Chapter Twelve: Heads Will Roll
Holy water cannot help you now.
See I've come to burn your kingdom down.
And no rivers and no lakes, can put the fire out.
I'm going to raise the stakes; I'm going to smoke you out.
- Seven Devils by Florence and the Machine
:::
Blair drowned in the darkness of her room, but that feeling—the exasperation—went unmatched by the sick, creeping feeling that she was undoubtedly, irrevocably in love with Chuck Bass.
"In love with Chuck Bass," Blair whispered to herself, sliding her blue and gold eye mask back over her face. It was an exact replica of the one Audrey had worn on the set of Breakfast at Tiffany's, but she felt nothing like Holly at all. The whimsical character's relationship with her Fred had been a walk in the park compared to the turmoil in Chuck's empty eyes and the ice laced over her own heart. But somehow, he had allowed her the upper-hand in this mess.
Blair let out a shallow breath as she recalled his fingertips on her skin after weeks and weeks of feigning hatred. He had known all of those things about her…inconsequential details that he'd collected throughout years and years of her being on Nate's arm, of rolling her eyes at his smarmy jokes and missing his second glances, his keen observations.
Nate, Serena, and even her own mother had been careless with the bits and pieces of her, whisking her off to co-star in their lives as Chuck mingled with the shadows, picking them up, saving them for her, like the dark knight he had always been.
He had been there the entire time. Chuck Bass…a romantic. Who knew?
Blair had.
She stirred, only half-conscious in her early morning slumber. Before Briar, before Chuck, she'd always fantasized with Audrey scenes, slinky black dresses, and Parisian nights. Nate was sweet, but she'd often have to shift his script, envision him as more of a Humphrey Bogart rather than the doting, simple-minded love interest that he actually was. But with Chuck, reality tangled with those starry-eyed dreams, and it was so real that it almost hurt to wake up.
Because you never truly realized how consequentially someone could mold themselves into your life until the memories hit.
Blair's eyes fluttered beneath the silk, and she could almost feel the wood of that rickety shed pushing into her back again, Chuck's lips at her ear, and, "When you were eight, you got a scar right there. Some insolent little opponent of yours deigned to call headbands stupid. You won that fight."
Blair smiled in her sleep because, for once, Chuck Bass had been wrong on two accounts. They were twelve when Blair won that fight.
And she didn't win it alone.
:::
September 10th, 2003: Prescott Middle School
"Because only losers wear headbands."
The words resounded across the courtyard behind Prescott Middle School, and in that moment, Blair swore that every single member of their expansive student body snapped to attention. She faltered in her tiny blue uniform, tottered in her Prada flats. Before she was the queen, she collected experiences like these, moments of weakness, chinks in her armor of perfect outfits and biting one-liners.
But right then, a hot flush was spreading across her cheeks.
"Why don't you shut up?" Blair spat at Hazel Carmichael, crossing her arms over her chest, feeling the silk red band strung through her curls weighing on her head. She glanced around for support, eyeing the small crowd of followers she'd gained in elementary school. Serena, who was constantly being pulled out of school and whisked away on her mother's Caribbean adventures, was absent. And the other three girls behind her now were fidgeting, fingers pulling at their identical headbands, which varied only in hue. Blair's lips parted in horror as the first of the three slid the accessory off and stood by Hazel.
"Melanie," Blair demanded, her small fingers curling into tight fists.
But her ex-friend only glanced down at the ground with guilt painted all across her pre-pubescent features. Blair swallowed, pinching her lips together. Yes, word had broken out that Hazel's father owned a villa in Florence and that his investment in the Madame Alexander doll company was so large that he regularly gave them away to her friends. But…she was Blair Waldorf. She had luxury sleepovers and macaroons and—
"Sorry, Blair," another traitor mumbled as she too joined Hazel's side. This time, the headband dropped to the pavement and snapped in half. All it took was two, and the rest of the courtyard snubbed her, opting to flock to Hazel and her tacky green tights instead. Blair let out a choked breath, her chin dropping in disdain as students shoved past her, knocking her from her indignant stance. She skidded across the cement, gravel scraping across the exposed skin above her knee-highs. She registered the sting, registered the burst of a fresh wound, only partially on the outside. Heat spread over her skin, bile rose in her throat, and—
And then she fled.
It was a little known fact that Blair was prone to awful, short-winded panic attacks. She hid them well, as she hid it then. And later on, when she'd become a poised, elegant teenager, she would control it in other ways—knees down on the bathroom floor, wretched sounds clouded by her sheer will to be perfect, and a smile pasted on her face after the fact.
But when Blair was only twelve, her eyes swam with tears as she crouched behind the little grotto away from the taunting crowd. She clutched her knees, pink fingernails digging into the curve of her shins. She grew anxious as she lost her breath, lost her footing, felt heat on every inch of her skin. And as it happened, the headband slipped from her head.
But it didn't hit the ground.
"Well," Chuck smirked as he caught it from behind her, swinging the red object around his index finger. "I've been known to make girls swoon, but this…" His lips lifted for a moment. "Is new." He was just about to continue his comical tirade before he heard her shuddering, saw her sway on her feet again. Chuck's smile faltered.
Blair shut her eyes, desperate to insult him, to make him go away. He couldn't see her like this, no one could see her this way. But when her amber eyes fluttered open to meet his increasingly worried gaze, all she could manage to choke out was, "Chuck, please."
"Waldorf," Chuck managed to reply, feeling panicked himself. "Hey…" He stepped closer to her, glancing behind him before two of his fingers found the nape of her neck. For a moment, as he felt how smooth her skin was, he considered finding Nate. Surely, the annoyingly fair-haired Prince Charming was better suited to handle this than Chuck, the more crooked Casanova.
But he could already feel Blair relaxing under him, and he liked it—liked calming her this way. So he pushed her further behind one of the brass railings and crouched down just enough so that he wouldn't ruin his uniform pants.
"Never mind," Blair breathed, shutting her eyes. "Just—" Her inhale was sharp and loud, and her knees buckled. "Go away."
"Not likely." Chuck paused, steadying her. He hesitated before grasping her knee in one hand. The pad of his thumb ran over the hem of her knee-highs. "You're okay, Waldorf. What…did Audrey Hepburn die or something?" It was a joke, of course. He'd been tricked into spending enough time as a third wheel to Nate's obsessive childhood "girlfriend" to know that Audrey had died years before.
Blair shoved away. "Died in…1993…idiot."
"Hm," Chuck mused, reaching for her again. "There's the Blair I know." His brows slanted as he heard the lunch bell ring inside. "Breathe, okay?" Chuck's brow crinkled at the softness in his own voice, and he quickly snapped out of it, grasping for his signature smarminess. "Although, you can resume panting for me behind closed doors anytime."
"Shut up," Blair hissed, but she could already feel her breaths slowing, her skin cooling. She glanced at Chuck's raised eyebrows, realizing that his fingers were rubbing small circles into her neck, massaging every time she took a breath.
"This is nice," Chuck observed, pinching the silk scarf hanging around her neck. They both looked down at the dark fabric, then at Chuck's own signature—the thick checkered pattern of red and blue against his school blazer.
Blair stood up straighter. "It's Balenciaga."
"This season?"
Blair rolled her eyes. "Of course."
Chuck's lips lifted into a devastatingly crooked grin as he moved aside, shielding her from the trickle of tardy students running up the steps and into class. And suddenly, Blair didn't mind his touch, didn't mind his presence as they bantered over brands and labels, as his fingers grew lighter against the strands of silky brown hair curled at the back of her neck.
"Of course, no one does black like Dior."
"Do you realize how renowned Balenciaga is? And besides, it's obviously the most flattering on me." Blair's cheeks returned to their normally healthy pink blush.
It was then that Chuck reluctantly pulled away from her, fingertips skimming the pretty scarf once more before he feigned nonchalance on the entire matter. "Obviously," Chuck echoed. "Although, I'd much rather discuss the other uses for scarves..."
"Gross, Chuck," Blair sighed. They were silent for a moment as Blair exhaled, her pink glossed lips pinching together as she gathered her bearings. He watched her, feeling an unwelcome ounce of appreciation. She rolled her socks up and flipped a brown curl away from her cheek, and his stomach twisted, his heart jumped at the sight. But it only brought a scowl to his face.
"Well," Chuck began, signaling his exit. In situations involving those of the opposite sex, he was always keen to having the last word but, of course, Blair would allow no such thing.
"Oh my God," Blair huffed, embarrassed when she realized that it was halfway into the period and she was standing beside a smirking Chuck Bass after having revealed the most horrid of her bad habits.
Chuck regarded her expression for a moment. "Does this happen a lot?"
"Why do you care?"
Peeved at her hostile reaction, Chuck rolled his eyes and mirrored her stance with crossed arms of his own. "I don't," he lied. His mind scrambled as he lifted the thin black cell phone from his pocket. "But this particular situation is quite the rarity. And perhaps...Gossip Girl-worthy?"
Blair tensed. Her eyes grew wide, and the half-step she took towards him was impulsive when she pleaded, "Chuck."
"It was...a joke, Waldorf," Chuck amended, promptly tucking the phone out of sight once again. Blair breathed a small sigh of relief as they exchanged a blank stare. He had amber eyes, but they somehow lacked the usual lightness of the color. He narrowed his eyes, wondering if she was about to relapse into another fit of breathless panic, wondering how he'd be able to escape that, until a chill spread across her features, and she glanced away.
"As if you have any proof of what just happened," Blair murmured.
"I was preoccupied," Chuck countered. But Blair was already turning away with a swish of her skirt and a measured pace to her steps. She was just rehearsing the excuse she'd claim to her math teacher when she heard that voice again, not so deep yet, but wicked just the same.
"Take her down," Chuck called, slinking back against the ruddy bricks behind him. Blair paused on the steps, one small hand gripping the railing with all of her might. She looked over her shoulder and rolled her eyes, not bothering to scold herself on how easily she'd trusted him with her secret.
"Talking to yourself, Bass?"
"You know exactly who I'm talking to, Waldorf," Chuck smirked. He paused before adding, "And what I'm talking about." Blair raised her eyebrows, and he mirrored her expression. They remained that way for several quivering heartbeats, entirely unaware that they'd share the same glance again and again years later behind bricks draped with ivy, in hidden corridors, and—much to the horror of a younger Blair—in Chuck's own bed. But it was beyond lust, beyond restrained curiosity. It was completion, understanding, a total apocalypse of the heart. And it was a wonder that something so monumental could be so utterly unrecognizable before the fall.
The following weeks brought them together, if only temporarily. Neither of them acknowledged the scar spread across the dimple of her thigh, neither of them cared much for signs of weakness. Instead, the plan was simple.
"I'm going to hook Chuck Bass," Hazel had cooed to her new following on the next Monday morning. Blair grinned as she overheard the conversation, picked at her fruit salad. "He's such a player, but…he'll never be able to resist me." Chuck had easily set the bait, fooled Hazel with a faux romantic pursuit. Of course, the girl thought she'd be able to win him over. And of course, that would never happen. From across the courtyard, Blair bit down on her lip and glanced at Chuck. A second later, he winked back.
"Watch and learn, ladies," Hazel sighed with cheesy contentment. "Chuck Bass is mine."
But in exactly three days, Chuck publicly announced the complete opposite. "I'm Chuck Bass," he corrected, his voice lifting to address nearly the entire courtyard. "I hate to crush the—how can I word this civilly—pathetic delusion that I would ever partake in something as simple-minded as puppy love." He stepped back, examining the nail of his pinky. "And if indeed I ever suffered such a careless lack of judgment…" Chuck paused, preparing himself for the blow. "Why would I ever choose you?"
Blair watched in utter satisfaction as Hazel's bottom lip quivered, as she sputtered unintelligible curses to Chuck. She backed away, tripping over the cobblestoned courtyard en route to escape. She looked to her minions for support, but they were less than sympathetic.
"I thought you said he was your boyfriend," Melanie accused, crossing her arms over her chest.
"So lame," another one of them whispered under her breath. They scratched the backs of their necks, awkwardly looking away, already looking back at Blair. Tears poured down Hazel's cheeks, and she made a run for it as Blair sidled up to Chuck.
"That went…" Blair trailed off, grinning cheekily. "Flawlessly. Well done, Bass."
"You say it like that was purely for your enjoyment," Chuck smirked, stretching his arms out. At the center of the courtyard, the two were a matching pair, both cloaked in black, both cloaked in wickedness. "It's one thing we have in common," he commented. "The cold surface, the lack of emotional attachment." He seemed to raise an invisible glass. "We don't let sympathy get in the way of what we want."
Blair frowned. "Speak for yourself."
"I always do."
There was quiet as students finished their morning chatter. Blair let out an even breath. "Regardless, that was well-executed. She was foolish to think that anyone could tame you." Blair sniffed. "You should probably be quarantined."
"I'll take that as a compliment," he chuckled. "And…anyone? I thought you were the queen." Chuck mocked her. "Not up for that challenge?"
"In case you haven't noticed, this queen already found her prince, which is—" Blair's eyes focused on something—or someone—behind Chuck. "Nate!" She pasted on a flirtatious smile, one that looked nothing like the expression she wore when they were taking Hazel down. His best friend's goofy grin made an appearance across the yard. Blair cast one last glance at Chuck, smiling over her shoulder. "Thanks again, Bass."
"I usually take my repayments behind closed doors," Chuck offered rather desperately, but she couldn't hear him over her grand reunion with Nate. He coughed, slinking back into the shadows, back to where he seemed to belong, eyes on the fading scar on the back of her thigh.
And he watched her go.
:::
January 18th, 2008: The Briar Dining Hall
When Blair woke the next morning, her hand reached out, fingers sliding across her satin sheets, but she came up empty. Her hair was mussed up, rumpled curls sticking to her cheeks after a terribly sleepless night. It was a Saturday, she realized. Outside, she could hear students in the courtyard, freshmen gossiping, seniors whining about midterms. Blair supposed that she and her friends belonged somewhere in the middle as she pulled on a pretty purple sweater dress, dotted her cheeks with a faint blush, swiped mascara across her lashes. And then Blair hesitated before pulling that familiar navy suit jacket over her shoulders, styling Chuck's clothes as her own.
And although she didn't need anything, not at boarding school, especially not during the weekend, she hoisted her Chanel over one shoulder anyway—simply because Blair Waldorf didn't just go somewhere without a purpose.
But when she arrived in the cafeteria, she found that there was no need. She spotted the sharp jaw instantly, the sweep of dark hair slicked back atop his head, his handsome features dotted partially with fatigue, dotted mostly with apathy. Chuck's lips were pursed as he chewed on a piece of toast near the balcony and read from his phone. A crumb fell to his bottom lip, and he swiped it off with his tongue, momentarily disgruntled.
Blair swore that her heart stuttered to a stop at the sight.
Chuck glanced up when she sat down beside him, then looked again when he realized it was her. Neither of them knew quite how to act after the storm had hit, neither knew where they stood after their desperate attempt to pull each other apart had landed them together.
"I want to talk," Blair offered, glancing up through batted lashes, searching his face. Chuck cleared his throat, avoided her eyes when he looked back—he had been weakened enough. Instead, he focused on the faint beauty mark on her cheekbone. He swallowed once, then twice—his mouth seemed to be remarkably dry—before throwing her a sheepish grin.
"I prefer…" Chuck trailed off, daring to brush his arm against hers below the table. "To talk after." Blair's breath hitched, and she nearly had to pinch herself to recall why she was even here. He smelled so good, like the cologne she loved, like the delicious shampoo in his styled hair. God. Blair bit down on her lip and forced herself to look up at the ceiling. She needed to focus.
"After I get my yogurt," Blair corrected with a scolding frown. She angled herself away from Chuck, making sure that no part of her was touching him. But he caught her wrist, slid his fingers down to her palm like he had done so many times before.
He rolled his eyes when she tried to yank away. "Sit down, Waldorf."
"I don't get it," Blair frowned. "Now you want me to starve? I—" The words caught in her throat when she eyed his lunch tray. The selection was pure Chuck. Toast with a packet of jam, coffee that smelled an awful lot like Smirnoff, a chocolate eclair, and a bowl of fresh strawberries—all of which were his favorite things. But sitting upon the corner of the tray, out of place with all of the rest, was a blood orange Chobani, a spoon balanced on top, just waiting to be eaten. Blair took it from him, carefully lifting the lid. "Chuck…?"
An angry flush spread over the back of Chuck's neck, and Blair bit back a gasp.
"Chuck, you didn't have to—"
"Look, it's just—"
"I really—"
"Just yogurt," Chuck scoffed, throwing in the last word before shrugging her off with a jerk of his shoulder. They sat in silence for a moment, Chuck chewing his toast, Blair eating beside him at her leisure. Underneath the table, his knee brushed hers, and before she could move away like she always did, he caught her leg and ran his thumb over the ridge of her knee. Blair shivered. The whole thing was so domestic, so couple-y. What was he trying to prove?
No. That wasn't the proper question to ask at all. His touch was scalding, was absolutely electric, when his thumb followed the curve of her thigh, the junction just above her smooth calf, but it didn't promise permanence. How long would he try to prove it?
Blair shook her head and sighed softly as she leaned into his touch, watching a dimple form in his cheek as he swallowed down the coffee that reeked of vodka and stared straight ahead. She waited until he was done before she dared to grab hold of the hem on his navy blazer. "Chuck, that smells like a brothel."
He raised his eyebrows at her, shifting so that she could grab hold of his elbow completely. Chuck always did this, always leaned into her in the hopes that she wouldn't notice how desperately he craved her touch, her comfort. The irony of Blair Waldorf showing her nurturing side to someone like him had not gone unnoticed. And it made him want more of it—and more of her.
"Bass, that smells like—"
Chuck exhaled through his nose. "I heard you." Blair waited for him to respond, but he only continued with a small smirk, "Then it must be a good day."
When he raised the cup to his lips, Blair snatched it out of his hands, as deft and clever as always, her nose wrinkling when she took a whiff of it. In a second, she disappeared, her tiny skirt swishing around her thighs as she brought it out to the balcony and poured the substance into the shrubs outside.
"Jesus," Chuck murmured upon her return.
"No. Just me. I'm not sure if even he can save you now," Blair smirked with a little eye roll. But there was a shift in his eyes, something anxious, something just short of fear. She offered him yogurt from her spoon, and his lips curled in disgust at the fruity mixture. "This is real food, Bass," she demanded, touching the spoon to his lips, getting dollop of yogurt on his chin. "I'm pretty sure that Smirnoff didn't make it onto the food pyramid for a reason." Chuck frowned, but Blair finally won out with an icy glare, and his tongue darted out for a taste.
"I'm not Nate," Chuck commented airily. "Just because we're…" He cut off, having no idea what to call what he was to her. "We're not en route to some stony arranged marriage. You don't get to play my wife." His words had the potential to be cutting, had he not still been holding onto her knee.
Blair chose to ignore him. "I like a sober Chuck Bass."
"That makes one of us," Chuck retorted.
"Well, it shouldn't," Blair replied softly, catching his gaze.
Chuck relaxed under her watch, finally settling on a compromise. He slid the yogurt back over to his tray, then lifted the remaining bit of his chocolate éclair to her lips. "I'll see you one yogurt if you allow me the delectable sight of watching you eat this."
Blair frowned, taking the pastry by her fingertips. "Why?"
"It turns me on," Chuck smirked.
"Chuck." Blair pretended to be appalled, but she still nibbled on a bit of the dessert, letting the chocolate melt onto her tongue. She even made a show of teasing him as she licked her fingertip, a dastardly little move to do in public, but it was well received. And when Blair was done, she wiped the corners of her lips with a napkin from his tray and sat back. "I know what you're trying to do." Blair's fingers automatically lifted to her stomach. "I'm fine."
"Yeah?" Chuck leaned forward, grabbing hold of her chin. "Then so am I."
"Chuck."
"Blair." He was not a second offbeat. Blair narrowed her eyes, and his fingers danced down the line of her jaw. "I suppose we've reached some sort of impasse."
Blair nodded, then shook her head, desperate to regain her focus. "Don't do that, you Basstard. That doesn't matter. None of that matters."
"Did you just call me—" Chuck paused, his lips lifting into an incredulous smile. "Basstard. I should really get that trademarked."
"Oh," Blair huffed, sliding his tray aside with a knock of her hand. "And that's your solution? To buy up the entire world?"
"Not quite," Chuck argued. Blair was aware that his hands were still on her, light movements flashing under the tabletop to hide from their classmates' straying eyes. He leaned in and whispered, "Some things just come to me naturally. Come for me, that is—"
"Enough," Blair hissed before he could sidetrack her with another sexual innuendo. She lifted Chuck's hand and dropped it back onto his own lap. "I'm in need of your assistance." Chuck parted his lips to suggest that they find a more private venue to satisfy her request when— "Not that kind of assistance. Chuck, I…need to tell you something. There was something that happened."
He tensed, features clouding over with concern. "Are you hurt?"
"Yes," Blair whispered, lashes casting shadows down her cheeks when she glanced down. She wasn't sure if he noticed, wasn't sure if she was imagining his hand taking hers. He silently promised her safety, his broken idea of trust, and she felt lighter. Blair looked at Chuck and saw her confidant. She'd never had anyone she could trust with the crookedness—or who could follow her into the dark without looking back once. She looked down again, fingers curling around his—not holding hands, just holding on—and continued, "but not for myself."
:::
It was his shot at redemption, he supposed.
Chuck listened to Blair recount Diana's story in hushed whispers and fought to keep up a blank face. It wasn't as if he felt a particular sense of loyalty to the girl—those feelings were exclusively reserved for Blair, he shamefully admitted to himself. But there was something about the way that Blair's lips curled in disgust at describing Harrison's act that made him feel his own shame. Years and years worth of it.
"He just preys on girls like some—"
Chuck's jaw twitched.
"…just…repulsive. Taking advantage of—"
His other fist curled under the tabletop. Had Blair not been talking about Harrison, her words would have been quite an accurate description of…Chuck.
Before Blair had sauntered into Briar's arched, nearly-ancient halls, he'd been mindless in his lustful pursuits. He would never stoop so low as to force himself on a girl without her consent, but he did manipulate, did prey, did seek delicate things solely with the intention of breaking them. Because it was easier to destroy. It was easier to drown in your own charade than open yourself up to the flaws of others. Which was why—
"Chuck?" Visions of himself with tipsy freshmen in desolate corners faded away to reveal Blair blinking back at him. Chuck realized that he now had her fingers in a vice grip, and he released her instantly. His expression went neutral, and she relaxed again. Now, her eyes brightened, her lips curled with that mischievous little smile that he loved. "What if I told you that I had a plan?"
He snapped out of his self-loathing and offered a smile. "Something new?"
"Hm, no," Blair corrected. "This is a bit reminiscent of our first time." She paused, and Chuck's mind immediately fluttered with flashes of himself pulling down Blair's La Perla's in a dim room, candle-lit maybe, hearing her purr in his ear, breath hot on his skin as he lifted her legs, fingers sinking into her thighs… "Our first takedown." Chuck cleared his throat, but his arousal was ever-present. Hearing Blair talk schemes did things to him that went unmatched by his previous bedroom trysts.
"We make sure he loses his dignity, his pathetic mass following…"
"…shoot his ego down and then take out the garbage."
Blair smiled again. "The thrill of public humiliation makes me oh so nostalgic."
"Does it?"
Blair only nodded in response, her grin widening by the second. Chuck dipped his head low, felt her shiver when his lips made contact with the curve of her ear.
"Then I say, let's get the bitch."
:::
January 20th, 2008: The Bogart Gardens
There's an old voice in my head that's holding me back
Well tell her that I miss our little talks
Soon it will be over and buried with our past
We used to play outside when we were young
And full of life and full of—
The folky tune of "Little Talks" cut off, and Damien frowned at the loss of his headphones. But his irritation faded when he felt a soft kiss on his cheek, saw a flash of blonde hair brush his shoulder. Jenny Humphrey.
"Hey." Jenny's voice was shy when she greeted him, and Damien knew that he was still far from forgiven. But she was still there everyday, getting warm to him again, offering him kind little gestures in the way that only she could. It was adorable, and—
"I love you for that," Damien murmured. It was still strange to say it, still strange to openly admit that he loved a girl, especially a girl like her. He hadn't even picked up a drink since she wearily allowed him back into her life. And he wasn't going to fuck that up.
"Damien," Jenny sighed, hopping up onto the pillar he was sitting on. They were outside on an unusually warm day in January. They'd been hit by storm after storm, and now the weather was breezy, unthreatening. Damien turned to Jenny when she spoke again. "You have to stop saying that."
"Thanks for the suggestion," Damien smirked. "But I'm not interested." He leaned in to kiss the tip of her nose, and Jenny blushed, accidentally lifting her chin in surprise. The movement brought his lips to hers, and then…he was kissing her. Damien moaned, pulling her closer, bowing her against his front, parting his lips against her skin like it was a breath of fresh air.
"Damien," Jenny scolded him breathlessly, pushing at his chest. Damien released her immediately, realizing his mistake when she tensed up, hands clutching her elbows. "I…I knew that this would happen, that I would give you the wrong idea…" Words tripped over words, and Jenny's skin burned a pink so hot that Damien thought she might combust.
"Hey, hey, I'm sorry," Damien whispered. "That was totally my bad, okay? I screwed up. It was me."
"I don't want to keep doing this," Jenny said, exasperated. "I don't want to feel pressured into loving you back." Her voice shook, and she fiddled with her thumbs as she spoke. The cool air swiped at her skin, and she pulled her little pink coat closer around her shoulders.
Damien blinked, sitting back with a furrowed brow. He could barely feel the prickle of a frozen branch when it poked his arm. "Is that really how you feel?"
Jenny glanced up at him. "No…of course not. Damien, you know how I feel about you. I was the one to fall first. I had thought that it was all romantic…you seeing over your crowd, dropping your cigarette and ditching your parties to choose me." Jenny smiled, blonde hair falling to her face. "It was like an 80's movie. And then…you broke my heart."
"I'm sorry…"
"I know that you're sorry," Jenny replied quickly. "And you should know that I do feel that way." Damien's face brightened. "And I want to be here for you, but not in that way. Not yet. When it happens, I want it to be real."
Damien shrugged one shoulder, cupped her chin. "You know that it's real, J."
Jenny was just about to nod her head in assent when she heard her a low chime coming from her little DIY satchel. She pulled the embarrassing flip phone from the front pocket, waited what seemed like forever to load the message onscreen. It was angry, it was in bold letters.
It was from Blair.
Whenever you feel like gracing us with your presence, Humphrey. We all play a role in this.
Jenny swallowed, remembering exactly what she was supposed to do. "Come on," she said as she grabbed the sleeve of Damien's coat, dragging him to Briar's back entrance. Snow melted on the ground, and the low heat welcomed them when they finally got inside. "You need to talk to Diana."
"Jenny, we've been over this. Diana and I aren't—"
"It's not about that," Jenny said, racing through the halls with Damien on her tail. They dodged a group of freshmen who glared at the dewy-cheeked blonde with blatant jealousy. How had the off-brand Brooklyn import snagged a Dalgaard, anyway? Sure, he was one of the tragic bachelors—but he was rich and handsome just the same.
"So what's this ab—" Damien silenced when they arrived in the lounge and spotted Chuck and Blair leaning into each other atop one of the plush seats by the fireplace, whispering to Eric, Ethan, and Diana, who were sitting opposite of them. Jenny joined Eric, ruffling his boyish locks before waving Damien over. When he sat down, he frowned at his friends. "Did I miss a memo or something…? I thought that the delinquent club met on Wednesdays."
"Ugh, that's only you," Blair murmured under her breath. She glanced at her companion. "And Chuck."
"So sweet," Chuck smirked, pinching her hip. From across the circle, Diana watched them, then winked at Jenny, who raised her eyebrows in response.
"Anyway," Blair continued, dodging Chuck's advances with a stern slap on his wrist. He kept his hand on her lower back, out of sight to the rest of them, but listened as she spoke. "Ethan and Eric will handle all of the technicalities—the invitation to Chuck's shed, the print-outs later on. Jenny and Damien will be present at the stake-out. I trust that some of my ruthlessness will have rubbed off on you, Little J." She then glanced at Chuck. "And, of course, Chuck and I will do all of the dirty work, while Diana lies low for a while." Blair paused, making sure that everyone was all caught up. "Questions?"
"Yeah, just a little one," Damien chimed in, raising one finger. "What the fuck are you talking about?"
Blair looked up at Diana, who had been uncharacteristically quiet throughout Blair's little dictation. She tucked a curl behind her ear and narrowed her eyes. "Diana…you haven't told him?"
"Told me?" Damien echoed, finally meeting Diana's gaze. "Told me what?"
"God," Blair sighed. "Is no one taking this seriously?" She looked to Chuck for support, who was bemusedly stroking the her lower back through the fabric of her skirt. She shook her head, only slightly soothed by his touch. "Amateurs."
"You two should talk." It was Jenny who made the suggestion, glancing between her non-boyfriend and her ex-best friend turned enemy turned best friend again. "Privately?"
Diana coughed. "Jenny…"
"He's not my boyfriend, and I'm fine," Jenny practically yelled, startling the rest of the group. "I'm fine, I'm fine, I am freaking fine." The blonde was red in the face, looking almost maniacal as she continued to rant. "So you can all stop tiptoeing around me like I'm some fragile little kid. And you two—" Jenny pointed to Damien, then to Diana "—need to get over what happened and be friends again. We have much bigger fish to fry." Jenny let out a huff. "Understood?"
There was an awkward pause. Blair's eyes lit up with astonishment, and…pride? Eric patted Jenny's back to calm her down a bit. Damien and Diana looked at each other once again, then looked away. Chuck, of course, was as bored as ever. And Ethan…
Ethan started a slow clap, to which no one joined in.
"Oh, come on," Ethan sighed, dropping his hands. He had abandoned his crutch, but still made a big show of reclining himself on top of Eric no matter where they went. Now, he sat up from his perch and shot a disappointed look at his friends. "Was this not the time to—"
"No," Eric cut in. Ethan frowned, and Eric shook his head again. "You know that I'm always rooting for you, and that I'm a firm believer in your mental capabilities…even if they're not always present…But, just this once, you're the muscle, Ethan. Just the muscle."
Ethan pouted, which looked absolutely ridiculous on the tall athlete. "Are you trying to call me a dumb blonde, van der Woodsen?"
Eric grinned. "Well…"
"No," Blair hissed, one palm facing them. "I'm not interested in enduring your idea of flirtatious banter." Blair rolled her eyes. "It's nauseating, Eric."
"We have to deal with you two and your deranged sexual tension all of the time!" Eric said, shooting an incredulous look at Chuck and Blair. "Nuclear annihilation is like foreplay for you guys."
Blair frowned, clearly not seeing the problem. "And your point is…?"
As their playful argument continued on, no one noticed Damien and Diana slip away from the group, heading over to the very spot where Damien had first told Jenny that he loved her. It didn't…feel right, but the blonde glanced up at the pair and nodded her head with stern encouragement. Damien winked back at her, liking this new attitude. Just as he was imagining her bossing him around in a more private venue, he was engulfed by a giant hug and the smell of sweet perfume.
"I miss you," Diana murmured into his shirt. Damien relaxed against her, sliding a hand down her long black hair, letting his fingers get tangled in it for a moment before he pulled away. He was surprised to find defeat in her eyes, an ounce of weakness that he'd never seen before.
"Diana—"
"I guess that I saw them—" Diana glanced over his shoulder at Chuck and Blair "—and I wanted something crazy and raw and awful and beautiful like what they have. I wanted somebody who would change my life and never let me look back." Diana sighed. "I tried to force that to happen with you, when that just wasn't who we were. You're my best friend."
"You're mine," Damien promised. "And I'm sorry. It was a fuck-up to top all others with the exception of Chuck and his…" Damien rolled his eyes like he couldn't even find the proper words to describe his friend. "But he and Blair are in a whole other stratosphere."
"Right," Diana agreed.
"But the point is that I…miss you, too," Damien finally admitted. He shoved his hands into his pockets. "Ironically enough, I could have used someone to help me win Jenny over again."
Diana smiled. "Ironically enough, I've been helping her with you." Damien's eyes lit up with excitement, but before he could interrogate her, Diana crossed her finger in a sassy Z-formation. "Oh no. I'm not going to be a double-agent. Unless it means that I get to fuck with Penelope's head."
"Your favorite hobby," Damien chuckled.
Diana smirked. "You know it."
Damien paused for a moment, nudging her shoulder. "I did miss you." He held her arm, tipped her chin up with his thumb. "But I want to know what's bothering you so much."
"Okay," Diana murmured. "But it's going to upset you. You're going to lose it, but…I need you not to. I need you to stay calm. And then I need you to go back there with me and help Blair with whatever insane plan she's just concocted."
Damien shook his head, nudging her again. "Come on, Di. I'm the calmest man alive."
:::
January 20th, 2008: Dexter Hall Dormitories
Damien Dalgaard did not stay calm.
Instead, he punched the lounge's wall so hard that he drew blood, and it took the rest of the group, and a talk from Chuck to get him to stay away from Harrison. It was Chuck's more selfish reasoning that ended up making the most sense. If Damien went at Harrison and hurt him, only one boy would be expelled.
And it wouldn't be the rapist.
"You're okay?" Damien asked for the thirtieth time that night. Diana rolled her eyes, shoved at his chest to shut him up. He had his arm slung around Jenny as they walked Diana back to her dorm room.
"You mean, since you asked me five minutes ago?" Diana shrugged. "Damien, I'm fine…in the most relative sense of the word. It hurts, and there are scars, and I have nightmares about the same things every night. But I won't wallow. This isn't all that I am. I just…want to see him pay."
"And you're leaving that in the hands of Blair Waldorf?"
Diana smiled. "I wouldn't have it any other way."
Long after Diana had bid them farewell with a giant hug amongst the bizarre trio, a hug that should have been much more awkward than it actually was, after Diana had watched Damien kiss the top of Jenny's head as they disappeared down the hall, she locked herself in her room and slumped down against her door.
She didn't like this feeling, didn't like being the victim while others tried to save her over and over again. Diana St. Jean was used to holding her own, and now she'd lost her grip, and she could never go back to being the carefree, wild-hearted girl she'd once been. She was bruised and she was careful—and she looked both ways before even taking a simple step now. Harrison had taken that freedom from her.
Ding.
Diana raked her fingers through her hair and jumped up from the floor. Her laptop illuminated the hutch above her tiny desk, the familiar blue of Skype's homepage filling the screen. There was an incoming request to video chat. And it was from Nate Archibald. She nearly tripped over herself to muss her hair up and apply a dollop of lipstick before she answered the call. Her stomach immediately fluttered at the sight of his light brown hair, his bright blue eyes, and the green Polo she loved on him.
"Nate."
"Di." His smile as he uttered her nickname was…Diana sighed. She didn't know about that crazy, burning infatuation when she thought of Nate. But when she talked to him, she didn't have to worry about being as smart as Jenny Humphrey, didn't have to worry about being sexy or intellectual or anything other than what she was. "You're on."
"I told you that I would be, Archibald." Diana cocked her head to the side. "How's everything with your Dad?"
"It…sucks," Nate sighed. "My mom is in denial about everything that's happening here at home, and my dad's even worse about it." Nate leaned closer to the camera. "You've been crying. Is it the nightmares again? I can stay on with you until you fall asleep again, or…pay a visit to your school? Mid-winter recess is coming up."
"Nate, that's really sweet, but I'm trying to salvage you from Briar."
Nate frowned, and the name of her school registered with him once again. Why did it sound so familiar? Every time she said it, it sounded a lot like the place that—
"Blair is helping me through all of this. She's in dictator mode, and I highly doubt that any part of Harrison will be spared when she's done with him."
The color drained from Nate's face. And, for some stupid reason, all he could think was, Not again. "Did you say…I mean…"
"Blair Waldorf," Diana continued, rifling through her drawer and surfacing with a lone cigarette and a little packet of cafeteria biscuits. As she lit up, careful to keep the flame dim and far from the smoke detector, she smiled. "It's probably time that I fill you in on my world. Although, I'm so keen on hearing your glitzy tales from the Upper East Side. There was a girl, right?" Diana blew out smoke and tried to remember. "You were in this crazy love triangle." She sighed. "You and I, my friend, were in the same miserable boat."
Diana looked to him for agreement, but she found him pale-faced and confused, features crinkled like a neglected puppy's. "…Nate?"
"Right, a girl," Nate mumbled, flipping his hair back.
"What was her name again?"
Nate's eyes widened. "I never told you."
"Oh…" Diana trailed off, suddenly worried by the expression on his face, his guarded eyes. She tried again, smiling at him, tossing her cigarette into the ashtray beside her bed. "Well, I guess it doesn't matter now. Maybe…everything was meant to be this way."
"Yeah," Nate breathed, scratching at the back of his neck. "I mean, it all led me to you, right?"
"It did." Diana smiled, nibbling on a cookie. "Things have a funny way of working out, I guess."
"Yeah…" Nate said as he watched Diana's shirt slip from her shoulder, right before a picture tucked into the crevice of her vanity mirror caught his eye. It was some sort of Polaroid taken in a dormitory—Diana in a short black slip, a mousy blonde in a long white nightgown, and his ex-girlfriend, Blair Waldorf, half-smiling at the camera as she munched on a macaroon. "Yeah," Nate repeated, shaking his head. "They really do."
:::
January 25th, 2008: The Back Alley
"I loathe you."
"I loathe you."
A hush fell over the cafeteria, and students dropped their trays, shushed their neighbors, and craned their heads to hear the argument going on behind the dining room's back wall, the one that blocked the school's infamous back alley, where Chuck and Blair were currently having it out. Two underclassmen wearing thin, multi-colored headbands sat as close to the wall as possible, hoping to catch it all.
"Do you think they're really breaking up this time?" one asked the other.
"I hope not," the younger one shrugged. "They're like the dysfunctional Bradgelina of Briar." She popped a spoonful of yogurt into her mouth. "They're just so perfect for each other…"
"Please," a cold voice suddenly snapped, shoving into the two girls. Penelope glared back at them, arms crossed, totally pissed off. "A break-up requires an actual relationship in the first place, so get over your little false fantasy." Penelope rolled her eyes. "It's pathetic."
"Talk about pathetic," the girl murmured as Penelope stalked away. And just as she was about to address the juvenile's flawed comeback, the cafeteria silenced again, waiting to catch more of the fight.
"You're a bitch."
"You're an ass," came Blair's sharp rebuttal.
Penelope frowned, glancing at her enraptured peers. Didn't they all have lives? Why were they so fucking fixated on every step Blair Waldorf took? If they would all remember correctly, Chuck Bass had been hers first… Penelope tried to soothe herself with this fact, but Chuck's voice still echoed in her head from the night of the Homecoming Ball. Your what? I'm not your boyfriend. I can dance with whomever I please. Her fingernails dug into her palms at the thought.
But instead of dwelling on it, Penelope headed straight for Harrison, who was pretending not to listen in like the rest of them. She stepped up to his table and sighed, "Harrison, let's go."
But he paid no attention to her. Instead, he elbowed the boy beside him and jerked his chin up. "Looks like Waldorf is back on the market. Let's see if her bang is as big as her buck." The boys laughed, which only fed into their friend's cockiness. Behind him, Penelope practically drew steam from her ears.
"Harrison, let's go."
Harrison glanced back, gave her a once-over, then smirked. "Sorry, babe. I'm not…interested in my own leftovers."
Penelope rolled her eyes and let out a nervous breath. "Come on, Harrison. Don't be a jerk. I'm serious. The dorms are empty and I thought…"
"Babe," Harrison repeated in a tone that was much too condescending to be amorous. "Did I stutter? I'm not interested. So you can wipe the desperation off yourself and find something better to do than throw yourself at me." Penelope went deaf for a moment. In her humiliation, in the midst of the boys' jeers, she could only stumble away, run away in her thin jumper to the back of the building, barely noticing the light snow that was falling from the sky. She kicked at the grass, spewed out angry curses to an empty audience. She was just about to kick over an abandoned bird bath when she heard the bushes rustle by the far left of the campus.
Penelope dropped her hands. "…Hello?"
There was more rustling, and a dark figure came into view near a cluster of trees. The person was cloaked in black, a thick coat, an oversized hood, staring right at her with eyes that Penelope could not see. She swallowed, took a step back to regain her footing.
"I'll call the police," Penelope warned before she decidedly took another step forward. It was probably one of Harrison's jerky friend's trying to mess with her. But she…she was still Penelope Hayford. And she wasn't afraid of anything. Blair had her weakness, and that was Chuck Bass. The only way Penelope could rise above her would be to be absolutely fearless.
"Hey," Penelope called again, which seemed to startle the person. As they jerked their head up in her direction, papers scattered across the wet ground. They both lunged for the stack, but Penelope got to it first. Penelope gasped, her covered knees sinking into the frozen grass as she passed her fingertips over what she could now see were photographs. There was Ethan and Eric kissing on the balcony outside of the Saints and Sinner's ball, Blair yelling into her cell phone, and then Blair again, wrapped up in Chuck's arms as they did unspeakable things on the public fields, wrapped up in his arms as she smoked a joint. And there were others, countless snapshots of her peers caught in the midst of their most hidden secrets. And once again, Penelope found them all in the palm of her hands.
There was one sheet that stood out above all of the rest—a transcript, a print-out with a familiar black and gold heading, the chic script. But now, the city background was replaced with something a little more gothic, spiraling towers, intricate pillars, and oak wood. It was Briar, and this person could only be—
"Gossip Girl," Penelope whispered, eyes trailing up to the faceless figure. "I remember the stories from when I lived in the city. I never thought you were the real thing. I never thought…" Penelope swallowed, gathered the pictures in offering. "Why are you here?" There was silence and, for a moment, Penelope caught sight of dark hair beneath the hood. But it was gone in a flash.
And then Penelope smiled, her heart panged, her heart raced. She had found her purpose. And she had found her route to revenge. And so she asked, "Are you in need of assistance?"
:::
Back in the alley behind the cafeteria, the period was coming to an end, Chuck and Blair's little show was coming to a close. Their words were biting, but no one could see his hands on her waist as they argued, no one could see her skimming the skin of his neck between insults. Even fake fights got Blair all worked up, and Chuck was thoroughly enjoying their little façade.
"You're despicable," Blair called out loud, sliding her hand down his chest. Chuck bowed her forward, and she gasped with a small smile. "And I…hate you." His fingers curled in her hair and yanked her head back, gained access to her neck, scraped his teeth across the base of her throat. Blair nuzzled her nose into his cheek, whispered in his ear, "Do you think it's working?"
"Hm," Chuck whispered back, sliding his hand down between her thighs, pressing his finger to her arousal. "This isn't very convincing." Blair's knees buckled, and she held on, pulled him closer. Her vision was swimming, and she saw red, red with lust. They were supposed to be convincing the entire student body that they hated each other, that they were divided now. Blair moaned as he cupped her jaw and kissed her again.
She had found something that she was very bad at.
"They're gone," Blair gasped, extricating herself from his grip. "The bell, Chuck. It's over."
Chuck's eyes darkened, and he refused to release her, refused to stop the burning kisses that fell across her skin, refused to stop his hands from making a mess of her uniform, from untangling the carefully pinned chignon in her hair. She lost her breath when he rasped, "It's never over."
Blair's mouth fell open, and he captured her bottom lip between his teeth. God, she thought to herself. Why did the fire never seem to die down? Why was it always just as…hot? Chuck pinned her wrists to the wall, hoisted her legs up around him so that they were connected, hip to hip, hearts threatening to burst through weak fabric.
"Chuck." She whispered his name more urgently, held him still against her writhing body. "Chuck…I want you," she admitted. "Every beat in my body quivers for you. But we have time now, after the plan. After—"
"Blair," Chuck groaned, and his voice was colored with the most torturous anguish she'd ever heard. She stroked her fingers across his cheek to soothe him, pressed her lips to his temple and felt him close his eyes. She was about to speak when they heard voices outside, one that stood out above the others. Harrison.
"Chuck, I have to go." Blair found the strength to pull away, to tie her hair up again, to straighten her skirt. "I have to do this."
Chuck pursed his lips, tilted his head back, and closed his eyes. "Go."
"Chuck—"
"Hurry up, before he leaves."
"Okay," Blair whispered. He heard her retreating footsteps, heard her greet Harrison in a voice that she usually reserved for boys like Nate. He heard Harrison flirt back, heard him say that she was exactly the girl he wanted to see.
And although it was all part of the scheme, Chuck wondered if he and Blair were destined—were doomed—to watch each other walk away.
:::
It wasn't difficult to hook Harrison. He was a silly boy, a puppet whose strings could be pulled by his ego. And like little boys often do, he took what he wanted, blindly and ruthlessly. And he always called it—
"A game," Harrison insisted for the millionth time. "You and I play the game of life, Blair. That's why we always come out on top. Although, I'd much prefer to see you on top." Harrison winked at her, and Blair stifled a gag. He was a mindless idiot, and Blair thought she might consider suicide before actually seeing this plan through.
"Right," Blair finally deadpanned as they came to the student mailboxes. They parted as she picked up a few invitations to city societal events in the spring, her magazine subscriptions for the month, and a few Nordstrom and Bloomingdale's catalogues. Harrison surfaced from his mailbox with a familiar gold card addressed to him. Blair grinned. Perfect.
"Check it," Harrison said, lifting the card to reveal the familiar double-V printed in inky black. "Guess who's just aching to have me back?"
"I can't imagine who," Blair muttered.
"You know, I always did like to think of myself as the Victors' true leader," Harrison explained, slinging a heavy arm over Blair's shoulders once again. "You coming, babe?"
Blair scowled. Yuck.
"As…tempting as that sounds, I'm not interested in widening the current riff in our group," Blair lied. They'd all been avoiding each other in the halls, dodging any situation that caught them all together, lest anyone think that they actually were scheming. You see, their plan was a complex one. It went beyond a simple public take-down. They wanted to use all they had, unravel him until he broke, unravel him until he had nowhere left to turn.
Stage two was already complete and underway. She had spent a long night goading Harrison into sending her pictures of himself. She tried to imagine him as Chuck as she typed those dirty words away, promising that she would reciprocate once she saw what he had to offer.
What are you, scared?
R u kidding?
The product of her insistence was laughable. The nude pictures of Harrison flooded her phone, and, as if AT&T couldn't even bear the sight, the device had frozen before loading them all. In the middle of the night, Blair, Jenny, and Diana had laughed at the sight of Harrison slung across his bed, one hand covering his measly excuse for a package, the other poised on his hip as a lame attempt at channeling an Abercrombie model.
"Is he kidding?" Diana had smirked.
And now the photos were forwarded onto Eric's phone, which would all be delivered directly to the headmistress's email address when the time came. As well as every other student and faculty account in the system.
"Come on," Harrison insisted, shaking her away from her reverie. "You're with me."
"Trust me," Blair said with a small smile. "I'm fine. But you…you should go." She cocked her head to the side, catching a glimpse of Damien nodding back to her by the library. Blair leaned into Harrison and promised, "It'll be a night that you'll never forget."
:::
January 26th, 2008: The Back Woods
Harrison arrived promptly, which took Jenny, Damien, and even Chuck by surprise when he stumbled into the shed. It was dark and he seemed only partially confused when he found a single chair waiting for him at the center of the room. Candles burned and the wind howled outside, but he was too drunk to hear the door slam shut and lock behind him. This wasn't surprising at all.
"Where the fuck is everyone?" the boy slurred, tripping over his feet, reaching for the chair. "I want to get…royally fucked up."
"That you will, asshole," Damien murmured under his breath. Jenny elbowed his side to quiet him down. They were standing in the darkest corner of the shed, across from Chuck, who was eyeing them as they all waited.
"Quit fucking around," Harrison called out, fumbling in his pocket for a cigarette. Jenny narrowed her eyes, imagining him all over Diana, slamming her against the wall, pushing and hurting until those horrible bruises were born beneath her skin. It was heady, this feeling. She craved vengeance, and for the first time in her life, she wanted to hurt another person.
"Why don't you try this?" Jenny said, surfacing from the shadows with a clean white pill at the center of her palm. Harrison stood up straighter, squinting at her in the darkness. She almost looked surreal with her straight blonde hair hanging down around her face, her white gown reaching down to her feet.
"Well, fuck me, sweetheart," Harrison chuckled. He paused, leaning towards her. "Literally, I hope."
Jenny was not amused.
"What have you got there?" Harrison continued, oblivious to the tension in the room, not finding any of it strange in the slightest. Jenny gave it to him silently, dropping the pill into his hand, then stepping away once more. "So serious, baby," Harrison sighed as he popped the tablet onto his tongue. "What? Is Damien not doing it for you? You look like you could use some fun."
"Fun," Jenny echoed, remembering Diana's tears, wet on her shoulder as she sobbed for hours and hours.
"Fun," Harrison laughed as he swallowed it down. He felt the rush crawl beneath his skin, roll under his fingertips, cloud his head over. In his mind, he thought, "Next stop, oblivion." He lolled his head to the side when the candles began to die out in perfect synchronization, until the room was blanketed in darkness. Jenny disappeared, as did the outline of the wall, as did his own body, it seemed. "What's…what's this?"
"Not fun," came Jenny's voice again.
:::
On the morning of January 27th, Harrison Callahan stumbled up the cobblestone driveway of the Briar House, in direct view of the front courtyard, clad only in his soiled tighty-whities. He had woken up in the woods at 3am, freezing and lost. And although Chuck and Damien had only planted him less than a mile from campus, making sure that the weather wasn't so cold that he would freeze to death without his clothes, Harrison got freaked out by the sound of a night owl and peed himself.
"Oh. My. God," a senior laughed, snapping the first of many pictures to come. Harrison cursed, angry tears in his eyes, as he stumbled up the front steps.
"Well, what the fuck are you all looking at, losers?" Harrison yelled, spitting on the ground. He had nowhere to turn. Everywhere he looked, there was a wall of students—by the entrance, on the balconies, tossing a morning Frisbee outside. When he turned again, he came face-to-face with Penelope, who had a cheerful smile on her face.
"I have to admit that I'm not their biggest fan right now…but I'm impressed with their work." Penelope glanced down at his underwear before brushing past him. "You might want to clean that up, babe."
And just as he'd done to her just days before, Penelope left Harrison in the dust.
The weeks that followed were what could only be described as social torture for Harrison. Girls wouldn't talk to him, and the "bro's" that had always doted on his every word now shrugged him off. They had lost their respect for the boy who cried superiority. They had lost their respect for the boy who had…wet his pants. His only consolation was Blair, who was still at his side, painfully listening to his rants and speeches as he unraveled. No one could quite understand why she hadn't shunned him like the rest, but they didn't dare to ask. After all, she was still Queen. Even if the girls didn't want to touch him with a ten-foot pole, they wouldn't question her taste.
Luckily, the speculation came to an end when the rest of the plan was set in motion. She and Harrison were walking to their morning classes when she spotted Chuck and Eric hovering over a computer in the lab. She quickly averted Harrison's attention, caught Chuck's eye as she pulled the other boy near the assembly hall, as she distracted him from the stack of explicit photos of Harrison in her friends' hands.
"Mmm, feisty," Harrison groaned. Blair tried not to tense when his clammy hands found purchase up and under the back of her shirt right away. She shut her eyes, then opened them. Chuck was there, watching them from the far corner, an indescribable expression on his face. His nightmare, what he thought had happened after the Saints and Sinner's ball, was playing out right before his eyes like some sort of crooked film reel.
"Harrison," Blair whispered. Her hands were still at her sides, and Harrison bit into the side of her neck. She and Chuck flinched at the same time. She was breathless, and she heard herself telling him to stop, felt his knee between her thighs and choked on her breath. And then Chuck was lunging forward, a blind fury in his eyes that could kill a man. Her mind raced, and she reached for control, reached for her sanity. But how far was…too far? Blair gasped for breath, Harrison closed in around her.
Not far enough. She lifted her chin, forced her face over Harrison's shoulder, trained her eyes on Chuck and mouthed, "Wait."
But it was like pleading with a madman. And so she had to act. Fast.
Her tiny hand reached behind her, grasped for a brass knob. She forced herself to recall the assembly schedule, who was on the other side of the door behind her. Blair bowed her body against Harrison, leaned in to whisper in his ear as she turned the knob. "Are you going to rape me like you raped Diana?" This threw him off balance, and as he jerked his head back to look at her, Blair pushed the door open and screamed as loudly as she was capable of screaming. They landed on the floor of the assembly stage, Harrison pinning her down as Blair yelled for help, their heads right at the headmistress's feet.
"What is the meaning of this?" the headmistress hissed, shoving Harrison aside with the tip of her heel and leaning down to help Blair up. Blair hobbled for a moment on her left foot, glanced up at the faculty members staring back at her.
"He attacked me," Blair explained, speaking to the entire crowd.
"Harrison," the headmistress hissed in a voice so cold that even Blair tensed up. She watched as the large woman stood over Harrison, who now cowered back in embarrassment. "We have zero tolerance for harassment in this institution. Nor do we—" The headmistress cut off when she heard cries, laughter, and screams emanating from the hallway. She narrowed her eyes, grabbed Harrison's collar and yanked him forward and into the crowd forming outside. "Make way, move please," she demanded. All around them, copied photographs were floating in the air, covering the floor, being passed off to other students.
One flew at the headmistress's face and she pulled it away, squinting at what looked like Harrison Callahan's...well...Her scream could be heard across campus.
The picture crumpled in the woman's fist, and she twisted Harrison's collar in her hand, nearly choking him. "My office. Now. And somebody—call the authorities."
Blair made way for the furious principal, brushed past Harrison on his way around her. And just under her breath, making sure that only he could hear, Blair murmured, "Game over."
:::
February 8th, 2008: The Headmistress's Office
Blair exhaled, palms sliding across the wall behind her. The storm was over—for now. She heard yelling, heard fists pounding on wooden tables. The headmistress had her door shut, but through shuttered windows, Blair caught the shadows of two furious parents, of a stern principal, of a bastard coming face-to-face with the ultimate issuer of karma—Blair Waldorf.
She'd gone through this already, written out her statement in prim handwriting. After getting his rocks off by exposing himself to the entire school, Harrison had tried to rape her, she'd confessed. Maybe it was twisted and orchestrated—but those were the words that Diana never got to say. Still, Blair felt…uneasy. She'd never admit that this new world, the Briar that was suddenly resting in the palm of her hands, was out of her societal league. This was dark, and it was messy, and her happily-ever-after was tainted with more tragedies than she could count.
Blair pulled her MAC compact from the bottom of her purse, studied her miniature, morphed reflection, and did not recognize the girl staring back. She was a jagged version of Fifth Avenue shopping, slumber parties, and visits to Tiffany's. Her lips were plumper, her cleavage slightly visible underneath her neat uniform, her hair was dark, her eyes screamed danger. She was changing into a person that she couldn't even fathom. It was beyond herself, beyond what Serena had always been.
What was beyond Serena, anyway? Blair had no idea. She had always considered herself superior to all others. But in all honesty, she had never even allowed herself to go there.
"Oh, Blair," a steady voice exclaimed. Blair jumped, nearly dropping her compact as Mrs. Reginald appeared in front of her. The woman had kind eyes, bland clothing, troubled lines across her face. Why on Earth would she choose to absorb the pain of others for a living? It was so…unpleasant.
Blair swallowed, realizing that she'd taken on all of Chuck's burdens without a second thought.
"Hello," Blair greeted tonelessly.
"Blair, you've missed all of our appointments as of late," Mrs. Reginald stated with a gentle sigh, unaware of the scheme that had just unfolded. "If this continues, I'll have to inform—"
"My mother?" Blair let out a breathy little laugh. "It would be a valiant attempt. But the only things she mothers are Prada and Versace when she travels overseas." Blair paused. "She's not interested. And neither am I."
Mrs. Reginald gave a slow, disappointed shake of her head. "I did think that our talks were helpful to you, Blair."
"Well, you did think wrong," Blair corrected. She watched Mrs. Reginald shake her head once more before turning to walk away, and she suddenly felt that panicked ache in her chest, that verbal upheaval that forced out a, "Wait."
Mrs. Reginald glanced over her shoulder. "Yes, Blair?"
"What if you were to find someone who made you feel…" Blair trailed off. It was stupid to make the statement hypothetical. After their little confrontation before the Saints and Sinners ball, the counselor knew exactly who Blair had fallen for. She took a deep breath and met Mrs. Reginald's gaze dead on. "I've found someone who's made me forget who I am. But I'm burning, and I'm alive. Is that so wrong?"
Mrs. Reginald pursed her lips, considering this. "Perhaps you'll find that you're not forgetting who you are, Blair." Her smile was unwavering. "Perhaps you're just finding out."
"That's impossible," Blair scoffed. But she wasn't so sure.
"Maybe so," Mrs. Reginald sighed with a slight shrug. "Then again, what do I know?" And then she was gone.
Blair considered going after her until a door slammed open behind her, an unnatural boom across the otherwise silent hall. Harrison was furiously, eyes near the color of coal when he caught sight of her. She crossed her arms over her chest, forcing herself into an indignant, carefree stance.
"You fucking bitch," Harrison spat, his hands coming down to the wall on either side of her head.
She didn't even flinch.
"You say that like it's an insult," Blair sighed, sounding rather bored.
"Do you know what you've done? I'm expelled. My parents are pissed. I might face actual charges. My life is ruined because you wanted to play some prudish game. You couldn't have saved this shit for Bass?"
Blair scowled, wiping a fleck of his spit that had landed on her right cheek. "Well, when you're done with the waterworks, you can back away, Harrison. I do believe that you're done here."
He narrowed his eyes. "Why are you doing this?"
"Because you raped my friend," Blair stated evenly. And although she was only a petite 5'6", he shrunk down before her, weakened under her glare. "You should have learned from Penelope. You answer to me."
His fist curled beside her head. "You fucking wish."
Blair sighed, letting out a little tsk between her teeth. "Careful. You wouldn't want to add physical violence to your charges." Her eyes grew wide, amused, nearly inhumane when she looked at him again. "Now you know what it feels to be stripped down and humiliated." Harrison stumbled back, remembering that night after their faux Victor/Victrola meeting. "Now you've shown the world how absolutely revolting you are." As she said it, Blair reached into her purse and pulled out the spare copies of Harrison's raunchy photos. She shoved them into his chest with a surprising amount of force. "Now you know what it feels like to lose everything."
And on cue, two middle-aged, stern adults surfaced from the headmistress's office.
"What the hell are you doing, harassing that girl again?"
"Dad—"
"Thank God you're here, Mister Callahan," Blair breathed, keeping her eyes on Harrison as she spoke. "I was just heading back to the dorms when your son came at me again." With her back half-turned away from his parents, her lips safely curled into a victorious grin. "I almost feared for my life."
"Goddammit. This is it, Harrison," his father spat, brushing past Blair. "I told you what would happen if you kept being the little punk that you are."
"Dad—"
"No, you're not going to get out of it like that this time. You wanted to test me? You wanted me to listen? Fine. I'm here, Harrison. And I'll be there next Monday morning, when the bus to military school comes to pick you up. "
"Oh," Blair's lips parted in faux surprise as his father jerked his head towards the exit. "You seem to have issues with your anger. Maybe you've truly found your calling."
Harrison shook his head, spat on the ground beside her Tory Burch flats and snarled, "Go to hell."
Blair gently stepped away from the stain and replied, "I'll see you there."
:::
February 8th, 2008: Wentworth Hall Dormitories
"Here," Jenny whispered, cleaning up the cut on Blair's arm, the one she'd gained from her tumble to the floor. Blair stared blankly at the wall as the blonde placed a pretty pink Cath Kidston bandage near Blair's elbow. She glanced up at her, blue eyes blinking as she offered her a glass of raspberry lemonade. "Okay…please don't call me a loser."
Blair frowned. "Why would I call you—"
"Because you're my hero," Jenny murmured. "It makes me sound like I'm a stupid kid, but...being your roommate was the best thing that ever happened to me. Becoming your friend was, I mean." Jenny smiled, suddenly embarrassed. "I never realized what I as capable of before you brought it out of me."
"J…" Blair trailed off, tried to rolled her eyes, but her voice sounded incredibly choked up instead.
"You sound like a Lifetime movie," Diana suddenly groaned. When she plopped on the bed, she pulled Blair in for an enormous hug, but for a different reason this time. She kissed her friend on the cheek, and Blair immediately wiped it off, but Diana didn't mind. "You're my hero, too, B. I can't even begin to tell you…"
"Enough, both of you," Blair murmured. "As much as I love to be praised…let's keep the daytime soap material on the television." She pretended to pick an eyelash from her cheek, which looked suspiciously like a teardrop. She was just about to direct their attention elsewhere when a knock on the door startled them all. It was Blair who answered, opening up to reveal the mess that was now Chuck Bass. His hair hadn't been cut in such a long time, and now those beautiful dark locks curled around his ears. His lips were parted as he leaned one hand against the hall, as he looked at her with swells under his eyes.
"I'm...suddenly craving fro-yo," Diana announced, tossing Jenny's coat at her and heading for the door. "J? You in?" Jenny nodded quickly, darting past the couple at her doorway, and Chuck bowed his head as the two passed. Blair watched them go, then pulled Chuck inside.
She put her hands on his shoulders, touched the nape of his neck, kissed his chin and smelled liquor. Blair was about to comment on it, but he spoke first. "Where did he…" Chuck cut off, walked her backwards until the backs of her knees hit the bed and together they sank onto the sheets. "Where did he put his hands…where did he touch you?" It wasn't sexual when Chuck touched her now. He wanted to give her what she gave him, but he didn't know how, didn't know… "I don't know how to love you. I don't know how to keep you, Blair."
He was drunk and his voice was weak, but he was honest, and Blair felt hot tears spring to her eyes as he dug his face into the ample part of her chest, wrapped his arms around her tiny waist. The material of her robe scratched lightly against his cheek.
"Chuck, you don't have to…" Blair spoke against his hair, passed a hand down his back to keep him close. "It was a scheme. It was us…who we are and what we do." She tried to reassure him, tried to reassure herself. She lifted one leg around his waist, and he groaned against her neck. But his eyes were so tormented when she looked up at him, and she couldn't possibly understand, but she did. She always did.
So she allowed him to consume the entirety of her aching body, of her fragile bones, of her trembling skin, with his touch. She allowed him to pass over the new scar on her arm, the old one on her thigh, allowed him to kiss around the ugly bite mark on her neck and replace it with the remembrance of his lips on her skin.
Her eyes fluttered shut hours and hours later, long after her body had memorized his touch, his breathing evened out, and a wave of sobriety hit him. Chuck cradled Blair under one arm beneath her duvet. And she was only half-asleep when he reached down to speak against the hollow spot at the base of her throat. "I don't know how to love you," Chuck repeated, his voice husky, his eyes closed. "But I do."
A/N: I hope you guys all drop a review, even if it's to let me know that you're still reading. I can't wait to hear what you guys think. Your feedback, song suggestions, and support definitely keep me going. Talk to you soon! xoxo, N