Chapter Sixteen: All Falls Down
Never play by the stairs, you're bound to fall down.
Never play by the hillside, might slip and break your crown.
Never play by the fire, it's a danger to your health.
Never play by the wall, might fall and break yourself.
- Never Play by Emily and the Woods
:::
April 2nd, 2008: Dexter Hall Dormitories
This wasn't the Golden Age for the students of Briar.
It was hard to be disjointed—took much longer to wake up in the morning and to get to sleep at night. Despite his annoyance, Chuck still ached for the consistency of waking up beside Blair in his quiet dorm room. He liked the things men were supposed to hate: her hair in his face, the smell of lavender and peonies smothering his senses, her frail joints pressing into his skin.
He dreamt of being her boyfriend, whatever that meant, woke up sweating as one hand clutched onto the little cufflinks stuck to his palm.
It was appalling. But it happened every night, just the same.
And Chuck wasn't the only one.
During every free period, Eric sat alone, talking to neither Blair nor Jenny. Some freshman with stars in his eyes for the blond hung around his table sometimes, but it was to no avail. Some people find everything in only one person. Without them, they refuse to be anything but alone.
"You—uh—you look great today, Eric," the younger boy said every afternoon when he caught Eric in the library, his ruddy locks of hair in a mess atop his head. Great, Eric thought to himself, everyone must have thought that after he and Ethan's kiss was broadcasted to the entire school, he was down for anything.
Eric barely glanced up. "Hey." The respond was curt, monotonic. "Thanks."
Past the boy, he caught sight of Penelope racing past the school building, right outside of the library's window. A blur of black shot past her: a hood, inky curls, and empty eyes. Eric shot up in his seat, frightening the younger boy.
"Did you see that?" Eric asked, dropping his books to peer closer. But as he did, Penelope turned around, alone now. She caught sight of Eric and startled, then curled her lips into a Cheshire cat's grin.
Her middle finger followed.
"See what?" the boy asked eagerly.
"Never mind," Eric sighed, sitting back down. "It was nothing."
Diana, on the other hand, chose rage over solitude. Her music blasted in class, feet tapping so blatantly that she was sent to the headmistress's office thirteen times in the span of two weeks. She ran into Blair there once, saw the other brunette ducking out of the guidance counselor's office a few doors down. The two had a moment that friends always did when they fought, like they'd forgotten they weren't speaking to each other. Blair fell into her step, poised to talk about the embarrassing crush some freshman had on their senile seminar professor. And Diana nearly lifted her lips into a smile, preparing to recount the ghastly outfit Penelope had on the other day.
It was Blair who hesitated first, remembering...
"Excuse me," she murmured coldly, her shoulder hard on Diana's as she shoved by.
"Yeah," was all Diana replied, jerking away.
She wanted to believe that this was like the sad little interlude in movies like Mean Girls, in which the best friends fought and everyone moped around pathetically until someone came to save the day.
But every Sunday afternoon since the fight, when Diana came to their favorite smoking spot by the fields, Blair was never there.
Whatever.
Diana had never believed in that shit anyway.
On the other end of the campus, Jenny stared at her blank re-test, a lump in her throat. Over her shoulder, her history teacher clucked her tongue, drew a deep sigh.
"Jennifer," the professor said, "I have to admit that I'm quite disappointed. When I referred you to my advanced class, it was because I thought you were capable of doing the work."
"I am," Jenny assured him. "I promise that I am. I've just been…going through things lately."
"Are they related to your academics?"
Jenny hesitated. "Not exactly…"
"Then there's no room for them in the classroom."
After turning in the test half blank, Jenny dragged herself back to the dorms, where Blair was dressed in a cardigan, her face natural and eyes tired. She was on the opposite bed, watching some romantic comedy on TV when Jenny tiptoed in. Blair watched as Jenny avoided eye contact, just unpacked her books and rolled into bed as quietly as she could manage.
"Humphrey," Blair sighed. "Why are you treating me as if I were the Black Plague?"
Jenny rolled over in bed, eyes wide. "You're talking to me?"
"No, I'm telepathically communicating with your dashing older brother by means of his extraterrestrial hair."
Jenny giggled at this. Dan always was in need of a haircut.
"So…" Jenny sat up, gingerly planted her feet on the floor. "You don't hate me?"
Blair arched a brow. "You didn't go off and have a secret relationship with my ex-boyfriend, too? …Did you?"
Jenny blushed, thought of the juvenile crush she'd had on Nate when she was much younger. "No, of course not." Overcome with the relief of having one less social burden on her back, she stood up, arms outstretched.
Blair's eyes widened in horror. "Jenny, if you hug me, I'll scream."
Jenny shot back. "No, yeah, sorry…I forgot about your issues with—" Jenny cut off with a little smile, like she found it pretty funny. "Hugs."
"Laugh it up," Blair growled, turning over in bed. "As if the Queen of England wastes her time wrapping herself around other people when she has a nation to rule over."
From her bed, Jenny peeked out from under the covers, bit down on her lip. "Hey Blair, do you want to talk about—"
"No," Blair snapped, eyes set on the wall. "I don't. Not under any circumstances." She was grateful when Jenny didn't reply, just shifted over to watch TV. After a while, the blonde dozed off, but Blair's eyes were far from heavy. Restless, she reached into her drawer to find her journal, which was tucked in beside her copy of The Art of War, its page marked by a single purple ribbon, the one that Chuck had unwound from her negligee the night of the Saints and Sinners Ball.
Blair flipped through the pages, glowered when she found Chuck's name on nearly every one of them.
September 1st, 2007
God, I had forgotten that Basstard was enrolled at Briar. Not only do I have to suffer my exile in a place that's practically in suburbia, but I have to do it in the presence of Satan himself. If I had any doubt that I was living in Hell, I don't anymore.
September 25th, 2007
I can save myself, you know. I'm Blair Waldorf.
Chuck just happened to pick up the scraps first.
October 27th, 2007
When he touches me, I burn. When he smirks at me, I feel it again. I hate that he's weaving his way into my habits, tainting me so that there's no way I'll ever forget the places he's touched…the words that fell from his lips and stuck to my skin.
October 27th, 2007
Ugh. Never mind. He gets on my last nerve, that infuriating, pompous ass—
October 27th, 2007
He is a fine kisser, though. I can't deny that. It's nothing like the pecks Nate gave me when we were together. But then again, I've known that since we were fourteen.
October 27th, 2007
[errant pen mark, from where Chuck stole Blair's diary as she was writing]
October 27th, 2007
Chuck Bass is the absolute worst.
Blair smirked as she read all of this, traced her fingers over the indents of the pen marks, as if she could somehow get back to the time when things had been okay again if she just—
No. Blair didn't want that. She didn't want to undo the nights she'd finally reached past the façade to his tortured eyes, didn't want to undo the trust he'd allowed her with his mother's book, and definitely didn't want to miss the words spoken against her ear near some unforgettable midnight: I don't know how to love you, but I still do.
She didn't even want to go back to a time when Jenny didn't think it was okay to grab Blair's hand when she got all excited about pretty fabric or something idiotically romantic that Damien had said to her.
(Even if Blair scowled and wiped her hand on her skirt afterward.)
She wouldn't even take back the moment she'd realized that Diana was like a sister to her.
No, Blair thought decidedly, beginning to practice what she would say to Chuck the next day—things could only move forward from here.
:::
April 3rd, 2008: The Main Hall
Blair Waldorf didn't wait on anyone.
She reaffirmed this in her mind, even as she stood outside of Chuck's fifth period class room, neck damp with the scent he liked on her (angels and decadence, he had called it) and her feet arched inside of her favorite heels. As she had taken an extra hour to dress that morning, Blair had convinced herself that she was doing it for no particular reason. Not because Chuck practically bent her over with his eyes when she was wearing this skirt or because this button-down made it easy to—
Blair's eyes widened when a freshman passed her by, frowning as he went. She was flushed and out of breath just thinking about Chuck, her form all slumped against the wall.
Mortified, Blair cut him a look that could kill. "Don't you have anywhere to be?"
"I, um, I—"
"Go," Blair snapped.
The boy nodded, mouth parted and lips wet, like this would be the source of countless wet dreams to come. Blair massaged her temples.
"Go now," she corrected, gesturing to the other end of the hallway. She breathed a sigh of relief when the boy left her alone, scurrying off just when the period came to an end. Blair let out a breath through her nose, pretended to be captivated by the novel in her hand—even if she had read it twenty times before.
The Art of War, special edition: because she was a champion at symbolism.
When he surfaced from class, eyes dark and heavy, his scarf wrapped around his neck even though spring had fully wrapped itself around their campus by now, Chuck wasn't alone. Blair pressed her lips together when she caught sight of the petite blonde trailing him, all wide blue eyes and a kind smile. The girl, Eva, was a French import who had been in Blair's chemistry class last semester. Every time Blair had looked in her direction, she'd sworn she saw a halo.
Blair rolled her eyes and gagged a little bit.
She was just considering making a break for it when Chuck stopped in front of her, eyes raking from her heels, hesitating at the book in her hands, then relaxing when he held her gaze. Blair wondered how he had mastered it: that cool, unaffected stare that broke past her skin and made her feel like he wasn't seeing her at all.
Chuck sighed, and Blair was relieved to see that he barely acknowledged the blonde as she headed to her next class.
"Oh, bye Blair," Eva said in her chirpy French accent.
Blair scowled. Adieu, Mother Theresa.
When the hall had safely emptied out, Blair lifted her chin as Chuck perched against the wall. He actually…had a book in his hands. And he wasn't using it to roll a joint.
"I have something to say," Blair claimed, fighting to keep her eyes from drifting down to his lips.
"You seem to say a lot, Waldorf," came Chuck's cool reply. "But it never gets us anywhere." The words echoed in the hallway, excruciatingly loud.
"Chuck, I—" Blair's voice cracked, and she curled her fingers into the binding of her book, nails scraping at the gold lettering down the side. Chuck watched her, hands twitching at his sides, like he was dying to use them to calm her down, to hold hers.
He didn't.
Nothing had ever hurt her more.
But he did lean into her with a murmur so low she almost missed it: "This way."
Blair followed behind him as he ducked into an empty classroom, sat atop one of the wooden desks, legs crossed at her ankles while he locked the door behind them. She braced herself when he came towards her, speed in his steps. Perhaps it wouldn't be so difficult to win him over. Blair tilted her head up in preparation when his hands came down on the desk at her sides, reached her hands up to finally touch him, but—
Chuck stopped just short of her lips, so close she was semi-delirious. His breath washed over her cheek when he whispered, "You still love Nate."
She was startled by the blatant anger in his voice, all piercing and hurt. Nails prickled her skin as she shrank back, but he persisted, thumbs tense where they touched the hem of her skirt. Blair swallowed, shook her head a fraction of an inch. "I don't love Nate." She watched him, saw his shoulders relax.
"Chuck, I—" Love you. Emotion caught in her throat, and she hated it—hated the way she couldn't recognize the tone of her own voice because it was so weak and lovesick. Queendoms didn't leave room for any trembles. She poised herself, sat up so that Chuck had to back away. "I've given you space because I know you were hurt—"
He forced a smirk. "I wasn't hurt."
"—by what I said," Blair finished, ignoring him. "But you have to know that I was caught up in an argument. What I thought I felt for him is nothing like what I feel for you."
Chuck seemed defensive now as he looked up at her through his lashes, sparks of amber burning in the dim light. "And what would that be?"
Blair parted her lips, but not a sound came out.
"You can't say it," Chuck said evenly. "That's what this is."
Blair played innocent, avoided his eyes as she rolled her tights higher up her thighs. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"You think that this is easy for me, Blair?" Chuck asked, and she hated the way he said her real name, like he was punishing her for this. "Those three words...I'd never even fathomed saying them out loud until you came here and began to pull pieces of me out into the world—the parts of me that care, the parts of me that crave being a better man for you." Chuck squared his jaw, scratched through his hair. "You forced me to remember that I had a heart, only to break it." He frowned at the wall behind her. "Do you think I wanted that?"
"Chuck—"
"It's torture, and there's nothing I can do other than stand here and take it..." He pursed his lips. "All because I need you."
"If the thought of binding yourself to me makes you so sick, why don't you go corrupt some freshman? Why don't you forget—"
"Forget?" He barked an incredulous laugh. "Don't you think I would forget every inch of you I have memorized if I could?"
Blair rolled her fingers in her lap, quietly said, "No. I don't think you would." She was silent for a moment. "If I...say it now, everything will be different. Five months—"
"Years," Chuck corrected. "I've known you for years."
"Fine," Blair sighed. "Years, and we've done nothing other than play games with each other. What will we be if I say it? The two power sick fools who end up destroying each other in the end? Or will I be just another Penelope, who thought she could reform you and ended up being terribly wrong?"
Chuck shook his head. "You're not making sense."
"Those three words are all I have," Blair said. "The only thing that makes this different from what you've had with any other girl—the only thing that keeps your blood boiling and your eyes on me that way."
Chuck's frowned. "So you're holding them over my head? Is that the fool you take me for, Waldorf?"
Blair let out a breath, like she realized she'd just made a mistake. He wouldn't understand. "You don't understand..."
"I understand perfectly. I'm not as daft as you clearly think I am." He reached behind him, to unlock the classroom door, and Blair felt panic rise in the chest, gathering inside of her to cloud at her throat. "I thought you were brave, Blair. I thought that if I stepped, you'd step with me."
"I always have."
Chuck's hand paused on the doorknob. "Then tell me that you love me."
Her chest ached, her own hesitance binding her inside of caged regret. She reached her hands through those invisible rungs for him, but she couldn't quite slip away.
No, telling him she loved him would be like giving him the permission to leave.
Instead, she curled into herself, stared down at the floor. "I'm sorry."
Chuck nodded, gave her the cruel kind of smile she had nightmares about. "Then allow me to ease the burden, Waldorf." He shoved the door open, barely sparing her another glance. "You'll never hear me say those words again."
The room cast even deeper shadows when he was gone, and Blair pressed her face into her hands for a long second, dragging them down to the desk to wipe away the wetness of her tears.
"I love you," Blair whispered to the silence.
A second after, she wiped the last tear away, readjusted her headband, and closed the door behind her on the way out.
:::
April 6th, 2008: The Courtyard
"Hey, J…" Damien trailed off, hands freezing on Jenny's shoulders when he noticed the blaring red F slashed across the test paper on the stone table in front of her. "Woah…" He picked the paper up, trying to examine what she'd gotten wrong, but Jenny yanked it away just in time.
"Don't," Jenny groaned. "Please."
"What's going on?" Damien cupped her chin, leaned in for a kiss, but when his lips pressed to hers, Jenny didn't move. He tried to make light of it, slobbering all over her chin and cheeks when she didn't kiss him back. Usually, Jenny would give in and giggle, kiss him back with that gentle smile she always had.
That didn't happen.
Instead, she shoved at his chest, wiped at her cheeks and chin with the back of her hand. "Don't, Damien. That's disgusting."
He was self-conscious for a moment. For a long time before he had noticed Jenny, Damien had played it cool around all of his "friends". It wasn't as if Chuck Bass was the type to joke around with this way. Sure, the guy had taken him under his wing, but being around Jenny taught him that he didn't have to pretend he was anything other than he what he already was.
But now…she was looking at him like Blair looked at Penelope when the girl so much as breathed.
"Who are you, Blair now?" Damien asked.
Jenny raised a brow, started braiding the hair by her neck. "I'm Blair because I don't want your saliva all over me?"
Damien raised a brow, raked his fingers through the overgrown hair at the back of his neck, which now fell past his nape. "Jenny, what's going on? Where's my little nerd—"
"I get it," Jenny spat, exasperated. "I get that I'm supposed to be this perfect little loser who stands on the sidelines and take everyone's crap, gets shot as the messenger, and still has to make it to class in time to get straight A's." She cut him a look, let her braid loose again with frantic, fumbling fingers. "I get it."
"That's not what I'm saying at all…" Damien leaned back. "Why are you turning this into something it isn't? We're happy—"
Under her breath, Jenny mumbled, "Are we?"
"We were happy," Damien claimed. "And now you're desperate to take on everyone's problems, as if they have anything to do with you. They don't, Jenny. There's no drama aside from the one you're creating for yourself. I'm not Chuck, and you're not Blair. Things don't have to be this way."
Jenny shot up from her seat, suddenly exhausted. "You know what? I'm sick of everyone telling me what my place is." She grabbed her test from the table, crumpled it up in her fist. "And so what if I want to be like Blair? Who are you to tell me that I'm wrong for that?"
"I fell in love with you, Jenny."
"But not without her," Jenny replied. She paused for a moment as two seniors passed a football back and forth before passing them by. "Don't you ever wonder what would have happened if Chuck hadn't put you up to that scheme to get me away from Blair?"
"Jenny—"
"I may not be her, and you may not be him...but we do owe what we are to them." She shook her head. "And...you know what? Say what you want about how much of a jerk Chuck is, but no one had to push him to fall in love with Blair, Damien," Jenny said, rather sadly, before she walked away. "He noticed her from the very beginning."
:::
April 6th, 2008: The Courtyard
"I…noticed Waldorf from the very beginning."
Mrs. Reginald smiled at the boy sitting in the seat across from her, clicked her pen closed. "So we're talking about Blair again today."
Chuck sat back in his seat, cracked his knuckles with ease. "If you'd prefer, we can discuss your love life, Mrs. Reginald." He smirked, like he found himself hilarious, then glanced down at the wedding ring on her finger. "I understand that there's a Mister Reginald in the picture. Quite the disappointment for the rest of Briar's male faculty." He leaned in closer. "I know they were hoping for a rendezvous with you in the chemistry lab."
Mrs. Reginald ignored him, as always. "You know, Charles, you don't have to feel embarrassed about your feelings for Blair."
"I'm not embarrassed about Blair," Chuck said, his tone sharp.
Mrs. Reginald pressed her lips together, taking in the solemnity of his expression. "Of course not."
He glanced down to the cufflinks at his wrists, the glinting C and B on either sleeve. Blair had custom ordered them so that they could double as blazer buttons.
"So that you can wear them everyday, Bass," she had announced adorably, all tangled up in their bed sheets out in the shed.
Chuck swallowed down the lump in his throat, turned his hands over so that the metal was hidden by the thick fabric of his uniform blazer.
He loved her so much, it was almost sickening. Even now, when every inch of him was desperate to hate her.
"Charles?"
He sighed. "Hm?"
"How are things going between the two of you? I assume from all of this daydreaming that she finally told you—" Mrs. Reginald caught herself mid-sentence, eyes wide. Chuck regarded her with a curious expression as she backtracked. "I…How have your test scores been?"
"A, C, C-, B, and a D in calculus because my professor is incompetent," Chuck recited, rather dismissively. "Did Blair tell me what?"
"Well," Mrs. Reginald swallowed as she tucked a stray graying hair behind her ear. "I can speak to your calculus teacher, if you'd like…I will admit that he can be a bit difficult. Perhaps with some tutoring—"
"Fuck tutoring."
"Charles," Mrs. Reginald snapped, hand poised over her office phone, "I agreed to counsel you as long as you remained respectful in this room. Have you forgotten that condition?"
"No." Chuck cupped his own jaw, let out a deep breath. "I apologize."
Mrs. Reginald nodded, returning to her notes. "Why don't we return to what you were saying when you first got here?" The counselor urged him on, though he suddenly looked uncomfortable, his memory flickering to when they were only kids. "What did you notice about Blair?"
He hesitated only a second before he began.
"I noticed everything," Chuck said. "She looked like a little queen when I first saw her. Imagine her as she is now, but with this little lilac dress on, her curls down to her shoulders, this little...force that just took over whatever she pleased. I remember that I was immediately infatuated with her because she was just like me...but she actually put in the effort." Chuck smiled, like one fleeting memory was worth ten times more than the argument they'd just had in that empty classroom last week.
Bracing himself, he continued, "The thing you have to understand about Blair is that she's so regal, so beautiful on the outside. But people never bother to understand the facets of her. She's cruel and she's kind, she's sympathetic and she's ambitious. There are pieces of her and faces she wears, and it's a good thing, that she's so infuriatingly complex. She likes it that way. No one can understand her."
Mrs. Reginald smiled. "It seems like you do."
Chuck's grin was sly. "Of course I do. That doesn't necessarily mean that I want anyone else to."
Mrs. Reginald inhaled, a bit conflicted on what she was about to say. Finally, she gave in, glanced up for a moment to make sure no one was standing outside of the door.
"Charles, you have to be blind if you don't see that Blair Waldorf loves you very much." Chuck's eyes brightened, though he was quick to stifle the emotion, stared down at his hands, as if he already knew this.
"And I don't think she does anything maliciously with the intention of hurting you. Rather, I believe she's attempting to protect herself while holding on to you in the process. Don't you think that's a difficult task for a girl who constantly wants to be in control?" Mrs. Reginald shook her head. "Perhaps you're wasting a lot of time being upset with her about not telling you how she feels, when you could be using that time to prove to Blair that it's safe for her to do that."
"So what exactly do you suggest I do?"
"You wait," Mrs. Reginald. "If you truly believe that Blair is worth it, you wait." Mrs. Reginald settled back into her seat. "Believe it or not, Mister Bass, I rose hell before I settled down with my husband."
Chuck smirked at this. "And how do I know…" He trailed off, grasping for the right words. "How do I know if it's worth it?"
Mrs. Reginald leaned in, whispered, "What do you feel when you look at her?"
"My chest, it just...Everything just…hurts," Chuck said, like this was all too unpleasant for him. "It hurts to look at her."
Mrs. Reginald smiled, practically patted him on the head. "That's exactly how you know."
:::
"I'm not a relationship counselor, Charles," were Mrs. Reginald's parting words to Chuck as he ducked out of her office. "Next week, we're discussing your grades!"
Chuck rarely took advice from anyone who was not his own reflection, but there was something about the way Mrs. Reginald had seemed so sure when she spoke about his relationship with Blair that put Chuck at ease. That woman, Chuck grinned, had orchestrated things between them from the very beginning.
And he wasn't about to give that up now.
Chuck glanced at her over his shoulder before he left and drawled, "Send Mister Reginald my sympathies." He smirked as Mrs. Reginald attempted to stifle a laugh, felt a spring in his step as he made his way down the empty hallway. But just as he turned the corner, he brushed a soft arm, startled the girl in front of him.
"Blair."
"Chuck." He saw her swallow, her skin rising just above her collarbone, where a simple diamond necklace rested at the hollow of her throat. She stumbled back a step. "If you're stalking me to inflict more emotional damage, I've already said all that I have to say. And I'd appreciate it if you—"
"I'm not doing that."
Blair frowned. "Why not?"
He said nothing, just lifted his lips into a genuine smile. On impulse, her face brightened, her own smile betraying the confusion she felt inside.
"Last week, you said…"
"Last week," Chuck said plainly, "was a mistake."
Blair narrowed her eyes. "Are you high?"
"No."
"That applies to cocaine as well."
"I'm not high, Blair."
She crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Did they finally diagnose you?"
He chuckled under his breath. "That was years ago."
Blair pressed her lips together, cocked her head to the side. "Okay."
"I hope you enjoy your spring break, Waldorf," Chuck finally said, pausing before he leaned over to give her the lightest peck on the cheek. He let his arm brush hers again as he passed, and Blair jumped, touched the same spot with shaky fingertips. He was still smiling at her as he went, and Blair felt an odd twist in her stomach.
"Bass, what are you up to?"
"Delayed gratification," Chuck called back, his voice deeper than ever. Blair knees almost buckled at the sound. "Some call it waiting." He smiled at her one last time. "I've found that there might be some sort of sick pleasure in that."
:::
April 6th, 2008: The Dining Hall
Blair was still reeling over Chuck's sudden change of heart when she slid her cafeteria tray over the metal railings, plucking her yogurt and a bowl of strawberries up from the sweets bar. Just as she turned for Jenny's table, someone blocked her way, catching her elbow as she passed.
"Blair," Eric said. "I need to talk to you."
Blair sighed. "Little E, I already told you what brand of hair dye I use. Don't make me look up the numbers again—"
"Blair, I'm serious." Eric ducked his head, locks of hair falling into his face as he spoke. Since Ethan had gone, so had the spirit inside him. The sarcastic, witty remarks never came anymore—his eyes were always tired, his lips bitten raw. "Look," Eric said as he steered Blair away from the line. "I've been seeing things."
Blair frowned. "On or off your meds?"
"It's Penelope," Eric said, ignoring Blair's jabs. "Something's up with her. She's the one behind the Nate thing. She's the one who got Ethan kicked out of school. I'm sure of it. Ask Jenny— she's seen that hooded girl Penelope always sneaks away to meet. I never see her around school, outside of class anymore—"
"Eric," Blair said. "Breathe. I'd love to resolve your little conjured-up crisis, but there's nothing to worry about anymore. There haven't been any blasts lately, and, God, Penelope most definitely doesn't deserve all of the attention you're wasting on stalking her pathetic little outings. There's nothing—"
"Blair, wake up," Eric hissed, grasping her by the arms, sending a strawberry flying from her bowl to the floor. "You're all too self-involved to see that someone is out to get us, and it leads back to Penelope every time. This isn't about some catty fight over a guy you don't care about anymore. This isn't anyone's fucking kingdom, Blair. It's high school." Eric drew in a breath, continued, "And I care. I care that my boyfriend got pulled out of school. I care that my friends and I are constantly being fucked over. And you would care—" Eric nodded at her, held her arms tighter "—if it had happened to Chuck."
Blair's face drained of color, and she swallowed, pushed Eric's hands from her arms, left her tray with him. As she spun around, Eric worried for a moment, thought Blair might start a scene, slap Penelope right in the middle of the cafeteria.
But when Blair stopped at Penelope's table, she was eerily calm.
A bright smile on her face.
Eric frowned from where he stood.
"What is it, Blair?" Penelope snapped. "Get lost on your way to the table of freaks?"
Blair laughed like it was the funniest joke she'd ever heard, calmly sat at the chair opposite of Penelope's, leaned it like they were sharing a secret.
"You know, Penelope…I was wrong all along," Blair said evenly. "I think that you and I could make great friends."
:::
One Month Later
They often say that there's a certain calm before the storm, which had proven to be right when Blair lived on the Upper East Side. After all, the day before the Shepherd wedding, Nate, Serena, and Blair had all been having drinks at The Palace, getting tipsy off the cocktails and each other's company, toasting to an impenetrable friendship.
Things weren't so different at Briar.
When Blair returned from spring break, she was practically glowing. The air was easy at Briar as some senior boy helped Blair with her suitcase up the stone steps, and her white pleated skirt swirled around her tanned legs. The new Gossip Girl's stint at Briar seemed to be short-lived, for the only disturbance on campus now was a row of cherry blossom trees down by the east side of the school, where brilliant pinks sprouted by the ivy and along the stone benches.
She'd spent the break in Cabo, on a resort vacation her mother had paid for without batting an eyelash. Blair had the suspicion that her mother's generosity had something to do with her newfound sexual reawakening with Cyrus the troll. And even though the thought of it made her sick, she appreciated the reprieve.
She'd spent her days splayed out by the pool, talking to Jenny on the phone, who had stayed on campus to explore the nearby town with Diana over break. Blair had been surprised to find that she actually enjoyed listening to the blonde talk about unimportant things while she sipped mojitos and caught up on old issues of Glamour.
She supposed that's what friendship meant after all.
One night, Blair heard some noise in the background as Jenny assured Blair that she wasn't screwing around with her DVR. "Oh," the girl suddenly said. "It's Diana. She says…hi."
Blair rolled her eyes at the sun, too at-ease with her vacation to put up a fight. "Hello, Diana."
She could practically hear Jenny's grin over the phone.
Among her conversations with Jenny came another midnight call: a single word, Bass, flashing across the screen. Blair had frowned, rubbed her eyes to make sure that it was indeed her demon calling her in the middle of the night.
"Bass?"
"Waldorf."
Blair sat up in bed, forced her smile to fall. "What do you want?"
"That's no way to speak to the man of your dreams."
Blair rolled her eyes. "No, Chuck, I'm only speaking to you."
There was a long pause, a splash in the background, a muted giggle. Blair remembered Jenny telling her that Chuck had invited Damien to spend the break at the 1770 House with him just before rehashing every detail of the argument she'd had with her boyfriend…again.
Blair paused for a moment, silently imagining who else was keeping him company in the Hamptons, when—
"I miss you, Waldorf."
Blair elbow buckled under her weight, and she fell back against one of the hotel's plush pillows.
"Oh."
She heard a nervous chuckle on the other end of the line as the background got quieter and his footsteps louder. "You're overwhelming me with your romantic response."
"Chuck, before break, when we fought—"
"Waldorf…"
"You didn't want to have anything to do with me." Blair swallowed. "If you're playing a game, or…doing this to hurt me…" I don't think I could bear it.
He was quiet for a long time, and Blair listened as he sank onto a bed, counted his short breaths. Finally, he said, "So…Cabo."
"Don't change the subject, Bass."
"It's a pity that no one's there to inspect your bikini."
Blair rolled her eyes, felt herself give in. "That's what you think."
"Jealousy only turns me on, Blair."
Blair smiled, shifted in bed and cradled the phone to her ear. "That's unfortunate."
Chuck laughed then, and it was infectious. She held the phone closer, as if she could somehow reach through and be with him while doing it. For the next few hours, Chuck attempted to persuade her to describe her negligee to him in detail.
"Chuck, don't be disgusting. I'm not going to sext you."
"There's a difference between sexting." He paused, for effect. "And phone sex."
But in the end, Blair had fallen asleep with the phone pressed to her ear, and instead of hanging up, Chuck let himself doze off as well. Blair woke up at noon the next day with a slight creak in her neck, the call ended, but a new text message on her screen.
A quote, from the one thing they would always be bound by.
In the midst of chaos, it said, there is also opportunity.
Blair remembered those words now as she skipped up the steps to Briar, took her bag back from the senior with a careful smile. Her phone lit up with a new text message, just as she was expecting it to.
Hey, B. You here?
Not Jenny, nor was it even Diana.
It was Penelope Hayford.
Her ex-nemesis, who was under the impression that Blair had had a sudden change of heart just before the break. This was the girl who Blair had put a convincing show on for before she left for Cabo when they spent those three days having a girl's weekend in some city suite that Blair had paid for. This was the girl who had believed Blair when she told Penelope that she really was interested in her horse-riding years and unrealistic crush on her tennis instructor. This was the girl who had been spotted with a mysterious black-hooded figure outside of Briar more than once—the same one who was going to regret ever crossing Blair Waldorf.
Blair smiled.
Once she took care of this, nothing was going to stand in the way of her being with Chuck, or having the friendships she deserved.
I'm here. Let's do lunch. xo, B
Her plan had fallen right into place.
:::
May 8th, 2008: The Dining Hall
Diana stopped at Jenny and Eric's table, one hand poised on the hardwood for fear of passing out. "You've got to be fucking kidding me."
Jenny glanced up. "That's like the thirtieth time you've broken your resolution to stop cursing this year."
Diana shrugged it off. "There's always next year." She cocked a hip, looked past Eric to where Blair had stopped at the front of the dining hall, glanced between Jenny and Penelope's table, and chose…the latter. "Oh God, I'm having an outer body experience. Tell me that I'm having a bad dream." Diana shuddered, thought of prying hands and soulless boys. "Better yet, tell me that most of this year has been a bad dream."
"That's pretty real," Jenny said softly, also in slight disbelief.
"It's been going on since before break," Eric sighed. "I just don't get it...I asked her for help, and it's like that was her breaking point. As if things weren't already shitty, Blair has officially crossed over to the dark side."
Jenny and Diana exchanged a look.
"Okay," Eric amended. "Even darker than where she and Chuck already were."
"Chuck!" Jenny exclaimed. As if Blair had a sensor for his name, she glanced up at them, breaking away from her conversation with Penelope. But just as the three tried to wave her over, Blair glanced away again, pretended to give the other girl her rapt attention. Jenny sighed, turned back to her two friends. "We've got to talk to Chuck."
Diana sighed. "Do we have to? Can't Eric do it?"
"No," Jenny said, clutching at Diana's wrist. They crossed the cafeteria and went out to the courtyard where, surely enough, Chuck was smoking a joint with Damien at the base of the steps, right where the oak tree cast a shadow so heavy, you couldn't see what was under it—unless you were really looking.
"Well," Chuck drawled when they stood over him. "If isn't Tweedle Dee…" He smiled at Diana, then turned to Jenny. "And Tweedle Humphrey."
"Oh God. Do you just sit at the mirror for hours and come up with this shit?" Diana massaged her temples, then plucked the joints from Damien and Chuck's fingertips. Jenny helped her stomp them out, pulled away from Damien when he tried to pull her close.
"I'm still upset with you," Jenny whispered to him.
"Fine," Damien mock-whispered back, a loopy smile on his face—clearly the product of his high.
"Anyway…" Diana trailed off, crossing her arms at Chuck. "As much as it pains me to say this, we're in need of your assistance."
"Are you?" Chuck smirked. "I'm afraid that my desires lie elsewhere, Lady D. I'd tell you to ask Damien, but that might get a little awkward..."
"Cut the shit," Diana said. "It's about Blair and how she's gotten into the habit of hanging around that freak of nature, Penelope. The same Penelope who's working with that shady ass figment of Jenny and Eric's imagination." Diana's voice wavered, like perhaps it wasn't all so ridiculous after all. "The one who's clearly out to get us."
"And what do you expect me to do about this?" Chuck asked. But even as he drawled the joke, he pushed up from the wall, staring up at the dining hall's large window, where they could all see Blair chatting Penelope up.
"You know what to do," Jenny said.
"Yeah," Chuck said with a sigh, slinging his blazer over his left shoulder as he made his way inside. "I know."
:::
May 8th, 2008: The Back Alley
"Are you going to tell me what you were doing with that nauseating troll?"
It was Chuck who caught Blair as she stepped out of the cafeteria, spun her into the back alley, trapped her up between his chest and the cold wall, its fading bricks. Blair's breath caught in surprise, and she pressed her fingers into his chest, slid them down when he stilled. He tried not to focus on how good she looked, how the break had left her skin with a healthy tan, her hair lighter from the sun. He was sure that if he pressed his face into her neck right then, she'd smell even sweeter than usual—like the only thing that was constantly being taken away from him. All dessert, and he was on a fucking diet.
"Chuck—"
"What's going on, Blair?"
"Nothing that I can't handle."
"Waldorf, your friends are worried about you," Chuck said, shifting so that he could press that much closer to her. She waited for him to thread his fingers through the base of her ponytail, trail his thumbs down the slope of her neck like he always did when they were there. But he only caught her hand and said, "Your real friends. And I usually consider it serious when Diana will even consider conversing with the devil…"
"Chuck, everything is fine. I'm doing this so that everything we've been through this year will have been for a reason." Blair nodded as she always did to reassure him. "I'm taking her down— and whoever the loser is that Penelope's working for." Blair smiled to herself, glanced up at his eyes, which were wide, still unsettled. She sank back against the wall as she watched him, bit down on her bottom lip. "It's you."
Chuck raised a brow.
"You're the one who's really worried about me," Blair answered. "Aren't you?"
His hand was still wrapped around her wrist, fingers pressed into the ridge of her bone. It was just a light graze, but it felt as heavy as the weight of an entire year. He touched her, and there she was again, up against Tripp Vanderbilt's wall, against the concrete of Briar's alleyway, hips flush against Chuck's on the kitchen floor. A low voice chanted inevitable in her mind.
Insatiable.
Inescapable.
And when she couldn't take it any longer, she shoved him back against the door and brought her lips to his.
The kiss made her ache—everything, from the way he dragged his teeth down her lower lip to the way he pressed her hand flat against her ass and bowed her hips to his. She moaned, slipped her tongue between his lips. But just as his hand bunched her skirt in one fist and hiked it up, Blair pried herself away, leaned her forehead into his.
"What I couldn't say—" Blair breathed against his lips.
"Don't," Chuck rasped, touching her between her thighs, his thumb trailing a soft line down the center of her panties. Blair shivered, catching his hand before she lost it completely.
"I have to," Blair explained, taking his hand and bringing it to her mouth. She kissed each of his knuckles as she spoke, and he trembled, held her hair back to watch her. "I don't love Nate. Because what I feel for you is more. Because you're more, Chuck. Every irreplaceable piece of the world, your mother's book, the smell of cologne and ashes. What else is there?"
"Nothing," Chuck groaned.
"Nothing," Blair echoed. "So I need you to trust me, one more time." She lifted her head, kissed the very corner of his lips. "Wait just a little bit longer…"
His eyes were only a little bit sad when he let her pull away, one hand still tangled in her hair, like it pained him to let her slip away again.
Yes, Mrs. Reginald had been right. That was exactly how he knew.
:::
May 10th, 2008: The Dining Hall
"So, no date to the end-of-the year ball," Penelope said as Blair barely listened. God, this girl was so easy. Blair had only been pretending to be her friend for a few weeks, and Penelope was practically en route to weaving her a friendship bracelet. Blair sighed from their little table in the corner of the dining hall. She ached to be with Diana and Jenny, who were tossing cherries at each other a few tables down. Or with Chuck, who'd been shooting her these intense looks since she'd entered the room.
Even moping around the library with Eric was a more tempting prospect than this.
Blair took a breath, steadied herself. A few more hours, and this would all be over.
"Did you hear me, Blair?"
"How could I not hear you, Penelope?" Blair snapped. "The volume at which you speak is extraordinary."
"I'm just saying," Penelope sighed. "That this is the second Briar event that you go stag to. First the Saints and Sinners Ball, now the junior/senior prom…One is making a statement, two is placing a permanent label on yourself."
Blair had never wanted to bother laying a hand on anyone in her entire life.
But the thought of bitch-slapping Penelope always seemed so tempting.
At Briar, there were two proms. One, of course, was strictly enjoyed by the seniors on a yacht that took them to a gorgeous platform off the coast of New York. The second was shared between the graduating class and the juniors who would take their place the next year. It was an official ball, the kind of event that Blair always loved to dress up for, suiting up in full-on pearls, an intricate dress—all in preparation for fairy lights and boys as dashing as Chuck in a tailored suit like one of the classics, whisking her away and off her feet—
"It's really formal," Penelope prattled on, cutting into Blair's thoughts. "Have you picked out your ball gown yet? You know, you can't just—"
Blair let out a long, pointed sigh, drummed her fingernails on the tabletop. "You know, I'm so thirsty." She smiled. "Would you fetch me some mineral water, P?" Blair's tone was sickly sweet, but Penelope didn't notice.
Penelope hesitated, like she wasn't sure if being Blair's friend was worth being bumped down to minion-status.
Blair quickly helped her along. "Flavored, strawberry."
"Right," the other brunette murmured under her breath. Blair watched as she got up, held her breath when Penelope passed a hand over her cellphone—then left it to grab for her wallet. Right. She needed her ID for the vending machines.
Once she was gone, Blair quickly uncrossed her legs and angled herself so that her back was to the row of vending machines where Penelope was standing. She slipped her phone out of her bag and traded her Chanel case for Penelope's Coach. Once Penelope's phone was tucked into Blair's bag, Blair put her phone back on the table. It would stall her—if only for a little while.
Blair could practically feel Chuck's eyes on her as she ducked out of the cafeteria, but she refused to turn around, slipping through the glass double doors and down to the courtyard just as Penelope turned back around with two mineral waters in her hands.
Blair let out a breath as she turned Penelope's phone on outside. The device was password protected, but the screen still showed a text message from a GG. It wouldn't let her read the entire text, but the preview started:
You're late. I'll be waiting 10 past Par…
Blair crinkled her nose as she headed down the stone pathway into the woods, the same trail she'd gone down to meet Chuck countless of times when they were still—
No, she couldn't think about that now. She assumed Par meant the Paramore Fields, right at the border of where Briar's property claim ended and that shady spot under the highway began to dip, miles and miles away from their shed and even farther from Briar itself.
And if Blair was right about all of this, she'd be meeting Gossip Girl in just a few moments, the very same gossip blogger who had made it his or her mission to ruin Blair's life since high school started, who had cost Ethan his spot at Briar, who was trying to come between Chuck and Blair now.
It always led back to Chuck and Blair.
Blair felt like she'd been walking for hours when she finally reached the grassy knolls where the fields skirted out into more abandoned woods. She heard a branch snap and shrank in her thin trench coat, pressed Penelope's phone flat against her sweaty palm. Under the humid air, Blair's hair stuck to the nape of her damp neck.
God, she could be meeting up with anyone out here—some renowned serial killer wearing a bloody plaid shirt, Penelope's psycho alter-ego, a creep like that Dan Humphrey...
"I've been waiting for this for such a long time."
Or the voice of Georgina Sparks, the girl with crazy eyes who Blair had banished from the Upper East Side years ago.
Blair let out an incredulous laugh, took in the proud form in front of her. "You."
Georgina smiled. "Me."
Blair took an easy step forward, stepped on a twig with her heel. "This is too easy. I should have known that you were the only social climber I knew who would be desperate enough to hide behind some teen blog to get her revenge on me..." She raised a brow. "For what? Upset because I embarrassed you, like, last century?"
Georgina shook her head, and her hood fell off, blue eyes sparkling, bits of blonde speckling her overgrown roots. "It's just really good to see you, Blair."
Blair swallowed. "Well, you've seen me. And whatever you had planned next is spoiled, thanks to your idiot side-kick."
"You know," Georgina said, wearing the same smile she'd had on when her parents had driven her off from school for the last time when they were kids. "Penelope is rather daft, but I don't think you give her nearly enough credit."
The woods closed in on Blair now, the circle of trees felt extremely small—far from where her life was. Blair ached for the sound of nearby students but heard nothing except for Georgina's laughter.
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that Penelope sends her regards from your phone," Georgina said, holding her own cell up. "She says that the switch was clever. And I personally want to thank you for letting her lead you right to me. It makes this so much easier."
Blair stumbled back, her heel catching on a stray branch as Georgina surfaced with a glinting silver roll from her coat pocket.
:::
The woods were a deep place, Blair thought as Georgina closed in.
The age old riddle held a new twist: If a girl fell in the forest, and no one was around to hear her scream...did she even make a sound?
A/N: And...there's cliffhanger number 1257! So, the chapter that follows this one will be the end of Part One, in which a few more revelations will be made...as well as a very important choice. I'll also see if anyone is still up for a Part Two! There won't be a long wait between this one and the next chapter—my schedule has gotten a tad bit better. But if you'd like to see the gif trailer for the end of Part One: Chapter 17, check out my lovely friend My's work at the Tumblr page imhenrybass. She'll be posting it there!
This chapter is dedicated to my Bunny Queen, M, who is always patiently impatient with these updates, but roots for me every time!