Regression

~Clocks~

Confusion that never stops

The closing walls and ticking clocks

Gonna come back and take you home

I could not stop, that you now know

To say that the tension around the breakfast table was palpable would be an enormous understatement.

The tension was painful to everyone, but for varying reasons.

Nora and Harold were still stinging over an argument they'd had the night before; Harold was more hung over than he was bitter, but the resentment still resonated off of him.

Charles was trying desperately to figure out how to get through to his son.  But Chandler's blatant rejection of him the night before hurt Charles terribly.  He knew that his son had taken the divorce badly, but he was sure that in time, Chandler would come around.  He looked over at his son, and noted that Chandler had yet to touch his food.  Charles decided to take a chance, and break the thick silence.

"Chandler, aren't you hungry?"

The darkness cradled him it it's cool, vacant arms.  It soothed him, protected him, and absorbed his pain.

But it was also empty, and silent, and it made him ache for something more.

The boy never really knew love; he'd never truly felt loved, not even by his parents.  What he needed he could not name, because for him, it just never was.

Perhaps he wasn't worthy.

Perhaps he was damned.

His father's voice floated through the room, and pulled him out of his head.

He turned his eyes upward, and saw that everyone was looking at him.

They all knew.

It was his fault.

He would be punished.

His mind was in a whirl, and he felt a storm brewing, deep within his tired soul.

And there, he found his voice.

And he screamed.

The seconds seemed to drag, and Charles' question hung in the air ominously.

Finally, Chandler looked up at him, and for a moment, time stopped completely.

Charles had to force himself to hold his gaze; Chandler's eyes were flat, and vacant; they were eyes that belonged in an older, jaded man.

They did not belong in a child.

Certainly not his son.

Chandler broke the gaze first, and Charles watched with morbid curiosity, as Chandler scanned the table.  Harold and Nora had stopped eating, and were now focused on Chandler as well.

It was a moment that would haunt Charles for the rest of his life.  He'd never seen anything more terrifying, than what he saw in that moment, as his son's eyes glazed, his head tilted back, and he let go the most horrific, blood-curdling scream Charles had ever heard.

The rain splashed down in continuous sheets, as the wild wind rattled the windows of Monica's apartment.  Charles had left an hour ago, intent on speaking with Nora down at the hospital.  Chandler and Monica were sat on the sofa, curled in a comfortable silence.

The wind howled, and the windows rattled harder, and Monica felt Chandler's grip on her tighten.  She pivoted her head slightly, and shot Chandler a concerned glance.

"What?" Chandler looked down at Monica.

"Nothing," Monica smiled, and settled back down against Chandler's chest.

Chandler sighed contently, and laid his head back on the sofa cushion.

"I love you," he whispered softly.

"I know, sweetie, I love you too," Monica replied.

"I wouldn't have gotten through this without you," Chandler whispered.

"I'm here for you, honey, and I'll always be here for you."

"Promise?" Chandler's voice was thin, and frail.

Monica sat up, and turned to face Chandler fully. 

"I promise," she said, never taking her eyes from his.

Chandler nodded, and looked down at his hands, then back up at Monica.  His eyes were glistening with impending tears, but Monica could see a brightness in his baby blues that had been absent for months.  She leaned forward, and kissed him tenderly on the lips, sighing as she felt his renegade tears dampen her cheeks and his.

Chandler felt something within him release into the kiss.  All of his emotions, his pain, anger, guilt, confusion, sadness and regret were harnessed by the complete and unconditional love that embraced him.  It was the light that he had longed for for so long, and all of it was contained within the woman that sat in front of him at that very moment.

It made him cry, he was so happy.

Monica felt Chandler slip his arms around her, and pull her toward him, and she felt her heart burst.  It had been so long since he had been there, really, truly been there, in the moment, with her.  His pain and anger seemed to subside, just for a minute, and she could feel him letting her in, believing that she really loved him, and always would.

She knew that the moment would fade with the coming of the light of day; that when he was forced to face everything again, when he was forced to see Harold, to once again relive all that he had done, that Chandler would once more be lost to her, and that she would have to fight with all that she had to keep him afloat.

But they had this moment; they had tonight.  And Monica would hold onto it, even when all seemed lost.

It was a release; it was painful and exhilarating all at once.  He felt the world around him tremble, as he gave his anguish a voice.  His mother had cried out, his father had frozen into a stunned silence. 

Chandler stood slowly, and walked out of the room, out the front door, and into the blinding rays of the morning sun.

Nora was shaking.  She had been disturbed by her son's silence, but the alternative was unbearable.

The scream.  That dreadful, heart-breaking scream.  She didn't know what to make of it, and she didn't know what to do about it.

Before she had a chance to react, Chandler stood up, and walked out of the house.

An instant later, Charles had chased after him.

But Nora couldn't move; she couldn't find the strength to stand, or yell, or speak.  She looked up at the ceiling, then down at Harold, who was now playing with the food on his plate, seemingly oblivious to the haunting episode that had just transpired.

What was she doing with this man?  She didn't love him anymore; she wasn't sure she ever had.  Her son hated him.  So why was he still in her life?

Maybe Harold was right; maybe she shouldn't send Chandler away.  Maybe that wouldn't solve anything.

Maybe Harold was the one that needed to go.

His kisses were hungry and desperate.  His touch was warm but frantic.  But when the moment came, Monica knew that she needed him just as much as he needed her.

He had shied away from her touch for so long.

He had tried desperately to show her that he cared, but his fears had always overwhelmed him.

But tonight, that emotional barricade had been softened, and Monica absorbed his affections greedily.

He was kissing her neck; she was in ecstasy.

"Make love to me Chandler," she whispered seductively.

He muttered something indecipherable, before lifting her into his arms, and carrying her into the bedroom.

Charles walked down the corridor of the hospital, his eyes scanning the rooms as he passed.  He walked slowly and deliberately, his destination clear.

It took him ten minutes to find his room.

But when he did, he just stood there, in the doorway, watching as the man slept peacefully on the long hospital bed.

The fact that this man could sleep so well, while the man he'd destroyed slept so fitfully, was enough to make Charles sick. 

He walked fully into the room, and stood over the bed until Harold opened his eyes.

"Harold," Charles whispered menacingly, "we need to talk."

Lights go out and I can't be saved

Tides that I tried to swim against

Have brought me down upon my knees

Oh I beg, I beg and plead

Singing

Come out of things unsaid

Shoot an apple off my head

And a trouble that can't be named

A tiger's waiting to be tamed

Singing

You are

You are

Confusion that never stops

The closing walls and ticking clocks

Gonna come back and take you home

I could not stop, that you now know

Singing come out upon my seas

Curse missed opportunities

Am I a part of the cure

Or am I part of the disease

Singing

you are, you are

You are, you are

You are, you are

You are, you are

And nothing else compares

And nothing else compares

And nothing else compares

And nothing else compares

You are, you are

Home, home where I wanted to go

Home, home where I wanted to go

Home, home where I wanted to go (you are)

Home, home where I wanted to go (you are)

(Clocks, by Coldplay)