Chapter Eleven: Match Point
(Part Two)
I'm naked, I'm numb, I'm stupid, I'm staying.
And if Cupid's got a gun, then he's shooting.
Lights black, heads bang, you're my drug, we live it.
You're drunk, you need it. Real love, I'll give it.
So we're bound to linger on
We drink the fatal drop, then love until we bleed.
Then fall apart in parts
You wasted your times on my heart, you've burned.
And if bridges gotta fall, then you'll fall too.
- Until We Bleed by Kleerup
:::
January 16th, 2008: The Back Woods
"There's absolutely no one I hate more than I hate you, Bass."
Chuck rolled his eyes as Blair slammed the heel of her Manolo against the wooden door in a final act of protest before letting out a sharp, seething breath. Her manicured fingers uncurled from a fist, and her usually postured shoulders slumped only slightly. In the darkness, he caught pieces of her—the birthmark kissing the curve of her shoulder, the twists of damp brown curls sticking to her back. He swallowed when his eyes trailed down to her ruined dress, the wet fabric clinging to her curves, frayed at the hem.
"You know, there's a fine line between love and hate," Chuck remarked, leaning against the wall beside her. Blair tensed, unappreciative of his snarkiness, and her expression darkened to a glare that was nearly lethal. Chuck took a step back and reached for the phone in his suit pocket. The dim light cast shadows across their faces before it flickered off completely. Chuck pursed his lips, his eyes flitting up to Blair. "It's dead."
"Just as you'll be dead if I'm trapped in this dank, musty hell-hole all night," Blair spat. She pushed away from the door, and dropped her face into her hands. Chuck could only watch, his fingers twitching at his sides, his chest tight in the darkness. He was anxious, had been unraveled by the mere sight of the girl before him. Blair Waldorf was tearing him to pieces, and for the first time in the dank nothingness that had been his life thus far, he was absolutely powerless.
"Aren't you going to say something?" Blair's voice broke into his twisted reverie, and he rolled his eyes again. "Aren't you going to ask me to borrow the phone that I clearly lost? Aren't you going to accuse me of skulking in shadows with another one of our class idiots? Because the last time I checked, that was your hobby."
"What would you like me to say, Waldorf?" Chuck forced his expression to be cold, his voice distant, his eyes vacant. "As if this is my ideal way to pass a Friday night." Lie. "When I could be slipping into oblivion." Lie.
And then Blair slapped him for the third time in her life. The sting was sharp and Chuck recoiled. The first time, when they were only kids in Tripp Vanderbilt's bedroom, it had been a slight deterrence. The second time, when he'd dropped the bomb that had sent them spiraling into this madness, he'd barely felt it. But this hit was followed by a shove at his chest, and then another, and then—
"Jesus fucking Christ," Chuck murmured, holding her back by the tops of her arms. The rage etched onto Blair's dainty features was almost amusing, but he was smart enough to stifle the chuckle rising in his throat.
"How dare you?" Blair hissed, shoving him away. "How dare you say those things to hurt me?"
Chuck blinked, sliding his hands down to couple her wrists. She expected to hear some sort of sarcastic comeback that would undoubtedly enrage her, but he only swallowed hard, his throat constricting, his jaw tightening. "I'm sorry."
Blair pried her wrists away. "Tell me why, Chuck." There was a pause as he backed away from her, allowing her room to pace two steps. The wood creaked under her heels. "Is it that you think so little of me? Is it that Thanksgiving was a ploy? That those nights in the library were meaningless flurries of entertainment?"
Chuck's eyes darkened. "No."
"Then tell me how you can be so terrible to me when all I've ever done was—" Blair choked on her words, closing her eyes before tears dared to fall. Tears meant weakness, and Blair Waldorf could never be weak, especially not in front of Chuck Bass.
"Was what?"
Blair ignored his question. "Tell me why you're so desperately trying to destroy me—" She corrected herself, sliding a hand up to clutch her own arm. "Destroy us."
"Don't you get it?" Chuck rasped, a bitter smile on his lips. "I destroy everything I touch. Hasn't my father enlightened you on the matter?" Blair began to shake her head, remembering her conversation with Bart. "Hasn't Nathaniel joked about it? You're better off."
"I don't believe you," Blair sighed, tired of this script. "You're pushing me away like you push everyone away." Chuck's eyes flitted to hers in the darkness. "But you're not going to save me that way. It only hurts worse. It only cuts deeper."
His stony expression faltered for a moment. "Blair—"
Just then, the wind outside slammed against the shed, nearly rattling the walls around them. Blair jumped, then shivered, realizing that she was freezing. Her fingers shook as she made a feeble attempt at wringing out her dress, pulling it away from her wet skin. When she bent over to fuss with her hem, Blair felt hands on her waist and startled.
"Here," Chuck ordered roughly, tugging her back by the fabric. His fingers were surprisingly gentle when he lifted the curls from the back of her neck and worked through the strands with light strokes, drying as best as he could.
"I don't need your help, Bass," Blair whispered in protest. But still, her head fell back, her lips dropped open, and she closed her eyes. She let out a moan when his thumb traced the curve of her ear, then skimmed the line of her jaw. She opened her eyes, speaking to the ceiling, "All of this...you're destroying me now."
Chuck ignored her, as he was so prone to doing. Instead, he found the intricate thread of black strands at the back of her dress and untwined them until the material slackened around her. He tried to comfort her, stricken by her words, desperate to fix something that was utterly unfixable. As Blair relaxed her shoulders, Chuck remembered himself as a young boy, clutching that book in his hands, resenting his mother, his father, and everything else that came in between.
One day, someone will force your heart open…
"Chuck."
You will love the way I know you can…
"Chuck?"
He snapped out of it, tugging the last string of Blair's corset much too roughly. Blair gasped, holding the bodice to her chest as she whipped around. "Chuck."
"By all means," Chuck sighed. "Let's see if the queen can battle pneumonia." Chuck raised a brow as he pinched the fabric at her side. "It's wet. And you're freezing. You're not going to sit in it all night."
Blair narrowed her eyes, letting her arms drop to her sides. "And you're just invincible then?" She pointed at him. "Your suit is soaked, Bass."
"I don't get sick," Chuck smirked. He reached out for her again, and she allowed it, lifting her arms as he tugged the red fabric from her body. He made a point of dropping to his knees, following it down to the floor, ghosting over her thighs until there was nothing more to touch. But when he glanced back up…a harsh breath fell from his lips. Her negligee was barely there— black lace and thin silk, creamy thighs and a flushed chest. And then he saw it—a thread of violet weaved into the fabric over her hip with purpose. He cupped her thigh with one hand and traced the ribbon with the other.
Blair watched too, resisting the urge to smooth out his tussled dark hair.
"Blair," Chuck whispered, pulling on the purple ribbon, glancing up despite himself. "Were you planning to tell me?" Chuck pursed his lips, knowing that he didn't need to explain. "Were you going to tell me tonight?"
:::
January 16th, 2008: Dexter Hall Dormitories
"Shhh," Jenny whispered, biting down on her lip. She squeezed Diana's arm before wiping away the tear that fell down her own cheek. "You have to stop crying." Diana hiccuped against the curve of the blonde's shoulder, appalled by the mess of mascara smeared across her cheeks and fingertips. Jenny's white dress was ruined and stained, but it didn't matter—nothing else had mattered after Diana whispered those three words under the pulse of the ballroom back at the Saints and Sinners party.
He raped me.
And now there they were, white fabric entangled with black across Jenny's bedspread as they ate from an old little box of chocolates, Diana's confession weighing in the air, even stronger than the storm raging outside. Jenny lost her appetite as Diana described that moment in the alleyway near the cafeteria—what Harrison had done to a girl she'd thought to be invincible. Of course, Jenny clearly remembered that afternoon before winter break. Had she not pushed Diana away...had she not said all of those horrible things…
There's no us.
I don't want to have anything to do with you.
Jenny had pushed her right into Harrison's hands, and although she hadn't even had the slightest clue, all she could manage to feel was guilt.
"This doesn't happen to me," Diana murmured. "This never—" She cut off, letting out a empty sob. "I've always used guys like it was nothing. I—" Diana swallowed. "Maybe this is karma. Maybe I deserve this."
"No," Jenny stated firmly, her soft voice going as serious as it had ever been. "It's not your fault." Jenny's fingers, nails bitten, polish messy, stroked Diana's shoulder with kindness. Diana realized that, out of all of them, Jenny had come out unscathed. She had a mother who loved her, a father who made her breakfast every morning, a brother to protect her…she had a home to go back to. A friend like Jenny could only save her—and she'd been so stupid to give that up over a boy.
"I'm so sorry, Jenny," Diana whispered. "You don't know how—how awful I've felt."
"Diana, this is so much bigger than what happened," Jenny murmured. "All of that doesn't mean anything anymore."
"And I ruined your dress," Diana murmured. "God, I'm such an idiot." She sat up and curled into herself, wrapping her arms around her knees. "I don't know when I started to fuck everything up…" Diana rolled her eyes, wiping the black stains from her cheeks. "You should be dancing with Damien and having fun. And instead, you're here…taking care of me. You're such a good person."
"I'm a good friend," Jenny corrected, sliding her hand over Diana's. "You're my friend. I can always sew another dress. Damien…" Jenny trailed off, rolling her blue eyes. "He can do with a little waiting of his own." Diana offered a small smile in assent. "But I'm here with you now for as long as you need me to be. We don't even have to sleep tonight. We can watch movies, talk, anything, Diana. I'm here."
Diana nodded, staring at her fingers. "I don't deserve that."
"You don't deserve what he did to you," Jenny replied simply, grabbing for the remote. She put on a movie for them, and they took turns getting ready for bed as they always did during their makeshift sleepovers. Diana and Jenny stared blankly at the silly classic on the screen, wrapped in their robes, quiet in the dark.
"We have to report him," Jenny stated.
"Please," Diana sighed, staring up at the ceiling. "His parents own the entire region. There were no witnesses…there's no proof. As if they'll believe the girl who's been known to get around."
"Diana—"
"I know what I'm talking about, J," Diana insisted. "Drop it."
"Then we have to tell Blair," Jenny finally said. "If anyone will know what to do...if anyone can take him down, it'll be her."
Diana let out a short breath. "I know."
"I can't believe you even kept it a secret for so long…You shouldn't have held that in. If you would've told me, I would have listened."
"I know that now," Diana admitted. "But I wasn't alone." She steadied her breath, glancing at her phone, which was resting on Jenny's bedside. As it lit up with Nate's name, she felt a rush of excitement—of normality. They spoke everyday now, not about their problems or their pasts. Most of the time, they talked about nothing at all, but she found solace in it. Nate was golden, and she craved his light. Diana turned to Jenny. "I met a boy."
Jenny's eyes widened. "Oh?"
"A decent one—a charming one, Jenny. Did you know that the Vanderbilt compounds are only a few miles away from my aunt's estate?" Diana sighed, tucking a black strand of hair behind her ear. "His name is Nate, and he's perfect."
Jenny's jaw nearly dropped, and she swore that she could hear her heartbeat thumping in her ears. She immediately imagined herself in middle school back in Manhattan, sitting shyly on the opposite end of the girl's courtyard, swooning with all of the others when Nate Archibald, a grade above hers, would make an appearance outside. But their fantasies had only ever been that—because Nate had always had a girlfriend.
And that had always been Blair Waldorf.
"Nate," Jenny repeated, forcing herself to stay calm.
"I think that things could be different with him," Diana explained with a small smile. She absentmindedly traced her bruise through her robe. "He's so different from all of these prep-school assholes." Diana stopped herself, glancing at Jenny. "I mean, not Damien. Just—"
"No, I know," Jenny breathed. She tugged at the blonde hair braided by her neck. "I think that it's great that you met…what was it?"
"Nate."
"Nate," Jenny confirmed under a shaky breath. "But you should leave that out when we talk to Blair. At least for now."
Diana frowned, cocking her head to the side. "Why wouldn't we tell B?"
"His name might remind her of someone she used to know," Jenny explained to a confused Diana, settling into the bedspread. And although their conversation fell to silence, Jenny was left wondering how she'd somehow become the keeper of secrets in this game they were all playing.
:::
January 16th, 2008: The Back Woods
Blair froze against Chuck's touch, wondering how he could dare to accuse her of being the first one to crack. She covered his hand with the intention of prying his fingers away from the purple ribbon, but his touch served only to drag her in. Her hand trembled against his, and his question echoed in her mind. Were you going to tell me tonight?
Blair swallowed, pushing the thought out of her mind. Even if she had been, he'd ruined it when he accused her of sleazing it in shadows with a boy like Harrison.
"I'm famished," Blair whispered shakily, stepping out of Chuck's grasp. "And thirsty." Blair fanned herself, though it was much too cold and the act seemed silly. "And if you honestly think that I'm going to spend the entire night shivering in my underwear on display for you—you're seriously wrong."
At her words, Chuck smirked and got to his feet. "You've never had a problem with it before."
"Chuck," Blair warned. He held her gaze for a moment before turning away. She lost sight of him in the dark shed, and fear crept over her, chilling her bones. But just as quickly, she was nearly blinded by light. She gasped, covering her eyes with both hands.
"Blair." His voice was deep and gentle, closer to her now. "It's okay." Chuck pried her hands away from her face, and she blinked before glancing around the illuminated shed. What had once been twisted and treacherous on the night of the Victor, Victrola initiation now seemed almost…cozy. The walls were black and lackluster, yes. But there were bits and pieces of a makeshift lounge all around her—two small chaises in either corner, a small table by the far wall, some sort of storage trunk made of cherry wood. She watched as Chuck pulled a smooth blanket from it and then sighed when he wrapped it around her shoulders.
"Bass…" Blair trailed off, scowling at him. "Explain yourself."
Chuck sat her down, then settled opposite of her, his eyes suddenly a light hazel. He reached up and tapped a circular white bulb with one finger. "Battery-operated."
"Don't be smart, Chuck," Blair replied with a roll of her eyes.
"Did you honestly think that I would rough it in the woods without any sense of security?" Chuck sat back, his eyes glimmering.
"So you…"
"Bought the shed," Chuck shrugged. "And the property surrounding it."
"And this is your…"
"Hideaway," Chuck replied, watching her. "Of sorts." He waited as Blair took in her surroundings, eyeing the furniture that was identical to that of his dorm room's.
He frowned when a fit of incredulous laughter finally fell from her lips.
"God, of course you would do something like this." Blair's cheeks lit with red as she laughed. "What are you? Batman?"
Chuck's lips curled into a grin at the lightness on her features. "Waldorf, are you…making fun of me?" He leaned forward, and she clapped her hands over her mouth in a feeble attempt to sober her laughter. "Do you even know who Batman is?"
Blair rolled her eyes, lifting her blanket to hit him with it. "I'm not an idiot."
"I would never dare to call you one," Chuck replied. Her nonsensical giggles and his confused chuckle faded away until the blistering winds were the only sounds in the room. Blair curled under the blanket, and Chuck shrugged his jacket off in favor of a purple robe. He put it on over his dress shirt and pants—something that would look ridiculous on any other man.
But he managed to look like a king.
"You were going to tell me tonight," Chuck pressed on when the joke wasn't funny anymore. Blair snapped to attention. It wasn't a question this time, and he was looking at her like he could see right through her skin.
"Why does it matter, Chuck?" Blair glanced down, kicking the heel from her left foot. "Do you even remember what we were before all of this? What we agreed upon?" Her eyes set on his, and Chuck flinched. He recalled her, flushed and serious on the fields. I won't love you.
She remembered him, broken and empty. I won't love anyone.
"You lie so well," Chuck remarked.
"I prefer not to drink down the truth," Blair said.
"Well, I can't do that tonight now, can I? Someone stole my flask."
"Oh?" Blair thought of the silver flask resting in her favorite purse—hidden beneath her silk scarf. "I can't say that I miss that accessory."
"You haven't answered my question."
"You never answer any of mine." Blair pushed up from the chaise, the blanket trailing behind her like a cloak as she paced. "When does this end, Chuck? When will we be as light as Damien and Jenny—like Nate and Serena, even were when they were traipsing around behind my back? Even they, with their dim-witted blonde genes, could figure it out." Blair paused. "Why can't we?"
"What are you saying, Blair?"
There it was again—the eternal game. Answering yet another question with a question of his own.
"Maybe I'm wrong about what we are," Blair whispered. "You push, I push back. It's endless, and it's worthless, Chuck. Those other couples…they have something beyond this. But you and I don't know each other beyond this game—"
"I don't know you?" Blair didn't know what part of her short speech had struck a chord within Chuck, but she was suddenly up against the wall, near the snow-covered window. His fingers threaded in her hair, and his eyes were tense. "If I don't know you," Chuck began, lifting her leg to hoist her further up the wall. "Then I'd love to know who does." The blanket fell to the floor, but it didn't matter. She was burning, sweltering, completely consumed.
"Is it Nate? Serena?" Chuck held her hips as he spoke into her ear. "Let's see." He held her chin, and her eyes nearly rolled back at the sensation of his breath on her skin. "When we were eight, you got a scar right…" Chuck trailed off, his fingertips slipping under her negligee to skim the dimple where her thigh began. "There. Some insolent little opponent of yours deigned to call headbands stupid." Chuck smirked against her cheek. "You won that fight."
"Chuck—"
"When we you turned ten, you tried to dye your hair like Holly's in Breakfast at Tiffany's. I had to listen to you whine about what a disaster it was for two days, which is why this—" Chuck picked up a strand of light hair near the base of her neck, nearly hidden underneath her chestnut brown layers, "—is still gold."
Blair gasped as he went on, his eyes glowing like a madman's, his voice harsh, his tone desperate. On and on he went, singing a symphony of little details about her—details that he couldn't possibly just know.
"You eat macaroons because they make you think of Paris, and you hate vanilla because it isn't rich enough for you. And you wear La Perlas and garter belts under all of those demure little outfits because you know how much of a vixen you are underneath all of this." He gestured to her lingerie and stifled a groan. "You read the same books and watch the same movies again and again because you detest change and besides…" Chuck held her chin and chuckled. "Movie theaters are your worst nightmare."
"How do you—"
Chuck pressed her closer to the wall. "All of your life, you've only known Yale, but you have no idea what you're going to do beyond that—because you're so fucking good at everything, Blair, including this." Her eyes widened when he hoisted her legs up around his waist and kissed the curve of her chin. "And you stopped wearing that Vanderbilt ring on October 26th—the first night we fell asleep in the library." Blair let out a shallow breath when his knuckles brushed her bare finger, just to prove his point. She was breathless and speechless, but his eyes were unfocused. She wanted to ask him why he was doing this, but, just as he always did, he answered her before she could even manage to ask to question.
"Because I would overturn the world for this." Chuck squeezed her thigh, pressed his face into her shoulder. "Because every time I try to will this wretched feeling away—it's still there. I'm obsessed, and I'm infatuated, and I don't know if I hate it or if I lo—" Chuck cut off as if someone had him in a chokehold. Blair gasped, and he tensed, staring down at the brown mark on her shoulder as they panted. He felt foolish for turning on that light now, for exposing himself this way.
Because suddenly, it all came down to that one moment. Perhaps it was because she was looking at him in the way that always made his chest ache, or because there was no Archibald to lose her to now—
Because it had always really, truly been Blair.
The game that he had so skillfully crafted for himself to draw her in, to entertain her, to keep her close without ruining her, just…fell apart. He'd been fixated on finding a loophole, a way in and out of what he felt for her. But there he was, raising a white flag, laying himself bare.
He'd been fixated on those three little words—thinking that hearing her say it would truly be the end. That it would truly set them free.
Chuck Bass had stood before her four months ago and swore that he would never speak them aloud.
And yet he had just told Blair that he loved her in plenty.
:::
January 16th, 2008: The Grand Staircase, The Main Hall
Eric could still feel the sensation of caramel and forbidden kisses on his lips as he and Ethan sat tucked away beside the arch of the main hall's grand staircase. The two boys were sitting impossibly close to each other—arm against arm, pant legs blending into one stark shade of white. Ethan's crutch lay on the floor as a reminder of why they were completely wrong for each other, but Eric couldn't seem to get enough.
"I'm starting to understand trig," Ethan murmured smoothly, ruffling Eric's hair with his fingertips. "All of the right angles, me plus you equals…" Ethan trailed off with a goofy, wide grin, and Eric rolled his eyes at how ridiculous he sounded.
"I can't wait to see your final grade," Eric smirked. But still, he nearly flushed when Ethan's pinky hooked around his and he felt a light kiss on the line of his jaw. Eric let out a heavy sigh, clearly the responsible drag of the two, and asked, "Ethan, what are we doing?"
Ethan's eyes widened, then gleamed with mischief. "Oh, so that's how you want to talk." Eric shoved at his shoulder, and Ethan broke into a fit of smart laughter.
"I'm serious," Eric insisted, shoving him again.
"Oh, come on," Ethan sighed. "You make me happy. You walk into a room and my day turns around. I like that we're different, and I like that you make me feel like it's okay to be…" Ethan's lips lifted into a careful smile. "To be part of us."
Eric parted his lips to answer, but he was quickly cut off by thunderous footsteps on the stairs, a thick bottle clanking against the wall. They heard laughter, then an all too familiar thick voice shouting, "Man, I am so fucking wasted." There were more giggles, then louder laughter before a few failed attempts at hushing each other.
It only took a few seconds for Penelope and Harrison to come into view.
"Ethan," Eric whispered, jerking his head to the side.
"No," Ethan hissed, holding him there. "Fuck that and fuck them." The jock didn't waver once when he picked up his crutch and leaned over. "We're not going anywhere." Eric faltered for a moment. He appreciated what Ethan was doing. Of course, it excited him and tugged at his heart. He'd been waiting for Ethan to do just this—to stand up for them this way. But there was no point in letting him do this if his father's words were still a looming threat keeping them apart. There was no point if they couldn't be together.
But it was too late.
"What's this?" Harrison called, stumbling down the final bottom step. "Ethan and the…freak?" Penelope laughed, reaching for Harrison's arm, but he shoved her away, his eyes intent on the couple in front of him. Harrison hobbled forward in a drunken stupor, catching Ethan and Eric's twined fingers. He narrowed his eyes, his lips curling in disgust. "You're fucking kidding."
"Back off, man," Ethan warned, pulling Eric to his side.
"They said that the rumors were true," Harrison slurred, jabbing his finger in the air. "But I thought, no. There's no way that one of my best friends has been a fag this whole time." Harrison snarled, his features twisting as he stumbled forward again. "Who's this? Your little boyfriend? I room with you—I've showered next to you, asshole."
Eric rolled his eyes. "I doubt he was looking at anything there."
"What the fuck did you just say, you little prick?"
Eric flinched as Harrison's fist flew through the air. He waited for the impact, but it never came. When he opened his eyes, Penelope was screaming, and Ethan had his arm hooked around Harrison's neck. He was clearly at an advantage over the drunken fool, but Ethan, who was off his crutch, winced in pain as he struggled.
"Ethan," Eric breathed, grabbing the crutch from the floor, then grabbing Ethan's arm. "It's not worth it, alright?"
But Ethan looked murderous as he squeezed Harrison tighter. "Come within feet of him again, and I'll fucking kill you, Harrison. You and I are done."
"Ethan," Eric repeated. "Get off your leg. You just got out of the hospital." Eric touched Ethan's arm, reaching up to cup his shoulder. "I'm not going to lose you again."
Ethan let out an impatient breath, weighing his options. Finally, he punched the boy once in the gut, satisfied by his groan before letting Harrison drop to the floor. He grasped Eric's shoulder for support, then took the crutch from him. From the ground, Harrison spit out a mixture of blood and stale alcohol onto the marble.
"How sweet," Harrison hissed. "Daddy would be so proud, twink." At his words, Ethan jerked forward again, and Eric found the strength to hold him back. Together, they hobbled over to the main hall, then to the boy's dormitories, ducking into Eric's room at the beginning of the hall. As they walked away, they faintly heard Penelope trying to sooth Harrison, then heard him tell her to fuck off. Once Eric shut the door, Ethan threw his crutch against the wall and rolled onto the blue bed in the corner.
"Where's your roommate?" Ethan mumbled into the pillow.
"Never here."
"Hmph," Ethan garbled. Eric sat on his left side, glancing at the torn splint around the boy's leg. He went to help him, and Ethan closed his eyes as Eric fixed his mess. Finally, he whispered, "I want you to know that I'm not like them. I was friends with them because it was easy—not because that's who I am."
"Ethan, I know."
"No, you don't know," Ethan moaned, shifting his leg to sit up. "You don't know how lucky I am to have you in my life. You're the only person who looks at me and feels…satisfied. You don't need me to be better or faster or anything but this." He let out a crisp sigh. "My mom's a religious fanatic, and my dad has this idea that I'm supposed to turn out just like him. A man." Ethan laughed softly. "And then my sister went psycho because of it. She and I…we were never close. She was always disappointing them, and then she just took off one day. I haven't heard from her since I came to Briar. She left me to be the golden child, and I…I've never known anything else."
"Ethan—"
"But it's okay," Ethan assured himself, falling back to the bed with sleepy eyes. "Because I have you now." He rolled his head over and winked at Eric in the darkness. "I'd listen to you talk about trig and Shakespeare, and all of that nerdy stuff you like forever if that's what you wanted." Ethan grinned, lowering his voice as exhaustion took over. "Because I have you."
"You have me," Eric repeated, staring down at Ethan's curled hand. And it only took him a second to shove the image of his newfound boyfriend's furious father out of his mind as he took Ethan's fingers in his.
:::
January 16th, 2008: The Back Woods
When Blair awoke the next morning, the world was silent, the day was still, and the grounds were covered in blankets of white. She was wrapped in Chuck's blanket, curled under one flap of his robe atop the leather chaise in his shed. She brushed her cheek against Chuck's chest and blinked. Her fingers scrunched the material of his shirt against her palm before she released him. He looked so peaceful when he slept—he wasn't calculating, nor was he haunted by the torment that so often drove him to madness. Blair traced the line of his jaw, the curve of his chin.
He was so beautiful. And it frightened her because she was supposed to be above this feeling. She had it all figured out—had demanded her life be a certain way before it could even play out. But there she was, craving Chuck Bass like nothing else. Not like she wanted to be queen, not even like she wanted Yale. Blair shuddered at the thought. It was dangerous to love another person so recklessly, so carelessly. They could kill you with only one step in the opposite direction.
Blair tucked the robe around Chuck before dragging the blanket away with her, letting it scrape across the rickety hardwood as she stared out the window. The woods were beautiful and so quiet. This was the sort of cozy place that Audrey would have loved and, with Chuck, Blair suddenly loved it too. But they couldn't be trapped there.
She glanced at Chuck's sleeping form once more, rolling her eyes at his ever-present brooding frown, then grabbed for the doorknob again. It jiggled, but wouldn't turn at all. Now that it was light out, she could see that it was made of brass, old but polished. Blair frowned as she saw a tiny little hole beside it, a groove in the thick metal. She frowned, peering closer. It was jagged and hollow – just big enough to fit…a key. Blair let out a surprised breath, remembering Chuck's words. I bought the shed.
The shed locked from the inside, and the owner would always have its key. Which could only mean… Blair was furious as she snatched Chuck's abandoned jacket from the other chaise, shaking it out until a tiny silver key slipped from his inner pocket and hit the floor. God—they hadn't been stuck at all.
He had done this all on purpose.
Unlike Blair, Chuck awoke to a startling jolt of pain in his left shoulder. He frowned up at Blair, whose tiny hand threatened to hit him again—whose other tiny hand was clutching the key to that very shed in her fit of rage. He raked his fingers through his hair and cursed under his breath.
"What's wrong with you, Bass?"
"There's a lot wrong, actually," Chuck groaned, sitting up. "You'll have to elaborate."
"You had the key," Blair spat, throwing the tiny silver thing at his chest. "The door was only locked. You could've let us out."
"Really?" Chuck quipped. "It hadn't occurred to me."
"Everything occurs to you, Chuck!" Blair shook her head. "You're a manipulative psychopath."
"That's still under speculation."
"You lied."
"Yes."
"You trapped me here."
"Yes."
Blair paused, flinching when she touched the roots of her appalling morning hair. Her eyes met his in a furious glare. "Tell me why, Chuck." Her demand was met with silence, but she refused to back down. Blair watched him for a long time in an attempt to decipher that inexplicable expression on face—a cross between fear and something…else. It was then that she realized, "You were going to tell me."
Chuck cleared his throat, setting his tone even. "Excuse me?"
"Last night, you asked me if I had been planning to tell you," Blair insisted breathlessly. "But you said all of those things—things you knew you wouldn't be able to take back. Things that were true." She lifted her chin and bit down on her lip. "You kept me here all night and you're looking at me now like—"
"Like what?" Chuck faltered, unsteady.
"You were going to tell me," Blair breathed.
"Stop," Chuck whispered. He wanted to order her, to shut her down with another terrible taunt, but he just couldn't this time. Not when her eyes were nearly glistening and—fuck. His hands curled into tight fists.
"But you've already told me enough," Blair said. "Enough for now. Enough to know that it's not because you don't..." Blair nodded her head, more to convince herself that this was real, that all of what they'd been through was worth something. "It's because you're afraid." Chuck said nothing, only swallowed, tightened his jaw, as Blair walked up to him. She took his chin in one of her small hands and forced him to look at her dead on. She asked him a silent question, and his answer was a nod so slight that it might not have been real at all. But it filled her with joy all the same, lit her face up with utter glee. She bent over, still cupping his chin, so close that she spoke against his lips.
"Then fight for me, Chuck."
:::
January 16th, 2008: Dexter Hall Dormitories
An hour later, Blair trudged into her room, wearing her ruined dress and Chuck's suit jacket, tottering in her favorite Manolos with as much dignity as she could manage. Her heart was stricken with excitement and confusion…beating with the knowledge of requited love and utter fear. She'd left Chuck with a final kiss, pulling away when she felt his fingers curl into her hair as they always did. And now, Blair could barely see as she stepped inside, quietly shutting the door behind her. She prepared herself to wake a sleeping Jenny upon her arrival, but was surprised to find two girls in her roommate's bed—very much awake and very much eating from her Gold Collection.
"Excuse me," Blair hissed, slapping the box out of Diana's hands. She frowned when she stared at the sole survivor of her friends' apparent chocolate binge, one hazelnut truffle resting at the center of the empty wrappers. She sighed, then shrugged to herself before popping it into her mouth. She figured that she deserved it after those heady declarations—and practically starving to death in the wilderness thanks to Chuck's antics. Blair closed her eyes, moaning as the chocolate melted on her tongue.
"Jenny…is that a suit jacket?" Diana noticed. Blair frowned at the sound of the other brunette's voice.
"It's an Armani suit jacket," Jenny mused, clearly asking for it.
"Blair's wearing a men's Armani suit jacket," Diana contemplated, tapping her chin with one finger, "after going missing for the entire night." Blair huffed, quickly reaching to pull the jacket off. "Now, I'm not great at quantitative reasoning…But putting those two together could only mean…"
"Chuck," Jenny and Diana finished.
Blair rolled her eyes and kicked her shoes off. "If it was tasteful, I'd slap both of you right now."
"Oh, B," Diana sighed. "When are you going to get off that high horse and just admit that you're as lovesick as the rest of us? I mean, I still think that he's a total dick for doing what he did before break." Diana frowned, then allowed a small smile. "But you guys are so wicked and badass together."
It was Jenny's turn to roll her eyes. "You're only obsessed with them because The O.C. got cancelled."
Diana shrugged. "I need a couple to root for."
"Enough," Blair sighed, fighting the smile on her face. She turned to the two after sprawling out atop her bedspread. "Are either of you going to explain why no one informed me of this impromptu sleepover?" Blair frowned, glancing at Diana. "And…why are your eyes swollen?"
Diana froze, realizing that it was time to push the jokes aside. Jenny silently bowed her head and nudged her friend, urging her on. And then Diana took a deep breath and told Blair everything. The rape, the afternoon before break, how she could barely sleep at night, how her yellowing skin was still bruised and battered from his attack. Blair took it all in until her eyes fell shut. The pain in Diana's voice…the helplessness in her tone. She suddenly felt a rage that went beyond bitchiness, beyond catty fights back at Constance. Her cheeks flamed and her nails bit into the skin of her palm.
And Blair Waldorf wasn't a hugger – but when she pulled Diana into her arms, she could barely manage to let go. Jenny watched as Blair's mind raced, her eyes went completely black. This truly was beyond a scheme…beyond a stupid plot to take an amateur like Penelope down. This girl in her arms was her sister—this was revenge.
"He's not just going to pay for what he did to you," Blair stated in a light, yet unbelievably menacing tone. "I'm going to destroy him. And I know exactly who's going to help me do it."
Author's Note: Yes, this was a shorter chapter than most - but I really wanted to focus on this one night before the takedown begins! And here's some other news: I officially (tentatively) know what's going to happen throughout the entire story now! And because you guys were asking about what I'm going to do with Gossip Girl since I reintroduced her in Chapter Nine, I'll tell you this: Like everything else in Wire's AU world, Gossip Girl's plot line will have a really dark, twisted spin when he/she comes to the Briar world. They won't just be a gossip blogger, but an actual sinister threat to the cast of the story. It's not going to be like the show at all, so I'll just leave it at that.
On a side note, I just want to thank each and every person who's reviewed this story thus far for their endless support and constructive feedback. You guys are so amazing, and you make me want to write Chair FF until I'm old and gray. I know that there are some of you who never review or only do when I haven't updated - and I still appreciate you readership - but please consider dropping your opinions from chapter to chapter! I really value what you guys have to say, and it's honestly my favorite part of writing fanfiction: working on what you love, and adjusting what doesn't work. So please keep that in mind. :) Anyway, I talk way too much. Until next time, lovelies! xoxo, N