A/N: CLASS OF 2003 ROCKS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Now that I've got THAT out of my system... well, I don't. Graduation rocked. We rock. *I* rock! lol... kay. The fic. Thanks for the reviews. Okay, me and Becca are update buddies! In case you haven't gotten the hint, GO READ "This Isn't Living". Okay?
Disclaimer: I own another highly hysterical conversation!
Me: WIEFY!
Me: omg best word EVER
Me: hahahhaa
Me: *wifey
Me: not wiefy
Me: lol
Me: wiefy?
Bec: lol
Bec: um
Bec: dont look at me!!
Me: hahahahha
Bec: *holds up her VERY white person sign*
Me: IALOL!!!!
Me: i think *i* need one of those
Bec: here, i have 2
CHAPTER SIX
Monica was all but giddy over the next few days. Being with Chandler made her forget that she couldn't see, that her life as she knew it could be over; and kissing him was even better. They talked on the phone the next day, and he asked her out for Friday night.
Rachel was incredulous. "I can't believe you invited him up here and then he kissed you," she said. "And you don't even know him!"
"Yes, I do," Monica insisted. "Look, Rachel, if this were last week and I wasn't blind, you'd be telling me to sleep with him tomorrow. I'm the exact same person. And I - I really like Chandler."
Rachel sighed. "Mon, I know he said he didn't care about the... thing, but - just don't get your hopes up too high."
"What do you mean?" Monica asked, dumbfounded.
"I mean, sure, he may think being with you is great now, but... down the road, he may change his mind," she said tentatively.
Monica wasn't sure if she was kidding or not, so she made her reply just as elusive. "I'm hurt that you would say that."
"It's just - he's a guy, hon, and guys are like that. I just don't want your heart getting broken when he dumps you for someone who - "
"Someone who can see?" Monica interrupted. She stood up, her face heated with anger. "Whatever, Rachel. Can't you realize that not everyone in the world is as superficial, as shallow as you? Just because you think I'm worthless doesn't mean Chandler does." She stormed into her room, slamming the door behind her, and leaving Rachel standing in the living room.
But Monica knew that part of the reason she was so mad at Rachel was that she was afraid Rachel could be right. What if Chandler didn't want a real relationship with her? But he'd seemed so sincere when they'd talked... he'd said all those things about not caring that she couldn't see. Could that have all been lies?
Monica wanted to believe with all of her heart that Chandler wouldn't lead her on like that. But then she thought of the other men she'd ever known... Chris, who'd just dumped her a week before so he could spend quality time with his television; Paul, who'd tricked her into sleeping with him on the first date; and a thousand others who'd deceived, played, or screwed her in some way. She didn't have the best track record for finding men who really cared.
But was Chandler that heartless? Despite the way he'd been with her, talked to her, saved her life... Monica didn't trust him. She didn't trust him because for the first time in her life, she was powerless and vulnerable to the world around her. She couldn't trust anyone.
Monica sat stonily in the restaurant on Friday, talking only when Chandler talked to her. She felt conspicuous - like everyone was looking at her, pitying her. She couldn't help wishing she could see Chandler, see how he really acted around her, if he smirked as he talked or avoided looking at her. She wanted to know if he was who she thought he was. She couldn't concentrate on dinner or conversation, or anything except the growing resentment she was feeling.
As they finished dinner, they fell into silence. "Um, Monica," Chandler said, clearing his throat.
"Yeah?"
"Is something wrong?"
Monica bit her lip. "No."
"Okay."
Silence. Chandler coughed once.
"Monica. Please tell me what's wrong."
"Why do you think something's wrong?"
"Because you're not talking, and I know I haven't know you long, but the Monica I know never shuts up."
Monica smirked. "That's nice of you, Chandler." She sighed. "I guess I just - don't feel very well tonight, okay?"
"Do you want me to take you home?"
Monica rubbed her temples, her heart heavy. She liked Chandler, she really did - but she was too worried about whether or not Chandler was going to leave her that she wanted to end it before he had the chance to break her heart.
"Yeah. That's a good idea."
Chandler and Monica left the restaurant and out onto the sidewalk. She expected him to take her arm as they started down the stairs, as Ross and Rachel always did, but he didn't, only asked, "You okay there?" Then they got into a taxicab
"So, uh, I'll talk to you sometime soon?" Chandler's voice sounded pleading.
"Um, I'll - I'll call you."
There was a pause. "Oh. Okay."
She had given him the ultimate brush-off.
Monica lay awake in bed that night, wondering if she had done the right thing my blowing Chandler off. She pictured the ceiling that she usually stared at when she couldn't fall asleep. It was so clear in her head, it was almost real. She blinked, feeling her eyelids open and shut on her cheeks. She couldn't see it, she couldn't see anything.
But she could cry.
Chandler flopped into his Barcalounger and ran his hands through his hair. Nice job, he thought bitterly. You blew it. The one woman you meet whom you actually like, who actually seems to like you back, just gave you the old 'don't-call-me-I'll-call-you' speech.
"Hey, what happened to your date with the blind chick?" Joey asked, coming out of his bedroom.
Chandler looked up and glared at him. "First of all, her name is Monica, not 'blind chick.' And second of all... it's over."
"What, she dump you?"
"She said, 'I'll call you,'" Chandler said.
"Ouch," Joey said, wincing. "Well, listen I've got a date with..." he paused, looking thoughtful. "I've got a date," he concluded, "so don't expect me back tonight. Later."
"Bye," Chandler mumbled. He sighed and leaned back in his chair. He was in for a long night, full of resentment and wondering and pain. What had he done wrong? He'd lost Monica before he'd ever even had her.
You haven't lost her, Chandler thought. She said she'll call you, remember? He sighed. Yeah, or else I'll just go have a threesome with Yasmine Bleeth and Demi Moore. I'd put my money on the threesome.
Monica woke up the next morning in darkness. She fumbled around for a moment, struggling to pull the covers off of her head, but then she realized her blanket was on the floor and she was sitting up. There was nothing blocking her vision. She just couldn't see anymore.
It was at this moment every day in the days since her accident that she simply wanted to fall back into bed, to forget the world, to go to sleep and never wake up. But then she smelled the coffee Rachel had made, and heard the television on, and she knew that if she ever wanted to live again, she had to get out of this bed. That was the first step to having her life back.
She stepped out of bed and picked up her cane, feeling her way out of her bedroom.
"Hey, morning, Mon," Ross's voice said.
"Morning, sweetie," Rachel said.
"Morning, guys. Ross, what're you doing here? Don't you have work?"
"Oh, well, yeah, but Rach is going in early, so I thought I'd come and - "
"Baby-sit?" Monica finished flatly.
"No, it's just - "
"You thought I couldn't take care of myself on my own. Ross, go to work. I don't need you to sit here with me like I'm some freaking child. Just - go. Please."
There was silence. Monica had folded her arms. "Okay, Mon, if that's what you want."
"It is what I want. Thank you."
They left a while later, and Monica was left alone with her thoughts, her bleak, desperate, pessimistic thoughts - of being trapped in the darkness for the rest of her life; of never working again. It was too much. She was starting to wish that Ross had stayed, as much as she detested his brotherly presence.
She picked up the phone, wondering who she could call. Her mother? No, Judy was convinced that Monica was faking the whole blindness thing. Someone from work? No, they knew she might never work again and they treated her like a baby. There was no one she could call. Except....
Chandler?
No. She wouldn't call him. He would only hurt her. As sweet as he was, as caring, as amazing... nothing good could come of it.
Nothing except finding the love of your life.
She shook this thought from her head and hurriedly got dressed. She was mastering the ability to find her way around her room without her eyes. It was a good thing she was such an organized person. Shirts - left side of the closet. Pants - third and fourth drawers. Sweatshirts - shelf. She pulled her shoes on , picked up her cane and keys, and headed out the door.
She felt her way downstairs from her apartment. This trail she knew well, but when the door opened and she felt the warm sun against her face, she was suddenly frightened. She could hear the noise of the busy streets and the chatter of the people talking, but she couldn't see them. Taking a deep breath, she put her stick out and felt her way down the street. She knew if she continued to walk this way, she would find her way to Central Park. Listening to the people around her for cues on when to cross streets, she slowly made her way down the block. She whacked someone's leg, and they yelped in pain.
"Hey, watch it!" they cried. "What's the - oh. Sorry." The woman's voice ceased for a second, and Monica heard her mutter, "What out for the blind lady behind us."
Ignoring her, Monica made sure to walk haughtily past the woman. She walked for several blocks, listening the nearby busy streets get louder and louder, and feeling the air cool. Suddenly, she realized she should have made it to Central Park by now - but she wasn't.
"Excuse me," she said loudly, hoping a passerby would hear her. "Excuse me, where are we?"
No one answered.
"Excuse me," she said desperately. "Are we near Central park?"
"No where near it, hon," a raspy voice said. "But don't worry, your safe." A hand reached out and grabbed her arm.
"Hey - " she started to yell. But then a hand reached out and clamped over her mouth.
A/N: Okay, next part might not be up for a while. I'm going on vacation next week. Well, if you can call driving for 7 hours in a car with a 7th grader who likes to talk about her teacher's guinea pig, playing volleyball with a bunch of bitches, and being trapped in a hotel room with aforementioned 7th grader and bitches for a week a vacation... *rolls eyes*. Wish me luck. Wish them luck too... I get cranky when I'm annoyed. Hehe.
Yen
