Regression
~Wash~
He ran from her apartment, at full speed; he ran despite the knots in his sides, and the way his legs kept threatening to give out. He ran until he reached his own apartment. 10…12…15 blocks. He didn't know; he didn't care. He crashed into his apartment, and collapsed onto the floor, in a fit of sobs. His body contracted as his muscles cramped, and he began coughing violently, in an attempt to catch his breath.
What had he been thinking? He was an idiot if he thought he could just go back to a normal life, living as though nothing had happened. In the end, he was only going to hurt himself, and anyone who was stupid enough to love someone like him.
He wasn't sure how long he lay there, writhing in pain, both physical and emotional. At some point, he must have drifted to sleep, because the next thing he knew, someone was calling his name, and his apartment was filled with the dusty pink glow of the very early morning.
She had debated over whether or not to chase after him. She'd thought about it for over an hour. And eventually, she had to call the others, because she just didn't know what to do. As the sun began its ascent over the city, the five friends made their way to Chandler's apartment.
They'd found him, sprawled face down onto the floor, his front door wide open. They were almost afraid to enter, and while the others remained paralyzed with confusion and melancholy, Monica approached his sleeping form, and attempted to rouse him.
"Chandler? Are you okay?" It was Monica.
Chandler opened his eyes slowly, and for a moment, he wondered why his body and head were aching so badly. It all came back to him in a flash, as he groaned and turned over.
"Monica," he whispered, but refused to meet her gaze. His head shot up, when Rachel sneezed. He looked at the other four, who had yet to cross the threshold of his apartment, and he wondered if Monica had told them what he had done. He struggled to look up at Ross, but hung his head in shame instead.
Monica looked over at the others, and they stepped into the apartment gingerly, closing the door behind them.
"Sweetie, we need to talk about what happened," Monica whispered.
"Do…do they know?" Chandler's voice was shaky, and his eyes landed on Ross' shoes.
"Yes," Monica looked up at Ross, willing him with her eyes to say something to his best friend.
The bond between the siblings never seemed more important. Ross took the hint, and knelt down next to Chandler and Monica.
"Chandler…I'm not angry…if that's what you're thinking," Ross said slowly.
"Right," Chandler said incredulously, "I hurt your little sister, Ross."
"You didn't do it on purpose! This isn't your fault—"
"Honey, I don't want you beating yourself up over what happened," Monica added.
"I know, but—" Chandler sighed, and shook his head. He really didn't know; he didn't know what to think, and he didn't know what to do. He loved Monica, he loved her so much it hurt. But the idea that he had hurt her was nagging at him. She and the others began pointing out that he hadn't done it intentionally; that it was out of his control.
"Mon, that's the problem! Don't you see it? It was out of my control what I did to you, and that means I might do it again! Doesn't that scare you?" Chandler was standing now, and facing the other five.
"No! Chandler, it was my fault for trying to wake you! I'm not scared!"
"Well I am," Chandler's voice cracked, and he sunk down into the sofa, "I'm scared to death," he whispered.
"There must be something that you can do," Rachel ventured, "something maybe your therapist can suggest?"
Chandler looked up at Rachel, and she noted that he didn't seem to have any hope left. It was as though he had already given up on everything in his life, and that he was using last night's incident as an excuse to let it all go, and sink into a hole of self-doubt and depression.
"I don't—" Chandler shook his head, but Monica sat down next to him suddenly, and took his hand.
"She's right, Chandler! I'm sure Renee will be able to help us," Monica smiled at Chandler hopefully.
Chandler finally looked Monica in the eye, and without another thought, relented.
~*~
"Tell me Chandler," Renee probed two days later, "what is it that scares you most about this?"
"Hurting her…or someone else…" Chandler mumbled.
"Like your children?" Renee interrupted.
"Oh, we don't have any children," Monica corrected. She and Chandler were seated on Renee's couch, their hands intertwined. As Monica spoke, Chandler reddened slightly.
Renee looked over at Chandler, and gave him an encouraging smile.
"She-she means future children," Chandler said, though he wouldn't look at Monica, "I—I told her that I thought…someday we would be married and th-that we'd have children together," Chandler's voice was small, and childlike. He stared at the floor, fearful of Monica's reaction to his revelation.
"Y-you told her you wanted…really?" Monica smiled, and pulled herself closer to Chandler. She felt tears spring up in her eyes, as she tried to will him to look at her.
"Yeah…I mean, I understand if you don't—um…I know that you might not want—" Chandler stuttered.
"Chandler…I…" Monica wanted to assure Chandler that she had dreamed of spending her life with him, but for some reason she couldn't articulate her thoughts. Her mind seemed to freeze up, and she simply stared at Chandler.
"Anyway, it doesn't matter," Chandler pulled away from Monica slightly.
"Why doesn't it matter, Chandler?" Renee interrupted, reminding the couple that they were sitting in a therapy session.
"I—I don't think I should have children," Chandler said sadly.
"What?" Monica said, shocked.
"Why?" Renee asked calmly.
"Because of what happened the other night. And because I don't want them to hate me for all that I've done…" Chandler choked up, and fought down a persistent sob.
"Chandler…" Monica placed her hand on his knee.
"Chandler, we need to resolve this. You keep talking like you've done something wrong. But you—"
"I did, and I will—" Chandler sobbed.
"You didn't do anything wrong! Chandler, look at me," Renee said sternly.
Chandler looked up slowly, and sniffled audibly.
"You didn't do anything wrong," Renee said a bit more softly.
"I hurt the one person I need most," Chandler replied darkly.
"That doesn't mean that you'll hurt her again…or anyone else—"
"My dreams," Chandler interrupted, "have changed."
"I'm sorry?" Renee looked puzzled, and Monica looked worried. Chandler's voice was so grim, and his hands were fisted up tightly.
"I see him now, and I see what he's doing. And I retaliate. I hurt him. I hit him and I hit him, and I hit him until he stops moving…until he stops breathing," Chandler's voice raised more and more with each word he spoke, until he was almost screaming. Then his voice suddenly dropped, as though he didn't want the others to hear the last words he spoke. There is a short moment of silence, as Chandler catches his breath.
"You kill him, in your dreams," Renee said flatly.
"Yes," Chandler whispered hoarsely.
"And this is what really scares you, right?"
"Yes," Chandler said sadly.
"Chandler, this is perfectly normal," Renee said, as she sat back in her chair, "You're angry, and you have every right to be. Don't be ashamed of these dreams, Chandler, because they're only dreams. Dreams don't kill people."
"But what about what I did?" Chandler said quietly.
"An unfortunate incident, that is very unlikely to happen again…as long as Monica doesn't try to wake you mid-dream. Monica," Renee looked at Monica sternly, "it's important that you let him go through this. As painful as it may be to listen to, he needs this outlet."
"I understand," Monica whispered, and smiled at Chandler.
~*~
"I think Renee is right," Monica said later, as she and Chandler walked into Chandler's apartment, "I think that this is a phase, and it will pass," she smiled.
"I hope so," Chandler said, his face revealing his discomfort with his dreams, and with Renee's theory.
"Honey, it's going to be a slow process, we just need to have patience."
"How long are you willing to wait, Monica?" Chandler turned to look at Monica, his eyes dark, "What if this 'phase' lasts months…or—or years! What if it never really passes? What if I never get to the point where I am comfortable being a father? What then?"
"Chandler, I told you that I would be here, no matter what."
"No, not out of obligation, or compassion. Because it's what you want. Really, Monica, think about it. You want children…you need them, I know you do. You can't be with someone who won't have them, otherwise you'd still be with Richard. Tell me the truth Monica, please. How long can you wait?"
Monica looked up at Chandler, and felt her heart constrict. He deserved the truth, he deserved to know where she stood. It was the least she could do for him. Wasn't it?
"I don't know," she finally whispered, and tried to ignore Chandler's crestfallen expression.
He covered his dejection quickly, and smiled tightly.
"Fair enough," he said quietly, his voice not allowing for much more, "excuse me," he whispered, and walked into the bathroom wordlessly.
Monica watched him walk away, and sighed. She didn't want to admit it to him, because she didn't want to admit it to herself.
Her future with Chandler was beginning to look dim.
Oh please, let it rain today
This city is so filthy, like my mind in ways
Oh, was a time, like a clean, new taste
Smiling eyes before me, inches from my face
Wash my love
Wash my love, yeah...
Sin the sale, buying just a need
Just who planted, all the devils seeds
And what the truth, and the truth that lies at home
It's on the inside, and I can't get it off, yeah...
Wash my love
Wash my love, yeah...
What's clean is pure, but hey, I'm white on the outside, though I stray
What she don't know today, might kill us both tomorrow, bring it back someway
Bring it back, bring it back, back to the clean form, to the pure form
Wash my love
('Wash'~Pearl Jam)
