Disclaimer: I do not own Gossip Girl or it's characters.
You are the sun, you are the only one.
My heart is blue, my heart is blue for you.
I stare at photos of myself tacked messily over photos of other kids in our class. A photo of him and Nate at a baseball game is almost completely obscured by a photo of me with my arms wound around him at Serena's birthday party. The note I sent him in class last Monday takes center stage. "Don't have a heart attack. You already knew you were my best friend, idiot," my curly, oversized scrawl proclaims. I remembered his excited, puppy dog face, the way I rolled my eyes.
'Do you love me?' I watch his body go rigid in surprise at my abrupt question.
He stutters over his answer. It's sweet really. 'What? Um. What? I don't know. Why?' He fidgets uncomfortably.
I shrug a shoulder and turn away from his shrine. 'Sometimes it feels like you do.' I finger the extra blanket on his bed; it's been a cold winter.
'Aren't we a little young for love?' He asks and he doesn't sound young at all, I look at him and there's an ancient grief in his eyes of a child who's seen too much. It's like looking into a mirror. I feel a surge of affection. Sometimes I want to put Charles in a box and keep him forever, my little secret beneath the mattress.
'Age isn't really about how many years you've lived.' That's what my father said as he unbuttoned my nightgown.
Chuck accepts this, nodding once with an edge of sadness. 'My mother acts like a child. When I have to take care of her, I feel like the parent.'
Poor Charles, he wears his heart on his sleeve. I know all his secrets; he gives them to me willingly. I know him inside and out, and yet he knows nothing of me. Nothing real. He's cried with his head in my lap before. It felt nice to stroke his hair, his hot tears stroking through my school uniform as we hid in the tent of duvets we erected in his bedroom. His mother had been in another funny mood again. I don't understand Misty Bass and my mother says we're not supposed to ask questions because it's a "private matter".
I shiver, his room had been aired during the day and the cold winter air is causing goose bumps to appear on my arms. 'Its cold.'
'Come here.' I smile at Chuck's naturally commanding tone and follow him as we crawl into his large bed.
The sheets are cool and heavy and I snuggle close to Chuck's inviting body heat. He sighs contentedly and wraps his arms around me.
'Do you love me?' I ask again.
'Yes,' he murmurs, and I feel his breath on my hair.
'That's nice.' I sigh. And it is. The thought made my veins feel warmer, a heat pounding straight from my heart.
I could tell he wanted to ask the same question. To evade the moment, I lean up and crush my mouth against his. Chuck's lips are soft. The harder I kiss him, the warmer I feel. The heat is like a shield, spreading over my skin and no misery can touch me. My father can't touch me. I'm not anxiously anticipating the moment I have to go home when my head is filled with Chuck. I search for more heat, slipping my hands beneath his shirt and finding his feverish skin. Yes.
And all I want is more. More heat.
Chuck is my sun.
I shouldn't do this. I shouldn't let him touch me when I hate to be touched. I know after I'll regret it. I'll feel dirty. I'll hate him because I let him touch me. But right now I want it so much. I just want Chuck.
He seems dazed, but doesn't protest as I strip off his shirt. Like always, he goes along with whatever I say because he is blinded by his affection for me. He doesn't realize that I could be wrong, that anything I do could be wrong. He doesn't see that I am wrong.
I undo my own uniform, tearing at the buttons on the front of my shirt. I don't even get it off properly before he smashes our bodies together, skin against skin, heat against heat. Yes.
Chuck's hands are cupping my face, pulling my lips to his again. He focuses on the kiss, urgent and needy, but I need more skin. More. More.
He hesitates when I go for his zipper. He's a virgin. I pity him and envy him in the same heartbeat. 'It's okay,' I assure. My words bleed together as I rush to get them out. 'I've done it before. It'll be fun, I promise.' His dark eyes are confused but he allows me to do what I want because I'm Georgina Sparks and he puts me on a pedestal.
He loves me. My poor stupid puppy.
We fumble around, trying to get the angle and position right. We end up with him on top and when he comes he moans right in my ear.
I dress in a hurry, the last button buttoned just as the maid knocks and enters. 'Miss Sparks, your driver is here to pick you up.'
He looks sheepish, his hair ruffled and his shirt inside-out. 'I'll see you tomorrow.' His chest is puffed out, cheeks are flushed and his eyes bright, and I wish I had a camera to capture this image forever because memory is weak and I don't want to lose the last moment with my sun as he shines brighter than ever.
Maybe I do love him. I love him and hate him in the same breath. I hate men and their foolish desires. And Chuck is just the same. So easily satisfied, so easily manipulated.
I say nothing.
When I walk, I can still feel him there and I am overcome with disgust.
I blank him at school and it drives him insane.
"Why are you ignoring me? Did I do something wrong, Georgie?
Georgie? What's wrong? Tell me what's going on.
Do you regret it? I thought it was what you wanted. Look, it's okay; we don't have to do that again. I don't expect anything from you. Georgie, speak to me.
I love you."
It breaks my heart. I sit numbly on my bed while my father peals off my shirt and hold back the tears.
He won't leave me alone. He won't stop calling.
He throws notes on my desk in class, which I studiously ignore. I read them later when he's not watching. You're mad at me. I don't know what I did, but I do know I would never mean to hurt you. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Can't we just be friends? I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
I wish he would leave me alone. Even when he's not there, I hear his voice in my head.
I realize we can't go on like this. I need to set Chuck free, I need to set myself free.
There's a boy in the eighth grade called Ethan. I hate being touched, but I'll do it for Chuck.
When I invite Chuck over he sounds so relieved, so happy I almost back out. I squeeze my eyes shut and pretend I'm someone else, anywhere else. Ethan is rough and sloppy with his kisses. He doesn't smell nearly as good as Chuck and his hair isn't as soft. I try to be convincing.
I hear Chuck's sharp intake of breath when he enters. By the time I've forced my eyes open, he's gone.
'Get off me. Get off me!'
When I walk, I feel Ethan.
'Aren't you going to let me finish?'
'Get the fuck out of my house.'
A week later, my mother forces me to attend a party held at the Bass's house. I spot Chuck skulking in a corner, face dark and glowering. He is no longer the sun.
My feet follow the familiar path to his bedroom. My photos have been torn off the mirror, ripped to shreds and thrown into the bin. Whatever. I let it roll off me like water on a duck's back. This is what I wanted all along.
'What are you doing in here?' I don't like the tone of Chuck's voice. He has never sounded cold or biting with me before. He has always been awed and affectionate, or giggly and flirtatious.
Before I turn, I set my face into a hard, ugly mask. 'Charles, good evening.'
'Get the fuck out of my room.' He growls.
'That's no way to treat a guest.'
'Guest? Try whore.'
'Ouch. Don't be like that. Ethan's just a friend. Like you.' He winces on the outside, I on the inside. 'Well not exactly like you. He actually made me come.' I watch his hands curl into fists.
'How many friends have you had?' I smile and he looks away. 'Just fuck off you fucking slut. I hate you.' He's almost shouting now, tears brimming in his eyes. He won't let them fall though. He'll never cry in front of me again. Maybe he'll never cry at all.
I sigh and stride past him. He is shaking in rage. I want to reach out and touch him, yet I flinch away from him. I hate that he's seen all of me, had me vulnerable. I hate it. I hate it.
'You'll get over it.' I flick at the air with a hand.
His face crumples in pain. 'I loved you.' I wonder if I say I love him, if he'll take me back. Probably. But that's impossible.
'Don't be stupid, we're only twelve.'
Chuck's jaw drops in disbelief. I leave him like that.
'Aren't we a little young for love?'
'Age isn't really about how many years you've lived.'
'I can't believe you've had sex. I mean... ew. Don't you care about your virginity at all? Your first time is supposed to be special! I'm going to wait and my first time will be something to remember.' Blair's face is all holier-than-thou.
Something to remember. I wished I could forget mine.
'Half our year has had sex!' Serena defends herself. 'Its not a big deal.'
'That's my point. When I lose it, it will be a big deal.'
'Chuck, back me up.'
I turn my bored expression from the schoolyard to them. 'What?'
'Oh, please.' Blair looks disgusted. 'I don't want to get into a sex discussion with him.' I raise my eyebrows. Why is my best-friend dating her, again? 'He who lost it in the sixth grade to that absolute slut, Georgina Sparks. Gross.'
It doesn't hurt anymore. It doesn't hurt anymore. It doesn't hurt anymore.
She can say what she wants, it doesn't hurt anymore.
Please, don't hurt anymore.
'Georgie's nice...' Serena trails off underneath her friend's glare.
'You think you're going to lose it with Nate, right?' I ask. Blair looks at me pointedly and then nods, cheeks flushing; the image of a blushing virgin. It makes her slightly more attractive, if only she could keep her mouth shut. 'Then it won't be as memorable as you want.'
She frowns and opens her mouth to protest. I cut her off, and it obviously offends her but she lets me speak. 'Well, he's going to be a virgin too. Unless you let him practice with other people. He'll be crap and inexperienced and he probably won't even make you come.' Her face turns redder at my words. Serena giggles.
Blair is speechless, her face incredulous. 'Well,' she bumbles, 'well that won't matter. It will be good because it will be me and him and we're in love.'
'Does he love you, yeah?' I ask for reassurance.
Blair holds her chin high. 'Of course.'
'That won't make him good in bed. Trust me. Virgins are crap, that's just how it is.'
'Well not exactly like you. He actually made me come.'
'Now,' I smirk, 'if you want to make your first time memorable, you'd better lose it to an experienced guy like me. I'd be willing to help you out, Waldorf.'
'Ugh. Gross. I'd probably catch something.' She turns sharply on her heel at the sound of the bell and stalks away. Yeah, she's pretty hot.
Years later, Blair Waldorf grips my shoulders and clenches her eyes shut. I wonder if she's afraid now. She'd been so brave before, breaking it off with him, dancing on stage, making the first move to resolve the crackling tension between us... And now her thighs are trembling and I can't tell if it's in pleasure or fear. 'I won't hurt you,' I murmur. 'It's okay.'
No need to remind her I know what I'm doing, that I've had plenty of virgins before.
She nods, urging me on. 'I know. I want to... Please.' Her voice is almost a whimper, needy and urgent. I like it. More than I should, perhaps. But no, I don't want to remember that this is my bestfriend's girl. I don't want to remember that I shouldn't enjoy this.
I'd rather just enjoy it.