Reality Is Wrong
A/N – Welcome to my new fic, hope you like it, it's a little weird :-S Anyway, half the fun is finding out stuff along the way, so I won't give too much background. All you need to know is Monica and Chandler were married, but now they're divorced and she's remarried. I don't own the characters, although Courteney Cox Arquette is in my closet ;-) This is dedicated to DMG for all her help and cause she's just a cool ickle monkey and my first ever wife :-)
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Reality is wrong, dreams are for real.
But reality is the world we are trapped in. Dreams are an escape, but they do not linger. In the end, dreams must give way to reality forcing its way in.
But Pete Becker had found a way to keep dreams alive. He had found a way to let people live out their dreams. He had found a way to let people live in their dreams. To live in their dreams and never escape.
Pete Becker was an urban legend. His company, Caspian, was another urban legend. The Dark, the place people went when they had nowhere else to go, nowhere but their dreams to retreat to, no sanctuary other than the one they could create themselves, that was the biggest urban legend of all.
*~*~*~*~*
Away from the myths and legends of 21st Century Manhattan, Monica Castell tossed and turned in the grip of a nightmare. Her body was soaked in a cold sweat, her hair plastered to the back of her neck, her hands clenched into fists, her expression one of pain and fear. Her body arched in a vain attempt to escape, and she cried out like a child for its mother.
"Shhh, its ok baby, its ok," a voice broke through, bringing a tiny fragment of sanity for her to cling to in her terror. Monica reached out and felt strong arms wrap around her and hold her as she woke up. She sobbed against her husband's shoulder, gripping him tightly, afraid that if she let go she would sink back into the nightmare. Michael Castell held his sobbing wife close, rocking her gently and whispering little meaningless words of comfort into her hair. Eventually, her tears trailed away until all Michael could hear were muffled little snuffles against his chest. He laid her gently back down onto the bed so they could both go back to sleep. Monica's arms lingered around his neck and pulled him down so he could kiss her goodnight.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. Michael kissed her lips tenderly.
"Its ok, I'm sorry you have to go through it," he told her, dropping one last kiss onto her forehead before he moved over to his side of the bed. He glanced at the clock and sighed inwardly; he had to be up again in just a few short hours. He never would have admitted it, but he resented the nights when Monica had her nightmares and woke him and needed him to sit with her until she calmed down. She knew he was tired, and needed sleep, but she couldn't resist rolling over to his side of the bed and draping her arm over his chest and resting her head on his shoulder. His arm went around her back in sleepy response and she felt soothed.
Michael's snores soon punctuated the darkness in their bedroom, but Monica was still awake. She grew stiff from lying so long in the same position, but didn't dare move in case she woke her husband. She already felt guilty for waking him earlier. When Michael's alarm clock went off at 6 AM she closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep so he wouldn't worry about her insomnia. He gently slid her over to her side of the bed, and kissed her cheek. She kept up the pretence while he shuffled around the apartment, showering, getting dressed, eating breakfast. He was considerate enough to leave the bedroom light switched off, although she almost laughed aloud when this caused him to stub his toe and swear loudly.
Only when she heard the front door slam shut and the apartment had been silent for several minutes, did Monica get out of bed. She went to the bathroom and reached up into the medicine cabinet for the sleeping tablets her doctor had prescribed her. She took two out of the foil packet and swallowed them dry, scrunching her face up in disgust. As she put the rest of the tablets away, she noticed that her face in the mirror was disturbingly pale, with dark violet shadows under her eyes. Monica sighed. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had a good nights sleep naturally. Michael disapproved of her taking sleeping tablets, which was why she'd waited till he'd gone to work.
Monica didn't wake up again till mid-afternoon, and when she did she felt groggy and her limbs were heavy. She peeled back the duvet and got out of bed to open the curtains, hoping the light would make her feel better. The pale winter sunlight had little effect other than to make her squint. Monica turned away from the window and without thinking, made the bed.
She spent the rest of the day doing housework. Monica had given up her job two years ago, with no explanation to Michael other than that she wanted to be a housewife and stay at home with the kids they expected to have soon. They had tried for over a year to get pregnant and nothing had happened. Michael knew how much Monica wanted children and had paid for artificial insemination. She had gotten pregnant but had lost the baby when she was 8 weeks pregnant. After that Monica had refused to try any more, and Michael hadn't pressured her, convinced she would change her mind. Nine months later that still hadn't happened.
Michael came home at 6:30 as usual, and found Monica in the middle of making dinner. He kissed the top of her head and asked if there was anything he could do to help.
"If you would set the table, dinner should be ready in fifteen minutes, we're having lasagne," she told him.
"Sounds great," he said, moving to do as she asked.
While they ate, Michael amused her with a story about a guy at work who had sat through the whole of a two-hour meeting with his shirt buttoned wrong and his flies open. Monica's smile was fake, and he could tell instantly.
"Mon, are you ok?"
"Yeah, I'm sorry, I'm just tired."
"Did you take your pills last night?" he asked with a frown. Monica sighed, but didn't bother lying; she knew he would know anyway.
"Yes."
"Oh Monica," he sighed.
"I'm sorry."
"Oh darling, don't be sorry," he told her, "I just wish you didn't need them that's all." Monica said nothing.
Several hours later, Monica took a shower and emerged wearing only a white fluffy towel. Michael was sat on the couch watching TV, but as soon as he saw Monica walk through into the bedroom, he switched it off and jumped up to follow her. Monica stiffened as she heard her husband enter the bedroom behind her. Michael touched her bare shoulders gently and leaned forward to kiss her neck. Monica closed her eyes and let him touch her. His hands started to move down to her breasts, which he stroked lightly through her towel.
"Its been ages," he whispered. Monica nodded. She knew perfectly well they hadn't had sex for two months now.
"Mike, I'm so tired, maybe tomorrow," she said, forcing herself to move out of his arms. He groaned in frustration.
"Really tomorrow or is this one of those things you say to shut me up when you don't mean it?" he asked angrily.
"Don't shout," she begged.
"I'm not shouting!" he said, then realised he was. "Ok, I'm sorry, but Monica, I'm sick and tired of you pushing me away all the damn time!"
"Mike, I promise you we can do it tomorrow, but please not tonight," she said, closing her eyes to block out his hurt expression.
"Why? What will be different tomorrow?"
"I don't know," she admitted.
"You make it so hard for me," he told her.
"I know, I'm sorry Mike, really," she whispered, blinking hard and biting her lip to try and stop the tears falling down her cheeks.
"What do you want Monica? You don't want me to touch you; do you not want me in your life anymore? Do you want a divorce? What Monica? What do you want?" he demanded, clenching his hands into fists to stop himself grabbing her and shaking her. He loved her so much, and had always believed she loved him just as much, so why was she being so difficult? He understood she hadn't had an easy time the past year, but he only wanted to be there for her, why couldn't she let him in?
"No! Mike, I don't want to lose you!" she insisted, looking so panicked at the thought that he couldn't help believing her.
"Then what?"
"I don't know," she said sadly. "Look, we can have sex if you want, I'm sorry, I know it's been a long time."
"No Mon, I don't want us to just have sex. I couldn't anyway, not knowing you don't really want to." She frowned at him, confused.
"Tomorrow," she promised. Michael looked at her sadly, knowing she was just trying to make him feel better, that nothing would be any different tomorrow, but appreciating that she was making the effort. He kissed her chastely on the lips, and hugged her.
"If you want," he said casually, "but its ok if you don't, really."
"Thank you," she answered, kissing him lovingly. Michael did not put his arms around her, he was very aware that she was wearing only a towel, and hoped she wasn't aware of how much that turned him on.
"I'll leave you to get dressed," he said, pulling back. Monica nodded.
"I think I'm gonna go to bed now," she told him.
"I'll try not to wake you when I come in then."
She shot him a look that said she didn't expect to be asleep anyway, so he smiled encouragingly at her, patted her hair, and then left the room. Monica sighed as she put on her cotton pjs and brushed her hair. She was determined that she wouldn't let Michael down again tomorrow night, that she would not simply let him fuck her, she would make love with him, like she used to do. She couldn't remember when exactly things had changed, and she didn't know how to be the person she once was.
The next night, Monica was resolved to keep her promise. Michael hadn't mentioned it, but she knew he would be thinking about it. She snuggled up to him on the couch, and put her hand on his leg, sliding towards his crotch. He turned to her grinning and held her head in his hands while he kissed her passionately.
"You don't have to you know Mon," he told her, but he was looking at her so desperately that any doubts she might have had were eased. He was her husband. He was so good to her, so sweet to her; he deserved more of a wife than she had been lately.
"I want to," she said. "I do."
Michael wasn't sure whether or not he should believe her, but he needed her now, and if she was lying to make him happy, then he wasn't going to object. Monica pulled him down to kiss him and that was all the convincing he needed.
The following morning, it was the same as always. Monica hadn't slept more than a couple of hours, but she woke up at the same time as Michael, partly because of his alarm clock going off, but mostly because instead of letting her sleep on as he usually did, Michael was pushing her nightie off insistently reaching for her breasts. She let him do what he wanted, before he got up to shower and get ready for work, but didn't participate with anything like the enthusiasm she'd had last night.
When he had gone to work, Monica stayed in bed, lying flat on her back and staring up at the ceiling. She sighed deeply, then got out of bed slowly. By giving in to Michael and her own long-repressed desires, had she consented to giving him sex whenever he wanted? The realisation that she didn't much care either way only depressed her more.
Michael came home early that day, and offered to make them both an early dinner, and she smilingly accepted. Monica was half watching the daytime soap operas; she didn't care about any of the soaps, except one, Days of Our Lives. She smiled as the familiar music came on, and the noise of Michael clumsily banging around in the kitchen faded into insignificance. Michael smiled when he glanced over and saw her transfixed expression, assuming she was lost in the pathetic plot. She wasn't. She was lost in memories of her old friends. Joey Tribianni, aka. Dr Drake Ramoray was a big star on the show now, and Monica was grateful for this tiny contact with her old life.
When the show was over, she made her way into the kitchen to help Michael. Since he refused her help, she sat at the table and chatted while he cooked. It made a nice change to be the one relaxing while he cooked for her. It was only a simple meal, Michael's culinary skills couldn't compare to Monica's, but she appreciated the effort.
"Ok, it just needs to simmer for about 10 minutes, I'll set the table, why don't you go put on a nice dress?" Michael suggested. Monica looked down at her ratty jeans and long sleeved t-shirt and blushed. When Joey and the others had known her, they would have been concerned that she wasn't as together looking as they were used to, but this was what Michael had gotten used to.
Coming out of the bedroom ten minutes later, Monica was wearing smart black pants and a red top that was cut lower than anything Michael had seen her in for a long time. He grinned as she sat down, slightly self-consciously at the table. He had set it with candles and their best china.
"What's the occasion?" she asked, trying not to sound suspicious.
"Why does there have to be an occasion?"
Monica didn't answer. She knew what the occasion was, and she thought she knew how the rest of the evening would go. He was celebrating that their marriage seemed to be back on track. Whether this was temporary or lasting he didn't know, but was willing to be optimistic. Monica was more sceptical.
It turned out she was wrong about her expectations of the evening. Michael drove them to the video store and let her pick a movie to rent. She picked a horror movie, then regretted it as soon as they started watching it because she got scared and clung to Michael, and although his arm around her was comfortable and soothing, she didn't want to give him ideas. But when the movie finished, Michael merely kissed her cheek and asked if she wanted to watch another movie or go to bed. His voice didn't seem to be implying anything else with 'go to be', but Monica went for another movie anyway. When that one was over too, Michael said he was gonna go to bed, he looked at Monica, silently asking her to join him.
"I think I'm gonna stay and watch the news, I won't be long," she told him. Michael nodded, sadness passing over his face for only a second, then he smiled and kissed her cheek.
"I'll probably be asleep when you come in, so I'll say goodnight now."
"Night sweetie."
When Michael woke up the next morning, he jumped up to switch the alarm clock off before it woke Monica, then he glanced at the bed where she should have been, but it was flat. Shrugging, he supposed she could have gotten up to go to the bathroom, or she could even have fallen asleep in front of the TV. But when he got out into the living room, Monica was sat wide-awake, exactly where he'd left her last night. He walked over to her, concerned.
"Mon, sweetie, you ok?" She blinked at him, startled.
"I'm fine."
"You sure?"
"Yes, of course."
"Did you get any sleep at all?"
Monica scrunched her nose in thought. "No, I don't think so."
"Why don't you take one of your pills and go to bed when I've gone out? Or I can stay home if you want me to," Michael offered. He was very worried. He was used to his wife surviving on just a few hours of sleep a night for weeks or even months at a time. But she'd always managed some sleep.
"I'm fine Mike! I don't need pills and I definitely don't need you at home getting under my feet all day," she snapped.
"Alright!" he said, backing away, hands raised giving way. He was a little hurt, but put her bad mood down to exhaustion. "Alright, but call me if you need to, and do try and get some sleep."
Monica shook her head firmly. "If I sleep all day I'll have even less chance of sleeping tonight."
"Ok, well take it easy Mon."
Her face relaxed into a smile. "I will, I'm sorry sweetie."
She stayed frozen in front of the TV, staring blankly at the news without hearing or seeing it, while Michael got ready for work. He kept looking over at her worriedly, but she gave no sign that she was aware of him looking at her.
"I'm gonna leave now," he told her.
"'Kay," she muttered.
"I should be back by six thirty, I'll try and leave earlier if I can."
"You don't have to."
"I want to."
"If you like."
Michael gave her a strange look. She seemed so detached this morning. Once again, he blamed her lack of sleep and told himself not to worry; she'd probably sleep better tonight.
But she didn't. Monica once again spent the night wide-awake in a chair in the living room. Michael slept peacefully in the bedroom, unaware of his wife's silent torment. Monica didn't bother leaving the TV on this time. She sat in the same chair as the night before. Her body felt heavier than she would have believed possible. She was exhausted and desperate for sleep. But she didn't have the usual feeling of her eyes sinking closed on their own, they stayed determinedly open. She had tried quiet music to lull her to sleep, she'd turned the light out, and she'd even crept into the bedroom and spent an hour there next to Michael, who annoyed her with his effortless ability to sleep normally. Then she ended up back in the living room with the light on, because it made no difference and sitting alone in the dark made her feel like she belonged in a horror movie or something.
In the morning, she was still there when Michael came in. She was expecting his arrival because she'd heard the beep of the alarm clock a few minutes earlier. Michael looked at her with pity. Monica stared at him, wishing he could grant her even just a few minutes of sleep.
"Oh Mon," he said softly, crouching on the floor in front of her and taking her hands in his. They were freezing, despite the relatively warm apartment, so he rubbed them gently. "Are you ok?"
"I'm so tired Mike."
"I know baby, I know. Did you try taking your pills?" Monica didn't answer. She hadn't, because she'd got the feeling they wouldn't help her. He correctly assumed her silence meant no. "Why don't you try one tonight Mon? It won't do any harm and it might help." She stayed silent, staring at him blankly. Didn't he understand?
When Michael had gone to work, Monica forced herself to get out of her chair, shower and eat breakfast. She moved slowly, as if the air had suddenly become almost solid. Her head ached, her eyes ached, her neck and shoulders ached from sitting up all night, and even her stomach ached with period pains.
Michael came home an hour earlier than usual, he was worried about Monica, and wanted to start a hopefully relaxing weekend a little early. He was determined to pamper her and not make her cook or clean or do anything all weekend, and hopefully she'd be able to get some sleep. If she went another night or two without sleep, he would insist she let him take her to a doctor; it couldn't be healthy for her. He smiled when he got into the apartment and saw Monica slumped over a magazine at the kitchen table, seemingly fast asleep. He shut the door as quietly as possible and tried to figure out if he should risk waking her up by moving her into their bedroom.
"Michael?"
Too late, she was awake already.
"Sorry baby, I didn't mean to wake you," he apologised, sitting at the table next to her and rubbing her back gently.
"I wasn't asleep. I can't sleep," she said desolately. "I can barely hold my head up I'm so tired, but my eyes won't stay closed. Even when I close my eyes, my mind keeps racing, it won't shut down, it won't let me sleep Mike." She started to cry. Mike was a little scared, he hated to see Monica cry, especially when there was nothing he could do about it. He slid off his chair and onto the floor next to her, pulling her gently onto his lap where he cradled her head against his shoulder.
"Did you try taking a pill?" he asked.
"I took six. Six," she told him miserably.
"Monica! That's three times the normal dose!" he said shocked, panicking about how long ago she'd taken them and whether he should call an ambulance or something.
"Doesn't matter, they didn't work anyway."
"Mon, promise me you won't do that again! Don't take more than two at a time," he pleaded, fixating on the one thing he could make sense of. She nodded.
"Doesn't make a difference if I take two or twenty." She sounded more depressed than Michael had ever heard her. He privately thought that the difference between two and twenty pills could be that twenty would kill her, but he didn't share this thought with his wife.
"Mon, I'm gonna take you to the doctors, maybe he can prescribe you some different pills or something. I'll call the surgery now, we might even be able to go tonight." He started to slide her off his lap, but she put her arms around his neck and refused to move.
"Nothing is gonna help Mike, I know its not."
"Then what? Are you just never gonna sleep again?"
"I guess I just have to ride it out. You know how sometimes it gets better and then it gets worse," she shrugged. She felt calmer and less desperate in Michael's arms.
"Its never been this bad before though," he argued, stroking her hair. Monica didn't answer.
Over the next week, Monica still didn't sleep, and Michael grew increasingly worried about her. She was too tired to do anything most of the time, and would just sit with her head on his shoulder in the evenings while he watched TV and held her close. He tried persuading her to come to bed to rest even if she couldn't sleep, but she was always reluctant. One night Michael was woken up feeling suddenly cold. He groped around him in the dark and found he was missing the blankets. Switching on the lamp next to his bed, he realised they hadn't fallen on the floor; Monica had followed him into bed and was curled up on the edge of the bed clutching the whole double size blanket around her.
"Mon? Sweetie?" Michael said, touching her shoulder gently. "Can I get a little of the covers please?"
"Sorry, yeah," she said unwrapping them from around herself. She straightened it out almost evenly on the bed, but Michael noticed she was shivering violently.
"Come here," he invited, opening his arms. She looked at him warily, but a raised eyebrow assured her he wasn't coming on to her, so she complied. Michael switched of the light and lay back down, with Monica snuggled safely in his arms. Her bare arms felt like ice, so he rubbed them gently. "You been outside or something?" he asked, kissing her neck softly. She shook her head and moved away slightly from his kisses. Michael drew her closer again but did not kiss her again. When she had stopped trembling from the cold, Michael let himself fall asleep.
When he woke up again in the morning, Monica was gone. He found her on the balcony, and cursed loudly; what the hell was she doing? He ran out in his sweat pants and t-shirt to bring her in. It was only drizzling, but Monica was soaking, either it had been raining harder earlier or she had been out here for a long time. She was only wearing her nightie and she was barefoot. Michael grabbed her arms to take her inside, but she screamed at his touch and struggled to be free of him.
"Monica! It's me! Mon get inside now!" he shouted at her.
"Get the hell away from me!" she screamed, spinning around to face him. Michael was suddenly afraid that she was going to jump. Her face was white and gaunt, there were dark, dark shadows underneath her eyes, and her beautiful dark hair was thin and straggly. Michael made another attempt to grab her, but she slapped him as hard as she could. He staggered back, his hand on his cheek where her cold fingers had left a red, stinging mark. She sound of the slap jolted Monica back to reality, and she stepped towards Michael, her eyes wide. He saw her fear and hugged her hard.
"Come on baby, come inside," he said. She nodded against his chest and let him lead her inside. "I'm taking today off work," he said as soon as they were in the apartment. He left her standing alone in the living room while he went to the bedroom to fetch a blanket and dry clothes for her. "I'll call in sick while you change."
"You don't have to," she said, not taking the clothes.
"Yes, I do have to. I'm taking you to see a doctor." He shoved the clothes at her and went to phone, before she could protest. Monica stared at his back for a few seconds, and then went slowly into the bedroom to change. She came back wearing jeans that were too big for her and a sweatshirt belonging to Michael. She hadn't even attempted to do anything about her hair.
"I don't want to see a doctor," she said quietly when she saw Michael wasn't on the phone.
"I know you don't sweetheart," he said patiently, "but you need to."
"No, I don't," she said, struggling to sound as calm as her husband. Michael sighed. Monica was as stubborn as ever when she wanted to be, and he knew it was pointless arguing with her.
"Well when you go, if the doctor agrees with you, that's fine, we'll come home again and you can stay awake for the rest of your life if you want to," he said irritably. "But you're going."
"No," she insisted.
"You have an appointment at 3:30 tomorrow."
"I'm not going."
"Its not a shrink, if that's what you're afraid of," Michael said softly.
"I'm not afraid at all," she said firmly.
He saw his way to persuade her to go and went for it, playing up to her competitive nature. "Yes you are, you're afraid the doctor will end your pretence that this is all perfectly normal, and you won't be able to go on like nothing's wrong anymore."
"Shut up," she said shrilly. "Just shut the fuck up!" She ran at Michael and started to hit him with ineffectual fists. Michael stopped her easily, and she wrestled out of his grip and stormed into the bedroom. He decided it was best to let her sulk on her own, and didn't follow her.
Monica did go to the doctors as Michael wanted, but sat silently while Michael explained to the doctor that his wife hadn't slept in over a week. She let the doctor examine her and did everything he asked her to, and didn't even flinch from the pain as he took a blood sample.
"We're just going to run some routine tests, make sure there's nothing physical causing your insomnia," the doctor explained. "I understand you already have a prescription for some sleeping pills?"
"Yes she does, but she says they don't work anymore," Michael said, realising Monica wasn't going to volunteer anything.
"But they worked until recently?" the doctor queried.
"I think so," Michael said. The doctor looked to Monica for confirmation, so she nodded.
"Well I'll give you a prescription for some slightly different ones for now, if you come back and see me again in a week I should have the results of these tests back and be able to tell you more," he said.
"Thank you," Michael said, taking Monica's hand to help her stand. She didn't bother to thank the doctor, Michael pinched her arm to remind her to be polite, but it made her feel like a naughty child, and she jerked away.
That night Monica took two of her new pills and went to bed at the same time as Michael. She fell asleep almost straight away, and Michael smiled as he heard he deep, regular breaths and sensed that she wasn't faking it. He drifted off himself, and his final thought before he slept was that Monica's body was warmer than it had been for a long time. He was woken up barely an hour later by the sound of screaming. He groaned, recognising the signs of one of Monica's nightmares even before he opened his eyes. But he had to admit he was grateful she was sleeping, even if she was having bad dreams. She kicked him in her sleep, and seconds later, her arm swung down and smacked against his chin. Michael wriggled out of bed away from her and switched on the light. Monica had tears pouring down her cheeks, she was thrashing around in bed and screaming in pure terror. It was the worst he'd ever seen her, and Michael felt her fear clench him as well. He hurried round to Monica's side of the bed, tripped over the covers where they had fallen in a tangled mess to the floor, and leaned over her to shake her awake. He was momentarily scared by how light she was, then that thought was gone as she screamed louder than ever and lashed out blindly at him. Monica's fingernails scratched down his face, clawing at him until he dropped her back down onto the bed. Michael looked at her, he was so worried for her, he couldn't bear to leave her to fight her nightmare alone.
"Monica! Monica please wake up!" he said loudly, tentatively reaching to touch her again.
"Don't touch me! Get off me!" she shrieked.
"Mon! Mon, its me, Mike, Monica!" he pleaded.
Suddenly she lay still. Her eyes slowly opened and she looked at him, seeing his concerned, familiar face, with no desire whatsoever to harm her. Monica's breathing was still ragged, but she had stopped screaming. Michael loooked relieved, as he slowly sat down on the edge of the bed next to her. She sat up and leaned into his arms sobbing.
"Oh God Mike," she said in a strange voice.
"What were you dreaming?" he asked, rocking her gently back and forth and rubbing her back while she cried.
"Ugh, it was awful," she said, shuddering even as she thought about it.
"Shhh, its ok, its ok, you don't have to tell me," he said, feeling her fear.
"Don't leave me," she begged, looking at him with frightened eyes.
"I won't baby, I promise," he assured her, pulling her head back onto his chest.
Michael sat holding her until she fell asleep again. He was a little afraid she'd have more nightmares, but if she was scared too, she didn't show it; she was asleep within minutes. Unfortunately, Michael's fear proved to be true. He had been dozing lightly when he heard Monica whimpering and pushing against him. He held her tight, hoping to sooth her back into happier dreams, but it didn't work, if anything it made her more afraid. He released her gently, and she lay shaking and crying quietly, but he didn't want it to get as bad as the last one, so he shook her shoulders gently to wake her up. Monica woke up with a yell, but she seemed relieved to see Michael, and reached up to pull him down to hug her.
"Oh Mon," he said sympathetically.
"I don't wanna go back there," she said, her voice shaking.
"Go back where baby?" She didn't answer, only clung onto him desperately, as though she was drowning and he was her only hope of getting out alive.
It was a cycle of sleep, nightmares and being woken up by Michael, which tormented Monica all night. By the next morning, they had decided without discussion that she should not take any more sleeping pills. Michael was exhausted the next day, and was grateful it was a Saturday and he didn't have to work.
The following night, Monica managed a few hours of sleep without the help of the sleeping pills, and only woke once with a nightmare and Michael soon managed to sooth her back to sleep. On Sunday night, they made love before they both fell asleep. Monica still woke early but she no longer had the all-consuming exhaustion she'd had when she wasn't sleeping at all. During the rest of the week she continued to sleep for a few hours a night, often having nightmares. On Friday Michael took her back to the doctors for the results of the blood tests. After answering some questions about how she'd been sleeping for the last week, Monica was told her blood tests had all come back as normal. The doctor apologised but said there was nothing he could do if there was nothing physically wrong with her.
Over the next two months Monica had two or three hours sleep each night. Michael continued to worry about her, but so long as she was getting some sleep, he figured she'd be ok. But she had grown prickly, she didn't like him touching her, they'd gone back to not having sex, Monica had even moved into the spare bedroom because she claimed Michael's snoring disturbed her, and she avoided being drawn into conversation with him as much as possible. Michael didn't know what was wrong with her, only that she still had nightmares, because he heard her screams through the wall separating their bedrooms. But the few times he tried to go to her and calm her, she pushed him away, and she eventually got a lock fitted to keep him out of what had become her bedroom. He missed her.
Michael came home one Friday night to an empty apartment. Which was weird; Monica never went out! He shrugged and figured she was a grown woman and was perfectly able to go out alone. He ate his dinner of frozen pizza alone, and watched some TV. By 8:30, when Monica still wasn't home, he was worried. He wondered if she'd gone to run some errands and something had happened to her. The thought that she had run away or was with another man crossed his mind only briefly; Monica wasn't the type.
"Where the hell have you been?" he demanded when she finally came home at a quarter past eleven.
"Out," she mumbled, heading for the bathroom. Michael got up and grabbed her wrist before she got halfway there.
"Mon, what's going on?"
"Nothing, I was just out," she said evasively. Michael noticed she looked pale and shaken, and that she wasn't even struggling to free her wrist.
"What's wrong baby? You can tell me, you know you can," he said.
"I can't!"
"Why? What is it Monica?"
"Nothing!"
"So you can't tell me 'nothing'?"
"Mike, please just drop it, I'll tell you when I'm ready."
"So you can tell me, you just don't want to!"
"I said drop it!"
"No! Monica!" Michael twisted her wrist round in frustration. She yelped in pain, and looked at him as if she couldn't quite believe what he was doing. Michael was hurting her? Not hurting her much, but he was deliberately hurting her! The same sweet, kind Michael who'd sat up with her when she had nightmares she couldn't tell him about. Had he changed so much since she'd gone into the spare bedroom?
"Michael, stop it!" she said, frightened. He released her suddenly, and looked at her, as shocked as she was.
"Mon, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I've just been so worried about you, that's all," he excused himself.
"You hurt me!" Monica said, holding her wrist.
"Oh come on, I bet you don't even have a bruise!" he scoffed, but he wasn't as sure of himself as he sounded, and they both knew it.
"Cause that's what the issue is here," she said sarcastically.
"Shut up Mon, you know I would never hurt you."
"No, I don't," she said quietly. Michael looked at her sharply.
"Mon, I mean it," he said, worried. "I'm sorry I hurt you, I lost my temper, I was worried about you that's all. It won't happen again, I promise."
"Leave me alone," she said, pushing past him suddenly and heading for the bathroom again.
"Are you afraid of me?" he asked, sounding like he was more afraid than she was.
Monica didn't answer; she just went into the bathroom and slammed the door. Michael punched the nearest wall in frustration. Monica went straight to bed after she came out of the bathroom, without saying another word to Michael. He didn't even bother trying her bedroom door handle; he knew she would have locked it. He went to bed himself shortly afterwards, seeing no point in staying up watching TV alone. He hated the thought of Monica lying alone and sleepless in her bed, but all he could do was tell himself he couldn't help her, and even if he could, she didn't want his help anyway.
At two am, Michael woke up suddenly, and blinked into the darkness of his bedroom, unsure what had woken him. Monica's nightmares rarely made her scream loud enough for him to hear when he was deeply asleep as he had been just now. He sat up and listened. He heard an anguished scream coming from Monica's room. Michael was out of bed and running towards her door before he'd even considered how he'd help her from the other side of a locked door.
"Monica!" he shouted, banging on the door and rattling the door handle. "Monica!" If she heard him, he couldn't tell, her screams were getting louder if anything. He heard something crash into a wall and wondered what she'd managed to throw across the room. He started to panic and threw his weight against the door to try and force it open. A few more times and the lock gave way and the door flew open. Monica lay on the bed, the blanket had completely fallen off onto the floor and her nightie had worked its way up so that instead of being past her knees, it barely even covered her breasts. Her back was arched against whatever terror she was imagining and her arms covered her face, trying to defend herself. Michael rushed over to try and wake her and comfort her, knowing that she would forgive him for the fright he'd given her earlier, forgive him for barging into her bedroom, forgive him anything if he could make it stop now. But his foot caught in what he later realised was her bra, which she had uncharacteristically left lying on the floor. Michael supposed she'd had too much on her mind to be her usual neat freak self when she went to bed. But it was enough to trip him and he took a few off balance steps towards Monica's bed, then fell, landing sprawled on top of her.
Feeling his weight on her, Monica woke up, but instead of being comforted by his presence, she was terrified by it, and her screams in his ear nearly deafened him. She kicked him as hard as she could, aiming for his shins or his crotch or just anywhere she could reach. Her hands clawed at his hair, yanking his head back and away from her. Michael tried to get up and get a safe distance away from her so he could explain, but he needed to push himself off the bed, and when he reached for the bed, he accidentally felt her breast, making her even more frightened. When he eventually managed to scramble off her, he backed hurriedly towards the door. Monica scooted to the far side of the bed, sitting up, trying to pull her nightie down, gasping for breath and shaking violently.
"Get out of her you fucking bastard rapist!" she screamed at him.
"What the hell?! Mon, it's me! I never touched you!" he insisted, but she would hear none of it.
"You raped me! Just cause I'm your wife doesn't mean you're allowed to fucking rape me whenever you want!"
"Mon, please, I promise you I didn't," he said, trying to stay calm. She must have been dreaming she was being raped, God knows why, and when she woke up with him on top of her like that, she confused her dream and reality. "Think about it Monica, would I really do that? Me?" he tried to appeal to the reasonable part of her.
"YES!" she screamed. "Now get the fuck away from me!"
"Ok, ok Mon, I'm gonna go back to my room and let you calm down. Come in to me if you need me," he said, shaking in fear for his wife. She laughed coldly at the idea of her needing him for anything now. Michael felt a deep wave of sadness. He hoped to God he'd be able to persuade her of the truth, but what if he couldn't? What if she just went on believing it? Believing her husband was a rapist! The thought scared the shit out of him, and it was Michael's turn to experience insomnia that night as he lay in bed thinking about Monica and pitying her and longing to be able to explain himself to her.
As soon as Michael had left her bedroom, Monica got out of bed and got dressed quickly, not caring what she put on. She didn't know where she was going to go, all she knew was that she had to get out of the apartment, she had to get away from Michael. She forced herself not to think about what she was going to do later and to focus on the more basic task of getting out of the apartment. She thanked God Michael had gone to bed, rather than waiting anxiously in the living room, or worse, angrily in the living room. It was easy to slip out, to run quietly down the stairs to the lobby, and to push the swing doors open and step out into the dark and the rain of the city.
She wandered the streets of New York City like a soul lost among uncaring graves. Her whole world was collapsing around her and she was in danger of being buried in the rubble if she didn't get out. But how could she get out? Where could she escape to at two am in the middle of a thunderstorm? Monica watched her feet on the wet pavement. She had walked for an hour before she realised that she was in a small side street in an unfamiliar part of the City. She had no idea where she was or how to get home.
"I don't want to go home anyway," she muttered to herself. But she felt very cut off from the world she knew, and whatever had happened, that thought scared her. She sank onto a doorstep, bone weary, and put her head in her hands.
"Where do you wanna go?" a voice asked from behind her. She spun around and looked up at the speaker. It was a rather average looking man, but he was standing and she was sitting, and the light behind him made him seem more intimidating than he would have normally.
"I don't care," Monica said miserably. She went back to staring down at the ground in front of her, not wanting to be drawn into conversation with a stranger right now. Out of sight, the man behind her smiled into the darkness.
"Then you're in the right place." Monica craned round to look at him again, not understanding. "Welcome to The Dark."
A/N – I know Chandler isn't in this one, he's in the next chapter I promise. Please review and let me know what you think, thanks