Catch Me, I'm Falling

Dan is drunk.

Words slurred, heavy lidded, falling down drunk.

He's currently slumped over in a bar stool with his arm around a petite redhead named Ava, or Amy.

"So you're a writer, huh?" She's a giggler.

"Yeah, I'm a writer. And you're what again, a nurse?"

"No, I'm a dental hygienist!" Giggle, giggle.

It doesn't really matter what she does, he has only inquired for the sake of conversation. Not that he is all that interested in conversation. It is simply a means to an end.

Twenty minutes later they' re in the bathroom of the bar. It's an all too familiar scene, the girl pressed up against the wall, leg hitched around the boy's waist. Dan knows how to entice her. He's gotten pretty good at it as of late.

He doesn't even bother asking for her number when it's all said and done. He just thanks her for helping him pass the time and stumbles out onto the street.

The next time it happens he's in an open alleyway. The lights are dim, but not so dim that passersby can't deduce what's going on. She's bold and she likes his brazenness.

"There's more to you than meets the eye, Daniel Humphrey."

He doesn't speak, only responds with a smirk. He wants to please her, to hear her say his name. She does.

He always introduces himself as Daniel to them. He's not prepared to hear the word she used to whisper into his ear.

It's happening more and more frequently and often in the same types of places. Bars, hotel rooms, alleys, even once in a movie theater. It was a period piece and she arrived to the sound of horses racing across a vacuous field. Fitting.

The women are nameless, and depending upon how inebriated he is, sometimes faceless. They all share similar traits; petite, witty, bold, and are generally well dressed. They never have brown hair though. For the most part they come in varying degrees of blonde, an appropriate shade for he's recreating the past, tarnishing old memories bathed in her, the one who desecrated his heart and served it up to him on a silver 'screw you' shaped platter.

He spends the weeks leading up to the release of his second novel effectively smashed, indulging in all manner of debauchery, never once coming up for air.

...

Blair is drunk.

Always so poised and proper, no one knows, but she's intoxicated.

She sits with her hands folded neatly in her lap and pretends to listen to the words coming out of Chuck's mouth. He's going on about some merger his father is attempting and what a mistake it is and blah, blah, blah. She can't seem to find the will to concentrate on what he's saying because she is pretty sure she heard this same story yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that.

She's bored.

She tells herself that it's her own fault for spending too much time at work, for immersing herself in her mother's business. It's her own fault that Chuck isn't willing to trust her yet, to go all in. She should have been more sensitive to his needs. She tells herself lies and she almost believes them.

She has just about everything she has ever strived for and yet there is a part of her that feels unfinished. She's not entirely sure what the source of the nagging is, but she has a hunch that it has something to do with him, the one she left behind. This annoys her exceedingly.

He was just a fling, a brief interlude between her before and her happily ever after. She didn't love him, doesn't love him. He doesn't pop up in her dreams at night murmuring sweet nothings into her ear and filling her heart with such joy that she thinks it might burst. And when the dream is through, she doesn't pull her copy of his book out from her nightstand and reread her favorite parts. She doesn't have any favorite parts of that book anyway. It's a fantasy. She tells the manager of the local Barnes and Noble as much and that it should be filed away in the Fantasy section of the store and how could you be so incompetent as to let this happen? She rants and starts to scream about how things should fit neatly into their proper places and shouldn't be forced into unsuitable places, obviously. She gathers all the copies of his book and crams them into any open slots she can find between Goodkind and Jordan but the books are so tightly packed. When her fingernail rips from it's bed the books topple out of her arms, a jumble of open spines and bent pages and she sinks to her knees. She's crying now and refuses to move from the aisle and someone has to be called.

She doesn't understand why it's his face she sees leaning against the Tolkiens some time later.

"Why are you here?" She snaps.

He looks at her through glazed eyes and sighs.

"Apparently mine is the first name in the speed dial on your phone."

"Well, I don't need your help."

"Yes, you've made that abundantly clear but I received a call nevertheless."

Her eyes are rimmed in red and the contents of her purse are scattered on the floor around her as if she's been looking for something but got fed up and dumped the whole thing out. She's beginning to wake up as if from a dream and she is flustered.

"Look, I'm sorry to involve you in my mess. I seem to have misplaced my engagement ring. I thought it was in my bag, but it's not. It's gone. I guess I just flipped or something." She doesn't mention that she didn't discover the missing ring until after the book incident.

His face hardens. Her words open up an already festering wound that he carries with him. He can't believe that he loved this wicked creature before him, pooled in her own instability. He wants to spit at her or spank her or something else disrespectful so she can feel even an ounce of what he feels. Maybe a bookseller will get him a bucket of ice water to dump on her. That might do the trick, for now. She might awaken and recognize the pain she has caused him, the ruin. She might realize her mistake.

"Why weren't you wearing it?"

His tone is sharp and pointed and she understands the subtext exactly as he intends.

"It has to be sized. It's a little loose. Not that it's any of your business." She's lying and he knows it.

She was never his business. Not when they were together and certainly not now. He pulls her up after she's collected her things and drags her to the subway. She bitches about how classless he is and demands to know why he's drunk in the middle of the day. He refuses to speak to her the rest of the way home.

As they ride up the elevator together, the nagging feeling nags and nags and before she knows whats happening, she's reaching for his hand and holding on for dear life.

His breathing becomes unsteady and he desperately wants to fling her hand away from him but he can't. As much as he wants to, and he really wants to, he won't hurt her like that. Her pull on him is stronger than ever and he might have to resign himself to the fact.

Ding. The doors open.

She hesitates momentarily and he sees she is trying to breathe him in, to savor this moment for they both know what happens next. Finally she lets go, she releases him and he thinks he might disintegrate right there on the spot.

"I know what you're doing, by the way."

Her voice is empty, hollow. There is no anger behind it now, only sadness.

"What are talking about Blair?"

"You're screwing half of Manhattan in all of our spots. I know what you're doing."

Here it is, their official end. She's tying it off with a neat little bow and he doesn't know if he can muster the strength to speak clearly. His voice comes out strained and harsh.

"I'm taking them back. All of the things we shared. I'm taking them back."

Her back is to him, but he can sense her muscles seizing up and it satisfies his malevolent need for revenge.

"I'll be sure to remove your number from my list."

...

Dan is not sober.

He has a drinking problem, for crying out loud, and he can't be expected to be "on" one hundred percent of the time without a little help.

He's tired of the chastising, sick of the judgement, but primarily he misses the numbness. So he takes a drink, just a small one. A little Maker's Mark over ice with a dash of lime never hurt anyone. Besides, he really needs the boost today. Today sucks.

He's not sure why they sent him an invitation. He's not going. No way in hell is he going to step foot near that circus.

He saw their announcement in the paper a couple of weeks ago as he was leaving his first official meeting, no sponsor, just a meeting, and he doesn't know why it hit him so hard. He'd known about the wedding for months now, it was all New York's elite were talking about and it was all over Gossip Girl.

He hangs his head in shame over the fact that he still checks Gossip Girl and he lifts the cool drink to his lips. He tells himself that everyone slips up at first, it's normal.

It's normal to need a drink when the love of your life is walking down the aisle toward another man, even if she is a poisonous harpy.

So he drinks and he talks to anyone who will listen. The bartender calls him a cab around nine o'clock and impulsively Dan gives the driver the address to her reception.

...

Blair is not sober.

She's getting married today and she is expected to be perfect so it's just to take the edge off, really, it's to help. It's a good thing.

She took the pills from her mother's rainy day stash. Eleanor won't even miss them. Her mother would want her to be relaxed and that is exactly what she is. She is floating on a cloud, high above the room and looking down on herself and the world. She sees an elegant Vera Wang draped over the settee upon which she is perched. She sees an intricate braid woven into a bun, low and angled toward her left ear. She sees sparkling jewelry on her neck, wrists, fingers, ears, and it is exquisite but it's so shiny that she can't see her face or make out her features.

It dawns on her that this is how the world sees her. She's an intelligent, shiny, beautiful, elitist accessory. No, worse than an accessory. She's a prop with no face and no real identity.

Panic begins to set in despite her valium clouded brain. The nausea comes like a tidal wave, hitting her before she can make it to the bathroom and the refuse stains the bottom of her dress. Her scream alerts her mother who comes running to find Blair sobbing on the settee, her mascara in dark streaks down her face.

"Blair! What on earth is the matter?"

"My dress...It's ruined. I got sick and I couldn't make it to...oh, it's ruined! Everything's ruined. Everything is wrong!"

"Now don't worry dear, I can handle this. You just need to calm down and clean up your face. We can't have our little Mrs. Bass looking a mess, now can we?"

It is meant to lift the mood, to cheer her up yet in traditional Eleanor fashion it is also a dig at her daughter's unruly, irrational behavior. The slap to her pride is just what she needs to pull herself together. She sits erect at the mirror and reapplies her mask.

The reception is blowing and going when he arrives. The jazz band is blasting Mack the Knife as he scans the room and spots her chatting up a senator with that plastic smile he has come to loathe and seen her give a hundred times, though never once directed at him. She looks immaculate, the epitome of elegance but there is something that is off about her. He can't place it so he heads to the bar.

She spots him almost immediately and her stomach flip-flops as she mindlessly nods at the senator who won't stop ogling her. She excuses herself without an explanation and makes a beeline for Dan and the bar but she does not stop. She merely glares at him and motions for him to follow her, careful not to draw any attention from unwanted onlookers.

When they are alone in the hallway, her senses are heightened for she is angrier with him than she has ever been. He reeks of alcohol so he's probably drunk again. His hair's a mess, his clothes are stupid, yet he still manages to elicit wanton thoughts from her, and how the hell did he get in anyway?

"I got an invitation in the mail."

Oh. "Well I certainly didn't send it to you."

"I figured as much. I'm sure it was Chuck, marking his territory."

"You make him sound so barbaric."

"You said it, not me."

"For your information, Chuck and I happen to be in a very good place. He's attentive, and trustworthy, and he takes care of me."

"Well that's good seeing as you just bound yourself to him. I wasn't aware you needed taking care of."

"Let's get one thing straight here, Dan. You don't know anything about me or my life at the moment. You could have. I tried to reach out to you. I tried to be your friend again last summer but you would have nothing to do with me!"

She feels an ache within at her own words and she thinks she might have to sit down. She starts to teeter on her stilettos but Dan's hand steadies her elbow. She shudders at his touch. It is the most deliciously painful feeling. His soft, strong hands are one of her favorite features and to feel them on her bare skin, touching her is exhilarating. But with the pleasure comes a burn for the stark realization that she is a married woman now hits her like a ton of bricks. She doesn't jerk her arm away though. She stands as a statue, unmoving and cold.

Dan recognizes his affect on her and can't suppress his smugness. Good. Let her feel a bit of what he feels. She should know what it's like to wake up every morning from a blissful dream only to have reality bring your world crashing down moments later. She should know what it feels like to want and to love and to loathe all at once. He tightens his grip ever so slightly. Initially he thinks he is exerting dominance over her, but that is not who he is and he couldn't ever be that person with her anyway, and why does he keep putting himself in these situations? He holds firm to her for he is the one supporting her and keeping her upright. His gaze travels to her chest where her heart beats underneath, the in and out accelerated and accentuated. She's losing it. He places his palm over her heart and presses against it in an effort to calm it down.

Again his touch is electric. It's passionate, and soothing, and frightening. Her lids close as she takes in air through her nose and blows it out through her mouth. She does this several times and all the while his hand remains, steadying her, telling her things it ought not to on her wedding day.

"Why are you here Dan?" His name from her lips is a prayer, consecrated by his steadfast hand, mollifying her distress.

"Because I need to know why. Why this?" He gestures haphazardly with his free hand.

She had known it would come. Some day or another this question was an inescapable fact. Her response is premeditated and composed.

"You and I never made sense. We didn't fit."

"Lies."

It's not good enough for him. It's a copout, a rehearsed ploy to get him out of the way. He rips his hand from her chest and points menacingly at her.

"You're a liar. None of this makes sense. You left me without a word or an explanation and you expect me to believe that it was because we didn't fit? No. What you're doing today is contradictory to everything you ever told me about what you wanted in life and in a partner. It's all such bullshit, Blair! The sad thing is I think you are so delusional right now that you actually believe the manure you're trying to feed me. There is so much more lurking under the surface that you refuse to acknowledge because you know that if you did, you wouldn't be standing here in front of me in a white gown getting married to him and to his world."

Blair has trouble focusing on his words but the sentiment behind them is clear. She seeks refuge in the sanctuary of her mind for there is so much truth being flung at her and she is unable to process it, try as she might. She feels herself beginning to spiral downward and she reaches for his hand so things can go back to the way they were five minutes ago.

This time he's not having any of it. He wrenches from her grasp and tells her that he's no longer her play thing. Tells her he is done with her and that she can have Chuck and the Upper East Side but she'll have to manage it without him. Tells her that he knows it was a jackass move to do this to her on her wedding day, but this is who he has become and there's only her to thank for it. He punishes her for rejecting him by placing the blame for his current state entirely on her and it is so gratifying to watch her believe him.

She steadies herself against the wall and stands up straight but her insides have crumbled to ash. His cruelty stuns her. This is not the man she lov-this is not the man she knows. They've reached a turning point from which there is no going back. She knows it. He knows it.

"I don't know who you are." Her words sting him for a bit, but not enough to shut his mouth.

"That makes two of us." He downs the rest of his drink and spitefully wipes his mouth on his sleeve as he storms out, knowing it will disgust her.

She doesn't see it though. She has already retreated.

He looks back, once, just as he nears the door and sees her staring absentmindedly at her hands. She places them against her chest, then removes them, places them again, then removes them again. Dan is not sober, but if he were, he would recognize that something is very wrong with Blair. He would realize that his angry words were quite accurate and even a bit prophetic.

End of Part One