He waited impatiently for the elevator to reach her floor. After debating with himself—and not taking Chuck's advice—he decided to go see Blair. He couldn't stop thinking about her. He never thought he'd miss her this much either. He didn't know if she'd be willing to give them another chance, but he was going to start slow and try to work his way back into her good graces. He figured the Debutante Ball would be the perfect starting place.
The elevator finally arrived with a ding. The doors opened to reveal Dorota, the Waldorf maid, dusting. She looked at him on his arrival and frowned.
"Good afternoon Dorota, I've come to see Blair," he smiled his charming grin at her.
"Missus Blair is not receiving guests at the moment, Monsieur Nate. You'll have to come back another time," Dorota said, looking worriedly at the top of the stairs.
"She told you to say that right, if I showed up? I really need to see her," he started for the stairs.
"Monsieur Nate!" Dorota whispered loudly, hoping to make him stop.
"I won't tell her you let me up," he grinned back at her, still walking up the stairs.
Dorota stopped at the bottom of the stairs, afraid to see what would happen next.
Nate walked faster up the stairs and was nearly to the top when he froze. He heard Blair shout "Yes!" very loudly in a tone he'd never heard her use. There were other noises, more muffled, coming from the room too. He looked back down the stairs at Dorota who looked a little pale. She looked at him sadly and shook her head before turning and walking away.
He looked back up and took a few more steps towards the top landing unable to entertain the idea that was starting to form in his head. As he drew closer to the room the sounds he heard amplified. He could hear the pounding of a mattress and Blair moaning in ecstasy. He froze again when he heard the unmistakable sound of male groans accompanying her shouts.
Nate couldn't breathe or think for a moment. He felt this odd swelling, almost pain, in his chest. He closed his eyes tight and almost burst into the room. But he didn't.
Instead he turned quickly and ran down the stairs and got on the elevator. As the doors slid shut, he spotted Dorota giving him a pitying look—that only made it worse because he knew this was his fault.
When he got to the sidewalk, he didn't know what to do with himself. He walked in a full circle before he realized that he needed a destination. He decided his home would be the best place. He began the long walk home with his thoughts running a mile a minute.
She had moved on. He knew she was allowed to, he just never thought that she would…at least not this quickly. He could still feel this weird swelling in his chest and wished it would go away. He finally realized that he needed to remember to breathe.
Part of him was mad at himself for not realizing what a good thing he had before he let it go. Part of him was insanely jealous of the guy with Blair and wanted to tear his head off. Part of him wanted her to be happy; and, if this guy made her feel all the things that Nate couldn't give her, then Nate should be happy for both of them.
The part of him that he needed to deal with but could barely face was the part that was angry at Blair. He couldn't believe that they had been together practically their entire lives and in a few weeks apart she would give up the one thing she kept so sacred to some other guy!
Even if he got her back now he would always remember that he should have been her first—and he wasn't. That was tearing him up. It made him question everything he knew about Blair. He almost wondered if she had been playing him but stopped the thought before his imagination could run wild with it.
Blair had always been faithful. She had shown each and every day how much she truly loved him. She would never betray him—especially not the way he had betrayed her.
With a deep breath, he could finally see things more clearly. His first time was supposed to be with her too—and it wasn't. He was a hypocrite. He was judging her and he had no right. It was kind of poetic justice in a way.
He stopped walking. So they weren't virgins anymore. Who gives a crap? That's not what's important. What's important is how he feels about her and how she feels about him.
He turned and started walking back towards her place. Hopefully the guy would be gone and he could do what he went there to do in the first place—ask her to the ball.
Some things may have changed, but others stayed the same. He was going to win her back. He had to. Otherwise he'd really have to kick himself for realizing too late how much he loves her.
This time when the elevator doors opened Dorota was nowhere to be seen. He walked inside and went to the stairs, pausing to listen. When he didn't hear anything he started up the stairs. He looked at the door to her room and realized it was open about halfway and she was sitting at her vanity in a towel. She was bent forward with her hair dripping wet hanging down around her face.
As he finished his walk up the stairs and arrived at her door, she put another towel over her head and began to towel dry her hair. She wouldn't rush through it for fear of damaging her luscious locks. He pushed the half open door to make a wider space. It swung with a slight squeak.
She didn't even look up from what she was doing. He opened his mouth to make his presence known but he didn't get the chance to speak.
"It's by the door. Honestly, you need to stop leaving your things here," she snapped.
He looked to the small lamp stand to the left of the door and found himself frozen in place again, this time for an entirely different reason.
"If one of the girls saw that" she was referring to Isabel and Kati, "Nate will find out."
She's just finishing up towel drying her hair. She senses that he's still standing there. She drops the towel and picks up the blow dryer, still not looking at him—almost like she can't stand the thought of looking at him.
"Leave. I'll see you tonight after dinner with Serena—I told you that. I'm running late because of you. A shower! Do you know how long it's going to take to get my hair straight?" with an exasperated 'humph!' she flipped the switch on the blow dryer and began drying and brushing her hair.
His eyes hovered on her before swinging back to the lamp stand. He was back to being breathless, but this time the anger far out-weighed the pain. He took a deep breath.
Then picked the colorful scarf up and briskly turned and walked out without a backward glance.