Chapter 14: Sweeter Than Surrender
You were my backbone when my body ached with weariness.
You were my hometown when my heart was filled with loneliness.
Just as the dark was rising, I heard you close the door again
Just as the lights went off—
I know who I dream of.
- You, My Everything by Ellie Goulding
:::
February 14th, 2008: The Back Woods
Chuck didn't recognize the sensation. Not at first, and not now as he held Blair with one arm, woke to the sight of her neck's nape, kissed the skin in his half-conscious stirring. Blair let out a little sigh, then tucked in closer, rolled over in bed to press her cheek against his bare chest. Her skin was hot, and yet he still shivered before he pushed his fingers into the tangle of her sex-mussed hair, the locks that swept across the pillow beside them.
Chuck had never seen anyone smile in their sleep before. He watched the corner of her lips quiver now as if the mere movement was the most fascinating thing in the world.
He had once trained his body to wake up at 4am after he'd slept with a girl. Of course, Blair wasn't just any girl, but it was habit now, which would explain why Chuck was currently staring up at the shed's rickety ceiling as Blair's eyelashes fluttered, as she breathed against his neck. A long time ago, he would have woken up, would have shoved the unfortunate girl away, not caring if she was awake to see him go or not. But this was Blair, and he was tethered, like all of the other unfortunate schmucks who stood with red balloon hearts in the pouring rain, and the worst of it was that he was too swept up in the storm to mind.
Chuck cursed, squinted at the ceiling, then outside at a night so dark that it was almost bright, and Blair moaned in her sleep, disgruntled by his stirring.
"Bass," Blair mumbled, still not quite awake. "Still…so insufferable…"
He smirked, propped one hand behind his head, snuck the other under the sheets of their makeshift little bed, stopped when her back swelled out into soft skin, a smooth rise after her spine—and he pinched her bottom.
Her reaction was comical, as was most of what Blair did when it came to fighting with him. Even in her sleep, she slapped at the air, shoved her foot down as if she could stomp on his own in bed. Chuck only needed to smooth his fingers across her forehead to get her back to sleep.
"Fuck," Chuck breathed when his heart leaped, made a furious attempt to beat out of his chest. He glanced down at the brunette. There was no letting go of Blair Waldorf, was there?
No, not when she already held onto so many parts of him: his mother's book, his father's regrets, his own emotions. Blair got what she wanted, and for some twisted reason, she'd wanted him. No matter how corrupt he was, a knight on his knees was in no place to deny his queen.
I won't love you, Chuck had once sworn. Perhaps he was fine with failing himself if it meant feeling this lightness.
He had once been addicted to horrific endings, had done awful things that could stomp all over the awfuller things he felt inside. Chuck had once thought that the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen was a fresh dime bag and an empty apartment, an aloneness that made him forget who he was, that made him momentarily disappear. But now, his heart begged to differ.
There was no sight quite like watching Blair Waldorf wake up, slowly, uncurling like an old book page. First came the parted lips, like she was surprised to be awake—the annoyed, disoriented frown followed, and then her eyes popped upon, light brown and totally amorous as she stared back. Chuck's gaze trailed down to her lips when she let out an adorable little yawn.
"Bass…" Blair murmured as she took in her surroundings, brushed her hair back with the deft fingers of an eternal perfectionist. "Bass!" She shot up in bed, leaving him cold and rather grumpy. "Chuck, it's Monday morning. Just how do you expect to sneak back into school like this?" She was on her feet, grabbing for her dress, the magic of the room wearing off just as quickly as it had come. "Oh, there are no words to describe how much I detest what you do to me—"
She gasped, lost her breath and her words when he came up behind her, plucked her dress from her hands and spun her around.
Chuck kissed her then, and it was her favorite kind of kiss: one hand so big that it cupped all of her dainty jaw, lips smooth and slow against hers, tongue tracing unintelligible patterns along the roof of her mouth. "You detest everything I do to you?" Chuck smiled. "You should stick to lying around a more dim crowd, Waldorf." His fingers spread over her back. "That's not when you were saying last night when I was—"
"Oh," Blair huffed, but she was smiling now. "Don't you say it, Bass."
"—making love to every single pretty little inch of you," Chuck continued, beginning his efforts to draw her back onto the bed. "You were so wet for me, even wetter afterwards, when you hooked your leg over mine, rode me until neither one of us could speak."
It was true. In her post-orgasmic ecstasy, under the spell of his words, how he'd whispered that it had always been her, Blair had rolled him over, brown hair stuck to her lip, eyes half-closed as she bit into his neck, rolled her tongue over the shell of his ear, making Chuck deliriously realize that she was kissing him in places that no one had ever cared so much about before.
They had been cloaked in shadows when he rolled the condom on, when he'd placed a hand on her hip to guide her through it, but Blair slapped that same hand away, wrapped her small fingers around his wrists and pinned them back over his head, just like he'd done to her.
"Waldorf—" Chuck had warned, then sucked in a sharp breath when she sank onto him, when he felt her lips part against his cheek, heard her cry out when every inch of her heat enveloped his rigid length. He'd tilted his head back, vision fading in and out as she rocked forward with inexperienced franticness and bit into his skin.
"I want you so much, Chuck," Blair had whispered in his ear, overwhelming him when she threw her head back, then suckled the skin of his chest. Chuck's lips parted, and he shut his eyes, focused on her jagged rhythm, shifted to twine his fingers through hers. Somehow, this lack of control brought him a thrill. He was so used to control being taken away from him, from his father, from teachers—and surely she felt the same way. But they took turns allowing it to the other, led and surrendered, but always together.
"You don't know how incredible that feels," Chuck rasped. He pressed his lips to her hair, bent one knee and used that leverage to thrust his hips up against hers, relishing in the moan she bit out after, at the way she sunk her nails into his side, piercing unintentionally. "Tell me what you want, and I'll give it to you."
"I want you to come. I want to make you come," Blair whispered brokenly, taking one of his hands and sliding it in between their bodies, and they touched her together, pressed their fingers into the slickness at her core. She buckled, and he arched up, jerking against her as she trembled around him, losing themselves at the exact same second.
"God," Blair whispered now, on the morning after, closing her eyes when they threatened to roll back at the memory. "Don't dirty talk me. What's—"
"But then again, that was you taking me," Chuck mused, feeling her cheek, waiting for the blush, and—ah, there it was. "You were so…enthusiastic, Waldorf. You see, I know that this is just your unyielding neurosis kicking in. I know that, in all actuality, you want me." As he whispered to her, his hand slid up the side of her thigh, and she relaxed against him. "I know that you've wanted me for a very long time. Or…did you want to play cat and mouse like we did on the first day of school?"
"Chuck, stop." Blair rolled her eyes, spun in his arms. "I don't detest you."
Chuck raised a brow. "I didn't think so."
"But you irritate me."
Chuck grinned. "That, I don't doubt."
She felt herself give in, leaned her light body into his chest. "Consider yourself lucky that I don't have an exam today."
He touched her collarbone, idly followed its line to the hollow of her throat, to her pale white neck, watched her skin quiver. "I consider myself extremely fortunate," Chuck smirked, cupping her cheek. "You know how it breaks my heart to miss out on a good Algebra quiz. And you know how fond I was of the tutoring session we had on your birthday."
Blair was shy now as she allowed Chuck to sit her down on the foot of the bed, as the first signs of morning cast a warm glow on the room. The space was so pretty, so far away from everything else. She knew that if she picked away all the rest, the two of them could last—would last. She smiled, touched the bit of hair that was standing up from his head. "Fine. I suppose that I could be—" Blair bit down on her lip "—bad. If only for only a day."
The whole action was so achingly sweet...Chuck felt blood rush south, felt his pulse race. It was the moment a boyfriend would say something like, This is why I love you. Those words came to Chuck's tongue and held there, were yanked back and swallowed down by the pride that came with his name, that came with his life. He could not pronounce anything one-sidedly; his guard would allow no such thing.
So he said, "Blair, you're always bad. I'm indulging your pretending now. But that doesn't mean I actually believe it."
Blair's lip was a bit red from where she'd bitten down, and he leaned in, licked the spot. Chuck cocked his head, listened to the little whimper she gave when he sucked the already swollen skin between his lips. She sighed, shifted back, and Chuck followed, pressed his hands into the bed on either side of her hips. Call it magnetism. "Chuck…"
"Hm?"
Blair stared up at the ceiling, vision flickering as Chuck trailed kisses down her neck, nibbling at her throat. "Chuck..." she paused, pressed her lips together. "Did you know that it's..." She propped herself up on her elbows, brown curls hanging in her face. "It's Valentine's Day."
Chuck halted in his advances, his body curving over hers, and he looked up at her, brushed his chin against her chest. "Oh?"
Blair's grin was hesitant, but still teasing. "I know that the Bassian culture doesn't celebrate it, but—"
"Waldorf," Chuck cut in, and she suddenly felt cold as he shifted over to the edge of the bed, stared at the Parisian intricacies of the room. She watched the smooth plane of his back, bit her lip again as she listened to him ask, "You and I aren't the type to exchange infantile, heart-shaped chocolate boxes, are we?"
Blair's heart gave an angry stutter. "No," she said. "I suppose not." She was still watching his back when he pressed forward, and she imagined that he was leaning in search of a half-full flask or one of his cigarettes. She thought back to the silly little cufflinks she had hidden back in her room, the ones she'd ordered in a week ago, "CB" engraved into the silver. Chuck Bass, Chuck and Blair—it could've meant whatever he wanted it to. But now, "Forget I said any—"
"Not when you so obviously prefer to feast on macaroons."
Blair frowned, a glint of silver wrapping caught her eye from atop the bed sheets. She wrapped the sheets around herself, felt so small when he slid the box in front of her. His fingers lingered on her knee, tapped against her skin. Her manicured fingers smoothed over the paper, and she tried not to smile, tried not to look at him, but she failed on both accounts.
"Explain yourself," she demanded.
Chuck smirked. "It," he said, "can explain itself."
She cocked her head to the side, buried herself in sheets, looking much like a small child on Christmas as she daintily unwrapped the box. Chuck coughed, felt emotion gather in his throat, felt he might need a drink to handle all that he was feeling right now. But perhaps the mole on Blair's left shoulder, the faint smell of her lingering perfume, her eyes widening at his little gift —perhaps that was some sort of intoxication on its own.
"Macaroons," Blair gasped, as if she needed to see the little array of pastries on her own to prove their existence. They were in all different flavors, and they smelled delicious when she leant down to take a whiff. "They smell so sweet," she marveled. And without even looking up, she shook her head and scolded, "Don't turn that into an innuendo, Chuck."
He laughed, and she hesitated before hooking her arms around his neck, her knees sinking into the bed as she slid a hand across his chest. When she did nothing, just knelt there, one hand over his heart, Chuck shifted, the back of his neck reddening. "Waldorf, if you want to get kinky, this isn't really the way to do it."
"I'm checking for a beat." Her smile was snarky as she pulsed her fingertips against his skin. "They say that a Bass's heart is an urban legend, but I beg to differ."
Chuck kissed her then, pulled her hair and covered her body with his own, molding them back into the sheets. It was the kind of unbearably sweet moment that one would wish to be stuck in for the rest of their lives. It was the page Blair would bookmark, the bump in the reel that she would press pause on if only to remember the way he looked at her in such wonderment, like he couldn't understand that she was real, that she was his. He breathed life into her fragile heart, and suddenly all of the awful things became worth it.
They were living in the eye of a beautiful storm, and she so often forgot the rain when she couldn't feel it.
"Spend the day with me," Chuck murmured as he always did.
And the skies seemed clearer than ever when she answered, "Yes."
:::
February 14th, 2008: The Briar House Library
For the first time in his life, Eric van der Woodsen was inconsolable. Things would not be okay, and he could not be fooled into believing otherwise. He was sullen, and the worst of it could not be mended into something better. Not this time. His face was pressed into one of the library's old wooden desks as Jenny traced patterns across his back, wondering what she could possibly say to make this right.
"Everything is over," was all that Eric could repeat again and again, pressing his fingernails into his palms, thudding his forehead down against the smooth surface.
"Everything isn't—"
"You should have seen my mother's face," Eric continued. "I don't think she even cares that I'm gay. It was the…humiliation. Like I did this, just to embarrass her. That's how it always is. And Ethan's dad just dragged him off—pulled him out like he was about to kill him. And I feel like I'm just some kid." He sighed, blonde hair damp against his forehead. "I'm just some kid, and I don't have anyone."
"You have me," Jenny insisted. "Remember when we used to sit by the courtyard and launch fries at Penelope's head? And all of the times I made you try on those costumes because the actual guys would never show up for fittings?"
Eric lolled his head to one side. "And all of the pins you stuck in me because of it."
Jenny smiled, relaxed a bit, and pressed her cheek to his shoulder. "I love our friends. But you and I were the first, Eric. I'll be here for you, no matter what. And I don't want you to be sad." At her words, Eric nodded, but he didn't smile, didn't lift his head, and Jenny felt sick in her stomach. That was what girls like her did—they promised to hold onto the pain for a little while, they promised to carry the burdens until others could handle it once more. But somewhere along the way, they'd forget to give them back. "I…don't want you to be sad," Jenny repeated.
"Hey…"
Jenny glanced up, saw Diana standing before them, books cradled against her chest, black hair piled into a sloppy bun atop her head. The blonde tried a smile at her friend, but Diana wasn't looking at her at all. She walked over to Eric instead, stroked her fingers through his hair and sighed. "Hey, kid. I heard about what happened. I'm so sorry." Diana shook her head, crouching down to Eric's level. "Nothing you did was wrong, okay? Whatever asshole decided to publicize your kiss with your boyfriend had no right."
"That doesn't change what happened," Eric muttered, finally lifting from the desk. His shoulders were slouched, and he shook his head.
"We just…need to figure out who did this. Right, D?" Jenny paused, waited for Diana's usual sassy addition, but it never came. Jenny blinked at her friend, and Diana cut her a sharp glance before pursing her lips and looking away. Jenny swallowed. "Right, Diana?"
"I don't know, Jenny," Diana said, still staring at the wall. Jenny's heart sank when the girl avoided using her nickname. "Everyone seems so keen on hiding things here."
"What…?" Jenny trailed off, shifted in her seat. Her hair was in pigtails, and she tugged on one, unraveled the little braid there. "What are you trying to say?" Jenny called after the brunette as she spun around, headed off in a fit of frustration. Jenny whispered to Eric that she'd be right back, then shot up to follow after Diana when he gave a half-hearted nod. Jenny found her out to the hall, tripped over her own feet when she stopped her. "Diana, what—"
"Was it payback, Jenny?" Diana bit down on her lip, rolled her eyes up to stare at the ceiling. "Did you know how humiliated I'd be when I found out that I was hooking up with Blair's ex?" She let out a sharp breath. "Is that what this was?"
Jenny's knees buckled. "Oh…no."
"Nate Archibald," Diana stated. "The boy who slept with his girlfriend's best friend. The boy who broke Blair's heart. You let me tell you his name, Jenny."
Jenny closed her eyes for a moment. "Okay, I wasn't trying to hurt you. I just didn't have any idea what to do. I couldn't ruin your relationship. You were so happy with Nate, and I couldn't break that. Not after everything you've been through." The reasoning made Diana waver, but she held firm, a wild soul that could not be stopped until she found what she was looking for and, even then, it was not enough. Nothing was ever enough—not for her, not for Blair, not for any of them. But still, Jenny tried. "There was no easy way to handle that, Diana. There was no coming out ahead!"
"It wasn't about you," Diana snapped.
"It's never about me," Jenny said, almost yelling now. Those in the hall looked up from their whispering, nudged at each other to stare at the heated pair outside of the library. "That's the whole point. No one ever stops to think about how I feel."
Diana glanced at the ground. "Whatever, Jenny."
"No, it's not whatever. You know me. You know that I wouldn't do this to hurt you." Jenny lowered her voice. "I was there for you despite everything that happened, and you know that. So why are so you so upset with me?'
"Because I'm the slut," Diana announced unceremoniously, throwing her hands up in the air, pushing away from the wall she leaned on. "Every group of friends has one, has somebody that ruins everything all of the time. I'm the slut, and I keep proving to everybody that this—" she gestured to herself "—is all there is."
Jenny gasped, began to shake her head, but Diana continued.
"And I just really—" Diana's voice broke, and she let out the kind of dark chuckle one sputters when nothing is funny at all. "I just wanted someone to have my back this time."
:::
February 14th, 2008: The Dining Hall
Jenny sat alone at lunch, realizing that this was exactly the problem with threading her life into those of others. When one started off alone, solitude passed like a wisp of sad wind—still there, just barely noticeable. But the pain of missing what she already had swept in a gust and hung over her for the entire period. All around her, the cafeteria was swimming in pinks and light reds—romantic for those whose veins ran with bubbly champagne and companionship, warm blood for the other lone stragglers.
Jenny dug into a heart-shaped cupcake, splitting it down the middle, then sighed before piecing it back together. She imagined that Chuck and Blair must be doing something fantastic right now, extravagant and romantic—and probably slightly immoral, as usual. She imagined that Eric might be sitting on his own, per his request, making calls to an end that couldn't listen. Ethan might be doing the same, gathering up the shadows behind his father's screams and his mother's tears, saying anything to save a love already lost.
And perhaps Diana was off kissing another nameless boy, off unbinding herself from the girl she was trying to be—to revert back to older, easier ways. Perhaps being that girl was easier to deal with when Diana was defining herself.
But those were only predictions, and hers was just a mind too young to grasp how fragile this all was. She tasted strawberry lip gloss and cake mix when she bit into the cupcake, but the taste was all wrong on her tongue. She pushed the treat away, pressed her face into her hands and sighed.
"Hey," came a voice, making her jump in her seat. "Can you, like, look up at me? I've been standing here, and this is getting a little embarrassing…"
Jenny glanced up to find Damien, his gray overcoat still on, his face still a bit tinted from the chill outside. And in his hands was the most marvelous bouquet of roses she'd ever seen. He was smiling at her, his dark hair tickling his ears, waving a bit at the back of his neck. Jenny's lips parted, an unattractive crumb falling from her bottom lip. And Damien smiled, blue eyes slanting, mouth curving up into a kind grin.
"Happy Valentine's Day, J."
Perhaps it was the build-up of such an overwhelming day that made the tears fall, made her push up from the table and shove her tray away. She ran out onto the balcony, where no one else was foolish enough to be in when it was so cold. Back inside, Damien was glancing around, flipping the bird to a few students who were snickering at the little spectacle.
When he found her, she'd calmed down and was just sitting on a stone bench and mumbling to herself, shaking her head at her own stupid reaction. When one blue eye peered back at him through a veil of her small fingers, he smiled.
"Shit," Damien said, rather nervously. "You're not allergic…are you?"
"Oh my God…no," Jenny sniffed, wiping her cheek with the back of her hand. "Not at all." She stood up, shyly took a step towards him, covered his hands with her own as she took the flowers. "Thank you, Damien."
"It's Valentine's Day," Damien offered up as explanation, tugging on one of her blonde curls. "I told you I'm getting the hang of all this romantic crap."
Jenny giggled, rolled her eyes as she sniffed the roses. "Right, very romantic."
He nodded, rumpling her hair. "Talk to me. Why are you upset?"
Jenny sighed, hunched her shoulders, and his gray overcoat came around her. She looked at Damien, a boy who wasn't quite sure how to be a boyfriend but would do it for her anyway. And she decided to smile, decided to shake her head and will the bad thoughts away. "I just had a terrible day. I'm much better now."
"Good," Damien said, taking the roses back, only to drop them on the stone bench. He took both of Jenny's hands in one of his. "Because I'm about to do something mortifying. And, cute girlfriend or not, I'll kill you if you tell anyone about this."
Jenny laughed, slapped his shoulder in mock horror. "Why Damien, you just get more and more romantic by the second…" Jenny trailed off when his other hand surfaced with his slim back iPod. "Oh no…why are you bringing your iPod into this? I thought we were having a good day."
Damien rolled his eyes, ignored her as he scrolled through the device. "I don't know why you pretend to hate my taste in music."
"Your taste in music is terrible."
Damien frowned at her, then slipped one ear bud into his ear, slipped the other into hers. She heard the slow melody of a love song begin, felt his hands position themselves at her waist. Jenny flushed when he began to move, awkwardly at first because she has no idea what he was doing.
"Not this song," Jenny complained, but the smile on her face betrayed her. "This is absolutely corny, Damien."
"Hey. My taste in music," he whispered, quieting her down, "is awesome."
I'm quiet, you know.
You make a first impression.
I've found I'm scared to know I'm always on your mind.
"I can't believe we're doing this," Jenny murmured, feeling the heat on her face. Damien's moves were all terribly exaggerated, and he dipped her on all of the wrong notes, but nothing had ever felt so right.
"What?" Damien smirked. "Am I embarrassing you?" The question made her pause. Just at the beginning of the school year, she was the one who was constantly wondering if he felt the way about her. And now here he was, one of the most popular boys at Briar, asking her if she wanted to be seen with him. He saw her smile and asked, "What's so funny?"
"Everything," Jenny sighed.
Even the best fall down sometimes.
Even the stars refuse to shine.
Out of the back you fall in time.
I somehow find, you and I collide
She stared off at the cluster of woods, trees swirling into nothingness as Damien spun her around. Jenny laughed, clutched at his shoulders, closed her eyes, then opened them again. But when she did, she saw a shadow in the woods, heading back from where their shed stood miles away. The girl was so far that Jenny could only catch a tangle of long, black hair. The girl was smiling, but absolutely still, her eyes had no pupils—so dark that they appeared to be two coals pressed into stark white skin. Jenny gasped, the girl stared.
We're going to find out who did this to you, Jenny remembered promising Eric. But what if that person had no problem with being found?
She realized then that she'd tensed in Damien's arms, that they were no longer dancing on the balcony. Jenny was shaking, and Damien was trying to calm her down, was pulling her to sit, whispering comforting words, but she could only hear the smooth trill of the song, the words taking on a new meaning now. A scarier one.
You finally find,
You and I collide.
"Baby, are you okay?"
Jenny blinked, let him take her hand when she knelt on the bench, peered over the gate to look down at the woods again. But she was gone, leaving behind a chill even colder than the weather.
And a distinct fear that this would not be the last any of them would see of the girl in black.
You finally find,
You and I collide.
:::
February 18th, 2008: The Briar House Courtyard
Blair was trying extremely hard not to think about it, and Chuck was staring straight forward as they walked up the fields the following Friday after yet another little rendezvous in Blair's shed. But any fool could see what the two were doing as Chuck pressed his fingers into her palm, tracing idle patterns with every step back to school. Blair hooked her fingers over his knuckles, forced a steady breath when he touched the bump of her wrist bone.
Chuck and Blair were holding hands—in its most complicated form.
It had been an accident. Blair had tripped over a fallen branch, and he caught her. And after a full five minutes of her seething at having to go to such lengths to kiss him in privacy, after a full five minutes of his amused chuckles and consistent eye-rolls, the brunette pair realized that Blair's hand was still holding onto his arm and was now sliding down, dancing along an unspoken boundary.
As Blair went to pull away, Chuck caught her hand, said nothing as their fingers intertwined. Blair let out a little breath, let him lead her up the unmarked path back to school. Blair realized then that sex really did change everything. There was an intimacy that they shared now—something that Blair had never experienced, something Chuck had only experienced with her. They looked at each other and suddenly there was more than just banter and the bond that they never wanted to directly admit to—there was his face in the moment he broke, lips falling open to inhale invisible smoke from her lips, brows furrowed almost in anger, eyes so steady she felt herself burn. She could feel that all with a simple hold of his hand, a brush of his arm.
And Blair wanted all of it, all of the time.
But it was easier out in the woods, where they could wrap themselves around one another under the cloak of midnight. Once Briar came into view, their hands dropped simultaneously. Blair gasped, and Chuck cut a glance down at where they had been connected just a few seconds before. Neither had initiated the end of their little moment, but it came, and it meant more than it would to any other couple.
"Oh," Blair said, her tone crisp, and she walked a step ahead of him once they reached the set stone path.
Chuck raised his eyebrows. "You're upset," he observed. "So you're releasing the tension by racing me to school?"
"I can get to school on my own," was all Blair huffed, dodging past a freshman who was on his way out to the left wing of the building. The poor boy was practically star struck by the flash of brown hair, the pouting red lips, the thin tights on her creamy legs, as Blair stormed by. Chuck smirked at him, but the smile came across a bit helpless as he grabbed onto the back of Blair's skirt.
"You're really doing this, Waldorf?" Chuck shook his head, spun her back with one deft tug.
"You let go of my hand!"
"You," Chuck corrected, "let go of my hand."
"Right. Because the almighty Chuck Bass was so eager to damage his reputation by being with me that way," Blair stated, swatting his hand away. "I let go of your hand to save myself from an inevitability." She frowned as he ignored her, just reached into his coat to light a cigarette. Blair seethed, "And I'm glad that I did."
"You're being a child."
"You're being an ass."
Chuck rolled his eyes, pursed his lips to blow out a cloud of thick smoke as she stormed away. He wasn't able to catch her skirt this time, but grabbed hold of her new mink coat, knowing just how much it would piss her off.
"I don't want to talk to you right now," Blair said, prying his fingers away from her coat. "And if you get ashes on my—" Blair paused when his hand came over hers. She glanced at two sophomores, who were biting their lips, staring at them with blatant interest. But Chuck kept his eyes on Blair. "You let go of my hand," she repeated, the accusation going weak this time.
"We've held hands in other ways, Blair." Chuck pressed his lips together, as though it pained him to muster up the words. And suddenly, they were somewhere else. He was falling apart, and she was picking up the pieces, knocking the flask from his hand, showing up at his father's office, staying up hours until he called her during winter break. And Chuck was mending a wound that others could not see, forcing smashed-up pieces of pie from her fingers, standing one step behind when they were kids, and coming back to her when he was nothing she wanted and everything she needed.
"Being literal was never our forte," Chuck said now.
Blair smiled, slowly, unwillingly, staring down at the grass. When she noticed the girls gushing at them, Blair cut them all a sharp glance, which sent them to face in the opposite direction, thoroughly scolded.
"Okay," Blair said, slipping her hand from his. "Okay, well..." He kissed her, winking at the girls watching over their shoulders. A whisper of smoke was shared between them, and he held the cigarette away as her lips parted for him. She moaned, then smiled, making the kiss messy as she stumbled back. She pulled away breathlessly when he nibbled her cheek, looked over his shoulder to see familiar faces up the hill, closer to the school building. She pulled away, watched as Ethan gathered a suitcase and headed for a black car out front. "Chuck—wait."
He murmured against her cheek, "For what?"
"Ethan," Blair gasped, pushing him away once more. Chuck frowned as she walked off, ego wounded at having the object of his infatuation murmur another boy's name mid-make out. Until, of course, he remembered that Ethan was gay.
"Bass," Blair huffed, calling over her shoulder. "Come on."
Chuck followed after her, rolling his eyes. "Any faster, and I'd be—" he practically shuddered "—running."
"It wouldn't hurt you," Blair smirked, jogging up the path with a little hop in her step.
"No, it wouldn't," Chuck huffed. "Not like you're so fond of doing."
When they caught up to Ethan, he was holding Diana mid-hug, pounding Damien's fist over her shoulder. Jenny was smiling, offering a little wave to the boy. And Eric was just watching on, completely void of any emotion. When Ethan finally turned to face her, Blair swallowed, forced herself to remain calm.
"You're back," Blair said, "and now you're leaving?"
"B, hey," Ethan said, dropping his suitcase to pull her in for a hug. Chuck watched on, not enjoying when anyone else had their hands on Blair, really. But he said nothing as Ethan pulled the brunette off to the side. When they'd reached a safe distance from the others, Ethan explained, "My dad's pulling me out of school for the rest of the semester. I'm taking private lessons until I'm fit to return to an actual institution."
"Basically," Blair sighed, "until you're 'not gay anymore.'"
Ethan gave a dark chuckle, shook out his hair. "You got it." He glanced at Eric, who wasn't looking at them—or anything in particular, really—and he sighed. "They'll be waiting a long time."
"Well," Blair began, a startling amount of emotion catching at the back of her throat. "I don't suppose you were going to tell me about your grand exit?" She tried not to sound as vulnerable as she felt, but the feeling remained, the ever-present reminder that people always seemed to be walking away from her—the disappointment she felt when she was never quite worth an actual goodbye.
"I was going to tell you earlier," Ethan explained. "But you've been a little busy this week." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and Blair frowned, shoved at his chest. "Ouch," he laughed. "No physical violence, please. I'm too beautiful to be scarred."
"You're too stupid to be speaking," Blair corrected, a hint of a smile on her lips.
Ethan stuck his tongue out at her. "I wasn't going to leave without saying goodbye to you, B." Ethan's expression fell more solemn, and Blair nodded, sunk her heel into a little collection of gravel at her feet. "I'm not going to be gone forever, I swear. And…I'll be back in time for the junior social in May." He smiled at her, but his eyes seemed sad, as if the words served more to reassure himself. "Tell Bass to watch it. I'll have to have a dance with you then—get him back for stealing my homecoming date."
Blair smiled. "And…Eric?"
Ethan's grin fell completely. "I don't know." His eyes flashed in a haze of worried blues and greens, darkening into a confused mix of the two, and, for not the first time since she'd come to Briar, Blair felt the pain of another person infiltrate her own emotions. "I don't know," Ethan repeated. "But I am going to miss you." He scooped her up into another hug, spun her off her feet. In his arms, Blair noticed the faint blossoming of a black bruise underneath his eyebrow, spreading over until it hit the hood of his eye. Her breath caught when he put her down again, but Blair didn't say a word.
She thought of Ethan's father, then thought of the bruise Chuck had gotten when he went to see Bart in November, and knew that she didn't need to ask.
"No more getting drunk by unguarded pools," Blair murmured, forcing a stray tear away. "Understood?"
Ethan smiled. "Yes, boss." He went back up the path, Blair trailing behind him. He said goodbye to Chuck, and even he felt a pang of emotion at seeing Ethan go.
But, just as quickly, Chuck cupped the back of Blair's neck, suggested that they had something to talk about in a more private place, and she rolled her eyes at his suggestive undertones before following him into the main hall.
Jenny and Diana also glanced at each other for a moment, each quietly daring the other to say something. But it was to no avail. They each spun in the opposite direction, Jenny's arm linked through Damien's, Diana pulling out a cigarette bummed from Chuck's stash ages ago, holding it under her palm as she smiled at a passing librarian.
This left Eric and Ethan alone. Luckily, Ethan's father had been otherwise occupied that Friday, and the boy was sent to gather his things on his own. But now, without the security blanket that their secret had once provided, their love trembled, and it was an affection too unsure to move mountains.
"I couldn't call you back," Ethan spoke up first. "There was no way." Eric nodded, sat atop one of the cement steps, tie loose around his neck. Ethan sat beside him, a plain blue sweater on, jeans underneath, already appearing to belong to an entirely different world. "But I missed you everyday."
Eric said nothing.
"Here's where you say, I missed your fine self, too, Ethan." The older boy laughed nervously, hoping the ill-timed joke would get through to his…boyfriend. He wrapped an arm around Eric, and a few passing seniors snickered, the image of them that had been on display still fresh in their minds. Eric physically tensed, and Ethan slid away. He continued, "I mean, we've been through worse than this, Eric. If we can handle the coma, we can handle my jerky dad."
"Yeah," Eric breathed, "but I don't think I can."
Ethan blinked. "Wait, what?"
"I told you once that we were kidding ourselves by trying to make this work," Eric explained. He scratched the back of his neck. "After your dad threatened me…"
"My father threatened you?"
"Look, it's not worth it!" Eric forced himself to say. Tears spilled from the boy's eyes, and he wiped them off with the back of his hand. "There's always going to be something standing in the way and every time there is, someone gets hurt." You always get hurt. "I don't want to do this anymore."
"I looked my father in the eye and told him that I love you," Ethan said, incredulous. "I did that for you because I want to be with you. I may not be the smartest guy, but I've always fought for what we are. I just need you to back me up on this—to wait for me."
On impulse, they both trained their attention on his scarred face. Eric wanted to touch the spot for a second, his finger twitched at his side, but he wouldn't. If he'd learned one thing from his mother, it was that love didn't stand for a thing if sacrifices weren't ready to be made. Perhaps Lily van der Woodsen couldn't, but her son would. He had to set them both free.
"You only wait for the people you actually want to be with, Ethan."
Eric never did see Ethan's face when he said the words. He didn't look back, and Ethan didn't say his name. Eric was too busy speeding up the steps and back into the building, convincing himself that he was just a stupid kid, that this was just puppy love. When he blocked out the sound of the car outside cruising away with his own beating heart, Eric could almost believe it.
"I've been doing everything you asked," hissed a sharp voice from underneath the grand stairwell, making Eric stutter between steps. He paused, quietly sitting down at the foot of the velvet staircase, poking his head around the curve of wood to catch Penelope with her arms crossed, her expression furious. "I'm going to get expelled, and there's been nothing in this for me."
Eric narrowed his eyes, listening as she continued, "No…they don't suspect a thing. The rest were easy, but Chuck and Blair are going to be difficult. And I still don't get why you would bother with—" The girl let out a crisp sigh as she listened to the person answer, and then she suddenly stood up straighter, eyes widening in realization, a wicked smile curling on her lips. "Oh. That's perfect." Penelope and Eric both heard the hum of a low answer, and then the phone gave a sharp click.
Penelope spun around, throwing her phone into her bag, catching Eric just as he feigned nonchalance, just as he pretended he had been innocently en route to the student lounge. Penelope shoved her shoulder into his, hissed, "Watch where you're going, freak."
"The Blair Waldorf wanna-be is calling me a freak," Eric remarked. "I am so…shattered."
"I don't want to be Blair Waldorf. I don't need to be her to get what I want," Penelope retorted. But before Eric could process this, the girl continued with a little smirk, "Saw your boyfriend leaving. Did you remember to give him a final smooch? Maybe that one will make it into the school paper."
"Crazy, right?" Eric shook his head. "Must really bug you that even I got a boyfriend before you did."
"Word of advice, loser," Penelope spat, "next time you're sneaking off to the East balcony during school dances to make out with your boyfriend, be a little more discreet."
Eric narrowed his eyes. "What?"
Penelope mirrored his expression. "What?"
"There are, like, ten balconies on campus. The picture was low quality at best, from the neck up. And suddenly you're naming details like you were there." Eric frowned. "Were you there?"
"You have no idea what you're talking about," Penelope snapped. "And if I were you, I wouldn't be throwing around accusations that way." She shoved past him again, stopping just one step away. "You're all doing this to yourselves, you know. Pictures just show reality for what it is." Eric turned around, fists curling, as she said, "Pictures just show secrets for what they'll always be."
Penelope smiled. "Lies."
:::
February 18th, 2008: The Main Hall
"Stop it, Chuck."
"You see, this part of your neck tastes so good," Chuck remarked, sending a rush of trembling breath up the slope of her jaw. "I like the way you say my name. It's so sexy, Waldorf. And just…slightly murderous."
"Do even realize how deranged you sound when you speak?" Blair asked. But still, her fingers sank into the fabric of his shirt, her body was pressed into his, a highly compromising position to be caught in while they were just outside of the main offices. "I swear, Bass, if you don't stop, I'm going to—" She pressed her lips together, closed her eyes when his thick fingers found the zipper of her skirt. "I'm going to hit you."
Chuck smirked. "Will it turn you on?"
"I'm serious—"
"Mister Bass, Miss Waldorf?"
He chuckled against her skin at the authoritative tone, and Blair tensed, shoved him away with all of her might. Chuck cursed when he stumbled back against the opposite wall, which only made the whole situation worse.
"Oh my God," Blair murmured, only semi-relieved when she saw Mrs. Reginald standing before the pair, lips parted in obvious shock. Blair scrambled, did her best to pat down her frazzled appearance, already plotting thirteen ways in which she could murder Chuck Bass without anyone finding out. She threw him a sharp look when she said, "He was obviously assaulting me."
"Is that what we're calling it now?" Chuck's laugh was loud, thoroughly amused. And even through her anger, Blair savored the sound, tucked it away to replay his laugh when he could find nothing in his life to smile about. Because, despite the fact that she despised him and his wickedness throughout the majority of their relationship, Blair knew that she would always want to give this to him—laughter. She could think of no one else who deserved it more.
"Okay, Blair," Mrs. Reginald coughed. And, for once, it was her who was slightly flushed at having walked in on the recently-bonded couple's intimate moment. "It's time that we start our session. Leave her alone, Chuck." Her command was firm, her tone just slightly amused.
"Just a moment," Chuck drawled, reaching up to cup the back of Blair's neck. And though the girl wriggled and protested against him, he kissed the corner of her lips, smiling up at the counselor as he did. "Mrs. Reginald," Chuck finally nodded, leaving Blair annoyed and slightly dazed as he walked off.
The counselor turned away as she shook her head, making sure that the two students could not see her smile.
Once inside, Blair found herself content as she sat in that gray seat she usually dreaded. She tucked her kilt under her thighs, clasped her hands atop her lap, then quickly reached up to touch the place where Chuck had probably ruined her freshly spun curls. But he hadn't—Chuck never messed up her hair. For a boy who could be so rough and inconsiderate, he always managed to follow the perfect spirals as he weaved his fingers into her locks, leaving them exactly as they were.
All the while, Mrs. Reginald sifted through her files, cheerily recounting Blair's flawless grade point average, Blair studied her nails, glanced at her phone and flushed when she found the stream of purposefully naughty text messages from Chuck there. She powered the entire device off.
"You know that the thing that happened with—" Blair's nose wrinkled, "—Harrison hasn't fazed me. My grades have been stellar, my friendships even more so."
"Okay," Mrs. Reginald nodded, folding her files shut. She stared at the brunette for a moment before asking, "And your relationship?"
Blair snapped to attention. "What relationship?"
"Blair, we both know that you're seeing Chuck Bass."
Blair forced herself not to smile, crossed her arms over her neatly ironed uniform shirt. "I've been seeing a lot of him, unfortunately."
Mrs. Reginald smiled at the girl, and Blair rolled her eyes, knowing that the woman was already poised to begin yet another psycho-analysis of her feelings for the ridiculously smarmy boy. "Blair," Mrs. Reginald said, dropping her tone. "It's okay to like Chuck. You know that, yes?"
"I don't want to talk about Chuck," Blair lied. "These sessions are supposed to be therapeutic, and you're bringing up the main cause of my stress." Blair shook her head and added, "You're doing your job terribly."
"Perhaps you're afraid to say it out loud," Mrs. Reginald remarked, ignoring Blair's complaints. "You clearly emphasized your feelings for Nate when you were with him, and you ended up with your heart broken." Blair's stomach lurched, and she suddenly felt sick, felt the leftover embarrassment of gushing about the golden-haired boy to everyone she knew while he was sleeping with her best friend. "Perhaps," Mrs. Reginald continued, "you're afraid that revealing your feelings for Chuck will result in the same disappointment."
"I don't feel the same way about Chuck as I did about Nate."
Mrs. Reginald seemed surprised by this. "You loved Nate."
"Yes," Blair reasoned. "But Chuck is just…" She frowned, dropped her hands back into her lap. "Chuck is just more."
"Hm," Mrs. Reginald murmured. "He makes you feel out of control." Without waiting for Blair to answer, Mrs. Reginald stated, "Your feelings for Chuck were not a decision that you could make."
Blair shook her head, unraveling a curl herself. "I like knowing how things are going to turn out. Is that…" Blair cleared her throat. "Why is that wrong?"
"It's not wrong, Blair," Mrs. Reginald sighed. "You're not the first girl to crave safety after being hurt." She leaned forward, as if the two were close friends, exchanging secrets. "But I've sat here as you walked into this room countless times, claiming that Chuck Bass is the most manipulative, terrible human being on the planet." Blair parted her lips to argue, but Mrs. Reginald interrupted again. "And yet, all I see is the same boy making his feelings for you quite clear, while you pretend to feel nothing at all."
"That's not exactly true," Blair whispered, remembering when he took her on the floor the previous night, pressing all of his weight onto her, thrusting so slowly it drove her mad. And all the while, she whispered things that were so sweet, so amorous into his ear, that she'd even surprised herself. He came first that night, brokenly and beautifully against the curve of her shoulder.
"That's not true," Blair firmly repeated. "But if I tell him that I love him, something bad is going to happen. It always does with us. Five months in this school together, and look at everything we've been through already." Her chest tightened in panic. "What will we be if one of us isn't coming out ahead?"
"Blair, from what he's told me…"
Blair paused. "He speaks to you about me?" She raised her eyebrows, lifted her shoulders. "What did he…what has he told you?"
Mrs. Reginald shook her head, realized her mistake. "Blair, you know that I can't do that."
"But—"
"No."
"Just a quick—"
"No," Mrs. Reginald laughed, drawing away in fear that the insistent brunette might lunge across the table in search of Chuck's file. Feeling sympathetic, the counselor smiled and said, "You're just going to have to trust that you've found someone who loves you because he wants to. Because it's impossible for him not to."
Blair was quiet for a long time after that, and then she whispered, "I wouldn't recognize that feeling."
And in her twenty years of counseling, Mrs. Reginald suddenly realized that it was the saddest thing she'd ever heard.
:::
February 18th, 2008: Wentworth Hall Dormitories
Blair found it disturbing that she was so used to sneaking into the boys' dormitories at this point. She was getting as good at it as Diana was and thought that she might have to throw some more tutoring hours into her schedule to feel a bit more…saintly. But still, she pushed the thought from her mind as her fist knocked against Chuck's lone door, shyly wrapping her coat over her pajamas as she did so.
It took him quite a while to answer, and Blair rolled her eyes, imagined him sluggishly rolling out of bed, stepping into the beams that the moonlight cast on his floor, then stepping into the darkness again. She bit down on her lip when he appeared before her, eyes sleepy, hair ruffled, silky and striped pajamas unbelievably attractive on him.
He squinted at her, smiled before sobering his expression. "Waldorf?" His voice was still deep, husky from sleep, and Blair felt faint.
"I couldn't sleep," Blair whispered. She lifted her chin. "I want to come in."
Chuck raised a brow. "I thought you were only going to be bad the one time."
Blair rolled her eyes. "Chuck…"
"I'll let you come in," Chuck allowed, then smirked at her, just to rile Blair up. "But only if you say that you need me first."
"Bass."
He laughed as she shoved into the room, placing a dainty little hand on his chest. Blair shed her coat, and his arms slid around her waist, pausing at her stomach, fingers spreading over her soft pajama top, knowing that anyone else touching her there gave her the urge to hurt herself—knowing that he would keep doing it until she no longer felt that way.
"You feel so good," Chuck breathed into her neck, not to be particularly romantic but just to share the observation with her. Blair stared into his room, seeing nothing, not needing to.
"When did we become this?" Blair asked, her voice just barely above a whisper. "We were nothing before, and suddenly we're all-consuming, incomprehensible."
It hurt, to hear her say that. They had always been something to him. "We don't have to do this if you don't want to." It was a lie. They both knew it.
"Do you want to?"
Chuck paused, offering nothing. He'd already put his words on the table, and it cut him deeper with every second that they went unanswered.
"We could break at any moment," Blair continued, his arms still wrapped around her.
"Could we?" Chuck's fingertips skimmed her chin, her cheeks, her lips.
"Always another question," Blair whispered, swallowing, throat constricting under his touch. "That's why we never give each other the right answers, isn't it? We're too afraid of being finished."
Not another word was spoken as he took her hand, surely this time, put her in his bed as if that was where she belonged. They touched each other in silence, skin scalding skin on the coldest night of the year. The room was so dark that they could only count on their fingertips for sight, could only listen for the sharp intake of breath when one of his hands held her shoulder and the other slipped beneath her panties, could only listen for the low hum in his throat when her nails raked down the line of his spine.
Chuck didn't answer her question that night.
Being literal had never been their forte.
A/N: Hello darlings. So, this was quite a short chapter, but I felt like everything that needed to happen at this particular moment was all there. So, what do we think? Was Blair right when she warned that they could break apart at any moment? Between Chuck and Blair, you never know. As always, I can't wait to hear what you thought about CB's developing relationship and the unfurling mystery behind this darker take on Gossip Girl. Until next time, N.