She has been keeping busy for the last week. Ever since that day in Central Park she has spent her days jumping from one thing to the other, not staying still for more than a few seconds at a time. She has spent her days helping her mother out at Eleanor's studio, doing everything from making coffee to taking Polaroid pictures of scrawny models in her mother's latest designs. Her behaviour leaving Eleanor confused beyond words with her daughter's sudden interest in playing assistant.
Though no matter how occupied or distracted she makes damn sure she is during the days, at night – when there is nothing to distract her or keep her busy – she can feel it melting away.
She can literally feel the anger and resentment she has felt towards him melt off of her. It is as if the veneer she has put up to cover everything she has refused to acknowledge is dissolving, leaving nothing behind but guilt and sadness.
Feelings that are so crushing they keep her up for hours every night, tossing and turning or just sitting with her back against the headboard of her bed, staring into the darkness of her bedroom.
As she wakes up from yet another night of little sleep it is Saturday, and she wants nothing more than for it to be Monday or Wednesday or any day of the week that would require her to get out of bed, get dressed and get busy. Sadly, even her overachieving, slave driver of a mother doesn't keep her studio open on a Saturday.
When her cell phone indicates a new message where it is laying on her bedside table, she practically throws herself towards it. Realizing exactly how pitiable she has become, she scolds herself inwardly and forces her to wait a second or two before she flips the phone open to reveal a text from Serena.
Remember, dress fittingsat my place 11am
xoxo
Task of the day: be the best Maid of Honour the UES has ever seen.
She arrives at Serena's place well before eleven o'clock, and unceremoniously kicks Nate out the door with a smile and a wave. While they are waiting for the designer to arrive she happily volunteers to get them some drinks from the kitchen.
When she returns the first thing – or person - that she sees is someone she definitely didn't expect, nor wanted, to see.
"Al! Hi!" Serena beams. "How are you?"
The redhead replies something in that accent of hers, but Blair can barely make out a word she is saying.
"You've met Blair…" Serena trails off, and shoots Blair a hesitant look.
The redhead pats Serena's arm soothingly, before turning her attention to Blair and walking over to where she is standing.
They stand opposite each other, staring each other down, with Serena lingering nervously in the background. Al is the first one to speak, flipping a mass of red locks over her shoulder and crossing her arms over her chest.
"You probably don't like me." She begins, with certainty in her voice, but then rephrases her assertion.
"Actually, you don't know me, so you can't possibly be sure of whether you like me or not. But I'm guessing you're not particularly interested in getting to know me right now. Because you - for some ludicrous reason - believe that I slept with your boyfriend, so you've probably spent years and years wishing that I would drop dead from some nasty STD."
Al draws a quick breath before continuing, not giving her a chance to object.
"Then there is the fact that you haven't been around much lately, but now that you are back home I'm everywhere and know all of your closest friends. To top it all off I am going to be a bridesmaid at your best friend's wedding…and I'm guessing you are not happy about that at all, I'm not sure I would be if I were you. So you probably hate me right now, but that's okay, I am not your biggest fan at the moment either." A brief flash of anger passes by in Al's eyes before her civil, well-mannered expression returns.
"You hurt my friend, offended me in public and poured champagne down the neckline of my vintage Chanel. That alone is a complete blasphemy in my opinion. Looking at your dress…" Al motions her pristine floral tea dress. "…you probably agree. But, this isn't about you and me, this is about Serena. I like her a lot; as I'm sure you do too. So…I'm Allison." Al finishes, and extends her hand to Blair, the look in her eyes daring Blair to cause a scene.
Blair purses her lips as she contemplates her next move, infuriated both from being lectured, and by the fact that the Brit is so spot on.
"She rants like Humphrey, only with an accent." Blair points out to Serena, who has been looking at her in badly hidden amusement during Al's rant, and now the blonde lets out a relieved chuckle.
"She makes a lot more sense then Dan used to though." Serena point out, and Blair rolls her eyes in response before returning her attention to the redhead, shaking her hand.
"I am Blair, the Maid of Honour."
He has been keeping busy. Not because he is in a productive mood, or has been swamped at work, but because it is all he can do to keep from feeling like he is about to combust and go up in flames.
The forced hate, the resentment and the hurt has slowly burned away and left nothing behind but an anger still glowing from her betrayal.
One week. It has been one week since that day in Central Park and he can feel it glowing underneath his skin, forcing him to keep busy, and hoping that the rush of wind as he moves will somehow extinguish the glow and keep it from turning into a blazing fire.
He is pacing around his living room, coffee mug in hand, when Nate walks in the door.
"Hey man."
He lifts his mug in a silent greeting as Nate walks past him and helps himself to some coffee in the kitchen.
"I couldn't stay at Serena's place." Nate explains when he returns. "Something about dress fittings and girl talk. Blair practically kicked me out the front door."
The name has the embers flaring up, but he quickly quenches the feeling with a mouthful of coffee.
"So the Ice Queen is the Maid of Honour, huh?" He replies, ignoring the sudden bitter taste at the back of his mouth.
"Of course she is. Then there is Al, and Serena's roommate from Brown…but she won't be around until later."
He nearly chokes on his drink, and his friend shoots him a humorous glance.
"Al and Blair in the same room, yeah I know." Nate laughs, "The idea of it made me want to stay around to catch the show."
"Funny." He scowls, staring out the huge floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the New York skyline.
"Yeah, well…uhm." Nate hesitates, and he can tell that there is something Nate wants to get off his chest. "…so what's up?"
"Not much. Finally closed the deal with the Chinese investors." He replies inattentively. "It has been a busy week."
"You sure that's all?"
"Is there something you would like to ask me, Nathaniel?" He sneers, sensing where this conversation is headed.
"Well…I talked to Serena…" Nate replies, looking over to him cautiously.
And that is all it takes for a flame to flare up again.
That is most definitely his cue to leave.
"I am sure you have" He spits, turning his back on Nate and heading in direction of his bedroom. "She seems dead set on becoming the next Gossip Girl."
"Oh, come on man." Nate calls out after him. "She just cares about you, both of you."
He stops and turns around, giving Nate a look that has his friend shifting his weight nervously.
"I am going for a run."
Nate lets out a resigned sigh, and gives him a pleading look that he deftly ignores.
"Lucky I came here wearing sweats, then."
"He was a mess you know."
The designer left a while back and the three of them are stretched out on the plush, white couches in Serena's living room, drinking Mimosas and talking about the wedding. She can feel herself starting to warm up to the good-humoured redhead, but the comment instantly sends her into defence.
"He wasn't the only one." She snaps, ignoring Serena's warning look.
"I'm sure." Al agrees, taking another sip from her glass. "I am just telling you in case he tries to pretend like he wasn't when you talk to him about it…"
"Who says we'll be discussing it at all?"
"Blair…" Serena interjects. "This constant fighting and hurting each other between you and Chuck is ridiculous! You two belong together! Even Al can see that, and she has barely even seen the two of you together."
Al nods in agreement
"It is true, Blair. The way he used to look whenever he mentioned you…"
"He hates me." She whispers, her voice breaking.
"He told you that?" Al is baffled, frowning in confusion, and fixating Blair with her violet eyes.
"No." She admits, diverting her gaze and inspecting her fingernails. "But how could he not? After what I did…"
Al scoffs at Blair's words, placing her glass on the glass table before moving over so that she is sitting next to Blair on the couch.
"He doesn't hate you." Al says assertively.
She doesn't know what to say - too busy keeping the tears burning in the corners of her eyes from falling. Serena and Al both notice and give her a moment, returning to their previous conversation about centrepieces, and she appreciates the gesture.
"Ladies." Al smiles moments later, getting up from her position on the couch and smoothing out some invisible wrinkle on her navy Diane von Furstenberg shift dress. "This was…lovely, but I have an innocent banker to corrupt. "
"Preparing to break yet another rich, successful and gorgeous man's heart?" Serena sighs with a playful look in her eyes, as she gets to her feet as well.
"Naah." Al grins, hanging her Marc Jacobs bag on her shoulder, and hugging Serena goodbye. "He has some true potential this one."
"I am sorry about ruining your dress." Blair offers. Not usually the one to apologize she forces the words out anyways. Serena's wedding is too important to ruin by hanging on to grudges. Especially when said grudges have turned out to be unfounded.
"No worries." Al smiles, and surprises her by embracing her in a quick hug. "My dry cleaner worked his magic on it."
Right before Al steps out the door she turns around.
"And don't worry; you can apologize about calling me an immoral whore some other time."
It is not working. He has been out in the sunny weather, working up a sweat for almost an hour, but it is not working. It hasn't been working all week.
He is still fuming. Nate is still jogging right beside him. And from the look in the blonds' eyes most likely expecting some kind of…'let's-talk-about-our-feelings-man-to-man'.
The mere thought makes him cringe.
"Do you remember when I found out about your new hobby?" Nate asks him, breathing heavily with his hair plastered to his forehead.
He rolls his eyes in response, remembering the day like it was yesterday.
"Don't refer to it as a 'hobby', Nathaniel." He manages a lazy drawl even though he can barely breathe. "You make me sound plebeian."
"This place still reminds me of our graduation day." Nate points out, motioning the pond that they are passing by at that moment. "I nearly ran over some old lady…"
They share a quick look. Mischief and playfulness replaces sneers and frowns. Then they take off without another word, sprinting on tired, aching legs.
He remembers that day too. Every detail of it, every feeling. Seeing Nate in the morning, being with Blair, visiting his mother's grave, graduating, and the party at Victrola.
He remembers the feeling of having the world at their fingertips as he dragged her away from the celebrations, and the helicopter took them to the waiting jet. Two weeks on a luxurious yacht in the Caribbean to kick-start their summer, and a chance to spend time together just the two of them before college.
It has been a long time since then, but some things never change.
He still hates losing.
Not that he ever does lose.
He plays by the rules this time around though, and the two of them are sprinting the last yards shoulder by shoulder, both determined to be the one first to put his hand against the tree trunk ahead of them.
That time, years ago, his running had been fuelled by a whirlwind of fluttering. This time it is a whole different emotion that motivates him. He can feel the fire increasing with each step.
When Nate hand comes into contact with the tree before his do, it is the final straw.
"Fuck!" He roars, slamming his open palm against the rough bark. "Fuck, fuck, fuck…" He growls. Leaning his forehead against the tree he goes on, letting out a series of curses in between hissed breaths. All the while slamming his hand repeatedly against the tree until his palm is burning, and he can feel his heart beating in his throat.
Eventually the buzzing noise inside his head eases off. Wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, he looks over to Nate, daring him to make a comment.
Nate only looks back at him in feigned cluelessness. "You are such a sore loser."
tbc