Writings on the Wall – Chapter 3
A/N: Happy 2004 everyone! (it is 2004, right?) Now I'm gonna havta remember to put '04 on all my papers…like I need something else to confuse me. :p My last update before school starts again. *sob* This is evil! Anyway, I'll probably be updating Easy Lover tomorrow, in case anyone was wondering… yeah, no one was. Anyway, please read and review, thanks! :)
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this story, and I especially don't own Orlando Bloom. No one owns him. If anyone claims this *cough*yen*cough* then you should know that they're lying to you. Bwahahahaha (that was my work laugh, btw) :p
Monica knocked loudly on the white panel door. She then shifted in her spot anxiously as she waited. She looked around. The sun shone a faint orange as it set. A breeze set in, and Monica wrapped her black coat closer to her body. The door opened slowly, revealing a puzzled blond-haired woman. Monica smiled nervously.
"Hi, I'm Monica," she held out her hand, revealing a gray coat, "Your – uh – Chandler lent this to me a few days ago. I just wanted to return it."
A scowl remained on the woman's face for a few moments, before it broke into a wide grin, revealing unnaturally white teeth.
"Well, Monica, why don't you come in then?"
"I, uh, well, I should be getting ba –"
"Nonsense!" she insisted, "Chandler will be thrilled to see you!"
"He would?"
"Sure!" the woman continued, as she ushered Monica through to the living room.
"So, Monica, can I get you anything?"
"No thank you, ma'am."
"Oh, don't, don't say ma'am," she winked at Monica, "It makes me feel old. Call me Nora."
Monica just nodded uncomfortably.
"Why don't you have a seat, while I get Chandler, dear?"
"Okay, thank you very much."
Nora smiled and nodded, before hurrying up the beige-carpeted steps.
Monica looked around the room. It was quite lavishly furnished, complete with high ceilings and wooden floors. She sat down on the edge of the white couch, feeling highly out of place in her jeans and sweatshirt. Monica tapped her foot nervously and waited. After a minute, Monica heard Nora yell something and then trek down the stairs angrily. When she noticed Monica, her demeanor changed back to cheerful.
"You should just go on upstairs and visit him. He's being stubborn."
"I could just, umm, come back another time. I'm sure he –"
"No! Go on!" she laughed, "You know how men can get!"
"Sure…"
Monica rose and began to head to the stairs. When she passed, Nora leaned closer and whispered, "I'm so glad you're here. You know, he's been pretty depressed ever since that weird blond girl he was dating died."
"Well, I mean, I'm not, I mean…" she paused and noticed Nora's expectant look, "Yeah, I could imagine."
She smiled and pointed up the stairs. "He's the second door on the left."
Monica nodded and headed slowly up the stairs, Chandler's gray coat draped across her shoulders.
When Monica reached Chandler's room, she stood there for a minute. Chandler probably didn't even know she had come inside. He would probably be mad to see her in his home. After all, she was invading his privacy, especially since she had stopped by unannounced. Monica was about to turn around, and attempt to sneak past Chandler's mother, when she heard muffled guitar music through the door. She stopped and listened as he played. It was so beautiful. It was familiar. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. She felt at peace. She stood there until the song ended, and she snapped out of her daze. She felt the heat rise to her cheeks as she noticed what she had done. Set on leaving, she draped his coat on the doorknob, and turned to leave, but instead heard Nora's voice on the telephone. She couldn't just leave. His mother had seemed so intent on having Monica visit Chandler. Taking in a deep, steadying breath, she knocked on the door.
"Mom!" he yelled through the door, "I wasn't kidding when I said I didn't want to talk!"
Monica blinked, unsure of what to do next. She knocked again. She heard something slam down, and then rustling coming from inside. Suddenly, the door swung opened. Chandler opened his mouth to yell again, but, upon noticing Monica, he stopped at stared at her.
"Mo – Monica?"
"Hey Chandler."
"What are you doing here?"
"I, uh, I wanted to give you back," she took the coat off the door knob, "Give you back your coat." She held it out stiffly to him.
He nodded and grabbed the coat. "Thanks."
"No problem."
She turned to leave, but stopped abruptly and turned around.
"I'm sorry about coming up here. I hope you're not mad."
"No, it's okay."
"I mean, I just wanted to drop it off, but your mother –"
Chandler sighed. "God, my mother. She drives me crazy."
Monica smiled. "Whose doesn't?"
"Well, your brother doesn't seem to mind her. He's always asking them for permission before we do anything."
"I don't do that."
"I didn't say you did. He's a great guy."
She laughed a little. "Okay," she paused, "Was that you playing the guitar?"
He blushed. "Yeah, it was."
"Wow, you're really great!"
Chandler shook his head. "I'm really not. I just play during my spare time – not for people or anything, either."
"What were you playing? It sounded so familiar…"
Chandler's eyes narrowed in confusion. "Uh, Phoebe wrote it…"
"She did?" Monica blinked rapidly, "Oh, I must've been…confusing it with something else or…something."
He nodded. "Knowing her, she probably just ripped the tune off of some cat litter commercial or…something."
Monica chuckled, but couldn't help feeling uneasy under Chandler's puzzled stare.
"I should get going. My mom doesn't know I'm out."
He tore his eyes from her face and laughed bashfully. "I'll see you around."
"Yeah, see ya," Monica whispered.
After one last glance, Chandler broke eye contact, and walked back into his room. Monica watched until he closed his door, and then she headed down the stairs slowly.
- - - - - - - - - -
Monica sat down at the dinner table and sighed. She was suddenly not in the mood to eat. Her parents would make her, though. It was impolite to sit at the dinner table and not eat anything. She took some broccoli and began to nibble at it slowly. She half-heartedly listened as Ross excitedly relayed the events of his day to them. She didn't feel like listening today. Her brother was always bragging about his achievements, and her parents only made it worse. It wasn't that she didn't like her brother; she just didn't like him when her parents were around.
"Monica?" her mother called, snapping her out of her daze.
She looked up, "Hmm?"
"Aren't you going to eat some chicken, dear?"
"Uh, no thank you. I'm not really hungry."
"Now, I know you're thin and all now, but you need to eat!"
"But mom – "
"Then just take a small piece."
Monica looked over towards her dad, who just nodded in agreement with her mother.
Monica sat back and allowed her mother to put a drumstick on her plate. She sighed and picked at it.
"Do you not like my cooking?" Judy asked suddenly, "I know you're the big chef here, but I was hoping you could be big about it and just eat!"
"I wasn't saying that."
"Fine, then eat it."
Monica sighed and inwardly cringed, as she took a piece of chicken off and swallowed it.
"Finish it," her mother instructed.
Monica slowly picked off pieces and ate them. When her mother was satisfied, she turned back to Ross and began to ask questions again. Monica rolled her eyes and continued to pick at her food.
When Monica finished, she threw down her fork and said horridly, "Okay, I'm finished, may I be excused?!"
Before anyone could answer, Monica ran to the bathroom.
- - - - - - - - - - -
After dinner, Monica snuck out the back door and walked to school. She entered the gym, and watched as the boys competed in a game. She was so confused about what was happening. Was she sick? Aside from the vomiting she did before, she didn't feel sick. It was hard to not worry. There were so many suspicious things happening to her. She had felt hungry, until she saw dinner, and then began to feel sick. She kept blanking out. It didn't sound like any sickness she had ever heard of before.
During halftime, Monica ran onto the floor and grabbed John's arm. Startled, he turned around.
"Monica?! What are you doing here?"
"I need to talk to you."
"But I'm in the middle of a game!"
"It's urgent."
John looked around for a moment, nodded, and allowed her to pull him to the side.
"So, what's up?"
"I don't know – I mean really weird things keep happening to me."
"Weird things? What are you talking about?"
"Okay, remember at the memorial service how I like totally flipped out?"
"Yeah?"
"I can't remember any of that!"
"What?"
"I – I keep blanking things out."
"Mon – "
"And, you know what else? Today, I just like threw up out of nowhere. I felt fine before I ate, and now I feel perfectly fine again."
"Look, Monica, I have to get back. The game's starting and coach is not happy."
Monica looked up and noticed the coach staring harshly at them. She looked away. "But –"
"Whatever this is, it can wait. It just sounds like you're under a lot of pressure and so weird things happen to you. That's all." With that, he ran back over to the game.
"Yeah? Well, I always stress out and weird things have never happened to me before!" she yelled.
But it was too late. He had already left. Monica sighed and walked home dejectedly. She felt so lost. She knew that whatever was happening to her was more serious than what John was saying. Yet, if her own boyfriend didn't believe her, then who would?
- - - - - - - - - -
Monica walked dreamily though the park, humming a happy tune to herself. She took in a deep breath of the crisp December air. Her nose and cheeks were nipped pink from the cold, yet she was unfazed. Instead, she enjoyed the peacefulness of the early morning, as the tree branches rustled in the wind and her hair flew over her eyes.
She should have been in school. Yet, how could she stay in class all day? There was a perfectly beautiful world, which the teachers never taught about, just outside the window. It didn't seem like she was breaking any rules, when she was merely experiencing life firsthand. In fact, the only crime would be keeping her inside.
Aside from a few straggling joggers, the park was completely empty. There were no children playing on the swings, no babies crying, no couples kissing on the benches. It was in the perfect state of abandonment. She sat down behind a large tree, overlooking a bike trail, and pulled out a notebook and pen.
The words hadn't yet left her fingers, although she could feel them at the brink. She shut her eyes and imagined a world full of letters and colors, willing the geyser of inspiration to overflow. Instead, she heard a rusting behind her, and, before she could open her eyes, she felt the cold steal against her neck and everything went completely black.
Monica sat up quickly in bed. Her heart was pounding. Her body was covered in a cold sweat. She looked around urgently in the dark room. No matter the angle she looked in, she saw Phoebe. She shut her eyes. She shivered from fear. She heard Phoebe whispering. She ran from the room.
A/N: So, there you go. You people are smart. ;) Okay, I hope this fic doesn't suck now. Urgh, SAT tutor soon. Why does getting into college have to be so boring/hard? Please leave me a review. Thanks for reading! :) (there's nothing like a little randomness)