Chapter Fifteen: The Sharp Edges of the Night

Taxi

-

When I go away from you

The world beats dead

Like a slackened drum.

I call out for you against the jutted stars

And shout into the ridges of the wind.

Streets coming fast,

One after the other,

Wedge you away from me,

And the lamps of the city prick my eyes

So that I can no longer see your face.

Why should I leave you,

To wound myself upon the sharp edges of the night?

-

--Amy Lowell

It was a really, really bad idea to come here, Chuck realized as he stared at the young girls on the stage. It brought back memories—of course it did, how could he not have realized that it would? He was an idiot. A complete and utter moron. His eye was caught by a slim, pale-skinned girl in a short white dress—she had brown hair, though it was not the same rich shade of chestnut—no, the resemblance was not so striking. He looked away, tried to interest himself in a redhead to her left.

Maybe, though, he thought, I didn't just come here because I own this club and like it; maybe I wanted to be reminded of that night. He shook his head to clear it and ordered another drink. He was not a fan of introspection.

If my father could see me now, he smiled grimly to himself, if he could see how sentimental I've become… he frowned. His drink arrived and he tossed it back, enjoying the burn in his throat.

One of his scantily clad employees was sidling up to him on the sofa. She placed her hand under his chin and pulled it towards her.

"Hi, Chuck," she breathed. "Long time no see."

Another of his employees—this one was Asian—was sitting on his other side.

"Not tonight, ladies," he said in a voice that was almost harsh, staring straight in front of him.

The two looked surprised and affronted; they left.

He remembered sitting in this exact place not very long ago, soon after he got back to the city—she had followed him here, stood in front of him and watched him dismiss those girls, those girls who were living proof that he had not been faithful to her. She had tried not to look hurt; her lower lip had trembled.

He had said something cruel to her then. He did not remember what exactly. He was good at blocking out these memories.

Tonight he would not be able to distract himself with sex and alcohol. He looked back at the stage; the slim brunette was still dancing. He watched her through a smoke-haze for a long time, perhaps frightening her with his dark scowl, until she left the stage. He realized that he had developed a massive headache, probably from the smoke and alcohol and the thumping, relentless beat of the music.

He got up and left, eager for fresh air. He still felt the pain pulsing behind his eyes. Maybe it was a migraine. Maybe it was something else. He walked towards his new apartment, thankful it was only two blocks away. He stopped for a moment and clutched at his head with his hands, then blinked back the pain and continued. Maybe, he thought, I'll take a cold shower, and then… he winced. He felt terrible, in myriad ways he didn't care to contemplate. And then, if I still feel like this…he lost his train of thought again; the pain was too distracting and consuming. Maybe I'll go back out on the street and find something to make me feel better. His eyes gleamed in the darkness. He had never tried anything but alcohol, marijuana and hash before. Maybe it was time.

Suddenly, he heard a strange, shrill noise from somewhere close by; it sounded like a woman's scream. He heard scuffling, the sound of smashing glass, another scream that was cut off abruptly. He sped up, adrenaline surging through his veins, his blood pounding in his head. He began to run.

**

"Serena." She heard Dan's voice behind her; she didn't turn around. She rolled her eyes and drained her glass of champagne.

"Serena," Dan repeated, exasperated. He walked around until he was facing her. "Why have you been in such a bad mood around me lately?"

She put down the glass and crossed her arms.

"No reason," she said coolly.

"What is it?" he was annoyed.

"Nothing. Why are you wasting your time nagging me?"

He looked taken aback. "What?"

"Go find Blair," she said dismissively. "You and Nate can fight over her again. Find out who the dominant male is."

"What do you mean 'fight over her again'?" he asked, nonplussed. He was beginning to feel very confused; he wondered if he had taken on Nate's habitual puzzled expression. "And how would we find out who the 'dominant male' is?" he was slightly amused in spite of himself.

"I don't know," Serena muttered darkly. "You can poke at each other with sticks. Or any other sharp, pointy object; I don't mind, I'd enjoy watching either way."

"Serena, what in god's name are you talking about?"

She pursed her lips angrily and didn't say anything.

"Does it bother you that I'm friends with Blair?" he asked, hesitantly. "I know it's a little weird, but…"

"Right," said Serena sarcastically, "you're friends."

Dan looked at her in shock. "You think I like Blair?"

Serena snorted. He took that as a yes.

"Don't be ridiculous, Serena."

"I'm not being ridiculous!" She picked up her purse and stormed away from the table; he followed her.

"You and Nate are mad at each other all the time, you hold her hand and do cutesy things for her, you defend her to me—"

"Serena." Dan looked like he was fighting the urge to laugh. He quailed a bit at her furious expression, and became more serious.

"Serena. Blair is my friend and I care about her very much. I do not like her that way. I like you."

Serena said nothing for a moment, and then smiled.

"Really?"

He rested his hands on her shoulders, and she leaned into him. "Yes."

"Why didn't you say anything?" she asked.

"For Christ's sake Serena, you still have a boyfriend." He was exasperated again.

She furrowed her brow in confusion. "Oh, you mean Aaron?"

His expression was incredulous.

"I broke up with him weeks ago," she said.

"What?"

"Yeah," she admitted, with an embarrassed half smile and shrug. "I sent him an email from the internet café in France."

He was stunned for a moment, and then let out a happy laugh. "Poor Aaron."

She glanced up momentarily, past Dan's shoulder, and saw Blair standing beyond the opened doors of the hall, on the crimson carpet of the staircase, looking very white.

"Hm," she said, worried. "Hold that thought. I need to go check on something."

"You're all right?" he asked.

"Yeah." She smiled and kissed him lightly. "I'm sorry I was paranoid about Blair."

"That's okay. Are you coming back soon?"

"Yes, in a few minutes."

"Okay. Want me to get you another drink?"

"Sure," she smiled. "A glass of champagne. We can toast to our new future."

"Two glasses of champagne coming right up," he grinned. Serena, a wide smile plastered on her face, wended her way through the crowd towards the heavy oaken doors of the hall.