Monica's Diary  ~*Part IV*~

By: Monica Bing

Disclaimer: Whoa…what's THAT doing here? It couldn't be. . . my ownership of 'Friends', could it? *checks*  . . .nope.  Well, it'd make a good birthday present! Plus, there's some lines in there that aren't Friends related, most people who watch ANY good movies will get the reference J.

Author's Note: I know, I know, FINALLY!  They're here, all the questions are FINALLY over.  There are now characters that you know! Thank you SO much, people who waited around! It's all worth it! I promise! Okay.… Before I get all. . .  Long, with the A/N, let's get to the goods . . .

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~ Where we last left off ~

I sighed deeply again, and on my way out of the room, something stopped me   A sound.

"Monica?"

I whipped around, and my face lit up.  Courteney had opened her eyes.  She could speak.  I felt a wave of relief rush through me, and the one thing I wanted to do the most was to hug her tightly.  But of course, I knew I couldn't do that.  So I followed my instincts.

"Courteney! You're awake!" I exclaimed, feeling the tears of joy pricking at my eyes.  I walked cautiously over to her bed, and took her hand. "Doctor! Doctor Marshall! Courteney's awake!" I yelled.  Seconds later, he appeared, and smiled as well.

She and I sat and talked for what seemed hours upon hours.  I couldn't stop talking.  I felt that I needed to fill her in on everything that happened the last couple of weeks.  I thought she needed to know.  But it was all silly things, like, the fact that I bought a hazelnut latte at Central Perk the other day.  I mean, I had to explain exactly what Central Perk was, but that was beside the point.  Hopefully she'll be able to come home soon.  You can't even comprehend how much I missed her.  It was as if someone had ripped out a piece of my heart, and held it captive in a jar; a jar that could only be opened when someone felt like it.  It was the same way I felt when Matthew left, but about two hundred times worse.  Most people will never experience that.

But, as I read in a book somewhere…You can never really love until you risk getting hurt.

So true.

August 16th, 2:00 PM

The guys at Iridium let me take the day off, because Cee is coming home.  Home.  I think I'm going to have her stay with me.  For a little while.  I mean, why in God's name would I put her back where she was?  She was attacked there, and so was I.  I want to know who her attacker was, but I don't seem to have the courage to ask her. 

I fear the answer.

I don't think I want to know if it was my ex-husband or not.  I mean, would you?

9:00 PM

She's staying with me, at least for the night, and I don't know where I'm going to put her afterwards, but we didn't really talk about that.  We had other things on our minds.  Earlier today, I approached her while she was reading a magazine on my couch.

"Cee?" I asked, sitting down next to her.  She put down the magazine.

"Yeah? What's up?"

"Um…about…the…the - you know…" I finished lamely.

"Oh, you mean, my attacker?"

I nodded.

"That was Greg's doing allright."

I just broke down and cried right then.  How the hell could he do this to us? You know, this doesn't happen when you have bodyguards.  Like Matthew.  He protected me from anything, and he would've protected Cee.  It was just luck.  And I hated it.  I wanted to bring myself to hate Matthew for it, but I couldn't.  I had too much love to twist it around to hate.  But Greg, on the other hand…

I lost all love for him ages ago.  The first time he hit me, I lost all love I had for him.  I just knew, as soon as he did it, that he meant to hurt me, and that was not what is supposed to happen in a relationship.  Sometimes, relationships have their bumps and hills, but they usually use words, not fists.  And it pisses me off, to know that he may not have felt love for me ever.  It chills me to my very core.  The man I was with from my 'first time' onward, may never have felt anything for me.  Well, I sure as hell felt it, why didn't he?

I felt so ashamed to be crying in front of her.  She had been through a lot herself, though she wasn't conscious for the whole time.  She was attacked, though.  And it pisses me off.  That's just my phrase.  My motto.  But it was so demoralizing, especially for a third person looking upon us.  One person was crying in the arms of someone who had just gotten out of a damn coma.  What's up with that? 

We rocked back and forth, and I heard her crying after a minute or two.  Such a very long time later, we had stopped crying, but were still sniffling.  This was all Greg's fault.  All his doing.  I hate him.  How can he call himself a human being, if he feels nothing for the people whom he caused so much pain and suffering? How can someone be so heartless?  I didn't know it to be possible.  I guess that's another of life's incomprehensible ironies. I wonder if I'll ever get past that.

August 29th, 7:30 PM

That is too creepy.  Well, before I share, I have to fill you in on some good news.  Cee got a new place, which, in my opinion, is awesome, thank you very much.  However, she lives a lot further away than I had hoped, and so we can't get together as often.

The creepy thing is, her old place.  She subletted it to an older woman, knowing the history of the apartment.  The woman was robbed several days later.

Is that creepy or what?

Obviously, she left, because she didn't trust the security of the place (would you?), and so it's back up again.  I doubt she'll be able to get rid of it.  Poor dear.

Ha, ha.  I've always wanted to say that.

September 8th, 11:00 PM

Well, a lot has happened since last we wrote.

Another woman went out for Cee's old place.  Of course, it was very inexpensive, so you can't blame her there.  But she knew about the background, and what happened to three of the people before her who stayed there. Three people.  Is she crazy?

So, naturally, I went to do the good deed, and get her out before she was in.

I arrived at Cee's apartment around quarter after three just this afternoon.  The place looked deserted, and very…well…icky.  There wasn't much else to say about it.  And you know, there was something in the air that wasn't right.  I could tell as soon as I walked in.  And I looked up and around, as if I wanted to see something.  Seconds later, someone spoke behind me.

"Yeah, the aura in this place is really murky."

I jumped.

Spinning around, I was just about to pull the mace that I carried with me out of my coat pocket, but I noticed a woman in front of me with a shocked look on her face.  She threw her hands up.

"Hey, hey, hey! You're getting all chaotic and twirly…and not in the good way.  I didn't mean to startle you."

I relaxed, and let out the air that I didn't know I had been keeping in.

"Sorry," I said, pulling my hand out of my jacket and extending it.  "I'm Monica Geller.  My best friend used to own this place."

"Phoebe Buffay."  She replied, shaking my hand.  I smiled, and she turned around to get her things at the door.  I took this chance to look at her.  She was a definite blonde, and her hair hung to her shoulders.  She wore a long skirt, and a very loose fitting top, and clunky shoes, almost like a hippie.  She had on a lot of rings, and I noticed that her luggage consisted of three pieces: A large handbag, a sports bag of some sort, and a guitar case.  She looked extremely poor.  I finally put two and two together.  She was the homeless woman I saw singing outside of St. Mark's.  I almost 'aha'd out loud.

"So," she said, interrupting my thoughts, "Are you going for this place, then?"

"Uh, no," I stuttered.  Well, this was it.  "I'm actually here for something else.  You see, Courteney and I were both attacked in this apartment.  By the same man.  And another woman was robbed here, we're assuming by this same person.  And we'd - well, I'd - really  advise you not to get this place.  And I know that it's silly of me to deprive her of the money, but I feel it's the right thing to do.  You can come stay with me, if you'd like.  I have a spare room, and I'll only ask you to pay a quarter of rent."

She smiled, genuinely, and then her expression changed to determination.  She sat for a minute or two, considering.  Then she looked back at me.

"Allright, I'll do it."

September 10th, 8:00 PM

Phoebe is finally moved in.  But that wasn't too hard, as she barely brought anything with her.

She's had a tough life, from what I've learned of her.  Her mother committed suicide when she was just fourteen, and she lost touch with her twin sister, Ursula, from about then on.  They hadn't gotten along well before that, apparently, anyway.  And she came to New York.  She moved in with an albino man a little while after that, but he committed suicide as well.  She was forced to live on the streets, where she was a freelance massage therapist.  She sounded very Bohemian, and it was pretty sad to hear about her past, but it also gives me a weird sense of respect for her.  Phoebe's a really strong person.  I could tell that at first glance.  It's one of those things you just know.  Kind of like the fact that she is convinced she's psychic, and has lived in past lives.  But that's what makes her special.

"You're amazingly self-assured.  Did anyone ever tell you that?"  I had asked her earlier.

"I tell myself that everyday."

I started to do that, too.

September 15th, 5:45 PM

Cee and Pheebs met today.  It was one of the most humorous experiences I've ever had in my life.  We all went out for coffee, at Central Perk this afternoon, and, sitting on the huge, faded, but amazingly comfortable orange couch, we waited for our orders.

"So," Cee shifted.  I could tell she was getting uncomfortable. "Phoebe, what do you do for a living?"

"I'm a masseuse."

"Oh.  Hey, could you give me free massages?"  She grinned.

"Well, only after the twelfth of the month, and if my fingernails have grown less than two millimeters since four nights before, then, allright."

Cee just stared at her.  I had to hold my own nose and clamp my lips shut to keep from bursting into laughter.  C cleared her throat, and spoke again.

"So, um, where did you live before this?"

"St. Marks Comics."

"You mean, up in the complexes up near there?"

"No.  Outside of the building."

I should have told her some stuff about Phoebe before we came here.

September 11th, 9:11 PM

Well, today wasn't at all what you'd call interesting.  But I stayed home after work.  I didn't go anywhere.  I guess, I thought it would be symbolic if I stayed in and paid some sort of tribute to the people of our country who died on this day.  They should call it 'World Freedom Day' or something.  Or something to do with freedom, or patriots, or something.  Anyway, Grommit and I napped together on the couch after watching the news.  It was a boring evening, but it was peaceful.  I need that kind of break every once in a while.

September 13th, 7:23 PM

Friday the thirteenth.  My lucky day.  And boy was it lucky.

Of course, I had gotten a very good night's sleep last night, because I had nothing to do, so I had an early start.  Work was good, and I managed to get two people back to the kitchens to compliment the chef.  That felt awesome.  I love that part of the whole chef thing.  Praise is a lovely thing.  Anyway, I got home from work, and had a couple of grocery bags blocking my view.  Since Cee has been back, and I have Phoebe, I'm not really afraid to go out or anything.  I don't know why their presence affects me.  All I could see was the door to my apartment, and so, with a little stumbling, I managed to set them down on the kitchen table.  I tripped over a cardboard box on my way back down the hall again, heading to the mailbox.  I got downstairs, and reached into my purse to get my key.  I couldn't find it, so I kept walking, digging through my purse, when I bumped into a man.  I looked up into two brown eyes.

"Oops, sorry." I said.

"It's quite allright, miss, uh …" he was implying that I tell him my name.

"Monica."

"Oh, hello.  I'm Kip.  I'm moving in upstairs."  I shook his hand.

"Well, hi neighbor."

"Right back at ya."

I grabbed my mail, and headed up the stairs again, turning to wave at Kip, whose eyes I felt watch me leave.  I walked a little bit quicker.  I felt a little judged under his gaze, but he was indeed attractive.  I got to the top of the stairs, and turned the corner.  Another cardboard box had appeared in the hallway.  I headed towards my apartment door, when I saw the back of a man's head.  It was sandy brown, and he was walking with his hands in the pockets of his khaki pants.  I was stunned.

"Matthew?"  I stared, wide eyed.  He turned around.

"I'm sorry.  My name's Chandler." He extended his hand towards me, "It's a pleasure to meet you."