A/N: Yes, yes, I have resurrected. I'm seriously so sorry for never updating. If this story dies, it dies. But I'll do my best to keep that from happening :) School, work, excuses, blah blah. Kinda-sorta long. I went off on a tangent for a while. Enjoy.

Sorry for any grammar errors; 2am isn't the best time for editing :P

–

4/30/12 – Dartmouth College

No, no, no. This can not be happening.

"Oh, my God. I-I can't believe this." Blair uttered as she opened the door to Chuck's bedroom.

She was planning to surprise him with dinner (and sex, but she wasn't going to tell him that). It was brilliant, how she planned it. It was a long weekend; the perfect time to escape New Haven. Blair had staked out all of the seemingly good bars in town, and found one Chuck would find irresistible. She put on a new outfit (something he would find irresistible in a completely different way). She would stay the night, perhaps the weekend if she felt like it, and prance back to Yale. A weekend getaway.

Those plans were wiped out of her mind when she opened the door to find Chuck fucking a (very loud) girl in a mist of cheap sheets and sweat.

Blair froze, her cheeks reddening and her mouth agape. She felt her vision blur (she prayed to God she wore waterproof mascara), and hastily blinked any tears away . The groans and sound of motion silenced.

The girl, doe eyed and panting, kept her eyes on Chuck. His face was similar to a child who was caught with a cookie before dinner.

"I'm sorry I'm interrupted you too. Continue." Blair's mouth tasted stale as the words left, cold. Her lips trembled, she was so desperate not to cry. Her eyes, directed at the tangled sheets, moved to Chuck. For one moment, their eyes locked. She saw nothing redeeming. Then she turned and walked out the door.

She had no idea where she was going; the only route she ever taken was from the entrance of the school to Chuck's room. She walked briskly down the corridor, pushing everything out of her thoughts except for where the stairs were. No time to wait for an elevator, she didn't want Chuck to chase her.

Blair was unsure he would even try.

The stairs were no where to be found. Did she take a left or right turn? Did she go through the wrong doorway? Fuck. She was lost, in a strange school, with a cheating boyfriend.

Frazzled, she went into a bathroom (it had one of those stick figure ladies on it, that means for sure if was a bathroom, right?) She dashed passed the flowers, the sink, the sorority girl, and locked herself in a stall. Blair pulled the lid down and collapsed. She felt the urge to get on her knees, stick her finger down her throat and vomit. What did she eat last? It was probably that croissant she took with her from the Yale cafeteria. She scarfed it down with butter, deciding she would pick up a more suitable lunch later. She didn't. Was it too late to try...?

No. Throwing up doesn't solve any problems. Blair knew that. But, dear God, they sure made her feel better, even if only for a second.

She felt warm tears stain her cheeks. She hasn't been in that mind set in years– ok, months. The very fact Chuck made her think of relapsing made her so angry with a pinch of self pity.

The drops fell to her lap. Blair tried to remain as quiet as one can, sniffles bypassing her lips occasionally. Luckily she had the power to control herself when someone ever came in, then resuming as they left. She was unsure how much time she spent there. Looking back on the ordeal years later, Blair came up with the assumption of an hour. Actually, an hour and a half including recovery.

Gathering tissues in her palm, she patted them against her swollen eyes. Taking a deep breath, Blair was thinking about what she was going to do next. There's no way in hell she was getting up from this seat looking like she did; she was afraid to open her compact mirror. Oh, she had looked worse, like when she tried anal sex the first time (that memory, to Blair's dismay, was impossible to oppress) or her first Yale party, when she had woken up in a lesbian's dorm with nothing on but a raunchy t-shirt (that shirt being the only thing she remembers from that event). However, she still winced when she saw herself.

Her eyes were the worst thing about her appearance, that was certain. She would wait until the redness subsided. Blair bit down on her bottom lip, pink and swollen.

After collecting herself, Blair stood up, unlocked the stall, and started walking.

To where, she did not know.

--

Shit, shit, fuck shit.

Once again, Chuck Bass let his penis take over.

As soon as Blair disappeared (her tempting scent leaving with her..did she get a new perfume?), Chuck groaned. It wasn't a groan of pleasure, that ship had sailed. It was one of guilt and knowing stupidity.

Jessica (or Jennifer) sighed. "I'm gonna go," she said bluntly. She was clad in only a navy bra, her shirt and pants on the floor (underwear no where to be seen). "Jessica" gathered whatever apparel she could find and put it on. Fuck the underwear, it wouldn't be the first time she was going commando. And she didn't feel like searching for her missing panties. Her mind was already drifting into thoughts of how much of an asshole this guy was. She cursed herself for sleeping with a someone she just met; she only does this sort of thing when her heart's been broken. After all, "Jessica" was with her boyfriend for two months, so a rebound fuck is so justified. Erica will understand, she's been through this...

After gathering her few belongings and attempting to tame her hair, she went to the door. "Bye, Chuck."

Chuck glanced up at her. "Bye, Jessica."

"It's Jackie," she said, glaring. And with that, she was gone.

Chuck had met Jackie earlier today, in his English literature class. Her strawberry blonde hair was in a clip, her lips shining with gloss.

He didn't care about that, though. Chuck kept replaying the day in his mind, asking himself why the fuck he did this.

The list of excuses was ready: she seduced him and he couldn't help it, masturbation wasn't enough, he was drunk/high...

They both knew none of these reasons were true.

But Chuck had to face it: He cheated on Blair.

–

Present Day

Blair had hidden a stash of wine in Chuck's study. It was for herself, and for herself only. She took it out whenever she needed to ponder her life, in good and mostly bad times. She started this tradition a few years ago. 2012, was it? Early May, or late April, she can't remember. The first time Chuck cheated. She remembers, unfortunately vividly, ordering wine at a bar she planned to take Chuck to. Swirling the glass, she questioned every aspect of her life. Blair recalls the wine tasting bitter. How ironic.

As traditions go, they usually aren't dreaded like this (except large family gatherings, but that's a different kind of dread). Blair popped the bottle open and poured the crimson liquid into a glass. She raised it to her lips and drank. She refused to cry, or think of purging.

Well, she refused to purge.