Chapter Fifty-Two
Ashes
How do you go back to being strangers with someone who has seen your soul?
''How are you?''
Surprisingly, Georgina was the first one to break the ice of uncomfortable silence. And she did so naturally, while feeding the chirping birds. Bread from today's lunch had been safely hidden in the white sock and was now thrown in tiny pieces on the grass. Supposedly, pockets were a danger and a potential threat. As was a comb. As were tweezers.
Who could kill anyone with a tweezer? What, could she tweeze the life out of someone?
''How's Chuck?'' Her voice was light as if they were drinking coffee somewhere on a rooftop.
''He's good,'' Jenny replied curtly. She skidded around the topic, not wanting to trigger an episode. ''Healthy. Alive.''
''And Blair?'' Georgina's eyes flashed, those two luminous bulbs staring at her with astounding clearness. The dark iris wasn't restless and twitchy as it used to be. This morning, it was still. Her visitor thought there would be no peril in given information.
''Also alive.''
Georgina nodded, turning to look at the birds. Eager little sparrows hopped around her slippers, nibbling on the crumbs.
Jenny exhaled in relief as the chance of the storm seemed to perish, looking around the small enclosed park. It was miserable. Grass was shabby and fused with overgrown weed. A splinter on the bench she was sitting on had already made a rip in her new stockings from Rome. Not to mention the three meter electric fence.
It gave her goosebumps. As if there was something malignant inside, something that needed to be kept away from the rest of the world.
''Why did you come?'' G. finally asked. The entire loaf was thrown. In a panic, sparrows fluttered their wings as it stumbled their way. A moment after, as it stilled, they were fighting for a piece.
''I was worried about you,'' Jenny truthfully replied, anxiously glancing at the rest of patients that walked the park. They looked like zombies, aimlessly wandering the grounds, sometimes bumping into each other. A bald woman passed them, dragging her feet, talking to someone that wasn't even there. Her gown was spotted with dried out blood. Jenny suppressed a shudder. ''I wanted to see you. How are you?''
''As good as I can be in this place.''
Jenny nodded in understanding, getting the goosebumps again. If you weren't crazy, this place seemed like it would certainly make you. ''G, take my advice. When you get out of here, book a flight to Moscow. Go to your aunt. Start a new life.''
''You'd think they'd ever let me leave this place?'' Georgina asked tiredly, plucking a string out of her heavy bathrobe. It wasn't fluffy or pink like the one she had home. It was blue and coarse. It itched her.
''Of'course.'' Jenny smiled at her in reassurance. Georgie seemed better, at least by the first glance. There was a clarity in her voice and brightness in her eyes, something she lost around the time her father died.
''I don't want you to feel guilty,'' G. went on, knotting her brows which were in dire need of trimming. ''For reporting me to the cops, you know.''
''I don't feel guilty, but it doesn't make me feel good.'' Jenny hesitated at first, for fear of a violent reaction, but then gently put her hand on Georgina's shoulder. The movement seemed fine. The eye contact was established. ''Chuck and Blair saved themselves because you called the ambulance. Things will get better, trust me.''
''Thank you for visiting me,'' Georgina replied, seeing one of the nurses stomp their way. They walked like the Gestapo, enforcing the rules of the state ward with ruthlessness. Food outside room was forbidden. It was a signal of the end of visitation. ''You're the only one that cared to come.''
Georgina looked down on the crumbled bread and Jenny felt sorry for her, despite what happened in the past. Nobody deserved to be this forsaken, she thought grimly.
Her stepmother was flouncing around the galas and bedrooms of prominent Manhattan men, including her much younger neighbor Jackson Morelli, but supposedly didn't have time to make for a visit. Squandering away her step-daughter's wealth, she didn't bother to spend a single penny on improving her therapy before the trial. Why? And nobody was doing anything?
Jenny watched her friend being escorted back into the building that entirely looked like a haunted prison. The bars on windows were rusted and corrosive. Jenny could taste madness on her tongue.
Quickly rising, she nearly ran out of the creepy place. One thing was for certain though. Georgina never seemed better, even though she was taking the same medication she did before. Something was going on, a ploy that covered everyone's eyes. Jenny Humphrey felt restless as she entered cab to go home, feeling there would be no peace until she got to the bottom of this.
Lights were back on, displaying the aftermath of their session. Corner of the wall stood blackened by the flame. There was a disgusting smell of burnt hair, consequence of setting fire to a finest silk. Windows were open to let it out, but the curtain and burnt blazer still seemed to spread malignant stench from the trash bag in the kitchen.
After putting out the flame with his tailored jacket, first thing Chuck did was lean on the wall and exhale a long, laborious breath. He remained like that for some time, eyes closed, jaw clenched.
Abruptly, he pushed off, put the tablecloth back on and pulled up fallen chairs. With narrowed eyes, curled up on a couch like some feral animal, Blair warily watched him bustle around and stalk back to the kitchen. Nervous and highly alert, she waited for him. Chuck eventually came out with a plate of spaghetti Napolitana and wordlessly set down the dish.
Without a single glance, he walked away, leaving her alone. As the sound of the shower commenced and air seemed clear, Blair dragged herself over to the meal. She hadn't had anything to eat since that morning. Her stomach churned unpleasantly and headache settled in.
Sauce was thick and spread delicious aroma, pasta al dente. It was the first and only meal Blair had taught him how to make, right before losing her virginity. Those memories were like a turning knife in her guts.
Ravenous, Blair devoured the goodness. Immediately, headache weakened and stress reduced. Dazedly sitting by the empty plate now, her lucid thoughts sprang up, contemplating the evening. Cognizant part of her took a mental calculation of the total damage she had done today. As hunger dispersed, discomfort settled over.
Adrenaline still simmered and she aimlessly wandered the apartment. The reality of the damage was troubling, but he was determined in dragging out the worst in her.
In order to distract her mind, she grabbed a small, elegant letter opener from the shelf in the living room. It was made of gold and shaft had countless small rubies embedded in it. Turning it around to reflect the light, she found engraved writing; From Alex.
Such an upper-class thing to own.
Just then, Chuck walked out to close the windows and she pulled the opener to her chest. He was dressed, though it be Versace bathing suit with gold trimming. Drops of water splashed around as he forcefully pulled monogrammed towel through his hair. ''You can tear down the place, burn it to the ground, bulldoze it if you want, but we're not leaving.''
It seemed as if he needed this break more than she did. His nostrils were flared. Chuck was angry. With jutted chin, she turned away from him, feigning disinterest.
''Drive me mad, set me on fire as I sleep - I don't care.'' He growled, sitting back on the sofa which he had a habit of occupying. With high rest, it looked like a throne and it suited him. ''We're talking this through.''
He brushed away her attempt of murder and once again resumed his therapy crusade. The fact that her mania hardly fazed him, pleased her in a way that could not be explained. One needed to be careful what to do with such revelation.
But then something happened in that moment of instant gratification. In the empty planes of her conscience, malicious whispers spread, feeding on her insecurities. You husband is faced with a loss, they spoke. Do not be deceived, he does not love you for who you are. He only loves you now as he is about to lose you. Terror of a defeat makes any man a Romeo.
The shadows once again flickered on the wall and Blair focused her gaze on him. The swirl of emotions in his eyes was extracted and dissected, weighed and measured. ''What did drive you more crazy? Me or the fear of becoming a father? Or maybe your newly acquired middle-class membership considering Bart disinherited you?''
Slowly, he dropped the wet towel and locked his narrowed eyes with hers. This piece of information, he was not aware she knew. She could sense his unease.
''You think I don't know Bart punished you because of me?''
He quickly looked away. ''It wasn't about money, Blair. It's about being helpless.''
They both knew Bart disinherited him because of his choice of a wife. And yet - her heart hushed, for a moment silencing the whispers - and yet he was still here, begging her to take him back.
''If you had told me-''
''I felt useless.'' He snapped, visibly frustrated at the choice of a topic. ''I felt incompetent. I could't bring myself to tell you. It's over now, anyway.''
Blair inhaled deeply, fighting off the pity and inspecting his self-doubt. When it came to business, Chuck was one of most talented people she knew. ''What does 'useless' mean to you? Not being able to fly chopper over Manhattan? Not able to fly off in G6 whenever you want? Not able to eat beluga every single day?''
''Or does it mean having a nine to five job?'' She sharply finished, that cruel class system wedging itself between them.
''It means,'' Chuck intensely looked up at her, clutching his fists. ''Not being able to take care of you. Not able to treat and pamper you as you deserve. Not able to help out your family, all the while Edward fuckin' Morelli waltzes downstairs once a week with a bag of desert.''
Blair shook her head. She knew how much he craved their approval, as much as she did. Sure, Edward came from a prominent East Coast family. Sure, he employed Dan as mother's driver, and was someone stable her father could rely on. They had known him for a while, and respected him. But this wasn't about Edward Morelli.
''I was there for you,'' she whispered forcefully, pointing finger at her chest, right at the source of all the poisonous whisperings. ''I was needing you. I was needing you to come to me. But you didn't. What would happen if you told me you lost the money? Would I be bothered with that, instead of with that Pollock girl?''
''I didn't want to add up to our problems,'' he pulled hand through his damp hair. From up here, Blair could smell his shampoo and she inconspicuously inhaled deeply. ''Call me selfish, but I don't like that man lurking around you or your family.''
''Why do you dislike him so much?'' She huffed, sitting down on a couch and crossing her arms.
''Because you talk to him. He gets through you.''
Unlike me, words were left hanging in the air.
''It was about you.''
''What about me?'' He piped up, but Blair seemed to be inspecting her nails, as if refusing to meet his eyes. Not getting a reply, he repeated the question more loudly.
''I talked to him about you,'' She finally answered, though tense and uncomfortable. Pressing thumb against the opener, she felt the astoundingly sharp tip. The physical pain came like a relief, numbing down the mental agony. ''About my feelings for you. If you had been listening me from the beginning, none of this would have happened.''
''Don't.'' Chuck put his palm up, his jaw shifting. His eyes took on that darkening glint, that rare paragon of lawful evil. ''Blame me for whatever you want, but I'm not taking responsibility for your friendship. Sure, you've distanced yourself from him, but you never really turned your back to Edward Morelli.''
Biting her tongue, Blair pulled her knees to herself. Appetite satisfied and adrenaline down to a zero, her body began to crumble under heavy fatigue. Late was the hour. Long was the day. Mind was too exhausted to feed on the fury. The guard silently began to lower down.
''I can't turn my back on him,'' She began quietly, remembering those heavy days filled with pressure of her lies, and no relief in sight. Burden of her lies, and after that, stress of the heartbreak dragged her down into a void of darkness. ''Because he never gave up on me. When I didn't have anyone to go to, he was there. When everyone, including you, shunned me away - he was there.''
Chuck's hands turned to fists.
She glanced down at the beautiful curvature of the name Alex on the opener. With her fingernail, Blair dipped in and traced pattern over the name, ''Edward was always there for me, no matter what. With him, I forgot how miserable I felt.''
Finally, she looked up at him and he seemed to be hovering over his seat, drinking in every word.
''You were my first everything,'' Blair pressed her lips together. ''I guess I didn't know how to be in a relationship. Lies aside, I didn't know how to live, how to let myself go. You taught me that.''
Their eyes locked.
Love was a fatal addiction. One fix and you go down to the same void you dragged yourself out of. Lover suffers, lover dies and lover doesn't mind. Blair felt her swords drop and suddenly felt naked. The vulnerability, once blooming in the flower of love, was not like a zap of the taser.
''I presume you were virgin when we met.'' The smooth mask of indifferent anger was back on, and she wondered if he noticed. He didn't laugh, but his eyes flashed with something sinister. It was momentary and it was gone.
''I had someone before you.'' He bluntly said, gaze piercing.
Though she fought to keep her cool, the snake of jealousy coiled within her. Despite everything, Blair wasn't surprised, but she was possessive. ''What was her name?'' She asked despite her better judgment, trying hard to sound casual.
''Ally,'' he replied matter-of-factly. ''We were never official. Young and reckless, traveling the world together.''
Her lips pressed and he suppressed a smirk, going on as if he was taunting her. ''Ally was wild-spirited, all sorts of sodomitic things came into her mind - especially in the bedroom. One night, while we were in Bangkok, she came to me with my name tattooed on her neck.''
''How pretentious.'' Her upper lip curled. Suddenly, everything about him irritated her. The way he breathed, the way his hair was adorably tousled, the way he glanced at her lips when she talked - as if he couldn't help himself.
''Oh, we were very, exquisitely pretentious.'' He laughed, but the sound died out too soon. He bit his lips like when he was lost in a thought. ''I don't think she took the tattoo seriously. Or us.''
''It looks like she broke your heart,'' Blair forced herself to observe casually, restlessly tapping wood of the windowsill.
''No.'' He looked up at her with his onyx eyes, gaze unwavering. ''Nobody but you breaks my heart.''
Sentences like these are never followed by an uprise or a reply of any sort. It is succeeded by heavy silence. The world grew quiet to give the moment the weight it deserves. Blair looked away and cleared her throat as her heart skipped a beat. ''How long did you last?''
''About a year. We were supposed to come back to New York together. I came back, she never did.''
''Were you hurt?''
''I was annoyed,'' Chuck replied instead.
''Is that why you don't trust people?'' She went on. Blair felt like the first time she unwrapped a box of Lady Godiva, wondering at the many mysteries that were hidden in it. Some flavors she adored, some she abhorred - but every single piece was devoured with a certain delight of discovering things which were previously unattainable. ''Because of that girl?''
''Don't I?''
''No,'' Blair shook her head. ''You don't trust your closest. Not me, not Nate. Not Serena.''
''Laugh with many, but don't trust any.'' His eyebrows knotted and he took some time before speaking again. As if he was gathering courage, as if he debated whether he should venture out in that monstrous jungle or remain safe on the land. ''My father insisted I know that, ever since I was a little boy. And it stuck with me. What I also learned was that I couldn't trust him. Him nor my mother.''
''Because of the divorce.'' She guessed, knowing the ground was too dangerous to be threaded on. Surface, thin as fresh ice, cracked under each step. Underneath the transparent stretch, deep and dark depth loomed. Chuck only mentioned it once or twice and when he did, there was something caged in his eyes. Something that perished at the intrusion.
''Because they both taught me not to trust each other.''
''Didn't you have a nanny, though?'' Blair inquired curiously, finding herself wanting to know more. Finally, the unspeakable came to be spoken.
''Oh, I had nannies,'' He confirmed with a curled upper lip. ''Aspiring models and actresses. Olga, for instance. Russian, blond, endless legs. We were in one of our private villas in England. Bart had the habit of dragging me there from school. It was charming I guess, but I was bored to death.''
''One day, Bart was having his scotch out in the veranda and I was kicking around ball. I thought joining soccer team would help me with cheerleaders.'' He ignored her eye-roll. ''I fell down, scraping my knee. I was bleeding all over the place. Not wanting to appear weak in front of father, I choked back tears and asked for help. I thought he would be impressed with my bravery. Bart merely waved me off to find Olga. Back in the villa, I found her going through my father's wallet. Olga was smart. Before I could get to Bart, she did and accused me of stealing his money. Of'course, he took her voluptuous side, wouldn't even hear what I had to say.''
''I remember him blaming my mother for that. I spent the rest of the week up in my room, as a punishment for refusing to apologize to Olga. But it turned out for the better. I didn't have to watch him grab her ass in front of me anymore.''
''How cruel,'' She whispered, taken aback with the story as if she herself lived through it. His torment, like a tide from uncharted horizon, knocked her down and filled her with sympathy for this lonely boy. A boy who was nothing but a weapon to his parents.
Though poor and conservative, Blair was raised in a loving home. She knew power of mother's love and might of father's protection, though over-bearing. They were always there for her and imagining it all gone, left her feeling cold. Blair slowly got up and sat next to him, but didn't touch him.
''We never could afford a nanny,'' she began shyly, glancing away when he came to meet her eyes. Instead, she traced the patterns of the couch, curling her toes in awkwardness. His honesty opened a secret gate. The weight of suppressed memories lifted by the power of compassion. ''My mother often cleaned Sparks apartment so I always tagged along. I had to be with Georgina in her room. We always played with her toys, but I was never allowed to touch anything though the place was like Toys R Us. Old toys were left abandoned, and like me, they watched her play.''
''My daddy got me that Barbie house because I'm a princess; Georgina used to say. Only princesses are allowed to touch it. Not you.''
''It was so pretty,'' Blair smiled, remembering the beautiful, pink, two-story house. ''It came with a swimming pool and a purple convertible. I was dying, sitting aside and watching Georgina play. I begged her to let me play with her, but she wouldn't.''
''You're not even a real princess!, I remember saying. I admit, I was jealous - and hurt. Georgina had a new toy every other day and wasn't very willing to share. She was an only child and her parents did everything to spoil her. I never got anything like that in my life. I wanted to play with Barbie, I wanted a fluffy bear to sleep with. I wanted someone to spoil me too. But some kids don't get to have those things.''
She felt his gaze on her and Blair somehow felt the warmth of love he, in times like these, unconsciously emitted. It was pure and raw. Sunny, fuzzy feeling sprang up in her chest and Blair's heart steadied.
''Georgina ran off to find her mother, to tell me off. While she was away, I played with the house. I found a certain pleasure in doing things that were forbidden to me, even as a child. But I accidentally knocked it over. When they came back, G. threw a tantrum and her mother sent me home.''
''She was like Diana?'' Chuck asked, his head leaned on the rest, just a breath away from her. From this angle, she could see his prefect lines of the face, with the exception a crease between the brows.
''No,'' Blair shook her head. ''Mrs. Sparks was a lady. She took me by the hand and led me back to my mom. I heard Georgina shout, Daddy was right, he told me not to play with janitor's kid. My daddy told me so. As if it implied the whole different spectrum of human being.''
''You were just a kid-'' Chuck murmured and made a move to take her hand. Despite what was transpired between them, it was still the same hand that scarred her. Her blood was still on his palm. Immediately, she pulled back.
''There's this fury in me,'' Blair whispered tiredly, fists clutched. It was late and her body needed to sleep, but she couldn't walk away just yet. ''Fury that sets on fire my entire past. It destroys my hopes and fears, and then I find myself calming down and forgiving everyone. Because I know I can do without them. I forgive everyone, but I can't forgive you. Nobody had hurt me as much as you did. Nobody.''
''I understand,'' Chuck replied gloomily, twisting wedding band around his finger. ''Better than I ever had. I went through the same ordeal. I always thought I could never be able to forgive your lies. I woke up every morning hating you, but I would go to bed forgiving you.''
They were reminded of the great love they had shared and it filled their beings. It wasn't pure, it was spotted with darkness and lies and secrets and resentments - but it was them. Blair took a good look at him, not wanting to divert the glance.
''I am so angry with you,'' Her voice shook, as if she just saw him for the first time in a long while. His eyes met hers, and she realized they had both forgotten they were once best friends. What they put each other through was heartbreaking. A sob escaped her lips at the memory of good things they gambled away. At the sound of her grief, Chuck gathered her in his arms. He buried his head in Blair's hair as he held her shaking body.
The pain, when it came to be shared, became easier to bear. Finally, Atlas took it upon himself to carry the weight of the world. Curled under his wing, Blair cried and cried and when there were no more tears to shed, she fell asleep.
It was still night when she woke up, in their bed. Through the dense cloud of fatigue, she noticed linen was back on and next to her - Chuck. She sighed, remembering how she used to watch him sleep. There was no pleasure in it anymore. Only pain.
Chuck looked peaceful, like a little boy taking his nap. Her hand drew closer to him, as if she wanted to brush her fingers against smooth skin of his cheek.
But something in her protested and she pulled her hand back. Instead, Blair glanced down at the pocket of his pajamas. Careful not to wake him up, she gingerly pulled out the red silky thread with her fingers, and silver key gleamed in the darkness. The beam of triumph on her face was squashed out as he struck out and snatched back the stolen item.
''Let me go,'' Blair groaned tiredly, falling back into the pillow.
''Remember how you used to touch me?'' He asked quietly, staring at her. In these few hours, he lost the sharp edge. Chuck looked entirely relaxed and content. Slowly, with great deliberation, he placed a hand over her cheek. When she didn't move away, his thumb brushed against porcelain skin, tracing lines of her ruby lips. ''I remember. That's why I can't let you go.''