Title: Never Again
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.
Just got back from a road trip to Philly with my sisters, so that's why I had to leave you hanging there for a little bit before an update.
ABOUT THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER I know that it was probably a little hard to read. Trust me, it was definitely hard to write. I know it could be argued that it was a little out of character for the types of storylines that we see portrayed on "Friends", but most fanfictions are. That's the point- to explore these characters more deeply and to see what they might have been if put in certain situations. It was very important to me in that last chapter to depict these characters in those lights- tormented, desperate and lonely- and especially so with Ross. Adolescence in a confusing time- probably the most confusing and heart-wrenching of a lifetime. That's what I was trying to convey in the last segment of the chapter. Some reviewers stated that they "didn't want to read about that" or that it was "distasteful". I'm truly sorry if anyone felt that way and I did not intend to offend. However, most of my stories contain R-rated sections, none of which I feel are too off-color or gratuitous. That last portion, in my eyes, was necessary to the plot of the story and the development of these characters. If you did not enjoy it...well...I guess I should say that I did preface it and warn adequately beforehand about the disturbing and adult nature of the chapter.
ABOUT CHARACTERIZATION: Some reviewers have said that they think I'm idealizing Rachel in her breaking up with Ross for his sake. I agree- I AM idealizing her. She is my favorite character and I think that the writers only skimmed the surface of the complexities that she could have conveyed. That wasn't their fault- it was the nature of the beast. "Friends" was a lighthearted show, and something as macabre as this would have had no place there. However, I find it fun and interesting to play with these characters, especially hers and especially during a younger time in their lives. If reading slightly out-of-character interpretations of the show isn't your thing, then most of my stories probably aren't for you, as I tend to romanticize a LOT.
Other than that, I appreciate all of the feedback. It really did help me decide where I wanted to take the story and it motivates me to continue with it.
The sterile white hallway swarmed with men and women dressed in starched green scrubs and austere faces. The air was sour and stale, basting the hallway with an almost yellow tint that bounced off the light coming from the overhead fixtures. Everyone working there looked as if they could use a bottle of Vodka and some serious shock therapy.
Ross flung himself through the swinging double doors that led into the ICU, showing no signs that they'd slowed him down or even that they existed in his path. He plowed his way to the nurse's station at the center of the ward, slamming his hands down on the counter and causing the unsuspecting and dazed nurse to jump in her chair and look up at him.
"I'm looking for someone," he stated emphatically, not even realizing that this small amount of information was not only inadequate but also immediately pegged him as suspect and even possibly off-balance. He was off-balance.
"Sir?" the nurse replied, obviously confused and even a bit scared. Ross repeated himself, this time leaning forward and bit and raising his voice.
"Green! Rachel Green! I need to see her!" he demanded, pounding his palms flat against the counter, causing the nurse to jump for the second time. She furrowed her brow and picked up a manila envelope that had been sitting in front of her behind the desk. She thumbed through it quickly and nervously, obviously shaken by Ross' aggression.
"When did you say she was bought in, sir?" the nurse asked. Before Ross had a chance to yell that he had no idea, a tall man in blue scrubs and a white overcoat approached the scene from the side. The man was obviously older from his thinning gray hair and creased skin, but he was tall and dwarfing, giving off an air of distinction and headship.
"What's the problem here?" the man asked calmly, apparently having overheard the commotion. How could he be so calm at a time like this, Ross thought, his palms sweating and claming up all at once.
"Yes," Ross almost whispered, his voice coming down but cracking with nervousness and frustration. Maybe a little fear, as well. "Rachel Green. I was told she was here. She was..." He stopped, biting his lip. He couldn't say it. Even when he had repeated it over the phone to Monica, he had vomited. The doctor nodding knowingly.
"Yes, I'm familiar with Ms. Green's situation. I'm afraid you're going to need to calm down, though, or I will have to have you removed," he warned. Ross nodded calmly, defensively crossing his arms over his chest and catching his breath.
"Is she, um...I mean, did she..." He didn't even know what he wanted to say. His voice was trembling, threatening to crack open and wither away into a whisper. Tears were falling silently from the corners of his eyes, leaving sad trails along his cheeks and down the bridge of his nose.
Monica had called him an hour earlier around 1 am. Her voice had been shaking drastically and she was obviously upset. Her could tell she was crying before she even spoke. Through her broken sentences, he listened as she unraveled the horrific events of that night. Rachel had been at a cub with her sister. Around 11 pm, the bartender said he saw her "stumble out the door" with a man who looked to be at least 10 years older than her and who he had not seen her with earlier that evening. No one knew what happened between then and midnight, when the police found her lying unconscious in the parking lot of the club. Traces of blood and semen had been found on her torn and tattered clothing.
She had been raped.
That's when Ross had vomited. As soon as he'd regained his composure, though, he'd grabbed his keys and fled out the front door to his car. When he arrived at the hospital, an hour away and inside the city, he hadn't even yet thought of the repercussions of what his sister had told him. His mind had registered nothing for 60 entire minutes except that he needed to get there. He needed to get to Rachel.
"Ms. Green was admitted around 2 this morning," the doctor answered, snapping Ross back to reality. "She was conscious but incoherent, having suffered several blows to the head and battery around the pelvis and collarbone. There was some internal bleeding and a few cracked ribs, but surgery has been unnecessary up until this point. We're still keeping her monitored and administering a steady dosage of morphine." He stopped and Ross wondered if the idiot thought he had actually provided enough information.
"Yes, but was she..." Ross trailed off again. For the second time, he was unable to finish that sentence. The doctor gave a sympathetic look, obviously feeling for this overwrought and most likely heartbroken teenage boy. He nodded.
"Ms. Green was raped, yes." Ross took a deep breath and looked as if he needed to sit down, teetering backwards a bit and having to catch himself on the counter behind him. The doctor reached out and grabbed his arm, steadying him.
"Who are you, son?" he asked.
"I'm her, um...well...she was...my sister is her best friend. She's the one who called me. I'm Ross Geller," he finally managed. The doctor nodded and gestured towards the hallway that curved back around the nurse's station.
"Ah, yes. Ms. Geller's been asking for you quite persistently. That's Ms. Green's room right over there- 212. I'm Dr. Burnside and I'll be checking in periodically. For now, she really just needs to rest." Dr. Burnside smiled understandingly and sympathetically. Ross nodded, turning on his heels and making his way meekly and terrified to Room 212.
"Where is he?" Monica whispered through gritted teeth over her shoulder to Chandler. She didn't want Rachel to hear her question. She had not even told her friend that Ross would be coming. Chandler simply shook his head, a look of uncertainty dulling his usually sparkly eyes. Monica sighed deeply and turned her attention back to the frail form in the bed before her.
She was huddled in a fetal position with her eyes squeezed tightly shut. The generic white hospital blankets were pulled up over her shoulders so that only her blood-drained face protruded from underneath them. Her hair was falling limply over her face, screening most of her face from view. She looked cold and helpless. She looked lonely.
"Maybe he got caught in traffic," Chandler suggested, stepping forward to rest his hand on Monica's shoulder out of comfort. She sunk back against his chest, letting herself be supported by his stable form. He kissed her temple softy, triggering a few tears to fall from her eyes.
Just then, the metal doorknob creaked and turned. The thick wooden door opened slowly and a boy who looked a bit like someone Monica knew once entered. This boy was not her brother. He was literally unrecognizable to her. His face was ghost white and his eyes were bloodshot. There were the kinds of dark circles underneath his eyes that emerged solely from stress, rather than fatigue. He looked as if he were ready to leave before he even closed the door behind him.
Monica watched as Ross surveyed the room, taking in the stark white wallpaper and the single window on the far wall. She watched as he grew disgusted at the impersonal nature of the room- the way in which it seemed to push all intruders out with a weightless vacuum. Then, she watched as his eyes fell inevitably on the bed.
"Is she..." he gulped, looking up at Monica for the first time.
"She's sleeping," she answered. She tried to smile but failed miserably. Ross went to stand by Monica and Chandler, taking his sister into an embrace that seemed to pull and push at her all at once.
"Where is Amy?" he asked, grasping at any possible excuse to keep his eyes and attention on his sister and best friend rather than the girl in the bed.
"She went home to get some of Rachel's things. She's the one who called me," Monica answered. Ross just nodded detachedly, his eyes fixed on something 1,000 miles in front of his nose.
"Any her parents?" he enquired. Monica just shook her head and looked down at the floor.
"No one knows where her dad is. Sandra couldn't get a flight out on such short notice. I think she's coming out this weekend, but...I don't know." She fixed her gaze over Ross' shoulder and at the bed. Ross refused to even look her in the eye when she did so, like he was afraid some light might reflect off his sister's eyes and causing a mirrored reflection.
"Do Joey and Phoebe know?" Ross asked, finding that he was running quickly out of questions.
"Yes. We called them right after you, but they thought it'd be inappropriate to come now. They said they don't know her well enough to be here with the family." Monica smiled as she said the last part. "I guess they consider us part of the family." She paused again, staring at Rachel for a few wordless moments. "They're coming in tomorrow."
Ross panicked momentarily, realizing that he had nothing left to ask or say. He would have to turn around. He would have to look- get a first GOOD look- at his nightmares reincarnate that laid resting on that bed. When he did, he felt a steady coldness wash over his body. After 2 months, this was how he was seeing her for the first time again. He shivered uncontrollably for a few moments. The he vomited again.
He ran into the hallway immediately afterwards. Monica was hot on his trail, ducking out before he could shut the door. She followed him to the bathroom and helped him get some paper towels, running them under the faucet and carrying them back to the door. A nurse had caught wind of the situation and took the towels from a very embarrassed Ross, who just thanked her and watched her disappear inside the room to the clean up the mess.
Ross paced vigorously back and forth in the hallway outside the room. Monica stood still against the wall with her fists clenched into tight balls at her sides. She was unsure of what to say.
"Did she see that?" Ross asked, his jaw taunt and his voice pleading.
"No, she's asleep," Monica reminded him. "It's okay, Ross," she comforted, having to stop herself from reaching out to physically touch him and hault his nervous pacing. "That's normal." Ross stopped to turn and face her, pointing an accusing finger in her face and clenching his teeth.
"Let me tell you something," he began, his voice as thick and deep as honey. "NOTHING about this is normal." Monica knew intuitively that her brother was not talking about his getting sick.
"Ross, you're right. It's an awful, disgusting, sick thing...but it HAPPENED. There's nothing you can do to get it back. Just deal with it, like all the rest of us." Monica was preaching to him, her tone firm and unyielding. Ross was taken aback by his sister's harsh words. He looked at her with unsure eyes.
"You're asking me to DEAL with this?" he asked sarcastically, pointing to the door. Monica nodded, crossing her arms.
"Yeah, I am. God, Ross, you know, you're not the only one who loves her. You're not the only one this happened to. We all have to grieve in our own way." Monica's tone was slightly less aggressive now, but her words and their meanings were still firm and said with command.
"Well this is my way!" Ross yelled, drawing attention from all the doctors and nurses who had been standing around. He pounded the flat of his hand firmly against the wooden door, making a harsh "cracking" sound and inadvertently knocking over a tin cup that hand been sitting on a table beside him. The cup tumbled to the ground and rolled clankingly away.
"This..."
CRACK!
"Is my..."
CRACK!
"fucking..."
CRACK!
"WAY!"
Upon saying the word "way", Ross spun around and leaned heavily against the wall, letting his body slide down to the floor. Tears shot from his eyes, but he did not even notice them until he saw them splatter to the floor. He buried his face in his hands and sobbed. Monica looked down at him and all feelings of anger and frustration left her.
"Ross..." she whispered. He just shook his head where it was in his hands.
"This wasn't supposed to happen," Ross whispered. "He took it from her. She can never get it back." Ross looked up at Monica and she saw that his eyes were already read and squinted from all the tears. His entire face was shining with salty wetness. He sniffled loudly.
"He took it..." he repeated groggily. "It was supposed to be mine, and he TOOK IT!" He pounded his head back against the wall on this last part to accentuate his point.
He laid his head back against the wall with his eyes shut. Monica was still standing there watching him, but he was no longer aware of her presence. He wasn't aware of anything. He was already dreaming. It was a vast, luminous dream where his entire life stretched out before him like a rainy landscape. Everything was covered with a clear, soft light and the sky seemed to be glazed with a glass surface. In this dream, and in this dream only, existed the last untainted memory he had of her. It was from that night at the reservoir. Her hair had been messily hanging open her eyes and her clothes had been soaked from hugging him after his swim. Her eyes were like two diamonds set into her flawless, tanned skin. She had been so young and innocent and trusting.
She had been so virgin.
It's all gone to Hell, he thought. She can never get it back.
"Can I come in?" Monica asked from the doorway, peering inside the room. Rachel smiled feebly and nodded. Monica stepped inside and closed to door behind her.
She was the only visitor in the room so she sat down in the plastic white chair and pulled it up next to the bed. It was the night of Rachel's third day in the hospital. Amy and Jill had already gone home for the night to sleep and she had explicitly asked Chandler not to come, having wanted adequate time alone with her best friend. Ross had left for the first time that afternoon. He hadn't actually been inside her room since that first moment when he threw up, but he'd waited and slept in the private waiting area outside her room for the nest 48 hours. He'd finally given up on ever finding the courage to or the justification for reentering the room so he'd left just hours before.
"How are you feeling?" she asked, because she knew she had to. Rachel had to stop herself from laughing at the question's absurdity.
"I'm alright," she answered simply. "Are you the only one here?"
"He just left a few hours ago," Monica answered, having known what Rachel really meant when she asked the question.
"He just left for the first time?" she asked, obviously surprised. Monica nodded.
"Yup. He stuck it out for 48 hours but I guess fatigue and grief finally got the better of him."
"Maybe it was better that way, anyway," Rachel admitted. Monica looked doubtful.
"Did you even want to see him?"
"God..." Rachel whispered, shaking her head in disbelief of the question and gazing up pensively at the ceiling above her.
"Do you still love him?" Monica asked, deciding to cut quickly to the chase. In hindsight, she'd regretted it. Immediately, the tears had welled up in Rachel's eyes. Her chin began to quiver as she stared back at Monica. She broke down then, nodding her head vigorously.
"So much, Monica..." she answered, allowing Monica to come sit on the bed with her and wrap her arms around her, rocking her back and forth. Rachel buried her head in her shoulder and clutched at Monica's back. "I still love him so much it hurt," she whimpered, her voice just barely above a whisper.
"Even after all this?" Monica asked, smoothing back her friend's hair. Rachel nodded, even as her head was still buried.
"Especially after all this."
"He still loves you, too, you know," Monica stated. It was not a question, but perhaps it should have been. "I honestly believe that he will never stop." Rachel actually chuckled aloud.
"He has not reason to," she answered. "He should hate me." Monica shook her head.
"Oh, sweety. He could never hate you. Not in a million years."
"I should have done it, Monica." Rachel shook her head, putting her face back down into her friend's shoulder and wrapping her arms back around Monica's waist. "I should have done it when I have the chance. Now, it's too late."
"It's never too late, honey. This was a very unique situation. You never could have known."
"It doesn't matter," Rachel answered, shaking her head. "I kept it from him until it was too late and now I can never give it back to him. I wish he had been the one, Monica. He should have been the one" She looked up into her friend's eyes again. "He'll never forgive me for this."
"Sweety, he does NOT blame you for this. This is NOT your fault. If anything, he blames himself. You know he always does when anything bad happens to you. He finds some way to take the blame. It's just his way of dealing with it."
"God, what have I done, Monica?" Rachel asked, shaking her head. "I messed this up so badly. I don't know if we can ever get it back. Things can never be the same now."
"Yes they can," Monica reassured. "Ross just needs some time. He's coping with it in his own way. We all are, sweety. He'll come around when it stops hurting so much."
It can never stop hurting, Rachel thought.
End Chapter 12. Continued in Chapter 13.
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.
Just got back from a road trip to Philly with my sisters, so that's why I had to leave you hanging there for a little bit before an update.
ABOUT THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER I know that it was probably a little hard to read. Trust me, it was definitely hard to write. I know it could be argued that it was a little out of character for the types of storylines that we see portrayed on "Friends", but most fanfictions are. That's the point- to explore these characters more deeply and to see what they might have been if put in certain situations. It was very important to me in that last chapter to depict these characters in those lights- tormented, desperate and lonely- and especially so with Ross. Adolescence in a confusing time- probably the most confusing and heart-wrenching of a lifetime. That's what I was trying to convey in the last segment of the chapter. Some reviewers stated that they "didn't want to read about that" or that it was "distasteful". I'm truly sorry if anyone felt that way and I did not intend to offend. However, most of my stories contain R-rated sections, none of which I feel are too off-color or gratuitous. That last portion, in my eyes, was necessary to the plot of the story and the development of these characters. If you did not enjoy it...well...I guess I should say that I did preface it and warn adequately beforehand about the disturbing and adult nature of the chapter.
ABOUT CHARACTERIZATION: Some reviewers have said that they think I'm idealizing Rachel in her breaking up with Ross for his sake. I agree- I AM idealizing her. She is my favorite character and I think that the writers only skimmed the surface of the complexities that she could have conveyed. That wasn't their fault- it was the nature of the beast. "Friends" was a lighthearted show, and something as macabre as this would have had no place there. However, I find it fun and interesting to play with these characters, especially hers and especially during a younger time in their lives. If reading slightly out-of-character interpretations of the show isn't your thing, then most of my stories probably aren't for you, as I tend to romanticize a LOT.
Other than that, I appreciate all of the feedback. It really did help me decide where I wanted to take the story and it motivates me to continue with it.
The sterile white hallway swarmed with men and women dressed in starched green scrubs and austere faces. The air was sour and stale, basting the hallway with an almost yellow tint that bounced off the light coming from the overhead fixtures. Everyone working there looked as if they could use a bottle of Vodka and some serious shock therapy.
Ross flung himself through the swinging double doors that led into the ICU, showing no signs that they'd slowed him down or even that they existed in his path. He plowed his way to the nurse's station at the center of the ward, slamming his hands down on the counter and causing the unsuspecting and dazed nurse to jump in her chair and look up at him.
"I'm looking for someone," he stated emphatically, not even realizing that this small amount of information was not only inadequate but also immediately pegged him as suspect and even possibly off-balance. He was off-balance.
"Sir?" the nurse replied, obviously confused and even a bit scared. Ross repeated himself, this time leaning forward and bit and raising his voice.
"Green! Rachel Green! I need to see her!" he demanded, pounding his palms flat against the counter, causing the nurse to jump for the second time. She furrowed her brow and picked up a manila envelope that had been sitting in front of her behind the desk. She thumbed through it quickly and nervously, obviously shaken by Ross' aggression.
"When did you say she was bought in, sir?" the nurse asked. Before Ross had a chance to yell that he had no idea, a tall man in blue scrubs and a white overcoat approached the scene from the side. The man was obviously older from his thinning gray hair and creased skin, but he was tall and dwarfing, giving off an air of distinction and headship.
"What's the problem here?" the man asked calmly, apparently having overheard the commotion. How could he be so calm at a time like this, Ross thought, his palms sweating and claming up all at once.
"Yes," Ross almost whispered, his voice coming down but cracking with nervousness and frustration. Maybe a little fear, as well. "Rachel Green. I was told she was here. She was..." He stopped, biting his lip. He couldn't say it. Even when he had repeated it over the phone to Monica, he had vomited. The doctor nodding knowingly.
"Yes, I'm familiar with Ms. Green's situation. I'm afraid you're going to need to calm down, though, or I will have to have you removed," he warned. Ross nodded calmly, defensively crossing his arms over his chest and catching his breath.
"Is she, um...I mean, did she..." He didn't even know what he wanted to say. His voice was trembling, threatening to crack open and wither away into a whisper. Tears were falling silently from the corners of his eyes, leaving sad trails along his cheeks and down the bridge of his nose.
Monica had called him an hour earlier around 1 am. Her voice had been shaking drastically and she was obviously upset. Her could tell she was crying before she even spoke. Through her broken sentences, he listened as she unraveled the horrific events of that night. Rachel had been at a cub with her sister. Around 11 pm, the bartender said he saw her "stumble out the door" with a man who looked to be at least 10 years older than her and who he had not seen her with earlier that evening. No one knew what happened between then and midnight, when the police found her lying unconscious in the parking lot of the club. Traces of blood and semen had been found on her torn and tattered clothing.
She had been raped.
That's when Ross had vomited. As soon as he'd regained his composure, though, he'd grabbed his keys and fled out the front door to his car. When he arrived at the hospital, an hour away and inside the city, he hadn't even yet thought of the repercussions of what his sister had told him. His mind had registered nothing for 60 entire minutes except that he needed to get there. He needed to get to Rachel.
"Ms. Green was admitted around 2 this morning," the doctor answered, snapping Ross back to reality. "She was conscious but incoherent, having suffered several blows to the head and battery around the pelvis and collarbone. There was some internal bleeding and a few cracked ribs, but surgery has been unnecessary up until this point. We're still keeping her monitored and administering a steady dosage of morphine." He stopped and Ross wondered if the idiot thought he had actually provided enough information.
"Yes, but was she..." Ross trailed off again. For the second time, he was unable to finish that sentence. The doctor gave a sympathetic look, obviously feeling for this overwrought and most likely heartbroken teenage boy. He nodded.
"Ms. Green was raped, yes." Ross took a deep breath and looked as if he needed to sit down, teetering backwards a bit and having to catch himself on the counter behind him. The doctor reached out and grabbed his arm, steadying him.
"Who are you, son?" he asked.
"I'm her, um...well...she was...my sister is her best friend. She's the one who called me. I'm Ross Geller," he finally managed. The doctor nodded and gestured towards the hallway that curved back around the nurse's station.
"Ah, yes. Ms. Geller's been asking for you quite persistently. That's Ms. Green's room right over there- 212. I'm Dr. Burnside and I'll be checking in periodically. For now, she really just needs to rest." Dr. Burnside smiled understandingly and sympathetically. Ross nodded, turning on his heels and making his way meekly and terrified to Room 212.
"Where is he?" Monica whispered through gritted teeth over her shoulder to Chandler. She didn't want Rachel to hear her question. She had not even told her friend that Ross would be coming. Chandler simply shook his head, a look of uncertainty dulling his usually sparkly eyes. Monica sighed deeply and turned her attention back to the frail form in the bed before her.
She was huddled in a fetal position with her eyes squeezed tightly shut. The generic white hospital blankets were pulled up over her shoulders so that only her blood-drained face protruded from underneath them. Her hair was falling limply over her face, screening most of her face from view. She looked cold and helpless. She looked lonely.
"Maybe he got caught in traffic," Chandler suggested, stepping forward to rest his hand on Monica's shoulder out of comfort. She sunk back against his chest, letting herself be supported by his stable form. He kissed her temple softy, triggering a few tears to fall from her eyes.
Just then, the metal doorknob creaked and turned. The thick wooden door opened slowly and a boy who looked a bit like someone Monica knew once entered. This boy was not her brother. He was literally unrecognizable to her. His face was ghost white and his eyes were bloodshot. There were the kinds of dark circles underneath his eyes that emerged solely from stress, rather than fatigue. He looked as if he were ready to leave before he even closed the door behind him.
Monica watched as Ross surveyed the room, taking in the stark white wallpaper and the single window on the far wall. She watched as he grew disgusted at the impersonal nature of the room- the way in which it seemed to push all intruders out with a weightless vacuum. Then, she watched as his eyes fell inevitably on the bed.
"Is she..." he gulped, looking up at Monica for the first time.
"She's sleeping," she answered. She tried to smile but failed miserably. Ross went to stand by Monica and Chandler, taking his sister into an embrace that seemed to pull and push at her all at once.
"Where is Amy?" he asked, grasping at any possible excuse to keep his eyes and attention on his sister and best friend rather than the girl in the bed.
"She went home to get some of Rachel's things. She's the one who called me," Monica answered. Ross just nodded detachedly, his eyes fixed on something 1,000 miles in front of his nose.
"Any her parents?" he enquired. Monica just shook her head and looked down at the floor.
"No one knows where her dad is. Sandra couldn't get a flight out on such short notice. I think she's coming out this weekend, but...I don't know." She fixed her gaze over Ross' shoulder and at the bed. Ross refused to even look her in the eye when she did so, like he was afraid some light might reflect off his sister's eyes and causing a mirrored reflection.
"Do Joey and Phoebe know?" Ross asked, finding that he was running quickly out of questions.
"Yes. We called them right after you, but they thought it'd be inappropriate to come now. They said they don't know her well enough to be here with the family." Monica smiled as she said the last part. "I guess they consider us part of the family." She paused again, staring at Rachel for a few wordless moments. "They're coming in tomorrow."
Ross panicked momentarily, realizing that he had nothing left to ask or say. He would have to turn around. He would have to look- get a first GOOD look- at his nightmares reincarnate that laid resting on that bed. When he did, he felt a steady coldness wash over his body. After 2 months, this was how he was seeing her for the first time again. He shivered uncontrollably for a few moments. The he vomited again.
He ran into the hallway immediately afterwards. Monica was hot on his trail, ducking out before he could shut the door. She followed him to the bathroom and helped him get some paper towels, running them under the faucet and carrying them back to the door. A nurse had caught wind of the situation and took the towels from a very embarrassed Ross, who just thanked her and watched her disappear inside the room to the clean up the mess.
Ross paced vigorously back and forth in the hallway outside the room. Monica stood still against the wall with her fists clenched into tight balls at her sides. She was unsure of what to say.
"Did she see that?" Ross asked, his jaw taunt and his voice pleading.
"No, she's asleep," Monica reminded him. "It's okay, Ross," she comforted, having to stop herself from reaching out to physically touch him and hault his nervous pacing. "That's normal." Ross stopped to turn and face her, pointing an accusing finger in her face and clenching his teeth.
"Let me tell you something," he began, his voice as thick and deep as honey. "NOTHING about this is normal." Monica knew intuitively that her brother was not talking about his getting sick.
"Ross, you're right. It's an awful, disgusting, sick thing...but it HAPPENED. There's nothing you can do to get it back. Just deal with it, like all the rest of us." Monica was preaching to him, her tone firm and unyielding. Ross was taken aback by his sister's harsh words. He looked at her with unsure eyes.
"You're asking me to DEAL with this?" he asked sarcastically, pointing to the door. Monica nodded, crossing her arms.
"Yeah, I am. God, Ross, you know, you're not the only one who loves her. You're not the only one this happened to. We all have to grieve in our own way." Monica's tone was slightly less aggressive now, but her words and their meanings were still firm and said with command.
"Well this is my way!" Ross yelled, drawing attention from all the doctors and nurses who had been standing around. He pounded the flat of his hand firmly against the wooden door, making a harsh "cracking" sound and inadvertently knocking over a tin cup that hand been sitting on a table beside him. The cup tumbled to the ground and rolled clankingly away.
"This..."
CRACK!
"Is my..."
CRACK!
"fucking..."
CRACK!
"WAY!"
Upon saying the word "way", Ross spun around and leaned heavily against the wall, letting his body slide down to the floor. Tears shot from his eyes, but he did not even notice them until he saw them splatter to the floor. He buried his face in his hands and sobbed. Monica looked down at him and all feelings of anger and frustration left her.
"Ross..." she whispered. He just shook his head where it was in his hands.
"This wasn't supposed to happen," Ross whispered. "He took it from her. She can never get it back." Ross looked up at Monica and she saw that his eyes were already read and squinted from all the tears. His entire face was shining with salty wetness. He sniffled loudly.
"He took it..." he repeated groggily. "It was supposed to be mine, and he TOOK IT!" He pounded his head back against the wall on this last part to accentuate his point.
He laid his head back against the wall with his eyes shut. Monica was still standing there watching him, but he was no longer aware of her presence. He wasn't aware of anything. He was already dreaming. It was a vast, luminous dream where his entire life stretched out before him like a rainy landscape. Everything was covered with a clear, soft light and the sky seemed to be glazed with a glass surface. In this dream, and in this dream only, existed the last untainted memory he had of her. It was from that night at the reservoir. Her hair had been messily hanging open her eyes and her clothes had been soaked from hugging him after his swim. Her eyes were like two diamonds set into her flawless, tanned skin. She had been so young and innocent and trusting.
She had been so virgin.
It's all gone to Hell, he thought. She can never get it back.
"Can I come in?" Monica asked from the doorway, peering inside the room. Rachel smiled feebly and nodded. Monica stepped inside and closed to door behind her.
She was the only visitor in the room so she sat down in the plastic white chair and pulled it up next to the bed. It was the night of Rachel's third day in the hospital. Amy and Jill had already gone home for the night to sleep and she had explicitly asked Chandler not to come, having wanted adequate time alone with her best friend. Ross had left for the first time that afternoon. He hadn't actually been inside her room since that first moment when he threw up, but he'd waited and slept in the private waiting area outside her room for the nest 48 hours. He'd finally given up on ever finding the courage to or the justification for reentering the room so he'd left just hours before.
"How are you feeling?" she asked, because she knew she had to. Rachel had to stop herself from laughing at the question's absurdity.
"I'm alright," she answered simply. "Are you the only one here?"
"He just left a few hours ago," Monica answered, having known what Rachel really meant when she asked the question.
"He just left for the first time?" she asked, obviously surprised. Monica nodded.
"Yup. He stuck it out for 48 hours but I guess fatigue and grief finally got the better of him."
"Maybe it was better that way, anyway," Rachel admitted. Monica looked doubtful.
"Did you even want to see him?"
"God..." Rachel whispered, shaking her head in disbelief of the question and gazing up pensively at the ceiling above her.
"Do you still love him?" Monica asked, deciding to cut quickly to the chase. In hindsight, she'd regretted it. Immediately, the tears had welled up in Rachel's eyes. Her chin began to quiver as she stared back at Monica. She broke down then, nodding her head vigorously.
"So much, Monica..." she answered, allowing Monica to come sit on the bed with her and wrap her arms around her, rocking her back and forth. Rachel buried her head in her shoulder and clutched at Monica's back. "I still love him so much it hurt," she whimpered, her voice just barely above a whisper.
"Even after all this?" Monica asked, smoothing back her friend's hair. Rachel nodded, even as her head was still buried.
"Especially after all this."
"He still loves you, too, you know," Monica stated. It was not a question, but perhaps it should have been. "I honestly believe that he will never stop." Rachel actually chuckled aloud.
"He has not reason to," she answered. "He should hate me." Monica shook her head.
"Oh, sweety. He could never hate you. Not in a million years."
"I should have done it, Monica." Rachel shook her head, putting her face back down into her friend's shoulder and wrapping her arms back around Monica's waist. "I should have done it when I have the chance. Now, it's too late."
"It's never too late, honey. This was a very unique situation. You never could have known."
"It doesn't matter," Rachel answered, shaking her head. "I kept it from him until it was too late and now I can never give it back to him. I wish he had been the one, Monica. He should have been the one" She looked up into her friend's eyes again. "He'll never forgive me for this."
"Sweety, he does NOT blame you for this. This is NOT your fault. If anything, he blames himself. You know he always does when anything bad happens to you. He finds some way to take the blame. It's just his way of dealing with it."
"God, what have I done, Monica?" Rachel asked, shaking her head. "I messed this up so badly. I don't know if we can ever get it back. Things can never be the same now."
"Yes they can," Monica reassured. "Ross just needs some time. He's coping with it in his own way. We all are, sweety. He'll come around when it stops hurting so much."
It can never stop hurting, Rachel thought.
End Chapter 12. Continued in Chapter 13.
