A/N: Thank you all for the reviews, you guys are great :) I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations, and I hope it's not entirely crap. Um… I have no idea what else to say, except the rest of the story is for Becca, cause she's just way too great to be true. Loverr you Becca! And also… all you faithful readers, it's also for you, cause it's you guys that keep me going. Love ya all. Continue…
Chapter Seven
Monica tiredly took off the locket Chandler gave to her and yawned. She set it down on her dresser, not too worried about anyone finding it; no one ever walked into her room unannounced. She shook her head and fell onto her bed, fatigue instantly sweeping over her. She slowly closed her eyes.
Two weeks passed since they first found out, and things were worse than ever. No one seemed to be getting used to the idea of Chandler and Monica, and no one seemed too hurried in accepting them. The students of Lincoln High were causing both Monica and Chandler tears each and every night. No matter how many times Monica watched movies that explained it didn't matter what others thought and did, she couldn't make herself believe that. It did matter what the rest of the town thought and did; together, they had the control to break down Chandler and Monica. And they couldn't do anything to stop it, all they could do was hold onto each other.
The one thing Monica was thankful for was that her mother didn't know yet. Since her mom spent most of her time either at work, alone in a cubicle, or shut up at home, drinking beer and whiskey, news didn't travel fast to her. So, the rumors, gossip, and stories about Chandler and Monica were invisible to her. Monica was glad for that. That, and she had the one person that could get her through.
* * *
He instantly shot up into a sitting position when his alarm clock sounded, startled at the sudden screeching sound. He shook his head, a chain of yawn and stretches following. He slowly stood from his bed and walked across his room to his closet, where he opened the doors and sighed.
It was a mess. Everything was a mess. What started as a simple crush turned into a tremendous mess. She talked to him, he talked back, they hung out, they kissed, they fell in love, the town found out, and it all turned into one painful mess. The sting of the words and actions stung both of them, and violence was sure to follow. And he didn't regret it, he wouldn't change it for anything.
Because he had her, the person he was looking for all his life. And usually when you get something good, something bad happens after. But the bad part is soon over, and the wonderful part kicks back in. It never fails. And although this was a huge mess, Monica was worth every tear, every sigh, every crude comment that was shot his way. He didn't care what they were doing, at least not as much as someone else would have.
"I have Monica," he whispered to himself as soon as he was fully aware he was alone. "And one day, she's going to become Mrs. Monica Gellar Bing, and we're going to live happily ever after."
He smiled to himself. It was better than any other fantasy he heard of, that much he was sure of.
They were meant for each other, and no matter what, they were going to end up with each other.
Because Chandler didn't work without Monica, didn't fit without Monica.
* * *
Chandler and Monica clutched each other's hands, Monica facing away from Chandler, as Chandler looked at their intertwined fingers. Monica was silent for a moment, staring at the large fountain in the center of the building, her eyes seemingly glued to the sparkling coins glinting at the bottom. Mall-goers passed by them, most catching glances at the couple, some glaring, few unfazed. Monica ripped her eyes away from the sight before her and turned around so that she was fully facing Chandler. "Is it hell yet?" she finally whispered, barely audible for even herself.
"What?"
"Your life… this relationship… is it hell yet?" Monica repeated, this time more expectant of a solid answer.
"Mon, you make it heaven… there's no room for hell," he replied, a small, soft smile plastered on his face. He gripped her hands tighter and pushed in his chair closer. "Don't worry about pain in my life. As long as you're here to keep me from falling into the fiery depths, I'll remain in the clouds."
The hard, punk rock playing in the background dissolved, and a new, slow song began to play. Chandler looked at Monica and smiled. He quietly began to hum the tune, closing his eyes.
"They way you laugh at what I say," he lightly began to sing along, "The way you look at each new day. The way your tears fall right on cue… that's what I love about you." He stopped singing when the voices of 98 Degrees stopped, and listened to the instruments blend in together. His smile widened, and he stood from his seat, holding out his hand towards Monica. "Would you care to dance?"
Monica looked up at him, a smile beginning to form. "In the midst of all these people?"
"What people? I see no one but you."
Monica's modest smile turned into a grin, and she took Chandler's hand. "Well, when you put it that way, I can't say no."
Chandler laughed as he led her a few inches away from their table, and they both set up in a slow-dance position. Monica cupped both of her hands on Chandler's neck, and Chandler laid his hands on her waist. They began to sway with the music as the second verse came in.
"Nobody else knows me by heart, takes me where I can reach the stars. Makes me believe in love… the way you do," Monica whispered into Chandler's ear. Chandler smiled and gazed down at her, his eyes dancing, his heart happy.
"You see in me the man that I can be, and I'm thanking you. You've given me all I ever need, all I ever wanted too. I know how blessed I am. Girl, you are my best friend," he continued.
Monica rested her head on his chest and sighed contently for the first time in weeks. She closed her eyes, a smile still embroidered on her face. "Do you mean it?"
"I don't sing it when I don't mean it."
Monica laughed lightly, opening her eyes. "Even when you sing Milkshake?"
"Okay, so there are some exceptions," he replied jokingly. He eyed Monica and kissed the top of her head, smiling blissfully. Monica glanced up once more and gazed into Chandler's deep, blue eyes, getting lost in them for a moment.
Chandler took one of his hands off of her waist and stroked the side of her cheek, brushing a stray strand of her raven hair away. Then he leaned down and pulled her into a loving, passionate kiss. Their lips remained locked until a grunt disrupted them, and they pulled apart.
"Well isn't this lovely?" Joey's cruel voice said mockingly, as he began to slowly, tauntingly, walk over to the couple. His walk was swayed as if he had 100 beers. His crowd followed, all of which who were sneering or smirking, their stride matching Joey's. Chandler and Monica pulled apart, Monica looking down to the floor, Chandler balling up his fists and glaring at the group.
"Fuck off," Chandler hissed back, beginning to walk forward.
"Please," Monica whispered, her voice trembling, as she took her hand and put it on Chandler's arm. "Don't, please."
"Listen to the whore, don't want to upset her. She's what keeps you going on at night, ain't she?" The stench of alcohol was strong, and it was clear that the whole group was drunk, so drunk they could barely think.
The entire crowd howled with laughter, and Chandler shrugged off Monica's delicate hand off of his arm. He clenched his teeth, all the while trying to look as calm as possible. "Joe, you don't want this fist jammed in your jaw again, do you? Cause I swear on my own grave that if my fist meets your jaw, it won't be the fist that'll shatter."
"Oh, you got my whole body trembling." Joey's voice dripped with sarcasm, and Chandler stepped forward one more step.
"You leave me and Monica alone, and I promise you your jaw will remain one piece."
"How about you ditch this bitch, and I promise not to make your life a living hell?"
"Over my dead body."
Joey looked over at Chandler, then over his shoulder at his friends. He smirked. "Gladly." He stumbled over to the pair, having to clutch onto the table to keep his balance. "Wouldn't mind seeing both of you dead."
His crude comments didn't surprise Monica, or even Chandler.
The gleaming, silver knife that was pulled out of his pocket did, though.
* * *
Most of the house was a mess as Judy threw anything in her way. She looked under the couch, over the cabinets, inside the drawers.
"Where in hell can it be?" she mumbled to herself distractedly, still searching for the extra stash of liquor the house usually held.
She'd had a rough day at work. And when she had rough days, she drank. And when she drank some, she needed more. But today she didn't have more, and she'd search anywhere and everywhere to find it. Alcohol was her solace, her break away from Monica.
Monica.
Judy cursed under her breath, the thought of her "beloved" daughter giving her a new accusation.
"That thief must have stolen it."
She was too drunk and too weary from searching to bother to care that she was talking to herself.
She stumbled up the stairs and walked into Monica's room, instantly beginning to probe through her belongings. She skimmed her hand across the dresser that stood near the closet, and clutched onto something she'd never seen before.
There, in her hands, dangled a beautiful locket, on it engraved Monica.
To Be Continued…
Okay, so I'm kinda going out on a limb here. I depend on all of my reader's support on this chapter, cause I admit it's really… maybe unrealistic, maybe too dramatic… whatever it is. Please review, though, to tell me what you think of it, cause I can't continue until I know how you guys like it. Please review!
