Chapter 3: Insights into a Troubled Mind

            Chandler tossed and turned in his sleep as the memories of that day came back to him.

            He walked down the street, the bouquet of flowers in his hand. His stomach turned slightly and he felt his pulse race slightly. He had been feeling off all day, like a deep ominous feeling of dread, which he hadn't be able to shake.

            He was looking down as she walked, in full New York City walking fashion, speeding down the sidewalk, his eyes down. The sound of the sirens in the near-distance caught his attention and he looked up to see smoke billowing up, above the rows of buildings on his left. His blood ran cold as his brain told him that was the direction of his apartment, of them, of her.

            He sped up, not caring who he bumped into. The closer he got, the faster he ran. By the time he rounded the last corner, he was running faster than he thought he ever could.

            He sprinted to the police barriers, pushing his way through the thick crowd of curious onlookers. He ignored the dirty looks and his frantic behavior caught the attention of a police officer.

            "Did everyone get out?" Chandler asked frantically.

            "Do you know someone who lives here?" The policeman asked.

            Chandler ignored the question. "My friends were in their, my girlfriend. Please tell me they got out. Tell me they're okay," Chandler begged.

            The policeman sighed, and then asked quietly, "What floor were they on?"

            "Five," Chandler answered. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he had the answer. The policeman immediately avoided eye contact with him, looking away.

            "I'm sorry, Sir, but no one above the second floor got out. The fire began on the first floor and spread too quickly…"

            Chandler felt his heart stop and he felt his whole body begin to tremble. He stopped listening to the cop and he dropped the flowers and staggered backwards, out of the crowd. He vomited onto the street, his head spinning. He couldn't process thought, or even pick one thought out from another. He couldn't breath and began to hyperventilate, his body desperately attempting to get some much-needed oxygen into his system. He stood there for a few moments, staring at the burning building, staring at the destruction of his life, of his happiness, of any stability he had ever had. He shook his head. He couldn't be there anymore. He couldn't stand there, watching his life fall away from him. He did the one thing that he could think of as his sympathetic nervous system kicked in and flight dominated fight. He ran.

            He ran and ran, thoughts flooding into his mind. He had lost everything. He had lost her, them. He had lost his future, his one chance at happiness. He ran through crowds of people, not caring about the dirty looks and gestures he was getting. He ran for blocks, cutting through traffic. He didn't know how long he had been running, and had no intentions to stop until he crossed one particular intersection.

            He didn't see the car driving down the street, didn't hear the frantic shouts from the sidewalk, didn't hear the horn, or the screeching of tires. He didn't even feel the impact, only suddenly realized he was no longer in motion. He was lying on a cold, hard surface, staring up. A mass of faces swarmed around him, but he couldn't focus on any of them. He felt blackness rush over him and gladly welcomed it.

                        *                      *                      *                      *                      *

            A month later, Chandler sat in Ann's office, leaning against the back of the couch, his left leg up on the coffee table. His right leg had healed enough for him to get around on crutches. He loved the feeling of being independent again, even if it was only a small step. For the past month he had been in to see Ann every week, and it was helping. He was feeling happier.

            They talked mostly about Chandler's accident and recovery, even about his improving relationship with his mother. They rarely touched on the incident before his accident, very much the cause of his accident. He wasn't ready to talk about it yet, not all of it. Ann was being very patient. She knew he would bring it up when he was ready.

            "So," Ann was saying. "I'm glad you're up and on your feet again. Tell me, how did you feel when you woke up in the hospital? What were you thinking? Did you remember anything?"

            Chandler sighed. "I remembered everything. I hated myself for remembering. The first couple days I just lay there, wishing I were dead, wishing I had died. I mean I had two very close calls with death, what with the fire and being hit by the car, you'd think one of them would have gotten me. I would lie there and wish I had gone home earlier, or wish the car had been going faster." Chandler broke off slightly, not wanting to talk about his thoughts anymore. "I told them my name, I had been a John Doe up until I woke up, and they called my mom. She came to New York and stayed in a hotel for a week, until I was well enough to leave. Then she flew me here and I've been staying with her."

            "So, one good thing has come out of this accident," Ann said. "Your relationship with your mom has improved."

            Chandler shrugged. "If you want to look at it that way."

            "Do you feel close to your mom?"

            Chandler nodded. "I do, I like that I can talk to her now, but I know this wouldn't have happened if I hadn't been hurt. I think she just felt sorry for me, and responsible to take care of me because she's my mother."

            Ann nodded. She knew he and his mother needed some help to work out their difficulties. "Why do you think you two grew apart so much?"

            "Oh, we didn't grow apart. We were never close. She was never around. My parents divorced when I was nine and she was off with her boyfriends all the time. She never had time for me."

            Ann nodded. He had told her a fair amount about his parents. "And what about your dad?"

            Chandler sighed. "I haven't talked to my dad for, like, ten years. I barely saw him after the divorce and eventually I gave up trying to contact him. It was obvious he didn't want to know me anymore. He was too busy with his boyfriends." Chandler laughed somewhat cynically.

            "Were you lonely as a child?"

            "I didn't think so at the time, but I look back and I know I was. I hated my life. My parents wouldn't talk to each other and would carry on fights through me. I never had any stability. My mom would only be with each guy for a matter of weeks and as soon as one was discarded, another was there it his place. I grew up not knowing what love was, what commitment was. I didn't know how happy two people could be together. I grew up not knowing what happiness was. I swore to myself that I would never be like them. I was always afraid of commitment, of having kids. I never trusted myself to not hurt her, or any kids we would have."

            "Did you want these things, even though you were afraid to have them?"

            Chandler looked down and nodded sadly. "I did. I really did. I had this craving to be with someone, to be really and truly devoted to one person for the rest of my life. I wanted it so badly."

            "Did you ever tell anyone?"

            Chandler shook his head. "My friends knew I was commitment phobic, but they thought I didn't want commitment. They never knew I was scared."

            "Why didn't you tell them?"

            Chandler shrugged. "It was a little embarrassing, wanting something I was so scared of. I never admitted to it."

            "Do you still want these things?"

            Chandler hesitated. "I can't really answer that," he said, finally.

            "What do you mean?"

            "Well, I do want all those things, but I'll never have them."

            "Why not?"

            Chandler sighed. "Because the person I want all those things with is gone."

            "Monica?" Ann asked.

            Chandler nodded.

            "Tell me about her," Ann said, gently.

            Chandler sighed and smiled slightly. "She was amazing. She was my best friend. I could tell her anything. I could trust her completely and I know she trusted me. I could never hurt her. We were close for years before we got together. She knew I was scared of commitment, I don't know how, but she just seemed to know. She was so good about it, so patient and understanding. I loved her so much, we were meant to be together. She was such a good person, She didn't deserve to die, especially not like that." Chandler's voice cracked slightly and he trailed off.

            "It sounded like you really loved her."

            "I did, I really did."

            "Am I right in thinking you two lived together?"

            Chandler nodded.

            "For how long?"

            "About six months, but we lived across the hall form each other before moving in together, so we were never far away from each other."

            "Sounds nice."

            "It was. I wish I could go back in time. I wish I could have prevented it from happening. I wish I could have been there."

            "Even if there was nothing you could have done to help?"

            "I can't stop thinking about how scared they must have been. I know I would have been scared too, but I would have been able to be there for her…" he trailed off, feeling tears well up behind his eyes.

            Ann handed him a box of Kleenex, which he readily accepted and quickly wiped his eyes.

            "Chandler, it's okay to cry," Ann said. "It's normal to mourn for the loss of loved ones."

            "But I should have been there for her. I could have held her and comforted her. I could have told her I loved her."

            "She knew you loved her."

            Chandler shook his head. "I didn't say it when I had the chance."

            "When was that?"

            "That morning," Chandler said, the tears falling freely down his cheeks. "We were arguing and I told her I didn't want to fight, and I left. I didn't say I love you. I always said it, all the time, every day, but not that day. I never saw her again."

            Ann sighed sadly. She could barely comprehend the amount of guilt he was carrying around. "Chandler, I know how this must seem to you, but it was only a little fight. If the building had never burned down I'm sure you two wouldn't even remember the fight now. You need to know that she knew you loved her. You said it yourself, that you told her all the time. You said you said it everyday.

            Chandler said nothing, just sat on the couch, his face in his hands, asking himself one question:  How had his life come to this?

AN: Well, how was it? Are you enjoying it? Please let me know what you think, I want to be a writer, so I'm attempting all types of writing. The next chapter will move a little faster and stuff will happen. (Could I be anymore vague?)