Hey everybody!! I never do one-shots…know that now. But exception: I will today!! So here goes my first &+ last one shot.
The pain was ripping across her heart. Tearing open every vein and artery there was in her chest. She couldn’t breathe, she felt like someone had a pillow over her face. Her brain just stopped working. The only think she could think of was the pain.
“What?” she muttered.
“He’s dead.” The doctor said, dismissively. Not giving two shits. She broke down. She felt to the ground and screamed.
-The pain! She thought.
“OH MY GOD!” was all she said before she blacked out.
Her lover, her best friend, her one and only was dead. She didn’t even bother to ask how he died. All she knew was: Chuck Bass is dead. Gone. Never to come back. She felt that pain again. The ripping, burning, the huge hole in her heart that was getting worse not better. Blair Waldorf is officially brain dead. She couldn’t think about anything but the pain again. “Ahhhhhh!” she screamed. It wasn’t mental. It was physical pain. “Nurse! Nurse!” she screamed. Two red-head nurses came running through the door. “Yes? What’s wrong?”one yelled. “Pain! OH MY GOD! It hurts! Kill me! Please!” she wept uncontrollably. “What hurts?” the other nurse said calmly. “M-m-my h-h-heart!” she gripped her chest. “Is he really dead?” she managed to choke out. “Who?” the first nurse yelped. “Chuck? Please, oh god no!” the pain took her over as she saw the look on their faces. “CHUCK!” she yelled. “HOW?” she yelled to the nurse. “Limo accident. His driver was drunk. They hit a wall doing 110.” The first nurse named Ella said. “Meds!” was all Blair could think of saying. They filled her IV with morphine. They didn’t know what was wrong with her. All they knew was that she was in excruciating pain.
2 Weeks Later.
“She doesn’t eat or drink or talk. She doesn’t even move unless someone directly tells her to.” Blair’s tall blonde best friend said to the doctor. The short, bald man looked up to her. “Ma’am I apologize but there is nothing we can do. It’s emotional. All we can do is tell her to see a psychiatrist.” The doctor said. “Dr. Bess. Please. Just give her an anti-depressant. Something. Anything. You don’t understand what Chuck was to her. He was her rock. Her one and only true love. AND HE IS DEAD! AND YOU FUCKING PEOPLE DON’T GIVE TWO SHITS! DO SOMETHING, NOW! I AM A VAN DER WOODSEN. I WILL SUE YOUR ASS UNTIL YOU SHIT LEGAL E’S. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?” she yelled. Everyone in the same hallway looked at them.
“Ms. Van der Woodsen? Please. Come with me.” he tugged her arm into his office.
“Are you going to give her any meds?” Serena asked once they were in his office. “Well, this is what we can do: we can recommend a very excellent psychiatrist and have her see them 5 times a week. Her family has money. She can afford the best. Then we will start her on low doses of an anti-depressants. We will raise the doses as necessary. Deal?” he said extending his hand. She quickly took it. “Yes, Dr. Bess. You got yourself a deal. You have until Wednesday to find her a doctor you described. Three days. Okay?” she said. “Yes, Ms. Van der Woodsen. Now I have a lot of work to do.” He gestured towards the door. “Thank you.” She said blankly and strode towards Blair’s hospital room.
They had her on morphine?
-What the hell? She thought. What is morphine going to do? Give me a trip? She sighed. The pain was subsiding little by little. All she wanted was to hear his voice again. To touch his soft clear fact again. To caress his beautiful large hands. That’s all she wanted. How could he do this to her? Leave her, yet again. “Curse you Chuck Bass. And all that you made me suffer.” She muttered as she fell asleep.
She awoke three days later. It was Wednesday, she slept for three straight days. She started doing this since his death. Sleeping for so long that it seemed like she herself was dead. She opened her eyes slowly to view a black haired animated looking woman. She was dressed formally and nicely with a clipboard and stacks of paper on it. She held her ballpoint pen tightly glaring at Blair.
“Who the hell are you?” Blair asked.
“I, Miss Waldorf, am Wendell Luke. Just call me Wendy if you like.” She said writing something down on the paper.
“Oh, no. Not a shrink! You’ve got to be kidding me?” she said sighing.
Wendy chuckled. “Nope, not a joke.” Was all she said for a minute or two.
“Tell me about…Mr. Bass.” She said doubting whether she should say his name so soon. A zillion memories flooded Blair’s head at the mention of his name.
The first time she meant him, the first time he hit on her, the limo sex, the day his dad died, the day he finally said the three little words back to her, etc.
She could feel the pain. The hole in her heart had been torn open. She started to weep. “Oh, Miss Waldorf. I apologize.” She said, her tongue dripping with fake concern. “Nurse! Nurse!” she screamed. Ella and Amy walked in, the two red heads from before.
“Yes?” they said in unison. Ella walked over to her IV. “More morphine?” she questioned. “Y-yes.” She stuttered. Amy looked at Wendy. “Oh, wow.” She joked. “They brought in the big guns. Hello, Dr. Luke.” She greeted. “Amy Os. Long time no see.” She said extending her hand. They shook hands. “Ella Seers.” She greeted her as well, they also shook hands. All this was transpiring as Blair Waldorf was in the worst pain of her life. The morphine finally kicked in. She started to get groggy. The pain finally subsided enough for her to fall into a deep sleep. She didn’t awake until Saturday night. She wanted to die. No. She needed to die.
He knew his “death” must be so hard for Blair. What else could he have done? He would be locked up for the same crimes as Nathaniel’s father was locked up for. But saying he “died”? She must want to die herself. Staging death is a complicated thing. Really complicating and frustrating as well. He didn’t want to do what Reverie told him to do, but he had no choice. Reverie was this scammer. All he did was con people into giving him their bank account numbers and investing it wisely into foreign accounts. When Chuck got mixed up with him there was no turning back. He loved Blair, in fact he wanted to one day marry her and have children with her. But he could never do that now. In fact, he had wanted her to be on the run with him. He thought about that idea but knew it wasn’t the right path. She would move on, eventually. But he never would. He was sure of it. Even in Fiji with gorgeous half naked women dangling on his every word, he still was in his own private suffer. He had to make the hardest decision of his life. He had to leave Blair, killing her inside. Leave her for good. No turning back. He was “dead”. “Dead” people don’t come back. So he could never go back to New York. It was decided.
Okay I know this was far fetch and very different from all the other fanfics out there. But I was in the mood to write about personal pain and suffering. What do you think? This was meant to be a one-shot but I have to continue it. I might even continue it tonight! I hope you were entertained!
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