Regression

~Let Me Down Easy~

If you told me to follow

You know I'd fly for you

Here I go; I may fall

But I will try

(Let Me Down Easy, ©2001 C. Isaak)

He hadn't seen her for three days.  He wasn't quite sure if what they'd had was a fight, but he knew that he was wary bout calling her, and thought it best that she contact him when she was ready.

Problem was, he really needed her right now.

When he'd emerged from the bathroom three days ago, after twenty minutes of trying-his-damndest-not-to-cry, he was not surprised to see that she was gone.  He was not surprised when she hadn't called the following day.  But now he was beginning to panic.  Maybe she'd decided that if he didn't want children, she wouldn't waste her time.

God, he missed her.

He slumped across his apartment, and collapsed onto the sofa.  He wriggled around for several minutes, before giving up.  The sofa was too new, too hard.  It wasn't what he was used to.

It wasn't hers.

The phone rang three times before he noticed it.  He reached for the phone lazily.

"Hello?" he whispered.

"Chandler?"

"Hey, Mom," Chandler sighed.  He'd been expecting this call for over a month now.  Nora was one of the few people he'd called soon after finding out.

"Chandler, I just fly in from Paris, and I find this indecipherable message from my son!  What is going on?"

"Mom, I really think you should come to New York.  We need to talk."

"I'm in New York Thursday to see my publisher.  Can it wait until Thursday?"

"Mom, I made that call over a month ago.  I'm sure it can wait two more days," Chandler laughed.

"Well, whatever it is, we're going to have to squeeze it in between my meeting and my pedicure appointment," Nora said in her typical, rushed manner.

"Yeah, sure Mom, no problem," Chandler said.  No problem.  Your ex-husband just happens to be a demented child molester, but we should be able to resolve it in about twenty minutes.

"Okay, see you Thursday, sweetie!" Nora chirped, then hung up the phone.

"Yeah," Chandler sighed, and dropped the phone onto the sofa.

*

Filthy, disgusting, sinful, hateful, bastard-child! 

The remnants of the voices echoed in his head, as he was pushed into consciousness.  He opened his eyes, and caught his breath slowly.  He sat up slowly, and cursed and reveled in the silence simultaneously. 

It was Thursday, the day he was scheduled to meet with his mother, sometime between her numerous appointments.

And it had been five days since he'd spoken with Monica.

The thought that she had, in fact, decided that he wasn't worth her effort hurt him more that he was willing to acknowledge.  He wanted to be gallant, and let her go, let her find someone who was untainted by sin, and not burdened by his past.  She deserved better; she deserved more.

But he wanted no one else.

"So, I tell the guy, 'Look, I know that you're new and all, but I have been doing this for years, and I know my market!'  I knew I shouldn't have gotten a new editor," Nora rambled.  She and Chandler were seated at a crowded, upscale restaurant (Nora's choice), having a late lunch.  Nora was picking through an exotic salad that Chandler had likened to a bowlful of weeds.  He had ordered some kind of Thai chicken, but had yet to touch it.

"Mom, I thought your old editor retired," Chandler pointed out quietly.

"Ah, technicalities," Nora scoffed, and shoved a forkful of weeds into her mouth, "Now, she muttered through her food, "What is going on with you?  You look horrible.  You're so skinny!  And sit up straight."

"Mom, it—it's about Harold," Chandler started slowly.

"Harold?  Harold who?"

"Your ex-husband?" Chandler said exasperatedly.

"Oh, Harold!  What about him?  Have you seen him?  God, he's gotten so fat!" Nora giggled.

Chandler blanched, and Nora sobered.  "What is it, sweetie?"

"You-you've seen him?  L-lately, I mean."

"Oh, you know, he's always around," Nora sighed, "He always did have that leach-like quality about him.

"Are you…seeing him again?" Chandler asked incredulously.

"What?  No!" Nora said, the tone in her voice telling Chandler that. In fact, she was.

"Mom!" Chandler warned.

"Look, honey, he's doing really well for himself now, and…honestly, I'm not entirely sure why we divorced anyway.  And besides, it's nothing serious…it's mostly just sex."

Chandler felt nauseous.  He needed to get out of there; he needed to get away from…this.  Everything around him was hazy, and he began sweating.  He reached for his water, but his hands were trembling too violently.  He struggled to breathe, but he felt his lungs collapsing in on him.

"Chandler?  Chandler, are you listening to me?" Nora's brow furrowed.

"You…you can't see him, Mom, he's—" Chandler stuttered, as he struggled to stand.

"Chandler, what are you talking about?"

"I—" the room was spinning, and Chandler had to grip onto the side of the table to steady himself.

"Chandler you aren't making any sense," Nora sighed, "and I'm late for my appointment!" Nora looked at her watch, and moved to gather her bag, as her son collapsed onto the posh restaurant floor.

*

Demon!  Filthy beast!  Fiend!

He opened his eyes, and for a moment, was not sure where he was.  The walls around him were stark white, and there was medical equipment above his head.  His head was throbbing. He wondered just how he'd ended up in a hospital.

"Chandler?"

Chandler blinked, and looked to his right, as Monica stood and raked her hand through his hair.

"Monica, wh-what are you doing here?" Chandler asked softly.

"Your mother called me.  She said you freaked out on her, and fainted at the restaurant.  How do you feel?"

"I'm okay," Chandler said, and sat up slowly, ignoring the sharp pain in his head, "You don't have to stay if you don't want to."

"Chandler," Monica sat down on his bed, and took his hand in both of hers, "I've missed you so much.  I wanted to call, but—"

"It's okay," Chandler smiled, "I wouldn't want me, if I were you."

"I admit, that I did need space, and time to deal with all that has happened, and what I feel…but these past five days, all I could think about, was how much I needed you," Monica smiled, as a single, iridescent tear made it's way down her cheek.

"You needed me?"

Monica sniffled loudly, and wiped her face, "Uh huh," she cried and nodded.

"But—"

"Chandler, I love you, and I need you, and I've just been miserable this past week!  I am SO sorry for what I said, about not being sure.  I am sure.  I am sure that I want to be with you, no matter what," Monica was grinning wildly.

He wanted to believe her.  Oh, how he wanted to believe her.  But her bedside declaration was so desperate that it made him want to doubt her.

But at this moment, he needed to believe her. 

So he kissed her, hard and long, and refused to let her go, if only for one night.