Something was wrong. Chuck had gone to Blair's after school yesterday and Dorota stopped him at the elevator, explaining that she was sick, and shouldn't have visitors. After listening to her scold him for not calling first, he took off. Today, she still wasn't at school and wasn't answering any of his calls or texts. Leaving her alone was a stupid decision. Of course something like this would happen. He was the only one, aside from Vanessa, who knew what was really wrong with her.
"Chuck?" A voice called from behind him. Serena. "Have you heard from Blair? She's still not answering any of my calls. It's been over a week. Kind of getting worried."
Chuck stood from the bench and started walking alongside her towards the school building. Serena was the last person he wanted involved in all of this. She would only make things worse for Blair. "She's just sick, Serena. People get sick. Even Blair."
Serena rolled her eyes. "Fine, whatever. So, what does she have, the bubonic plague or something? She can't text and let me know she's okay?"
The worry turned to anger/annoyance in a matter of seconds. "Why don't you give it a rest and leave her the hell alone? The last thing she needs right now is you crying on her shoulder about whatever crisis you're currently in the midst of. Some of us have other things on our minds. Go play Dr. Phil with someone else." Chuck hissed, leaving her in the quad, mouth agape with confusion.
C: U okay?
He stared down at his lap for two class periods and no response came. The rest of the day was wasted with thinking up crazy scenarios of what possibly could have happened. Each of them were more horrifying than the one before. It was making him crazy. She was safe at home, at least there was that... or was she? There was no telling. At lunch, he even went as far as to ask Nate a hypothetical question about what he would do if a friend was in trouble, but didn't want to go to the police, because it would damage their reputation forever.
Nate stared back at him quizzically. "What did you do this time, Chuck?"
Some help he was. He couldn't blame him really, since he did have a track record for those kinds of things. Realizing he was in no condition for classes, he skipped out on fourth period. Getting past Dorota had been rather easy. She and some of the other servants were busy deep cleaning the house for some reason. He tiptoed up the stairs and knocked lightly on the bedroom door. "Blair?" He whispered. "Blair?"
No answer. He pressed his ear against it but didn't hear footsteps or any kind of movement. Now he was worried. Would anyone even notice if something had happened to her? "Blair? Blair, it's me. Open up." Chuck said, louder this time. Still nothing. "I've been calling you for days. I just, Blair, I need to see you. Please. You don't have to talk to me. I just need to see that you're alright."
After another moment of silence, Chuck's body lowered to the floor, and he leaned his head against the door frame. "I'm not leaving until I see you."
A minute later the door unlocked. Chuck got to his feet and pushed it open. Blair was seated on her bed, staring out the window. He sat next to her, never taking his eyes away. She seemed okay. Her expression was actually very serene, but her eyes were blank. He decided to let her speak first. But a glaring light on the floor stole his attention momentarily. It was a small pair of scissors. Small red dots began to trickle onto the white carpet. Blood. "Blair... what?" He questioned. Chuck's eyes scanned for the source. He didn't have to look far.
Blair's sleeve was also spotted with it. He quickly lifted it to reveal an incision on her wrist. It was small but close enough to a vein to do serious damage. "What the hell?!" He shouted as he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her into the bathroom in one swift movement. Trying to remember what people did in the movies, Chuck put her arm under the sink and ran cold water over it with shaking hands. Wrapping the towel around the cut helped tremendously. The cut wasn't that deep, but regardless, it was obvious what she had almost done.
"For Christ sakes, Blair!" Chuck growled, surprised at how enraged he was at her. He sighed, keeping pressure on her wrist. All he wanted to do was scold her at the top of his lungs. Why would she even think about off-ing herself when they had just found each other? Curses came out in the form of mumbles and grunts from deep in his throat. "What gives you the right?"
Blair was knocked out of her daze and instantly plunged back into reality. What gives you the right? There was the Chuck Bass she'd known since Kindergarten. It was always about him. "Excuse me?" She spat.
"Why?"
She took a deep breath. "It was a mistake. It had nothing to do with you."
"Anything involving you dying has everything to do with me!" Chuck yelled. He began again slowly, but with even more determination. "That's not an option for you. Not as long as I'm breathing. Do you understand?" Two wild fists were thrust towards him in a matter of seconds. But he took every punch, every slap. She pushed him against the wall and kept hitting his chest, crying her eyes out.
"Don't you dare tell me what to do! I'm not like one of your other girls, Chuck! You don't get to tell me when to eat, when to sleep, when to breathe! You don't get to tell me how to deal with this!" Much to her surprise, she had more breath to continue. "Why do you even care?! Why...?!" She backed away, keeping her distance. She could kill him as angry as she was.
A laugh escaped her lips. "Eleanor thinks the bulimia's back. That's how much faith my own Mother has in me. I decided I'd rather die than go back to the treatment center and listen to idiotic, sad tweeny boppers cry about their problems. But I chickened out, so here I am, listening to you yell at me instead."
He had the same angry, morose look on his face, but more of the latter. She stared at him, quizzically. "How can you even love me? I don't think I can ever... things are so different, Chuck. I'm not the same person I was in the back of that limo or in the Hampton's. It's not worth it. Not for either of us."
"I've never been in love, Blair. I've cared for people, but it's never been anything close to love. I'm not the same person I was then either." Chuck answered, inching across the bathroom floor toward her. "You're worth it. This is worth it. We have to get through this, and I'll do whatever it takes to help you do that." He ran his hand along her wrist to her elbow. "What stopped you?"
"You."
----
"Chuck?" A voice called from behind him. Serena. "Have you heard from Blair? She's still not answering any of my calls. It's been over a week. Kind of getting worried."
Chuck stood from the bench and started walking alongside her towards the school building. Serena was the last person he wanted involved in all of this. She would only make things worse for Blair. "She's just sick, Serena. People get sick. Even Blair."
Serena rolled her eyes. "Fine, whatever. So, what does she have, the bubonic plague or something? She can't text and let me know she's okay?"
The worry turned to anger/annoyance in a matter of seconds. "Why don't you give it a rest and leave her the hell alone? The last thing she needs right now is you crying on her shoulder about whatever crisis you're currently in the midst of. Some of us have other things on our minds. Go play Dr. Phil with someone else." Chuck hissed, leaving her in the quad, mouth agape with confusion.
C: U okay?
He stared down at his lap for two class periods and no response came. The rest of the day was wasted with thinking up crazy scenarios of what possibly could have happened. Each of them were more horrifying than the one before. It was making him crazy. She was safe at home, at least there was that... or was she? There was no telling. At lunch, he even went as far as to ask Nate a hypothetical question about what he would do if a friend was in trouble, but didn't want to go to the police, because it would damage their reputation forever.
Nate stared back at him quizzically. "What did you do this time, Chuck?"
Some help he was. He couldn't blame him really, since he did have a track record for those kinds of things. Realizing he was in no condition for classes, he skipped out on fourth period. Getting past Dorota had been rather easy. She and some of the other servants were busy deep cleaning the house for some reason. He tiptoed up the stairs and knocked lightly on the bedroom door. "Blair?" He whispered. "Blair?"
No answer. He pressed his ear against it but didn't hear footsteps or any kind of movement. Now he was worried. Would anyone even notice if something had happened to her? "Blair? Blair, it's me. Open up." Chuck said, louder this time. Still nothing. "I've been calling you for days. I just, Blair, I need to see you. Please. You don't have to talk to me. I just need to see that you're alright."
After another moment of silence, Chuck's body lowered to the floor, and he leaned his head against the door frame. "I'm not leaving until I see you."
A minute later the door unlocked. Chuck got to his feet and pushed it open. Blair was seated on her bed, staring out the window. He sat next to her, never taking his eyes away. She seemed okay. Her expression was actually very serene, but her eyes were blank. He decided to let her speak first. But a glaring light on the floor stole his attention momentarily. It was a small pair of scissors. Small red dots began to trickle onto the white carpet. Blood. "Blair... what?" He questioned. Chuck's eyes scanned for the source. He didn't have to look far.
Blair's sleeve was also spotted with it. He quickly lifted it to reveal an incision on her wrist. It was small but close enough to a vein to do serious damage. "What the hell?!" He shouted as he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her into the bathroom in one swift movement. Trying to remember what people did in the movies, Chuck put her arm under the sink and ran cold water over it with shaking hands. Wrapping the towel around the cut helped tremendously. The cut wasn't that deep, but regardless, it was obvious what she had almost done.
"For Christ sakes, Blair!" Chuck growled, surprised at how enraged he was at her. He sighed, keeping pressure on her wrist. All he wanted to do was scold her at the top of his lungs. Why would she even think about off-ing herself when they had just found each other? Curses came out in the form of mumbles and grunts from deep in his throat. "What gives you the right?"
Blair was knocked out of her daze and instantly plunged back into reality. What gives you the right? There was the Chuck Bass she'd known since Kindergarten. It was always about him. "Excuse me?" She spat.
"Why?"
She took a deep breath. "It was a mistake. It had nothing to do with you."
"Anything involving you dying has everything to do with me!" Chuck yelled. He began again slowly, but with even more determination. "That's not an option for you. Not as long as I'm breathing. Do you understand?" Two wild fists were thrust towards him in a matter of seconds. But he took every punch, every slap. She pushed him against the wall and kept hitting his chest, crying her eyes out.
"Don't you dare tell me what to do! I'm not like one of your other girls, Chuck! You don't get to tell me when to eat, when to sleep, when to breathe! You don't get to tell me how to deal with this!" Much to her surprise, she had more breath to continue. "Why do you even care?! Why...?!" She backed away, keeping her distance. She could kill him as angry as she was.
A laugh escaped her lips. "Eleanor thinks the bulimia's back. That's how much faith my own Mother has in me. I decided I'd rather die than go back to the treatment center and listen to idiotic, sad tweeny boppers cry about their problems. But I chickened out, so here I am, listening to you yell at me instead."
He had the same angry, morose look on his face, but more of the latter. She stared at him, quizzically. "How can you even love me? I don't think I can ever... things are so different, Chuck. I'm not the same person I was in the back of that limo or in the Hampton's. It's not worth it. Not for either of us."
"I've never been in love, Blair. I've cared for people, but it's never been anything close to love. I'm not the same person I was then either." Chuck answered, inching across the bathroom floor toward her. "You're worth it. This is worth it. We have to get through this, and I'll do whatever it takes to help you do that." He ran his hand along her wrist to her elbow. "What stopped you?"
"You."
----
