Chapter 2: Wishing
Disclaimer: (forgot in first chapter) I don't own the characters. I am not making any profits off of this, it is purely for entertainment.
A/N: To an answer a question, no this is not like that episode of ER, although I did see it, I had forgotten about it. I came up with the title on my own, not from the episode. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter.
He sat motionless on the chair, in a silent, dark room. The chair was situated by the large, bright window, but he had the curtains drawn. There was only a small slit, allowing a single ray of light to penetrate the dreary room. He sat beside the slit, staring seemingly staring out, but his eyes not seeing. He sat there most days, only emerging from the dark, depressing room by his mother's urgent pleas. She had been the one he had called from the hospital; she was the only one he could call, he had no one else.
He sighed and leaned forward, his face in his hands. He hated this room, he hated its depressing ness. It was a constant reminder of his state, both physical and mental. He wanted to get up and leave, but couldn't; he hadn't walked in months. He wanted to get out on his own again, but he had nowhere else to go. He had been living here for a month now, and hated it, but couldn't seem to escape. He had enough in the bank to get a plane ticket to a new city, to start over, but couldn't care for himself yet, not with his newly found dependence. It had been four months now, one month at home, one in the hospital under constant supervision and two in a different section of the hospital, unconscious.
He had been a John Doe, hit by a car in the street, no identification and no matching to any missing persons. He almost wished he had awoken with amnesia, and was able to truly start over. He wouldn't know who he was, or who he had lost. He would have no memories of the past, no pain, no regrets. Chandler was pulled from his thoughts at the sound of movement down the hall. He knew his mother would be coming to see him soon, to beg him to come out and eat something. He sighed and decided to save her a trip.
Nora looked up as she heard movement and smiled sadly as she spotted her son wheeling himself down the hall. It was such a sad sight. His eyes were bloodshot, with dark lines framing the bottom of them. He looked well past his age. He was only 29 and had been through more than most experience in a lifetime. He had lost everything: his friends, his family, he had lost his future, his job, the love of his life. Nora shook her head, attempting to clear her thoughts and pasted a smile on her face to greet her son.
"Hey, Kid," she greeted him.
"Hi,' Chandler said back.
Nora sighed. His voice held no emotion, no feelings, no anything. She was so afraid of loosing him to depression. He had last his sense of living. There was nothing left of him.
"Are you ready to go?" She asked him.
Chandler looked up at her, a questioning look on his face. "Where?"
Nora turned away, unable to look into his eyes. The intensity was too much for him. They were too sad; just one look and you knew he had been to hell and back. She covered by getting two glasses out of the cupboard and filling them with orange juice. She took a deep breath and turned back, handing Chandler a glass, careful to not look into his eyes.
"You have physio today," she said.
Chandler's brow furrowed. "I though that was on Thursday."
Nora motioned towards the calendar, "today is Thursday," she told him.
Chandler sighed. "I can't seem to keep track of time."
"That's because you spend too much time in that room of yours. It's not good for your health."
Chandler shrugged. It was obvious he no longer cared about himself. "Whatever," he said.
Nora sighed. "Well, are you ready to go? Cause we have to be there in half an hour."
* * * * *
They arrived at the hospital and Nora helped Chandler out of the car and back into the wheelchair. He was able to stand and take a couple steps with help and support, so was able to get in and out of the car with little difficulty. She would have gone in with him, but knew he didn't like it. He missed his independence. She simply told him to call when he was ready to go.
Chandler said goodbye to his mom and wheeled himself through the double-automatic doors and into the front foyer, he made a right and headed down the hall towards the physiotherapy unit. He reached the door and took a deep breath, preparing himself, before pressing the wheelchair button to open the door.
"Good morning, Chandler," Mandy, his physiotherapist, greeted him. She was a very bright and bubbly person.
"Morning," Chandler said.
"And how are you today?"
Chandler shrugged. "Same as always."
Mandy smiled sadly. She wished there was something she could do to help him. He always seemed so depressed, so down.
"Well, let's get to work," she said.
They spent the next hour going through exercises and having Chandler take a few steps, with help of a heavy metal bar in the center of the room. He had severely damaged legs, the left more than the right. The surgeons had been forced to put in multiple disks and pins to hold the pieces of bone together. He was lucky he hadn't lost the leg. He was also given a few ultrasounds, to increase the circulation, and a PMF treatment for the pain.
He was preparing to leave when his doctor walked into the room.
"Hello, Chandler," Dr. Connor said, holding out his hand. "How are you feeling today?"
Chandler shook his hand. "Hi, Dr. Conner. I'm starting to feel a bit better."
"Yeah," Mandy said, walking over. "He's doing great, even walking a bit."
Dr. Conner smiled and nodded. "Very good, Chandler. Hopefully you'll be out of that chair soon."
Chandler shrugged. "Hopefully."
Dr. Conner frowned slightly. "Mandy, could you leave us alone for a second?"
"Sure,"
Mandy said and walked away.
Chandler gave Dr. Conner a questioning look.
"Chandler," Dr. Conner began. "I'm very pleased with your physical recovery. Your x-rays last week were excellent, but I am, however, concerned by your emotional recovery."
Chandler said nothing, only sighed sadly and looked down.
"Now, I know you have been through a lot, Chandler, but you are lucky to be alive. You don't seem happy about that. It's very common to suffer from post-traumatic stress, and I think it would benefit you to talk to someone. I made you an appointment with Dr. Harper, she's the best psychologist in the hospital."
Chandler looked up. "You want me to see a shrink. I don't know…"
"Just go see her a couple times. If she thinks you are okay, I'll get off of your back." Chandler still seemed unsure. "I won't take no for an answer."
Chandler rolled his eyes. He really didn't care much for telling someone about his personal feelings, but somewhere in the past months he had lost his will to care. "Fine, when do you want me to go?"
"Your fist appointment is in five minutes."
* * * * *
Chandler cautiously entered the office and was surprised. He had expected it to look like the rest of the hospital; with the whitewashed walls and hard plastic chairs, but it was much different. The room clashed significantly from the rest of the hospital with the large, well-worn couch and two recliners situated around a coffee table. A desk was set in the back corner, its surface cluttered. There were cartoons and pictures posted on the colorful wall. He could also see a small fridge on a table, along the other wall, beside a coffee maker and radio. It was a very upbeat, comfortable room.
"You must be Chandler," the woman seated at the desk said. She appeared to be in her mid-forties, with slightly graying, brown hair and a warm smile.
"Yeah, that's me," Chandler said.
"It's nice to meet you," she said, getting up and walking over to him. "My name is Ann."
"It's nice to meet you, too," Chandler said, automatically.
"Well, lets get started. You can just park yourself wherever you feel comfortable. Would you like something to drink?" She asked walking over to the fridge.
"A water would be great," Chandler said, feeling somewhat nervous.
Ann returned with two waters, handing him one. She proceeded over to the couch and collapsed onto it, her feet up on the coffee table.
"So," she started. "Tell me why you're here to see me."
Chandler shrugged. "My doctor sent me."
Ann laughed. "If I had a dollar for every time someone had said that to me I'd be retired by now."
Chandler smiled slightly. He liked Ann. She reminded Chandler of himself, or his past self.
"Okay than," Ann said. "Tell me why he sent you."
"Don't you already know this?"
Ann shook her head. "Nope."
"They didn't send you my chart, or talk to you?"
Again, she shook her head. "I prefer to have the patients tell me what happened, and what's wrong. That way I can get an idea of what you went through, instead of what your body went through."
Chandler nodded. That made sense to him. "I got hit by a car."
Ann laughed. "You're very talkative," she said sarcastically.
Chandler almost laughed at the irony. He used to be the sarcastic one.
Ann smiled. "Give me some more details."
Chandler sighed. "It was my fault. I wasn't paying attention. I ran right in front of the car. The guy behind the wheel didn't have a chance to stop.
Ann offered a small smile; he seemed to be carrying some guilt. "Were you in a hurry?"
Chandler hesitated. "Sort of."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I was running. I was in a hurry, but I wasn't going anywhere. I was just running."
"Why were you running?"
"I had to get away."
"Away from what?"
Chandler didn't answer. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, fighting off the wave of tears that were actively threatening to fall.
Ann noted his discomfort and changed the subject immediately. She knew he had been pushed too far for the first day. It was something she did for every patient on the first visit. She had to know how far was too far. She changed the subject to his physical recovery. Patients could always talk about their injuries, because they didn't have to touch on their emotions.
* * * * *
Two days later, Chandler finished his physiotherapy and headed up to see Ann. Although he hated to admit it, he looked forward to the appointment. It made him feel good to talk to someone.
"Hello again, Chandler," Ann greeted him, warmly.
"Hi."
They got settled with drinks, Ann on the couch, Chandler in his wheelchair.
"How was physio this morning?"
Chandler nodded. "It was good."
"That's good," Ann said. "And how have you been feeling?"
Chandler shrugged. "The same."
Ann laughed. "And we're back to be ever so talkative," she said sarcastically.
Chandler gave a short, rye laugh. "Cause it's so easy to give long, in depth answers to your deep, meaningful questions," he shot back.
"Oh!" Ann said. "He can joke."
Chandler smiled. "You have no idea."
"What do you mean?"
"I, uh, used to joke all the time. I had a comment about everything. My friends always complained, but in a goodd way."
"Used to?" Ann inquired.
"Before that day."
"The day of your accident?"
Chandler nodded.
"You don't joke anymore because you got hit by a car?"
Chandler shook his head.
"Is this to do with what you were running from?"
Chandler was silent.
"Does that mean yes?"
Chandler nodded, slowly.
"Are you ready to tell me what happened?"
Chandler sighed, looking down. "There's not much to tell."
"What happened?" Ann pried softly, her voice soft.
"I was walking home and had a bad feeling. I had had a bad feeling all day. As I got closer I heard sirens and saw smoke. I was praying it wasn't my building, but I knew it was. I could just feel it.
"You're building was on fire?"
Chandler nodded. "I finally made it to the right street. I was running as fast as I could. There were flames everywhere and so much smoke…The building started collapsing. They…" Chandler felt his emotions get the better of him as his voice cracked, but he continued anyway. "They told me no one above the second floor had gotten out. The fire started low and spread too fast…They couldn't get out. They tried to, but they couldn't. They must have been so scared." Chandler lost control on the tears that had threatened to spill for so long.
"Who were they?"
Chandler took a deep breath, trying to retake control of his emotions. "They were everything to me; my friends, my family."
Ann smiled sadly. "Tell me about them."
Chandler sighed. "There were six of us. We were so close. We lived close together and had known each other for years. Joey lived across the hall from me and Monica. Mon's brother, Ross, lived across the road. Phoebe and Rachel lived down the street. It was Rachel's birthday. They were all at my apartment…I should have been there too…I was working late…I wish I had been there."
"You know if you had been there you wouldn't have been able to do anything to help. And you wouldn't be sitting there today."
Chandler nodded.
"Do you wish you had died?"
Chandler sighed. "I do. And don't get me wrong. I'm not suicidal or anything. I just wish I had been there."
"Why?"
"I would rather die young with people I loved than die of old age alone."
AN: Sorry it took me so long to get this chapter up, but I was busy with school and my other fic. Chapter three should be up soon. Thanks for reading and please tell me what you think.
