Will Not Remember, Cannot Forget

Basketball was definitely a mistake. The running, the jumping, the constant stop and start only exacerbates his hangover. Now his headache is raging, his body is aching, he thinks he might vomit, and he is sweaty.

Chuck is not pleased.

But at least he is back in his suite now. His duty to Nathaniel is done. Finally, he can lie down and just suffer until this wretchedness goes away. Sounds like paradise.

He considers freshening up, but the lure of the bed is too great in his condition. He collapses onto it. The joys of clean skin can wait until he feels better.

Rolling onto his side, he notices something hard under him. He pulls it out and realizes it is his phone. He’d forgotten it when he’d left with Nate. Checking to see if anyone had called, he is surprised to see that he has eleven missed calls from Serena.

Whatever could she want that badly?

He presses the speed dial for her cell. She answers almost immediately.

“Hey Ser – ”

“Are you home?” she asks abruptly, cutting him off. Something in her tone is not right.

“Yeah… Why?” he asks.

“I’ll be right over,” she replies, and before he can say anything else, the line goes dead.

Sighing in frustration, he climbs back off of the mattress. It looks like he won’t be resting quite yet after all. Might as well get that shower in now, he thinks. But he doesn’t know where she is coming from. She could be close and he wouldn’t be finished before she arrived. Knowing his luck today, that is probably the case.

Sure enough, as if on cue, there is suddenly a knock on his door.

Damn it.

Expecting Serena, he is taken aback when he sees a man holding an enormous bouquet of purple flowers, a veritable riot of lilac, violet, and amethyst.

“Delivery for –” the man begins.

“Wrong suite,” Chuck says automatically. Before he can shut the door, however, the man speaks again.

“Are you Charles Bass?” he says, reading off a clipboard.

“Yes.”

“Then these are yours,” the guy states. “Sign here please.”

In perplexity, Chuck scrawls his name and takes the bouquet inside.

Who would send him flowers?

Settling down the vase, he checks for a card. Hidden amongst the blooms and baby’s breath, he sees it.
The envelope is creamy vellum paper, heavy for something so small. Curious, he opens it, reads the message.

Thinking of you

The script is large, sharp angles and soft curves. It’s unsigned.

But something else rests in the bottom of the envelope like a slight weight. He upends it, and tumbling into his outstretched palm is a lone button. A wisp of thread still hangs from it. Lavender, like the flowers. Like the shirt he’d worn that awful night…

Hissing through his teeth, he drops the card, flings the button from him as if it was cursed. He looks at the artfully arranged blossoms and no longer detects their fragrance. Instead, all he can smell is a vile vanilla stench. With a cry, he sweeps the offending buds into the trash. The vase shatters on impact.

That bitch. That crazy, psychotic bitch!

Involuntarily his lungs constrict and his eyes burn. Blinking, he feels hot tears roll down his cheeks. He wipes them away angrily. No more crying, he scolds himself. No more tears shed because of that whore Georgina.

He considers for a moment. Then his lips curl into a small self-satisfied smirk.

Whoregina. So fitting.

He’s in the bathroom, splashing water on his face, willing his racing pulse to slow and his labored breathing to ease, when his phone rings. It’s a number he doesn’t recognize.

“Hello?” he says answering.

“Hi, Chucky,” Georgina seductively whispers over the line.

“How did you get this number?” he demands. The vice is back around his chest. Perspiration breaks out along his brow.

“Did you like my little surprise?” she asks, blatantly ignoring his question.

He should hang up. He knows that. But with an almost sick fascination, he stays on the line. Looking at his reflection in the mirror, his eyes are huge, horrified.

“They’re in the garbage, where you belong,” he tells her.

“That’s unfortunate. They were really quite lovely, unspoiled, like you used to be. And now you’ve ruined them. There’s a tragic irony in that, the fallen boy destroying that which is pure. Life coming full circle, don’t you think?” He shudders at the implications of her words.

“Why don’t you go find someone else to torture?” he says. It’s almost a prayer.

She laughs delightedly, and even through the phone the sound causes him to flinch. “Because I choose you, Chucky. You amuse me.”

“Well find some other way to make yourself happy, bitch,” he snaps.

“I’ll ignore that term of affection, dear.” Her tone dips threateningly. “And I didn’t say you made me happy. Happiness isn’t for people like us.”

“There is no us,” he grinds out through clenched teeth.

She sighs. He can practically see her rolling her eyes at him and shaking her brown hair with a toss of her malicious head. “Oh but there is. We’re playing a game, you and I. Not the same game, of course. I’m playing chess, while you’re playing Candyland. But maybe eventually you’ll move up to the big boys table.”

“This, what you’re doing to me, is not a game you fucking –”

“Everything is a game!” she says, cutting him off. “Life is a competition. There are always winners and losers. Me? I’m a winner. And you? Well… I’m sure you have other qualities.”

“Fuck you!”

“I already have, as I’m sure you recall. I know I do. The sounds you made, the look you gave me when you came. Gets me hot, just thinking about it.” Her voice is warm and husky, disturbingly sensual. Bile rises in his throat. He’s shaking, his whole body trembling.

“Don’t ever call here again,” he says. He hates the weakness in his voice, that slight tremor. He knows she’ll hear it.

“Believe me Chucky. Next time we speak, it’ll be you calling me.”

“Don’t count on it!” he sneers as he hangs up the phone.

Seconds later, he falls to his knees before the toilet and heaves into the bowl. Spent, he lies there on the floor gasping. He’s still there when there is a knock at his door. At the gentle rapping, he tenses. He checks through the peep hole and relaxes when he sees Serena on the other side. He opens the door to invite her in.

BAM!

Quicker than a flash, her hand strikes, connecting sharply against his cheek.

“What the fuck!” he roars stunned. The left side of his face stings, the eye waters.

“How could you?” she snarls, her blue gaze livid.

He resists the impulse to hit her back. Boys do not hit girls. Not ever. Not even if they deserve it. Not even if they belt you across the face with no provocation.

“What was that for?” he shouts instead as his hands clench into fists.

“She was a virgin, Chuck. A virgin, you asshole!” Serena shrieks at him in cold fury, her finger stabbing accusingly into his chest. The venom in her voice mystifies him.

“Who are you talking about?” he cries in utter confusion.

“Oh, so you’ve done it more than once? You disgust me!” she sneers with a shake of her long golden tresses. The look on her face, that movement of her head seems so familiar. Almost an exact impersonation of…

“Georgina!” he says with dawning certainty. “What did she tell you?”

“Everything, you bastard. I’m her friend. She needed me after what you did to her!”

“What I did to her?” he repeats in stunned disbelief.

“Don’t act all innocent. You know you took advantage of her, pressured her when she was drunk.”

“That isn’t what happened at all,” Chuck insists.

“Oh? Then what did happen, huh? Let’s hear your version of events,” Serena says with obvious disdain.

He tries to speak, but he can’t seem to make his mouth work. The words won’t come, they’re just not there.

With a sound of derision, Serena rolls her eyes at his silence. “What’s the matter? Need some help?” she says sarcastically. “How about she started it? It wasn’t your fault at all? She was all over you, right? She practically raped you?”

Dimly, as if she is standing beside him, he imagines he can hear Georgina laughing.

“I can’t believe you Chuck. I thought I knew you. I thought we were friends. Guess I just never noticed what kind of a monster you really are. You’re lucky she made me swear not to tell, ‘cause I would. I want to. I think Blair, Nate, everyone deserves to know what kind of sadistic fucker you are. But I promised because she doesn’t want anyone to know. She’s too embarrassed. She only gave in because you said you loved her, and she thought she loved you. Then you don’t even talk to her afterwards. You avoid her. Treat her like she’s nothing but a cheap slut. She’s been sobbing at my house for hours. She regrets the day she first laid eyes on you, and she’s going to suffer for it for the rest of her life. You both are.”

“Excuse me?”

“She’s pregnant, Chuck. You got her pregnant.”