Author's Note: Apologies for getting this out so late. School work left be really busy these past few days. Anyway, enjoy this and thank you for reading this so far.
Disclaimer: I do not own Gossip Girl or the characters of Gossip Girl. I often wish I do though. Sad Face.
Chuck watched, fixated, as Blair strutted away from him in a dignified manner. He couldn't move, couldn't see past the trail that Blair had left as she walked away from him…from them. Chuck, his body shaking violently, turned back to the empty glass on the counter. His hand reached the bottle of alcohol and filled it, not caring about a goddamn thing in the world, not wanting to show his emotions…his fear, his anger.
Oh yes, Chuck decided, he was fucking angry.
He lifted the glass to his mouth and poured into the basin of his throat and ingested it. His mental state was changing. Chuck was usually not an angry drunk…but now nothing but rage consumed him.
That…bitch, how dare she? I'm…I'm fucking Chuck Bass.
He poured and drank again.
No one just leaves Chuck Bass hanging.
And again the alcohol dripped from its container to the glass. And again Chuck was more than happy to take it in and to eradicate all reason from his mind.
I'll…I'll show her what I'm capable of.
Chuck dripped the last of the bottle into the crystal glass and groaned. He needed more. More alcohol meant less reason. Less reason gave him a reason to rage at Blair, to blame all his misery on her. Chuck scrambled through Blair's pantries more bottles of vodka. His eyes widened at the sight of how much there was. After he had drunk all this he would show Blair…something?
This time Chuck didn't care enough to pour it into a glass so he strutted away, drunkenly, with three bottles in his hand and, instead of walking towards her room, walked towards the elevator.
The elevator door slid open and Chuck took a step in it before descending to the lower levels. Chuck was left pondering, as only one could ponder when they were as inebriated as he was.
Why did she just leave me? Chuck questioned in his mind as he left the apartment. Why did she not care about me? Weren't we inevitable? Endgame? Destiny? Eternal? Didn't she say as much in her own damn words?
Another voice answered Chuck back, She left you because your worthless, you fool. Worthless. Look at yourself. You can't hold yourself in for two seconds, you drunken mess.
Chuck took a drunken swig of the alcohol, letting it refresh his mind. He walked on the empty sidewalk, swaying from one side to the other.
I can't be worthless. I'm Chuck Bass, right?, Chuck thought as his rage took over him again, Chuck freakin' Bass.
That's your justification for everything, Charles, the voice sounded off, Chuck Bass this? Chuck Bass that? It's time for an internal evaluation of your self. You'll see truly how deceitful and selfish you are then, Bass.
Certainly a worth justification though, Chuck reasoned, Certainly…
You keep telling yourself that…
It'll be your destruction, Bass.
The voice quieted in Chuck's head as he, walking and drinking as recklessly as he had ever, began to grow a nagging suspicion in his head, something you can only think about when your drunk. Something so unbelievable until you're intoxicated.
What if it's not that she doesn't want me but that she's already with someone? That she was just lying about the inevitable crap and that she really is seeing someone? But who…
Chuck stopped and sat at the steps of someone's house, trying to control himself from his drunkenness.
Who would possibly interest or captivate Blair Waldorf…
And the answer hit in instantly with the force of a pack of stampeding elephants.
Chuck stood, breathing. Of course, he had been so naïve to think Blair would never mingle with anyone lower than her. Freakin' Humphrey. All the Gossip Girl posts about her and that wanna-be intellectual cozying up over the past few months. The fact that they were both red at the sight of Serena and I. They had probably just enjoyed a good make-out or something…
Chuck's already volatile mind went into overdrive as he walked briskly across the road.
I'll…I'll give her cyanide or…wait I'll shoot her than I'll shoot myself…or I'll get a knife and kill her and then cut my own wrists…or wait…
That was the last thing Chuck Bass would think before streaming white light took over his sight.
Care to finish that thought, Chuck?
Author's Note: Review, please! So far, the positive reviews have been overwhelming. Once again, if there is something you don't like about it don't shy away from criticism-it is extremely welcome and ultimately necessary for me to become a better writer and, therefore, post better content for the readers to read and enjoy. Sorry for getting this one out so late, I'll try to get the next chapter out ASAP.