Will Not Remember, Cannot Forget

The second he enters the bar, she knows. She can tell by the way a shiver of anticipation runs up her spine. She turns, looking coyly over at the entrance, and there he is silhouetted in the doorway. Finally, she thinks. She had only left so that he could give chase, and she does not appreciate being kept waiting for anything longer than necessary. It does not go with the plan.

He gulps at seeing her, and she smiles shyly, encouraging. He draws a breath as he threads his way between the tables to reach her. Licking his lips nervously, he steels himself to speak to her. She raises her head, hoping he’ll take the hint and make a move, but he rakes his hand through his hair instead, searching for words. Then he opens his mouth to say something, and a hand clamps down upon his shoulder from behind.

“Trust me. She’s not your type.”

Georgina turns her head in annoyance at the intrusion, but breaks into a laugh as she sees the figure standing over her. “Chuck Bass. Long time no see.”

He ignores her comment, glaring daggers instead at the blonde Adonis. The lifeguard wannabe wilts under the force of that gaze until he slouches away like a scolded child. She watches his perfect ass retreat in disbelief.

How pathetic.

Probably shit in bed too, she thinks with a scowl. Still, she does not brook any interference lightly. It had taken her the better part of the day to manipulate the Baywatch extra into thinking he was the one pursuing her. “Bad form, Chucky,” she sneers. “You cock blocked me.”

“Oops,” he smiles, sliding into the seat opposite hers. The bastard is entirely too pleased with himself.

“Well now that you’ve ruined my evening, to what do I owe the displeasure?” she asks.

“I wanted to talk to you.”

She narrows her eyes suspiciously. “Really? You came all this way to talk? I have a phone, you know.”

“I don’t have your number,” he answers smoothly.

Rolling her eyes at his feeble excuse, she snorts, “Please! It’s the same as it always was which I’m sure the P.I. you have on speed dial told you after you paid him to track me down. So let’s dispense with the bullshit, shall we? Why are you really here?”

A shadow passes behind his eyes, so quickly most people would miss it entirely. She is not one of them. She thrives on little displays of weakness others are never supposed to see.

“Like I said. We need to talk,” he sneers, his face once again under rigid control, but too, too late.

She cocks a brow, scheming already despite not having all the information. “And what could possibly be so important that it merits a face to face meeting?” she inquires in mock disinterest. “We haven’t spoken in forever, as per your wishes, and Australia is a rather long way to come to reminisce about old times, don’t you think?”

“I was in the neighborhood,” he deadpans.

The corner of her mouth twitches in amusement. “Right. Because what’s an ocean or two when you own a private jet?”

“Exactly.” His lips twist into an expression of smugness that Georgina finds delightfully entertaining.

“Oh Chucky! I’ve missed you,” she laughs.

“Funny. I never miss you,” he smirks. So confident. Perhaps he doesn’t quite remember who he’s dealing with. A reminder is in order.

She lifts her foot under the table, brushing against his inner calf purposely. With satisfaction, she sees his arrogant expression fade just a bit before he scoots his chair out of reach. Years later, and all is as it should be. He’s still a little afraid of her.

So endearing.

And totally something else she can use to her advantage.

“Well if you want to chat, I suggest you don’t order a drink,” she says, draining her martini and popping the olive into her mouth.

“Excuse me?”

“Since you chased off my prospect, I’m going back to my room.” Tossing a bill onto the table, she turns from his guarded stare. Pausing to glance over her shoulder, she winks at him suggestively. “You’re welcome to join me.” Then, without further ado, she struts away with an exaggerated swing of hips. He’ll follow. She knows he will.

Foolish boy.

Through the lobby and the elevator ride to her floor, she ignores his attempts to stop her and restart the conversation. Only once they are behind the door of her hotel room does she allow herself to acknowledge his presence and speak to him.

“So, let’s catch up. How have you been?” she says cheerily, knowing it will annoy him that she is starting with mundane pleasantries rather than the real reason for his visit.

“Fine,” he says. For the second time tonight, something flickers behind his eyes.

“You never could lie to me, Chucky. Glad to see some things never change,” she teases before running her gaze over him appraisingly. “Although it seems other things have definitely done so for the better.” She traces the buttons up his expensive shirt and reaches to finger the silk scarf he is wearing. “You’ve filled out quite a bit nicer than expected for instance.”

He jerks her hand away from the checkered fabric around his throat. “Touch me again, I break your hand.”

“Break my hand, our ceasefire’s over.” She steps forward, invading his space, and pressing against him. “But go right ahead. You and I? We’re inevitable, Bass.”

He leans down, lips hovering over hers. “I wouldn’t want you if you were the last cunt on Earth,” he whispers. Then callously, he shoves her away. Georgina stumbles backward, catching herself on the bed.

“I love it when you talk dirty,” she laughs. He glares at her, and meeting his angry gaze with a vicious smile, she slides one strap of her dress off her shoulder.

“What are you doing?” Chuck exclaims in alarm.

At that note of distress, she fingers the other silken strap. “Whatever the hell I want.” With that, she releases it, and the gown slithers to the floor leaving her standing there in nothing but a bustier and a wisp of a lace. “Now what was it you wanted to talk about?” she says sweetly, as he tries to look anywhere but at her.

He swallows visibly and meets her mocking expression. He is trying so hard to keep his eyes on her face, it’s precious. But it will be a losing battle. She knows exactly how the lingerie appears on her, and how very sheer it is, and however much he resists, he is still nothing but a hormonal teenage boy, and the flesh is weak ladies and gents. So very weak.

“Put some fucking clothes back on,” he snaps.

“I don’t think so. My room. My rules,” she points out as she kicks off her shoes.

“Then we’re not having this conversation right now,” he states, an uncomfortable blush rising above his collar.

“Suit yourself,” she shrugs. She turns her back on him and bends over, deliberately slow, reaching into the toe of one of her Prada heels. “But next time I’ll make sure I’m wearing even less.”

He makes an exasperated sound and falls into the chair by the window. Grinning at the small triumph, she stands, holding a plastic baggie between two fingers. She shakes it in his direction.

“Do you have to do that now?” he grinds out. “I’d like to get this over and done with.”

“Well, I don’t have to, but I’m going to anyway,” she smiles, pulling a book from the nightstand and tapping a line of powder onto it. “Want some?” Before he can respond, she pours a second hit onto the book with a wicked look his direction. She extends her hand out to him expectantly.

He simply looks at her for a long moment. Then, muttering a curse, he reaches into his suit jacket to pull a crisp hundred dollar bill out of his wallet. He rolls it into a tight cylinder with experienced fingers and sets it in her waiting palm. Gracefully, she snorts one of the white lines up before offering the book and the tube to him, a challenge in her glacial eyes.

Glowering at her, Chuck snatches the proffered items. He raises the rolled bill to his nostril before blinking in surprise at the title of the book before him. “We’re doing cocaine off of the Bible?” he says incredulous.

Georgina smirks. “It brings you closer to God.”

Shaking his head at the audacity, Chuck bends over his line and breathes in. A second later, he stands, reeling slightly from the sudden high. He smiles like he always does in that first rush of exhilaration, and the sight causes things low on her belly to tighten.

“So,” Georgina says casually, “Now that that’s taken care of, what did you come here to say?”

The smile on his face fades. “I wanted…” he begins, but his voice trails away. He swallows and then meets her inquisitive stare. “I wanted to ask you a favor.”

“What kind of favor?” she responds, intrigued despite herself.

“You once said that you had feelings, you just didn’t care,” he says cautiously. Pausing, he licks his lips, looks away. Finally, he blurts out, “Teach me.”

She purses her lips in disbelief. She must have heard him incorrectly. “Teach you?” she repeats.

“Yeah, teach me,” he states again. “Teach me not to care.”

He glances quickly at her face to gauge her reaction, and that is all Georgina needs to breach his carefully maintained defenses and read his innermost thoughts. The boy has been crushed, his emotions ravaged, his soul shattered. He’s hurting, although he has everyone, including himself most likely, convinced he is fine. He isn’t. He wouldn’t be here asking for her help if he was.

Poor little heartbroken Chuck Bass.

So adorable really.

She wonders briefly if he is even aware of the depth of his true feelings, or the full ramifications of what he is asking her to do. Not that it actually matters, she decides. She will help him just the same. Help and hurt are synonymous, aren’t they?

In this case, she is fairly positive they are.

“So let me see if I understand you correctly,” Georgina drawls lazily as if she hasn’t figured out what he wants and how she is going to use that information. “You want me to teach you how to turn off your emotions, to not care?”

“Precisely,” he nods.

“Okay, and what’s in it for me?” she asks. The question is routine, obligatory. She already knows exactly what is in it for her.

Thinking he is still in control of the situation, Chuck replies, “What do you want?”

She smiles at his mistake in asking that. “The question is, Bass, what are you willing to give?”

He opens his mouth to speak, but she shushes him. “Don’t answer yet,” she urges, preparing to offer him in words everything he secretly wishes to hear. “Think first. Think how much you want this. What would your life be like if you could switch all these stupid feelings off? What could you do if you were freed from pain, suffering? If you truly didn’t give a shit what anyone thought? What would that be worth to you?”

She looks intently into his shadowed eyes. His guard is slipping, exactly as she intended. Grief radiates from him in waves. Someone has really done a number on him, she thinks. Quite decisively too. He’s practically bleeding betrayal all over the carpet.

Excellent.

“Anything,” he finally replies. A world of anguish in that one word. “I’d give anything.”

She smirks at the opening he has so candidly presented her. He, more than anyone, should know better than to give her such an opportunity. Time, or pain, has made him sloppy, has allowed him to hand over the very weapon she’ll use against him. Desperate people are so easy to coerce.

“Okay then,” she smirks. “One night, and you’ve got a deal.”

He tenses, instantly wary. “One night?”

“Yes, one night,” she repeats condescendingly. “One night with you.”

His brow furrows. “What exactly are you suggesting?”

“I think you know,” she leers. To further drive the point home, she runs a hand down her inner thigh in a long caress.

Comprehension dawns in his dark eyes. His lips draw back in a grimace. “You aren’t serious,” he scoffs. Then seeing her sadistic expression, he adds disgusted, “No! No, never. Fuck you.”

She sits down upon the bed, crossing her legs. “You sure? It’s only one night, Chucky.”

“Absolutely not. I’d rather die,” he spits.

“Fine,” she shrugs, acting like she doesn’t really care, like she isn’t the master who had created him in the first place, like he isn’t even now being manipulated right into position. Offhandedly, she sighs, “Who was it, by the way?”

The question catches him unawares, just as she had known it would. “Who was who?” he snaps.

“The girl. The one who hurt you,” she explains innocently. “It was a girl, yes? You didn’t switch teams in the middle of an inning or anything, right?”

He snorts, not even deigning to dignify her with an answer.

Amused, Georgina continues, “So who was she? Anyone I know?” She watches his jaw tighten before he looks away. Obviously someone familiar then, and if she knows him at all… “Blair Waldorf, perhaps?”

His spine immediately stiffens. “Shut up,” he mumbles, his voice deadly calm.

Bingo.

“Really, Chucky? Blair Wal – ” she taunts.

“Don’t say – ”

She cuts him off, with a derisive snicker. “You’re actually mooning over goddamned Blair W – ”

“Don’t say that name!” he hisses through clenched teeth.

Almost there.

“Blai – ”

Chuck explodes. “DON’T SAY THAT FUCKING NAME!!!” he shouts, turning murderous hate filled eyes on her.

“One night, and you never have to feel like you do right now ever again,” she propositions unexpectedly.

He reels back from her words, but the damage is done. Her words have gotten through. “You’re a bitch!” he declares stunned.

“And you’re a bastard, but that still doesn’t change the offer,” she retorts. “Have sex with me, and all this ends. The misery? The rejection? The jealousy? All gone, poof, made as if they never were.”

“Get away from me,” he snarls. His face is a mask of revulsion, but she knows somewhere in his mind, he is considering it. If he wasn’t, he would leave, like he should have done the first time she brought it up. All she has to do is give him enough time, and he’ll talk himself into it. The males of the species are so incredibly predictable that way. They’re weak willed.

And one thing will help weaken his faster.

“I’m thirsty,” Georgina announces abruptly. She resists the impulse to laugh as Chuck frowns in puzzlement over the sudden change in tactics. Years after their first encounter, and he’s still one step behind her.

Typical.

“Do you want a drink?” she offers. Without bothering to wait for his response, she squats in front of the mini-bar. Thankfully, it had been restocked earlier today. Pulling out the little bottles of liquor, she lines them up on the dresser. “Help yourself, dear.”

He exhales, sickened at the term of endearment, but grabs a few of the miniature bottles. He drains them hastily and with trepidation, picks up another. This one, the last scotch, he sips as he stares at the floor. Occasionally, he glances up at her before looking guiltily away. Georgina pretends not to notice, and wisely says nothing. Instead, she drinks a couple bottles of tequila and tries not to allow her satisfaction at him convincing himself to do the unthinkable show. The silence stretches out between them. Finally, he speaks.

“Show me, and you can have one night afterwards.”

She shakes her head. “No deal. Not interested.”

“Why? This way we both get what we want. Unless you’re afraid I’ll renege on the agreement.” He tosses it out like a dare.

Could he be more precious?

“I don’t think you would back out at all,” she says honestly. “I just don’t want you to be able to divorce yourself from it when it happens. I want you to feel it all. The hatred. The horror. Everything.”

His expression darkens in rage. “You psychotic bitch,” he growls.

Gleeful, she mocks his show of temper. “That’s right, Chucky. Get angry. It’ll be easier if you are.”

He scowls. “You say that like you know.”

“Perhaps I do,” she scoffs, looking away. Her mouth is inexplicably dry. She wets her parched lips, and then continues in a stronger voice. “But more importantly, that’s how it’s done. That’s the secret lesson. You don’t want to feel anymore? Do this, and you won’t. That I can promise.”

Unexpectedly, she finds herself touching his shoulder with something akin to tenderness. It’s a strange gesture coming from her and they both know it. Their eyes meet, sharing a moment of perfect clarity. Words aren’t needed, but he says them anyway.

“If I do this, I really will be just like you.”

“Yes,” she breathes. “But isn’t that what you came here for?”

He shudders at the truth of her statement, as the fury recedes in him. A sob escapes his throat and he collapses in upon his self. She thinks perhaps he won’t make the choice she did, won’t take that final step into damnation. But then, with lightning harshness, he grabs her, wrenches her face down to his. He presses their mouths together in a kiss of utter loathing. His tongue invades through her parted lips and he tastes like scotch and smoke and bitterest despair. She cups his face to steady them, and under her hand his cheek is wet with tears. He’s crying, even as he kills all that’s left of his humanity.

His outstretched palm forces her onto her back as she reaches out to caress him through his trousers. He jerks her hands away, fingers digging cruelly into her wrists. “Don’t touch me,” he sneers against her skin as he bites at her lips, her jaw line, her neck. He rips savagely at her panties, literally tearing the lace to get them off. Grabbing her thighs roughly, he pulls her to the edge of the bed, forcing her knees apart.

He has been nothing but brutal with her, but Georgina finds his very violence exciting. She’s wet and ready. She watches with heavy-lidded eyes as he unzips his fly, freeing his dick from the tight constraint of her trousers. The sight catches her breath in her throat. He’s hard and so much larger than she remembered.

Without bothering to tug his pants down, he leans over her, tossing her legs upon his shoulders. The head of his cock brushes against her as he poises to enter her. She throws her head back in pleasure and arches up to receive him. “Take me,” she moans just as his hips surge forward.

The husky sound of her aroused voice jolts him from frenzy to awareness, stopping his determined thrust right before he presses against her entrance. He blinks down at her in confusion, that first blinding rush gone. It’s like he’s seeing her beneath him for the first time. His eyes widen slightly as he realizes what he’d been about to do.

“Oh God,” Chuck gasps. He pulls away, backing up so quickly he almost falls over. “Oh God.” He collides with the dresser, stumbling to the ground. Scrambling with hands and feet, he manages to crabwalk until he’s molded against the wall. “Oh God,” he cries again amidst rapid wheezing breaths. Frantically, he’s trying to shove himself back into his pants, but his hands are trembling so badly, he isn’t having much success. Tears are running unchecked and unnoticed down his cheeks as he hyperventilates. “Oh God.” His voice sounds so very young.

From the bed, Georgina watches with sick fascination. She slides from the bed and pads over to him, surprised when he doesn’t react. She kneels by him and leans forward, intimidating with her proximity. Still no reaction. His hands, however, keep fumbling with his trousers, so she grips them, halting the movement. He doesn’t even look up.

“Oh God,” he whispers, a quiet plea from his now frozen form.

Curious, she peers into his face. His eyes stare unfocused and empty. He isn’t there. His body may be here, but no one is home. His mind is somewhere else, and his autopilot seems to be stuck, repeating the last few seconds over and over like a skipping record.

“Oh God.”

Well fuck! This isn’t even worth it, she thinks. At least as a child, he’d tried to get away but this thing before her now just sits there immobile, watching her approach without so much as a flinch. What is the point if he doesn’t struggle? There is no fun in tormenting a defenseless victim. It’s entirely too easy, and she can’t even take full credit for the state he’s in now as it is as much his fault as hers.

Goddamn it.

With a sound of disgust, she saunters over to pick up her discarded dress. Slipping it over her head, she rolls her eyes at this failure of an evening. The whole thing has been a huge waste of time.

Pissed, she stoops in front of him again. “Chuck?” she says. She grabs his shoulder and shakes him. “Chuck?” Finally, she draws her arm back and belts him across the face, his head snapping to the side and staying there. He doesn’t move. His breathing doesn’t change. But there is a subtle difference in his eyes. A thread of recognition. Not much, but enough.

“I’ll be back in twenty minutes. Don’t still be here,” she calls out with a sneer behind her as she stands and stalks over to the door. She opens it and steps out into the hall. She risks one glance back into the room at the broken boy on the floor, the fabled prodigal son. The anguish on his face is so raw, the loss of self so palpable.

Pitiful.

Such a disappointment.

“Goodbye Chucky.”