Title: Just Like A Woman

Author: Kaitlyn

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Burning lungs, dirty dancing, nightswimming and second chances...Loud music, tainted smoke, fiery kisses and racing hearts. Everyone remembers what it was like to be 18. Established R/R and eventual C/M.

Ah, I know it's been forever between updates! School's out now, though, and I have some time before venturing back to NYC. (Who knows, maybe there will even be time for a repeat sisterly duo update!) :-)

Here comes some more drama, but in a different light and with a different twist. In case you haven't noticed, I like to play with the character of Rachel's potential for really deep psychology. This chapter includes a lot of it, but less directly pertaining to Ross. Don't worry, though, because he plays a big role, too.

Also, about the time period of this piece...I know that I had Rachel and Monica listening to CD's earlier and wearing somewhat modern clothing. To tell you the truth, when I came up with the concept for the story, I wasn't really concerned about the time period. I never considered it. Just to ease any confusion, though, let's say that it's set in the modern day.

"Okay," Monica began, pointing to a bunny-eared page in her magazine while sipping her ice tea, "so what do you think? The white dress with the navy blue trim or the gold dress with the black trim?"

Prom was nearing, as was the end of the year, and Monica and Rachel were sitting quietly in a tucked-away nook in the back of Johnny Rocket's dinner with several magazines sprawled across their table, discussing what prom dress and shows Monica should get.

"I don't know," Rachel admitted, opening a different magazine and turning quickly to a specific page, "I think this pink one would look better on you. Plus, I saw these REALLY cute, strappy pink shoes the last time I was in Soho. They'd go GREAT with that." Suddenly, something occurred to Rachel. "Oh, so you ARE going with Chandler?"

"Yeah," Monica answered, smiling adoringly and wistfully. "He officially asked me last night on the phone. It was cute- he was so embarassed. I think he thinks prom is lame, but I guess most guys do."

"Yeah," Rachel answered, nodding, "Ross puts on a happy face, though, because he knows how important it is to girls. Ugh, I'm so glad we already got our dress and tux. It's such a relief."

"Hey," Monica began, closing her magazine and crossing her arms on top of the table, "doesn't it make you a little sad to think about Ross going off to college next year? I mean, prom is kind of the last big milestone before graduation. Have you thought about it at all?"

Rachel's face dropped a bit and she sighed quietly, but was obviously trying to hide her disappointment. She and Ross didn't talk about it much, but she thought about life without him almost every day. Sometimes, she would wake up in the morning with a pit in her stomach after an especially gut-wrenching dream about him cheating on her with some nondescript, 20-something slut at a frat party. She'd pictured his empty attic room and his packed car pulling away down the street more times than she cared to recall. Instead of baring all of this to Monica, though, she just nodded and nonchalantly brushed it off.

"Well, yeah, of course I've thought about it. It makes me a little sad, but I know we're going to work through it. And, there's always the chance he'll go to NYU." Even as she said it, though, she felt like she was lying to herself. Ross was smart. No, Ross was borderline genius. He'd mentioned applying to schools like Cornell and Dartmouth. Princeton had even passed by in casual conversation. NYU was a good school, but she had a sinking feeling that the only reason Ross would ever consider it would be to stay close to her, and that thought made her sick. As much as she loved Ross, she would never be able to live down the thought of holding him back from living up to his potential. Feeling the tears well up in her eyes, she decided to change the subject.

"What about you?" she asked quickly. "Don't you worry about Chandler?"

"I guess I haven't really had time to think about it yet," Monica confessed. She hadn't had time to think about it. Everything with Chandler had been moving fairly quickly. She wasn't even certain that they were a "couple" yet. Besides, Chandler had been pretty confident all along that he was going to NYU. Monica felt bad for her friend, though, so decided not to mention that particular detail. There was a gaping silence between the girls for a few seconds that seemed to wrap themselves around the pair in a crushing grip. Finally, it was brought to an end by Ross' sudden appearance at the table.

"Hey guys," he announced, sliding into the booth next to Rachel and leaning over to kiss the side of her head.

"What're you doing here?" she asked, surprised and delighted to see him. They hadn't talked since their confrontation in his bedroom the previous night, but it had ended well, with a mutual understanding and hours upon hours of silent confessions and cuddling beneath his blankets. Around midnight, he'd walked her all the way down the street to her house in the rain, not letting go of her hand once. He even took off his sweatshirt and held it over her head with the other hand, sacrificing his own dryness. It was the simple gestures like that that made her believe they would be okay. Currently, he was resting his hand on her thigh, rubbing the same spot on her jeans with his thumb and leaning sideways into her a little.

"I saw your car parked outside so I decided to stop in to say 'hi'. So...'hi'" he stated simply, looking over into Rachel's eyes and smiling, proud of his cute display of boyish charm. She kissed his nose softly but still managed to roll her eyes.

"Oh yeah, your mom called our house a few hours ago, Rach," Ross began, having remembered only that instant. "I told her you were out with Mon, but it sounded kind of important. You might want to go home to see what's up, or at least call her."

Rachel's mouth slid open a bit in confusion and her eyes darted quickly across the table from her best friend to her boyfriend. She moved to get up immediately but Ross grabbed her hand before she could go anywhere.

"Woah, calm down," he cooed, rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb for comfort. "I'm sure it's nothing serious. Do you want me to go with you?"

She faltered for a moment, hesitating, but finally nodded her head weakly and waited for Ross to get up from the booth to follow her out the door. Monica drove Ross' car home while he climbed into the passenger's seat of Rachel's convertible, barely allotted enough time to fasten his seatbelt before she'd peeled out of the parking lot of the dinner and began speeding towards her house.

"Woah, Rach, slow down!" he cautioned, gripping the door handle with his right hand and her hand on the gear shift with his left. Upon the contact, she shot her head over to face him. Her face was completely blank and drained of color. He couldn't remember ever seeing her so out of sorts of anxious.

"Rachel, what's the matter?" he whispered, sensing intuitively that she knew something she wasn't telling him. She shook her head.

"Nothing. I just have a bad feeling, that's all." She swallowed deeply, gripping the steering wheel with both hands and white-knuckling it the entire way home.

Rachel shut the front door of her house with an earsplitting slam, just barely giving Ross enough time to slide through without being crushed. She dropped her purse on the floor and jetted up the flight of stairs in front of her, turning down the long hall to her left and leaving Ross in her dust. Deciding not to pursue her any further into the depths of her house, Ross made his way up the flight of stairs and turned to the sitting area at the right, picking up a magazine off the coffee table and sitting down in a chair to wait for her.

He hadn't said anything to her before, but he couldn't shake the feeling that her mother's news was bad. He had tried to assure her that everything was going to be okay, but judging by the wary and shaken inflection in Mrs. Green's voice on the phone that afternoon, something told him that nothing good was going on under that roof.

He sat alone like that for what seemed like hours. In actuality, it was only about 45 minutes. He sighed, his eyes not having been keeping focus on the magazine. He'd been trying for the better part of the time to concentrate on the dragging and monotonous articles that littered the pages. By the time he'd flipped to the last page, having read it cover-to-cover, the words were understandable but barely registering. He turned slightly in his chair, his eyes drifting towards the white door that stood at the end of the long hallway. Light was seeping from beneath the crack at the bottom and he could faintly hear the unintelligible murmurings of Rachel and her mother conferring with one another. Though the subject matter was indecipherable, Ross turned his attention momentarily out the window to his right and let his gaze settle on the empty spot in the driveway where Rachel's father's 1970 Mach1 Mustang used to be parked and a pit formed at the bottom of his stomach.

Suddenly, he heard the crack of a door opening. He nearly leaped from his chair, springing to his feet like an eagerly expectant father from the 20's at the emergence of a delivery room doctor. The watched Rachel turn to shut the door quietly behind her and make her way towards him down the hall. He had half expected her to resurface from the room tear-streaked and bloodshot. She was none of those things, though. Her expression was deadpan, and upon making eye contact with him, she even forced a weak smile. That gesture in itself worried him, though, because he knew that she would never feign happiness if she weren't trying desperately to convince someone (maybe herself) that she was okay.

"So, uh, is everything alright?" Ross asked nervously, reaching behind him out of habit to the waistband of his jeans and tugging them up from where they'd been sagging around his hips. Rachel nodded, perhaps a little too exuberantly, clasping her hands in front of her.

"Oh yeah, you know...it was nothing." She hesitated in her response, the usual confidence of voice abating, and Ross caught it. He nodded slightly, his gaze never leaving hers. It was something, and he knew exactly what that something was. She knew he knew. So, they both stood there in a humid, sticky silence that seemed to soak itself into their skin, weighing them down and threatening them to acknowledge what they both knew to be true.

They could not, though. She, for fear that vocalizing it might make it true. He, because he simply could not do that to her. He refused to hold up a mirror to the burden that her home life had become. If she was content to never again mention her absent father or the jaded, fallen romantic that she called "mom", then he would play this silent game with her forever. He quickly found that he could not, however, go on without offering some bit of comfort. He was willing to pacify her- live alongside her in a world of denial- but he refused to do so coldly or distantly. He stepped forward a bit and wrapped his arms around her, feeling her hands go immediately to his back and her tears, warm and numerous, soak through his shirt. He buried his face into her hair. He kissed her forehead, her nose, her cheek. He tightened his grip around her, crushing her to his chest. He did not offer any words, though. He didn't feel like pretending- telling her that it was going to be okay or that he understood- when he had no idea.

Finally, she pulled away from him, staring at the floor to hide her tears. He had no idea why. He had never been embarrassed to cry in front of him before. She had never been embarrassed to cry in front of anyone. That was one of the most endearing things about her- her uninhibited, pure emotion. He reached out his arm, putting his hand under her chin and lifting her head to meet his gaze. She smiled a bit, her eyes seemingly shining more brightly than usual from the light catching her glazed tears. She grasped his arm with both of her hands, squeezing firmly.

"I, um...I think maybe you should go," she whispered, clearing her throat a little and dropping her stare from his eyes down to his chest. She was still clasping his arm firmly, almost bartering with herself to let him go, but she made no move to. He was utterly confused. She had wept so openly before him, wrapping her arms tightly around him. Even now, she was clutching onto his arm for dear life. Still, she'd asked him to leave.

"Wh...I, um...I don't understand," he confessed, tripping over his words. The moved the hand of the arm that she was still holding to caress her cheek, causing her eyes to dart up and look into his. He searched them for some answer, but found none. There was nothing there in that instant but a deep, vacant void. She sniffled a little, fighting back anymore tears.

"I think you should go," she stated matter-of-factly, her voice not faltering at all this time. He furrowed his brow at her, not understanding her words. She was digging her fingernails into the skin on his arm, now, tugging it softly towards her. Her demand was so clear, but her actions contradicted their finality in her refusal to let him go. Tears were forming again in her eyes, but she bore down on her jaw and fought them back. He shook his head, stepping forward to hug her. In hindsight, that was his biggest mistake. It triggered something inside her that had been hung or caught in a groove and she let go of his arm upon his advancement, stepping back and retreating away from him. He let his arms fall like dead weight to his side, only able to stand there with his mouth agape.

"Fine," he surrendered, shaking his head and turning towards the steps. He realized that he could not leave without saying anything more, though, so he turned back to face her before he descended the staircase. She was still just standing there, her shoulders slumped and her face absent of any emotion. Her eyes pleaded with him, though. He saw it and, in that split second, he understand. She needed to be on her own- needed to prove to herself that she could handle this alone. Maybe she saw it as practice for when her mother finally reached that downfall that she was daily crawling towards. She still wanted him there, though, but could find no way to vocalize it without letting herself down.

"You just, uh...call me if you want me," he offered, presenting her with a crooked half-smile before he turned to retreat down the staircase for good that day. He did not turn back around to see if she smiled back.

Ross slammed the door of his locker, turning to see Monica walking down the hall towards him. He was relieved at the sight of his younger sister, because he had not seen or talked to Rachel since he left her house almost 48 hours ago and he was certain that Monica must have talked to her since then.

"Hey Mon," he greeted her, pretending to be nonchalant. "What's going on?"

"Not a lot- just getting ready to go to lunch." Uh oh, Ross thought. Monica almost exclusively went to lunch with Rachel. He couldn't help but look intrigued and a little anxious.

"Oh, uh, with who?" he asked nervously, mentally kicking himself for not coming off more casually. Monica smiled.

"Yes, I'm going with Rachel. She's fine, Ross. She just needs some time." These last words worried Ross.

"Needs time to what? Or from what?"

"You know," Monica began, her eyes narrowing and her words coming out accusingly and pointedly, "I would think you, of all people, would be able to understand how hard this is for her. She's been watching her parents' marriage fall apart for years, now. Her dad's gone, maybe forever, and her mother just sits in their bedroom and cries all day. This isn't easy for her, Ross. It's too much to juggle being a daughter, and a student, and a girlfriend all at once." Her words were becoming increasingly terrifying to Ross, and he swallowed deeply when she was done.

"Just what, uh...what are you saying?" he asked, scared to death of her reply.

"You know how much she loves you, dumbass," Monica replied, her tone somewhere between sarcastic and playful. "She'll come around eventually. You just have to wait."

With that, she turned on her heels and began back down the hallway in the direction she'd come from. Through the sea of people, Ross barely made her out as she met up with a girl whose hair shown like rays of sunshine and whose eyes could pierce through stone with their electric blue. Across the hall, their eyes locked and his stomach dropped. That's all I do anymore, Ross thought to himself. Wait.

Monica and Rachel sped along the open road in Rachel's red Celica convertible, the wind whipping through their hair and the radio blasting. In the past two days, they had been spending more time together than ever before. Monica knew Rachel needed the comfort of a best friend right now, so she had essentially dropped all other duties and responsibilities to be there for her. They had spoken only briefly about he divorce and not at all about Ross since Rachel broke the news to her. Monica felt for her brother, though, and felt some inextricable duty to report back to him on Rachel. She had been watching him mop around the house for the past two days- hauling himself up in his room, listening to sad music, writing vigorously in his journal and losing sleep. She turned the dial on the radio down, halting Rachel's humming along.

"Hey, Rach, you know, we haven't really had a chance to...talk," Monica began unsurely. Rachel didn't take her eyes off the road to look at her.

"Yes we have. We just haven't," she answered dryly.

"Well, let's remedy that, shall we?" Monica suggested in her normal, up-beat tone.

"Can we not?" Rachel asked, sighing deeply. She reached to turn the volume on the radio back up, but Monica caught her hand and stopped her.

"Rach..."she began, waiting for her to toss a glance her way. Once she did, Monica let go of her friend's hand and leaned back in her seat. Defeated, Rachel nodded.

"Okay, what do you want to talk about?"

"Well," Monica started, wracking her brain for just what to ask. More than anything, she was trying to figure out what would ease her brother's mind. "Let's start with Ross." There, she thought. That should cover all the bases.

"What does he have to do with my parents getting divorced?" Rachel asked sardonically and somewhat bitterly.

"You tell me," Monica quipped back, the pointed sting of her words hitting Rachel hard and causing her to whip her head around to glance at her friend.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked defensively.

"Come on, Rach," Monica pleaded, hoping that they could just cut to the chase before they had to be back at school. "You know you've been pushing him away. He's so worried about you. He's losing sleep. Don't you think you at least owe him an explanation?" Rachel seemed taken aback by the revelation of how hard Ross was taking all of this.

"Yes," she answered weakly, her words seemingly evaporating into the interstice between them. "I owe him more than that."

"What do you mean?" Monica asked, genuinely confused. Rachel sighed again, tightening her grip on the steering wheel. She pulled into the parking lot of the local coffee shop they'd been heading to, but neither moved to exit the vehicle once they'd parked. Instead, Monica watched her friend as she sat with her head lowered and her gaze fixed on her fumbling hands in her lap.

"I've been doing a lot of thinking..."Rachel trailed off, obviously lost in thought. Monica wondered if her friend even remembered that she was still there. It seemed like she was speaking more to herself than Monica- trying desperately to disentangle her own disordered thoughts.

"Yeah?" she encouraged. At this, Rachel looked up at Monica and she could see for the first time the tears that were streaming down her cheeks. She wasn't sure when Rachel had started crying, but the tears were abundant and almost shooting from her friend's eyes. Her lips were quivering and she could tell that it was difficult for her to even continue. Supportively, Monica reached across the consol and paced her hand over her friend's.

"He deserves better than this, Mon," she choked out, her voice cracking and plagued by small hiccups before the sentence was done. Monica frowned and squeezed Rachel's hand.

"What are you talking about, Rachel? Better than what?"

"Better than THIS!" she answered explosively, throwing her hands up into the air and bringing them back down against the tight leather of the wheel, causing a loud "honk" to irradiate from the car. Monica jumped at the sound, but Rachel was obviously too far gone to have even noticed it. She was crying overtly, now, and showed no signs of trying to hide it. Her speech was slurred and her face was red.

"Look at me, Monica! This is all so fucked up! I'M so fucked up!" Monica was almost frightened by her usually tranquil friend's volatile emotions. She kept quiet and waited for her to finish, though. She listened and watched as the words poured from Rachel.

"Ross is the best thing that's ever happened to me, but I can barely let him touch me anymore without freaking out! And because of a DREAM, Monica! I had a DREAM and I can't even face him some of the time! Then, my parents get divorced, something I saw coming a MILE away, and I push him away when he's only trying to help! He cares so much about me, Mon..." she trailed off, shaking her head and then leaning it, beaten and tired, against the steering wheel. "He cares so much about me, and I'm too selfish to even let him know I'm okay. I owe him more than just an explanation."

It was quiet in the car for several pregnant minutes before Monica could think of what to say in return.

"Rachel...what are you saying?"

"I'm saying," she began, lifting her head and looking over at her friend, "...I'm saying that I refuse to hold Ross back. I refuse to make him take care of me...I refuse to make him babysit me." She paused, perhaps for effect but perhaps because she didn't believe she could actually say it. She didn't think she could really mean those next words. "I mean that I'm not going to let him waste anymore time on me."

"Rachel," Monica warned, her tone of voice almost threatening. "Don't say that. You know Ross loves you more than anything else in the world..."

"Yeah, I DO know that," Rachel interrupted. "That's the point! It's not fair. It's not fair for him to invest so much in me when I can't give him anything in return. I'm just holding him back."

"From what?"

"From everything! From having a girlfriend who's not a complete wreck. From going to the college that he deserves to go to. From being the independent guy that he needs to be."

"Rachel, is this about your parents?" Monica asked suddenly but firmly. "Are you saying these things because you think your father was holding your mother back?"

"Well, he was, wasn't he?!" she almost yelled, turning completely in her seat to face Monica.

"Rachel, don't do this," Monica pleaded, shaking her head. "Don't do this to Ross. Don't do this to YOURSELF. You are NOT your parents, Rachel. When you and Ross are together, you make each other happier than any other two people I've ever met."

"Yeah, well, ask my parents how they felt when they were graduating from high school. I'll bet you they felt the same way. Look what happened to them," Rachel answered bitterly. "My dad's gone and my mom told me last night that she's moving to California to be a marine biologist. She's finally going after her dream, Monica, and it took her 40 years of enduring a marriage she hated to get there. I'm not watching Ross roll over and die because he has to drag me along like a dead appendage for the ride."

"Wait, your mom's moving to California?" Monica asked, sidetracking from the conversation a bit. This was the first time she'd heard of this.

"Yeah, she's moving as soon as she can sell the house. Jill and I are moving in with Amy. I don't think I'm going to wait, though. I'm going to move in as soon as I can pack up all of my stuff. I just feel like everything's falling apart, and maybe a complete change of scenery is a good way to start over."

"Rachel, this is ridiculous!" Monica yelled. "So, what? You're just going to start your whole life over because you don't like the way things started going? Are you going to get a new best friend, too?"

"Monica, that's not fair," Rachel stated firmly, pointing her eyes. "This is the best things for everyone. Maybe moving in with my sister and taking myself off Ross' shoulders is just what..." Monica cut her off.

"Rachel, you're not a burden to Ross! You're not a burden to ANY of us! If anything, you breaking up with him is just going to crush him more. For my brother's sake AND yours...don't make this mistake."

"No," Rachel protested, shaking her head. "Even if it is a mistake, I have to find that out for myself. I'm only looking out for him. If nothing else, my intentions are good." Rachel turned back in her seat and started up the car. Having never gotten their lunch, the two girls began to drive in silence back to the school.

"Yeah, well," Monica whispered under her breath, "the road to Hell is paved with good intentions."

"Knock, knock," Monica whispered, stepping up onto the top landing of the stairs that led to her brother's room. She found him laying on his stomach on his bed, writing in his journal. She wasn't surprised. He glanced up at her, blankly and indifferently, before nodding. She made her way across the room and sat down in the wooden chair at his desk.

"So, um, how are you?" she asked, knowing that it was probably the last question he wanted to hear. He didn't look up from his book, nor did he stop scribbling.

"I've been better," he replied dryly, and Monica couldn't tell if it was coming from sarcasm or detachment. Maybe a little of both.

"I made supper tonight. If you want some, I'll..."

"I'm not hungry," he snapped, reaching for the earphones that hung around his neck and moving to put them over his ears.

"Don't, Ross. I want to talk."

"No," he stated plainly.

"No? No what?"

"No," he sighed deeply, stopping his writing and looking up at his sister, "no I don't want to talk. No, I don't want to listen. No, I don't want to be interrogated. No, I don't want to pretend for one more second like I can have a normal conversation with anyone right now. Just no."

"I think maybe you'll want to listen to this," she offered hopefully. She harbored no resentment for her brother's short temper. She could feel nothing for him but sadness. When he didn't say anything, she took that as an invitation to continue. "When I talked to her today at lunch...before you guys...um...before she talked to you...she told me some things that might make this all make sense."

"Nothing could make this make sense," Ross replied, shaking his head subconsciously.

"Ross, her mom's moving to California."

"I know that. She told me everything. Well, almost everything," she added bitterly. Everything except why she was doing this to us, he thought to himself.

"No, I don't think you understand. I was at Rachel's a few weeks ago and she took out this picture of her parents when they were in high school. She told me this whole story about how her mom used to want to be a marine biologist, but when her dad got back from the war and was suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, she had to take care of him and put all her dreams on hold."

"You're wasting your time if you think you're telling me anything new, Monica. She's told me this before. I know all of this. This has NOTHING to do with her and me."

"God, Ross, for how smart you are, you're such an IDIOT sometimes! Of COURSE it has something to do with you and her! It has EVERYTHING to do with you and her! She thinks you're her mom and she's her dad and she's holding you back with all of her hand-ups and problems. She thinks she's a burden to you, Ross. She broke down today in her car, SOBBING and cursing herself for not being able to give you what you deserved."

Ross just laid there stunned. He couldn't believe what his sister was telling him. When Rachel had come over after school that day, she had already been crying. They sat on the porch swing out front for hours talking. It was all somewhat of a haze to Ross, but he recalled phrases like "starting over" and "baggage". He hadn't put everything together, thinking at the time that they were nothing but empty excuses used to soften the blow of knowing that she's simply fallen out of love with him.

"Ross, she never stopped loving you. I don't think that girl could stop loving you if the world depended on it. Love was never the problem. The problem is that Rachel's entire world flipped upside down in a matter of months and she's having trouble coping with it all. In her mind, the only logical antidote is to start over- remove herself from the situation entirely. That's why she's moving in with Amy. That's why she...ended things. She's distancing herself from everything she loves because it's just TOO damn hard for her to face them."

"I still don't understand, Monica. I can help her. I would do ANYTHING to take away all of her problems. I want to work through it with her. I want to be there for her. Why won't she let me? Does she not trust me?"

"She doesn't trust HERSELF, Ross," Monica answered, almost pleading with her brother to understand. "She can't look at herself in the mirror anymore. She doesn't want to be a part of the life that led to all of those things. It's like she wants to rewind and start down a different path."

"That's insane!" he rebuked, sitting up now on the bed. Monica nodded.

"I know, but it's what she has to do right now. You have to let her go. You have to let her try things this way for a while. All you can do now is hope she realizes what a mistake this is."

"God, I can't do that, Monica." He ran his hands through his hair and let himself back backwards onto the mattress. He stared up through the skylight, recalling the dozens of times that he had done so with her. He shook his head in refusal. "I can't just give up. I can't let her move miles away into the city and just forget about me."

"She won't forget about you, Ross. I'm sure a day won't go by when she doesn't think about you- about the two of you together."

"Jesus, what if she meets someone?" Ross pondered aloud, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. "I'd die, Mon. If I found out she was with someone else...God, I don't know what I'd do."

"She's not going to find anyone else, Ross. The second she's ready to be with ANYONE, you'll be the one. She needs time for herself, right now." Moments went past with no discussion. Nothing was heard on the third story of the house but their respective rhythmic breaths and raindrops against glass.

"What was it like?" Monica finally asked daringly. "What was it like this afternoon? You know...when she was talking to you?"

"It was like..." Ross trailed off, gazing upward and lost in thought. He shook his head again. "It was like I was someone else. I don't know how to explain it. It was like...it wasn't really happening." He paused, lifting his head momentarily to look at his sister. "I didn't believe it could be happening, Mon."

She saw the tears forming and she almost panicked. She had never seen her brother cry before. Even when he had gotten hurt playing sports as a little boy, he'd only screamed and pouted. She had never seen tears fall from those eyes, those, and the scene looked foreign. Before she knew it, though, his cheeks were tear-stained. She moved to the bed to sit beside him and she cradled his head in her lap as he rocked back and forth and wept silently into her leg.

"She broke my heart," he whispered, over and over. "She broke my heart."

"Nobody feels any pain

Tonight as I stand inside the rain

Everybody knows

That Baby's got new clothes

But lately I see her ribbons and her bows

Have fallen from her curls

She takes just like a woman

yes she does

She makes love just like a woman

yes she does

And she aches just like a woman

But she breaks just like a little girl."

End Chapter 10. Continued in Chapter 11.