author's note: thanks to those who reviewed the first part, I really appreciated it, since it was my first effort and everything, so the feedback was awesome. I wasn't going to continue with it, but inspiration hit me, so I did J Hope you like the next part…
disclaimer: don't own anything, promise.
xoxo, Madelyn.
This night has been… surreal.
I was mid-blow dry when Rachel stuck her head in my door and said the phone was for me.
"Who is it?" I asked. Rachel covered the receiver with her hand and looked hesitant.
"Okay, don't freak out."
"Okay." I said suspiciously.
"It's Chandler," she said quietly. I froze.
"Shut up." I finally managed to get out. "Wh- what- Why?"
"Here," she said, motioning for me to get the phone.
He called. We hadn't talked in over ten months, and then he just calls? Out of the blue? What is that? I was not prepared for this. I didn't want to talk to him, my head said as my body moved toward Rachel and the inevitable melting tones of the voice I couldn't handle. And then I broke out of my little trance.
"I'm not answering that. Tell him I'm not here," I whispered fervently.
"Monica, come on. I told him I'd get you, and it's been like three minutes."
"So you can't find me. I've… I'm in the shower, I must have just ran out. Pick something, be creative!" I said urgently.
"Monica. Take this phone right now, and talk to him."
"NO."
"Mon. You've been waiting for this phone call since September. You're taking it," my so-called best friend said, forcing the phone in my hands. I cleared my throat as Rachel left my room.
"Hello?" I said in my best 'I'm fabulous-never better-I barely remember your name' sort of way. Which, you have to admit, is a lot to pull off with one word.
"Hey." His voice was softer than I expected. Almost like a whisper.
"Uh… hey." I wanted to die. 'UH?' Who says 'uh'??? Do confidant, self-sufficient, mature women say 'uh'? Noooo.
"It's Chandler," he said. No shit.
"I know."
"Yeah, I know you know. Not really sure why I said that," he said with a laugh. That nervous laugh.
I don't really remember the rest of the conversation. It was uncomfortable small talk, the usual "So how've you been?" I'm sure, but the actual words escape me. The sound of his voice again brought back a flood that I'd built a perfectly constructed dam around, and it made me angry.
He's the one that ended it. He can say it was me, if that makes him feel better. Because yeah, I was the one who came out and said the actual words, but it was over well before I grew the courage to do that. What we had was… I thought it was the real thing. And I'm not naïve enough to believe that my first serious relationship, a year and a half out of college, would have necessarily ended in happily ever after, but you know what? Maybe it would have. And I know that's what scared him off.
Granted, I am twenty-four years old, and he's twenty-six. That's young, I know. But what I can't understand is what spooked him in the first place. Nothing happened that would normally provoke that kind of reaction… I didn't have a key to his apartment, we weren't talking about moving in together, I had even suppressed on several occasions the desire to ask him his ideas about marriage and kids. Maybe it was because I was staying over more than I used to, or maybe it was something his mom said, or Joey said, or the god damned President of the United States said, but I'm as stumped now as I was then.
He wanted to take a break and see other people. The second those words left his lips, my heart sank. I gave it two weeks, to let the news settle in, see if maybe a little space would really help us both. We saw each other three times in those two weeks, and on the third time, I knew it could never work. I had invested too much of myself in him. The only logical thing for me to do, the only thing that wouldn't be self-destructive, was to cut my losses.
He tried to reason me out of it. But the damage was done, because the truth was that if he was freaking out now, about nothing, for no reason, then what happened later, when our relationship really did need to move forward? I couldn't take another, probably more intense, "break" from him in a year. It would be the same for the rest of our lives. His stupid commitment issues weren't going away, and I wasn't the one for him, the one that could make that stuff not matter.
For the last ten months, I analyzed and re-analyzed the outcome of the relationship, the one and only time I've been in love in my entire life. I sulked in post breakup mode for about four months until Rachel forced me on a blind date with some guy she works with, Alex, who I casually dated for the next two months before I broke it off with him. It was too soon.
But since then, it's been almost four months, and I really felt like I'd come a long way with all of this stuff. Like I was myself again, learning all over who I was and what I wanted. And then, on a whim, with one phone call, he can erase all that. That makes me furious, at him and at myself, at the world. I had convinced myself that I was over him, that our relationship was a growth experience that I had needed and that I had moved on. Then the phone rings, and as much as I want to deny it, the sound of his voice made my pulse race, and his friendly words made my long buried hopes soar, and his laughter made me smile and I felt more alive than I had since September.
These were the things I couldn't stop thinking about as I tried to force myself to sleep that night. You know when you're so tired, and lying in bed, how everything suddenly seems brilliant? Every idea feels a million times smarter than it would if you were fully awake? The next thing I knew I was pulling on a denim jacket over my tank top and flannel flowered pajama pants, slipping on my sneakers and taking the subway to his apartment.
And, of course, it was raining, because come on, this experience wouldn't be nearly as cinematic if I wasn't completely drenched by the time I pounded on his door (which, if you're interested, was approximately 2:39 in the morning, but I can't be sure, because as luck would have it the rain ruined my watch).
So now, welcome to the present tense, as I stand here waiting for him to open the door with absolutely no idea why I came or what I want to say. The door opens after a few seconds that feel like centuries, and there he is, in his boxers and his ugly blue bathrobe, with his hair all messy and spiky, and his blue eyes glassy from sleep. He sees me. He's immediately more awake.
"Monica… uh, hi-" he starts. I cut him off.
"How could you just call me like that?" I ask, my mouth moving with absolutely no signal from my brain.
"Um… well, I picked up the phone, and dialed your number, and then you answered," he joked nervously.
"Don't. Don't do that. I'm talking now, okay? Seriously, Chandler, I want to know what possessed you to pick up the phone and call me after ten months? Was it just like, oh, I'm kind of bored, there's nothing on TV, maybe I'll go turn Mon's world completely upside down?"
"Monica-"
"Stop, I'm not finished. Chandler, I have spent the last ten months of my life trying to convince myself that I'm totally over you. And you know what? There was a time… well, namely, yesterday… that I would be completely embarrassed for you to know that. But I'm tired, and wet, and kind of crazy right now, so-"
"Monica, can I say something?"
"In a minute." I take a deep breath. "I heard your voice tonight, and everything that I've worked for since the last time we spoke was shot to hell. What am I supposed to do with this, Chandler? You calling on a whim to catch up? Seriously, what the hell do I do with that?" I stand there. He stands there. "You say things now."
"I don't know what to say. I don't know why I called you, it was a stupid, stupid thing to do-"
And now I'm kissing him. I throw my arms around his neck and push my mouth onto his, and before he can even finish talking or I can even stop to think, I'm kissing him. And then, he's kissing me back. We move in to his apartment and the door slams and I'm pushed up against it and we're sharing this amazing kiss.
He pushes his tongue into my mouth and I reach up and grab his hair, and my brain is no longer functioning, because if it were it would definitely tell me to knock it off. And secretly, I'm kind of glad it's not there telling me to stop because otherwise I wouldn't be here with him, indulging in this pleasure that's both exciting and familiar. His left hand moves back and forth around my waist and finally hovers at the hem of my tank top, nervously wondering if it would be crossing a line, and I don't know what I'm doing but I take his hand and guide it inside my shirt. We stand there, making out against the door, for what could have been five minutes or an hour, I'm not sure. He's kissing my neck now, and I lean my head against the door, giving him easier access.
"I wanna answer you… from before…" he whispers huskily between kisses.
"Hmm?" I ask, finding his mouth again. I don't remember before.
"Why I called… I called because…"
"Shhh…" I silence him with more kisses, entwine his legs with mine, desperate for him to stop talking, because the more he says, the more my brain is slowly reviving itself, and the sooner I know my consciousness will return and this will be over.
"Mon… on the phone…" he trails off as I suck on his earlobe passionately. "I called to tell you I miss you…" I squeeze my eyes shut and trail butterfly kisses down to his neck. He needs to just stop talking.
"I want you back," he murmurs into my still dripping hair.
I pull away as he goes to kiss me again.
"What?"
"I love you." he says simply, in this sweet way that makes my heart melt and pisses me off at the same time. He leans in.
"Stop," I say, pushing him off of me.
"What? What's the matter?"
"I- I gotta go."
"Monica, wait. Stop. Don't do this," I can vaguely hear him plead.
"I just… I need to not be here." I say, my mind a frenzy of different thoughts. I'm halfway home before I realize I'm crying.