A/N: Okay, I know someone else posted a fic using this song, but I started writing this a very very long time ago, and I was so upset when I saw the other one, but Becca convinced me to post this anyway. To the other author (not sure who you were) sorry!
Anyways, this is my *first* songfic (hard to believe) so I really, REALLY want feedback, both good and bad (or as Becca would say, "ba-ayd" LOL J/K!) Thanks!
Picture
Monica opened the door to her apartment and stopped in the doorway. She dropped her purse on the floor and didn't even look at it. She didn't care. The apartment had never been so destroyed, so untidy and broken beyond repair. It had never been so full of things out of their place.
And it had never felt so empty.
Before she knew it, her eyes were filling with tears again. She didn't bother wiping them away, but simply balled her hands into fists as the tears spilled down her face. She hated crying - no, she hated crying over him.
But what could she do?
Go back to him, a little voice in her head hissed.
"I can't," she whispered miserably to the dark, shadow-filled room. Her voice cracked with emotion. "I just can't."
He stared blankly at the girl sitting next to him. She wasn't beautiful. She was barely even pretty. Her dark brown hair hung limply to her shoulders, and her brown eyes were small and devoid of emotion. He caught himself imagining a different face as he watched her talk.
"Chandler?" her voice cackled, snapping him out of his reverie. "Would you like another drink?"
Chandler glanced at the bartender. "Yeah," he said quickly. "Gimme a shot of whiskey."
The woman - Arianna, was it? Or Alana? No, no, Amanda - put her manicured hand on her forearm. "I like a man who can hold his liquor."
Chandler glanced at her claw-like hand. "Uh huh," he said passively. As the bartender brought him his drink and he chugged it down, memories tore through his mind. He couldn't make these memories go away, no matter how many shots he had.
A lump built in his throat as he stared into the eyes of this woman, the one in his memories, his dreams. Monica, he thought. The word brought enough to mind to drive him insane. He had to get her out of his mind tonight. He couldn't see when this torture would end, when he would see the light at the end of the tunnel - the solution.
He wished he had someone to go home to, now. He knew he had nothing, nothing but a cold, lonely bed in a cheap hotel downtown. And all he could think to do was make the bed a little less cold.
"Amanda," he said gruffly. "Would you like to come up to my hotel?"
Living my life in a slow hell
Different girl every night at the hotel
I ain't see the sunshine in three damn days
Been fueling up on cocaine and whiskey
Wish I had a good girl to miss me
Oh I wonder if I'll ever change my ways
She was asleep next to him, he knew, even though he wouldn't look at her. It had been fast, informal, and rough - completely impersonal and devoid of sentiment. It was nothing like with Monica. He was glad that she wasn't the kind of girl who liked to be held, because he just wasn't in the mood for holding. With Monica, he'd always wanted to hold her.
But you'll never hold her again, he though. You fucked up, Bing. You fucked up bad.
"Why can't you just grow up?" she spat.
"I'm perfectly grown up!" he shouted back.
"Oh, please," she said. "You run away and hide at the word 'marriage.' You can't even walk past a ring store."
"We've been through this before, dammit!" he said. "We'll get married when we're ready."
"Don't you understand?" she screamed maniacally. "I'm ready! I've been ready for years! I'm just waiting for you!"
"Why are you waiting?" he asked resentfully.
"Sometimes I don't know anymore," she said. "Sometimes I think I should just - " she stopped, glancing at him.
"You should just what? Go ahead and say it, Monica." Chandler glared at her, but she stayed silent. "Come on, you've never been scared of it before. What were you going to say?'
"Sometimes," she said in a low voice. "I think I should just leave you."
He reached his hand out to the nightstand and grabbed the piece of paper lying there. No, not a piece of paper; a picture. A picture of Monica. It was a candid shot of her on the balcony, staring thoughtfully up at the sky. He'd snapped it one day while just messing around, but when he got the film developed he was stunned. She looked so young and peaceful and perfect, with her beautiful face frozen forever in time. It was his favorite picture of her.
It was the only picture he'd taken with him.
Suddenly, Amanda groaned and rolled over, slinging her arm across his body. He cringed and edged away from her, feeling dirty and shameful and all-around despicable. With the hazy after-effects of the alcohol wearing off, Chandler realized that for the third time in three days, he'd lain awake in bed next to a woman he'd met hours before, crying about Monica.
He put the picture inside the drawer of the nightstand. as a single tear rolled down his cheek.
I put your picture away
Sat down and cried today
I can't look at you while I'm lying next to her
Monica jolted awake as a knock sounded from the door. She was cramped and stiff, having slept in a curled up position on the couch, wrapped in an old blanket.
"Who is it?" she said, but her voice didn't come out right. She coughed. "Who is it?" she tried again.
"It's us," Phoebe said. "Me and Rachel."
"Uh - " Monica began, glancing around at the tissues scattered on the floor. She quickly stuffed them under the couch. "Come in."
Phoebe and Rachel walked inside slowly. They quickly took in the apartment and rushed over to Monica. Rachel sat down next to her and pushed Monica's hair behind her ears, while Phoebe picked up another pillow off the ground and set in behind her.
"How are you doing, hon?" Rachel asked.
"I'm okay," Monica lied.
"No, you're not," Rachel said, hugging her friend. "You look terrible."
"Wow, thanks, Rach, way to cheer me up," Monica said dryly.
"You know what I mean," Rachel said.
"Mon, you've got to get out of here. At least clean, or something," Phoebe said earnestly.
Monica shook her head. "What's the point? I mean, he's not coming home."
Phoebe and Rachel glanced at each other quickly. Monica couldn't tell if the glance was good or bad.
'What? Have you guys heard from him?"
Rachel hesitated. "No. No, we haven't."
"Nothing at all," Phoebe added.
"But listen, Mon, I'm sure everything's going to be fine,"Rachel said, smiling at her. Phoebe smiled too, and that's when Monica realized that she was being duped. They had heard from him - their smiles were fake - they knew he wasn't coming back - not to say good-bye, not to get his stuff - he simply wasn't.
She looked away, feeling empty inside. The last shred of hope, of sanity, that she had held was slipping away. "Can you guys please go?" she asked softly. Their smiles faltered. "I just want to be alone right now."
"Oh," Rachel said. "Okay."
"Call us if you need us," Phoebe said.
"Bye," Monica mumbled. As soon as they were gone, she buried her face in the pillow. Her heart seemed to actually hurt. She couldn't get enough air in her lungs. She needed something to take away the pain that was engulfing her. She hopped off the couch and strode over to the kitchen. She wasn't in the mood for eating, but as she looked through the cabinets, she discovered a bottle of wine. She uncorked it and gulped it right out of the bottle.
It was warm and sour, but it ran down her throat and into her stomach quickly, providing her with a distraction, at least. Carrying the bottle, Monica fell back onto the couch, sipping the wine slowly and staring into space.
I call you last night at the hotel
Everyone knows but they won't tell
But their half-hearted smiles tell me something just ain't right.
I've been waiting on you for a long time
Filling up on heartaches and cheap wine
I ain't heard from you in three damn nights
Monica didn't know how long she'd been sitting there. It could have been merely seconds, or a few minutes, or even an hour or two. The next thing she remembered was the door being knocked on again. Groaning, she stood up, hoping it wasn't Rachel and Phoebe back to pester her some more.
"Who is it?" she asked, walking to the door.
"It's Richard."
Monica froze with her hand halfway to the door.
"Richard?"
"Yeah. Can I come in, Monica?"
Monica instinctively reached up to flatten her hair until she realized that she hadn't washed it in three days. She was a wreck, physically and mentally, and she didn't want Richard to see her that way.
"I - I look terrible - "
"You know I don't care. Just let me in, sweetie."
Monica couldn't resist. She opened the door and faced Richard. He was just as handsome as always, tall and rather well built. He was half-smiling down at her.
"Hi," he said quietly.
"Hi," she whispered back.
He opened his arms. "Come here."
She threw herself at him, burying her face in his chest. He smelled like cigars, but she didn't care. HE held her to him and ran his hands through her hair. He kissed her on the top of the head.
She tilted her head up towards him and kissed him hard. He kissed her back, then pulled away.
"You don't want to do this," he murmured, sounding like he was trying to convince both of them.
"Yes," Monica said. She wanted nothing more than to have Richard kiss her until she couldn't breathe or think or cry, to have him hold her tightly so she wouldn't feel alone. "I do."
Monica sighed and pulled the sheet further up her body. She stared out the window at the building across the street, not really seeing it. She was hot and restless, and finally climbed silently out of the bed, careful not to wake Richard. She pulled her robe on and tiptoed into the living room for some water.
"Shit," she cursed loudly as she stepped on something sharp. Wincing in pain, she fell against the arm of the chair and pulled her foot up to look at it. A tiny speck of blood was forming. Angrily, she looked down at the offending piece of glass. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she realized what it was; a broken picture frame that lay smashed on the ground. Her injury forgotten, she picked up the picture with shaking hands and stared at the two people in it.
They were young and radiant and happy; they had their arms around each other in a comfortable, intimate pose. He was looking at her like he was the luckiest man in the world; she was smiling, knowing she had a man who loved her more than life itself.
The two faces were the most familiar in the world to her. But she didn't know those people anymore.
They simply didn't exist. And she knew they never would again.
I put your picture away
I wondered where you've been
I can't look at you while I'm lying next to him
TWO YEARS LATER
Monica stepped into the warm, comfortable atmosphere of the coffeehouse, hearing the gentle tinkle of the bell as the door shut behind her. The place still had that homey, comfortable vibe it had possessed two years ago, when she had gathered here with her friends almost every day. It had been nearly two years since they'd all been together. Monica felt her heart constrict as she thought of all they'd said and done here, in this very room.'
Pushing the nostalgic, almost painful thoughts from her mind, Monica stepped up to the counter and ordered her drink. Soon, she turned to face the filled coffeehouse, her steaming mug of coffee warming up her frozen hands. She searched every table for a place to sit, but found none. The only available seat was the orange couch in the back, the one she'd avoided looking at since she'd entered. Sighing resignedly, she sat down on the old, worn couch. She sipped her coffee as she fingered the faded material that was once bright and colorful.
"So then what happened?"
Oh, God, no. I can't do this. I can't, Monica thought as the all-too-familiar voice filled the room. The voice she could have recognized in her sleep - the one she heard in her dreams.
"I say, Danielle, calm down, and you know what she did? She hit me and ran out screaming, 'My name is Cathleen!'''
Not him too, Monica moaned inwardly. She hunched down lower in her seat, turning away as the two men sat down, one at the chair and one next to her on the couch.
"That's harsh," Chandler said, shaking his head.
"I know, I - " Joey stopped mid-sentence. Monica cringed, closing her eyes tightly and praying he'd stopped for another reason. "Monica?"
Biting her lip, Monica turned to face them. "Hi," she whispered. Chandler's face paled and his jaw dropped as he stared at the woman sitting next to him.
"Hey," Joey said in amazement.
"Hey," Chandler added dazedly.
"How've you guys' been?" Monica asked automatically. Since her return to New York the month before, this had been her opening line for all the old friends she'd met. Somehow, it seemed incredibly inappropriate for this particular run-in.
"Okay," Chandler said, apparently finding his voice. "You?"
"Fine." The three looked at each other uncomfortably. They could all pinpoint the day everything had changed for them forever.
"Maybe you should just leave me," Chandler yelled, his voice a mixture of fury and hurt.
"Is that what you want?" Monica asked, her eyebrows raised.
"I - " Chandler trailed off. "I don't know. I don't know what I want anymore."
"Goddammit, Chandler! You never know what you want!" Monica picked up the nearest thing to her, candelabra, and threw it at the ground. Chandler winced as the glass shattered on the floor.
"What the hell's the matter with you? That was a gift from my mother!" he shouted.
"Oh, God, I'm sooo sorry," Monica said sarcastically. "Maybe I should break something else next time. Something a little less valuable." She picked up a picture of the two of them together and held it up to him teasingly. Then she dropped it. It broke with a sickening crack.
Chandler grabbed her wrists and pulled her close as she fought to get away. His lips caught her in a painful, searching, apologetic kiss. She wrenched herself away from him.
"Is this really it?" he asked, feeling a burning in his throat.
"It's too late to fix it now," Monica said, turning away.
"We can't even try - "
"Get out, Chandler," Monica said. When he stood there motionlessly, she spun around and snapped, "I mean it!" Her usually beautiful eyes flashed dangerously. Chandler turned and left the room. As soon as he was out, he fell against the door, tears running down his face.
It was really over.
Monica was pulled from her reverie as Chandler stood up suddenly. "Excuse me," he said, his voice gruff. He hurried off to the bathroom. As soon as her was gone, Joey jumped over onto the couch and enveloped Monica in a hug.
"What the - Joey," Monica said in surprise.
"We've missed you so much," he murmured, finally pulling away. "Mon, you've gotta come home. It's not the same here without you."
"I can't. You know that we - "
"I know what happened, but God, can't you fix it?" Joey begged. Monica felt like crying as her friend looked at her so pleadingly. Then she held up her hand. Joey frowned until he focused on it. Then he pulled back, his face going slack.
"Jesus, Monica. You're getting married?"
"In April," she said.
"Married." He shook his head, and when he looked back at her, his eyes were angry. "You have some nerve, coming back here to throw that in his face."
"What?" she asked, aghast.
"Chandler is destroyed," Joey said. "He hasn't been the same since... well, you know. He goes out and drinks every night. He hasn't dated anyone - once he got sick of having sex, he stayed home every night. The man is practically dead, Monica," Joey hissed. "You killed him."
Monica opened her mouth. She wanted to scream that she was almost dead too - that she was just as miserable as he was, even if she didn't show it. That she'd never been truly happy since the last time she'd seen him.
"Joey, I - "
"No, you know what? I don't want to hear it."
"Look, I'm sorry that Chandler can't move on, but his misery shouldn't stop me from getting married!"
Monica suddenly realized that Joey was looking behind her. She whirled around to see Chandler standing there, his face a picture of hurt and dejection.
"You're getting married?" he asked in a high, unnatural voice.
"Uh - yeah," she muttered, looking away.
"Who's the lucky guy?"
Monica swallowed and looked up at him. "It's - it's Richard."
"Oh." Chandler and Joey both looked shocked. "Oh. Congratulations."
"Thank you," Monica whispered, her eyes averted in burning guilt.
"Um, I - I need to go," Chandler said, turning away. "I have - things to do. I'll see you later, Joe." He turned back and stared at Monica for one last moment. His eyes were filled with grief, resentment, and something Monica could not name, but the combination made her feel sick.
"It was nice seeing you again, Mon," he said, almost silently, before turning and leaving the coffeehouse to face the stormy night.
I saw you yesterday with an old friend
It was the same old same how have you been
Since you've been gone my world's been dark and gray
You reminded me of brighter days
I hoped you were coming home to stay
I was headed to church
I was off to drink you away...
The phone rang next to Monica's ear, and she tried to block it out. "Can you get that?" she groaned, thinking it was probably for Richard. Then she realized that she was alone; Richard was out of town.
"Crap," she said, fumbling for the phone. "Hello?"
"Hello? Monica?"
Monica shook her head. "Chandler?"
"Yeah."
"What the hell? How'd you get my number? What time is it?"
"It's 2:37. I called Information."
"What is it?" she asked, half frustrated, half concerned.
"Don't marry Richard. Please, please don't." It was then that Monica realized Chandler's voice was slurred. He was drunk.
"Come on - " she said gently.
"Monica, I still love you."
"God, Chandler, don't do this to me, you can't do this to me - "
"Please!"
"Chandler, I'm hanging up - "
"I love you! I can't live without you! I'll marry you - just please come back to me - "
"Dammit, don't do this!"
"I've been thinking about you every day! I want you to come back!"
"Don't call me again!" Monica cried hysterically.
"Just tell me you love me too! Tell me the truth, and I swear to God I'll never call you again."
Monica could hear him breathing heavily. She swallowed hard, fighting back tears.
"I love you."
She clicked off. Then she threw the phone at the floor, turned over, and sobbed.
I thought about you for a long time
Can't seem to get you off my mind
I can't understand why we're living life this way
I found your picture today
I swear I'll change my ways
I just called to say I want you to come back home
I just called to say I love you
Come back home
(Picture, Kid Rock and Sheryl Crow)
A/N: Thank you so much for reading my super long fic! I appreciate it! Please, PLEASE review! I don't usually beg for reviews but I am this time. I need you to either tell me that it was good... or that I should never, ever write another songfic forever. :)
*Yen*