A/N I am a horrible person for keeping you guys waiting, I am sorry! I suffered from some severe writer's block when it comes to this chapter...
riclynshea, ximaginex (for some reason the stupid site won't save the dots in your name!), malfoyie456, princetongirl and chelle2911 - thank you SO MUCH for reviewing on the last chapter, you guys are amazing!!! and thanks Abby for the beta, you rock!
I'm a little hesitant about posting this, cause I struggled with it a lot. Blair-angst (hah) is not something I usually write...neither is anything that has to do with Serena...so please tell me how I did, and what you think of this story so far!!! If I'm getting them all ooc, if the plot is just lame, you hate me for the lack of C/B right now...etcetc (believe me, there is a lot more flashbacks coming up if I keep on writing this. the one from the last chapter is only the beginning of what became the end..! and I miss the C/B too...haha. it's coming, I swear!) I know that there are a lot of you that read this story, let me know you're out there ;) Your reviews are what keeps me going.
The room is dark when she wakes up. The pale light from the streetlights has replaced the dancing rays of sunlight and is giving her bedroom a greenish glow, making it appear almost as if under water. She experiences a few seconds of blissful amnesia before she remembers the events of the morning. The unpleasant memories cause her to cringe and bury her head in the pillow. The embarrassment is mixing with the feeling of having a barbed wire wrapped around her skull and being completely parched.
She had been thinking that she couldn't possibly feel more humiliated than she did earlier, but clearly she had been wrong. Apparently being strip searched and interrogated by the police is easily trumped by standing face to face with Chuck Bass.
Slowly opening her eyes and squinting looking around the room, the first thing that catches her attention is a glass of water on her beside table and the two aspirins next to it. A part of her is thanking the heavens as she slowly works herself into a sitting position and downs the pills - another part is both uncomfortable and confused by the gesture.
As she looks around the dimly lit room she can't help but noticing that there is no longer a single piece of clothing or jewellery on the floor, no empty bottles or glasses. For a second she thinks that she might have dreamt about her impromptu dress up the other night, but she makes her way over to the closet - opening it - and quickly comes to the embarrassing conclusion that she didn't.
Her clothes might be neatly hung in a row on their hangers, but they are all in the wrong order. She swiftly replaces the embarrassment with annoyance, a reaction so natural for her when it comes to thinking of him that she barely notices doing it anymore. Who the hell does he think he is?
Spotting her phone on the dresser she walks over and - after a moments hesitation - turns it back on. Seconds later it is buzzing as if possessed, message after message appearing on the screen. Mostly voicemail alerts, but some are regular texts from former colleagues, as well as a few from Serena and her mother.
She doesn't want to talk to them. Not yet, maybe later, she tells herself as she puts the phone back down on the dresser. Maybe later when she can muster the strength to at least pretend to be something – someone - again.
As she turns to leave her bedroom and head for the bathroom, she catches sight of herself in the mirror of her vanity. She looks a mess. He was right; she does look exactly like a trashy call girl after a night's work, and she certainly doesn't feel like anything but a cheap prostitute. The tiny menacing voice that she was desperately trying to drown out last night returns, tauntingly whispering in the back of her mind:
You are not perfect.
You are no one.
Suddenly coming back to life, she grabs her phone from the dresser, and hurls it towards the vanity with surprisingly good aim. The phone crashes right into the mirror of the vanity and breaks the glass - leaving her reflection in shatters - a dozen, splintered versions of Blair looking back at her.
Then she heads for the closet, and sends pieces of expensive clothing flying - the clothes falling like snowflakes through the air and landing in heaps on the floor, on her bed, all over the room.
Once the closet is empty, it is as if all air is sucked out of her lungs. She sags down on the floor inside the dark closet, pulling her knees up to her chest and burying her face in her arms.
You are so pathetic.
*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*
He has been back in New York for a few days and is sitting behind his desk preparing for a meeting with the board, as Serena walks through the door of his office. Dressed in a blue pencil skirt and a white shirt she looks like the epitome of the young, successful wonder child of advertising that she has become.
"Chuck, hey" She smiles, pushing a stray lock of blonde hair back into place behind her ear.
"Sis," He nods. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Lunch?"
"No time," He replies apologetically, browsing through some of the documents on his desk. "I have a meeting in less than thirty minutes."
"I figured." Serena replies, showing him the paper bag she had kept hidden behind her back and without waiting for a reply, sitting down on the sofa in the corner of the office. "I brought you sushi; now get your ass over here."
"Ah, such generosity; I don't know if I can handle it." He sighs as he walks over and sits down on the sofa next to her.
"Let's hope that you can." She smiles as she goes on with unpacking their lunch, separating the chopsticks and taking the lids off the plastic containers.
Reaching out for a pair of chopsticks he then starts lifting the tuna rolls from his box and replacing them with the salmon ones from Serena's, whilst she is busy opening the lids of the packages of soy sauce and pushing the wasabi in his direction.
It is a well practiced routine by now - based on more than one lunch 'at the office' and how both of them know each other's likes and 'ew, no thank you-s' -and they do it without thinking. Once the appropriate exchanges of food have been made they start to eat, and it takes a while before she interrupts the silence.
"I talked to Eric yesterday." She says and her words are a blur from talking with her mouth full.
"You have the manners of a caveman." He states teasingly, and then ducks in mock fright as she throws a napkin in his direction. "How is he doing?"
"He is good. " She smiles, having swallowed her food "He is dating someone new, did you know?"
"No, I didn't know. I will have to give Chris a call."
"You wouldn't!" She gasps, giving him a horrified look.
"No, I wouldn't" He admits - because he wouldn't – the looking into your family's personal affairs is too much of a Bart like thing to do, and that is definitely not something that he is aiming for.
He might have considered it a little more seriously a few weeks ago, but the last time he dialed the number of his PI, things didn't exactly go as planned and it has kind of made him lay off the use of said PI a since.
They finish their meals, not talking about anything in particular. Serena finishes her lunch by shoving her mouth full with the last remaining tekkamaki, and he rolls his eyes despondently at her lack of manners.
She only shoots him a mischievous look before saying something he can barely interpret.
"What? Am I going to have to pay for etiquette classes or send you to a reformatory school to be able to understand anything that comes out of your mouth?" He smirks, "…surely Nate must have erased the Brooklyn manners you might have picked up whilst dating Humphrey Dumpty by now?"
"I said, Blair is coming back tomorrow." She repeats moments later, her words rapidly erasing the sly smile on his face.
It is not that what she is saying comes as a surprise to him – not at all, he had been expecting this to happen – it is the effect her words has on his gut that reduces his expression to a frown.
"Aren't you going to say something?" She asks when he doesn't respond, and he swallows in an attempt to rid himself of the harsh reply burning on his tongue.
"What do expect me to say, Serena?" He snaps as he gets to his feet and starts to collect the empty food containers. "The Ice Queen is returning to her former kingdom, that wasn't exactly unexpected now, was it?" He continues with his back to her, as he walks over to the trashcan and dumps the trash.
"No, it wasn't." Serena sighs, and he can hear the worry in her voice as well as her disapproval of his choice of words, "We are her family and she really needs us right now, Chuck."
"Blair Waldorf doesn't need – nor want – me in her life." He retorts firmly, "She has made that perfectly clear on more than one occasion, and I, for one, couldn't be happier about it. My meeting starts in five minutes."
She takes the hint and gets to her feet. But instead of walking towards the door she walks up to him, her blue eyes staring him down until he lifts his gaze from the papers in his hand and looks at her.
"Isn't it about time the two of you call a truce?"
"Calling a truce requires being involved in something in the first place, and I am not. I am done with everything related to Blair Waldorf, and I have been for a long time."
"What happened between the two of you anyway?" She ignores his answer and makes her umpteenth attempt to get an explanation out of him.
"You guys were so happy and so completely in love…and then all of a sudden you weren't. Brimstone and ashes; 'hate him with the fire of a thousand suns'; hell's fury, all that." She sighs. "And both of you refuse to talk about it!"
"That is because there is nothing to talk about. I thought that I knew her but apparently I didn't." He snaps, taking a few steps back and away from her. "I know she is your best friend, but she isn't the only one who got…" He doesn't complete the sentence but the silence as he trails off speaks volumes.
"It is not a contest in who hurt who the most, Chuck!" Serena points out sadly as she steps closer to him again, ignoring his attempt to distance himself from her as she picks up on the hurt that he couldn't keep out of his voice.
"Perhaps you are right..." He sneers, "But she won."
As he walks around the desk in search of his phone he can feel Serena following him with her eyes, waiting for him to continue, to explain.
When he can't find the phone he looks back at her, only to find her standing with his phone in her hand.
"I have to leave for my meeting now" He points out calmly, and ignores the frustrated look on her face.
"Alright" She sighs as she walks up to him and hands him his phone, not letting go when he reaches out for it, and once again forcing him to stop and look at her.
"You are coming to the party on Friday, right?" She asks hesitantly, and he knows that her question is both a peace offering and an attempt to change the subject.
"Like you would have anything to celebrate without me there." He drawls haughtily, but just as eager to return to solid ground as she is. "I am Chuck Bass."
"Of course…" She smiles "…How could we possibly celebrate that the company that I work for landed a huge deal - thanks to me - without the great Chuck Bass."
"My point exactly."
"So, is Al going to be your plus one?" She smiles, visibly relieved by the change of conversation.
"She is still in London," He explains, then smirks "I will have to draw lots amongst the napkins and business cards to see who will have the honours of being my date for the night."
"Ew, Chuck, please don't bring a total bimbo like that Geraldine girl from last time." Serena begs, wrinkling her nose in disgust "She was so…blonde."
"Geraldine? Oh, right. She was a napkin." He drawls, as images of blonde hair and revealing cleavage flashes through his mind, "I will have to make sure to choose a business card this time then."
His answer earns him a heartfelt laugh from her in reply as they walk out the door and head in their separate directions.
*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*
It amazes her that the world is still turning, that everything around her is still just the same as a week ago. She has lost her reputation, her job, her boyfriend – her neatly put together, perfect life had been torn down. But even as her life is in shambles, the stewardess on the plane still offers the complimentary glass of champagne, airports are still busy and filled with people, and New York still looks the same.
As the car pulls over and comes to a stop outside of her building, the menacing voice inside her head is still singing its mocking song.
You are such a failure.
You are no one.
Getting out of the car, she hastily makes her way inside of the building and takes the familiar looking elevator up to the apartment. She is bracing herself for a less than heart warming family reunion as the elevator reaches her floor and she steps out.
The place looks pretty much the same as it did the last time she was there. Apparently not even her old home is affected by the rest of her world crumbling under her feet. She doesn't know if she finds it to be comforting or just offensive.
Entering her old home, she notices some new family photographs on the walls and knows that it is all Cyrus' doing. Eleanor Waldorf has never been the sentimental, photograph-hanging type.
Spotting a photo she took of her mother and him the last time she was in town makes her feel a little less on the edge, and she reaches out to touch it. The glass covering the photograph is cool against her fingers. They look happy, successful, and perfect.
"Ms. Blair!" The sudden interruption of her thoughts causes her to jump as Dorota comes walking hurriedly towards her.
"You are home! Finally, we been so worried." The maid explains, ignoring her usual protocol and embracing her in a surprising hug. "Your mother is out of town, she very sorry, and Mr Rose is still at the office."
She knows that the maid is lying about her mother's feelings, but she doesn't linger on the thought for long when Dorota puts her arms around her. Hot tears are starting to burn in the corners of her eyes, and she quickly forces them away before they get a chance to start falling down her cheeks.
"I am sure she is." She replies briskly, stepping out of the maid's embrace and forcing a look of indifference. "Make sure my bags are taken to my room; I am going to take a shower." She orders, dead set on focusing purely on the practical. "Those cross-Atlantic flights are not what they used to be, believe me."
Pretending not to notice the look on Dorota's face, she quickly makes her way up the stairs and into her old bedroom.
Eleanor and Cyrus have kept her room just as it was the day she left for Yale. She believes that it is mostly Cyrus who is behind that as well. Had it been up to her mother alone, her bedroom would have probably been turned into a home office or a sewing room the moment her Manolos hit Yale soil.
Sinking down on the bed, she takes in the familiar surroundings. The voice inside her head is still present and whispering all the things she doesn't want to think about; reminding her of everything that is wrong in her life. Mocking her.
This is what you have become.
You have nothing left.
All her will power is focused on how to avoid surrendering to old habits; to resist the habit of kneeling down on the floor of her bathroom and emptying herself of everything - menacing voices, overbearing feelings, and the content of her stomach.
You shouldn't have come back.
*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*
The next chapter won't take long, and that's a promise! It will be up before wednesday!
Like I said before - please let me know what you think about all of this
Camilla