Will Not Remember, Cannot Forget

“That one,” he says tapping the case.

Nate squints down through the glass. He meets Chuck’s dark gaze doubtfully. “You think?”

“I know.”

It is the day before Blair turns sixteen. Elsewhere in the United States, teens sharing her birth date are eagerly anticipating getting their driver’s licenses, but not Blair Waldorf. Chuck knows she wouldn’t be caught dead driving. Instead, as is tradition, she is on her way to the jewelers to leave some pieces on hold.

Chuck has beaten her there, and he has brought Nate along. He signals the salesclerk, pointing to a piece and indicating that they’d like to see it up close. When the short balding man removes it from behind the counter and goes to hand it to over, Chuck shoves his hands in his pockets so that his best friend will have to take it. He doesn’t need to examine it. He had done so already, last week, when Blair had first given him an invitation to her party. Immediately after school, he’d gone to Tiffany’s, and he’d found the perfect gift. Understated and elegant, like her.

But he couldn’t get it for her. It wasn’t an appropriate present to give to a friend.

Wait, was she a friend? Is that what their relationship had become? Wasn’t she the enemy? Could he still plot against her if she was not? Somehow he didn’t think that was allowed.

Fuck.

Well, whatever they are, he still couldn’t give it to her. She wouldn’t accept it. Not from him. It was too… personal. But she needed to have it anyway. Something that beautiful deserved to be seen on someone worthy of its beauty.

So today he is scheming to convince her boyfriend to get it for her.

Nate peers into his outstretched palm. Cupped there is a ring. The simple golden band sports a heart-shaped ruby. “It seems a little… unimpressive,” he says dubiously.

“It’s classic, Nathaniel,” Chuck sighs. “Trust me, she’ll love it.”

Nate hands the ring back to the jeweler unconvinced. “I don’t know. Maybe I should wait until she puts some stuff on hold. Just to be sure, you know?”

“Fine,” Chuck says exasperated. “We’ll come back in an hour. She’ll have put it on hold by then, and you can buy it with confidence.”

Amused, Nate raises his eyebrows with a snort. They disappear completely behind his shaggy bangs. He really needs a haircut, Chuck notes idly.

“Chill, man,” Nate laughs. “It’s just a stupid birthday present.”

For some reason, that comment makes Chuck unusually mad.

Oblivious, Nathaniel throws his arm around his friend and drags him from the store. They return ninety minutes later to find that Blair has indeed placed the ring on hold. Nate looks at Chuck chagrined, and purchases it without further protest.

As they get back into the waiting limo, Chuck offers a reminder to put the ring into a different box before Nate gives it to Blair.

“Why?” the golden boy asks confused.

“Because if you ever hand a girl a blue ring box from Tiffany’s, you’d better be asking her to marry you,” Chuck explains.

Nate nods like he understands. Maybe he even does. Then again, he could just be really high from hot boxing the limo while they’d been killing time. It’s hard to tell sometimes.

“What are you getting her?” Nathaniel finally says, a lazy grin spreading over his face. Definitely stoned.

“I’m not sure,” Chuck lies with a shrug. “Flowers maybe?”

There is no maybe about it. He already ordered her favorite flowers. They’ll arrive tomorrow, a huge arrangement of hydrangeas. A week from tomorrow, she’ll receive another bouquet. A week after that? Yet another. On and on and on for the entire year.

When she asks about it, because inevitably she will once she realizes the flowers are coming like clockwork, he intends to tell her they are how his father rewards his office staff for good performance reports. That isn’t true, but seeing the look of outrage on Blair’s face at receiving the same gift as a common secretary more than justifies saying it.

Really though, sending flowers every week was the only thing he could think of that even came close to having a shot at competing with the ruby ring. He knows she’ll wear it practically every day, and each time she looks at it she will think of Nate. Chuck hopes that by always having flowers from him around, she’ll be reminded of him too.

Not that he really cares if she thinks of him or not.

After all, every morning he wakes up resolved to set in motion his plan to destroy her. One of these days, he is actually going to do it. He’s already hinted to her that Nate is drifting because they haven’t had sex, but the right opportunity to influence Nate hasn’t arisen so far. Not a big deal. It’ll come soon. Of that he is certain.

But the next evening, after leaving Blair’s party early because the sight of her fawning over Nate’s perfection and thoughtfulness turns his stomach, it occurs to Chuck during a less than lucid bout of drinking that perhaps he doesn’t want to talk his friend into sleeping with Blair.

When he awakens after passing out on the roof of the Palace Hotel, however, he dismisses the notion as the irrational raving of his extremely inebriated self. Really, he was so smashed the night before that he is surprised to be alive. It is a miracle he didn’t fall over the edge of the roof and accidently kill himself. Absolutely nothing he might have thought about in such a state is worth further contemplation, drunk or sober, he decides.

As fall turns into winter, he begins to think he may be developing a problem. Blair Waldorf is like a drug, and he knows all about drugs. Sure they make a person feel good for a while, until one tries to quit and realizes they are addicted. Then one can’t function without getting a fix. Life becomes a rollercoaster of exquisite highs and excruciating withdrawals. He will be damned if he lets himself become dependent on a slip of a girl and be unmanned that way! He will destroy her before he allows it to come to that.

But winter becomes spring, and he finds himself looking forward to those brief moments between classes when he spies her in the courtyard. He lives for Thursday evenings and watching Audrey Hepburn films with her. Shameful though it is to admit, she is almost all he thinks about, the one constant that haunts his days and plagues his nights. What’s worse, however, is that he starts to consider that perhaps he doesn’t want to destroy her at all, that maybe it isn’t really worth it. Wouldn’t breaking her up with Nate be sufficient revenge?

Then she’d be single…

Not that he would care if she was single. He couldn’t date her, even if he wanted to. Not that he does! She’d be his best friend’s ex, and thus off limits. Besides, he is Chuck Bass, and Chuck Bass does not date.

Anyway, if he did break them up, it wouldn’t be for his benefit at all. He’d do it for… Nathaniel! Nate deserves better! A girl like… like… Well someone else! So really, isn’t a kindness to break them up? Then Nate could date someone who was not Blair, and Blair could continue to hang out with him and maybe become his... friend. A friend that’s a girl. A girl friend. But not a girlfriend! He doesn’t like her like that. He doesn’t like her at all! She is a bitch and he hates her and maybe he should invite her to dinner sometime.

While he continues debating the pros and cons of breaking up the storybook couple, spring draws to an end, and with it the academic year concludes. The last school function before the start of summer vacation is the spring fling, a formal dance where the boys are off the hook finding dates because the girls have to ask. Blair, of course, takes Nate while Chuck takes nobody but himself, even though he was asked by several of Blair’s minions. They all ride together in his limo to the event, and on the drive Chuck tries to keep down the feeling of anger at not having decided for sure whether to break them up or not before now so that… someone else might have asked him.

He spends the first portion of the evening on the sidelines. He makes a point of never venturing onto the dance floor at these things, but tonight he is inexplicably drawn to the edge, trying to keep an eye on Blair. Her hair is pinned in loose curls, and he feels hypnotized by the exposed curve of her neck. It is a rare sight because she hardly ever wears her hair up.

He is entranced by the thought of being near her, and eventually finds himself stepping outside to phone Arthur. A short time later he returns, and after a quick conversation with the man behind the turntable, surreptitiously hands him several folded bills and a CD before casually walking away and focusing his attention on Nathaniel. When the golden boy finally leaves Blair’s side to fetch her some sadly un-spiked punch near the end of a song, Chuck makes his move.

“Would you dance with me, princess?” he asks as he quickly appears in the spot Nate had just vacated. She blinks at him incredulous.

“Chuck Bass is a dancer? Who knew?” she says like his request was a joke and not a real offer at all.

“Now you do. That’s all that matters,” he replies smugly. “So let’s dance. Unless you think you aren’t good enough to keep up.”

Her eyebrows rise at the implication of his words. “I’m good! I dance all the time with Nate!” she exclaims.

“And he has two left feet,” Chuck counters.

“So you think you’re any better?” she retorts.

He extends his hand, an appeal and a challenge. “I know I am, Waldorf.”

Blair glares at him as her lips compress into a grim line. “Well if you can lead, Bass, I can follow!” she finally snaps, taking his hand and pulling him towards the center of the floor. Once they are there, she narrows her eyes suspiciously at him. “I know that look,” she accuses. “The look when your plan falls into place!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Chuck deadpans just as the music begins and her mouth drops in recognition.

“Oh really?” she cries in disbelief. “So after hours of Britney and Beyoncé, the DJ just decided to play ‘Moon River’?”

“Maybe he wanted to mix things up,” he says in feigned innocence.

“And it just happens to be once I agree to dance with you?” She shakes her head. “I don’t think so.”

“Think whatever you like,” he smirks as he takes her into his arms, one hand splaying on the small of her back. Through her Givenchy gown, that thin layer of silk, the heat of her skin radiates into his palm. He smells her perfume as he draws her close. It envelops him in an intoxicating mixture that is half flowers and half Blair. If heaven has a scent, he thinks, this is surely it.

“You cocky bastard!” she laughs as they begin moving in time to the music. She squeals with delight when he deftly dips her low then sweeps her up and across the floor. She looks into his face and her grin is breathtaking, her expression glowing.

Then, to his horror, he feels the first stirrings in his groin, and from the subtle flexing of her glove covered fingers in his hand, he knows she feels it too.

Fuck.

Beyond embarrassed, he tries to move his hips away from hers, but the steps require she press forward and maintain the contact. A flush is creeping up his neck and he is about to turn from her abruptly and flee in humiliation, but she senses what he intends to do a moment before he does it. She tightens her grip on his shoulder and hand, preventing his escape.

“Blair – ” he begins, but she silences him.

“Just shut up and dance with me,” she whispers, touching the side of his face.

He meets her eyes and she looks back at him steadily as if she isn’t aware that he has gotten aroused at the mere feel of their bodies pressed together, which is utterly impossible at this point. He gulps and looks away, feeling mortified, but keeps dancing, gliding them around in small, smooth circles.

When the song ends, as the other couples exit the floor, they stand there in each other’s arms for a second longer than necessary as their eyes meet again. Before he can suppress the impulse, he tucks a stray curl behind her ear, his fingers brushing her cheek as he does. At the contact, a shy smile spreads over her lips.

“Thank you princess,” he breathes, “…for everything.” For once the nickname isn’t an insult. Right now, it’s simply a fact. Blair Waldorf, the miniature Snow White replica that Nathaniel had introduced him to as kids, the only five year old girl in existence who could play outside in a white dress without ruining it, had finally grown into what he’d always known she would, even at that first meeting.

She’d been like a princess then, but she was a princess now. And like all princesses, she deserves to be kissed at the end of the night. She is that girl. But he is not that boy. He knows he is not. So he takes a step from her, slides one hand into the pocket of his slacks to disguise the telltale tent, and escorts her back over to Nathaniel. He leaves her with him, her fairy tale prince, like he always has, always will. He goes home alone for once, and gets drunk in his suite and wonders briefly what would have happened after the dance had he met her first that afternoon as children long ago.

He tries not to think about why the answer to that question matters so much.

Almost a week later, and he is already sick of summer vacation. Without school as an excuse, he doesn’t get to see her most days. Thursday evening cannot come fast enough in his opinion.

When it does, Chuck is waiting. The disc is already in the machine. Not Tiffany’s this time. He isn’t quite prepared to hear ‘Moon River’ in her presence again. It would be far too awkward. But Funny Face will do just fine. She loves it almost as much. He has fixed popcorn, and even managed not to burn it. Two cans of Coke sit patiently next to a couple chilled tumblers, each already containing the appropriate shots of rum. The cashmere blanket he’d purchased especially for her once their movie nights became officially ‘planned’ lies across the back of the couch expectantly. The only thing missing is her.

By 6:15, he has to mute the television because the music from the movie menu is getting on his nerves. It sounds mocking.

By 6:30, he turns off the DVD player, throws the popcorn away, and puts the soda back into the fridge.

By 7:00, he is drunk.

He spends most of Friday hungover, watching her building from behind the tinted windows of his limo. She never emerges, and eventually he considers calling Nate. He would probably have an idea of what the bitch is up to. Begrudgingly, he starts to reach to grab his cell when it rings within his pocket. He rapidly pulls it out, hoping it is her. But no. It is Nathaniel.

“Hey!” Nate exclaims as he answers. “Do you want to grab dinner together?”

“No, I… I’m sort of busy right now,” he lies.

“Oh,” Nate says disappointed. Chuck can practically see the downcast puppy dog eyes through the phone.

“Why don’t you ask Blair?” he blurts out before he gives in to the request to eat somewhere.

Nathaniel sighs over the line. “I can’t. She’s gone.”

That immediately draws Chuck’s full attention. “Gone?” he repeats, too fast to disguise his interest.

Luckily, his friend seems too preoccupied to notice. “Yeah, she caught a red-eye early this morning,” Nate explains. “Decided she wanted to spend the summer in Milan with her mother, I guess.”

“I didn’t know,” Chuck says lamely, amazed that he was able to say anything at all. His mind is reeling too much. Blair left? Without even saying goodbye? What the hell?

“It was a real sudden decision, I think. I only found out last night myself,” Nate continues oblivious.

“You saw her last night?” Chuck asks, even though he is fairly certain he doesn’t want to know the answer.

“Yeah, she had me over for dinner. Then we watched one of those movies she likes. Funny Girl.”

Chuck swallows down his shock. “Funny Face?” he whispers through the vice around his chest.

“That’s the one!” Nate laughs.

For a few seconds, Chuck says nothing. He can’t. He’s been rendered speechless. He notices absently that his free hand is clutching the leather seat of the limo so hard his knuckles are white. “At least you got to see her before she left,” he finally forces himself to say.

“Yeah, but it isn’t like I won’t hear from her constantly,” Nathaniel reasons. “You know Blair.”

“Yes,” Chuck replies, thinking he does indeed know Blair. Too well. Enough to recognize that whenever something happens that is not a part of her plan, she pretends like it doesn’t exist. Apparently their relationship, friendship, whatever-the-fuck now fell into that category. And to ensure that she could ignore it, she had fled to goddamned Italy!

Bitch.

He continues making small talk with Nate through sheer force of will until he breaks down and agrees to meet for a late dinner just to get off the fucking phone. Then he taps on the limo’s glass partition and tells Arthur to take him home.

Back in his suite, he moves with calm precision, purging every last trace of her. He takes the unopened cans of Coke and tosses them in the trash. The leftover bags of microwaveable popcorn follow, as well as the bottle of rum. He stuffs in the blanket she had used on so many occasions. After a slight hesitation, he rips the coverlet from his bed as well. It doesn’t fit in the garbage can, so he flings it into the hall. Finally, he picks up the stack of DVDs by the television. Carefully, he removes each disc from its case and bends it between his hands until it snaps. He drops the pieces on top of the trash and leaves the entire can outside in the hallway next to his comforter. He can’t stand looking at any of it.

That task accomplished, he pours himself a scotch. Downs it with one long swallow. Pours another. He has it halfway to his lips when he remembers. Determinedly, he makes his way to his closet.

There on the top shelf sits a royal blue gift box. She had given it to him a scant few weeks ago. ‘Just because,’ her exact words. He’d agonized for hours over the significance of that phrase, and the present itself without reaching any definitive conclusions.

He pulls the box down and lifts the lid. There nestled amongst the tissue paper is a patchwork silk scarf. He hasn’t worn it at all because the colors make it hard to pair with his other ensembles. Red and burgundy, white and cream, black and blue. It doesn’t go with anything, and clashes with everything, including itself. Had that been what she had been trying to tell him by giving him this? That he doesn’t belong with anyone?

Well fuck her and her gift!!!

He wrenches the door to his suite open and is about to throw the scarf into the hall as well, but stops short of actually letting it go. No, he thinks. He’ll keep it. Furthermore, he is damn well going to wear it. It is going to become his signature. He’ll show it off like a declaration of war around his neck at every turn. A constant reminder to himself that Blair Waldorf is going to rue the day she thought she could forget about Chuck Bass!

He slams the door and goes into the bathroom. He drapes the scarf over his shoulders and looks into the mirror to judge the effect. Those calculating eyes are not his. They belong on another face. The one he sees in his worst nightmares. Her face. Not his. But there they are, just the same, staring coldly back at him with a strange sense of inevitability. The reflection smiles, Georgina’s cruel twist of lips, slow and serpentine.

“You’re just like me now, Chucky.”

He adjusts the fall of silk over his chest and sneers into the mirror.

So be it then.