The One Where Mercury Continues

Original story by: Ezika

Continued with permission. Thanks, Ezika!

Continuation by: Jana~

Chapter Eight

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--Monica didn't have an answer to the Dr's question. She had asked herself that very question a thousand times, but, as hard as she tried, she couldn't come up with an explanation for what happened between feeling happy in Chandler's arms and wanting to end it all.

"I don't honestly know," she replied. "I just remember feeling like- like I was suddenly being swallowed whole, by something. By sadness and despair. Death seemed the only way to stop it."

"Why didn't you wake Chandler?" Dr Wagner asked. "Why didn't you talk to him about it?"

"I didn't want him to talk me out of it."

"Why not?"

"Because, I knew he would. He would've held me, and kissed me, and he would've promised me the world, and I couldn't do that to him."

"Do what to him?"

"Take him with me."

"Take him with you, where?"

Monica took in a shaky breath. "Into 'the pit'."

"Describe 'the pit' to me," the Dr requested.

"You feel alone, even in a room filled with people. You're always sad. Always struggling. It's like quicksand, the more you try to free yourself, the deeper you sink. It's easier to just let it swallow you up."

"When you were with Chandler, you were happy. That was your lifeline. Did you not see it?"

"I was afraid," she admitted.

"Of what?"

"I was happy with him, yeah, but then the sadness returned! It wasn't going to release its grip on me! He would try to help me out, but I would have taken him with me, back down! It's like a raging river. The current was too strong."

"So, you felt he would be in danger, if he tried to help you."

"Yeah," she whispered.

"Ok," the Dr continued, "You wrote a suicide note, before going out onto your balcony…"

Monica nodded. "Yeah."

"What was going through your mind when you were writing it?"

Shrugging, she said, "I don't remember. Before I started writing it, I remember thinking that he would blame himself for my death, if I didn't tell him not to. If I didn't explain. But while writing it, I don't really remember what I was thinking about specifically. I just remember pouring my soul into it."

"Then what happened?" Dr Wagner asked.

"I stared out the window, at the rain falling, for, I don't even know how long. Then, I climbed out the window, and sat on the ledge of the balcony. I was getting wet, but I didn't care. I remember starting to cry, but I'm not sure why I was. I knew if I waited much longer, I would change my mind. Lose my nerve. So, I carefully stood up, balancing on the ledge."

"I don't remember how long I was standing there," she continued, "Time seemed to stand still, but then I heard Chandler call my name. He asked me what I was doing, and he tried to come near me, but I told him to stop."

"Why?"

"Because, I didn't want him to help me."

"Why didn't you want him to help you?"

"I told you. Because I would've taken him with me."

"Into the pit?"

"Yeah."

"Then what happened?"

"I told him it was a mistake. Sleeping together. That I was too messed up to make a relationship work, and I would just mess him up in the process of trying. I told him I was scared of losing him as a friend, and he told me he would always be my friend. I told him the depression was too big. That I was drowning in it, but he told me he would swim in and save me. That's when I knew."

"What did you know?"

"I knew we could never go back, to what we had before. Friendship, hanging out and laughing. As long as I was around, he would be sad, cause I was sad. I couldn't do that to him."

"Go on," the Dr encouraged.

"He told he needed me, and that he loved me. I don't remember anything after that."

"You don't remember jumping?"

Monica shook her head.

"Chandler?" Dr Wagner addressed him, sympathetic as she watched him wipe the tears from his eyes. "What do you remember?"

He shook his head, "I don't want to do this."

"Why not?" she asked.

"It's too hard," he answered softly.

"I know it is," she told him, "But it's important to get it out in the open."

"Why? So we can all feel sad? I don't want to feel sad anymore!"

"Please, Chandler," Monica interjected, and he looked over at her, surprised. "I want to hear this. I want to know what you remember."

After sighing heavily, he nodded, clearing his throat. "I woke up, I don't know how long I was asleep for, and I looked around the room, but you weren't there. I checked the bathroom, and Rachel's room; I even thought about going across the hall, to see if you had gone over there for some reason. But then I saw you. On the balcony, standing on the ledge."

"I climbed out the window as fast as I could," he continued, his voice strained as he tried to hold it together. "And I called to her; she looked terrified, and she was soaking wet. I asked her what she was doing, but she didn't answer me. When she turned to face me, she almost lost her balance, and I tried to help her, but she told me not to, so I backed away."

"Why didn't you help anyway?"

"I thought if I tried, she would jump. I thought I could talk her down."

"Go on," the Dr requested.

"She said she had ruined everything, by sleeping with me, and that we could never make a relationship work, and would subsequently lose me as a friend. I told her I would never stop being her friend."

"She said she was scared," he went on, "And that she felt like she was drowning. I told her I would swim in and save her, but she said it was too strong. That she wasn't even sure she wanted to be saved."

"I begged her to let me try," he continued, his voice betraying his emotion. "I told her that I needed her, and that I loved her. She looked lost. Like the Monica I knew wasn't even in there anymore. She said she loved me too, then she turned and jumped."

"It happened so fast!" he exclaimed. "I remember screaming, and running to try and grab her, but I only caught a tiny bit of the shirt she was wearing. It slipped out of my hand."

"Then what did you do?"

"I saw her hit the ground, with a sickening thud, and I screamed her name, two or three times, before running out the door and down the steps to go outside."

He swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the lump in his throat. "She landed on a pile of old insulation and carpeting that was left out on the sidewalk. They were re-carpeting one of the units in our building. That's probably what saved her life. Some guy passing by gave me his umbrella to shield her from the rain, and he called 9-1-1 on his cell phone."

"I could tell she was still alive," he remembered, "Cause I could see her breathing, and I kept talking to her, waiting for the ambulance to get there."

"What did you say to her?"

"That I loved her. To hold on, cause help was on the way. Stuff like that."

"Then what happened?"

"Um, our friend Gunther came out of the coffeehouse, where he works," he recalled with effort. "He was working late that night, and he offered to run upstairs and get me some clothes, cause I was only in my boxers and was freezing my butt off. When the ambulance got there, I told them what happened. They said I could ride with her to the hospital, but once we got there, they whisked her away, and I didn't see her again for hours. It was like torture."

"And your nervous breakdown? Tell me about that," the Dr requested.

"Why?" he asked. "How would me talking about that help Monica?"

"Well, in a way, isn't Monica responsible for your breakdown?" Dr Wagner asked. "Shouldn't she know what her actions did to you?"

For Monica, it was easy to see what the Dr was doing. She was playing devil's advocate, pushing buttons to get a reaction out of Chandler, to bring out emotions he had long since buried. She'd done the same thing with Monica, when she first started going to her.

In time, Monica learned to open up to the woman, but in the beginning, she guarded her feelings carefully, just like Chandler was doing now. With a bowed head, Monica sat silently and allowed the Dr to do her job.

"What?!" he asked, indignant. "What kind of doctor are you?"

"What?" the Dr feigned innocence. "Isn't it her fault? Whose fault is it, if it's not hers?"

"It's not anyone's fault!" he shot back. "I hadn't slept in hours! I hadn't eaten, and I'd had a million cups of coffee!"

"Yes, maybe, but that won't cause you to have a nervous breakdown, Chandler."

"It lent to the situation! It didn't cause it!"

"But there was something that caused it. Something that you have been avoiding, because it's easier than facing it."

"It was a stressful situation," he argued. "We didn't know if she was going to die."

"And who is 'we'?" the Dr interjected.

"Me. Her friends. Her brother."

"Ross, right?"

He sighed, irritated by her seemingly disorganized questions. "Yes. Ross."

"Weren't you arguing with him when you collapsed?"

His exasperated expression softened slightly, and he fidgeted as he answered. "Um, yeah."

"What was that argument about?"

He glanced at Monica out of his peripheral vision, then cleared his throat anxiously. "I admitted to him that Monica and I had been… intimate."

"Was he angry?"

"Surprised, I think, more than angry."

"What did he say to you?"

"He asked me how I could do something like that. How would it be helpful to her?"

"What was your answer?"

"I told him that she came on to me, and that she seemed too frail to take the rejection."

"So, the only reason you slept with her is because you didn't want to upset her by saying no?"

There was a long pause before he replied, his voice quiet. "No. I didn't initially push her away, because she seemed too frail, but that's not why I slept with her."

"Why did you sleep with her, Chandler?"

Taking a deep breath, he announced, "I didn't want to do this like this."

"I don't understand," the Dr told him, requesting further explanation.

Obviously annoyed with the woman across from him, he threw her a look before facing Monica, giving her hand a squeeze when he realized he was still holding it. "I made love to you that night, because… I'm in love with you, Monica. I probably shouldn't have. Make love to you, I mean," he clarified, "Because you were so vulnerable and sad, but, when you said you wanted me… I believed you…"

"I meant it," she told him softly. "I did want you. I still do."

"This is so not how I wanted this to be," he whispered. "I wanted to take you to a fancy dinner, and dancing. I wanted there to be wine and soft music, when we had this discussion. I wanted it to be special," he added.

Monica smiled. "You could have said those words in the middle of a trash barge, and it still would've been special."

He couldn't help but chuckle. "The smell would make it memorable, I'm sure."

"Let's talk about the breakdown now," Dr Wagner suggested, gaining their attention.

"We're seriously going to do this?" he asked, and the Dr nodded. With a shrug, he said, "I was stressed, and I felt guilty. I thought I drove her to do it. I thought I was the last straw, so to speak, that made her want to end her life. I thought I was going to lose her, having never told her my feelings for her. I thought Ross was going to kill me, for doing that to his sister. I wanted him to," he added sadly.

"Kill you?" Dr Wagner asked, and he nodded slowly. "What changed? What made you decide that dying wasn't the answer?"

"Well, I got some sleep, for one," he joked, and the Dr cracked a tiny smile, but nothing more. "Her note," he admitted, continuing. "I read her note, and I realized, I wasn't the reason she wanted to die."

"Why do you think she wanted to die?"

"Because she didn't think the sadness would ever stop. Because she didn't think she would ever be happy again, and she couldn't live life like that."

"Do you think her reasoning is justified?"

"There is no good reason to throw yourself off a balcony," he replied, his annoyance of the question showing through, "But I realize, at the time, she didn't have the ability to reason."

"But, she had enough wits about her to write you a note," the Dr reminded.

Chandler just stared at her for a moment, then asked, "Do you hate Monica or something?"

Dr Wagner laughed. "Of course I don't hate her. Why do you ask?"

"Cause, your questions seem, to me, like you are trying to convince me to be angry with her. Or hate her or something."

"Not at all, Chandler. I'm trying to reach you, emotionally. If I don't challenge your point of view, you are more likely to spout off answers that others want to hear, instead of how you really feel."

"Well, I really feel like you need to stop it. I don't blame Monica for her depression, or for the attempted suicide, or for my nervous breakdown. I think she wrote the note, because she cared enough about me, and her friends and family, to do so. Even while so depressed and despondent, her love for us was so strong, that while she was ready to end her life, she was thinking about us! I think that says a lot about her, don't you?"

The Dr smiled and nodded. "Absolutely. But, answer me this, Chandler. If she had so much love for you and her friends and family, why didn't she think about how her death would affect you and them?"

TO BE CONTINUED…

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