Regression
~The Gloaming~
We're rotten fruit
We're damaged goods
What the hell, we've got nothing more to lose
One gust and we will probably crumble
We're backdrifting
All evidence has been buried
All tapes have been erased
But your footsteps give you away
So you're backtracking
('Backdrifts' by radiohead)
Chandler, Monica and Corrine made their way to the sofa, and settled in.
"You said that you were confused about something?" Corrine asked slowly.
"Yes. My memories…I'm not sure which are real, and which are false anymore. And I—"Chandler sighed, and looked at his hands.
"What is it?" Corrine leaned forward, and placed her hand on Chandler's.
"I'm not sure what really happened to me. And I'm not sure who was really hurting me back then…"
"We never really flushed out what exactly happened to you, Chandler. I always suspected abuse, but when you arrived, there was no physical evidence…and you never really said—"
"It was almost always sexual," Chandler interrupted, "so you wouldn't have seen anything."
"I suspected that as well," Corrine muttered sadly.
"I was so sure it was Harold. But then he said…and then my memories, they changed, and I thought…but it couldn't have been—"Chandler's sentences were disjointed, and Corrine could sense the anxiety rising in him.
"You wonder if it was your father."
"Yeah," Chandler looked up at Corrine, his eyes begging the question. "Do you know Corrine? Do you know who did this to me?"
Corrine looked at Chandler for a long moment, her eyes glued to his. It is often said that the eyes are the window to the soul, but in Chandler's case, it was so true. She could see the pain, the fear, the anticipation, and the sadness that resided in them, and she wanted nothing more than to take that pain away from him.
If only she could.
"I…I honestly don't know," Corrine finally whispered sadly, and tried to fight back tears as she watched his face fall.
"Oh. Well, I—it was worth the effort, huh?" Chandler chuckled sadly, and looked down at his hands.
"Chandler, I never met Harold…I never saw him interact with you. But I did meet your father, and I saw the way he was with you back then. I never saw fear in your demeanor…but I saw pain and guilt in his. I'm not saying that he is the one that did this to you…but I think you need to talk to him. There are issues there…that much I know."
Chandler sat silently for a moment, absorbing all that Corrine had told him. Her answer was so unclear. But he was beginning to realize that nothing about this was simple—nothing was black and white. Perhaps his issues with his father were clouding his memories. He'd never truly dealt with them. He knew Corrine was right; he needed to talk to his father. He needed to ask the question that was haunting him—but he was also afraid that confronting his father would destroy their relationship completely.
"The conversation…will be painful, Chandler. But you will never be at peace until you know for sure," Corrine whispered, as she took his hand in hers.
Chandler smiled slightly. She was his conscience; she was able to read him like no one could. He looked over at her, his smile broadening.
"Thank you," he said tenderly, his eyes shining.
"I wish I could have helped you more," Corrine sighed sadly.
"You've helped me more than you know," Chandler replied.
*
The drive back to the city was relatively quiet. Chandler was deep in thought, and Monica respected that he needed his space. And in all honesty, she really didn't trust herself to speak at the moment—the lump that had formed in her throat as soon as she'd seen Corrine embrace Chandler, and it had yet to wane.
It warmed her heart to see how much love Corrine had for Chandler. She could practically see the love radiating off of the plump woman. She smiled, as she recalled Corrine's repetitive insistence that he keep in touch this time. He'd promised, over and over, as they'd walked out to the car, but Corrine persisted.
"I mean it Chandler. If I don't hear from you, I'll track you down, and—"
"Corrine, I swear! I will keep in touch! Monica will see to it," Chandler laughed.
"I don't want to wait fourteen years this time," Corrine scolded, then pulled Chandler into a tight embrace.
"Mon?"
"Yeah?" Monica shook herself out of her reverie, and looked over at Chandler.
"Are you okay?" Chandler looked at her, concern crossing his face.
"Yeah…I was just…thinking," Monica smiled, and placed her hand on Chandler's forearm.
"Oh. Okay, um…well, are you hungry? I was thinking we could stop at this place down the road…"
"Yeah, I could eat something," Monica replied.
Chandler nodded, and exited off the highway. He pulled into the parking lot of a dilapidated, grungy diner, and Monica cringed slightly. What was it with Chandler and these old dirty places anyway?
"'s this okay?" Chandler looked over at her.
"It's fine," Monica said, a little too cheerfully.
Chandler laughed, and got out of the car. He looked up at the half-broken sign that barely hung over the diner. And it hit him. He knew this place. He'd been here before.
"Chandler? Are you hungry?" Nora's voice broke through the unbearable silence that had filled the car since the trio's departure from the center.
Chandler looked up at his mother, who had craned her neck around to look at him, curled in the backseat of the Mercedes. He shrugged noncommittally, and looked back down at his hands.
Charles glanced at his son through the rearview mirror, before pulling off of the highway, and into the dirt lot of a small diner.
The broken family piled out of the car, and made their way into the diner.
Red vinyl booths lined the walls, and a large, linoleum covered counter sat in the center of the room. In front of the counter, sat a line of vinyl covered chrome stools; behind the counter, a window to the kitchen, and a waitress station.
Nora, Charles and Chandler made their way to one of the corner booths. Chandler and Nora sat on one side, Charles on the other.
For a long time, the table remained as silent as the ride that had preceded it. Charles stared out the window blankly; Nora played with the end of her napkin; and Chandler continued to stare at his hands.
"What can I get you folks?" a gum chomping, young waitress asked.
"Coffee," Charles muttered, without ever taking his eyes off of the scenery outside.
"I'll…have a salad," Nora smiled, her voice carrying the politeness that seemed to want to compensate for Charles' rudeness.
"How about you, little guy?" the waitress smiled.
Chandler shrugged, his eyes glued to his lap.
"How about a grilled cheese?" Nora placed her hand on Chandler's shoulder.
Chandler shrugged again, and Nora looked up at the waitress, and nodded.
The waitress left, and Nora turned to glare at Charles.
"You don't need to be so rude, Charles," Nora snapped.
Charles turned to look at Nora, and sighed heavily. He looked over at Chandler, who was busy pulling at his shirt sleeve nervously.
Chandler felt his father's eyes on him. He looked up slowly, and tried to decipher the expression on Charles' face.
His father looked tired, and sad. But he also seemed to be angry, and frustrated, and Chandler couldn't tell which of these emotions was directed at him.
Charles watched as Chandler looked up at him. His son's eyes seemed full of sadness, and fear. Charles could feel his own emotions overwhelming him. He needed to know what was causing this; he needed to know why his son was so filled with dark emotions.
The answers from his psychologist at the center were frustratingly vague. He had hoped that by placing Chandler in the center, the answers to their issues would emerge.
He needed to know why Chandler wanted so badly to die.
He needed to know why his son hated him so much,
He needed to know what he had done to Chandler that was so wrong.
It was late, by the time Monica and Chandler made it back to the city. Chandler opted to stay at Monica's, and by the time they reached her apartment, both were exhausted.
Monica collapsed onto her bed, her eyes half open as she watched Chandler's staccatoed, shaky movements on the other side of the bed. It was then that he realized how nervous he really was.
"You okay?" she asked softly.
"I'm fine," Chandler turned his head, and smiled at Monica, "go to sleep."
"Mmkay," Monica mumbled, and began to drift off.
Chandler lay down next to Monica, and stared up at the ceiling for several quiet moments. He felt his anxiety overwhelming him, and though his body was exhausted, sleep eluded him.
Monica pulled herself closer to him and snuggled herself against his chest. He felt her arm snake around his midsection, and hug him tightly.
"It'll be okay Chandler," Monica said softly, as she drifted off to sleep.
Chandler let her words, the warmth of her body, and the steadiness of her breathing calm him, and guide him to a light sleep.
AN: Ah yes, another chapter, and still no answers…they are coming, I swear. Another chapter or two, and all will be…as resolved as it's gonna get…
