Chandler sulked around the apartment. This was not good. This was not good at all. How had things gone downhill that fast?
He glanced around the place. Monica and him lived here. They lived here. He loved her so much. And up until now, he thought she loved him too. Apparently, he was wrong. This was the woman he was thinking about marrying for Christ's sake. What in the world was she thinking? How could she do that to him? He glanced at the closed bedroom door. He had known as soon as he had stepped into the apartment that something was up. Upon further investigation, by which means was sticking his ear to their bedroom door, that it was Monica in there alright. That there was another man with her. He knew for sure what was going on behind that closed door. It didn't take a fool. But he felt like one.
Chandler's mind was racing. Would he ever trust her again? How was he supposed to in the first place? Here he was, sitting at their kitchen table, while the woman he loved was with some other man in their bedroom. It was just more proof that his life never ended up perfect, never ended how he hoped it would. Maybe she had just gotten drunk. Maybe that's why she was with this man. But, did that really matter to him? Did he really, truly care how the turn of events had come about? Or, maybe he just hated the fact that it had happened in the first place.
No matter which way he tried to think about it, the situation sickened Chandler. He was unable to stand listening to the sounds that were barely audible through the bedroom door. Yet, here he was, unable to move. His stomach churned, but not from hunger. What was he supposed to do?
Chandler sat there, more confident than ever. He was determined to do this. He was going to marry Monica. He glanced over to see her in that blue sweater they had "borrowed" for this wedding. Her smile was so big, yet showing some nervousness. They were going to be married. So what if it was Las Vegas! So what if their friends weren't currently here! The thoughts to call them had barely crossed his mind. He was just anticipating the opening of those doors. He would walk down that very, very short aisle to be wed to his love.
The doors began to open. Monica and him jumped up to enter inside. Her hand grasped his quickly, but released it when she saw a drunken Ross and Rachel stumble out with drawings all over their faces.
The apartment had become silent. Chandler looked over at the bedroom. Angry with himself for staying, knowing this would be a situation he'd rather avoid, he sat there quietly. It was best to face this head on, whether or not he wanted to. He heard Monica's distinct voice, heard faint footsteps coming closer. The doorknob turned slowly.
Suddenly, a wave of nervousness and nausea flooded him. He couldn't do this. There was no way he could do this. The door slowly opened and all hope of making an unseen escape was banished. Monica stepped out, dark hair unruly and with a broad smile spread across her face. Her robe was tied around her, clearly confirming what he had thought.
"Hey," Chandler greeted, only half-heartedly. She stopped dead in her tracks. The smile was gone and she looked scared. It was as if only now had she realized that what she had done was wrong. "You look like you've had fun." He had thought about adding "without me", but decided against it. It was taking all he had just to admit what she had been doing in the first place.
"Chandler, honey," she whispered. She stepped closer, passing nervous glances back over her shoulder. "I... um, I thought you were... at work."
"Don't let me stop you from continuing your little escapade," he replied bitterly. "It's not my fault I was given the day off. We should damn my bosses to hell, we should."
"I'm sorry," she replied. "It's... I... Look, I was drunk. Does that make up for anything?"
"Would it if the situations were reversed? If I was coming out of there, knowingly having been with some other woman?"
"Yes, of course. I love you too much," Monica replied instantly.
"Would you still?" His tone was so unlike him. His words hurt her too much, but she knew that she couldn't say anything. He was right. She'd be torn if the roles were reversed. She'd never fully trust him again.
He stood. "I'm going for a walk."
Central Perk was quieter and emptier than usual. Chandler wasn't complaining at all. He wasn't ready to tell any of them what had happened. Heartache was sinking in oh-so-slowly, and it would only grow worse for the time being. Parts of him wished to flee, flee the city, flee the pain that was only starting to make itself known. If it hurt this much to just start realizing that the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to him was gone, could he take what was coming?
He knew the answer instantly. Never. Never in his life would he ever be prepared for any amount of heartache. He found himself realizing that he was feeling somehow similar to Rachel after learning that Ross had slept with another women, despite the debate about whether or not it was a "break". He realized the sting of betrayal.
"Um... You're Chandler, right?" Chandler turned around to see Gunther standing behind the couch and peering down at him. His face was a mask of confusion and nervousness.
Chandler nodded. "That'd be me," he replied softly. He was surprised at how shaking his voice had become.
"Do you want some company?" he questioned. "You know, to talk about whatever's bothering you."
"W... what do you mean what's bothering me?"
"It's kind of obvious. Cause of your crying and all."
Chandler blinked his eyes at the word. Crying? He was crying? His hand reached up and gently touched his cheek. It was damp. He felt another tear slip down his cheek. How could he not realize he was crying? His nose felt stopped up. He stood and went to the counter to get a napkin, blowing his nose accordingly. Turning around, he came face-to-face with the bleach-haired man once more. Sympathy was shown in his eyes.
"Thanks for the offer, Gunther, but I'm going to be fine," Chandler declined. "I could use a cup of coffee, though. Black, please?"
Gunther nodded, obligingly. Chandler sat back down on the couch. Moments later, he was given his coffee. The bitter taste was even more so than usual. The hot liquid rolled down his throat. He stared at the steam coming from the cup. The wisp of it rising and then disappearing from sight. He sat down the cup and looked at his watch. It wouldn't be long now before his friends walked through that doorway. If he still wanted to avoid them, he would have to leave now. But how long would that last? What good would that do? His friends would do practically anything for him, and he would do practically anything for them in return. Leaving here would only be hurting him more. Maybe he did need somebody to talk to. They'd certainly listen.
Chandler was cramped inside the box. It was uncomfortable and dark, the only light seeping through the small airhole. He knew he couldn't complain. He had to sit this through, or more like get through it in a huddled ball. He heard a woman that was not one of his five friends. She was leaning over the airhole speaking to him. This was the same woman that he and his best friend had fought over. This box was his punishment. He wasn't to talk. He couldn't respond to her, and he struggled to fight off any urge to. He was proving something by being in this box, proving his loyalty and friendship beyond all things. He was not going to let this woman, whom he had become so infatuated with, ruin his fatal attempt to regain Joey's trust. It saddened him to listen to her start to leave, but he was prepared to give up a thousand women to regain this lost trust.
"Hey, Chan!" Joey greeted. He jumped onto the couch next to Chandler. His face held that innocent boyish grin that defined him. It was also apparently one of the reasons several women were attracted to the Italian. A few seconds, and that same grin evaporated into overwhelming concern. "Chandler, what's wrong?"
Unable to discover an answer, Chandler simply whispered, "Monica." He looked over at his friend. He looked up at the rest of his friends coming through the coffee house door, each seeing him and adapting Joey's same expression of concern. It was going to take awhile to explain the story. To even begin to get over Monica, to possibly salvage any fragment of a friendship left behind. But looking at the people settling down around him, he instantly knew that they had the time to spare.