Disclaimer: I own nothing.
A/N: A Chuck/Georgina fic? I know... But I want Georgina back, contary to Blair's opinion, there's plenty of room for phsyco bitches in the UES. I'm really hoping for G to be in s2 crosses fingers she makes for good TV with her coked-up antics. Seriously, selling her race horse for nose candy and stealing Chuck's virginity in the sixth grade?! How can you not love her? And Chuck and Georgina didn't even get a scene together, which is like criminal. Anyway this is post 1x18 randomness because I haven't had much inspiration lately...
'Bass.' She practically purrs as she slides into the bar stool beside you at a club in London.
You feel your heart jolt in your chest at her sudden, unexpected arrival, but don't let it show. You're desperate to turn your head and check she's really there, sitting beside you, but instead you take a sip of scotch and keep your face blank. 'For God's sake, I thought we were rid of you.' You sigh like she's a chore.
'We? You seem awfully lonesome to me.'
You almost grimace, but brush off her comment. You're mighty impressed she knows exactly where to stick the knife even after all this time. 'So, come on then, Sparks, how did you escape boot camp?' You turn to watch her as she traces the rim of her drink. She seems a little older, a little sadder, a little more tired. Her face is gaunt when she returns your unwavering gaze, the sallow skin stretched and arched by cheekbones more prominent than you remember.
The two of you stare, unabashed, for what seems like hours. Finally she breaks it, turning back to her Cosmo and shifting restlessly. 'You know they couldn't trap me,' her voice grates against your eardrums unpleasantly as always, 'I'm a wild soul me.'
'You have no soul,' you retort, swirling the alcoholic liquid in your glass.
You pretend not to notice the sudden change in her eyes, or the shift of tension in the air. You ignore her hand sliding up your thigh and continue to drink, unfazed. She leans closer, expression contorted with lust.
You face her, your eyes clouded by alcohol and hers by desire, 'I don't like you,' the statement is true but lacks conviction, you can already feel yourself giving in. Blair's off in Tuscany, not talking to you, Nathaniel and Serena are living it up in the Hamptons.
'Since when did we like the people we screw?'
'You know, at some point, I have to get back to New York.' You're sat on the closed toilet seat, watching her head fall limply forwards as she struggles to remain conscious. Her hair lies in dark, knotted tangles, drenched by the hot water crashing over her, washing away vomit and lingering smells of cigarette smoke. She sits with her knees drawn to her chest and back against the tiled wall of the shower that now bears a dent from where she shoved you during a heated argument. If you ran your hand over the back of your head now, you could feel the rise of broken skin and scar tissue. Twelve stitches. You feel as though she left her signature on you.
'Back to what?' She brings her head up, and watches you beneath hooded eyelids. 'Why do you have to go head and leave me, huh?' God, that voice. It's no wonder people are driven to drink themselves into oblivion in the presence of Georgina Sparks.
'I've got school,' you take a drag of the joint held delicately between thumb and index finger, watching her carefully. 'People are probably wondering where I've been for weeks.' You wonder if anyone really is worried, if they've been calling (you wouldn't know since she threw your phone off Millennium bridge). You wonder what you would say if they asked. You know you most definitely couldn't tell the non-judging breakfast club about this. If they knew you'd been sleeping with the enemy you claimed to hate passionately (and still do), you certainly wouldn't be allowed the matching jacket.
You're not sure if Georgina Sparks is hell or paradise, the lines kind of blur and merge together.
'If you go, I'll tell everyone what you've been up to.' She threatens lightly.
You squint in thought. To summarize it: four ER visits, two trips to the police station (in handcuffs) and twenty-two mornings where you couldn't remember what you'd been doing the night before.
The novelty is beginning to wear off.
'You've already played this game with Serena,' when you mention the reformed blonde, her eyes blaze in anger, so, naturally, you do it as much as possible, 'and as I recall, you lost.'
'You and I, we're the same. We need to stick together.'
Your jaw clenches, and you wish you'd just left her face down in her own puke.
'You talk so much shit these days. I always said you were unhinged, but I think boot camp cracked you.' You stand, towering above her feeble figure. 'Get fucked, you pathetic bitch.'
Her ivory skin glows in the scattered light of dawn. She's stood on the balcony with only a sheet wrapped around her at four in the morning and for a minute, as you watch her, you realize Georgina Sparks, looking like she does at this exact moment, could be mistaken for an angel. Not all that glimmers is gold. But look closer and the track marks up her arms, bites from your own mouth on her neck, the dark rings beneath her eyes reveal that she is not who she at first seems.
She turns around and smiles nastily, in turn you grimace. Fighting the bile in your throat you grip the door, 'I really, really, hate you' you sigh in exhaustion.
'Sweet nothings like that could get you anywhere.'
'Anywhere away from you is just fine for me.'
After a peaceful silence watching the city begin to awake below you, she breaks it with a whole new string of conversation. You get used to her random remarks after time, although you wish you wouldn't.
'Do you think I'm going to die?' She asks, eyes wide and shiny, bony arms crossing over her chest. She always was quite the actress.
As always, you cut her down. You never could take her shit. Everyone else would lap up her lies; allow her to walk all over them. Not you, and you took sick pride in it too. 'With my luck not anytime soon. You'll outlive us all, thriving on spite and conflict and all that's unholy in the world. Why the sudden talk of mortality?'
She smiles. 'I was thinking of making something up, like I had cancer or something. I wanted to guilt you into staying but obviously that wouldn't work. You're like me, you have no conscience.'
'How sweet. Are you going to miss me when I'm gone, too? Because I assure you, as soon as the summer ends I'm out of here.'
Her voice is light and innocent as she speaks, but her face is sour and ugly. 'Chuck, if you leave me: it will destroy me. And if you destroy me, then I'll destroy you.'
'We've been through this. Over and over.' You drawl out in a bored tone, like you're not the slightest bit anxious about the predicament that you've placed yourself in. 'You're really starting to bore me, Sparks.'
'Please. You're obsessed by me, don't even try and lie.' She bites out coldly, stepping closer and wrapping her arms around your waist. 'You have been ever since I screwed you and left you in the sixth grade. I have to say, you've improved since back then.' She smirks evilly and tugs you towards the bed.
Her lips are forceful on yours as she tugs on your clothes, pulls on your hair, bites your tongue and presses her hips torturously against yours.
You awake later with her sleeping against your chest. You dig the heel of your palms into your eye sockets until you seem colorful patterns, she's giving you one hell of a headache. 'Crazy bitch,' you mutter before pushing her away roughly and turning on your side, back to her.