Will Not Remember, Cannot Forget

27 days earlier…

She knows exactly when he falls asleep. It’s when that one offending arm finally goes limp and falls away from her side. When she’s finally able to squirm away from his supine form on the couch. God, they’d been cuddling. Georgina does not cuddle.

Cuddling is an affront to her sensibilities. It is part of that great lie called love. That delusion people tell themselves so they don’t feel guilty for wanting to get laid. That cold comfort they cling to rather than face the stark reality that they’ve sold their freedom for a person they will ultimately come to despise.

Georgina loathes love. Like Santa Clause and Cinderella, she knows love is a fairy tale for children. The greatest travesty of the human race is the perpetuation of that piece of make-believe bullshit for so long that not even adults realize anymore what a fabrication it is. The phrase wasn’t fools in love for nothing.

Love is merde. It belongs with the other falsehoods of existence, like “life after death” and “happily ever after” and “everything happens for a reason.” It’s all just contemptible lonely people trying to deny the chaos instead of embracing it. Georgina knows better than to believe in that shit.

And little Chuck Bass? Well, he’ll soon know better too.

She watches him asleep on the couch. His face is serene, angelic. Eleven year old innocence personified. He looks like some dark haired cherubim caught napping, the subject of an Italian painting. She takes a moment to sear the image of into her brain. Things are always appreciated more once they are gone.

Georgina leans down and grips the front of his shirt. Dolce, she thinks. For a moment, she luxuriates in the silky texture beneath her slender fingers. It really is a nice shirt. That’s too bad really. Such a waste.

With a harsh pull, she jerks it from his chest. It rips, shredding like tissue paper in her hands, the expensive buttons flying. A swath of his chest is exposed. Soft and pale and utterly smooth. He really is young. Oh well, Georgina muses. Everyone’s got to grow up sometime.

“Wakey, wakey,” she teases as she meets his unfocused eyes.

Oh, yes. He’s conscious now. She sees him struggling to throw off the fogginess of dreams. To understand what is going on. But the haze isn’t lifting. Something is holding him under. Something stronger than the last vestiges of sleep or champagne is enveloping his brain. Imagine that.

“Georgina, what – ” he manages to mumble before she shushes him with her fingertips against his lips. The slur in his voice is distinctive. She hears it. He hears it too. She sees that in his dark gaze. The slowly dawning comprehension. She waits for it to sink in, for that last piece to click into place. She doesn’t want to miss that moment of recognition…

His eyes widen slightly, and there it is. The first thread of fear.

He tries to sit up. It takes her almost nothing to push him back down. He’s too weak, his body too sluggish.

“Relax, Chuck.” She sneers his name, makes it a dirty word. “We’re going to play a little game.”

“What are you doing?” he slurs as he watches her reach for his belt. His eyes fly to her face, and the second he meets her glacial gaze, he knows.

He cries something, his voice high pitched and afraid. In his terror, the words slur together until they’re unintelligible. The meaning is clear, however, as he tries to push her hands away.

She bats away the feeble attempts as she grins down at him. It isn’t friendly at all.

“You know what your problem is Chucky?” Georgina jeers as reaches into his trousers. “You’re too perfect. You don’t know how to have fun. But that’s okay. I’ll show you. I know all about fun.”

He’s looking at her in horror. His eyes are wide and glassy with unshed tears, even as he grows hard in her hand.

Her lips twist up in a mockery of a smile. “Well, look at you Chucky. You’ve got some goods after all.”

“Please,” he begs as she crawls over him. He begins shaking his head back and forth. A wail is building in the back of his throat. It’s pathetic really. She lowers herself and the wail emerges. It quickly becomes a gasp.

Georgina starts to move, then notices he’s squeezing his eyes shut. He’s whispering, “No, no, no” over and over in a constant litany. This won’t do. It won’t do at all.

“Chuck? Look at me,” she breathes, her voice seductive as smoke in his ear. When he doesn’t respond, she digs her fingernails into his chest drawing blood. He whimpers, a small despairing sound, but his eyes remain resolutely closed.

With a smirk, she rolls her hips and has the satisfaction of hearing him make a sound that is definitely not a whimper. Boys, she thinks scornfully, they’re all the same. He can try to resist all he wants. But in this she is the master, he is the apprentice, and some lessons cannot be ignored.

And this is a lesson he will remember forever.

Still, he fights valiantly. She’ll give him that. But eventually, it happens. She senses the change in him, the tension in his body. The way his breaths begin to hitch in his throat.

He’s close.

“Fight it, Chuck. You hate it. You know you do. It doesn’t feel good. Fight it,” Georgina taunts him.

His face distorts becoming a grimace of pain and pleasure, happiness and horror.

Any second now.

“Look at me, damn it!” she demands with a violent twist of her hand against his tender flesh. He hisses through his teeth and obeys. His eyes fly open and meet hers just as a cry of anguished ecstasy rips from his throat as his body betrays him.

What she sees reflected there is priceless.

And he’s crying. Literally keening beneath her. So precious.

She leans forward to kiss him, and he turns his face away in shame and revulsion.

“What’s wrong, Chuck?” she whispers, her voice a mocking caress against his ear. “Not how you envisioned it?”

She trails her hand up his jaw, and he cringes away from her touch, trying to disappear into the couch.

“Didn’t you enjoy it? Wasn’t it fun? I bet Blair would think it was fun,” she says as her fingers tighten in his hair. He looks at her then, meets her piercing blue gaze.

“Oh, yes. I know all about your little crush. Did you think I didn’t? That I hadn’t seen you looking at her?” she scoffs.

“ You could have had her Chuck. Nate’s boring and safe, but you? Everything she wants if she’d only turn and see you standing there. But now? The little prince isn’t so charming anymore. He’s dirty. Soiled. She’d never look at you again if she knew. And you know what’s better than that Chucky dear? You never forget your first. Every time you touch her, touch anyone, you’ll think of me, of this.”

She grabs his face then and kisses him. Harsh bruising kisses as her fingernails dig into his scalp. Then she thrusts him away and stands up.

She watches his glazed eyes stare at the wetness, his wetness, glistening upon her upper thighs. Then, with a strangled cry, he turns his head and retches.

And as the liquid pools at the toes of her Prada pumps and great wracking sobs shake his pitiful form, Georgina feels something grow within her greater and more exhilarating than any orgasm she’s ever known.

Triumph.

And it bursts out of her in a laugh of pure unadulterated joy. A deep laugh that sounds almost foreign coming from her mouth, low and dark and throaty.

She’s broken Chuck Bass.