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Blown
Chapter Twenty-Nine
"Stuck on Stupid"

Las Vegas, Nevada
May 22, 2005
1:00AM

She sits at the bar with her head ducked low and her drink untouched. She closes her eyes, breathes in all of that wonderful, wonderful secondhand smoke. She decides to take that next step--to bum a cigarette off the bartender. "Sheila," she says, "Can I get a cigarette?"

The woman walks her way, pulls a pack of Virginia Slims from her apron pocket. "Sure, Gia."

Gia takes the cigarette from her hand. "Thanks, I owe you."

She nods. "You need another drink?"

"No, I'm good." The woman goes back to her duties and Gia slips the cigarette into her mouth. She pulls a pack of matches from a small bowl on the center of the bar. She stares down at the matchbook cover, at her own image looking back at her. When she posed for the mural, she had no idea Pratt would put the image on every single piece of Tart merchandise he could think up. She can only imagine what Stefan would think if he saw the T-shirt, the baseball hat, the calendar. He would probably be humiliated. The twenty-first Countess of the House of Grigori Cassadine half-naked on some college guy's duffle bag.

It's so absurd that she would laugh, except something tells her that her laughter would soon turn to tears and she doesn't know if she wants to give Parker Pratt that sort of satisfaction.

She takes the unlit cigarette from her mouth, places it and the matchbook on the bar.

Who would have thought Pratt was still carrying a torch for her? He never seemed that in to her, even when she was his girlfriend. All of a sudden, he's in love with her? She should have listened to her mother when she was sixteen, should have kept that man at bay. But, at the time, he had been a MAN and all of the boys from school had paled in comparison.

Oh, God--and hadn't she felt the exact same way about Pace, too?

She closes her eyes.

It's too late for regrets.

It's too late for a lot of things.

1:08AM

Stefan is sitting at the end of a long, mirrored bar. He keeps drinking, even though he knows he should stop. He takes off his jacket, drapes it over the back of the leather stool. He has no idea where Gia is and does not intend to look for her. He is none too pleased with her, right now.

He lifts his glass from the napkin, looks at Gia's face staring back at him. He takes a deep breath. This place is a living, breathing shrine to Gia. It is Parker Pratt's shrine to Gia--and that she never noticed that, infuriates him. Because, really...she is either completely oblivious, or she has been nursing Pratt's infatuation with the intent of one day drawing him back into her web. And the latter option is absolutely the sort of sordid machination that would hatch from Gia's warped subconscious.

He snatches the napkin off the bar, crumples it up in his hand. He keeps it there, locked within his fist, wondering what it all means. Wondering what he's going to do. He is so besotted by this woman, so steeped in this unbearable infatuation of his own, that he has no perspective. He can offer himself no assurances. He can answer no questions as to Gia's true motives. He tosses the napkin back on the bar.

"You're about three sheets to the wind."

Stefan starts at the sound of Gia's voice. He swivels on his stool, finds her standing beside his barstool, long French-tipped nails clutching the leather padding, stick straight hair fanning out over her shoulders. "What?" he asks, his eyes cloudy.

She shoves in closer, one hand on the back of his barstool, the other launched on the ledge of the bar. Head tilted, she replies, "You're drunk."

Stefan's eyes fall on Gia, and the look he gives her is veiled--virtually defies interpretation. His lips part and he grabs her wrist. She tries to pull away, but finds the attempt futile. He drags her around to stand before him. The sudden movement has her unbalanced on her stilettos, but he keeps her upright, draws her into the V of his legs. He asks, “Do you think I'm drunk, or do you know I'm drunk? Which one?"

She finds herself wedged between the ledge of the bar and Stefan. A rock, she thinks, and a hard place. She can smell the vodka on his breath, can feel the cold sting of his wedding band on her arm. She says, "I know you are."

When he looks at her, his eyes are blood-shot and his gaze is lazy and roaming. "Why did you bring me here?" he demands, as if this had always been the topic of discussion. His grip on her arm loosens. "Was it just to show me how desired you are? To flaunt the power you wield? To drive me crazy?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You're young," he says, "and beautiful. You could have any man you want. What are you doing here with me? Why aren't you with Parker Pratt?"

She wrests her arm free, but she does not push away. She leans back against the bar ledge, stays still even though the hard wood bites into her back. "See? This is how I know you're drunk. You're not usually THIS stupid," she informs him, her tone one of distinct exasperation.

"Excuse me?"

"I mean, weren't you the one who came up with the rule about not asking ridiculous questions? If you could get past your stupid Russian jealousy, and your stupid Cassadine pride, and your stupid middle-aged angst, you might see the two things that are staring you right in your stupid face."

"Wait just a minute--" he begins, outraged by her words.

"Hey!" she snaps, "Shut up and listen to me!" She glares at him until his mouth falls shut, until he takes a deep breath and relents. She says, "Two things, Stefan, two things. Number one: I do not want Parker Pratt. If you think that's what I want, I might have to smack you, too. He's a self-involved, arrogant, child and the older I get, the less attractive those qualities become. Number two: Yes, I am beautiful and young. And, yes, there are men--half your age--who are attracted to me. But, just because it's true, that doesn't make it relevant. I didn't bring you here tonight to flaunt my so-called power. Seriously, you're the one driving ME crazy. It's gotten so I want to be with you ALL the time, EVERY minute of the day. Even when you're being an officious jerk. Even when you're being a whiny crybaby. Even when you're stuck on stupid."

He really wishes he hadn't had so much to drink. His reflexes are poor and his head is a jumble of words. "I don't," he says, then stops, shakes his head. "I can't...What?"

"Not what, Stefan. The question is WHY." Frustrated, she says, "Why do I keep your secrets? Why do I want to claw the eyes out of any woman who looks at you twice? Why do I let you twist me into knots with those disapproving glares of yours?" She grabs his bearded chin, dares him to defy her and look away. "Isn't it obvious? Can't you see what's right in front of your face? Weren't you paying attention in Mexico? I love you, Stefan. That's why."

The loud, pounding music dies in his ears. The jostling crowd fades from the background. Time folds in on itself and becomes meaningless. There is nothing and no one--just Gia, eyes boring into his own, searing him from the inside out. "Oh..." he whispers, feeling foolish. He pushes his stool back and stands to his feet. He moves away from her, backs out into the aisle. "Gia...I..." He pauses, succumbing to the incomprehensible dizziness sweeping over him. He closes his eyes, tries to collect his thoughts.

The truth unleashed, she feels weak, maybe desperate. She drops her hands to her sides. "Stefan?" she queries, her voice tremulous. "Are you all right?" He looks unsteady on his feet and she skirts around the barstool, walks out into the aisle. She shimmies out of the way of a passing waitress, and then steps back into Stefan's space. She touches his shoulder, hesitant in that moment. Afraid. "It was not my intention to freak you out, okay?" She clears her throat, continues, "...Really. So, don't feel weird about this. You don't have to feel weird about this. You don't have to let me down easy. I totally understand."

His jacket is missing and his shirt is un-tucked. When he opens his eyes, he doesn't look at her. He looks beyond her, to the far wall. He asks, "Just what is you think you understand?"

She takes a deep breath. "You're a good man, Stefan," she replies, "An honorable man. You want to do the right thing--that's why you married me. The entire thing has been for my benefit, to ease my insecurities." She crosses her arms over her chest, nods in certainty. "But, I don't expect it to go any further than that. I didn't tell you that I love you just so you would say it back. I just...I just wanted you to know how I feel. So, don’t feel the need to *manage* me. It's okay that you don't return my feelings. That was never part of the deal."

"That's what you think? That I don't return your feelings?"

She props her hands up on her hips, takes a long moment to process this question. "Umm...well, yeah, Stefan...What else is there to conclude, given the fact you can barely look me in the eye?"

"You don't understand anything..."

"What is it exactly that I don't understand? I mean, really--either you love me or you don't. And you don't, so--" She stops abruptly, her hands dropping to her side and her neck craning forward. The possibilities assail her and, for just a second, she feels faint. "The thing I don't understand..." she sputters, "...is it, that maybe, you love me, too?"

He looks at her, his heart in his eyes. "I never meant to lead you down this path, never meant to draw you into this sickness. You are so young...so beautiful..." he replies, his tone mournful. "You can have everything you want. A career. A family. There's so much time...but you're wasting it here with me. You must know that. You are wasting yourself--your talents, your future, your love--on me. I can't be what you need and in the end, you'll be hurt. I will hurt you, Gia."

"Thank you for the disclaimer, Stefan," she snaps, irritated by his refusal to answer her outright. "Thank you for magnifying the fine print. Loving you may cause heartache and pain. If I do so, it is at my own peril. I got it, okay?"

"You don't--"

"I love you, Stefan."

"Gia--"

"Do you love me?" she demands of him, fierce and determined. "Do you love me?"

He grunts, suddenly furious. He seizes her, his hands locked on her upper arms, just above the elbow. For a moment, he wants to shake her--shake her until she wakes up, shake her until she comes to her senses. "You don't want me to love you," he growls, against her ear. "Trust me when I say that is the last thing you want."

His breath is warm against her cheek, causes a shiver to run down her spine. Still, she holds her ground. "You address me as if I'm a fool. As if I have no idea with whom I'm dealing, as if I'm some young, naive babe in the woods," she says, scoffing, "If, after everything that's happened, you still think of me that way, then you're the one who's going to get hurt. But, listen, okay? Whatever happens between us, you have to know that I am walking in with my eyes open. I see you, Stefan--strengths and weakness, virtues and vices--and I'm still standing right here, telling you that I love you."

"You are a fool."

"I'm your fool," she fires back, furious in her own right. "I'm the fool you made me...Can't you see that? It's too late to stop this thing between us. If you wanted to save me, you shouldn't have married me--you shouldn't have taken me to Mexico. You shouldn't have made love to me that very first time in my hotel. But, you did those things...and now, it's just too damn late!"

She lays at his feet his own mountain of sins and he cannot deny them. He let's her go, but he does not move away. He stands right there, hands limp at his sides, head bowed. "When I was a young man,” he tells her, sharp, intense, "I was strong, virile, passionate. I went after love regardless of the personal cost. I pursued multiple women, jilted more than a few, and had an affair with my brother's wife. And I learned nothing from my mistakes..."

She is watching him, her eyes glassy, her chest rising and falling with each breath.

"As I grew older, I became a powerful man. I was manipulative, determined, blinded by obsessions I didn't even understand. I ruined my marriage to Barbara, threw her over for an attraction to Katherine Bell that almost destroyed everything. And from these mistakes, I learned even less..."

He doesn't look at her--even as his words pour out hot and coarse in the darkened nightclub--still, he doesn't look at her.

"My own frailties contributed to a collapse I did not see coming...I became a desperate man. I was shaken, grasping at anything that resembled love. Again, I pursued Laura, lost her, latched onto Chloe Morgan, setting her on a path that would lead to her death and my own destruction. And these lessons, these final lessons, were so numerous, so bleak, that I could not possibly ignore them."

"I...I am a broken man, now, Gia. Hopeless, forlorn, touched by madness," he whispers, splaying his shaking fingers against his temple. "I am ill-equipped for the love I've been seeking and I have no reason to believe I am even deserving. And what I'm about to do---it's the most appalling thing I've ever done. Isn't it appalling that I would pull together the tatters of dignity I have left and make another declaration of love? But...but, it seems as if it cannot be helped." He blinks and a tear he was trying not to shed escapes and rolls unchecked over his cheek. "Because, yes, I do love you, Contessa. I have for some time, now."

She touches him then, her fingers reverent as she strokes the line of his cheek, as she dries his tears. He catches her hand with his own, stills her motions. He raises his head, his eyes sweeping up to meet hers. In them, she sees a need so strong it makes her tremble. They stand like this, their gaze locked, the weight of this exchange filling up the space between them.

"I wish you could see what I see when I look at you, Stefan," she says finally.

He drops her hand, reaches over and grabs his jacket from the back of the barstool. "No one sees what you see when you look at me," he admonishes her. He shrugs into his jacket, fixes his collar. He pulls some bills out of his pocket and throws them on the bar to cover his tab. He turns back to her, reaches out and pushes her bangs back off her forehead. Stricken by the look in her eye--that inexplicable flicker of admiration--he says, "I don't ever want to hurt you, Gia. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I did."

Chapter 30 in Replies.

~Jenni