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Van der Woodsen apartment
The sun never actually rose; instead, gloomy clouds shadowed the city, opening in the early morning to blanket Manhattan in a layer of snow and ice. Blair watched the flurries fall passed Serena's bedroom window, willing herself to get out of bed. She could hear the faint sounds of people moving throughout the Van der Woodsen apartment; the clattering of kitchen utensils, the shutting of a door, the resonating of familiar voices. And then there was a knock, soft and hesitant, followed by the sound of Nate's voice. "Blair? Are you awake?"
She resisted the urge to ignore him altogether, to bury herself beneath the layers of covers and pretend not to have heard him. But it wouldn't help, she knew, to put off the inevitable. So instead she merely sighed, pushing away the duvet cover and rolling onto her back. "What do you want, Nate?"
He appeared before her, clothed in the same attire he'd been wearing the night before, proof that he had yet to leave the apartment. He smiled, putting forth his best warmhearted expression, but it couldn't quite counter the horrified furrow of his forehead when he noticed the swelling of her cheek beneath the layer of bruises, the trail of angry welts running along her forearm.
She swallowed, opting to stare at the ceiling rather than face the pitying grimace Nate couldn't seem to control. "Did you need something, Archibald?" she repeated.
He cleared his throat, his eyes shifting toward the door. "Uh, yeah. I just wanted to let you know that we have breakfast."
She nodded, closing her eyes. "Fine." She actually wasn't hungry, but she was tired (exhausted, really) and not in the mood for arguing. "I'll be there in a few minutes. I just need to wash my face."
Nate nodded, satisfied, and backed out of the room, leaving Blair alone to stare at the ceiling for a bit longer.
Just as she'd planned, her night had been sleepless. It had been sleepless until the breaking of dawn, that is, and then her body had betrayed her, giving in to exhaustion and locking her into the dreams she'd been hoping to avoid. Now, as she sat up, yawning and pushing her hair from her face, her body seemed to forsake her once again as aches echoed from every nerve ending in her frame. She winced, tears pricking behind her eyelids.
She walked into the bathroom, flipping on the switch as she grudgingly faced the mirror. She didn't even try to hold back the instinctual scowl at the sight of her reflection. The girl who stared back disgusted her, revolted her in every way possible.
This wasn't her reflection, she assured herself. It couldn't be.
The stranger facing her, with wide, gaping eyes and lips parted in horror, was ugly and weak; two things that Blair Cornelia Waldorf would never allow herself to become. She shuddered, leaning against the sink as cold water ran from the faucet.
She washed her face, brushed her teeth, layered her skin with moisturizer. She ran a comb through her strands, sweeping them into a ponytail before immediately rejecting that idea, opting to release the brown waves with the hope that they would camouflage her bruised flesh. And when she was finished, she actually looked slightly more refreshed, she acknowledged, setting the brush back onto the vanity.
Which left her looking refreshed and revolting.
But for every problem, there is a solution (she liked to think so, anyway). She sighed, resolved, and picked up Serena's make-up bag.
It was another twenty minutes before she emerged from the bedroom, make-up in place and one of Serena's sweater dresses fit perfectly around her figure. She felt good – well, better, at least – certainly much more like herself now that she appeared presentable. She could almost convince herself that it was like any other day, a casual brunch amongst friends following a night of diversion and debauchery.
Except that with every step she took, her heart becoming filled with nervous apprehension as she neared her waiting companions, the uncomfortable twinge between her thighs reminded her that today was anything but ordinary.
She rounded the corner of the dining room with a smile plastered to her face, catching the others off guard with her unusually cheerful demeanor. They stilled in their seats, surprised, immediately becoming silent. She narrowed her eyes, plopping into the chair between Chuck and Serena. "Oh please," she smiled sarcastically, her expression filled with faux-sweetness as she placed a napkin in her lap, "don't stop gossiping about me on my account."
It was clear that her assumption was accurate based on the guilt that crossed their features. Serena was the first to recover, straightening her shoulders and returning Blair's smile, "You look good, B."
Blair cocked her head, lifting her eyebrows as she stared at her pointedly. "God, Serena, don't sound so surprised."
But she did look good, Serena thought; far better than she had when she'd surveyed her appearance earlier that morning. The bruises were now covered – not completely, but enough so that she now actually resembled herself – and the circles beneath her eyes were camouflaged beneath a layer of foundation.
She'd certainly made a good effort, and had Serena not known Blair as well as she did, she probably wouldn't have even noticed the layers of turmoil building beneath the surface.
The presentation of food resembled a feast rather than the casual brunch Blair had anticipated. She lifted a brow as she allowed her eyes to sweep across the overflowing plates, smirking slightly as she cleared her throat. "Are we expecting more guests?" she asked, crossing her ankles beneath the table. "Our entire graduating class, perhaps?"
Dan piped up for the first time that morning, nodding slightly as his lips curled downward. "I'll admit that I was bit overzealous in the preparation of breakfast."
Nate nodded, lifting his coffee mug to his lips. "Just a bit."
He had indeed been overzealous, whipping up platefuls of pancakes and bacon and eggs over-easy. Which, to this point, had remained untouched. Dan cleared his throat, raising his eyebrows as he lifted the plate of eggs. "I guess we should eat."
And so they did, remaining silent for the most part, the unavoidable tension in the room acting as an additional guest. No one spoke of the night before; no one mention the growing elephant that seemed to have plopped itself in the middle of the breakfast table. Blair frowned at the quiet, pushing her food around her plate with disinterest until Chuck's voice broke through her reverie. "Aren't you hungry?"
It was the first time he had spoken to her all morning; the first time he'd uttered a word to her since she'd verbally assaulted him the night before. She scowled, her eyes flickering to meet his. "I'm eating, Chuck," she snapped. It was a blatant lie, obvious to anyone who'd noticed she'd barely put two bites into her mouth, but he didn't point that out. She stared down at her plate, squeezing her fork until the silver bit into her palm. "Stop treating me like a child."
He huffed. "Fine," he bit out, setting his fork calmly against the table. "I'll stop treating you like a child." He paused in thought as he captured his lower lip between his teeth, chewing on it contemplatively until he nearly punctured the skin. "I'll stop treating you like a child when you start acting like an adult and deal with what happened. You can't just ignore this; pretend like it didn't happen. You need to go to a doctor, Blair."
It had been a group decision to broach the topic, one that had been greatly debated throughout the majority of the morning, but he didn't see a reason to bring the others down with him. She looked up sharply at the mention of his suggestion, appearing angry and defensive just as he'd predicted. "You need to let a doctor examine you; you need to make sure that you're alright," he finished.
She wasn't sure which was worse, the ambush itself or the humiliation that followed. She could feel the warmth in her cheeks as the table became uncomfortably silent, waiting. "I don''t need you telling me what's best for me, Bass. Stop pretending like you care," she seethed, her gaze hateful as her eyes shifted from his. She was furious, hurt, devastated. And she was losing control. "Just stay the hell out of my life."
And then she picked up her glass of orange juice, bringing it to her lips with trembling fingers. She took a sip, then another before placing the glass back on the table. Inhaling deeply, she raised her eyes. Guard back up; control teetering into place. "Besides," she added, her gaze trained anywhere other than in Chuck's general vicinity, "my mother's arriving from Paris today. I really don't have time."
She smiled thinly as she stood, folding her napkin so that the soiled edges were out of sight, just as she'd been taught. Always prim; always proper. "Thank you for breakfast, Humphrey. It was lovely."
And then she disappeared around the corner, leaving Chuck tumultuous, shoving his chair from the table and grabbing the nearest bottle of scotch. Serena frowned, tears hovering in her eyes. "Chuck," she protested, "it's barely ten o'clock."
But he ignored her, pouring a hearty helping into the tumbler and glancing down the empty hallway. "She's so fucking stubborn," he snarled, taking a swallow of the amber liquid. It burned its way down his throat, landing hot in his belly.
Nate frowned. "You can't force her to do something she's not ready to do, Chuck."
He glared, shaking his head. "I'm aware of that, Nathaniel," he spat. "Thanks."
Serena sighed, choosing to ignore them as she released a shuddering breath. "She'll be okay," she uttered, quiet and unconvincing. "She just needs time."
That was Serena for you, Chuck thought; always grasping at the silver lining, even when there wasn't a silver lining to cling to. Laughing sardonically, he pushed his glass away. "If you believe that, sis, you're more naive than I thought." He sighed, scowling. "This isn't going to disappear just because Blair ignores it."
Dan's lips were pressed into a thin line, his hand covering Serena's as he nodded in agreement. "I never thought I would say this, but Chuck has a point."
Standing, Chuck allowed himself one more swallow of scotch. "Where are going?" Nate asked.
Lips curling into a frown, he set the tumbler onto the table. "To talk some goddamn sense into Blair."
His feet felt heavy as he moved down the hallway, his heart thudding angrily as he placed his hand on Serena's doorknob. He took a breath, trying to suppress his resentment, his fury over the entire situation. "Blair?" he called, his voice bouncing off the heavy oak as he knocked briskly, walking through the door without waiting for a reply. He had expected to find her furiously pacing the room, perhaps plotting his death or ripping up all the photographs in which he was pictured, so he frowned when he found the room empty, his photos still intact.
And then he heard it: the most heart wrenching sound he'd ever experienced reverberating through the bathroom door. His breath hitched; his stomach lurched. He was at the threshold within three giant strides, through the door in a matter of seconds. "Blair?" he whispered.
He found her on the floor, her back against the cabinets and her knees drawn to her chest. Her eyes were rimmed and swollen, her face stained with tears. And she was shaking, violent tremors moving throughout her body as sobs choked her, cutting off her oxygen.
It was instant, the utter heartbreak that Chuck felt upon seeing her like this. Broken. Shattered into a million pieces. He fell to his knees, taking her face between his hands. He was gentle, but his eyes were panicked and pleading. "Blair, you're okay. Just breathe." His eyes met hers, the brown of her orbs drowning beneath the weight of her tears. She choked; sobbed. She struggled to catch her breath. "Christ, Blair," he whispered, "calm down."
She tried, really tried, dragging in breath after breath as she grasped at any semblance of control, but her cries were suffocating, defeating her. She shook her head, grasping the front of his shirt between her fists as though he were her lifeline. And perhaps he was.
Chuck sighed, pulling her to him until she was nestled into his lap, her head tucked beneath his chin. She stiffed at the gesture, froze when he buried his nose in her hair. But we has gentle, careful, his hand rubbing her back in circles in a way she never expected from Chuck Bass.
And slowly calmed; relaxed.
Tremors still plagued her body, aftershocks from the storm. She shuddered, burying her face into his shirt. "Don't tell anyone that I cried," she whispered. He frowned, hearing the humiliation in her voice. Her breathing was quieting, her eyes drooping from the exhaustion of it all, and for just a moment, she allowed herself to imagine what it would be like if Chuck were hers; if she were his. If he were holding her in his arms because he loved her, not because of sort of misplaced chivalrous code.
She sighed, imagining. "I hate that you get to see me like this," she mumbled.
And had she been looking up, had she had the courage to meet his eyes, she would have seen the tears that clung to his lashes. He shook his head, kissing the top of her head. "You're beautiful," he protested. "You'll always be beautiful to me, Blair."