Big Eyed Fish

by Becca Bing

A teenager goes through a hard time, causing much of the weight to be forced upon the shoulders of his sister. Stand-alone {not romantic}

Big-Eyed Fish

Okay, I know this title's weird but it's cuz it's the name of the song I decided to use to write this songfic. It's not romantic (for once) and there's actually no Chandler in this fic *gasps* I know! Umm…Monica and Ross are teenagers…Monica's 16 and Ross is 17(ish). Phoebe and Rachel briefly appear as Monica's friends, so let's assume they're the same age and also go to the same school as Monica and Ross, although it doesn't really matter. Joey and Chandler never do show up. I decided to write this fic when I heard the song Big-Eyed Fish, by Dave Matthews Band. However, if you don't understand how the song lyrics fit, then could u just like ignore them? 'Cuz this song fits the situation in this fic perfectly from my perspective…but then again, this is a subject that is very real to me, so maybe I can see things that others can't. I had to deal with something like this before, so I guess I should tell you this is fic is slightly autobiographical. I wrote it 'cuz I really wanted a way to express my feelings, and writing (usually fics) is that outlet for me at the moment. I decided to post it, however, with the hope that, maybe someone going through a situation similar to this could know that they're not completely alone in the world. Okay, please review, and although, by posting this, I am completely ready for bad reviews, I'm just wondering if maybe u can tone them down, if u're gonna flame me, 'cuz this is a touchy subject for me as it is. Thanks!

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, or the song Big-Eyed Fish by Dave Matthews Band.

Monica trekked down the stairs, backpack slumped over one shoulder, as she tried to keep her balance. Things were so much harder this year. The school workload was much more demanding and intense than she had ever endured before in her entire life. On her way down the stairs, she passed the kitchen, where her brother stood in the doorway of the refrigerator, staring at her.

"What?!" she demanded angrily.

Sometimes, her brother drove her absolutely crazy. He didn't seem to care that she often times struggled in school. To her, getting good grades was everything to work for in life, while it just seemed to come naturally to him. Although, at one point, he cared about his grades, it was never with as much passion as she showered towards that one aspect of her life.

"Nothing!" he answered in an equally frustrated tone.

She shrugged and headed towards the basement, where she strategically spread out her study materials over the brown-carpeted floor. She planned to spend the next hour and a half viciously studying her history notes, as her stereo blared the CD of mixed songs that her friend, Phoebe, had made for her a few weeks prior.

Look at this big - eyed fish swimming in the sea oh
How it dreams to be a bird swoop and diving through the breeze
So one day caught a big old wave up on to the beach
Now he's dead you see beneath the sea is where a fish should be

But oh God
Under the weight of life
Things seem brighter on the other side

For the next thirty minutes, she threw herself into her studying, allowing nothing to break the studious ambience that she had created. However, she was forced to interrupt her studies when Ross ran downstairs and sat square in the middle of the large room. He looked over at his sister as she impatiently waited for him to speak.

"I overdosed on medicine," he said evenly.

Monica was shocked. Had she heard him wrong? Her brother wouldn't have done something like that. Not on purpose, anyway. Maybe he just took too much medicine by mistake, she thought hopefully, staring at her brother as he began to speak to the 911 receptionist, He must have just taken the wrong medicine thinking it was his. That has to be the reason. Still, she drifted instinctually up the stairs, towards her room, and grabbed her phone from its cradle on her desk. With a shaky hand, she dialed the glowing numbers and put the phone to her ear, while pacing the length of her room.

"Dad?"

"Hey sweetie. What's up?"

"Dad…Ross…he said that he…overdosed on pills…and he called 911 and…"

"What? Are you sure?"

"Yes!" she croaked.

"Ok, well I'll call him and see, okay. Just don't worry."

"Okay," she answered meekly. 

She held the phone to her ear for a few moments, merely listening to the soft shrill of the dial tone and then placed the white phone back on its cradle as her legs began to shake. Although the circumstances felt completely surreal to her, she was still petrified. But he was okay, right? He was standing, he was breathing, he was still alive. Everything had to be okay. This was Ross. Sure, he annoyed her at times, but he was her brother! The same guy who made her fall off her bike, gave her atomic wedgies, held her in headlocks. He wouldn't want to kill himself. No, no, he couldn't have even tried it. Monica slipped out of her bedroom, needing to see that he was still alive, although she convinced herself that there was no other possibility. When she walked over to the steps leading down to their living room, she saw the back of her brother, as he sat on the steps, waiting.

"Ross," she called, rooted to the safety of distance.

"What?"

"Why'd…" Monica mustered up the courage to ask the one question she would regret for many years to come, "Why'd you do it?"

He looked straight into Monica's eyes; his dark brown eyes shinning in the hall light. "Because I wanted to kill myself." 

They held their intense gaze for a few more moments, until there was a loud knock at the door. Ross turned away and went to answer it. Immediately after Monica saw the police officer standing at the door, she snuck, unnoticed, into her room and shut the door tightly, hoping with all her might that she could just lock herself out from the harsh reality taking place just a few feet away from her bedroom door.

Monica kept her ear pinned to the door, listening to the rustle below her as two men began to question her brother intensely. However, it wasn't until the conversation began to concern Monica that she began to listen with interest.

"Is there anyone here with you?" the officer asked Ross gently.

"Yeah, my sister."

"How old?"

"16."

"What's her name?"

"Monica."

The officer began to head up the stairs and called, "Monica? Monica, can you come out here for a moment?"

Regretfully emerging from the remote haven of her bedroom, Monica slowly appeared from the room and walked over to the police officer, who had retreated down the stairs again just moments before.

"Hi Monica, I'm Officer Mckenna."

"Hi," she greeted softly.

"So, you're 16?"

"Yes, sir."

"What grade?"

"11th."

He nodded and then focused his attention back on the girl, as she shuffled nervously in her spot before him. "Did you know your brother was doing this?"

"No."

"Where were you when it happened?"

"Downstairs. In the basement, studying."

"Has he been depressed before?"

"Well, yeah, I guess. But I never thought he would ever do this."

The officer looked away sadly. "Could you get your mother or father on the phone?"

"Yes, sir."

Monica headed towards the kitchen and dialed her father's familiar office number.

"Hello?" he asked hurriedly.

"Dad, there's a police man here…and a paramedic, too, I think...with Ross."

Officer Mckenna followed Monica into the kitchen and gestured for the phone. She handed the phone over to the man and retreated into the living room. She paced the room, too anxious to sit down and too nervous to stand still. The minutes seemed to pass like hours as she waited for the officer to get off the phone with her father and the paramedic to come back downstairs with her brother.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity passed, the paramedic returned, with Ross behind him. He informed Monica that he was taking Ross to a near-by hospital and, after making sure that Monica was indeed able to stay home alone, Officer Mckenna left, too. Once the house was empty, Monica stood on shaky legs for a few moments, until she collapsed onto the sofa, utterly drained. After lying there for a few minutes, while a million thoughts swirled around in her brain, she blindly made her way to the kitchen, picked up the telephone, and quickly punched in numbers.

"Hey Rach?" she questioned desperately.

"Ya, hey Mon. What's up?"

"Not too much."

"That's cool."

"Yeah."

"So…"

There was a pause in the conversation, until Monica mustered up the courage to ask something that was burning in her mind.

"I have a question."

"Yeah?"

"If someone tries to commit suicide, but doesn't succeed, do you think they'll burn in hell?"

As soon as those words left her mouth, it was as if all of her emotions suddenly mixed together—into bitter contempt.

"In hell…what? Where did that come from all the sudden?"

"I dunno, I was just wondering."

Rachel began to become suspicious of her friend's odd behavior and random, blunt question.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Okay…"

"You didn't answer the question."

"Okay. I guess I…don't really believe in hell. Is something wrong? You aren't thinking of—"

"Committing suicide? No. I used to be like you, though. I didn't believe in hell."

"Used to be?"

"Well, yeah. Now I think that if you attempt suicide, you'll spend eternity burning in hell."

Rachel gasped at the words of her usually optimistic friend. "How can you believe something like that?"

"I know. It's pretty bad. That's why I'm gonna burn in hell along with them."

You see this crazy man decided not to breathe
He turned red and blue - purple, colorful indeed
No matter how his friends begged and pleaded the man would not concede
And now he's dead you see the silly man should know you got to breathe

But oh God
Under the weight of life
Things seem brighter on the other side

Monica turned over on her bed and violently hit the off button of her CD player. She didn't want to here those words that flooded from them. She didn't need to hear about someone killing himself. She had already been dealing with that enough for the past few days. She slowly walked out of her room, down the hall, and entered her brother's room. It looked just like it always did. All of his dinosaur figurines and replicas of fossils stood proudly in their designated spots around his room, as she ran her finger over them lightly. Sure, dinosaurs weren't the expected obsession of a seventeen year old, but it didn't make him seem like a person who would try to kill himself. Monica involuntary shuddered at her thoughts. Kill was such a harsh word, yet it was the only word that fit this situation. Although people mostly covered it up with "committing suicide" and other terms like that, they all meant one thing—killing. She began to feed Ross' pet lizard, lost in her thoughts, when her mother, Judy, entered the room.

"Oh good, you're feeding that dinosaur." 

"It's an lizard."

"It might as well be a dinosaur to me. I don't know the difference. All I know is I don't want to touch the thing."

Monica nodded and turned away, as her mom watched her feed the small, green-coated reptile. However, Judy exhaled sharply, causing Monica to spin around curiously.

"I don't know what he wants from us."

"What?"

She attempted to hold back tears as she continued, "He was always such a good kid…wasn't he?"

"Sure he was."

"I mean yeah, there were times when he got overly upset about things, but who doesn't?"

"You're right."

"It's just…we tried to give him everything he wanted. Yet, there was always that part of him that begged for answers that we couldn't give him. He wanted to know why he was so different from everyone else. He's so bright and people don't like him for that. And his interests…they're so different from everyone else's. But, I wanted to give him all the answers, I did. I just couldn't. I'm only human. What did he want from us?"

"Maybe he knows that you don't have the answers…maybe he just asked in order to try to get you to fix them for him?" Monica paused and began to stutter, "Well…I mean…I'm probably wrong….but, I just—"

"No, I think you're right. You're right, Monica!" she sobbed.

Awkwardly, Monica went over to her mother and hugged her gently. However, her mother captured her tightly in her arms, weeping into her daughter's shoulder. Monica let out a shaky breath as Judy continued to cry. It wasn't her mother hugging her that made her feel so uncomfortable. It was that she had never, in her sixteen years of living, saw her mother cry. It especially hurt her to know that her brother was the reason. Did it hurt him? Did he care? 

Oh God
Under the weight of life
Things seem so much better on the other side

No way, no way
No way out of here

Monica sat in Phoebe's room, listening to that same song that was all too true to the situation within her family. They were both sprawled out, papers all over the place, on Phoebe's bright green shag carpet.

"Can we change the song?" Monica asked irritably.

"Yeah, sure. You don't like this song? I love it."

"No, I don't like it!"

"Okay…I'm sorry…I'll change it."

"Thank you."

Phoebe rose to change the song and then returned to her spot on the floor.

"Do you have the page on British Imperialism?"

Monica handed it to Phoebe forcefully and then began to read a page of notes.

"Mon, are you okay?"

"Yeah, of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"

"I dunno, it's just—"

Phoebe stopped when she noticed Monica's glare, warning her not to continue her statement any further. Instead, they both returned to working in complete silence. From time to time, Phoebe would glance worriedly at Monica. Phoebe finally decided that she couldn't just wait for Monica to come out and admit the problems that tore at her insides. Instead of waiting for Monica, Phoebe decided to bridge the conversation.

"Hey, Mon. If you need to talk, ya know, I went through the same thing…sort of."

Monica glanced at Phoebe and then looked away shamefully.

"I know. That's why I didn't want to say anything."

"What?"

"Well, my problem…it's so small compared to yours."

"What are you talking about? No problem is too small."

"Yeah, but I mean your mother actually…" she trailed off, unable to say the words, "But my brother didn't go through with it…completely."

"Yeah, but it's still hard."

Monica shrugged. "I'm all right."

Phoebe raised her eyebrows. "You don't seem 100%."

"Well, maybe I'm not 100% all right…"

"Okay, fine. That's the first step to dealing with your problem."

"I just…I can't understand why he would do this."

Phoebe shook her head and shrugged. "We'll never know until we're in that person's shoes…"

"Yeah, I guess so. Still…"

"What?"

"Nothing."

"You can tell me. Don't worry."

"What if he had…ya know…gone through with it? I mean I would've been the one to find him there…dead! Any maybe this is selfish, but didn't he think at all of me?! Doesn't he love me?! I mean I'm his sister! He should care."

Phoebe moved over and stroked Monica's hand reassuringly.

"I've wondered that a lot myself…ya know with my mom. And, the thing I came to realize is, sometimes, depression is stronger than every other emotion. Even love."

Monica nodded and squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself not to release the tears that had so graciously kept out of her way from the beginning of this situation. However, Phoebe gave Monica a long hug and whispered, "It's okay to cry," in her ear. Losing the strength to keep it in any longer, Monica cried, while her Phoebe held her in her arms, rocking Monica back and forth gently.

Two days later, Monica walked up to her house and saw that her father's car was parked in the driveway in front of their white-painted house. She knew what that meant the moment she saw it there—her brother was home. After spending two days in the hospital, he was transferred to an adolescent psychiatric ward for five days. She entered her home and immediately went to her bedroom, not stopping for a snack or even to say hello to her father. She couldn't greet Ross—not yet. She needed time to get used to the fact that he was, in deed, home. When he was away, she was able to deal with her feelings towards him while he was at a distance. However, now that he was in the room next to her, she felt incredibly guilty for even thinking about Ross' condition. For a few hours, Monica's practice of hiding was, in deed, keeping her safe. However, a knock on her door broke through her secure haven.

"Monica," her father suggested, "I think you should at least say hello to Ross."

Monica nodded and watched as her father retreated downstairs. Once he was completely out of sight, Monica went back into her room, unable to find the strength to see her brother.

A few months passed since Ross' problems became clearly apparent to his family. Everything began to revolve around Ross. If he didn't want to go to school, their parents allowed him to stay home in a heartbeat. If he wanted spaghetti for dinner, their mother served spaghetti for dinner, even when Monica voiced her desire for chicken. With every waking moment, Monica began to resent Ross more and more. Sure, she used to become frustrated at her parents' favoritism towards him, but at least that wasn't all the time. Now, it was as if their family was the Ross Television Series, and his parents and Monica were the puppets in his little fantasy world. Every single time he screamed for attention, making himself seem more like a seven year old than a seventeen year old, Monica wanted to smack him across the face. Although her parents continued to answer every one of his demands, Monica became defiant. Whenever he yelled at her, she shrieked right back at him. Maybe he could manipulate their parents, but he wasn't going to suck her in, too. She began to wish that there were some way to get rid of her brother—live a life independent of her 'troubled' sibling.

You see the little monkey sitting up in his monkey tree
One day decided to climb down and run off to the city
But look at him now lost tired living in the street
As good as dead you see what a monkey does - stay up your tree

But oh God
Under the weight of life
Things seem brighter on the other side

A short, curly-haired woman greeted Monica and her parents as they entered the dimly lit waiting room. She showed them to her office and, after everyone took a seat, she began to speak to Monica's parents.

"Well, after speaking with your daughter for two sessions, I felt it crucial that I speak with both of you, in addition to Monica."

"Thank you very much," Monica's mother began, "And I appreciate that you were able to fit us in on such notice."

"Don't mention it," she replied as she adjusted her glasses and began to read from her file, "So, last time, Monica and I discussed the situation that has been going on recently with her brother, Ross."

"Yes?"

"She seems to have a handle of the situation, Mrs. Geller. But I see where your concerns lie."

"Well, we just wanted her to have a few sessions here in order to make sure that…everything was okay…"

"Of course. That's completely understandable. And I doubt that everything is all right, but then again, when is everything okay, ya know?"

Her mother smiled and nodded. "True."

"Still, Mrs. Geller, Mr. Geller, is there anything you'd like to tell your daughter? Monica, anything you'd like to tell your parents?"

Monica shook her head. Although she didn't want to be sitting in a therapist's office, she did it because her parents wanted her to. In fact, she actually agreed with the doctor. She had some problems, but didn't everyone? Of course, she didn't feel comfortable enough with the doctor to share the full extent of her contempt towards her brother. She knew that she would be able to get through it without the help of some random doctor. In fact, when Monica mentioned to her mother, after the first session, that she thought the therapist was merely keeping her as a patient in order to make more money, her mother became angry at her pessimism. After that, Monica learned to hold her tongue on the entire situation. It was just easier that way.

"Sometimes," her father's voice interrupted her thoughts, "I feel guilty for being away so often."

"Are you away with work?"

"Yes. I have long hours and do a lot of traveling with work…it doesn't mix well with my duty as a father, unfortunately."

"I see."

"Ya know, Monica," her father turned to her and held her hand, "If you ever need me, I'll try my hardest to be there for you, sweetheart."

Monica smiled and nodded despite her anger towards being there. At least she knew that her parents cared, since they were sending her to see this therapist. Actually, she knew that they cared all along, although she didn't always feel that way when they were showering their attention upon Ross. Maybe, at the moment, things revolved around Ross more than it did her, but she realized that was okay. He needed the attention more than she did. Monica could be mature and graciously give up a part of her parents for him. She hoped, however, that one day, they, too, would change their attitude towards Ross. That they would be able to break free from his cycle of demands and care, and help him stand alone again on his own two feet.

~*One and a Half Years Later*~

"Monica? Are you almost ready?" her father called into the house.

"Yeah, one second!" she shouted from her room.

Monica packed a small, black bag with last minute essentials that were lying around her room. She took in a deep breath and looked around her almost empty bedroom. She couldn't believe she was finally leaving! Excitedly, she marched down the steps and ran out the front door.

"Come on sweetie, we're gonna be late."

"Okay."

Her father grabbed the black bag from her hand and loaded it in the backseat of the car. Judy stuck her wrist out the window and gestured to her watch, reminding Monica that they had an agenda to meet. She nodded and opened the back door to the car. However, she saw Ross standing in the distance, so she turned and began to walk towards him.

"Have fun at college," he enthused.

"Thanks, Ross! You take care of Mom and dad, okay?"

Ross smiled. "Yeah, okay." 

Although Ross was in college, he had opted to stay home. It was probably the best option for him at the time, anyway. Though he had never attempted suicide again, he wasn't completely emotionally stable yet, either. Things were improving between them, though. They bickered less, as they grew older. Monica hoped that, by not living together any more, she would be able to tolerate, and even maybe understand Ross better.

"You'll come and visit me?"

"Of course."

"Good."

"Bye, sis," he whispered.

Monica gave him a gentle hug in return. Despite their fights, she was going to miss him. He was, after all, her only brother.

"Bye."

Monica headed towards the car and slipped in. As her dad began to drive away, Monica looked out the back window and waved at Ross in the distance. As she watched him become more difficult see with each passing moment, she remembered that song that had so often defined their circumstances, although, at the time, she didn't wish to realize it. It described how people want to change their lives because they think it will be better if things were different. And, in Ross' case, he thought that being dead would be better than alive.

Oh God
Under the weight of life
Things seem so much better on the other side

No way, no way, no way
No way out of here

However, those words, she recognized, didn't just define her brother's feelings. They represented hers, as well. Before this, she couldn't understand how her brother could feel the way he did. She always thought that he was just overreacting. However, she never knew the extent of his pain because she hadn't felt what he went through. Although outwardly, things could seem normal, inside, his heart was probably being ripped to pieces. For all that time, she just wanted to escape the reign of her brother and leave his problems for himself. However, she couldn't leave, and, in turn, felt completely trapped within his life. But now, as she left their home, she realized that she could never truly escape, and was finally able to accept that. He was her brother and she cared deeply for him. And for once, when she thought of Ross, she didn't feel like crying.

Rain in my dreams

Fall away

Okay, if u haven't noticed already, this fic will not be continued. By writing this fic, I definitely feel that I've worked out…some things… Sorry if u think it's crap, but it is based on "real life" so ya. Thanks for reading! Please review.:-)