Shit.
Shit. Oh, shit. Shit.
"I knew it," her ex-boyfriend's voice dripped with disdain. "I didn't want to see it, but deep down, I knew."
The air grew heavy, a suffocating blanket pressing down on them. No one dared to move, as if hoping that time would reverse itself—a collective, desperate wish. What had just happened had not really happened. They were trapped in a waking dream, too surreal to accept. However, no words, alcohol, or illegal substances could mask the truth of what Nate and Serena had seen. The proverbial cat was not only out of the bag, but its claws had sunk even deeper into the already marred bond that held them together. Any feeble attempt to spin the situation as anything other than what it was seemed painfully stupid. Hopeless.
They had been kissing, yes, and the undeniable, ironic reality was that Blair would do it again, again and again. More than that, if anyone even cared to ask.
Nevertheless, the weight of exposure started to settle in her stomach like a steel ball sinking deeper with each passing second. Nate looked at her. His eyes, once filled with trust, now glowed with betrayal and pain. He scrutinized Chuck, then turned back to her again. From one to the other at a rapid pace. Desperation forced Blair to cling to the boy beside her as if she could protect him from the cruel judgment of the outside world. Each finger wrapped around his shirt silently begged him not to listen.
Nate moved closer, causing Chuck to pull away from Blair as if he knew what was coming. The loss of contact left her feeling hollow, exposed, vulnerable—the safety net of their embrace stripped away.
"So, this has been the game plan all along, huh?" Nate snapped. "Juggling one of your girls on Fridays, Blair on Saturdays, and adding another for Sundays? Is that how it goes? Is that how shallow your life has become?"
There was no response.
The yacht's stateroom felt smaller, its sleek walls closing in.
"Did you at least have fun?" He pushed Chuck in the chest. "Did you have a good laugh behind my back?" Another push followed.
The pent-up frustration exploded in a punch that landed squarely with Chuck's face, its impact resonating through the confined space. He staggered backward.
A muffled gasp. Her. Serena. Who knew?
"What have you been drilling into my head all these years?" Nate pressed on, his tone a cutting blade begging to draw blood. "Just tap that ass, Nathaniel; it's not rocket science. Now that you've finally done it, is she living up to your oh-so-high standards?"
Blair flinched.
Each word was a lash, a verbal assault that left an indelible mark, and Chuck did nothing. Absolutely nothing. He didn't move; he didn't speak. He just stood there, taking the blows without retaliation, a stoic figure in the face of Nate's distress.
She tried desperately to close the small distance between her and Chuck, but he kept slipping away, further and further.
Why wasn't he defending himself? Just do something. Hit him back. Move.
Anything.
Her heart shattered into a million pieces—for the little boy who had suffered at his father's hands, for the one who was so used to being on the receiving end that he seldom allowed himself the chance to fight back. For the one who believed happiness was out of his reach, yet wanted nothing less for those he kept in his heart. A boy who would endure anything for her, even if he hid it behind a façade of indifference.
"Nate, stop," Blair pleaded.
"Already written her name in your sacred black book? Ticked off the best friend's virgin girlfriend box?" Nate continued relentlessly. "Come on, say something!"
As Nate delivered his final push, Chuck's body accidentally collided with Blair, his abrupt movement threatening her balance. Both boys turned to her hastily, the silent question about her well-being etched on their faces. A thin stream of blood oozed from Chuck's lip from a small but distinct cut. The blood meandered along the contours of his lower lip, staining his chin as well. Blair froze. How could she be okay when he was not?
Despite her attempt to reassure him that she was fine, at least physically, Chuck only redirected his attention to Nate after giving her a quick, searching look. He refrained from any physical contact, causing her throat to constrict painfully.
"I get it now," Nate said to Chuck. "Your warnings against me getting back together with her—was that just a ploy to keep the big prize for yourself? What happened to all those speeches about wanting her happiness? Do you really think she'll find it with you? That you're the better choice?"
"Shut up!" Blair exploded, forcefully shoving Nate back. It was like pushing against a solid wall of concrete. "Just shut up."
"I thought you knew better." Now, the words were hurled at her. "Do you really think he's gonna treat you right? I've seen firsthand how little regard he has for girls, seen the way he handles things, how he views relationships as transactions. And let me tell you, he is not it. You deserve so much better than someone who just uses women for his own pleasure."
"Why does everyone insist on treating me like some defenseless child who doesn't know what she wants?"
"Because you don't," he said. "Just look at yourself. You are fucking Chuck Bass."
"I think that's enough," Serena finally intervened, reaching out to grab Nate's arm.
"That's hilarious," Blair retorted, her tone taking on a deeper edge. "I didn't hear you complaining when I spent years being miserable with you."
"Do you honestly think he's better than me?"
"I don't think; I know."
"Please," Nate scoffed. "I never pegged you to be that kind of girl."
In that precise moment, Chuck snapped out of it, the fog lifting from his eyes. But before he could react, Blair quickly positioned herself in front of him.
"Step away from him," Nate commanded.
"No," Blair spat.
"Get away from him, Blair. I'm not saying it twice."
"What are you going to do? Hit him again?"
"It's what he deserves."
"And me? Are you considering hitting me too? Because, sweetie, just remember, it takes two to tango."
His frustration boiled over. "You don't know what you're doing."
"Ah, no?"
"He's Chuck Bass."
"You've already enlightened me on that." A wry smile played on her lips. "It probably slipped your mind, but you're Nate Archibald. The epitome of a perfect gentleman, a fairy tale prince—yet the one who cheated on me with my best friend. What's the grand point you're trying to make?"
"He is going to hurt you."
Her retort was sharp. "Just like you did."
"He can't love anyone, Blair."
"You don't know that."
"I do."
"Can you please stop?" she shouted. "You have been best friends since you were five."
An acute awareness dawned upon Nate, a realization that he was, indeed, fighting his best friend. The person who knew him better than anyone else in the world. The one who had stood by his side through thick and thin.
Chuck looked down. The thin stream of blood still left a crimson trail on his face. A few drops had fallen on his shirt, staining the fabric, yet he made no move to address it. As Blair approached, trying to examine him and assess the extent of the damage inflicted, he recoiled like a wounded animal before her hand could touch him.
"Chuck…" Blair said.
Chuck spoke for the first time. "He is right."
"Wha— what?"
"He is right, Waldorf," he repeated, a faint smile barely lighting his face. It was a smile tinged with profound sorrow, as if he had been anticipating this moment since that night on the sidewalk when their lips had first met. Their relationship, a short-lived, fragile thing, destined not to last. "I'm no good for you. I can't love you nor give you what you deserve."
Her heart tightened in her chest, the vines of despair pressing harder.
Chuck had started building an invisible but very real wall, boarding up the door that had briefly swung open between them, and Blair felt helpless to stop it.
"We've already gone through this," Blair protested. If she could just get him alone, she thought, maybe she could make him listen, unlock that part of him that only responded to her uniquely crafted key. "You can't unilaterally decide what's best for me or dictate what I do or do not deserve. I've already made my choices, and I damn well know what I want. You're not casting me aside without a fight, like we're nothing."
"It doesn't matter. None of this matters."
Yes, it does. We do.
Blair reached out once again, her hand extending tentatively as if the mere touch could mend the fractures that had started to open. Her fingertips yearned for the warmth of his skin, an ache pulsating with the need for closeness, but he wouldn't let her. Her mouth parted, yet words seemed to retreat. She blinked away an embarrassing prickle of tears.
Her body trembled as if it had been torn apart and hastily stitched back together.
Just as the agonizing moment hung between them, a crew member from the yacht cleared his throat, announcing the imminent return to shore. Blair let out the breath she'd been holding in, but it slipped from her lips in a faint whimper. She had completely forgotten. Serena, in one of her brilliantly impulsive ideas, had extended invitations.
Great.
Just great.
Taking advantage of the opportunity amidst the confusion over the stupid plans of her two moronic friends, Chuck abruptly moved past her. Without a moment's hesitation, Blair followed. However, Nate intercepted her, his grip tight as he grabbed her arm, bringing her to a halt at the threshold.
"Let me go," Blair seethed as she hit Nate to free herself from his grasp.
"No," he said.
She violently pulled at her own arm. Why couldn't people just back off from micromanaging every aspect of her life? No, Blair, don't do this. Don't do that. Don't eat this. Or that. Be perfect. It had become unbearable, and Blair was sick of it. The never-ending scrutiny, the incessant orders. Everyone seemed entitled to decide who she should be with, everyone but herself.
Her heart raced in her chest, and her mouth went dry.
If she wanted to go after Chuck, she would go after Chuck.
"I said let me go," she repeated, pulling again. "Who the hell do you think you are?"
"Nate, let her go," Serena said. "You're hurting her."
"Someone who's not keen on picking up all the broken pieces of Blair scattered on the floor when he inevitably hurts her. Because you know he will."
"That's not going to happen," Blair said.
Reluctantly, Nate released her arm. Blair reached for the spot where his hand had been just moments before, anxiously rubbing it for a few seconds.
"It will," he insisted. "He's never treated a woman well in his life."
"Oh, really? Just so you know, he cared for me more than you ever did when we were together. He stood by me through the times my insecurities drowned me in jealousy over the two of you. He was there when I puked my guts out because of... guess who?" She chuckled a little manically. "You two." Her tone rose. "Chuck has always been there. Always. Unlike you."
Serena looked away.
"He is just using you," Nate said, unperturbed. "It's all a game to him. A strategy to get you in the sack. When he grows tired of you and someone else catches his eye, he'll kick you to the curb. And you'll just be another one on his long list."
"Then, why hasn't he?" Blair countered, her tone sharp and probing.
At this point, she was really holding back the urge to punch him in the face.
"What?"
"Why hasn't he tried to get me 'in the sack,' as you so delicately put it?"
"You spent the night together."
"So?"
Nate shook his head and blinked rapidly. "You haven't... you know."
"No. We have not."
Far from being embarrassed by the fact that no, they hadn't taken that step, she embraced it. Her insecurities, once a source of paralyzing fear, were now transformed into a profound sense of power. The ability to hold him at her mercy, the knowledge that he wanted her so desperately that he lost all sense of control. The passion, the admiration, the genuine care. It was as real as her existence, and Nate knew nothing about it. He had no idea.
Poor Blair Waldorf, right?
He was so wrong about Chuck. About everything, really.
"How is that possible?"
"I think that's enough," Serena interjected, stepping between Nate and Blair. "You're behaving like a real asshole."
Nate turned to the blonde. "Are you okay with this?"
"I am."
There was a weight lifted off her shoulders as she realized, for the first time, that Blair wasn't in a silent competition with her best friend.
"But why?" Nate pressed further.
"They're happy. They make each other happy. Can't you see that?"
He hesitated, searching for words. "But…"
"Let it go." Serena took control of the situation, guiding Nate out of the room. "Come on, we have a party to prepare for."
Blair, left alone, took a deep breath.
Shit.
Blair closed the cabin door with more force than intended, a silent rebellion against the farce that was unfolding outside. The polished mahogany sighed softly, gracefully absorbing the impact as if it shared her dissatisfaction.
After her friends had started to prepare for the superfluous, stupid party, she had wasted no time in looking for Chuck.
In her search, sandals had clicked urgently against the polished deck as she had swept through the lighted corridors, her heart racing with each passing moment.
The bow had yielded no answers; the vast sea had offered no solace. The retreating sun, fiery and distant, had danced upon the water.
Her steps had quickened as she had moved to the stern, the soft wind tousling her hair into chaotic strands.
The cockpit, the galley, the cabins—nothing.
The yacht had offered no trace, no clue of the boy she had desperately sought. Chuck, elusive as ever, had slipped through her grasp like smoke. Despite the knot tightening in her chest, Blair knew he had been there. The problem was, you couldn't find Chuck Bass if he didn't want to be found. So, retracing her steps, Blair had ended up right back at square one.
Now, here she was. Chuck-less. Dressed in a navy blue A-line mini skirt paired with a crisp white off-the-shoulder blouse.
Perfect on the outside, miserable on the inside.
The idea of jumping into the freezing ocean seemed like a more inviting alternative to whatever was waiting for her upstairs.
Nate had made a mess of things. No, that was putting it mildly. He had fucked up, big time, and Blair was certain that Chuck had allowed his friend's venomous words to take root and fester in the recesses of his mind. Each of Nate's comments had infected him like a ruthless disease. Every uttered word had confirmed what he had always thought about himself, the insidious beliefs Bart had cunningly sown within him.
Stepping into the party, the music engulfed her. The yacht, now anchored in the harbor, was transformed into a decadent stage for the vices of their rich peers—Nate and Serena's select guests. Blair recognized most, but did she like or care for any of them? Not one bit. They were scattered about the main and bridge decks, drinking, doing drugs, and partaking in shallow, torturous conversation.
Nate and Serena stood together, a palpable heaviness clinging to her ex-boyfriend's shoulders. Serena's hands rested there, seemingly intent on easing the tension through the warmth of her most charming smile and comforting words. Whatever demons Chuck might be wrestling with at that very moment, wherever he was, Blair silently prayed that Nate felt three times the weight of it all.
Ignoring the idea of getting a drink, Blair strolled along the deck.
However, despite the many heads swaying to the rhythm of the music, none belonged to the one she was looking for.
Where the hell could he possibly be?
"What's a girl like you doing here all alone?" a guy, one of Nate's basketball friends, said with a smug grin. "Not even a drink in your hand."
Ugh.
"It's none of your business," Blair huffed dismissively.
"Relax, beautiful. I just want to have a conversation."
"You can have that conversation with your hand. And never, in your life, call me that."
"Come on, just one drink. It won't hurt," he urged.
"This isn't a negotiation, you know." Blair subtly shifted her weight, her gaze ice-cold. "I don't need a drink, and I certainly don't need the company of a brainless brute. So, step aside and find someone who appreciates insipidity more than I do."
With a dismissive wave, she turned her attention away, hoping he'd take the hint and leave her be.
He didn't. "Bitch," he spat.
"How original," Blair scoffed, unimpressed by his choice of words. "If you're attempting to insult me, at least put in the effort to be remotely clever."
The boy snarled, nostrils flaring in agitation. Before he could spew any more insults her way, one of his buddies, or so she thought, casually sauntered over. Blair crossed her arms, a disdainful snort escaping her. They appeared as if cut from the same cloth, and dealing with one of them was more than enough. Was it too much to ask for Nate to have a friend with a hint of refinement? Who was she kidding? It probably was.
"Man, have you seen Chuck Bass?" the newcomer said. "He's totally hammered."
Blair's heart leaped into her mouth at the mere mention of Chuck.
Closing the gap uncomfortably, she invaded the boy's personal space. Like rapid-fire bullets, she launched a barrage of questions. "What? Have you seen him? Do you know where he is? Is he alone? Tell me."
He raised his arms in a weak attempt at placating her. "Calm down, kitten."
"Don't tell her anything," said the other one.
Asshole.
Blair pointed a finger at his chest. "You shut up."
The guy's eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched, but his friend interjected, "Okay, okay. Just chill and I'll tell you."
"Where is he?" she demanded.
"He's upstairs."
Without wasting a moment, Blair left them and sprinted upstairs.
Leaning against the railing with his back to her, Chuck stared at the fading horizon. The sun, almost swallowed by darkness, still cast an orange glow on the water. In a moment of almost desperate fumbling, Chuck ran his fingers through his disheveled hair, swaying unsteadily for a brief second before regaining balance with a firm grip on the metal bar.
As Blair approached, Georgina Sparks materialized before her, like a specter summoned from the depths of her worst nightmares. What the fuck was she doing here? Who had invited her? How? With each step, Georgina moved gracefully, her strides precise and deliberate. Placing her arm on Chuck's back, she offered him a glass, which he gladly accepted. Blair froze in her tracks. Her feet felt like lead, heavy and unresponsive.
Georgina put her hand on his face, fingertips tracing the contours of his broken lip.
Blair's stomach churned and the bile threatened to rise, but she fought against it.
No.
Not again.
It couldn't happen again.
"Well, well, well, looks like someone's been playing a bit too rough." Georgina said. "Does it hurt?"
"It's all right," Chuck drawled, the words slurring together in a haze of alcohol-induced mellowness. His voice, usually sharp and precise, now meandered in a lazy cadence. To top it all off, he made no effort to remove her hand from his face.
Blair struggled to turn away, to shield her heart from whatever was going to happen next, but she was unable to move.
An invisible anchor pinned her to the floor.
Or perhaps it was just delusion. Delusion that the past week had truly meant something, that they were better than this.
Georgina persistently traced the lines of his skin, Chuck passive amid the invasive touches. Her hands dug deeper, inching closer, while Chuck continued to drown himself in alcohol, as if everything around him, except finishing the last drop of each glass, was mere noise. How many glasses had he emptied that day? How many bottles?
"What happened to you, Bass?" she asked.
Chuck imbibed once more, swaying precariously, but Georgina steadied him. "Nothing you cannot fix," he said.
Blair clenched her eyes shut.
He didn't know what he was doing. That had to be the only explanation. Drunk, he became a puppet manipulated by the strings of intoxication. Still, Blair knew it was the easy way out. Alcohol served as a convenient scapegoat for those unwilling to face their own choices and take responsibility.
It was merely an excuse.
"Thought you were done with our little game, but here you are, back for more," Georgina said.
"Ah, one never forgets his first," he slurred.
The words hung in the air like a bitter aftertaste.
"Always the sentimentalist. But let's not dwell on ancient history. Our present holds far more... appealing prospects, wouldn't you say?"
As Blair reluctantly opened her eyes, Georgina was staring straight at her. The latter stood there, her posture a bold display of dominance, her smile wicked and self-satisfied. Her hand traced a teasing path along Chuck's jawline.
It was like witnessing a catastrophic collision, the horror too intense to look away.
"It's about time you came to your senses." Georgina's smile grew even wider as she pressed herself against him, her voice dripping with desire. "Blair Waldorf? Please, she is far too perfect, far too uptight for someone like you. Daddy's little girl. You need someone wilder, someone who knows how to satisfy you," she purred. "It's always been that way."
An onslaught of searing pain pierced Blair's chest, a crushing weight that seemed unbearable.
Please, don't say anything. Please, please, please, she begged.
And Blair hated herself for it.
"Shut up," he snapped, a sudden flash of clarity in his tone. "Do not utter a word about her."
"You know I'm right."
Georgina closed the remaining distance with deliberate intent, her lips meeting the sensitive skin of his neck with precision. The bitter taste of bile surged once again. Her tongue traced a path up his jaw, a cruel dance that only intensified the pain. "Let me show you."
It was all too much.
Her eyes filled with tears and she just ran, ran away.
Blair sat on one of the two staircases leading to the upper deck, crouched, tears streaming down her cheeks. With one hand clutching her chest, as if trying to palliate some of the pain, her elbow rested on her knee, while the other hand cradled her head. To any casual observer, it might appear that she had had a little too much to drink.
Well, this was better than emptying her stomach in the bathroom, wasn't it?
Someone joined her, placing an arm around her. Blair instinctively tried to pull away but stopped upon recognizing the familiar touch.
"Hey, what's wrong?" Serena asked. "What happened? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
"You're not going to fool me with the 'I'm fine' act. What's going on?"
Blair hesitated before reluctantly saying, "Chuck is up there with Georgina."
"Georgina Sparks?"
"Who else?" Blair retorted, a hint of bitterness creeping into her voice. "You must know, considering everyone here is practically your guest. Thank you very much." Her attempt to sound composed fell short, the strength in her words faltering.
"I didn't–"
"Save it."
Serena looked at her with a determined expression, prompting Blair to continue.
"What more do you want me to say?" Blair exclaimed as she threw her hands up in exasperation. "He was all messed up, and she was practically throwing herself at him. Touching, getting all close, kissing his neck, and who knows what else. It was too much. Seeing them like that," she blurted out. "I ran away before it got worse. Last I saw, Georgie is just giving him the time of his life."
"I'm going to kill him," Serena said, standing up, ready to give Chuck Bass a piece of her mind.
"Don't." Blair clasped her arm. "He's just feeding into Nate's twisted narrative, trying to prove him right. He wants me to hate him as much as he hates himself."
"Do you?"
"No, I don't."
They lingered in silence for a brief moment.
"I'm sorry," Serena finally broke it. "I kinda started this whole mess."
"What are you talking about?"
"Back when you and Nate were in the water…" Her friend looked down, and a heavy sigh escaped her lips. "Look, I really thought Chuck was sleeping with that girl while he played mind games with you. So, I decided to piss him off and say a lot of shitty things just to get under his skin and protect you."
Blair parted her lips in disbelief.
"I tried to patch things up later, but by then, he'd shut down. I'm really sorry, B."
"Why can't you both mind your own business for once?"
The damage was already done. It didn't matter.
"I thought I was doing what was best for you."
"Look where that got us."
Nate had hit his best friend. Chuck was one step away from crossing to the other side and as for Blair, it seemed as though someone had brutally torn her heart out and shredded it into pieces.
"Does Chuck make you happy?" Serena asked.
"Yes! He does," Blair paused, a bittersweet smile playing on her lips. "Well, maybe not right this second. But I don't know how else I can make you understand."
"I just wanted you to—"
But Blair was past the point of listening to her friend. The haunting image of Chuck drunk out of his mind while Georgina's hands were all over him, entwining around like inescapable tendrils refused to go away. "He was an absolute wreck, S. I don't think I've ever seen him that wasted."
Serena gently wiped away a tear from Blair's cheek. "Do you want me to go check if they are still there?"
Blair didn't answer, but Serena understood.
As her best friend reached the top of the stairs, her expression morphed into fear.
"Blair!" she urgently called out.
Author's Note:
Well, don't hate me too much.
