Hello, children! Eek – over a month since I last updated! I hope that this makes up for it – the reason that it took so long is that I actually have no idea how this story's going to end, and I'm sort of… prolonging the agony of having to actually decide on whether it's going to be happy or not. Anyway, with this chapter, I actually had two alternative versions. Option 1 started with the words "Monica's awake!" and Option 2 started with the words "Monica's dead!".
In the end, I actually went with Secret Option Number Three…
-
I've been bleeding well
from this old wound
Cleaning it with salt,
so it will still feel new
-
"Monica's what?" I screech, sprinting after Ross. "Monica is what? I swear, man, if you're planning on telling me she's dead, then… well, let's just say that my first act as an orphan will be to make pretty damn sure I don't have an uncle either! You get me?"
The constricted look on his face and the way that his eyes are bulging beyond recognition tells me that, yes, he probably does get me – either that or he's on the verge of a heart attack. Seriously, the guy really needs to work out more – we're talking signs of distinct man breasts here (although, I, as the proud winner of the "Most Doughnuts In 60 Seconds" – a record-breaking 13 – award, probably can't talk…).
"What?" pants Chandler. You almost feel sorry for the guy – he's a red, gasping heap (yes, again, I am painfully aware that 'Lard Boy Bing' has absolutely no right to comment). Almost. "What're you talking about, Jack? You've got a father! You've got me!"
Oh, no. We are so not going there now.
"He also has a mother!" yells Ross. "Mon isn't dead, Jack!"
Oh, good. Panic over. Although, thanks to my concentration on running – and the physical inadequacies of those around me – I never actually got around to any real panicking… well, it was either because of that, or it's just that I'm just a heartless freak… whichever…
"Then why the hell did you drive us to running?" I pant, stumbling on.
God – he's my uncle! You'd think he might know by now that exercise is a mortal sin for me!
"One of the machines she was hooked up to in there got turned off, so they were running to get it back on again before there were any problems, and-"
"Whoa, there!" shouts Chandler, waving a hand in the air ('Whoa there'? Seriously – who even says that any more?). "They turned the machine off? The machine as in the machine that's keeping Monica alive, yes? That machine? They turned that machine off?"
Well, I think we've all established what the machine is… Worryingly though, I agree with him. (Sort of). Doctors are not meant to switch stuff on and off whenever it takes their fancy! I bet it was that five-year-old medical student I saw in reception earlier – he probably wanted some new toys to play with or something… or he was sulking because someone told him that Santa doesn't exist! Yes – it was obviously him! I am so going to write a formal letter of complaint!
Ross rolls his eyes laboriously. "Okay. Number one – breathe." (I fume – how can he give helpful (possibly life-prolonging) advice to the guy who ruined his little sister's life? Whatever happened to sibling loyalty?) "And, number two –" He stops running suddenly, and turns to me. It would have been one of those uncle-nephew bonding sessions if it hadn't been for two things… my feet. Unfortunately, they seem incredibly unwilling to come to a sudden halt – I end up skidding about five metres before colliding with Ross and landing on top of him in a heap on the floor. Classy, Jack…
"Number two," he repeats, his voice breathless (see what I mean about exercise? His lung capacity is nil! Of course, it might also have something to do with the beached whale crushing him – Jack M Bing, at your service. You can understand why I'm so popular with the ladies…).
"Number two!" he says for a third time, panting uncertainly. To be honest, I'm not really sure whether there actually is a number two or not (of course, there is number two – but that's something to save for a whole other situation). "She's not dead, Jack… she's not dead!"
Well, yes – and that's lovely and all – but something's telling me that the word 'yet' should be suffixing his sentence. Instinct, perhaps?
Actually, no. I realise that it's not instinct, but Phoebe, who is muttering it under her breath.
"Pheebs?" mumbles Ross, trying to free himself from the death grip I'm holding him in. "Kinda not helping here…"
"We all die someday, Ross!"
"Yes, but we're not planning on doing it today! Especially me!"
Phoebe gives a knowing look. "Ah – that's what you think…"
Well, at least she's lightening the mood (which, actually, isn't all that dark anyway – again, heartless freak of nature here…).
-
Sometimes eyes turn black,
and sometimes scars are tracks
But every time you're gone
I wish that you'd come back
-
"Hey, Jack?" asks Ross, squirming underneath me.
"What?" I snap.
"Y'ever think of moving?"
"Yeah – but then I realised that I kinda like it here in New York – I mean, the shops are great, and –" I break off as he glares at me. "O-kay," I mumble. "Obviously not one of those moments…"
Chandler smirks, and I send one of my death glares at him (well, I always assumed that they were death glares – that is, until I tried one out on a five-year-old who was about to get the last Big Mac, and he started rolling around laughing on the floor…).
"Jack!" Ross barks.
"What?"
"MOVE!"
I roll off of him onto the floor and notice two nurses staring, eyes wide, at us – they obviously like what they see… no! Hang on! Me and my uncle! That is wrong on so, so many levels…
"Let's go see Mon!" demands Phoebe, who – for reasons probably best left unconsidered – is bounding up and down on the spot.
"Hey there, Skippy! Calm down!" grins Chandler.
Phoebe frowns. "I'm Phoebe… look, I know you deserted us all for ten years, but I thought you'd at least remember our names…" Score one for Miss Buffay!
"As in the bush kangaroo?" He shrugs. "Oh, forget it… let's – let's go…"
"Only two of you in, I'm afraid," says one of the doctors who had been in front of us, smiling benignly. "Don't want to overcrowd her now, do we?"
"She's unconscious!" yelps Ross indignantly. "I really don't think she'll care about over-freakin'-crowding!"
He's probably right. If one of us went in there and started putting down drinks without coasters within a twenty metre radius of her, though… well, that's a whole other story. In fact, I'm surprised the doctors haven't tried that yet…
"I think Jack and Chandler should go!" pipes up Phoebe, who, judging by her colossal grin, appears to think that she's doing the two of us a huge favour…
She's not.
"Thanks, Phoebe," I mutter through my teeth. "Thanks a bunch."
"Thank you, Phoebe," echoes Chandler – only he sounds eerily genuine…
She shrugs. "Hey, if I can get you two alone in a room together, I can do anything! Nobel Prize for World Peace, here I come!"
I should have known that she was just using me!
"What?" screeches Ross. "Chandler? No way, man! I'm her brother! I get to go in!"
"Chandler's her husband, Ross!" shouts our dear friend Joey, who has appeared behind us with tomato ketchup dribbling down his chin. Somehow, he manages to misinterpret my derisive look of disdain as a friendly smile (I really need to work on my facial expressions in front of a mirror or something…) and gives me a cheerful grin.
"Joey's right," agrees Phoebe (Joey looks shocked – worryingly, this doesn't seem to be something he's experienced before). "There are certain rules about these things…"
One day, I will force-feed Phoebe a copy of all her damn rules…
"Yeah, that's right!" shouts Ross. "Rules! Which you, Chandler Bing, broke every single one of!"
Chandler cocks an eyebrow. "How? It's not like I kissed your mom or anything – and it's not like we could say the same about your relationship with my mother, is it?"
Finally, it gets interesting…
"You know what I mean, man! You know what else?"
"What?"
"What?"
Phoebe prods Ross helpfully. "I think you already covered 'what'…"
"You are way overdue on that ass-kicking I promised you before you married her… way overdue…"
Chandler smirks (my uncle is about as threatening as – well – me…). "Ross, believe me, I do not want to laugh at you right now, but you aren't leaving me with much of a choice, y'know?"
My God – does this guy ever stop making lame wisecracks? He isn't even funny!
"One good reason. Give me one good reason why you should get to go in there, Chandler!"
His shoulders fall. "Because…"
"Oh, because?"
"Because I love her, okay?"
Okay, okay – I take it back! The lame wisecracks are fine! Let's go back to the lame wisecracks!
"You love her?"
"Yes! I love her! And, yeah, I know I haven't exactly made that very clear recently, but-"
God, how I miss the lame wisecracks!
I roll my eyes. "Really? Haven't you? We hadn't noticed…"
"But… none of you know, okay? I mean, you all think you know, but you don't! You all heard one side of the story – one side! One side isn't enough to make you all dig this grave for me!"
"I think you've been doing enough digging for yourself," remarks Phoebe wryly. Six faces turn and stare expectantly at me until – hang on! They seriously expect me to make this decision? What happened to 'poor little Jack'? Apparently the son of the unconscious lady doesn't get cut any slack in this sort of situation – you'd think that there would be some perks…
"Look – she's asleep!" I shout. "What the hell kind of difference does it make who goes in there to stare at her unconscious?"
Chandler (who seems to have interpreted my outburst as some kind of gesture of acceptance of him as a father), whispers, "Thank you."
Oh, would it kill him to talk in a normal voice?
-
I've been fanning flames from these old coals
Feeding them with tender
And hoping they will grow
And I've been savouring
What I can't hold
A blind belief in goodness
That doesn't seem to show
-
"Have fun," Phoebe whispers, patting me on the shoulder.
"You have a twisted idea of fun," I mutter. "Do I have to do this?"
"Yep."
"What – I have no choice whatsoever?"
"Nope."
"I thought this was a free country!" I whine.
"Whatever gave you that idea?" She winks, and pushes me towards Chandler and Joey, who are muttering to each other under their breaths. Oh, man – he didn't leave her for Joey, did he? "Go."
Chandler looks up as I stumble towards him and crash into the wall (you know, I think he might be beginning to get the impression that I'm ever so slightly clumsy…). "You ready to go in?" he asks softly, raising an arm as if to touch me, and then letting it drop back to his side.
"I s'pose," I mumble reluctantly, and push the door slowly open. She's there (well, obviously) on the bed, her hair spread out around her head like a black halo on the white pillow. Her body's pale and covered in bruises, and she looks horribly indecent in a small, thin nightgown. I consider getting Chandler to cover his eyes so he can't see her body – until I realise that, you know, he might just have seen it before. Which is a terrifying thought, so, from now on, I'm just going to pretend that my mother is a virgin, alright?
He sits down heavily (there's someone else who should pay a visit to Mr Diet a little more often) onto the chair next to the bed, and sighs deeply. I decide – unwillingly – that, after his little speech out there in the hall, he is allowed to cry. A little bit. If he's quiet about it.
However, I do not allow for what he does do next – which is to lean forward and sniff her head. Seriously – sniff it, like she's a plant or something, and not my comatose mother. And – just wait – it gets worse…
"She doesn't smell the same as I remembered," he mumbles.
She doesn't smell the same as I remembered. Really? Doesn't she? Really?
"Did you actually think she wouldn't wash her hair at all in ten years?" I ask incredulously.
"No… it's just…" He rubs his face with his hand. "Everything changed, didn't it?"
Oh, yeah. The obvious assumption would be that time stood still while you were gone! Yeah, because you actually are that important!
"I'm going to get a drink," I mutter. A drink… a gun to shoot him with… same difference…
"Don't take too long."
"Yeah – don't want her to wake up alone with you… wouldn't wish that upon my worst enemy." I want to hurt him. I really, really, from the bottom of my heart, truly, madly, deeply, want to hurt him.
"Thanks." Apparently he isn't particularly wounded, though. Damn.
"Seriously, though – opening your eyes to find the guy who betrayed you staring back down at you… that would be fun, right?"
He grins. "You paint a beautiful picture."
I walk through the door and slam it shut behind me, closing my eyes in irritation. I can't handle this.
"Hey, Jackie!" calls Phoebe, springing up in front of me. "How's it going?"
I shrug. "How bad would you expect it to be going?"
"About as bad as that time when I got that fork stuck up the guy I was massaging's butt, and I had to get it out without him noticing?"
"Okay. That is about a millionth of how painful this is, seriously…"
"How painful it was for him, or how painful it was for me after him and the security guys caught up with me?"
"Both. Multiplied by infinity."
"Ouch."
"Pretty much."
We are interrupted by a loud, very high-pitched scream emanating from Mom's room. Everyone in the surrounding corridor turns to stare in confusion at the closed door – everyone, that is, except for Phoebe.
"Ah," she says wisely. "Monica's awake, then…"
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I hasten to add that this is not a cliffhanger (well, not really…), so no one's allowed to get angry with me for it! Okay? ; )
Please review – I love reading them!