Okay. I am incredibly stupid. No, really! I wrote this whole chapter about a month ago, uploaded it to … and then forgot to actually add it to the story. So, I was sitting here and wondering why no one was reviewing, when I finally realised… oh dear.
I am torn between stretching this story out so that it lasts forever and I get about three thousand reviews, and wrapping up relatively quickly and being able to say at dinner parties, "I finished a story, you know" (well, I would if anyone invited me to any dinner parties, anyway…). We'll see…
Thanks for all the reviews, by the way! I love you all!
-
I can't be losing sleep over this,
No I can't,
And now I can not stop pacing.
Give me a few hours,
I'll have this all sorted out
If my mind would just stop racing
-
"Mom!" I yell, starting to sprint towards the source of the sound.
"Jackie! No!" shouts Phoebe warningly, hooking an arm around my stomach (no mean feat, I tell you) and dragging me backwards. Seriously – I don't know why I let this woman boss me round so much (of course, by saying 'let', I make it sound like I actually have some choice in the matter… trust me, this way creates a much smaller dent in my self confidence, which is currently about nil). "Don't go in there!"
"Pheebs! I've already been in there!" I remind her. I mean, it's very nice of her to try and protect me from seeing my mother like that and all… but hasn't she missed the mark a little? You know, what with me having already seen the potentially scarring images about two minutes ago and everything? That's Phoebe for you, though – incredibly slow on the uptake when it comes to things that are… well, normal… (but lightning quick on all the really weird stuff… which I'm sure will come in handy. One day.).
"I know that," she explains patiently, rolling her eyes. "But don't you think we should let those two… uh… catch up?"
Um. How about no?
"Are you kidding?" I splutter (or are you just insane?). "Are you seriously saying that we should just… just wait out here while – while –"
While I have an aneurysm, apparently…
"Oh, no," she smiles. Thank God – even Phoebe isn't that– "I was saying that we should listen through the door!"
Ah. Obviously I spoke – thought – too soon…
"Oh, come on! You seriously, seriously, want to miss this? This conversation is going to be the best thing ever! Way better than all that crap on TV! You're actually not a teensy bit interested?"
"No!" I lie, faking outrage.
She raises an eyebrow (obviously there was a reason I didn't get into the school play… might have had something to do with the fact that I was auditioning for Juliet, though. It's not my fault I misread the sign!).
"Okay! Fine! Fine! But I don't feel good about this, okay?"
She folds her arms.
"Well, maybe a little bit," I concede.
She narrows her eyes.
"Okay, then – let's listen," I say hurriedly before she starts getting me to confess some of my darker secrets (like the time when that old woman… well, we don't have to go into that right now…).
-
'Cause I can not stand still
I can't be this unsturdy
This cannot be happening
-
We make our way over to the door, from which muffled voices (presumably Monica and Chandler, seeing as, well… they're the only people in there…) emanate. Phoebe picks up a (hopefully empty) crumpled hospital cup from the dusty floor, presses it against the door, and pushes her ear up close to it.
"Uh – Pheebs…" I begin, wondering how to broach the topic of her lunacy in a gentle and loving way. She hushes me, gesturing wildly at the closed door.
"Um, yes," I agree. "It's a door. Definitely a door. Pheebs, you do realise that you can here them perfectly well without the… uh… cup, right?"
She nods. "Of course I know! I'm not stupid, Jackie! It's just that this whole cup thing looks really fun when they do it on TV, okay? And, you know, when I was younger, I never got to do the whole listening in on my parents thing – you know, because my Mom killed herself and all…"
God, does she have to bring her damn dead mother into everything? Broken record, seriously… why did I even bother to expect a sensible answer, anyway? "And does it live up to expectations?"
She shakes her head. "A disappointing performance. The polystyrene grates my ears. Maybe glass would have been a better contender," she muses.
"Pheebs?"
"Yes?"
"Feel like actually listening to them now?"
She considers for a second before answering excitedly, "Okay!"
Boy. It's going to be a long night.
"What are you even doing here?" Monica's (slightly blanketed) voice emerges from the room. I jump a few centimetres into the air (nerves, of steel, me…) and Phoebe hits me over the head with her beloved cup (really, really hope that some drunk guy didn't pee in it before she found it…).
"I heard you were in hospital!" he replies. "I had to come!" (Gee – that's mighty big of you!) "Anyway, I was thinking of visiting anyway. You know, after Jack's letter and everything…"
Ah. Obviously he skipped over the part of the letter where I told him not (on pain of death) to breathe a word of my contacting him to Monica. You know, since that wasn't a particularly important bit or anything… He obviously values his life pretty low (well, can you blame him?). Luckily, Mom doesn't appear to be paying much attention to what he's saying. Fair enough.
"I told you to stay away from us!"
Wait a second (yes, because they can hear my thoughts and are obviously going to wait for me to follow this one through, naturally…). She told him to stay away? This isn't the version I normally hear! I look at Phoebe, but she turns away stubbornly and starts chewing her hair.
Normally I wouldn't ask Ross for… well, anything (except maybe some advice on what dinosaurs to buy), but as he appears to be the only sane adult here, I turn to him, only to find that he's deep in conversation with Joey about… the advantages of the lifeguards in Baywatch over the Tyrannosaurus Rex, apparently. This really is typical (well, the Baywatch bit is new – Ross isn't nearly cool enough to watch a show that involves a lot of half-naked people and a lot of running), but this guy always has to bring fossils into everything! It gets old pretty fast, believe me.
"I told you to stay away!" repeats Monica hoarsely. The woman has just woken up from a freakin' coma! Is this really helpful? And why haven't any doctors rushed in there yet like they do in the movies? (It might have something to do with Phoebe guarding the door… you know, if I didn't know better, I'd assume that the lump in her side was a gun or something – when, really, I know for sure that it's just some aromatherapy candles she keeps in there for emergencies… I hope…). What is up with this health system?
"Me and Jack –" ("Jack and I," mouths Ross, where he has stopped talking and is busy pretending not to listen) "- are better off without you!" So, apparently she's almost as overjoyed at seeing him again as I am! Great! "What I said before still stands, Chandler! It always will! I want you away from my child! My only child…" she adds warningly.
I recognise that tone – it's the one she used on me after she found out I got suspended for a week for sitting on Rory Moore (he totally deserved it! He stole my gum! From my mouth!). I am willing to bet that Chandler (being a normal, functioning male) is currently desperately trying to find an escape route… doors… windows… when I was in that position, I was all set to dig a hole in the ground if it meant I could run away (and we all know how much Chandler loves doing that…).
"But… I love you, Monica. So much." That's a good tactic, actually – tell her you love her, get her temporarily distracted, and then run, run, RUN!
"And you actually think that I'm going to just – I don't know – forget everything and come running back to you just because you say three stupid little words? Forget it, Chandler!"
Okay, obviously not such a great tactic… maybe he played the love card a little too early…
"Jack!" It takes me a minute to realise that the voice is calling me, and I whip my head around, annoyed at being distracted from the show (Phoebe was right as usual. So much better than a soap opera!).
It's Anthony. As in my mother's boyfriend, the smug bastard, Anthony. As in the guy I hate almost as much as my father… that Anthony (as opposed to all the other Anthonys also determined to ruin my life)…
"Hi… Anthony…" I mutter, clenching my fists and pretending I'm squashing his irritating little head between them (lovely, lovely image, trust me).
"Where is she?" he cries, a half-dead daffodil wilting in his grip… so nice to know that he really made an effort, you know?
"In there." I gesture vaguely in Phoebe (who has reverted to using the cup again)'s direction.
"With the doctor?"
"You'd think so, but… no." A smile plays on my lips. Pissing him off would really help make me feel better… "Actually, Chandler's in there with her."
"Her husband? Your father?"
"Seriously, man – how many Chandlers do you actually know? It's not really that common a name, is it? Maybe we should look up, like, some census results or something… just to see, you know?" I look up, and am pleased to see that smoke is starting to billow from his ears. "So, who's up for that?" I ask eagerly (apparently I have learned a lot from Phoebe. Worrying.).
"Chandler?" shrieks Rachel, who appears behind Anthony. "He's here? Like, in the hospital?"
"No," I mutter. "In Russia."
She frowns at me for a second before choosing to ignore me completely. "Oh! Deprecating sarcasm… Chandler's son… got it! Did he get your letter, then?"
I wave my arms wildly at her to try and shut her up – unfortunately, Ross glares in our direction, noticing my windmill impression with a frown. "What letter?" he snaps.
I turn on Phoebe, exasperated. "See, this is why I don't tell you things!" I growl. "Maybe it would be better if we just… didn't talk to each other any more?"
She puts a finger to her lips and bangs the cup against the door a couple of times. "Shh! I'm listening!"
"What can you hear, Pheebs?" asks Rachel, humouring her.
"Well, Rachel – at the moment, I can hear… well, not very much, actually," she admits, frowning. "It's gone pretty quiet in there. "I'm thinking maybe she killed him…"
I stare at her, aghast.
"No, no! Don't worry! I mean, what probably happened is that he just… you know, turned off all the machines and stuff he's got in there just to shut her up. I mean, you've seriously never been tempted?"
"Phoebe! Is that seriously meant to calm me down?" I scream.
She frowns. "What – you… don't find that comforting?"
I shake my head slowly.
"Oh." Her face falls. "And what about everyone else? Let's take a vote! Everyone who thinks I'm helping, say 'aye'!"
Silence.
-
This is over my head, but underneath my feet
'Cause by tomorrow morning, I'll have this thing beat
And everything will be back to the way that it was
I wish that it was just that easy
-
Phoebe drums her fingers on the wall. "I –" (tap) "am –" (taptap) "so –" (tap) "bored!" (taptap).
I slam my hand on top of hers. "And you think I'm not?"
She sighs. "I want babies!"
"Uh… right now?"
"Well, we are in the right place." She winks. "And you're not a bad lookin' boy, Jack Bing…" She sighs. "Why don't I have any babies, Jackie?"
"Don't look at me! I guess we could give Frank Jr a call," I muse. "You know – see if he's in a position to knock you up again."
She lunges at me.
"What?" I protest. "What? I was only suggesting! So it's okay for you to have your brother's kids, but we aren't allowed to talk about it? Double morals, Pheebs! Get your hands off my throat! Seriously – off the throat!"
She sits back in her seat, rubbing her hands together. "As I was saying… I'm bored, Jack!"
It's probably best if I don't answer.
What with a broody aunt, a hospitalised mother, a suitably pathetic father and a homicidal uncle who looks like he's just about to explode, this is shaping up to be a fantastic day!
Said homicidal uncle storms towards the ward door, looking aptly annoyed. "Okay, I don't care about your freakin' babies, Pheebs! I am going in here right now, okay?"
Phoebe frowns. "Hey – you really think that's wise?"
No, no – we just let them kill each other! That sounds like a brilliant plan! I mean, an orphanage sounds like a fun place to live, right…?
"Will someone just go in the stupid room?" I shout – all eyes turn to me. Damn. "Of course, when I say 'someone', I mean 'someone who isn't me'," I amend, worrying that they might be expecting me to take some sort of action (I mean, God forbid…).
"I will," mutters Anthony grimly, pulling a long leather coat around him (what does he think this is? The Matrix?).
"Okay – just to clarify – that was 'someone' as in not you!" I bark over the clamour of everyone shouting each other down (we don't all appear to be arguing about the same thing, though – Joey's sulking about – as far as I can tell – a candy bar, and I don't even think Phoebe's speaking in English…).
Anthony pulls the door open (well – someone did have to do it eventually), and we all throw ourselves in after him, joined by a host of small children shouting "Bundle!", who appear to think they're in some kind of football game (Phoebe hisses at them and they retreat, whimpering). The problem, I realise, with cramming an enormous crowd of people into a tiny room, is… well, room. As in… there is none.
So I find myself squashed against Ross's head (and there is no way in hell he only uses a pea-sized amount of gel, whatever he says. I mean – men larger than me have drowned in pools smaller than that…) with Joey pushed up against my back (and, as a straight man, that is not a position I'm comfortable with, believe me).
"What's happening?" I hiss to Ross and he shrugs, frowning, and pokes Phoebe (who, apparently, has chosen this moment for a spot of meditation).
"They're hugging," she replies in a stage whisper, and an audible gasp rebounds around the room.
Hugging? They are hugging? Good God – this is much worse than killing each other! At least murder's clean cut and (relatively) simple! The repercussions of this are going to leave me scarred for life and dependent on prescription drugs, I swear (while, of course, my parents slaughtering each other would have only positive effects…)!
"Hugging?" explodes Ross, who has obviously hitched a ride on my train of thought.
"Well, they were," Phoebe explains. "Now they're… sort of… staring at us…"
Go figure.
"Get out!" roars a relatively unfamiliar voice from somewhere deep within the bowels of the room. I'm assuming it's Chandler rather than his friend – if Joey moved at all, I would know about it (trust me…). "All of you! Just… get out!"
Monica mumbles something, and he corrects himself. "Everyone except Jack – out!"
Oh, so now it's just the three of us? The happy family? Mummy, Daddy and… Jacky? If they tell me they're getting back together and buying a house with a garden (that's what you do in this situation), I swear I'll kill someone (preferably myself – then Chandler. And Anthony)!
Everyone marches sullenly out in a thin line, except Anthony (still wearing the ridiculous coat, I note. Why?), who makes a beeline for Mom's bedside, and grasps her hand with his own slimy fist.
"Who's that?" demands Chandler, folding his arms and glaring at the invader.
"Her boyfriend," I announce to the wall (what – you think I'm actually going to talk to him?).
"I thought I said get out," Chandler snarls. "So do it!"
If he thinks he can win over my mother by being all masterful and dominant, then… well, he's probably right, actually. My mom has spectacularly bad taste in men – I mean, first she marries him, and then there's Anthony, not to mention the whole Slaughterhouse Guy incident…
"And I thought I said…" begins Anthony, before realising that he hasn't actually said anything yet (razor sharp, this one), and trailing off sheepishly. "I thought Jack said," he corrects himself (he would have to drag me into his sordid little game, wouldn't he?). "That I am Monica's boyfriend!"
Chandler flashes a grin. "And I am Monica's husband! Husband beats boyfriend hands down – I win!" Man – he's almost as mature as me!
"Do I get a say in this?" Mom asks quietly (I had forgotten she was even in here! …I'm going to hell, aren't I?).
"No," chorus Chandler and Anthony, staring grimly at each other (on mature reflection, and after a lot of careful consideration, I think that Anthony could probably take him. I mean, underneath that stupid jacket, he's pretty hefty – plus, Chandler couldn't beat me up! How would he cope against an opponent not formed entirely of Jello?).
I cough loudly twice, hoping that Phoebe (who, let's face it, is going to be out there with her cup right now listening in on this) will get the message and… do… something. Anything!
Amazing, she does (after the last detective movie we watched together, being super-cool people, we decided that this would be our danger signal) and pokes her head through the door. "Ant? You've got to get out here! I mean, right now!" She gives me a large, obvious wink, and I groan. Even Ross would have been better at this…
"Really? Why?" demands Anthony, looking (understandably) unconvinced.
"Um… the doctor wants to talk to you! Yes! Uh… Doctor Philange! Come on!"
She grabs his arm and drags him out of the room, kicking the door closed behind her and giggling manically (she's getting way too into this crazy detective role).
"I guess you're probably wondering about… a lot of stuff, Jack," Mom says quietly. "There's a lot of crap we – I – should've told you a long time ago, but… I just never got round to it."
"Sure, sure. That's a valid excuse," I mutter, kicking the floor sulkily.
"It's still hard for me, Jack – still hard for me to… well, yeah. So, Chandler's going to tell you. It's all his fault, so, y'know… he might as well."
"Seems fair."
"How is it my fault?" asks Chandler, outraged. "I did everything you asked me to, Mon! I was upset too! You weren't the only one grieving, but you didn't have to pack up everything and leave your family on some freakin' whim!"
"It wasn't a whim," whispers Monica, her eyes blazing. "I can't believe you… you… you're…"
"Okay, so we're obviously undecided about where the blame lies," I say quickly. "So tell me and get it over with. Now."
"Okay. Okay," replies Chandler. "You had a sister, Jack," he tells me softly, rubbing his chin with his hands. "A twin sister. She was… she was called Erica…"
"Hey – my birth mother's called… oh!" I exclaim. "Okay. I'm there."
"You two were so cute together. Mon would dress you in the matching clothes and everything – she didn't really care that you were a boy and Erica was a girl, y'know? Pink fluffy costumes and all. You used to look…" He paused. "Actually, you looked hideous – but, hey – the thought was there…"
"And what happened to her?" I am fully aware that this is a question that a) I will regret forever, and b) will cause me to appear on a TV chat show talking about how I like to eat other people's skin (that happens!).
Something tells me that this story is not going to have a happy ending (maybe the way that… well, do you see a twin sister anywhere round here? Or maybe just because… when does anything ever go right for me? I mean, seriously…).
"Well…" he begins.
"Wait a second," I interrupt quickly, glancing at the closed door. "Let me just try something, alright?" I pull the door open slightly, and Phoebe (and her cup, naturally), fall straight in, grinning sheepishly (Pheebs, not the cup).
"I'm sorry!" she apologises. "I really am! But I've been waiting a long time to hear this one!"
Chandler raises an eyebrow. "Mon never told you what happened?"
"Does this look like a woman who's in on the story?"
"If she gets to hear, then I get to hear too!" shouts Joey quickly, raising his hand and hopping through the open door.
Chandler leaps to his feet. "Maybe later. This isn't the time," he growls, stalking out of the door and slamming it behind him.
I roll my eyes.
-
'Cause I'm waiting for tonight,
Then waiting for tomorrow,
And I'm somewhere in between
what is real and just a dream
-
Yeah – I'm evil for ending it here, I know! I didn't want to reveal everything in one chapter, though… especially since I haven't cough entirely finalised the actual plot yet… This should put a stop to the "Eh? Where's Erica?" reviews, though. Hopefully.
This is not a cliff-hanger, by the way. This is a I-Don't-Want-To-Reveal-The-Whole-Plot-In-One-Paragraph…er.
P.S. If I don't get exactly 3,400,593 reviews for this chapter, I'M NEVER UPDATING AGAIN!!!!!! (or… not).