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Nate, end of 3x11
As she bends down and follows Tripp into the car you can't help but wonder at the irony of it all. Everybody has always seen you as the knight in shining armour, a Prince Charming of flesh and blood; supposedly any guy would want to be you and every girl would want to date you. You know even Chuck Bass has felt insecure because of you and you know he's not insecure of anything. You should be pretty pleased. The joke here is of course that no matter how perfectly you fit the idea of the Hollywood hero you've never felt the part quite fit; it used to be constricting, choking you now it just feels plain wrong. Because right now you've never been further away from gaining that happy ending and as the taxi disappears down the street you can't help but think wistfully: 'If my life was like a movie this is when you'd stop the cab and come running back to me'.
You stand a while looking, hoping, because once is all it takes for everything to go right, right? You've seen it happen over and over again in the millions of films you've been forced to watch with Blair and Serena over the years. Whether the heroine's last name is Hepburn or Roberts a confession, some bold romantic gesture, seems to be all it takes and you did it.
You stood by her, told her how you used to love her even though she'd just broken your heart: 'Two years ago at the masquerade ball, I tried to tell you I loved you.' You gave her the heartfelt speech, trying to voice feelings that you've kept repressed for so long: 'Look, I know what I did was wrong. But I did it because ... ever since last week, ever since three years ago when you left ... please don't go. Please stay here with me. Please give me a chance.' You bared yourself of everything and showed her that at the end of the day Nate Archibald is just a guy standing in front of a girl telling her he loves her. But it's not enough. And why would it be? Because in that admission you've given away your strongest card, your claim to fame; the image of the golden boy who has it all. Maybe that's what makes the difference between her and all the others; Blair, Vanessa, Jenny… they never lost that illusion, never lost that fantastic fairy tale idea of you; never told you, you weren't enough for them to keep hanging (it was you who didn't believe it strongly enough then). But she's Serena van der Woodsen and now you're just some guy. When you're Serena van der Woodsen you don't need a prince to save you, you don't need to settle for a white knight when you have an entire kingdom at your feet, you don't need to settle for anything let alone someone who's just 'some guy'.
And here's another piece of irony, even if she doesn't want you; even if all you can do is save damsels in distress and that's not enough for her she's the one you've saved the most.
The taxi is disappearing, drowning in the lights of a thousand other cars roaming the streets of Manhattan on this Thanksgiving night. The city suddenly feels overwhelmingly big while you've somehow diminished; lost and alone there's nothing golden about you. But then there's Chuck, holding on to your shoulder, holding on to you, because he's your homey and he's the one person able to take you back to the present. 'She'll be back man, she always is.' ('but she never came back for me' you add mentally; it's always for someone else –Eric, Blair...). But it's all he says before he drags you into his limo and out into the night; a promise of booze and drugs and games and forgetfulness unspoken. He doesn't have to, he's Chuck Bass and those are his solutions to any problems even if the words he ties in with the actions have changed over time as he has. Less tap that ass, more love will set you free. He has read your thoughts though and shrugs in a 'you never know' way. And you know it's true, you know that even if she hasn't come back for you yet she's Serena, the most alive girl you've ever known, like the wind; wild and playful one moment, calm and sweet the next; blowing away only to stop at a halt or returning no saying for what. She could come back for you one day.
The trouble right now though is that she didn't leave with just anybody. She left with Tripp. He's married and that's an ant nest's worth of trouble in itself –enough for Serena to require saving sometime soon. But the real problem is that there's so much of Tripp in you the thought of it makes you sick because you can't help but wonder if you'd spoken sooner would she still have left with him? And after him how are you ever going to be good enough. The knight in shining armour; it's not a particular Nate Archibald trick it belongs to the entire younger generation of Vanderbilts. Next to Tripp you really do become just another boy; blonde but not golden.
And isn't that ironic too? You've tried to free yourself of your family and put all your integrity and honour on that one guy who you thought was worth everything, and here he is (un)knowingly stabbing your back, able to take the one thing you've always wanted (because right now that's what it feels like even if history and reason tells you differently) by being everything that you are but highlighted, accentuated. You could be angry, but right now that's not the feeling that's most prominent in you. Instead there's just this horrible sense of defeat, of nothing ever being enough. Here's how the film would go if it ended now; the story of Nate Archibald the golden boy: the guy who was meant to have it all but lost it.
You push the button on your remote a little harder, ensuring one of Chuck's planes crash on the screen. At least you're winning this game. He looks to you and you challenge his stare with a raised eyebrow; taking a swig of the beer as if to prove a point. He just smirks and passes you a joint. 'The game's not over yet, Nathaniel!' Okay, so maybe you haven't quite lost it all because one thing you have learnt from films is that you can always get by with a little help from your friends.