Hiya, this isn't really a long chapter but I needed something as a bridge to the next chapter, which will be the following events from this in Monicas' point of view. That will be out shortly as half term is almost here and my coursework is almost finished (YES!!!!) anyway, I would say 'enjoy' but it's not really that sort of fic ;-)





'Well Bing, I have to say that the punctuality of this report is impressive. Better then any other department even.' My boss said smiling at me. I managed a smile back but inside I was terrified, I was actually going to quit my job, without any back-up. What if didn't get another job? What if this foolish action forced Monica and I into bankruptcy? What if we didn't have enough money to live on?

I had to stop thinking like that. I had to be strong and prove to the others that I could do this. That I could live my dream, after all; why was I the only one that wasn't doing what I wanted?

'Thankyou sir.' I said nervously. He shuffled though the papers as I stood there nervously, wondering what to say.



A smile was one my face as I walked through the door to the apartment I shared with my wife. I had quit, I was free I was happy. But those thoughts instantly left my head when I saw Monica. She was at the kitchen table with her head in her arms, it was obvious that she was crying.

'Monica? Honey what's wrong?' I asked walking over to her. Her head snapped up when I spoke and she stood up to look straight in to my eyes. Her sweet blue eyes were bloodshot and lined with tears that were stained down her cheeks.

'Don't you 'honey' me! Tell me what the fuck this is!' She yelled at me, trusting a note to my chest before storming off to the bedroom. The note fluttered to the floor as I stood there, too shocked to realise it at first. After a few seconds I bent down to pick up the note and m heart felt like it was shuddering to a halt when I saw what it was. Scribbled roughly in my handwriting, stained with blood and tears of anger, frustration and grief was the suicide note I wrote in my dream. But how did it become real?

'Dear God' I thought as I stared at the note. It was real, it was exactly what I had wrote, all the spiteful, hurt filled words that I had wrote to my friends in a time of utter desperation as I prepared to slit my wrists and end my life. My hands started to shake, how was it real?

I pulled up my sleeves, looking to see if the scars were there. They looked real too, but they were still oozing with blood, dripping down my arm and staining my shirt. I cried out, what was happening?

I heard the sound of a door opening but it was as if it were from a great distance away and it was the last sound I heard before the roaring of blood filled my ears. I looked down at the kitchen table, the knife was there as if I had just used it, gleaming with the thick red liquid in the bright light of the kitchen.

I didn't hear as my wife asked me what was wrong. I backed away from the person I felt touch me, finding their comforting touch disturbing. I backed in to the counter as I knelt down to the floor, blood starting to pour from the wounds that were becoming larger and deeper without me doing anything. I shut my eyes as visions began to appear before me and I lost total sense of my surroundings. Blackness shadowed around me and the last conscious thought I had was the terrifying realisation that this was not a dream.