A round-trip to Hell, for two.

Summary: Two lost souls find each other in Paris. Here starts their crazy journey around the world and inside themselves. Can they handle the truth they're looking for?

Not really any pairing. But I'm focusing on Chuck and Effy and their relationship. More psychological than fluffy. And my own explanation to this two mysterious characters. Especially why Effy didn't talk in the first season (and before).

The story takes place when Chuck runaway after his father death in season 2, and at the end of season 3 for Effy.

Disclaimer: I don't own Gossip Girl or Skins.

Warning: ... It's Skins and Chuck Bass so of course it's M.

Author's Note: I'm French so please forgive the mistakes I've probably done. I'm currently looking for a beta-reader so...

Music: The song for this chapter is Paris is burning by Ladyhawke. Kind of cliché but I love it.


She came in so easily it's almost funny. In fact she thinks it's ironic, the power of her fucking body. It's the forbidden fruit that every man is lusting for, and the Apple of discord that brings destruction all around her.

That's why she ran away in the first place. But it's also thanks to her body that she was here. It's the only reason she got into this oh-so VIP party. Hell, that's the only reason she successfully got to Paris in the first place. She met this random guy in a London bar who asked her to join him and his sister in their wild trip to Paris, just because he wanted to fuck her.

And now here she was, in one of these places "where rich kids come to die" like someone had said to her once. Even here, all the eyes were on her body, touching her curves with their stares. Or maybe she was just high. Paint it Black was playing loudly, and a lot of young people with designer clothes and probably important Daddy where swaying their hips to the music.

She closed her eyes and decided to do the same. She stopped thinking and let the music take her body away, releasing her mind for a few moments.

That's when he spotted her in this crowd of "fils de", this older guy with a Russian wrestler face, sitting among young and beautiful people. When she opened her eyes he was still staring at her, high as fuck. With his hand, he indicated her to come over to his table.

When she arrived, the girl sitting next to him gave Effy her seat, vacating it and moving to the dance floor, without the man even asking. Like he was some kind of fucking puppet-master; she could almost see the strings wrapped around his fingers. Effy wondered what this man was expecting of her. While she took the seat to his right, a waiter appeared out of nowhere with a freshly made cocktail that he dropped in front of her, before disappearing as magically, his hand full of cash. It was a blink-and-you-miss-it gesture, but Effy caught it all the same. A bribe. It didn't take her long to understand, as she noticed the lines of coke among the leftover of champagne and vodka. And the way everyone in the club pretended not to see them suddenly made sense. She took a sip of her glass, enjoying the way sugar covers alcohol.

"You're not even legal, uh?" he finally said in the strangest accent she had ever heard, looking at her drink.

"I'm old enough to know that this isn't legal either," she answered looking at the white powder.

"You're a feisty one," he said with an amused smile. "What's your name?"

"Does it really matter?"

"And smart. I may even like you, minor girl. Just so we're clear, how minor are we talking about?"

"Mature enough not to have sex with you, even for drugs."

"Works for me. I don't want to hurt your feelings, Lolita, but I'm not interested. You're hot and everything but lately I only fuck ballerinas. And no need to sell yourself, you can take all the coke you want. Tonight you're with me; I've got great plans for you."

"Care to share them?" she asked nonchalantly.

"I'm going to introduce you to someone. Don't worry; you're going to like each other. I'm gathering people here to throw him a little party at his hotel. You see, Lolita, my friend refuses to get out of his suite, so I'm bringing the party to him. And you, honey, are the pearl of this party," he said.

He looked at her with a smile; she was breathing heavily, wondering whether she should accept or run. But she was curious, and she had nowhere else to go. He stopped her trains of thought by swearing loudly in what sounded like Russian.

"I'm sorry; this pearl metaphor doesn't mean anything in English, right? How is it that you American say? 'The cherry on top?'"

"I'm from England."

"Same difference. Do you speak any other language? French would be OK. Arrgh, it doesn't matter. He speaks English too."

Then he took a massive gold straw out of his pocket and snorted two big fat lines of snow-colored powder, before handing it to her.

"Want some? Has a pretty young thing like you ever done cocaine?"

She took the straw with her usual mysterious smile before snorting a small line without saying anything. For a little while she just enjoyed the effects, before taking a cigarette out of her cleavage.

"Hey, you can't smoke here!"

"Seriously? You find a way to snort your shit here but I'm not allowed to smoke?"

"That's my girl," he laughed. 'Rules never make sense, that why you should break them."

He had barely raised his hand yet somehow the waiter was already there, they talked in what she recognized as French. Her new friend gave the waiter a few bucks and he closed a curtain that she hadn't notice and which separated their table from the rest of the club.

"Go ahead, have your smoke Lolita."

She did, and she fucking enjoyed it.

"What's your name?" she asked suddenly.

He looked surprised, and then smiled. He seemed to find her very entertaining.

"Mirko."

"That's not your real name, is it?"

"Nope. But you didn't tell me yours."

"Yeah, but mine doesn't matter. I'm the girl, I don't need a name. But you, you're not the boy. The boy is the one locked up in his suite. His name doesn't matter either, for tonight he doesn't need another identity than the Boy. But you, who are you exactly?"

"I was so right to choose you. You get more things than any of the other girls I invited at this table. But you're wrong; it's his name that matters, not mine. Wait until you hear who he is."


Like it? Please review and tell me what you think of my Effy. She's a hard character to write.