Will Not Remember, Cannot Forget

It’s unbelievable.

Butter is packed. The dinner rush. He had vainly hoped he wouldn’t be able to get in. But apparently she’d made reservations. Under his name, of course. The bitch thought of everything.

Surrounded by the denizens of the Upper East Side, he shifts uncomfortably on the plush chair. The menu sits untouched on the table in front of him along with his water. The ice has almost completely melted. Moisture beads upon the surface of the glass and runs down the side to be absorbed by the pristine white linen tablecloth.

Around him, he hears the ebb and flow of conversation. Snatches of gossip. Hushed words. Strangers talking, toasting, celebrating.

It sounds like laughter.

Chuck is here, at one of the hippest restaurants in New York, on a crowded Saturday night, all alone.

She’s late.

He glances at his watch with a scowl. Twenty minutes. He’s been sitting here all by himself for twenty fucking minutes! He digs the cell out of his trouser pocket. He should call her. Demand to know where she is, why she hasn’t shown. Insist that she get here right now. Then he stops himself. What is he thinking? He doesn’t want to see Georgina! He’s a bit relieved actually. Annoyed that she’s apparently stood him up, but relieved just the same. Instead, he stands and flips open his phone to tell Arthur to bring the limo back around to pick him up. Before he can dial, however, a shiver runs down his spine.

He turns and there she is, just entering the restaurant. It only takes him a second to notice that something is off about her. Different. Then their eyes meet, drawn inexplicably together. Her expression changes. She looks… happy.

A tingle of foreboding uncoils in his belly. Only one thing pleases Georgina, and that is causing pain. The bigger the trauma, the more she gets off on it. And from her beatific smile, something is happening. Something serious. The bitch is positively glowing.

“Chucky!” she squeals loud enough to attract the attention of nearly half the restaurant. Unexpectedly she is bounding towards him. The force of her impact staggers him backward, his arms inadvertently wrapping around her in an attempt to steady them just as she clutches his shoulders and presses her lips to his.

Before he can recover, she breaks the kiss. “I missed you!” she beams at him. A moment later, she giggles, a cute girlish sound.

Who the hell is this?

“Didn’t you miss me?” she coos. Wiping the smears of her transferred lipstick away, her fingers brush against his mouth. He feels a strong urge to bite one of them off.

“No. Why would I?” he says coldly.

She pouts playfully, “Then why are you still holding me?”

Abruptly, he drops his traitorous arms. Steps back from her as she grins at him like a lovesick fool.

“I don’t know what game you’re playing, but it needs to stop. Right now.” He tries to make his voice stern and commanding, even though inside he is starting to panic.

“Oh lighten up, Chucky,” she teases as she whisks past him and into a chair. A cloud of her vanilla perfume envelops him, thick and suffocating. Absently, he licks his lips and grimaces. He tastes the faintest trace of her on his tongue. His heartbeat is speeding up, hysteria pushing at the edges of his self-control.

Fight or flight?

After a few tense seconds, he cautiously sits opposite her. He grabs his water and gulps down the lukewarm fluid in an attempt to wash the taste of her from his mouth. It still lingers, even after the glass is empty. He sets it back upon the table with an audible thump. All the while, she gazes at him adoringly. Chuck thinks he might be sick.

With a toss of her head, she laughs, a sound so much worse than giggling. It hits him like a blow to the solar plexus, constricting his lungs and knocking the air out of him.

“What’s so damn funny?” he manages to whisper.

She waves his inquiry away, even as her shoulders shake with suppressed mirth. Then, as her eyes dance with amusement, it bursts out of her. “We match!” she announces with a delighted gesture at their complementary outfits.

With a glance between his own pink suit and her nearly identical pink dress, Chuck sighs. Indeed, the observation is true. They do match. Hell, it looks like they planned it!

A suspicion grows in his mind. Meeting her ice blue stare, it is confirmed.

“What a crazy coincidence,” he says without bothering to disguise the sarcasm in his tone. “However did that happen?”

She smirks at him, wrinkling up her nose in a way that would be endearing on anyone else. Ignoring the glare he gives her, she retrieves her phone from her purse and sets it on the table next to her before picking up the menu. “Do you know what you want?” she says as she peruses the selections.

“I’m not eating. I’ve lost my appetite,” Chuck grinds out. He eyes her cell. “Expecting a call, are you?”

She pays no attention to his question as she replies from behind her menu. “Well you should at least have a drink, Chucky dear. You’re a bit pale. I recommend the martinis. They’re excellent.” She peeks out to meet his scowl. “I’d have one… if I could.”

His stomach clenches at the not too subtle reminder of her supposed pregnancy. “I am not ordering a martini. We’re in public, and underage,” he spits.

“So?” She looks at him in exasperation for a moment before rolling her eyes in annoyance with a sound of disgust.

There she is, he thinks. This is the Georgina he knows and wishes would die. About time she reared her evil head and dropped the sweet and innocent routine. He isn’t buying it. He nearly tells her so, but she is already reverting back to the saccharine and sugar act. Watching the metamorphosis is disturbing. It occurs so quickly, the transition is nearly flawless. When their waiter arrives moments later, he is grateful. He needs more water to wet his suddenly dry mouth.

Of course, he should have anticipated that Georgina would order the most expensive items on the menu. She probably expected him to pay too.

“I will start with the sweetbreads. Then I’ll have the seared tuna with the lemon risotto. Oh, and some of that delicious white chocolate soufflé for dessert,” she purrs at their young waiter.

“Of course, Miss. And for you, Sir?”

“Water. Sparkling. Thanks,” Chuck says through tight lips. He can’t imagine eating around her. Just the sight of her makes him nauseous.

“Very good, Sir. I’ll be right back with your beverage.”

On the table next to her elbow, Georgina’s cell beeps, indicating an incoming text. Chuck raises a quizzical brow when she makes no move to pick it up. “Aren’t you going to check that?”

“No need. I already know what it is,” she says as she offhandedly slides the phone back into her Prada bag. The move, her whole attitude is wrong. It is too nonchalant, a practiced casualness. She looks up at him and smiles, cruel and predatory, just as the waiter arrives with his water.

That sense of panic? It’s growing. He feels it like a caged beast poised to strike. The welling terror of the wild thing confined within his breast ready with teeth and claws.

Fight or flight?

It repeats in his head. A silent mantra. He takes a sip of the water. It’s cool and refreshing gliding down his throat. He’s appreciates the fleeting distraction. It helps him ignore the pacing animal in his chest, the one that makes his pulse race whenever he even thinks of her.

Beneath the table, her foot rubs against his leg. A slow calculated caress. He scoots his chair farther back. It’s irrational, this feeling of claustrophobia gripping him. She can’t do anything to him. She wouldn’t. Not here. Not really. They are in public, and she while she would enjoy breaking him again, she wouldn’t want the social embarrassment of being seen with him while it happened.

Bitch.

He’s safe, he tells himself, or at least as safe as he can be around her. Her options are limited under the watchful eyes of so many. She works best in secrecy, when no one is looking. It is one of the few things he knows for certain about her.

Chuck tenses his jaw, forces himself to meet her penetrating stare. He concentrates on the loathing that surges up alongside the fear as he looks at her. Concentrating on the hatred of her, of himself, of his weakness, he pushes the feelings of alarm away. Anger is much more productive. This has to end. It has to end now.

Then her eyes shift from his, focusing over his shoulder. “Carter?” she exclaims. “Carter! Whatever are you doing here?”

Chuck turns and finds himself looking at a teenager. Well dressed. Golden brown hair. Cobalt blue eyes. The young man resembles an older version of Nathaniel.

“Sit down, Carter,” Georgina is ordering. “Join us.” And this guy, this Carter complies and pulls over a chair, forcing Chuck to slide closer to Georgina.

“I can’t stay. I’ve got this thing later. Little get together while the parents are in Europe,” Carter says. The smug bastard does not even bother looking his direction. Chuck’s face is bland, but inside he is seething. The social snub bothers him.

As if she is oblivious to Carter’s rudeness, Georgina flirtatiously says, “Sounds fun. When?”

“Most people are showing up around ten, but the pre-party festivities are starting… well, whenever I get there,” he boasts. His finally deigns to glance at Chuck, his eyes raking over him before turning away dismissively, unimpressed. “You should come.” His tone makes it abundantly clear that the invitation only extends to Georgina.

She nods knowingly. “What time is it now?” she inquires of Chuck with nudge of her foot against his leg. Something glints in her eye.

With an annoyed breath, Chuck pulls back his cuff to glance at his watch. Suddenly, Carter’s hand closes around his wrist. “Holy shit! Is that a Piaget?”

“What? My watch?” Chuck responds in confusion.

“Don’t call it a watch. If it costs more than ten grand, it earns a proper name.” Carter runs his fingers enviously over the platinum band. “It is a Piaget! However did you get one?”

Tugging his wrist free, Chuck replies with a sneer, “My last birthday. My father got it for me.” He doesn’t add that it was also the birthday his father forgot, or that he would have preferred an evening watching hockey with his dad over the extravagant gift. But then the watch was much more costly, and money seemed to be how Bart Bass equated love.

Carter looks at Chuck again, reassessing. “I’m sorry. I was impolite. What did you say your name was again?”

“Chuck Bass,” Georgina says immediately, emphasizing his last name.

“Bass? As in Bass Industries?”

Her lips turn up in pleasure. “The very same.”

With an appraising nod, Carter extends his hand. “I’m Carter Baizen. You should come too. It’ll be fun.”

Shaking the proffered hand warily, Chuck begins, “Thanks, but I – ”

“Already have plans tonight?” Georgina cuts in. Her tone is like syrup. “With Blair, right? I really should call her.” The threat behind her words is implicit.

“No! I mean, I… I don’t have any plans. I’d love to come.”

“Great,” Carter says as Georgina smirks. Chuck catches a look pass behind her eyes, a small flicker that informs him that bumping into Carter here was not random at all, but part of some larger plan. Just another move in her twisted game where he has a pawn.

And something inside him shifts ever so slightly. Initially, he does not notice the difference. It is too subtle. Then, he slowly realizes. The panic, that trapped animal feeling? It’s still there, but it’s diminished somehow. Less urgent. Even when she places her hand upon his thigh beneath the table, the screaming in his head seems distant.

He reaches down, covers her hand with his, interlaces their fingers. The terrifying pressure in his chest increases. The shrieks inside his skull grow louder. Still, he does not let go, does not back down. He wills himself to meet her gaze.

Her whole expression is radiant. She’s smiling, and for once it is a real smile. One that transforms her face and makes her beautiful. His breath catches in his throat.

Then his hand tightens around hers, clamping down, squeezing. Her eyes narrow as she tries to draw her hand away, but he grasps it with everything he has. His grip is like a vice.

“Chucky,” she says, her lips stretching tightly over her teeth. Her tone is the tiniest bit strained.

He looks back at her steadily. His features are all politeness and pleasantry. He leans forward, whispers softly into her hair like a lover. His voice is smooth, clear, absolutely effortless.

Fight or flight?

“You want to play, bitch? Let’s play.”