Chapter 3
Hey, chapter three. Although it's short, I'm pretty happy with this one. Reveiw!
I don't own Three Days Grace and any of their songs. Nor do I own Bluck. Although I wish I did.
Only when I stop
To think about it
Amelia Johnston came from a good family. Two dogs, parents, and a grandma that would make her peanut butter and marshmallow fluff sandwiches. Then her father turned into an alcoholic. That's how she came to be a stripper in Chuck Bass's burlesque club. She always changed her name. One day it would be Pepper Longlegs, another day, Ginger Poodlesnap. But she always reserved her best name for Chuck Bass himself: Molly Randahl. A sensible name, and yet it turned him on every time. She had no idea why. She would let the dark haired boy do his thing, and when they were done, they would lie there together, him smoking a joint, and Amelia thinking about whether to contact her mom.
On good days, he would not talk to her. On bad days, though, he paid two for one. A stripper and a therapist.
"She told me she didn't like me anymore." Chuck sighs. He looks at the smoke revolving around and around, until it faded in with the dust. "That can't be true, can it?" He mused.
Amelia rolled her eyes, careful not to let him see. "Just talk to her." She suggests. The same thing she's been saying since Chuck requested for her.
"We don't talk, Blair and me. We…aren't talkers." Chuck has a hint of a smile, but pushes the feeling away.
Amelia has heard a lot about this girl, Blair Waldorf. She had quite the attitude, tending to step on your foot with her four inch Guiseppe Zanotti heels if you made her mad. She had a temper to match Chuck's, although she hid it between flirty smiles and playful swats. "Did you try to talk without your ego getting in the way?" Amelia asked. She wasn't afraid of offending him much anymore. If he could reveal his one true love, she was trustworthy.
Chuck sighs again. "…Yes. What's the point? She's stubborn, she won't listen. Listening means defeat. Denial is what every girl is good at, right?" he laughs.
Amelia doesn't correct his sexist ways. Besides, he's paying her. "Do you love her, though?" She asks tentatively. Chuck tenses, and rises a little from the bed.
"Of course, not." He replies, looking over her freckle adorned shoulder.
Amelia got up and started to dress. "Then just tell her to get what you want. Lying is what every boy is good at, right? Only when you stop to think about it, if you don't love her, then find another girl to chase after. Looks like she's taken by…what's his name? Nate?" She buckled her stilettos, and stalked out.
Chuck stared at the door she just closed. He didn't love her. At all. Maybe he did. But that doesn't matter. Both of us don't want to say it. As long as we both know it, right? Chuck thought. One big problem, though. She's a girl. They live to get into the Guinness World Records for the biggest shoe collection, to be crowned Prom Queen, and the last one: hear those three words.
He had reached a fork in the road. Say 'I love you' or pick up his pride and go.
Damn it.
A/N~ Hope you liked it! If you don't reveiw, you don't care.