I really appreciate reviews, so please keep them coming. Let me know about how you think the plot's going, characterization, etc. I'm hoping to continue updating as I have been. Anyway, enjoy.


10

Her head felt like someone had taken a rusty icepick to it. She slitted her eyes open. Chandler sat slumped in a chair. Ross stood next to her bed, speaking to a man in a lab coat. As things came into focus, she began to realize she wasn't in her motel room but a hospital.

she croaked. Ross and who she presumed to be a doctor turned to her. Chandler bolted upright.

Oh thank god you're awake! Ross said happily and squeezed her hand. She tried speaking again but found she couldn't.
Chandler explained what had happened. You were walking home drunk last night and passed out. You hit your head pretty bad and gave yourself one heck of a bruised nose. You're just lucky you weren't hurt worse.
The doctor smiled. Monica, I'm Doctor Sheldman. You're a very lucky girl. You had alcohol poisoning. If Chandler had come by any later, you might not be here. We had to pump your stomach, but other than icing your bruises, you'll be fine in less than a week. He turned to Ross. Ross, since you're her brother, may I speak to you? Ross nodded and followed him from the room.

Chandler pulled his chair closer to the bed. How ya feeling, kid? he asked, offering a slight smile.
Like I got hit by a bus. She shrugged. I can handle it.
Just like you're handling your drinking? She shrugged again and stared out the window. It was a terrible view, just another wing of the hospital, but she really didn't care. It was better than looking at the patronizing look on Chandler's face.
When do I get out of here? she asked, dodging the question.
I think he said tomorrow morning.
Where are my cigarettes? she asked, finally looking at him. The hard expression on her face had returned. Chandler snatched her purse off the back of the chair and produced the pack and her lighter. Before he even realized what she was doing, she had thrown back the sheet and was attempting to stand. Quick as a flash, he was around the bed and catching her as her weak legs refused to let her stand.
he whispered, holding her to his chest.
No shit, Sherlock, she grumbled against his shoulder. He didn't even hear her sarcastic comment. He only noticed the feel of her pumping heart against his, how fragile her thin body felt against his. He began to realize that despite that they'd been sleeping together for five weeks, he had held her only in passion, never in tenderness like this. But, damn, it felt good.
he murmured again, pressing a quick kiss to her temple, easing her to the armchair next to the window. He cranked the window open and set an empty Styrofoam cup originally used for coffee on the windowsill as an ashtray. He walked away as she lit up. Just as he reached the door, he heard a tentative voice.

He turned to see Monica looking very small and alone, nearly lost in the oversized gown they'd dressed her in.

Thank you, she said hesitantly.
He smiled. No problem.

11

No problem, he said. No one had ever been so kind to her. Back home, if someone had seen her laying in a ditch, they'd probably laugh and throw rocks at her already bruised and bloody body. The only person who had been kind to her had been Rachel, as she'd protected her from the bullies who teased, but even then, she was certain Rachel had participated in the game known as Let's-Kick-Monica-While-She's-Down. No one knew about all the times she'd pulled the Swiss army knife from beneath her pillow and stared at it's deadly gleam, contemplating the possibilities. Or how she sometimes used it. Unconsciously, her hand ran along one of the self-inflicted scar on her leg. A tear rolled down her cheek. She shoved it away, disgusted with herself. Crybaby, crybaby, go on and cry, ya baby! the voice in her head chanted. She was strong. Only the weak cried. She had to be strong. She stubbed the cigarette in the Styrofoam cup and shuffled over to her bed. She didn't need Chandler. She didn't need him to keep her safe, to protect her. But why did it feel so good?

12


Yes, Chandler?
Are you going to quit drinking? It had been a week since she'd been discharged from the hospital. Her and Chandler lay in bed, and she was just beginning to drowse when he's spoken.
I don't know.
Please do. He turned on his side and watched her intently. She had to admit that she's thought about it. The accident had scared the hell out of her and she hadn't been able to touch a drink since then.
I don't know, she said again and glared at him.
He noticed the look. Monica, I only say this because I care for you-
Please don't care for me. Turning away, she sat up on the side of the bed. The tattoo of the dragon on her back stood out in the near darkness, red eyes almost glowing.
I'm falling in love with you, Monica. And don't ask me not to.
We shouldn't do this anymore. Standing, Monica took her clothes and walked to the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind her and locking it.