Thanks for the reviews! I appreciate every one of them!

Hope you like the chapter or at least I hope that you don't entirely hate me by the end of it.

Evie's dress for the party is on my Pinterest: manhattanapple

Song for chapter: Edge of Seventeen - Stevie Nicks just for the bants.

Disclaimer: I do not own Gossip Girl

I ask you to imagine a scenario much like the one I'm in – I'm sure you can. For example, you could use coffee. If you were to discover that the white Americano with cold milk that you ordered, whom you love dearly and have shared distinct, happy memories with, rebelled and fraternized with steamed milk (which completely changes the quality of the drink), how would you proceed? Even though you like flat whites and may have some desire to drink steamed milk, could you forgive your Americano, especially if it claimed that the whole fornication was a mistake? Nothing in the 'Rule Book of Caffeine' says that coffee and steamed milk cannot mix, nothing states that the individual has soul control over what happens to your coffee between ordering and receiving – so can I really be angry at Blair for having sex with Chuck? The answer is, of course: damn-fucking-straight.

You may disagree, telling me that I am wrong for feeling hurt as I never staked any claim (besides the occasional intimate moment) on Mr Bass but that doesn't mean that the son-of-a-bitch can screw my best friend, his best-friend's girlfriend, and not receive any kind of cold shoulder. And as for the Americano herself, she was selfish in what she did. Blair knew that this would hurt me, or at least assumed that it would (based on her belief that Chuck and I were fated lovers) and yet she still got into the back of that god-damn limo. And I can't even comprehend how Nate would feel if he ever found out. Over the phone Blair begged me not to tell him, pleaded that it was a mistake and that Nate should never know her betrayal and I promised I wouldn't say anything but that doesn't mean I condone what she did to him. To me. How can she hold what Serena did with Nate against them when she does the very same thing? It's ludicrous and it's hard to decide who I dislike more at the moment.

I've shut myself away, refusing to answer any calls from Serena or Blair or he-who-shall-not-be-named, Nate being the only one that I respond to. Quite frankly, the boy is fucked. His father is in prison, the charges made public knowledge, his mother is being a general piece of work and his girlfriend (although he doesn't know it yet) had dirty sex with his best friend. Making sure he is okay is the least I could do.

When I woke up this morning I was seething, the hurt boiling over quickly as my mind comes to its own conclusions, the main one being: Chuck Bass has not changed a single bit. Yet, I'm not so much bitter about the discretion itself but the fact that I fell for whatever spiel he was dishing. I've wanted to kick myself all day for trusting and believing that he had changed. I gave the guy a fucking chance and he blew it. Period. Done. It's over. Nothing – and I mean nothing – will ever allow me to make the same mistake.

It is now early afternoon and I'm staring at the neatly wrapped present on my coffee table, the pink wrapping paper tagged with 'For Blair' mocking me in its innocence. Her birthday party was tonight, and I had promised last night that I'd still go just as she promised that Bass was officially uninvited. Alas, looking at the gift I know that an album of our friendship - that was so lovingly made - is the most depressingly ironic present I could give under the circumstances. At the moment I could not bear to watch her open it, and flick through pages of photographs all whilst trying to pretend that those smiling girls in the pictures still exist. Too much has happened. I thought it would be nostalgic to peruse the album, comment on how much we've changed over the last seventeen years but ultimately come to the conclusion that our friendship is everlasting. Now it just feels like a lie – a satire. When I look at this present I'm worried that I won't be able to pretend that I'm okay with what happened because I'm not – although perhaps I should be. This is where I struggle to understand the bitterness I'm feeling; it is unwarranted; Chuck and I were not together; Blair made a genuine mistake. However, I'm still sitting on this sofa, staring at this gift, still not being able to motivate myself into getting ready for Blair's seventeenth birthday party.

At three o'clock an almost hesitant, quiet knock sounds on my front door. Groaning, I drag myself away from my spot on The Couch of Self-Pity™ and swing the entrance open with a huff. Max stands there – you remember Max, right? – hands shoved awkwardly in his pockets, the smile he had falling slightly as he takes in my displeased expression.

"I never seem to get the timing right." He greets with a wary laugh. I obviously look like a thunder cloud by the way he seems prepared to duck-and-cover.

"Sorry," Not really that sorry, "I've got a few things on my mind." Choosing to leave him to decide whether he'd like to venture into the dragon's den, I walk to the kitchenette and pour myself a large mug of black coffee. I offer him one when I hear his footsteps pad behind me, he accepts and a few minutes of standing in silence pass before I decide to partake in conversation. "So, what did I do to earn a visit from you on this fine day?" Putting his mug down, Max nervously runs a hand through his hair.

"Well, you know when I said that I wasn't into the whole competing with a millionaire playboy thing?" At the mention of Bass, I take a slow drink of the bitter liquid, wanting to feel the harsh taste in my mouth in hopes that it would replace the foul thoughts that his mention brings. I choose not to answer, waiting for him to continue. "Well, I just thought that- I mean, I've been thinking that maybe-"

Where he's heading is obvious and not entirely unwanted. In fact, perhaps this is what I need. Previously, when Max was around, Chuck was still on my mind and there is no disputing that I was holding out for something. My neighbour was right to think that there was another reason (besides Nate needing my help) behind me leaving our date. But now, there is no Bass. The bastard hadn't even deemed me worthy enough to apologise for leading me on when all he really wanted was a good lay, a need that my best friend so kindly placated for him. It was radio-silence from his end, and I hate to admit how awful that makes me feel.

I don't believe in fate or destiny but karma is hard to ignore, especially when yours is standing in your kitchen asking you for another shot. I'd be a fool to look this gift horse in the mouth. I'd be an even bigger fool is ignore the fact that seeing Max again makes me giddy with a mixture of girlish excitement and pure revenge. It is a well-known fact that jealousy breeds bitterness and although I really don't want to admit that I'm jealous of what happened last night, I can't help but recognise my acrimonious mood. It is also a well-known fact that bitterness breeds spitefulness. And if there is one thing that Evie Elma is known for, it's how to be spiteful. And if being spiteful means spending time with an attractive musician whom I genuinely like, whilst also being in a public area where news will get back to Chuck whether or not he's present then I will be fucking spiteful.

"How do you feel about birthday parties?" I interrupt his nervous ramble. The question causing his eyebrows to rise slightly in surprise, as if he was so subtle about his intentions.

"Are you asking me out on a date, Evie?" The question is genuine but Max can't seem to help the grin: and neither can I. "How progressive."

"This is the 21st century, Max." I bait, the foul mood I've been in slowly giving way to the flirtation that so easily comes when I talking to the musician. "So may I escort you to a soiree this evening?"

Max pretends to ponder for a moment, rocking back in mock-thought. "A birthday party, huh? Do I have to get them a gift?"

"No, but I certainly wouldn't mind one."

"I'll bare that in mind."

"So, do you wanna go with me?"

"I think I can cancel my plans for tonight."

"Good, pick me up at seven."

"By 'pick you up' you mean 'meet you in the lobby'."

"Yes. At seven."

…

At eight, I finally decide that Max has waited long enough: there is fashionably late and then there is just being cruel.

I descend the apartment's staircase, the clicking of my heels notifying Max of my presence. From where he's leaning against a column in the foyer, having just checked his watch for most likely the twentieth time in the last ten minutes, I notice how Max's short, blonde – usually messy – hair is neat and how the shadow of a beard he had this morning is absent from his chiselled jaw. But that's not even the biggest change: instead of the worn t-shirts and the ripped jeans a tailored suit sits handsomely on his form and not even a partially blind, closeted nun could deny that Max cleans up very nicely. In fact, he's so nice to look at I don't even realise the way he's staring at me. Yeah sure, my dark emerald dress was chosen to show off what little chest I have and I'll admit that I'm not at all dissatisfied with my appearance but all of a sudden I'm feeling very much like a stumpy, overweight tom-boy in comparison to Max's impeccably good looks. But of course, I wasn't going to let him know that.

"How do I look?" I ask disguising my nerves, giving him a confident spin when I reach the bottom of the stairs.

"So awful it hurts to look at you." His reply seems more like an automatic response than our usual witty back-and-forth. Max's faraway look in his bright blue eyes do not seem to register that he's spoken at all: too busy shredding my nerves to ickle-bickle pieces.

"Perhaps I should go change then?" I mutter, unnerved by my body's response to the palpable tension and suddenly I feel like I don't want to go to the party at all. In fact, maybe Max could come help me… change.

"Fuck, don't do that." I nod, smiling uncontrollably as I move closer to him, taking in that clean smell, the absence of strong cologne being remarkably comforting. Chuck who? "We're already late enough and if we stay here too long I don't know what will happen."

"Blair would send an army. There is no way she will allow me to miss this." He offers me his arm which I am almost too eager to accept.

"Then inform the cavalry that we're on our way."

Spotted:

E on her way to Blair's Birthday Bash, accompanied by someone whose name does not rhyme with 'Buck Chass'. Does Evie know that plus ones aren't allow? Or wanted.

Do I smell jealousy or is that just the Sushi?

I'm not sure what Max was expecting from a seventeenth birthday party, especially being older than the rest of us, but even I was impressed by the set up. I'm not sure what it is about Japanese culture that screams 'Blair Waldorf' but there is no doubt that this is her birthday party. Everything was planned to a T; arcade games were set up; sushi was being served fresh at the bar; the playlist sounded like it came straight out of an anime; and even the apartment's normal décor had been altered to suit the theme.

"Woah." I hear Max mutter from under the music, clearly impressed – or perhaps intimidated – by the meticulous detail: the perfect first impression of Blair.

"Evie!" Serena bounds over from where she was sitting at the bar, her face lighting up in interest when she notices Max standing next to me. Giving me a quick hug, she introduces herself.

"Hi, I'm Serena. You must be Max." He nods, giving her a polite smile, "Evie's told me so much about you."

Fucking liar, I telepathically scold her. I've never said anything about Max and she knows it – any chance to embarrass me.

"All good things, I hope." He replies, an arm coming to wrap around my waist. I almost jump out of my skin at the touch but I soon relax into it, trying desperately to not compare it to the interaction with that guy whose name I can't remember right now. Yeah, definitely am not noticing how small I am compared to this giant of a man and how wrong that feels. I also most certainly haven't scanned the room at least five times in search of this person that I cannot seem to remember. "So, Serena, are you the one that I need to wish a happy birthday? Because you do not look a day over eighty."

"No, you're looking for Blair." Serena corrects with a giggle, "But I think she's out on the balcony at the moment. She's just talking to Chuck but she should be back in a moment."

I feel my entire body tense up and I'm sure my face is starting to look as green as my dress.

Blair told me – promised me – that he wouldn't be here. But then again, when does Chuck Bass ever do what anyone tells him. And now he is outside with her, as if rubbing it in my face that I'm the fool. Haha! Jokes on you Elma – you suck. Serena seems to notice my discomfort as she sends me a worried look before offering to show Max around, who is reluctant to let go of my waist but I don't believe there has ever been a man (regardless of whether the man wants to get in her pants) who has denied Serena Van der Woodsen.

Despite hating myself for it, I take this moment to stand in view of the balcony so that I can discreetly gage what is happening between the two love-birds outside. And what I see is anything but love. Chuck is shouting, waving his arms around trying to meet the ferocity of Blair's own aggravated hand gestures. The conversation is heated, Chuck looks noticeably perplexed. Good, I think, I hope you suffer for a while.

I observe for another moment before a glass of champagne is placed into my hands and my attention is rightfully taken back by my date.

"You okay?" Max asks, following my previous line of sight to the two outside. "What's going on out there?"

"I'm not sure and, quite frankly, I don't care." I dismiss the entire topic with a small salute with my glass, thanking him for the drink, before gulping down the whole flute in one smooth, practiced motion. A waiter passes. My empty glass is soon replaced.

"Is that the guy?" Max asks, wearily looking between me and the death grip that I have on the drink.

"He is old news, and that is the end of that. I just hope Blair is okay." What I tell him is half a lie, I do hope Blair is okay but that isn't the reason why I'm hyper aware of what's going on out there. Which is why I shit myself when Chuck slams through the balcony door, a downright stormy expression on his face. Aimed at Max, who has no idea this is happening. Whom Chuck is making a beeline for.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Blair hurries after him, the end of her sentence being caught as the pair make a stop in front of Max and I.

"-Bass, don't you dare!"

"Excuse me." Bass speaks, interrupting Blair, demanding the attention of my date who turns calmly to stand next to me. If I were stupid I wouldn't notice how close Max decided to be, I wouldn't understand that him placing a hand on the small of my back was his macho way of showing that tonight he's with me. "I'd like to introduce myself to Evie's new friend. Chuck Bass," He introduces, holding out his hand to Max, who shakes it firmly, "Upper East Side welcoming committee."

Sirens are ringing in my head. Chuck doesn't know that I know about him and Blair, which means that in his point of view I've purposefully scorned his reputation by bringing another guy: he thought he had me, and now that he doesn't he wants to play victim. But Chuck Bass isn't a victim, oh no, he'll find some way of coming out on top. Which means that I need to get Max out of here – fast.

"Happy Birthday Blair," Plastering a smile on my face, despite the tempest of nerves making me want to vomit, I pull Blair into a tight hug whispering harshly, "If you want me to forgive you, get Max away from Chuck." Of course, eventually, I will get over Blair's mistake but she doesn't need to know that.

"Thank you for coming, Evie." Bair says with genuine remorse before standing in between Chuck and Max, who have been eyeing each other up like two hungry dogs. "And Serena said your date was handsome but she didn't say he was strong." I see Chuck's jaw tick at the word 'date' – that's right Bass, daaaaaaaaaate. "You wouldn't mind helping me move some of the bigger presents into the spare room, would you Max?" Blair bats her eyelashes, doing her finest Scarlet O'Hara impression. Max looks at me for approval, which I give with a (hopefully) reassuring smile.

Only, as soon as the two scurry off, and I'm left alone with the one person on the entire planet that I do not want to be left alone with, I regret my decision and immediately turn to walk away. However, Chuck obviously has different plans as he takes a hold of my arm, pulling me though a nearby door. Which turns out to be a bloody broom closet. Turning on the light and shutting us in, Chuck moves close to me, probably using the inadequate amount of breathing room to get into my personal space. His appearance is as preened as ever and I do not enjoy how even when I am this hurt and angry my body still responds to the suit he's wearing and those god-damn eyes. Those pools of mischievous thought that remind me of rich, dark chocolate – so bad that it tastes good.

"You've been avoiding me."

"Oh really, I haven't noticed." My attempt at keeping my voice neutral fails miserably, the anxiety begins to make my words shake. "I thought that I'd only just got here ten minutes ago and haven't even got round to avoiding you yet."

"I don't mean now. Where were you last night?" Chuck tries to keep his tone light, but the accusation in his eyes still manages to creep through. I swear if the next thing that comes out of his mouth – "Were you with him?" He spits out the barely contained allegation and it makes me want to cry out with anger and kick puppies and stomp on flowerbeds but I refrain from giving him the satisfaction of seeing my frustration: instead, I laugh. Hysterically. I guffaw as though I've just been told the funniest joke in the entirety of comedic history; at the idea of Chuck being so paranoid. But what almost brings me to tears is Chuck being angry at the idea of Max being the reason why I didn't make it to Victrola last night.

Chuck is thrown completely by my response. He probably thought that I'd beg for his forgiveness. He probably has a pretty image in his head of how this night will turn out but, boy, is he wrong.

"By 'him' you must mean Nate, right?" I throw back when I finally manage to compose myself. "You know, you're best friend who came to me last night, with a face bloody and bruised?"

As I continue, power surges in me and I dare to take a step closer, diminishing any space between us as I stare down into those eyes – which no longer look as confident as they once did: he knows it too – Evie Elma, the almighty bitch, is about to show him up.

"And do you know why 'he' was with me last night? Huh, Chuck? Do you know that he came to me because his girlfriend was busy?" I see the realisation flash before his eyes and suddenly all the colour washes off of his face. "What was Blair doing that was so important that she couldn't pick up her phone?" Chuck looks to open his mouth but I don't let him – I won't let him. "So, the real question is: Where the fuck were you last night?"

There's a beat of intense silence and for once Charles Bartholomew Bass doesn't have an excuse. I have no doubt that I'd be able to hear the crickets if it weren't from the steady thud of the music coming from behind the door. My chest rises and falls as it recovers from its passionate delivery and I'm glad for once that Chuck is staring at my eyes (trying to gage my emotions) as it means that he doesn't notice how my hands are shaking and or how my bottom lip is beginning to tremble. Perhaps I'm not Evie the Almighty Bitch after all. Perhaps I'll continue to be played a fool, like I have far too many times in the past. Perhaps I really did see Chuck differently but this perception is a lie: I'll see a Bass experience guilt when Hell freezes over.

"I fucked up, didn't I?"

Uh, I'm sorry – is it just me or did a pig just fucking fly?

Chuck Bass. Admitting that he did something wrong. The Chuck Bass is standing before me, with remorse in his eyes and sorrow in his voice. I know how hard it must be for him to do that but it shouldn't be. He's the one that screwed up. He's the one that should be grovelling.

"If that's your apology for screwing my best friend literally less than six hours after you asked me on a date and then daring to accuse me of the same thing then you can go fuck yourself." When I feel those dreaded, treacherous tears well up in my eyes, I reach behind him, flicking off the light so he doesn't get to see me cry. Nobody gets so see Evie Elma cry. And in the darkness of this broom closet I mutter with as much venom I can muster, "Or maybe you can get Blair to do it for you." Before pushing past him, closing the closet door behind me, leaving him the same way I found him: alone.

I find Blair, Serena and Max at the Sushi bar, smiles all around and so I match them tooth for tooth, plastering the biggest grin I can conjure.

"Everything okay?" Max asks, no sign in his eyes that he knows I was with Chuck in a cupboard for the last ten minutes.

"Yeah, I just had to use the ladies." My eyes meet those of Serena's, and then Blair's, as we all silently communicate that I am in distress and that Serena is in distress, and also Blair is in distress. Good, I think, we're all in the same boat. "I hope you didn't miss me too much." I flirt, trying not to show the anger that hides beneath the surface of my happy façade.

The ping of the elevator sounds next to us. Dan Humphrey strolls in with some brunette beauty on his arm. Serena noticeably tenses although she maintains her glossy, angelic appearance.

"Dan, you're here!" Serena squeals before noticing his guest and adding on rather disappointed, "and, um, and you brought Vanessa. Hey. Good to see you." She turns to our little group, her eyes desperately seeking help, "Uh, Blair, Evie, this Dan's friend Vanessa. Max, Dan is my boyfriend." The two boys politely shake hands, exchanging short, sharp pleasantries.

I barely manage to smile, busy picking up another glass of champagne, and Blair barely manages to wave, preoccupied with staring the poor girl down.

"Oh, sweetie, you did not tell me she looked like that. This is a problem." Blair murmurs, loud enough for Vanessa to hear. But I couldn't care less about how nice Blair was being when I'm stuck at a party I don't want to be at, with a date I really don't want to disappoint for a second time, whilst trying not to go back into that closet for round two with Chuck.

In the distance I hear the closet door slam. Fuck, he's angry. My back is to his direction, and I don't know whether he's decided to disperse in the general crowd or leave the soiree altogether. However, my doubts are answered when everyone's attention falls to the area behind my shoulder.

"I'm sorry to interrupt whatever kind of social formalities you're all so brilliantly performing," please don't fuck this up, I plead to Chuck silently, still not daring to turn around. "But I just want to wish the birthday girl a good night. Something's come up and I've got to go." Oh. He's leaving. "Max, it was nice meeting you. I have a feeling that we'll be seeing a lot more each other." At this cryptic goodbye I finally turn to look at him. That hurt little boy from the cupboard is no longer there, the Charles Bass who confessed his mistake earlier on had been replaced. The boy that was now standing so close, looking at me with cunning and laughter in his eyes, made me feel uneasy – the same kind of uneasy that a horse feels before a raging storm. I hadn't seen that look from Chuck since he destroyed his childhood tormenter, Henry Durnham's, reputation by sleeping with Mrs Durnham (the cougar) and spreading compromising pictures of her around school. I assume this is what Henry felt when he saw this same look that Chuck is giving me: a stare that says, "You're in for it now, Angel." But as soon as I saw it, it's gone. Chuck says a final goodbye to the group before sauntering away, as though he were the happiest man alive.

And when Chuck Bass is happy, people cry.

btw - we're close to finding out Evie's secret. Some of you may be underwhelmed but I hope that it has the opposite effect...

Review pls :3