope, who was perched on a tabletop, flicking her hair back as she talked to a few girls.
"Actually—" Jenny started, hesitating as she looked at Diana's hopeful expression. "We're not really talking."
"Sit, Humphrey," Blair ordered.
"But, I—"
"Jenny," Blair warned, eyeing the girl until she cracked under her glare, obediently taking the seat beside her, right across from Diana. Jenny averted her eyes, hanging on Blair's words as Diana made a desperate attempt to catch her attention. But Blair was oblivious to it all as she continued, "Something must be done about Penelope. She's such a—"
"Bitch," Jenny and Diana chorused, eyes widening when they said the word in harmony. Diana smirked and Jenny blushed.
"A leech," Blair corrected. "A creature that clings where it's unwanted. And God, she came back from break orange. Everyone knows that winter calls for a healthy natural glow—not the coloring of a cheese snack."
"Which is why she'll never be queen?" Jenny offered, picking at her fruit salad.
"Regardless," Blair sighed. "I need to make a point." She spread out sheets of paper across the table, shoving away Diana and Jenny's trays. The girls stared down at the color samples, decorations, and playlists. "And the Winter Formal is the perfect venue to do so." Blair smiled to herself, forcing the varying shades of gold and flyer draw-ups to distract her from the fresh memories plaguing her mind. "I'll be the perfect coordinator, wear the perfect dress, and have the perfect date." She punctuated each sentence, glossed lips pursing in pleasure.
As she spoke, Jenny frowned at the mess of sheets and lifted one in the air. "What's this?"
"The list of boys who've petitioned to have me on their arms at the formal," Blair chirped, snatching the list from Jenny's curious hand. "But it's already been decided." Diana and Jenny watched as Blair tapped her finger atop a name at the bottom of the list.
Harrison Callahan.
"No," Diana choked out, yanking the list from Blair's hand.
"What is your problem?" Blair snapped, straightening out the crumpled sheet as Diana stared at her in horror. Jenny frowned as Diana shook her head, hands shaking before she dropped them under the table.
"Don't go with Harrison," Diana pleaded.
"Don't go with the handsome, smart, athletic son of the most wealthy aristocrats in the North Eastern region?" Blair asked, incredulous. "Not happening."
Diana searched for a reason, suddenly desperate. "I used to date him. I…" She paused. "What happened to girl code?"
Jenny raised her eyebrows, quietly murmuring, "You're not actually going to take it there, are you?"
"I…" Diana trailed off, skin burning red under Blair's pissed-off glare and Jenny's judging words. "I'm sorry." She shoved her cardigan on and gathered food wrappers on her tray as she got up. "I have to go. But, B…" Diana reached out, her hand slipping over Blair's atop the table. "Find another date. Any other date. Trust me."
And then she walked off to skip class, smoke a cigarette, and make a call to a sandy-haired boy in Manhattan.
:::
January 3rd, 2008: The Briar House Assembly Hall
"Well, you completely fucked me over," Damien stated as he and Chuck sat back against the back row of the assembly hall. "I should hate you." Chuck regarded his friend carefully, assessing his blank tone. As students filtered in for the obligatory post-break assembly, Damien rolled his eyes and proffered a flask from his blazer, offering it to Chuck in silent acceptance. "But, I'm guessing that the headmistress already let you have it." Damien raised his eyebrows. "Which is punishment enough."
"Let's just say that the headmistress can easily be won over by an ounce of Bacardi and a generous donation to her vacation budget." Chuck raised the flask to cheer himself on, and Damien shot an incredulous look at the guy he deigned to call his best friend. He'd once thought that Chuck was embedded with metal—a snarky, suave tin man whose oil was liquor. But looking at him now, he saw a sliver of emotion threaded across his hard features.
Feeling.
"You okay?" Damien asked, not knowing exactly what else to ask.
Chuck shook the look from his face, offering up a half-hearted smirk. "This calls for a Lost Weekend, funded by Bart Bass himself." Chuck skimmed the silver plastic AmEx in his pant pocket. "You and I, Dalgaard, are heading into the city this weekend." Chuck leaned back. "For pure, unadulterated debauchery."
Damien shook his head, unsure of the sudden shift in conversation. "Right, because everything gets solved by booze and women."
Chuck shrugged, parting his lips in assent, but his words cut off the minute he caught sight of a bright red bow threaded into chestnut brown curls across the room. The drink shook in his hand, threatening to spill over.
I'll fix you, Chuck.
The room tilted, his heart swerved, and she locked eyes with him the moment he saw her. Chuck watched as Blair's eyes widened, and she immediately stumbled back for support. Behind her, a boy placed a hand on the small of her back. He bore a crutch under one arm, his blonde hair unceremoniously slicked back.
Ethan.
"Did she know you were coming back?" Damien's voice shattered Chuck's blind rage. He waved his friend off. Apparently, Blair was as fine of a player as he was. He'd expected to easily draw her back into his game upon his return, to forget the way her features had crumpled when she walked away from him in Central Park. But it looked like she had found a different league.
"Blair and Ethan," Damien tried again. "Do you think…"
"Dalgaard," Chuck cut in, his expression darkened. "As much as I enjoy the mindless chatter, I have business to attend to."
"Business?"
Chuck watched as Blair regained her footing and shot a knowing smile at him. "Business." He swallowed down bile as she wrapped her hand around Ethan's arm. Ethan glanced up in confusion, then relaxed when he realized they were putting on a show for Chuck. Blair was grateful when Ethan pulled her to his side, stroking her arm as they found their seats in the left wing.
"Thank you," Blair whispered as they settled in, and Ethan's arm dropped around her shoulders. She felt Chuck's eyes on her, felt him glaring as she bit down on her lip until she drew blood.
"Sure. As long as you know what you're doing," Ethan murmured. He paused for a moment, glancing around the room. "And you haven't…I mean, he hasn't…"
"Eric won't talk about it," Blair interrupted knowingly. "Honestly, it's time that you stop frolicking in the closet and talk to him. If he continues to mope, I'm holding you accountable."
"He won't talk to me," Ethan huffed. "He's not—" Ethan quieted when he realized that he'd lost Blair's attention to the spectacle across the room. Her brow crinkled as Chuck pulled some giggling freshman into the seat beside his, keeping his eyes on Blair as he placed his hand on the girl's knee.
"I hate him," Blair spat, swiveling in her seat. Ethan chuckled, rolling his eyes at the power play unfurling before him.
"You don't hate him," Ethan argued, squeezing her shoulder.
Blair pouted, silently affirming his statement. No, she couldn't even fathom hating Chuck Bass, as appealing as the thought was. As the crowd silenced and the headmistress stepped up to the podium, Blair whispered, "He's still a bastard."
:::
After Blair had sufficiently seethed through the entirety of the dreadfully boring assembly, subtly searching for any wind of movement coming from Chuck's seat through her peripheral vision, she'd decided that she had enough. She left Ethan in Diana's hands, storming up the room's wooden steps as the girl whispered something in Chuck's ear.
"Waldorf, what a—"
Blair dismissed his leer and turned to the girl instead. "You're excused."
"But…"
"Leave now," Blair demanded. "Or do you need a written dismissal?" The girl's eyes widened as she shot up from her seat, dodging Blair's glare to find safety at the front of the room. Once she was a safe distance away, Blair turned to Chuck. "Scotch for breakfast?" she scoffed, swallowing the persistent lump in her throat as she plucked the cold flask from Chuck's hand. "Healthy." Blair rolled her eyes as the thinning crowd of students dispersed around them. He said nothing as she tucked it into her purse, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. The action made the thin white fabric of her Oxford pull tightly over her curves.
He swallowed, his eyes darkening. Blair began to acknowledge his return, but he cut her off just as quickly. "What the hell was that?" At his question, they both glanced at Ethan, who was paying no attention to them as he waved a crutch in the air, laughing with a gaggle of students.
"What I do doesn't concern you anymore," Blair retorted, casting a glare at the mousy sophomore he'd just been chatting up. Her cheeks tinted red when turned to face him again, the corners of her lips dropping down when her eyes met his. "Besides, I'm only following your lead." Blair pursed her lips. "That was what you wanted, wasn't it? To drag me down until I was just as twisted as you are? You started this four months ago."
Chuck narrowed his eyes at her accusation, stepping closer to her. "There were twists in you before you stepped foot on this campus, Waldorf. And you know that," Blair's eyes widened when his head dipped low, the scent of invading her senses and pulling her under. "We can play for as long as you want. But you and I both know that no one else can shatter that façade of yours like I do." Chuck let out a purposeful breath near her neck, raising the hairs there. "Tell me, when was the last time your screams emptied your throat until you couldn't speak?" Blair's mouth dropped open, her eyes darting wildly around the emptied assembly hall. She stumbled back, and he followed. But Chuck didn't have to touch her to electrify every inch of her skin. "When was the last time you were touched the way I touch you? Caressed," his voice deepened, "explored? Every part of you sings for me, Blair. You need this."
"No." Blair gasped when his hand reached out for her hip, and she jerked away from him. "How dare you? You don't get to do this." Her eyes narrowed in the sudden darkness. The lights had been shut off in the back row they were perched in, and the ambiance was intoxicating. The way the shadows hit his jaw, how his eyes lit in the darkness—it weakened her to a point of resentment. "Not after…" Blair shook her head, refusing to think of their meeting at the duck pond.
His hard expression cracked for a moment. "I've apologized—"
"Being sorry isn't enough," Blair hissed, hitching her bag on her shoulder. "You knew what was, and you couldn't even say it."
"Blair—"
"But that's not important anymore." She steadied her breath, her chilled demeanor as icy as ever. "You were wrong, Chuck," Blair lied, avoiding his eyes as she recited the words she'd dreamt of saying to him on the night he'd left her. "I don't need you." Chuck watched as she took a breath before reaching into her bag, her manicured fingers surfacing with a familiar black book. "I don't need anything from you."
"Give it a rest, Waldorf. I know that you're lying," he argued, although he wasn't so sure. Chuck refused the book, reaching out to curl his fingers around her wrist. The touch stung, and Blair froze as his hand slipped across her skin. "You're trying to hurt me like I hurt you."
"You didn't hurt me," Blair stated, allowing herself one more moment of delicious torture, of his skin scalding hers. "I'm Blair Waldorf." He frowned as she pulled back, bracing herself to leave. "And it's going to take more than Chuck Bass to break me."
Chuck swallowed, and Blair spun around on her way out, leaving his book behind on an abandoned seat—
Lest it give away her lie.
:::
January 5th, 2008: The Student Lounge, The Main Hall
A glooming peace this morning with it brings;
The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head:
Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things;
Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished:
"For never was a story of more woe," came Damien's voice. "Than this of Juliet and her Romeo." Jenny gasped, then frowned at the intruder. Her tiny form was curved into one of the alcoves behind the lounge, the dim firelight yellowing the pages of the Shakespeare anthology in her hands. Shadowed flames danced across Damien's features, and she made her best attempt at a poker face. In truth, her heart quaked with leftover adoration, but her mind fumed in pure hatred. She wanted to think that when he'd decided she was enough for him, it was the truth. But she could only picture Diana's long tanned limbs hooked around his waist, their lips locked in a passionate embrace.
Jenny was suddenly nauseous.
"What…?" Jenny trailed off. "You remember the words?"
Damien relaxed when she acknowledged his presence and shrugged one shoulder. "I worked my ass off on that play to impress you." He adjusted the collar of his white shirt, smiling at her. "I wanted you to think I was some smart guy—"
"You are smart," Jenny affirmed, instantly despising herself for it. He doesn't deserve compliments, she thought to herself. Her light features hardened slightly. "What are you doing here, Damien? You need to stop sneaking up on me."
"I know…I'm sorry," Damien quickly replied, leaning against the wooden arch in front of her. "I know that you know…" He coughed. "Diana and I…"
"Please don't," Jenny murmured. "Honestly, I'm so sick of talking about it. If this is what your world is like—constantly holding grudges and dwelling on the past—it's too exhausting." She ran her fingers through the soft blond curls draped over her shoulders. "I want to move on."
"Right," Damien nodded. Jenny expected him to leave her alone then, but instead, she saw him reach into the pocket of his pants, surfacing with a dangling brass object, glimmering in front of her. Jenny squinted at it as he held it up. "My father's watch. The clasp you gave me worked," he explained to her, sliding it onto his wrist. "You're the only one who remembers what things mean…Everyone else here just wants to forget."
Jenny sighed, staring down at the watch. "What are you doing?"
"Thanking you," Damien said. He knelt on the ground, careful not to touch her when he leaned forward, the whisper of his breath making amends with the flush on her cheek. "I know that you think I didn't see you, and maybe I didn't. Not at first." Jenny closed her eyes as he spoke. "But I'm looking at you now, and I see the best thing that's ever come into my life. You're so good, Jenny. And I don't give a shit about your last name or mine, about Chuck and Blair's games, or anybody else." Damien dared to touch her cheek with the tip of his fingers. "I think I...I know that I love you."
Her eyes were wide, her heart alert. "Damien, you can't—"
"I can," Damien affirmed. "And I do."
"I…I don't feel the same way," Jenny said, not intending to sound mean, but completely honest. Damien was unshaken, nodding his head as he got up, pressing a kiss to her cheek.
"I know. You don't have to…" Damien shrugged his shoulder again, grinning. "I just want to be your friend. I just want whatever you'll give me." Jenny stared at him, astonished as Damien spoke to her over his shoulder. "And I'm going to prove that you can fall in love with me, too."
"Damien…"
"You will," Damien affirmed as he disappeared from sight. "One day." And there was that feeling again—partial hatred burning inside of her. She wanted to tell him off, wanted to crush his snarky confidence—
But, for some reason, she found herself smiling long after he was gone.
:::
January 10th, 2008: The Main Hall
She wanted him.
Blair bit down on her lip—a terrible habit she'd developed upon entangling herself with a certain Bass—and clicked her silver ballpoint twice in frustration. She was vaguely aware of the chatter all around her, as the Winter Formal's planning committee was in session. But the color samples made her think of the ridiculous rainbow of bowties in his closet, including the black one that had hung loosely around his neck when he'd pulled her behind the school, his big hands grasping her thighs, finding purchase under her ass to –
Blair's pen slipped from her fingers. She wanted him so badly. And it was going to kill her.
"I'm sorry, Blair," Penelope hissed from the other head of the long conference table. "Am I boring you?" Blair narrowed her eyes and the slow burn in her stomach evaporated. The other girl raised her eyebrows in challenge.
"No more than usual, Penelope," Blair snapped. It was time to shake the torturous tick that was Chuck Bass and focus on the task at hand. Yes, she wanted him. But since they'd waged an impromptu war on each other, she'd swallowed down her desire and clung onto Ethan to keep up her charade. In turn, Chuck found revenge by hanging around the freshmen girls when Blair had her yogurt dates with Jenny by the balcony.
"Say it again," the girls had cooed, hands on his shoulders, practically swooning when the smoke from his cigarette spilled from his lips. Jenny let out a whispered oh no as she watched Blair's expression, practically hearing the tick of a bomb as her friend fumed.
"I'm Chuck Bass," he drawled, barely letting out his last name before a fit of irritating giggles ensued. They nearly jumped him, pushing him back against the balcony as Chuck shot Blair an amused expression. Blair let out a silent breath before she smiled back, lips curling into two dimples, and raised her left hand to lift her manicured middle finger in the air.
"Blair," Jenny had whispered, shocked at her crassness. "What was that?" She followed as Blair shot up from her seat, her heels clicking on the hardwood, her brown curls leaving a storm in her wake.
Blair huffed, casting one last look at Chuck's little spectacle on the balcony. "I hope he falls."
"Blair." Penelope's voice snapped her back to the present. Blair rolled her eyes as the room's attention turned to her. "Are you even listening to me?"
"I often try not to," Blair smirked.
"If I have to share the head chair of this board with you," Penelope snapped, "you're going to have to stop being such a raging bitch."
"Penelope," Blair replied, her tone as condescending as it would be if she were speaking to a toddler. "Why are you even here?"
Penelope frowned. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me," Blair confirmed. "You're unneeded. While you've spent the hour doodling infantile hearts in your notebook under the guise of actual notes, we've already had the entire event planned for weeks." Jenny nodded, placing Blair's notebooks on the table, and Diana looked up from her phone, taking a break from her marathon of texts.
"I didn't confirm this," Penelope argued as Blair handed out her proposal to the rest of the table.
"You didn't have to," Blair said. "We've left the era in which people actually care what you think, haven't we?" Penelope fumed as the room buzzed with excitement, the other girls pouring over the pages of Blair's proposal as if it were an issue of Italian Vogue. A masquerade," Blair announced. "And the theme is Saints and Sinners. It'll be a night of total escape, deviance, and anonymity. Be whomever you'd like: an angel drawn to the dark side, a devil redeemed. Masks stay on until midnight, when the illusion shatters and you must choose to abandon your sins or burn along with them."
"Oh my God," Kimberly Adams, who usually hung on Penelope's every word, whispered. "This is so epic."
"Of course it is," Diana stated. "A true queen planned it."
Penelope shot her a look, but was quickly lost in the flurry of questions and praises—all directed at Blair. When the meeting adjourned, and Blair's idea was quickly approved, the girls followed after her, eager to talk masks and costumes. Penelope sat on her own for a long moment after they were gone, drumming her fingernails on the emptied table. She heard the bell ring, heard students chattering as they made their way to class, and she stood up to go too. That was, until she caught the flash of a tiny black screen across the room—an abandoned phone covered by a white Chanel case. Could it be…?
Penelope picked it up and, sure enough, a clean white print of Audrey Hepburn illuminated the screen. The phone was left unlocked, and texts were already rushing in, from Diana, from Jenny, and Eric.
And Penelope had them all in the palm of her hands.
:::
January 12th, 2008: Guidance Office, The Main Hall
"Blair?" Mrs. Reginald called, eyes wide. Blair, who had shaken her recently expanded gaggle of followers, stood at the counselor's door, arms wrapped around herself. In the dim room, she suddenly felt exhausted. Her mind was hazy, and her body sagged forward, invisible bricks piling on her postured shoulders. She was always trying so hard, in a way that other girls, girls like Serena, never had to. She was nonchalant for Chuck, flawless for her mother, fearless for her friends. But on her own, those bricks crumbled, scattered debris across her pristine life, and brought her down to her knees.
Brought her down to the bathroom floor.
"Blair, sit down, please," Mrs. Reginald insisted, guiding Blair by her elbows, helping her to the chaise in the corner. Blair shook her head, refusing to be weak, but she was paralyzed in her place. She flinched when the woman hugged Blair's shoulders, patting her arm to soothe her. "Blair, can you hear me? Do you need me to call the nurse?"
"She wouldn't be able to fix it," Blair stated, her voce wavering. She glanced at Mrs. Reginald, her flustered cheeks now pink and ruddy. Gone was the dictating girl who'd stormed into her office and given her attitude at the beginning of the school year. Now, Blair Waldorf looked much like a princess who'd grown tiresome of playing queen. "They say that it's a broken heart, but I hurt in my whole body." Blair's eyes glistened as she spoke, a thin hand clutching the fabric wrapped over her body. "If I had known that he would rip me apart this way…" Blair choked on her breath, shaking her head. "I'm supposed to be Blair Waldorf. But, with him, I'm never sure of what that means."
"Blair," Mrs. Reginald began. "Just calm down. You shouldn't—"
"I did it again," Blair admitted, closing her eyes, welcoming the silence in the room. "I didn't want to. I was resolved not to." She sounded insane, and she probably was. He'd probably driven her there. "I just wanted to reach in and pull this feeling out of myself."
"Blair."
The sound of his voice hit her like a slap in the face. As a lone tear travelled across her skin, her eyes snapped open, and she jumped away from Mrs. Reginald's arms. She finally saw Chuck, sitting back in the chair across the room, his features twisted in what could only be pain. Blair shook, tremors hitting her body, shaking her head in disbelief. "No."
"Blair, wait," Mrs. Reginald began.
"He was here?" Blair spat.
"Blair, this is Chuck's appointed hour," Mrs. Reginald started, her voice calm. "I wasn't expecting you to arrive. But now that you have, we can make progress. We can discuss the issues you have with Charles—"
"You're delusional," Blair snapped before shoving through the door. She heard Mrs. Reginald call out for her, followed by heavy footsteps that were sure to be Chuck's. So she picked up her pace, stealthily balanced on her heels, the back of her skirt brushing her thighs as she turned a corner, any corner, to get away from him. But just as she ducked into the alley that led into the dorms, she felt a warm hand on her wrist, yanking her back against Chuck's front. Blair struggled, but he refused to release her, his harsh breath stinging the back of her neck.
"You made me a promise, Blair."
"Stop it."
"Just fucking talk to me," Chuck rasped, his voice echoing in the narrow hall. They were in the place they had first kissed that year, when she followed him out there. Blair spun in his arms, the emotion in her eyes betraying her cutting tone.
"You're the last person I want to talk to, Bass," Blair said. "Go catch up with one of your freshmen."
"So that you can parade Ethan—"
"Ethan is gay," Blair practically yelled, shoving his hands away. Chuck stood in shock as she pulled away, stumbling back. "God, Chuck. Don't you understand? All I wanted was you. I fought for you, even after you left. So excuse me if I'm exhausted."
Silence.
Chuck watched her, and she hated him, hated him for being so relentless. "Merrick is gay," Chuck finally repeated. Blair groaned, clapping a hand over her parted lips. Chuck watched her, his eyes sparking with interest. "I knew that you were lying." The walls closed in as he stepped closer. "You still care."
"I don't." Blair shook her head. "That's not the point."
"You do," Chuck insisted, but Blair was indignant. She let out a whimper when his fingers found purchase in the curve of her hips, pulling her in. "Why," Chuck growled, his white dress shirt brushing hers as he backed her into the wall, a terrible a dance that she never wanted to end, "are you torturing me, Waldorf?" He was so close to her that when she laughed, the action was nearly fatal—his lips brushed hers and they shared a breath. The contact lit a flame inside Chuck that burned straight to Blair.
"Me torturing you?" Blair whispered. "I wonder who I learned it from." A breath caught in Chuck's throat when her lips brushed his again, and he closed his eyes, breathing her in. "We torture each other because it's easy." Every word came with a fragile, broken kiss, until Chuck snapped, his jaw twitching when he caught her lips with his. It was not gentle, nor was it near satisfying.
"Don't do this," Chuck ordered. "You're going to lose." His mouth was open, his teeth found skin, and his tongue slid across hers until she broke away gasping.
"Because you can't tell me," she continued, ignoring his words as a haze of twisted lust hit her. She kissed him again, bit down on his full bottom lip. "Because you don't—"
"Because I don't what?" Chuck lifted her legs, pulling her from the ground, wrapping them around his waist. Blair gasped, digging her nails into his shoulders in retaliation.
"You know what."
Chuck pulled away then, clearly having set a trap that Blair hadn't been aware of. "You can't say it either."
Her lips dropped open. "Excuse me?"
"You can't say it, Blair," Chuck challenged. He dropped her back on the ground, her feet planted right on the concrete beneath them. But he barred her there with hands on either side of her head. "If it should be so easy for me…Then it's a simple enough task for the queen."
"This is stupid," Blair whispered. "Why would I say it to somebody who won't say it in return?"
"Because you're afraid," Chuck claimed. "But this can all be over if you just…" Blair trembled when he leaned forward. "Tell me that you love me."
They both recoiled from the sting of his words. Blair had said the phrase to Nate countless of times—on the phone, making out in his mother's sitting room until she'd stop him from reaching under her shirt. And now Chuck Bass was luring it from her tongue like music to a serpent. She ached to say it—ached to push him there.
She loved him.
But she couldn't trust him.
Before she could speak, Chuck cut her off, backing away from the wall. "Tonight." His eyes darkened as the tables turned. "Let's see if your bark is as big as your bite."
:::
January 15th, 2008: The Saints and Sinners Ball
Snow fell on the night of the formal—cloaking the campus in a blanket of pure white despite the darkness inside. The grand halls were draped in red and black and candles burned, students were riled with excitement, pressing masks to flushed faces, tying corsets tight over curves, drawing slick ties around necks. Even the chaperones were lost in the lure of bad behavior. It was going to be a night to remember forever.
In the boys' dormitories, Ethan hobbled on one crutch, his white tux casting an angelic glow beside his blonde hair, his light eyes. He was done with this purgatory. And now, for Eric, he would be a saint.
Chuck, in the room down the hall, tied a red bow around his neck, slicking his hair back before tucking a silk scarlet cloth into his front pocket. He glanced up at his buzzing phone, pulling it from his desk in the corner. His stomach shifted when he saw Blair's name.
I'll take off my mask if you will.
Meet me at midnight.
Chuck grinned before shutting his door behind him.
In the girls' dormitories, Diana painted her arms with concealer, flinching when her fingertips came in contact with the weak skin on her upper arms. She was neither a saint nor a sinner that night—dressed in plain black with a thin white mask covering one side of her face—she was only human.
At the same time, Jenny bit her lip as she tugged on her white gown, watching as it pooled around her feet.
"When you're done having a love affair with your reflection," Blair called, the eye roll evident in her tone, "You can come help me with my dress." Jenny sighed as she went to help Blair, who was holding deep red fabric against her chest, the zipper open at her back, revealing the bustier she had on underneath. Jenny carefully zipped her up, then gasped.
"Blair, you look…" Jenny trailed off, appraising her friend. "You look amazing." Blair smiled, adjusting the brown curls by her cheeks. She reached for the mask on her nightstand, slipping the intricate cover of black spirals over her face. She looked like the queen of hearts—sinister and beautiful. As always, it left Jenny a bit nervous.
"Hey guys…" Diana cut off when she burst into the room, her eyes trained on Blair. "Jesus, B. You look perfect." Blair soaked in the compliments, offering a little twirl as Diana and Jenny giggled and golf clapped. But as Jenny finally grabbed her clutch and they made their way to leave, Blair paused.
"Have either of you seen my phone?" Blair frowned. She shook her head. "I've been so busy planning…" She suddenly felt panicked at the minor detail. If anything went wrong…If her queendom were to falter—
"B, don't worry," Diana assured her. "We'll find it later. The reception here is so shitty during snowstorms anyway—you probably wouldn't be able to use it." Blair hesitated, casting a glance at the world of white outside. She finally nodded, switching the light off before following the two girls out of the room.
Of course she had nothing to worry about.
Minutes later, they arrived in the ballroom, where the lights were dimmed, the ceiling-to-floor windows revealing the expanse of snowy night outside. Red sashes billowed from the walls, and the bar served red drinks and clear ones—all spiked with fine brandy, thanks to Damien and Chuck. After heeding Diana's annoying warning, she'd decided to go to the formal with Diana and Jenny. But it felt amazing, to stand at the head of the room, to watch students tangle with others, slipping through corridors, dancing much too scandalously for any other Briar venue. Blair reveled in the moment, basking in the daunting ballad being played by the band at the front of the room.
Got a secret.
Can you keep it?
Swear this one you'll save.
Better lock it in your pocket,
Taking this one to the grave.
As Jenny departed from her trio to get something to drink, she slipped through the darkness, smiling behind her mask as her shoulders brushed with others. Just as she reached the bar, the hem of her dress caught on something, pulling her back.
"Do you know how good you look?"
Jenny flushed at Damien's voice, grateful she was still turned away from him. She turned to him, allowing a smile to slip, one that mirrored his own. She stilled when he grabbed her hand, taking it gingerly and raising it to his lips. He pressed a kiss to her knuckles, his black mask slipping for a moment as he bowed his head. When he sat up straight, they both stared at each other, until Jenny burst out laughing.
"What was that?" Jenny giggled over the music. Damien narrowed his eyes before laughing along with her. He slung an arm around her bare shoulders, guiding her out onto the dance floor, placing a drink in her hand.
"I'm charming you," Damien whispered, catching her lower back with one hand, dipping her low until her hair brushed the floor. She lost her breath when he pulled her up again, swaying to the music, raising the goblet of punch to her lips. When Jenny hesitated, he whispered, "Don't worry. It's not spiked. I made sure." Jenny nodded, taking a sip.
"Damien," Jenny began. "Look…This doesn't mean…"
"It means we're friends, right?" Damien cut her off, gently raising his hand to cup the back of her head, holding her to his shoulder. "Friends sharing a dance." Jenny closed her eyes, pressing her cheek to the soft material of his suit jacket.
"Friends," Jenny repeated. And she whispered the words under her breath again and again as she held onto his shoulders—even after the song ended and they danced for three more sets.
But as her feet grew tired and their dance had become a still embrace in the middle of the room, Diana caught Jenny's eye from across the room. The blonde frowned, watching as her ex-friend drank from a glass of what had to be vodka. The mischievous gleam was gone from her eyes, and all that was left was emptiness. Jenny pulled away, extricating herself from Damien's arms.
"I have to go."
"Go?" Damien asked, holding her elbow. "I'll walk you."
"No," Jenny murmured, placing a hand on his shoulder to hold him back. "This isn't about you. That's how this whole mess started." Jenny shook her head sadly. "It was never about you, Damien. My friend needs me." She pressed a kiss to his cheek before walking to the corner of the room, where she stopped and placed a hand on Diana's shoulder, waiting for her to look up. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, J," Diana shrugged, downing the rest of her glass. "You two…look really good out there." She smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "You should have fun." Jenny shook her head, kneeling on the ballroom floor, even though the act was sure to ruin her dress. She leaned over, hugging Diana's knees with her arms.
"Tell me what's wrong," Jenny insisted, her blue eyes going wide. "I'm here." Diana wavered, hesitating before taking Jenny's hand and holding it in her lap. All around them, students were having fun, dancing with each other, filling the room with laughter. Diana squeezed tight, a single tear slipping down her cheek.
"Jenny," Diana started, shaking her head as more tears came. "I have to tell you something."
If I show you,
Then I know you wont tell what I said.
Because two can keep a secret
If one of them is dead.
"Are you going to keep avoiding me?"
Eric whipped around at the sound of Ethan's voice. He was leaning over the balcony that led out from the ballroom. The awning overhead shielded him from the snow, but the cold was still biting. Eric, too, was wearing a white dress shirt and white pants—his half-hearted attempt at being an angel. Ethan didn't hesitate before sliding his tuxedo jacket off to drape it around Eric's shoulders.
"You don't have to do that," Eric said. He stared forward, at the snow-covered grounds before them. He could feel Ethan staring, and it unnerved him. "You and I can't be together. I told you that."
"What are we?" Ethan laughed, leaning into his crutch. "Chuck and Blair?"
Eric wanted to laugh at the joke, but he couldn't. "No. We're Ethan and Eric. And we can't be together," Eric repeated.
"What's this about?" Ethan nudged Eric's arm. "Is being my trig tutor getting that hard? We can move on to English if you want. I can sing you a sonnet."
Eric rolled his eyes and cracked a smile. "You don't sing sonnets."
"Hey. Would you look at that?" Ethan said, urgency clear in his tone. Eric glanced up, just as Ethan ducked down, capturing his lips with his. Eric's eyes widened as the boy kissed him softly, holding his face with one big hand.
"Ethan—"
"You told me," Ethan whispered. "That I'd never even kissed you…" He trailed off, smiling against his lips. "You're not using that excuse anymore, van der Woodsen."
Eric breathed out before nodding his head, falling into the kiss. He closed his eyes and leaned in, focusing only on how good Ethan smelled, on the steady pattern of his heartbeat—and not on the flash of a camera in the darkness.
Capturing everything.
Why when do our darkest deeds do we tell?
They burn in our brains,
Become a living hell.
Because everybody tells.
Everybody tells.
In a haze from swallowing down brandy as if it were the virgin cocktail it appeared to be, Chuck caught the flash of red through the darkness, brown curls that were all too familiar. He stumbled forward, eyes set on his wristwatch. It was five minutes until midnight—until all of these torturous mind games would cease. Blair would be his. He parted past embracing couples and—
"Only four minutes until masks come off, sinners and saints," a deep voice announced through the overhead speakers. "Flee if you must. Every face will be revealed." Chuck smirked, ducking past a marble pillar, eyes straining to find red and brown in the shadows. He saw her again, her hand waving behind her back, beckoning him forward. He cocked his collar up, vaguely aware that the room had been set up to draw delusions, to make guests feel like they were swimming in silk. When Chuck lost her again, he picked up his pace, finally seeing her stop inside of a dark hall, flicking her hair over her shoulders. He braced himself, heat spreading throughout his stomach.
But something was wrong.
As Chuck turned that final corner, lifting to pull her into his arms, she turned away, and another figure surfaced behind her. Chuck froze, paralyzed as Harrison Callahan pulled her against his chest, his hand snaking down to grip her ass and hoist her up. Bile rose to his throat and ice truly did still his heart as Blair fell deeper into the kiss, her black mask pressed up against her face—even though Harrison hadn't bothered to wear his. This really was her game. And it was a move to top all others.
It was when Harrison's head dipped for her neck that Chuck tore his gaze away from the sight. His slanted red mask, a devil's face, fell to the ground, breaking with a sharp snap. He heard the faint sounds of the crowd cheering in the other room, the grandfather clocks in every corridor welcoming midnight in perfect harmony.
At the same instant, once Chuck was safely out of sight, Penelope drew Harrison in closer, peeling off the mask that was identical to Blair's as the boy trailed kisses across her skin. And though Harrison reeked of too much booze and bitter ashes, she could only taste sweet victory on her tongue.
:::
Fifteen minutes later, Chuck reached into his jacket, feeling for his flask, only to realize that Blair still had it. He cursed, preparing to find refuge in the bar hidden behind his closet back in the dorms. And then—
"Chuck?" He felt a small hand slip across his arm, and he shoved away. Blair stood before him when he turned around, confused by his reaction to her. Her hair was loose now, and her mask was off. Chuck imagined Harrison removing it from her face, kissing her where only he had before. She tried a smile, avoiding his glare as she straightened his bowtie. "Enjoying yourself?" Blair cried out when he snatched her wrist and pushed her off. She stumbled back, nearly tripping over the hem of her dress. Blood rushed under her skin, her chest flushing at his rejection. "What's wrong with you?"
"You really had me fooled, Waldorf," Chuck spat. "I'm congratulating you."
"I don't understand."
"Don't feign innocence when you've just surpassed anything that I've ever done to you," Chuck hissed. "You wanted to hurt me? You wanted to end this little charade? Well done."
"Charade?" Blair repeated, her dainty features twinging in pain. "If there's ever been a charade, it's because you started it."
"Me?" His laugh was cruel. "You think I started this?" He stepped towards her, eyes like coal. "Well, you just ended it."
Blair watched as he turned around and walked away from her, memorizing the curve of his shoulder blades as she had when he first left her. Chuck shoved through the doorway and left the main hall, blindly storming outside. Blair lifted the hem of her dress, following him out into the night, shivering in the frigid cold. Her heel got caught in the snow and she stumbled forward, struggling to follow him.
"Bass!" she screamed. They might have walked for minutes or miles—far past the grounds of the campus, through the trees and brambles until Blair was a soaked and shivering mess. And finally, they ended up in the shed where the Victors and Victrolas had first held their initiation. He shoved through the door but left it open behind him, allowing her to follow him in.
"Chuck, how dare you—" She cut off when the door whipped closed behind her, propelling them into darkness. She could only see the outline of him, and his eyes—how they always shone. She swallowed, clutching her arms, trembling. "How could you say those things? You said that tonight—"
"Tonight was the night you broke the terms of our agreement," Chuck said coldly, keeping his distance from her. He pulled out a lighter and lit a cigarette, casting shadows across the shed. "And proved to me that you were nothing more than a little girl who will throw herself into any pair of arms that will fuel her game." Chuck pursed his lips and blew out smoke. "Insolent and immature. Nothing I want."
"Take it back," Blair whispered.
"What a pity that you can't take back Harrison's hands pawing at your body," Chuck spat. "Tell me, Waldorf. What were you hoping to accomplish with that little text message of yours?"
"Text message? I lost my phone, Bass," Blair replied, now sounding genuinely confused. "I haven't texted anyone in nearly a week. And do you honestly think I would leave my duties as a hostess just to torment you?" Blair paused, stepping back. "Do you even know me at all?"
Chuck coughed, sputtering out smoke. "You lost your phone?" His face set in realization. "No. I saw you."
"You didn't see me," Blair corrected. "Ask anyone at the ball." She stepped back again, incredulous. "Is that honestly what you think of me?" Blair winced. "How you see me?"
"Wait…" Chuck backtracked, his mind a jumble of flashbacks. Now, the dress pulled over Blair's curves looked nothing like the one on the girl he'd seen with Harrison. And Blair's hair—it was much prettier, much longer. It was curled, not straight. "Blair—"
"I want to go," Blair whispered, turning the other way.
"Blair—" As Chuck said her name, she grabbed for the doorknob, tugging on it. But when she pulled, the wood resisted, leaving the door shut. She pulled again, then again, losing her breath as she desperately tried to get the door open. But it was to no avail.
"What's going on?" Chuck rasped, coming up behind her.
Blair pulled away, closing her eyes as her hand slipped from the knob.
"We're stuck."
To Be Continued…
Author's Note: Hey guys! As you can tell, I'm at an insanely busy point in my year, so I'm going to keep this note short! But I definitely didn't want to leave you hanging for too long, so I had to update. The support I've gotten from all of you has been amazing, and I'm so grateful for your awesome reviews. I hope that you guys continue on this journey with me and keep on letting me know what you think - hopefully I haven't disappointed anyone.
On a side note, I'll definitely be updating the rest of my series this weekend (OTS and SAS), and I'll be posting some Chair Week prompts next week - as a delayed sort of participation.