Gossip Girl: Fic - If He Leaves You Cold in the City (1/2)
The thing that makes it worse is that she should have seen it coming.
Blair swallows, practically choking on her own tongue. Her tears came late, much later than she would have ever thought, but they come with a vengeance, streaking the pillowcase she’d rarely used until last week.
She gets up, wiping her face and carefully reapplying her mascara. She needs to eat something, but that doesn’t mean she has to look like a slob while she does it. Out the door and down the stairs, it’s like a game of can you can make it to the coffee shop without losing it?
Her heels click-click on the sidewalk, and Blair smiles in greeting as she passes a familiar face. Her mouth moves in that old familiar way, twisting into the same shape it knew in high school.
She’s brought a book, a recommendation from Dan, but she grimaces at the thought of removing it from her bag. What the Hell is she doing, taking reading advice from Humphrey? What is he doing, talking to her in the first place? The Dan Humphreys of the world know the Blairs to be their natural enemy: the enemy of True Love and Happy Endings. Blair decides to return the book to library unopened.
Blair wipes her hands on her napkin, setting her coffee cake aside and pulling out her laptop. She’d bookmarked the Columbia University transfer application last night (in between tissue boxes), and she wants to look over the requirements again. Her Advance Placement scores and current rigorous course load give her the credits she needs to apply, and her essays could be tweaked from the prior year. This could be easy; she could be exactly what they need. If they’ll have her. Of course, who wouldn’t have her?
And suddenly there’s a whisper in her ear about one of the Bass men having class.
She’s going to be ill. Blair hops up, dashing to the tiny back restroom and offering up a prayer of thanks when she finds it empty. No one to witness her shame; no one to witness her grief. She sinks back against the tiled wall, wrinkling her nose at the thought of what disgusting filth she’s transferring from a public toilet to her new jacket, but right now she can’t care (much).
Blair wipes her mouth and checks her hair, smoothing her skirt with hands that only shake a little. Her head is on fire, but she’s had enough practice at these subtle exits she could do it with her eyes closed. The trick is to look distracted, she knows, as if you are thinking of the thousand-and-one things you are about to set off and do. She pulls open the door, mentally preparing her own list-
“Blair? Are you alright?”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Blair mutters.
“What?”
“Nothing. Hello, Vanessa. I’m fine. Busy, you know.” Because there she is, little miss Artist, standing at Blair’s table, watching her with judging eyes. Blair shoves her laptop back in its case.
“Shouldn’t you be off filming something meaningful?”
“Are you sure you’re alright?”
This is the question Serena keeps asking her, over and over again in a thousand different ways. She changes the wording (How are you? Are things going well?) or the medium (the phone, via Nate), hoping to get a changed response (a more honest one).
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
Vanessa shifts her body, leaning on the chair in front of her. She’s relaxed, the picture of health and happiness. Blair hates her.
“I don’t know, maybe because you left your nice, shiny computer sitting out in the open while you bolted for the bathroom.”
“Maybe I was thinking that if someone stole it, I could just buy a new one.”
Vanessa shakes her head, her eyes never leaving Blair’s face.
“You aren’t that callous.”
“Maybe I am.”
“Fine, maybe you are. But I know you wouldn’t want your personal belongings in someone else’s possession.”
She has a point, but Blair isn’t sure where this is going, and she’s having trouble concentrating enough to figure it out. The room is spinning a little, and she could really use some fresh air.
“I guess I’m lucky you were here to stand guard,” she snaps, picking up her bag and marching out onto the street. To her utter dismay, Vanessa follows, falling into step just behind her.
“I heard that you and Chuck broke up.”
“Your social tact is unparalleled,” Blair notes, thinking, This is why cotillion should be mandatory.
“While I’m on a roll, you look like shit.” Vanessa catches her arm, and Blair can feel the slide of a very different set of fingers over her skin. There’s a flash of revulsion, and of fear, the kind of fear that leads you to do very, very stupid things. She pulls away, and Vanessa puts up her hands, a conciliatory gesture.
“Woah, woah, calm down. I just…you look like you’re sick, Blair.”
“I haven’t been sleeping very well,” Blair admits in the smallest of voices.
“Is there anyone…has anyone been taking care of you?” Vanessa’s voice is kind, and Blair cracks, tears rising in her eyes.
“Come on, come on,” Vanessa murmurs, leading her to the dorm. To her dorm, for which Blair is unspeakably grateful. Her own room is a tomb of loneliness, she realizes, curling up on Vanessa’s spare bed.
“It’s just, Dorota is on her honeymoon, and Serena’s usually the one getting taken care of…”
She’s very tired and losing the battle to sleep. She almost doesn’t hear Vanessa’s “I know, Blair, I know,” but she does, leading her to wonder how many people Vanessa can rely on to just know what to do when something’s wrong.
Blair opens her eyes when she hears the door open, shifting under the bright cotton covers that are definitely not a thread count she’s accustomed to. Blair stretches, sitting up to find Dan Humphrey reclining at Vanessa’s desk, his feet on Vanessa’s bed.
“I doubt even Vanessa Abrams wants your dirty shoes on her comforter.”
Dan smiles, shaking his head.
“Good afternoon to you, too. Vanessa had to dash off to work, she asked me to bring you some lunch…dinner, er, whatever meal this is.”
He hands her a bag, and she is delighted to find soup and salad from one of her favorite nearby cafes.
“Serena really liked their food, and since you and Serena kind of do everything together, or you used to, or maybe you still do…I figured that maybe you liked them too.”
“It’s great, Humphrey…thank you.”
A comfortable silence stretches between them while Blair munches on her salad. Dan has a book with him, and Blair reluctantly flips open his recommendation. He smiles again, but doesn’t comment. Blair concludes that, while she doesn’t see the appeal that makes both Upper East Siders and Brooklyners fall into his arms, she can see that he’s a good guy.
“Dan?”
Blair locates her purse, pulling out her wallet.
“Yeah?”
She fishes out ten dollars, handing it to him with a small smile.
“You really shouldn’t have to cover my…whatever this meal was.”
“Thanks.”
Blair pulls out her comb and her compact, once again settling for ‘presentable’ and not bothering for ‘ideal.’ She’s nearly done untangling her hair when there is a commotion in the hall. Dan walks to the door, putting his eye to the peephole for a long moment.
“What’s the shouting for?” she asks, “Did someone bring in a pizza and not volunteer to share?”
“Nah, it just looks like a stupid argument,” Dan replies, but his face says something different entirely. Blair listens closely for a moment, hearing her name and recognizing the voice.
“Oh,” she says, her voice nearly a whisper, “Chuck.”
“I think he, uh, wants to talk to you.”
Blair nods and looks down at the coverlet, her fingers playing with the folds.
“I don’t think he’ll try in here, though, if you wanted to avoid him.”
She could go out there. Her hands aren’t shaking; she could face him. But she should probably want to. And she doesn’t, not yet.
“I think I’ll pass.”
He doesn’t say anything, just nods and reopens his book. She swallows, hard, because for God’s sake she’s done enough crying. And she’s certainly not interested in breaking down in front of Dan Humphrey (again, because she’s done it before, even if she’d prefer to forget). Chuck earned the right to see her tears...and then he lost it again. The next boy to do so is going to be worthy of the honor, she vows. So Blair sits and pretends to read, occasionally flipping pages that she knows she’ll have to go back to if she ever wants to understand this story.
And she closes her eyes against the roll of her stomach, because Blair hates that she’s still letting Chuck make a liar out of her.